The Heart of Stars

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Why does the laird take them to the Pirate Isles? What does he plan to do there?’ Fèlice asked.

  He looked down at her. She was a dainty girl, and barely reached his shoulder. After a moment he shook his head. ‘I do no’ ken.’

  ‘He means to sacrifice them, doesn’t he? I am no’ a fool, Lewen, I ken what is going on. Oh, Lewen, I am sick with fear for them all!’

  ‘Me too,’ he answered. He could barely frame the words.

  ‘We must go as well,’ Fèlice cried. ‘Ye ken the Dowager Banrìgh, ye have been her squire for years. If we went to her and begged her, would she no’ take us too?’

  Lewen stared at her, and felt a sudden quickening of his blood.

  ‘Canna we go and ask her? She must be taking men, servants, why no’ us too? Come on, Lewen, let’s go and ask her now. She’s preparing to leave this very moment. Come on!’

  She took his hand and dragged at it, and Lewen went with her, his heart beginning to pound. It was the waiting that was so hard. The hours went past so slowly. All along he had been thinking, If only I could have flown with her! If only I could have gone too!

  As they hurried over the lawn towards the palace, two tall, brown-haired boys raced towards them, their faces alive with excitement. One was nineteen, the other eighteen, and they had, with Fèlice and her friend Landon and two other girls, travelled with Nina and Finn’s caravan through Ravenshaw.

  ‘Have ye heard the news? The laird o’ Fettercairn has got away,’ Cameron cried.

  ‘He’s out to sea, headed for the Pirate Isles,’ said Rafferty.

  ‘The Dowager Banrìgh sails after him today … she and that weather-witch, Stormy Briant.’

  ‘And the captain o’ the guards!’

  ‘She has no squires left but ye,’ Cameron said. ‘Fymbar o’ Blèssem is heading home with his mother tomorrow, and Alasdair MacFaghan and his sister are both attending their mother, who sleeps still, is it no’ peculiar? And Aindrew and Barnabas MacRuraich have left court too.’

  ‘That only leaves the MacAhern’s son, and they ride home for Tìreich this afternoon,’ Rafferty interpolated. ‘So ye see …’

  ‘She has no squires left but ye,’ Cameron said in a rush.

  ‘Surely she’ll be wanting someone to wait on her, and run messages, and … and pour her wine,’ Rafferty said. ‘If ye ask her …’

  ‘Maybe …’

  ‘Maybe she’ll take us too!’

  ‘Will ye ask her, Lewen? Ye’ll be going, won’t ye?’

  Fèlice had been dancing up and down in her excitement and now she butted in impatiently, ‘That’s where we’re going now, to ask her!’

  ‘What, ye too?’ Cameron jeered. ‘Lassies canna be squires!’

  ‘Nay, but I could be her lady-in-waiting,’ Fèlice replied. ‘Come on! Let’s go!’

  They all hurried towards the palace. Lewen felt an almost painful anxiety, in case they were too late, or in case Iseult did not wish for him to attend on her. He had not seen the Dowager Banrìgh since the night of Lachlan’s murder. He had been confined to bed, with concussion and a few cracked ribs from tying himself to the clapper of the big bell, and she had been locked away in her room, grieving. He did not even know if she realised he was the one who had saved Rhiannon from hanging. It was Iseult that had given the order for Rhiannon to be hung, and he feared she might resent his intervention. His friends seemed to have no doubt that Iseult would want him back, but Lewen felt no such confidence. She was very proud and stern, the Dowager Banrìgh, and Lewen had never felt anything but an awestruck respect for her. She was not one to forgive easily, he felt, and he could only hope she did not know, or mind, that Lewen was the one who had stopped her orders from being carried out.

  Their friend Landon was waiting for them outside the ornate palace gate. He wore his black apprentice robe as usual, having few other clothes, and it hung off his bony shoulders. ‘I just heard the news?’ he gasped, breathless. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘That the Banrìgh … the Dowager Banrìgh, I mean … that she sails after the laird o’ Fettercairn? I dinna ken,’ Lewen replied. ‘I think it may be. She is a Khan’cohban, remember, and a warrior. She has always ridden to war.’

  ‘I would so love to be there, at the end,’ Landon said, his face glowing. ‘Think o’ the ballad I could write! Do ye think …?’

  ‘We go to ask,’ Fèlice cried. ‘Surely she will let us go! We are the ones who first discovered what Laird Malvern was up to! If it was no’ for us …’

  ‘And Rhiannon,’ Landon said.

