“Naught,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Suddenly he straightened. Shielding his eyes, he stared over the plain toward the hills where the MacGorys camped. “Did ye see a flash yonder?”
Before Kara could answer, the guard atop the cliffs gave the raven call, bringing the men on the riverbank to instant attention. ’Twas a mark of their respect that they immediately looked to Duncan. He signaled with another raven call, then went back to work. One by one, the others bent to their tasks.
Kara glanced from her loved ones to the sea of tall brush. The MacGorys were taking extra pains, the only sign of their passage a twitch here and there in the long grass. The moments stretched out till her nerves screamed. “How can they bear the waiting? My skin’s fairly crawling.”
“Aye, that’s the worst.” Fergie’s scarred hand gripped the pommel of his claymore. “I should be with them.”
“Nay, Fergie—”
The raven called again.
Scarcely had the sound faded than the MacGorys rose from cover. They were barely fifty feet from the river, shrieking like banshees, weapons glinting ominously in the sun.
“Hurry, Duncan,” Kara whispered as her clansmen dropped their tools to pick up the swords and shields concealed nearby.
Seeing their victims intended to fight, the MacGorys howled even louder and closed in for what they assumed would be an easy kill. They were thirty feet from their target when a wedge of flaming arrows arched out from the cliff tops. Clearing the water, they struck the grass in the MacGory’s path.
“Ye shoot like women,” a MacGory shouted. But their jeers turned to cries of horror, for the night before Duncan had doused the bracken with grease, and it burst into flame.
The wall of fire chased the MacGorys back. Before they could regroup and work around it, a second flight of arrows ignited the brush behind them, enclosing them in a circle of fire. Singly and in pairs, the MacGorys burst free, only to be met by the warriors of Edin Valley.
“Come, lass.” Fergie took her hand and led Kara away from the brink of the cliff. “’Tis not a fit sight for ye.”
“But what if Duncan needs my help?”
“Ye can help the most by seeing that when this battle’s done he has a hot bath to wash off the soot, a whiskey to clear the smoke from his throat and a hot meal.”
Once Kara would have scoffed at being kept from the action, but she had not the stomach for fighting and bloodshed. Duncan had done his part to save them. She must do hers. At the bottom of the trail, the women of Gleanedin waited anxiously for news. Fergie gave them the glad tidings, and Kara set the women to work. Half of them started for the tower to begin preparations for a victory fete. The others stayed to tend the wounded...while praying there would not be many.
“We’ve won,” Kara said, clinging to Fergie’s hand. “I can scarcely believe we’ll finally be free of them.”
“Aye.” Fergie ruffled her hair. “Thanks to Duncan.”
Chapter Nine
That night, Edin Tower’s great hall shimmered with the sights and sounds of triumph. It was etched into every smiling face, woven into every tale and toast as the victorious warriors of Gleanedin retold the events of the day. One name was on everyone’s lips.
“Duncan! Duncan!” They chanted.
Seated in the place of honor between Fergie and Kara, Duncan felt his face heat. “’Twas no one man’s doing,” he protested, unused to being the focus of so much praise.
“Ye’ll not convince us of that.” Fergie stood and lifted his hands for silence. “Thanks to Duncan, we can once again hunt and fish the lands outside the valley. We can travel to market and trade for what we cannot raise ourselves.” He turned toward Duncan, tears in his eyes. “Whatever we have, is yers.”
Duncan rose stiffly, his barely healed body protesting today’s vigorous activity. “The idea may have been mine, but ’twas the blood and bravery of every man here that won the day.”
A roar of approval greeted his words. As he resumed his seat, Kara leaned close.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I you.” Duncan shifted, following Fergie’s progress about the room as he laughed and chatted with his clansmen. It would be tomorrow, at the earliest, before he could get her uncle alone and ask for Kara’s hand. Not nearly soon enough.
