As Alainna stared, the girl turned and looked at her. Her eyes were kind, their color the soft silver of the light before dawn. Her lovely young face looked familiar, somehow.
"Alainna," the girl said, smiling. Her voice was like a breath of wind. "Peace and grace be to you, and to yours."
"Peace and grace to you, Maiden," Alainna whispered, awed.
The maiden smiled. "When all seemed lost for us, you were our only hope. The legends and the people of Clan Laren were placed in your safekeeping. You honored them, you and your golden warrior, and saved them. Now our clan will live on."
"And you?" Alainna asked. "Will you live on, now that you are free of the stone?"
"I am free," she said, her voice soft as the summer air. "And I will be with my clan once more. You will see me again."
"When?" Alainna asked. "Here?"
"Soon," the maiden said. As the sun rose higher, she became translucent, like a delicate slice of rose quartz.
"Maiden—"
"You will know me," the girl whispered. She vanished with the growing light, only the shadow of the stone remaining where she had stood.
* * *
"Hush," she heard a voice say. "Your mother sleeps."
Alainna opened her eyes. She sat in the summer grass with her back against the pillar stone, the granite warm in the sun. Fresh wildflowers lay pooled in her lap.
She looked up to see Sebastien and Conan sitting in the grass nearby, plucking flowers. Sebastien smiled at her, and tossed another flower into her lap. Finan, ears pricking, watched Conan pull flowers and toss them.
"You slept so peacefully," Sebastien said. "We did not want to disturb you. But the others have gone back up to the fortress, after seeing the castle on the green isle." He stood over her. "Our little adventure on the island this morning tired you out, mo caran. Almost as soon as you sat there to rest, you fell asleep."
She smiled up at him, and at Conan who laughed and stood to run in circles with Finan. She smoothed her hand over the sweet curve of her belly.
"Sebastien," she said, "would you mind if our first child is not a son, but a girl?"
He reached down and took her hand and helped her to her feet. "I would not mind at all," he said. "I would be pleased."
She smiled as she felt his arm settle on her shoulders. The child tumbled within her, a joyful turn. "I think our child will be a girl. A beautiful girl, with pale gold hair and silver-gray eyes."
"I think you must have had a dream," he said as they walked away, with Conan and Finan loping around them in circles.
"I am living a dream," she said, and smiled at him.
The End
Want more from Susan King?
Page forward for a Special Author Note
followed by an excerpt from
THE SWAN MAIDEN
The Celtic Nights Series
Book Two
Dear Reader,
While many clan names originate from Normans who settled in Scotland, a few medieval documents exist to prove that some Norman knights adopted the Celtic names of their Scottish brides, particularly where the bride's inheritance was considerable. Although surnames were not in consistent use in the twelfth century, a prestigious surname symbolized honor, status, and lineage in Norman culture. Highland clan names, which also indicated honorable, ancient heritages, appear in the documents with more frequency, especially as Normans filtered into Scotland.
The fact that Normans sometimes took Scottish names became part of the inspiration for The Stone Maiden. I wondered what might happen if the Norman sense of honor and pride, so essential to twelfth-century knighthood, met its equal in Highland pride and stubbornness.
Generally I am careful not to alter historical fact, but I confess to some creativity regarding the origins of Clan MacLaren. Although the clan traces its roots to a thirteenth-century abbot, I have taken the liberty to provide a more ancient origin, complete with Irish roots. I did take care to preserve their legendary mermaid.
Other aspects of the research for this book led me into the fascinating web of Celtic culture. By the twelfth century, the art of bards and storytellers was already ancient in Scotland. Certain practices described in this novel, such as the "poet's bed" and the use of the silver branch, were used by early Celtic bards, and were still taught to Highland storytellers during the Middle Ages through at least the eighteenth century.
Chants, charms, and invocations of heavenly and elemental powers have been common in the Highlands since ancient days. Many of these beautiful verses were collected by Alexander Carmichael, whose Carmina Gadelica ("Charms of the Gaels") was first published in 1899; a reprint edition was published in 1992 by Floris Books. The verses in The Stone Maiden are based on Carmichael's translations, but are a compilation of some original material with phrases and cadences common to Gaelic songs and chants.
Scotland has an abundance of native stone, and stone carving was an active art in medieval Scotland. Sculptures and carvings, produced in the Lowlands as well as the Highlands, combined Romanesque and Gothic features with Celtic elements in works of extraordinary beauty. Since medieval women played integral roles in the arts in Britain and Europe, it is possible that a woman could have wielded mallet and chisel upon stone in Scotland.
I am particularly grateful to Walter S. Arnold for sharing his expertise with me and for patiently explaining techniques and working methods. As one of the stone carvers chosen to work on the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., he helped to preserve and continue the honored traditions of medieval sculpture. For more information about stone carving, and to see some examples of Mr. Arnold's own work, visit his website at www.stonecarver.com.