  ‘… no-one would ken aught about him at all. Come on, Landon, can ye run? I’m so afraid we’ll be too late and she’ll have gone already.’

  They raced up the back stairs, avoiding servants who were scurrying everywhere with armfuls of armour, or piles of thick grey cloaks, or scrolls of maps, or trays of food and drink. The guards outside the Banrìgh’s suite of rooms knew Lewen well, and although they frowned at the sight of his mob of excited friends, they agreed to take word to Iseult that Lewen was here, begging for audience. One went in, and the other stood on guard, staring straight ahead and trying to ignore the excited students, who milled about, waiting expectantly, and chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen.

  At last the other guard came back and opened the door for them, saying tersely, ‘She will see ye, but be quick! She leaves for the river-boat in less than ten minutes.’

  Lewen led the way into Iseult’s suite, his hands suddenly clammy and his throat thick. The Dowager Banrìgh was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in old leather gaiters and boots, and a scarred leather cuirass worn over a mail shirt of supple, gleaming silver. Under one arm was her steel-enforced leather helmet. In her other hand she held her crossbow, with her quiver of arrows set on a chair nearby. Lewen was pleased to see it was heavy with arrows he had fletched himself. This gave him hope that the Dowager Banrìgh had forgiven him for what she must see as a betrayal, at worst, and insubordination at best.

  Her expression was not encouraging. She glanced up as Lewen came in and made his bow, and her eyebrows rose at the sight of Fèlice, Cameron, Rafferty and Landon clustering close behind him.

  ‘What is it, Lewen?’ she demanded. ‘Make it quick, for I have a boat waiting for me on the loch, and I wish to make Dùn Gorm afore dawn.’

  Lewen was startled, for it was a journey of several days along the river from Lucescere to Dùn Gorm. She must be very confident of the wind she could whistle up to fill their sails.

  ‘Please, Your Highness … I mean, my lady … I beg o’ ye, may we come too, to serve ye and help ye?’ Lewen said in a rush. ‘We are all part o’ the story, from the very beginning. This is Lady Fèlice, the daughter o’ the Earl o’ Stratheden, and Cameron MacHamish, who was squire at Ravenscraig afore he came to the Theurgia, and Landon MacPhillip, from Magpie Wood in Ravenshaw, and Rafferty MacDonovan from Tullimuir. We all travelled with Nina and Iven, if ye remember, and took refuge at Fettercairn Castle in the storm. We all ken Laird Malvern … we’ve fought him once afore and we … we want to help lay him by the heels.’ He had been going to say something about Rhiannon, but at the last moment did not dare, and so ended rather lamely, wishing he had Iven Yellowbeard’s way with words.

  Iseult frowned, looking at them each in turn, then returned her attention to her weapons belt which she was strapping about her waist.

  ‘Please, Your Highness,’ Lewen said again. ‘We’ll do anything we can to help.’

  ‘Having a mob o’ bairns on board is no’ going to help me,’ she replied coolly. ‘I’m sorry, but we must travel fast. This is no’ a pleasure trip.’

  ‘Please, Your Highness,’ Cameron cried. ‘We can be your squires! We can carry your bow and arrows …’

  ‘Thank ye, but I’ll carry them myself,’ she answered.

  ‘We can run messages for ye.’

  ‘On board a ship? What messages would I want run?’

  ‘We ken Laird Malvern,’ Fèlice cried. ‘We c
an point him out to ye. We can tell ye how he thinks.’

  Iseult looked at her long and hard. ‘So ye are Lady Fèlice o’ Stratheden, are ye?’ she said. ‘The one that sang the ballad o’ Rhiannon’s Ride and stirred up so much trouble with the faeries?’

  Fèlice coloured and dropped her gaze. ‘Aye, my lady.’

  Iseult regarded her with a long, frowning gaze, Fèlice growing pinker by the moment, then switched her gaze to Landon. ‘And ye are the poet?’

  ‘Aye, my lady.’ Landon pressed his thin, bony hands together imploringly.

  Iseult’s frown deepened. One of her ladies came with a thick grey cloak and fastened it about her shoulders, then Iseult bent and picked up her quiver, slinging it over her back.

  ‘I will need a squire,’ she said. ‘Lewen, I can see from the bruise on your temple that ye are no’ yet in the best o’ shape. Stay here at Lucescere and recover your strength. Lady Fèlice, the fact that ye are here does no’ give me a very high view o’ your intelligence. Do ye seriously think your father would thank me for allowing ye to join such a dangerous venture?’

