Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01]

by The Stone Maiden

  "My cousin Malcolm made this tomb for them," she said, brushing away the dust on its surface. "Malcolm is not buried here, for he died in Glasgow and was laid to rest there. He made my mother's stone, just there, when I was a small child. She never knew the sorrow that came to us later."

  Sebastien nodded. Tall and broad-shouldered in his armor, his hair sheened gold in the candlelight, he seemed to fill the tiny space. Quiet power radiated from him, bringing a sense of comfort and security that Alainna had rarely experienced before.

  That tangible steadfastness came from more than a muscled, skillful body, or the reassurance of few words. He emanated a reserve of inner strength. She wanted to draw from it as she might draw water from a well. She desperately wanted to give him something of herself, too, but she was not sure how to do that, and not sure what he would accept from her.

  He seemed a private, guarded man, but she had glimpsed compassion, gentleness, and tenderness in him. His brief references to his childhood revealed vulnerability that contrasted the hard shield of his power.

  Strange, she thought, glancing up at him in the shadows, to have such thoughts about a man she had once thought only to resent and resist. Strange to think, too, that soon she would be married to him. That thought stirred a subtle excitement that quickened her heartbeat like a drum.

  He turned to the tomb beside her mother's. "And your father's stone? Who carved this, if your cousin was gone?"

  "I did this." She traced her fingers along the interlaced border that framed a knight holding a sword, with a fortress carved beneath.

  "You?" He sent her a keen glance. "My God, girl." His voice was hushed, awed. She blinked tears away again, and turned to stand beside him, her arm pressing his in the small space. He did not shift away, his solidity a comfort. She stroked the stone, so familiar to her fingers.

  "Sandstone is easy to carve," she said. "It falls away from the chisel like dry clay, and does not take long to work. I do not generally carve it, for its dust is unpleasant and causes a bad cough. But Malcolm had cut the other slabs of the same stone, and we had several blocks of it. We have endured so many deaths, you see," she said softly. "We had many tombstones and crosses to carve in the years that Malcolm was with us. There are more stones here in the crypt, and several outside the church, for other members of my clan.

  "But this one," she said, stroking her father's effigy, "this one I needed to do myself."

  He covered her hand in his. The heat of his palm sank into her, flowed into her blood like wine. She curled her fingers around his thumb, and they stood, hands interlocked, in silence.

  "It must be unbearable to have lost them all," he said.

  "I still have the others," she said. Will I have you? she wanted to ask, but held it back.

  He squeezed her hand lightly and let go. She wanted that warmth back again, almost reached for it. But he turned away.

  "Come," he said. "Your kin await you outside the church. I have met Father Padruig, and he is eager to talk to us about the marriage arrangements."

  She picked up the candle and moved through the crypt with him. "We can only talk to him briefly. It is a full league to travel home again, out in the open with the old ones."

  "You and your kin are safe among so many armored knights."

  "I know. Cormac will not attack us on a Sabbath day. He respects the laws of the Church." She paused. "But your safety worries me. Yours, when you meet with Cormac."

  "We will be battle ready in case he thinks of treachery."

  "He will. What then?"

  "Then we fight," he answered simply.

  She heaved out a sigh. "Men fight," she said. "And women wait. And I am weary of it all. Am I to choose a husband, only to lose him so soon?"

  "You will not lose me," he said. He stood an arm's length from her in the shadows, his voice deep and gentle. Something ached within her to hear those words. She had lost so many—father, brothers, kinsmen. She wanted desperately to believe him now.

  Suddenly she yearned to reach out to him, to feel his strength surround her. But the space between them seemed a wide gap. She felt uncertain and turned away, the candle flickering in her trembling hand. "At least if you leave for Brittany, you might return here someday. If you leave for Turroch, you may never return."

  "I will return from both places." His voice was calm.

  "You may not," she insisted. Longing and fear sharpened. "And so it is, for the men in my family, to go out to battle with MacNechtans and not return! Do you think I want that for you, too? I do not!" She whirled to go to the stairs.