“Why do you scowl so darkly, my love? Does your shoulder pain you?” Her fingers brushed his arm. Desire shot through him. Only years of training kept Duncan seated when he wanted to drag her from the hall to some dark corner. He focused his attention on her concerned face. “Nay. Though I’ve more bruises and scrapes than I can count—” he kissed the tip of her nose “—I’ve never been happier in my life.”
“’Twould be perfect if we could sneak away and—”
“There’ll be none of that.” He softened his words with a kiss, her mouth so sweet he lingered till they were both breathless. “Never doubt I want you, but I’d do this right.”
“If we declared ourselves wed before my clansmen—”
“I want more than a handfasting for a year and a day. I want you to wife...forever.”
“Forever.” She sealed the vow with a kiss so tender it nearly melted his iron will.
He wrenched his mouth away and gasped in a steadying breath. “I should check on the guard at the pass.”
“Do you think some of the MacGorys escaped?”
“None left the battlefield alive, and their camp was deserted when we found it. It is possible they had a few guards there, who ran off when we came searching, but I doubt it. That doesn’t mean we can relax our vigilance. Others may come and try to take the valley. What we need are more men.”
“We’ve not the coin to hire them.”
“Not mercenaries, men with ties to our clan.”
“Our clan.” Kara laced her fingers with his. “It gladdens my heart to hear you speak of them thus.”
“Not half as much as it does mine.” He glanced about, drinking in the sights and sounds of boisterous Gleanedins. “I never thought to find a place where I was so well come.” A tiny niggle of regret lingered. Someday, some way, he must find out how Janet fared.
A cry went up from the other end of the hall.
Instantly a dozen men leapt up and drew their swords.
“’Tis Fergie!” someone shouted.
“Kara! Kara, come quick!”
Duncan lifted her over the bench and cleared a path for her.
Fergie lay on his back, his eyes closed, one hand clutching the front of his tunic.
“Oh, God.” Kara sank to the floor beside Fergie.
Duncan followed her down, watching her face contort with anguish, her hands tremble as she examined her uncle.
“He...he lives,” she whispered. “Help me get him to bed.”
A dozen men crowded close to help. Duncan waved them back. Together he and Eoin carried the laird to his chamber. They stood uselessly by while Kara and the women bustled about making Fergie comfortable. The scent of herbs filled the room yet couldn’t hide the stink of fear.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Duncan began to pray for a miracle.
The hours dragged by with little change in Fergie’s condition. Eyes closed, he lay unmoving in the center of the big bed where he’d been born, his face gray as his shock of bushy hair. The heavy silence in the room was broken only by the shallow rasp of his breathing and the crackle of the fire.
Seated in a chair beside the bed, Kara watched his chest rise and fall, willing his heart to keep beating. She’d sent the women to bed, but Duncan had refused to leave.
He straddled a low stool, his back against the wall, his eyes shut. How uncomfortable he looked. How exhausted he must be to sleep in such a cramped position. Come morn, his muscles would pain him something fierce.
“Duncan,” she whispered.
His eyes flew open, the stool thumped as the legs settled to ground. “What?” He glanced at Fergie, then at her.
“He’s just the same,” she whispered. �
�Go on to bed.”
“Nay, I’ll stay and—”
“There’s naught to do but wait to see if the foxglove infusion will strengthen his heart. If you sleep now, you can spell me on the morrow.”
Duncan frowned but rose, moving so stiffly she knew he must be in pain. “Wake me if there’s any change.” He grazed her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m so sorry, love. Just when it seemed peace was within our grasp—”
“He’ll recover,” she said quickly. “He has before.”
“Aye,” Duncan replied, but his face mirrored her own fears. “I’ll come down again at first light and see how he does.”
Kara nodded. If she was any judge, Duncan was exhausted enough to sleep the sun around. “Morag and the others are just outside. They’ll come if I call.”
The room seemed oddly cold and empty with Duncan gone. Shivering, Kara wrapped the extra blanket about her shoulders and turned toward the bed.
“Kara?” Fergie asked hoarsely.
“Aye.” Kara grasped his icy hand in hers. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. Is there any whiskey about?”
