Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01]

by The Stone Maiden

  "Alainna of Kinlochan!" Cormac halted a few feet away, spreading his feet in a wide stance. His deep, thick voice sundered the peaceful atmosphere. "I saw you while I was hunting with my kinsmen. I want a word with you in private."

  "Cormac MacNechtan," she said. "We have nothing to say."

  "We do. Are your kinsmen about?" He glanced around.

  "They will be here soon," she said, knowing they would search for her when her absence was discovered, or whenever someone inside Kinlochan glanced across the loch toward the stone.

  She knew Cormac by sight, but had rarely spoken to him since childhood, when their paths had crossed too often as she wandered the hills with her two younger brothers and their foster brother. Cormac had proven himself mean-spirited both as child and as man, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

  But she and Cormac were the leaders of their feuding clans, and she could not shun him if he was willing to talk with her. The beginning of peace between them might be but words away.

  She stood proud and straight, like a small twin to the great pillar stone, and held the growling dog's collar firmly to show Cormac that she was protected by the dog as well as by the stone and its legend.

  "Quiet that great blue hound of yours, or I will do it for you." Cormac touched the dirk sheathed at his belt.

  "Finan Mor," she said. "Big Finan. Hold, you." The deerhound stayed still, his growls low.

  "A great hound like that is a man's dog, and no hound for a woman," Cormac observed.

  "Finan has been mine from his birth."

  "Then he has been spoiled by a woman's hand."

  She watched Cormac evenly. "Try him, and see if it is so."

  "You are safe," he said. "For now. The legend of the Stone Maiden ensures that no man of Clan Nechtan can harm a woman of Clan Laren, or he will suffer the consequences."

  "It is a shame no legend prevents the men of Clan Nechtan from warring on the men of Clan Laren," she snapped.

  "An ancient wrong gives us reason to war upon you."

  "Your hatred of us may be ancient, but ours is just as old! You would destroy us all if you could."

  "Not you, Alainna. You, I want for my own."

  "Do not say that to me in the Maiden's presence!"

  "She cannot protect you much longer. The faery spell ends in the spring. All know that." He scowled.

  He was not unhandsome, even with a thrusting, wide jaw, but the anger in his dark eyes ruined his appeal. "Some say that the Maiden's power to help her people wanes even now."

  "Our bard says the Maiden's power will increase when the faery spell ends," she said. In truth, no one was sure what would happen when the stone's magic ended the next spring.

  "Old Lome MacLaren would say so, rather than say your clan is lost!" Cormac flipped his fingers in dismissal. "The Stone Maiden will no longer keep you safe, if ever she could. The Maiden and her clan will both crumble."

  "We may be diminished by feud, and illness, and poor luck," she said hotly. "We may have few left of our name. We may be threatened by a cruel enemy"—she glared at him—"but our pride, our legacy endures. You cannot destroy that with your raids and your hatred!"

  He shrugged. "If you will listen, I have good tidings for your clan."

  "Glad news for your clan cannot be good for mine." She glanced across the narrow loch toward Kinlochan. Tendrils of smoke rose from the hearth fires; soon her kinsmen would come looking for her. If they saw Cormac here with her, there would be another skirmish.

  "I have petitioned King William for the hand of the Maiden of Kinlochan. The living maiden, not the stone one." He snickered at his poor jest.

  She gasped. "I would never wed you!"

  "You must wed soon. Your father is gone and cannot arrange your marriage."

  "He is gone by your hand!"

  "Not mine, girl." He shook his head. "Not mine."

  "Yours or another's, a MacNechtan blade killed him, and took my brothers too. I would never marry you or any of your blood."

  "You and your elder kinsmen want to end this feud, I know. And my own kinsmen urge me to wed you. It is time I married."

  "You can wed the handfasted wife you cast aside," she said.

  "Not her. You." He swelled his chest. "We can gain no honor fighting the old men of Clan Laren. You cannot oversee this vast property alone. Become my bride. Your father wanted this for the good of all."

  "He never did," she said, and beside her, Finan growled low and shifted forward. She touched the dog's head. "You would take our land and our very name from us."