  He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him, taking the candle from her hand and setting it aside. "Come here," he said gruffly, pulling her toward him.

  He slid his hand along her jaw and tipped her face toward his. "Would I take a wife, and leave her so soon?" he asked as if half to himself. "Am I such a fool as that?"

  "Are you?" she whispered.

  "Never," he said, and touched his mouth to hers.

  His lips were dry and warm, his kiss tender. She moaned soft and grabbed his forearms, swathed in chained steel. His hand cupped her head, and his fingers slipped into the thickness of her hair above the heavy braids that hung down.

  She tilted her head to accept a deeper kiss, her heart pounding. A force rose from the kiss, swirling down into her body and shivering along her backbone like a torrent, like wind and flame and water all at once.

  He drew back and rested his brow against hers, his hands still framing her face. "Jesu," he whispered hoarsely.

  She tilted toward him, yearning for more of the incredible marvel she had discovered in his arms. He only kissed her cheek.

  "If I am to be near you so much, I had better wed you, or risk dishonor."

  "There are some kinds of dishonor," she murmured, "that I know naught about."

  "Better you never learn," he whispered.

  "I am curious," she answered, tilting her face toward his, closing her eyes. He kissed her again, harder than before, his mouth demanding and sure, his hand cradling the back of her head. He pulled her to him at the waist, curve to countercurve as he bent over her.

  She rose on her toes, looping her arms around his waist, stunned by what she felt, how soothing, how perfect it was to kiss him and to be kissed, to be wrapped in his embrace. Chain mail bit into her through layered wool, and she felt the taut support of solid muscle beneath.

  His mouth lifted away and she turned, seeking him again. He made a breathy groan and slanted his lips over hers once more, open and full. His hands slid around to cup her face. She grasped his bare, sinewed wrists as if they were the buttress that held her upright. She craved more, conveying that with her lips, all the while sinking into the thrill that whirled through her body.

  "Ah," said a voice above them, "I see it is not too soon to talk about making a marriage."

  Alainna gasped, tore away, looked up. Father Padruig grinned at them from the top of the steps.

  "Come up, come up," he said. "Out of the darkness and into the light, if you will. That crypt can be cold enough to freeze the devil's own nose—though you two found a way to make some heat, eh?" He chortled and waved them upward.

  * * *

  "But Father Padruig," Alainna asked, her voice rising a little in anxious pitch, "a little while ago you agreed we should be wed. Now you say we should not?" She looked incredulously at the priest, and then at Sebastien.

  The priest's announcement had puzzled him as much as it did Alainna, but Sebastien remained silent, merely lifting a brow.

  "I know your reasons for wanting to be wed," Father Padruig said. His English was rapid and lilting. "And I am thinking it is unwise for me to witness your marriage now."

  "Unwise?" Alainna said. "It is unwise to ignore what the king has ordered! My clan could lose Kinlochan altogether, and the king could grant the land to some other Norman knight. We need Sebastien and his men to help us resist Clan Nechtan. This marriage is imperative for us. Neither of us have
a choice."

  "Nevertheless, I believe you should wait a while. Unless you want to handfast. That might work."

  "Work?" Alainna asked. "Do we need some scheme? What are you talking about?"

  Sebastien frowned, his thoughts racing as Alainna continued her earnest argument with the priest. They stood clustered in the nave of the plain stone church. Daylight poured in from two unshuttered windows. Outside, he could hear faint conversation among the members of Clan Laren and the king's knights.

  Raised by pious, quiet monks, Sebastien had never encountered a religious quite like Father Padruig. The priest looked more like a seasoned warrior with his broad, muscular build, his large hands, and his florid, weatherbeaten face. Although he wore his thick reddish hair in the ear-to-ear tonsure of the Celtic priests, he hardly seemed priestlike.

  Sebastien found Padruig to be intelligent and book-learned, affectionate and even boisterous in character. He had embraced Alainna like a daughter, pounded Sebastien on the back like a drinking comrade, and punctuated his speech with a rippling, contagious laugh.