Thank you for reading The Stone Maiden in its e-book form. I hope you enjoyed the story–and I hope you'll look for my other e-book re-issues as well as my books in print. Please check out my website at www.susanfraserking.com and look for me on the Word Wenches blog at www.wordwenches.com.
Happy Reading!
Susan King
Page forward and continue your journey
with an excerpt from
THE SWAN MAIDEN
The Celtic Nights Series
Book Two
Excerpt from
The Swan Maiden
The Celtic Nights Series
Book Two
by
Susan King
National Bestselling Author
THE SWAN MAIDEN
Reviews & Accolades
"...a fast-paced, action-packed, enthralling romance."
~Romantic Times Book Club
"With its well-conceived plot, and strong visual elements, this feisty historical romance will enchant."
~Publishers Weekly
Scotland, 1300
An angel flew out of the inferno and sank into the water. Surely it was the most beautiful and terrifying sight he had ever witnessed. Gawain ran forward, water lapping at his boots.
He searched, but did not see the pale slip of a girl who had leaped from the burning tower. Scores of swans glided on the flame-bright surface of the loch, but the girl did not emerge from the water, even as several birds launched upward.
Behind him, the bellow and crackle of the fire grew louder. He heard the commander, Sir Walter de Soulis, demand that the lady of the castle give up her home to him.
Bastard, Gawain thought. He hoped those inside the castle had found an escape somehow, though he doubted it. He was not certain that the girl who had leaped free had survived either.
"You—Avenel! Did the girl come out of the water?" a knight called out as Gawain went past.
He turned. "Nay. Likely she's drowned."
"Or killed by those birds. Swans can fight like demons. If she survives, Sir Walter wants her captured. But we may find the girl's body tomorrow."
Gawain looked up at the swans flying overhead. "The Scots claim that when someone drowns, their soul enters the body of a swan," he said.
"Where did you hear that?"
"When I was a boy. My... nurse was Scottish. There is a legend about enchanted swans on this very loch, if I recall. Each new swan is the soul of someone deceased, they say. Tell Sir Walter she went into the water and is gone," Gawain said.
"Edward of England owns this loch now, and he wants rebels, not children or swans. I do not want to tell Sir Walter the girl has drowned, I swear it." The man looked up at the white birds circling overhead. "How could she change into a swan? The longer I serve in Scotland, the more I believe anything can happen here," the knight drawled, and then walked away.
Glancing away from the burning castle—yet another raid by King Edward's knights on the Scots, yet another injustice that turned his stomach, even though he was part of it—he looked toward the hills for a moment. His boyhood home was somewhere among those slopes. Years ago, he had vowed to find his home again and claim his inheritance, but he had become, by necessity, a knight of King Edward—and so his secret dream seemed remote and impossible now.
He walked along the rocky edge near the burning tower and looked down into the loch. The water lapped at the promontory and sparks sizzled down into the loch like fallen stars. He searched, glancing here and there, not ready to give up on finding the girl who had thrown herself from the tower.
Then he saw the lift of a pale arm, glimpsed a face amid a few swans rippling the water's surface as they swam in agitation. She was there, he was sure—but he did not know if she was drowned or living.
He yanked off his red surcoat, pulled at the leather ties of his chain-mail hood and hauberk, threw off his belt and sword scabbard and struggled out of his gear. Piling all but his trews on the rocks in the fiery light, he slipped into the water, and swam toward the swans with strong, steady strokes. Pausing to tread water, he saw that pale form again, moving among the birds. She was swimming toward the shore. He surged after her.
Swans lurched upward, clumsy leaving the water, lovely in the air—grace lost, grace regained. When the commotion of swans cleared, he saw the girl again, nearing the reeds along the shore. He lunged forward, a few strokes more, and grabbed her. She struggled, but he got an arm around her and tugged her toward shore. When she began to scream, he cupped his hand over her mouth and stilled in the water, holding her close.
"Hush," he breathed out. "Easy! I have you!"
She twisted in his arms and gasped. Shouts sounded on shore. He saw the glare of torches and the glint of armor. Cradling the girl in his arms, he glided into the shelter of the reeds, his feet on the soft bottom of the loch now. He held her with him, low in the water.
"Let me go!" She spoke in Gaelic, but he understood, retaining the language from his childhood.
"Quiet," he hissed in English. "Be still."
"Sassenach!" she spat out. He tightened his hand over her mouth. His arm banded her, encountering soft breasts.
"Let go!" she snapped in English, and kicked his shin. Struggling, she sank, and he tugged her up. She rose sputtering.
"I only want to help you," he muttered.
"Then do not drown me!" she gasped. When she drew breath to scream, he clapped a hand over her mouth again.
"Sweet saints, hush—be mute, like a swan."
"Not all swans are mute," she mumbled behind his hand, and squirmed like a hooked fish.
"So I see, Swan Maiden," he grunted, wrapping a leg around her thighs, tucking her against him like a lover, though passion was the last thing on his mind. "Quiet, if you value your life, or they will catch you. Hush, now."
She stilled then, and slipped her arms around his neck. Her face was silky and wet against his bearded cheek. He felt a fine trembling all along the length of her.