  He scowled. "The king has the right to decide your marriage, since you are sole heiress, holding title and land. We will leave this up to him. I have offered for you. Such an easy end to this feud will please the king."

  "King William himself could not force me to do what I will not." She lifted her head higher.

  "A stubborn woman is a foolish woman," he muttered. "You are a willful girl, but I hoped you had more sense." He gestured impatiently. "The men of Clan Laren are too old to wield swords. Your foster brother, Giric MacGregor, is young, but he is one man—and we are many." He moved forward, but stopped when the dog shifted in response. "The blood of Clan Laren will live on in our sons."

  "I want no sons with your name."

  "Lovely girl, but troublesome. They say you are strong, too. Trained as a stonemason, like some others in your clan. They say you use a hammer and chisel like a man." He skimmed her body with his gaze. "I have a hammer and tools you can handle whenever you like." His smile grew wicked.

  "Go away," she snapped. "My strong arm tires from holding back this great hound."

  Cold anger flickered in his brown eyes. "Maiden of stone, heed me well—when spring comes, your safety ends. Who will protect you and your clan then? Not a girl with a mallet. Not a few old men."

  "We can fend for ourselves."

  "Can you? I could take you now if I wanted, at the foot of that stone. Neither hound nor faery could stop me. Or I can bide my time until spring. Either way, you would have no choice."

  Alainna lifted her chin. "I will not wed you, and neither king nor Highlandman can force me."

  "I will give you until Saint Brighid's day, when the faery spell ends, to agree. By then the king will have given his approval. Wed me, Alainna—or watch your clan die." He shrugged. "One way or the other will end the feud."

  He turned away before she could reply, and strode up the misted hill to disappear over the top. Alainna watched, her heart pounding. The dog stayed beside her, his body taut.

  She flattened her palm on cool granite and closed her eyes, wishing fervently for a solution, a savior. A miracle. She bowed her head to pray, and whispered an old Gaelic blessing to please both her Christian and her ancient heritage.

  Then she turned to walk toward Kinlochan. Finan ran ahead of her through long brown grasses as she rounded the end of the loch, where the water shushed peacefully over pebbles and stones.

  The morning sun had burned off the mist, and the wooden tower of Kinlochan, inside its surrounding timber palisade, glowed earthy red in the dawn light. Beyond it, dark mountains soared into the distance, their rugged crests ringed by clouds. The long, narrow loch spread like a pool of silver at their base.

  The fortress gate swung wide and three men ran out, plaids flapping over bare legs. They waved and skirted the loch along the path she had taken earlier.

  She waved back and walked ahead, then nearly tripped when her toe struck a stick in the ground. Bending, she picked up a discarded arrow that lay deep in the heather. The arrow was weathered and shabby, although the iron point was still sharp.

  She wondered if this was the omen she sought. If so, it was a poor one, for it must mean more war.

  She began to toss it away, then stopped, remembering her recent dream of a golden warrior whose shield bore the design of a single arrow. He had offered to save her distressed people. Entranced, she had been willing to go with him, even to the Otherworld.

&nb
sp; She sighed, thinking of that strong, beautiful warrior. But dreams were of no use to her now.

  Finan barked and ran toward her kinsmen. She followed thoughtfully, the arrow clasped in her hand.

  "Alainna!" Her foster brother, Giric, ran toward her through the long grasses, ahead of her elderly cousin Niall and Lulach, one of her two great-uncles. The dog bounded toward them. Giric touched a hand to Finan's head in passing and received an adoring look in return.

  They came toward her, Giric moving with agile grace despite his tall, large build. His brown hair blew loose around his handsome head, and a belted plaid fluttered over muscular legs.

  "We saw you with Cormac," he said. "What did he want?"

  "We will slay the man! Where did he go?" Niall asked. His cheeks were sunken and whiskered, his thin lips tight with anger. A breeze fluttered his silvery hair over his face. He pushed it back with the scarred stump of his left wrist.

  "Are you hurt, girl?" Lulach stepped forward, his hair iron and silver, his blue eyes angry. "I would have killed Black Cormac myself if I had seen where he went."