“No whiskey.” She picked up the cup containing the decoction of foxglove. For generations, the healers of the valley had valued it as a remedy against all forms of heart troubles. “Take a wee sip of this, then some water.”
Fergie made a face but did as he was told. Which worried Kara more than his labored breathing.
“Lay back and rest.”
He lowered his head to the pillow. “Have to tell ye.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.” His eyes were ghosted with the knowledge that he might not see tomorrow. “Have to tell ye where I put them.”
“What?”
“The red stones.”
Kara froze, heart thudding with dread. “Duncan’s gems?”
“Aye.” He licked his lips. “Black Rolly read the paper.
“Duncan’s letter? The one in his pouch?”
“From a lass...Janet. He’d vowed to win a fortune and return to...to wed her.” Fergie closed his eyes. “Couldn’t let him...leave.”
“Oh, Fergie. You stole his treasure? How could you?”
“I did it for ye...for the valley.”
“But...but to steal what was his, to make him stay under false pretenses.” Blood beat against her ears. Or was it the death of a dream she heard in the thunderous wash?
“He loves ye.” Fergie’s hand tightened on hers. “He loves our people. He’s happy here as he never could be with that lass.”
“Aye, he is.” The knowledge that he loved her people made the pain all the more unbearable. “But I have to tell him.”
“Why?” Fergie tried to rise.
She pushed him back down with frightening ease. “Never mind, Fergie. We’ll speak of it no more.”
“I did it for ye.”
“I know,” she said softly. Could she honestly say she wished he hadn’t done it? If Fergie hadn’t taken the stones, Duncan wouldn’t have stayed, wouldn’t have fallen in love with her. The pain was stifling, for she knew what she must do. Duncan was a man who valued honor above all things. She could not base their lives on a lie. Even if it meant losing him.
Duncan stared at the pile of red stones Kara had poured into his palm. They gleamed like droplets of blood. His life’s blood, draining slowly away as the truth sank in.
His fortune had been returned.
“I’d told Black Rolly you were the man sent to save us. Wanting to know more about you, he searched your pouch while I was busy tending your wound. When he read Janet’s letter—”
“Fergie said no Gleanedin could read.”
“Rolly is a MacHugh. He studied with the priests before coming here. Fearing you would leave, he took the letter and the gems and showed them to Fergie the moment he returned. Fergie hid them in the hollow hilt of his dagger.”
Duncan stared blindly at the top of her bent head. “I wish to God he’d never given them back.”
Her head snapped up, face glowing with hope. “Duncan?”
“Kara.” He fisted the rubies and dragged her into her arms, needing the feel of her in his arms, unable to watch as his words drained away her happiness. “I want to stay with you. Believe I want that more than I have ever wanted anything. But I have to go. You know that.”
She buried her face in his chest. “Aye.” The shudders that rippled from her body into his tore him apart.
Could a man die of grief?
“I swear I’ll come back to you. If I reach Threave and find Janet has wed another, I’ll be free of my vow and—”
“Shh.” She stilled his lips with the tips of her fingers. “Please do not promise what you may not be able to fulfill.”
“I won’t. But I wish...God I wish you’d thrown them away.”
“Do you?” Her startling amber eyes focused on his. “I wanted to, but I could not begin our life with a lie. Even if you never found out that Fergie had taken the rubies and I had kept them from you, I would have known.”
He nodded. “It is seldom easy to do the honorable thing.” He touched her cheek. “If Janet has found another, I’ll return.”
The land around Threave Castle was much as he remembered, Duncan thought as he slowly rode toward the great pile of stone glaring down from its lofty hilltop. Below it stretched the broad fields belonging to the laird, fallow, now, and blanketed by a thin cover of snow, but neat and well tended. As were the crofters’ huts clustered at the bottom of the hill. Sporting a fresh coat of whitewash, new thatch bristling from the roofs, even they were monuments to Cousin Niall’s passion for order.