  ‘But, my lady!’ Fèlice cried, tears starting to her eyes.

  Iseult narrowed her eyes. ‘Stay home and sew your sampler,’ she advised. ‘Ye, the poet. I’m sorry, but ye do no’ look strong enough for the job. Ye are a scholar, no’ a squire. We will be sailing fast, and the seas will be high. This blaygird laird has conjured up a tempest to try and stop us. I need someone who can stay the course, and can fight if needed.’

  As Landon drooped with disappointment, she turned to the last two, who stared at her pleadingly. She looked them over critically.

  ‘Cameron. I’ve heard o’ ye. The MacBrann said ye were a good lad, but I have doubts about your discretion. Flapping ears and a flapping tongue are no’ qualities I want in a squire.’

  Cameron went red to the tips of his ears. There was no doubt he knew what Iseult was talking about. He wished he dared explain to the Dowager Banrìgh that the MacBrann had known him since he was a mere lad, and had quizzed him thoroughly about everything that had happened on his journey from Ravenscraig to Lucescere, keeping him answering questions for over an hour. The MacBrann was his lord and prionnsa; it had not even occurred to Cameron that he should not make as full a report as he could. Given the same circumstances, he would again.

  Iseult had turned her attention to Rafferty. ‘Ye are the lad that ran messages for Lewen on Midsummer Eve, are ye no’?’

  ‘Aye, my lady,’ he answered eagerly.

  ‘I would’ve done it too, if Lewen had no’ asked me to help him search for the prionnsa … I mean, the Rìgh!’ Cameron said indignantly. ‘Oh, please, my lady, canna we both come? Ye’ll want someone on hand all day and all night!’

  She looked them over critically. ‘Can ye ice-skate?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘Och, aye, my lady, o’ course we can,’ Cameron said. ‘We come from the highlands o’ Ravenshaw! There’s naught else to do there in winter.’

  Iseult sighed. ‘Very well. Both o’ ye can come. Ye’ll no’ have much time to prepare, though. Report to the mistress of the wardrobe, and she’ll give ye a surcoat and badge, and a sword. I’m presuming ye ken how to use one?’

  ‘Aye, my lady!’ the boys cried in great delight.

  ‘Ask her to fit ye for ice-skates. Auld ones o’ Owein and Donncan’s would probably do. Ye may need a change o’ clothes too. There’s no time for ye to go back to your own rooms, so ask the wardrobe to give ye aught ye need. Meet us down at the wharf in half an hour. Ye’ll have to run! We’re taking a river barge called the Jessamine. If ye are no’ there when I am, ye will be left behind. Is that clear?’

  ‘Aye, my lady!’

  ‘Get going then. I’ll see ye at the Jessamine.’

  Joyously the two boys hurried out of the room, punching and jostling each other in their usual fashion. Scoured with bitter disappointment and hurt, Lewen bowed and then turned to go, Fèlice and Landon leading the way disconsolately.

  ‘Lewen,’ the Dowager Banrìgh said gently.

  He turned back, barely able to see for the shameful tears that rose up in a mist before his eyes. Fèlice glanced back at him, her face pinched with misery, then went on with Landon, gently shutting the door behind them.

  ‘I’m sorry, I ken ye are disappointed,’ Iseult said. ‘Ye are o’ little use to me, though, with a broken head and ribs. Ye’re far better resting here, and recovering.’

  Lewen put one hand up to the nasty bruise at his temple. ‘It’s just a bruise,’ he said defensively. ‘Owein’s given me worse bashing me over the head with a practice sword.’

  ‘They tell me ye were badly jarred and shaken up,’ Iseult said. ‘Ye lay unconscious for close on a day. The seas will be rough and nasty indeed. I do no’ want to risk hurting ye again.’

  ‘Please, my lady. Please.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. Indeed, I think it for the best.’

  Unable to speak, or even bow his head again, Lewen turned to go.

  ‘I am glad your thigearn lass managed to save Roden,’ Iseult said, with obvious difficulty. ‘And she almost had the laird by the heels, I heard. They’ve lost four or five men, did ye ken? She did well.’

  ‘She’s flown after them,’ Lewen said miserably, not turning around. ‘Over the sea. Blackthorn canna fly so far. They’ll never make it.’