  "Your old legs could not catch him," Niall said.

  "Let me worry what my old legs can do," Lulach snapped. "They are younger legs than yours."

  "I am fine," Alainna assured them quickly. "I am under the protection of the Maiden. Cormac would never harm me here."

  "He would be a fool to test the spell," Niall said.

  "He is a fool," Lulach pointed out.

  "You need the protection of a blade, not an old stone," Giric said. Usually relaxed in manner, he was tense, his hands fisted. "Do not trust any man of Clan Nechtan."

  "Cormac would not dare harm me," she reassured them. But she shivered inwardly, recalling Cormac's threats.

  "She has no blade, but she does have an arrow," Niall said. He peered at the shaft in her hand. "Where did you get that?"

  "I found it in the grass."

  "Elf-arrow," he said. "Lost by the faeries."

  "It is human-made," Lulach said. "Needs new feathering, but the point is still good."

  "I found it after I made an offering to the Maiden. It may be an omen," Alainna said.

  "True, a sign that there will soon be one less MacNechtan," Niall said. "It is good to make an offering on such a fine day, but you should not come out here alone."

  "And you will not have the Maiden's protection for long," Lulach said. "Soon we will mark the end of seven hundred years of the faery spell."

  "It is months until Saint Brighid's day," Alainna said.

  "So what did Black Cormac want?" Niall asked.

  "To take your other hand," Lulach drawled.

  "Baothan," Niall grumbled, "blockhead."

  Giric stifled a laugh. "Peace, I beg of you! Alainna wants all of her kinfolk to bide the winter at Kinlochan. But she has enough to worry her without you two adding to that."

  "Fine, then," Niall said. "Alainna, we saw Esa at her home in the hills last night. She refuses to come to Kinlochan. We even offered to carry her great loom, but she wants to stay by her own hearth."

  "I wish we could convince her to join us," Alainna said.

  "Convince slate to turn to marble," Lulach said. "She has made up her mind."

  "She mourns her Ruari Mor still, though it has been over a year since his death." Alainna sighed. "A bond like theirs—ah, it must be hard to lose the other."

  "We will talk to her again," Giric said. "Now tell us what Cormac wanted."

  "It is obvious what he wants and we should take his head off for it," Lulach said, fisting his hands on his hips.

  "He spoke of marriage," Alainna said. "I will explain later, over some hot porridge. I am hungry." She stepped forward and whistled to Finan, who had strayed to the loch's edge.

  "Cormac MacNechtan thinks to wed our toiseach, our leader, our own youngest one?" Niall asked, as the men walked beside her. "That cannot happen!"

  "Our clans need peace, and she needs a husband, but not that husband," Lulach said.

  "Though it is time you married, Alainna," her brother said.

  "We would never find a warrior willing to join a feud, and who would please this clan," she replied.

  "Marriage to the female chief of Clan Laren offers fine rewards," Niall said. "Forests filled with deer, a loch thick with fish, grass for cattle, a beautiful girl of proud blood—"

  "And a blood feud generations old," Alainna added bitterly.

  "You are our youngest one, the last of our blood," Lulach said. "The right marriage can make our clan safe again."

  Safe. She wanted that for them, so much. Her throat tightened. "But whoever I wed would give his name to our children. What then for Clan Laren?"

  Her kinsmen were silent as they walked beside her.

  "Your husband could take our name," Niall suggested. "It is sometimes done."

  "I have heard of it, but have not seen it done," Lulach said.

  Alainna frowned. "We would never find a man who would accept our troubles, let alone our name."

  "If only you could marry our Giric," Niall said. "He is not your blood kin, and he loves all of us well."

  "But he is her foster brother," Lulach pointed out.

  "It is up to the king to decide whom she will wed," Giric said. "He has the right to choose a husband for an unmarried heiress. Alainna, you must pay homage for your inheritance soon. Ask King William for help in the matter."

  She nodded, realizing that she could appeal to the king before Cormac's petition was considered and approved. "I will, but it must be soon."

  "Giric can ride with you to the royal court," Niall said.