He shivered, already bracing for the moment when he’d ride through the gates and face them, the man who’d made his youth hell, and the woman whose friendship had kept him sane.
All too soon he was passing under the sharp teeth of the portcullis. His mount’s hooves rang hollowly on the cobbled courtyard. As he drew rein before the imposing tower, a fresh-faced lad of twenty or so ran out to take his horse.
“Is Cousin Niall in residence?” Duncan asked.
The lad blinked then started. “Why, ’tis Duncan, home from the Crusades. Do ye remember me...Wila’s Harry?”
“I do, but you were a good deal shorter when I left.”
“There’ve been a lot of changes these past three years.”
“Any weddings?” he asked hopefully.
“A few.”
“Duncan. Duncan, is that really you?” A woman walked sedately toward him. She was dressed in the height of fashion, the long sleeves of her formfitting blue surcoat swept the ground. A fortune in gems decorated the throat and hem, winking in the pale sunlight. Her hair was properly concealed by a long veil, held in place by a gold circlet. Everything about her was proper and controlled, including her small, welcoming smile.
“Janet?” Duncan asked.
“Aye.” A dimple dared to disturb the perfection of her face. Her eyes were as warm and accepting as he remembered.
“It has been a long time,” he said. This was hard, so hard.
“Three years. Oh, Duncan, I was afraid you’d been killed.”
He opened his arms and she threw herself into his embrace as she used to when they were growing up. She was taller than Kara, her curves more lush, but the press of them left him unmoved. Damn, how was he going to wed her when Kara filled his mind and his heart?
“Duncan.” She leaned back, hands on his chest. “You’re taller and...broader...than I remembered.”
“Fighting builds muscles.”
She shivered. “Don’t speak of it. Every night I prayed for God to bring you back safely to us.”
“I..I feared you’d given up and wed someone else,” he teased, but his chest was so tight he could scarcely breathe. Please. Please let her have found someone.
“Nay. We made a pact, you and I. Oh, Duncan, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come home.”
“I, too.” But as
he looked around at the stark walls of Threave, he felt anything but at home. A crowd had gathered, many of them glaring at him as they used to.
Ingrate. Son of a whore. Fortune hunter. The words crept through the throng, icy as a killing frost.
I don’t want to be here, Duncan silently cried.
“Duncan, did you make your fortune?” Janet whispered.
“Aye,” he said dully. “I vowed I’d not return without it. And I’d not break that oath.”
“Of course.” She smiled up at him as though he’d granted her fondest wish. “Oh, Duncan, I am so happy. Father will be livid.” She chuckled. “I’ve prayed for this day. I’ve longed for your return. We must talk in private. Make plans—”
“Laird Niall wants ye in the hall,” growled the captain of Threave’s guard, a great brute of a man who’d taken pleasure in whipping Duncan whenever he stepped out of line.
“I’d speak with my betrothed in private,” Janet said.
Mangus’s lip curled. “Himself said now.”
Janet sighed. “Very well.”
On leaden feet, Duncan followed Janet across the courtyard up the stairs to the entryway and through it to the great hall. Dinner was in progress, the servants passing platters of food to the orderly rows of diners. The rushes crunched beneath his heel, giving off the sweet scent of rosemary. Whitewash brightened the walls, colorful tapestries softened their austerity. Dozens of flambeaux in rings on the walls illuminated the scene, but the people were cold and stiff.
When he was younger, the orderly way of life at Threave had seemed to him the epitome of grace and civility. A goal to be sought, a way to wipe out the stain of his mother’s impropriety. Now it seemed stark, cold and oppressive.
“So, you have returned.” The voice was not loud. Niall Leslie never shouted. But it carried the length of the hall, stilling all talk and turning heads toward the threshold, where Duncan stood with Janet.
Duncan straightened his shoulders and advanced toward the figure seated at the table on the raised dais. Dimly he was conscious of the censorious folk he passed and of Janet’s sweaty hand clenched tight in his. Mostly he felt a sense of loss.
The Knights of Christmas Page 9