  "Let me explain," Father Padruig said, lifting a thick forefinger in the air. "If I witness the marriage between you, as must be done on the porch step of the church while you speak your own vows, any and all will know you are wed."

  Alainna nodded. "That is how it is done."

  "If I agree to witness your union," Father Padruig went on, his finger lifted as if testing the wind, "before you stand on the porch step, I must post the banns for three Sundays. For some, that is a short time. In this case, it is too long."

  "Do you think we are so lustful that we cannot wait... oh—" Alainna stopped, sounding embarrassed. Sebastien pinched back a smile, but Father Padruig snorted in amusement.

  "I understand what the good father means," Sebastien said. "He thinks a public marriage is not safe."

  Padruig nodded. "If I witness your marriage, word will get to Cormac. He is unpredictable, and you do not want to aggravate him further. Wait, and let Sebastien negotiate the king's orders with Cormac first. Cormac must give up this belief that he has first claim to Alainna's hand."

  "The king requires a copy of our marriage contract," Sebastien said. "And I have promised to sail for Brittany in the spring. How long do you intend to wait before posting the banns?"

  "A challenge for you two to wait, eh? But there is more to a marriage than carnal pleasures, you know. And I suspect that neither of you is at peace with this marriage. You both need time to think about this."

  Sebastien saw Alainna turn away suddenly, as if the priest's remarks distressed her. "The king has made this decision for us, Father," he said. "According to the writ I hold"—he tapped his belt pouch—"the marriage contract must be in the king's hands or the charter to Kinlochan will not be final. Alainna and her kin could indeed lose much if the marriage is not made, and soon."

  "You could handfast," Padruig said.

  Sebastien looked at Alainna in surprise. She frowned.

  "Make vows before witnesses to be together for a year and a day," Father Padruig said. "If you cannot agree on the matters between you at the end of that time, then you can be done with each other. There will be no obligation between you unless there is a child. Sebastien must acknowledge the child, of course, but marriage does not have to take place even then."

  "It would satisfy the king's order," Alainna said slowly. "We can make a marriage contract and sign it, as is done with betrothals."

  "No banns need be posted for handfasting," Father Padruig said. "Cormac will not hear of it before you want him to know."

  "A good plan," Sebastien said.

  Alainna nodded, eyes downcast.

  "I suggest that you handfast on Christmas, or the eve before," Father Padruig said. "That is excellent luck. A good future for you both. You will resolve your conflicts well with that sort of omen." He smiled.

  Sebastien noticed that Alainna's cheeks bloomed a lovely pink. She turned away and hastened toward the door.

  * * *

  The wind was brisk and billowing as Alainna walked beside Sebastien in silence on the return to Kinlochan. Some of the others walked ahead, while more trailed behind, leaving a circle of privacy around them.

  After a while she sighed. "So we will handfast, and neither one of us wanting to do it," she said. "I am sure you want a French or a Breton wife, and a home there."

  "And you want a Celtic warrior." He glanced at her. "A paragon of myth, a strong man to ride out of the mists and defeat your enemy, and father a new branch of Clan Laren."

  She lifted her face to the winds. "I do."

  "I am not that man," he replied.

  "You could be," she said on impulse, her heart pounding.

  "I have planned another life," he said firmly.

  "And I am not a French noblewoman, nor do I care to be."

  He walked beside her without reply, his stride long and leisurely. He looked upward, his eyes gray and sad.

  "Will you take my name, sir knight, and give it to your children?" she asked.

  "Will you take mine," he countered quietly, "and give it to your children?"

  "I cannot. An ancient clan will disappear if I do that."

  "And I have fought my entire life to bring some worth to my name so that I could found a new legacy."

  "You have brought worth to yourself," she said. "What name you use would not change that."

  She heard him sigh as he gazed at the hills. She sighed too, walking beside him. "What are we to do, Sebastien?"