  "The king winters in Dunfermline, two days' journey from here. He will surely know of some Highland warrior hungry for land, and hungry for a feud."

  "What if he suggests a foreign knight?" Lulach asked.

  Niall shook his head. "We will tell him what we want. We are loyal, and he does not want to see an ancient clan disappear. He will support us and find us the Celtic champion that we need."

  "Alainna," Giric said quietly, watching her. "This is what you desire in a husband, is it not?"

  "What pleases my kin pleases me," she said, but her voice trembled suddenly.

  Her secret desire would be impossible to fulfill, she knew. The golden warrior she had seen once in a dream did not exist.

  She turned away, still gripping the old arrow in her hand, and walked toward the rocky slope that led to Kinlochan's wooden gate.

  Chapter 2

  The king's chamberlain called the next petitioner forward. Sebastien stood tall and disinterested on the royal dais, scarcely listening. A woman parted from the crowd, and he glimpsed the gold and bronze sheen of her braided hair as she glided closer.

  His attention was wholly captured then. Silent and still, an honor guard for the king of Scots, he narrowed his eyes, alert. She was like a lush blossom among winter weeds in that crowded chamber, and he could not keep from watching her.

  The two knights standing with him breathed out low whistles. Sounds of admiration rippled through the throng: a gathering of knights, ladies, merchants, peasants, even barbarians from the hills, all of whom waited in the great hall to seek justice from King William. The morning had been tedious, and the girl's appearance broke the monotony.

  Sebastien felt more than relief from boredom: he felt stunned, as if something more remarkable was happening than a girl stepping out of a crowd. He frowned slightly, head high, shoulders straight, a hand on his sword hilt. He could hold that motionless stance for a very long time, ignoring distractions while keeping his attention honed.

  This distraction he could not ignore. Sunlight streaming through high windows transformed her into a vision. She sank to her knees with fluid grace, dressed in a midnight blue gown and a plaid mantle woven in brown and purple.

  The chamberlain asked her to state her name. "Alainne nighean Labhrainn mac Labhrainn an Ceann Lochan," she murmured in Gaelic, although the chamberlain had spoken in English. Sebastien
heard the pride in her low, entrancing voice.

  "Who is the Highland lady?" the knight beside him asked.

  "She is called Alainna MacLaren of Kinlochan," Sebastien answered quietly, pronouncing the name ALL-inna as the girl had done. Hugo and Robert, the two knights who stood flanking Sebastien, both nodded.

  Seated in his chair, William of Scotland leaned toward her, his cropped hair a darker red than hers, and greeted her in Gaelic. Sebastien's position gave him a clear view, and he could easily hear most of what was said as the girl explained her business with the king.

  "Bastien, you have had enough lessons in the native tongue to translate for us." Robert de Kerec, the knight standing to his left, spoke again using English, a habit between them no matter where they were—France, Brittany, England, or Scotland. Robert was his oldest friend, and though both were of Breton origin, they had trained together in England as squires and knights.

  "He has had plenty of instruction." Hugo de Valognes, standing beside Robert, grinned. "The pretty girl who teaches him shares more than Gaelic—though I would wager that Bastien is more teacher than pupil in some things!"

  "We do meet for lessons," Sebastien answered smoothly, staring straight ahead. Hugo chortled and elbowed Robert.

  Most Norman knights at the Scottish court spoke English and French, and most knew little of the native language. Sebastien had mastered French, English, and Latin as a youth, in addition to his native Breton, and Gaelic had proved easy for him. With a three-year tenure of service to the king of Scotland to fulfill, he had welcomed the challenge.

  The knight's daughter had offered to teach him, and as it turned out, she had been eager to enjoy more intimate interests too. He had a natural affinity for both pursuits. Bartering one gentle skill for another was fair, he and the girl had agreed. His teacher liked his quick wit and his flawed handsomeness, and admired his strength and valor, yet she asked no more than the friendship and comfort they gave each other.

  "What else does she say?" Robert asked.

  "Alainna of Kinlochan is the leader of a Highland clan, here to pay homage for her inheritance following her father's death," Sebastien replied.