  ‘She seems a canny lass,’ Iseult said after a moment. ‘I’m sure she will no’ risk her horse unnecessarily. And remember, Isabeau flew to the Pirate Isles in the shape o’ a swan. It can be done.’

  Lewen turned back to her, hope lighting his features. ‘Isabeau did?’

  ‘Aye. When Margrit o’ Arran kidnapped Donncan and Neil, when they were but bairns. Isabeau flew after them and rescued them. That was when Margrit died. That is how her body comes to lie in the Pirate Isles. Ye have no’ heard that story?’

  Lewen shook his head dumbly.

  ‘One day, when I have time, I will bid Dide to tell ye the tale. For now, do no’ worry so for your wild girl. If Isabeau can fly to the Fair Isles in the shape o’ a swan, so too can that winged horse.’

  ‘Except a swan is built for long-distance flying,’ Lewen said glumly. ‘A winged horse is no’.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Iseult said, trying not to sound impatient. ‘Let us hope she catches up with them quickly, and saves my bairns for me! Then I’ll be grateful for your damned interference, Lewen.’

  He managed a faint smile, bowed and left her, conscious only that once again he was being left behind.

  As soon as the door shut behind them, Fèlice turned and seized Landon by the arm.

  ‘Come on!’ she cried.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Landon asked, bewildered, as she towed him hastily down the corridor.

  ‘Ye do no’ think I’m really going to just sit at home and sew my sampler, do ye?’ Fèlice was seething with indignation. ‘No, we have to get on that boat somehow. It’ll be tricky, no doubt o’ that. We’ll have to have one o’ those badges she was talking about.’

  ‘Ye want us to stow away?’ Landon was aghast.

  Fèlice smiled at him. ‘If we can. If no’, we’ll have to pretend to be cabin boys or something. Come on! We havena time to go back to the Theurgia if the boat sails in half an hour. Have ye got your dagger on ye?’

  Landon nodded dumbly, his hand going to his witch’s dagger which hung at his side as always.

  ‘Excellent,’ Fèlice said, and opened a door at random, dragging Landon behind her and banging the door shut behind them. ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘What are ye going to do?’ Landon asked, even as he unsheathed his knife and gave it to her.

  ‘Cut my hair, o’ course,’ she answered impatiently. She seized a hank of her silky brown hair in one hand and sliced it off just below her ear with the sharp edge of the knife. Landon gasped in horror as she dropped it and sliced off another hank.

  ‘Fèlice, no!’ he cried, even thoug
h it was too late.

  ‘I canna pretend to be a cabin boy with hair down to my knees,’ she answered impatiently. ‘Is there a mirror in here anywhere? I have to make sure it is even.’

  She looked about the dim, quiet room. All the furniture was covered with dustsheets, and the hearth was clean and bare. Fèlice uncovered a tall mirror in the corner by the empty washstand.

  ‘I look perfectly horrid,’ she said in delight. ‘Look at me! If it wasna for the dress, ye’d think I was a snotty-nosed cabin boy for sure! Now, what are ye wearing beneath your robe, Landon?’

  He crimsoned, and said in a rather stifled voice, ‘Just my shirt and breeches. It’s cold, ye ken, and I havena anything else to wear, so I …’

  ‘Excellent,’ Fèlice cried, not bothering to listen to the end of his sentence. ‘Strip them off, there’s a good lad.’

  ‘But why?’ He made no move to obey, shrinking away from her in mortification.

  ‘Unless ye want to be the one to go to the mistress o’ the wardrobe and get us a badge, like Rafferty and Cameron? No? I dinna think so! Much better if ye wait here and I go. Once I’m dressed in your clothes, no-one will guess I’m really a lass.’

  ‘Ye really mean to go ahead with this? It’s madness! We’ll be caught for sure.’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, at least we would’ve tried. What can they do to us? Rake us over the coals, no doubt, but so what? Better than going home like good little bairns, while Cameron and Rafferty get to have all the fun. Come on, Landon! Stop arguing with me, and give me your clothes, else we’ll miss the boat and I’ll have cut my hair for naught.’

  Shivering in the cold, Landon did as he was told, hiding himself under the voluminous folds of his apprentice robe. Fèlice grabbed his clothes and retreated behind a screen to change. When she emerged, she looked entirely different. With her cropped hair and her slim body clad in the shabby, threadbare clothes of the young poet, she looked just like a rough country boy. She gave Landon a jerky bow and said, with the broad accent of the highlands, ‘’Scuse me, sir, but I was wondering if ye could be telling me the way to the docks?’