  "Somehow we are to make a marriage out of this."

  "And if we have children?" she asked.

  "There are ways," he said, "to avoid that."

  She looked at him, stunned. "That is not what I want in a marriage." Tears pricked her eyes. "I want children, and a husband who wants me and my kinfolk."

  "Do you think this pleases me?" he asked bluntly. "I must choose between you or my son. The choice seemed easier when I first came here," he added softly, looking away. "It grows more difficult each day."

  "If we do not turn the handfasting into a marriage," she said, "we can both be free in a year and a day."

  He nodded slowly. "It may be the only path out of this tangle. Robert and some of the others can remain here after I leave, and supervise the building of the castle. Your people greatly need the crown's protection. The king may be willing to negotiate, and portion the land between us."

  "Is it possible?" She felt a glimmer of hope.

  "Much can happen in a year's time."

  "You and I understand each other," she said, the idea taking better form in her mind. "We know what the other wants. We can give each other the company of a friend, and say no word to anyone of our plans to part at the end of the year."

  He looked at her and lifted an eyebrow. The scar along his left eye gave him a tough, roguish appearance. His eyes were the somber color of the cloudy sky. "Is this an offering of peace, my lady?" he asked.

  "It is," she said. "For a year and a day."

  He walked beside her in silence, his stride strong and agile. "So be it, then," he said finally. He smiled, slow and sad.

  She returned an uncertain smile. For several moments, her steps were even with his. "I will visit Esa tomorrow if the weather allows," she said after a while. "I will ask her to come to Kinlochan."

  "Ah, the mysterious Esa. I look forward to meeting her." He spoke in the cool tone that she knew he sometimes used to mask his thoughts. She wondered if he suspected that Ruari MacWilliam was alive, and if he would talk to Esa about it. If so, she was determined that he would discover nothing that could bring harm to any of her kinfolk.

  Earlier, she had told Giric about Ruari. He had reacted as she had expected, with perfect calm. She knew that he would keep the secret.

  "I must ask my kinsmen which one of them will come to see Esa with me," Alainna said. She looked behind her and paused while Niall, Lulach, and Giric came toward them.

  She explained what she wanted to do
. "Once we have deep snow, it will not be easy to fetch Esa to Kinlochan," she added.

  "It will not be easy no matter when you go," Niall said.

  "I want Esa to be here for our handfasting," Alainna said. "I hope one of you will go with me."

  "Huh," Lulach said. "I would sooner rip an oak from the ground than fetch Esa out of her house. She is sweet but stubborn."

  "Ach," Alainna said. "I will get her to come with me. You just do not know how to do it." She smiled.

  "We have tried three times of late," Lulach said. "She refuses, so calm and dear that we hardly know she's refusing. But that woman is like a piece of stone."

  "I know how to work stone," Alainna said, still smiling. "Which of you will go with me? Niall? You enjoy seeing Esa."

  "I will not come," Niall said. "She would make me do all her chores, and I would end up carrying that great loom of hers on my back down the mountain—if she would even leave her little house. Which she will not."

  "Giric? You will come."

  "Alainna, I promised the knights I would take them out deer hunting tomorrow. Can we go the next day?"

  "I do not want to wait," she said. "The weather will worsen. Una says she is certain of that. And I want Esa here for the handfasting and for Christmas. Lulach?"

  "Donal and I are going to clean the forge and make repairs over the next few days," he said. "Una and Morag want the fortress cleaned and made proper for the new year. There is much to be done to please them."

  "You go," Niall said to Lulach. "You have been a fool for Esa since you were an infant."

  "Me? You were the one in love with Esa!" Lulach barked.

  "I think you both loved her," Giric interrupted. "I have heard it said that when Esa married Ruari she broke a hundred hearts."

  "I must meet this woman," Sebastien said, sounding amused. "I will go with you, Alainna."

  "You?" she squeaked, and looked quickly at Giric, who frowned. "Lome might go with me," she said quickly.