The commander and a few knights walked along the shore and pointed toward the swans, and then at the window from which the girl had escaped. A few swans flapped their wings and hissed loudly. The men backed away.
One bird, huge and gorgeous in the fierce light of the fire, rose from the water and took to the wing, flying so low overhead that Gawain felt the breeze and ducked as it passed.
The girl laughed. "He will not hurt us."
"Hush," Gawain said between his teeth, embarrassed that he had thought otherwise. "You talk too much."
Two knights waded into the reed bed and backed away as the swan circled over their heads, fast and low. Gawain watched, astonished. The bird's protective action could not be deliberate, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.
The girl looked up, her hair streaming around her face. Her eyes were large and dark, her head and shoulders delicately shaped. Her body was lithe and lean in his arms, her breasts lush against his chest. He held her, breathing in tandem, water lapping around their necks.
"They are gone," she whispered after a moment. Her mouth was close to his. Feeling a strong, misplaced urge to kiss her, he pulled away slightly.
"The knights are there, just over the hill," he murmured.
"The swans are gone, too, farther down the loch. Look."
He turned and saw that most of the swans had disappeared. The remaining few glided elegantly over the water. The shore was empty, though shouts continued on the other side of the castle.
Gawain stood cautiously, holding the girl in his arms. The soft floor sucked at his feet as he waded to shore. Water sluiced from them as if they were kelpies rising from the depths. Slung in his arms, sopping wet, she was yet a light burden.
Glancing uneasily toward the castle, he ran along the bank away from the burning tower toward the forest. People waited there in the shadows. A woman stepped between the trees.
"Mother!" the girl said. "Set me down." He did, sweeping his arm around her to hurry her toward the trees.
The shadowed figures came closer, reaching out. A woman pulled the girl into her embrace and swathed her in a thick plaid. Someone offered a blanket to Gawain. He refused it.
The girl turned to look up at him. Her eyes were luminous; in shadows and moonlight, he could not tell their color.
"I am Juliana Lindsay," she said. "Tell me your name, so that I can ask the angels to watch over you."
He frowned. If he told her the name given him at birth—Gabhan MacDuff—she might know him for a local Highlander, and despise him for being with the English. If he told her his English name, Gawain Avenel, she would loathe him for that.
She shivered, waiting, her cheeks pale, hair like strands of honey. He touched her chin with a fingertip.
"Swan Maiden," he murmured. "Call me your Swan Knight in your prayers, and the angels will find me."
She nodded, watching him. Her mother drew her back.
"They are coming this way, knight," the mother said.
"I will lead them away from here. Go! All of you—go!" He waved them back into the forest and turned to run toward the castle, where the inferno still raged, bright and ferocious. As he went, he felt keenly as if the girl and the others watched him from the cover of the trees.
For a moment, he felt as if he left heaven behind him and ran toward hell.
The Swan Maiden
The Celtic Nights Series
Book Two
by
Susan King
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Page forward and complete your journey
with an excerpt from
THE SWORD MAIDEN
The Celtic Nights Series
Book Three
Excerpt from
The Sword Maiden
The Celtic Nights Series
Book Three
by
Susan King
National Bestselling Author
THE SWORD MAIDEN
Reviews & Accolades
"Against the backdrop of the Hundred Years' War, King deftly spins a mystical
Highland romance."
~Publishers Weekly
"Magic, myth and history blend to perfection..."
~Romantic Times Book Club
(Top Pick, K.I.S.S. Award)
"Bewitching... entrancing. Highly recommended!"
~The Romance Readers Connection
Scotland, 1431
Lachlann walked the garron pony over the meadow to the stable, while Eva strolled beside him. She glanced up at him, so tall and strong in the moonlight, his dented armor a dull gleam, his black hair sweeping back. He looked—so familiar, and yet so changed. And she had never thought to see him again.
"How is it you came home to Scotland so sudden in the night, after years gone?" she asked. "Are you well? Your face is scarred. You were wounded in that war over in France."
"I am fine, Eva," he murmured.
"Are you a knight now?"
"I am."
"When did you leave France?"
"A few months ago."
Despite his terseness, she went on. "Are you a knight and a landholder? How did you fare in France? Have you been back in Scotland for long?" She knew she chattered on and could not help it. Stunned by his arrival, she craved the reassurance of their old friendship—if it could ever be reclaimed, after their parting when he had left three years earlier.
"Hold," he said, half laughing. "I have never been as fast at answering your questions as you are at asking them. I am well enough. I came back alive." He shrugged, walking beside her. "A knight, but without land. France was... a harsh place. I returned to Scotland last summer and have been in Perth."
"My cousins came back from France last winter, and told me that the war there is difficult for the French, Scots, and English alike."
"It is war, Eva. Why are you staying here instead of at your home in Innisfarna? I did not expect to find you at my own mother's home, and she gone. And where is..." He paused. "Your husband? You did marry that fellow?"
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] Page 35
