Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (18 page)

"Oh, foolish things,"
she laughed. "A new horse or a ring with a blue stone—"

"And did ye get them?"

"The horse I did get,"
she said. "My father won at dicing and came home leading a dappled palfrey.
He usually did win, but not so much as he did that time. We ate well for a
month."

"He gambled, then?"
Alistair asked, frowning a little.

"Oh, aye. 'Twas rather a
haphazard sort of life, I suppose, though I never thought about it then. I
thought it was all great fun. One day it would be new gowns and wax candles and
meat at every meal and then Father's luck would turn and it was back to
porridge and rushdips. But no matter what we had upon the table, there was
company to share it. And we would be merry, always..."

Alistair was looking down at her
hand, still held in his. "You should have rings," he said, lightly
teasing. "One for this finger—" he set it to his lips. "And this
one—and this—"

His lips were soft and warm upon
her hand. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"You should have had at
least one ring today," he said, and she opened her eyes at the sudden
seriousness of his tone. "I'm sorry."

"Hush, now," she said,
with a nervous laugh. "Where would you have found one in the time?"

He smiled without answering and
ran one finger along her palm. She shivered in bright sunlight.

"Well, ring or no ring, it
was good enough to convince the Maxwells," he said. "Poor Kinnon—I
wonder what he'll tell the old toad?"

Her laughter sounded strained to
her own ears, and so quickly, before he could notice, she said, "They
won't be back, will they?"

"They might. And we really
should decide what to do next, what ye
want
to do next. But I canna stay
now. I must see the laird and hear whatever it is he brought me here to
say."

He rose to his feet in one fluid
motion and bowed. "Until tonight, then."

She watched him walk away, her
eyes moving over his broad strong shoulders and straight line of his back. Then
her eyes turned to Maeve, laughing delightedly with Malcolm. For all its
troubles, this could be a good place. A good place for Maeve, a good place for
her...and Alistair? 

She closed her eyes and imagined
herself and Alistair here in the garden, with Alyson and Jemmy and their
child...oh, she was a bonny lass, with her father's dark hair and long dark
eyes...

"Mama!"

Deirdre sat up quickly, still
half dazed with her dream, as Maeve ran toward her, and for a moment it seemed
another child ran beside Maeve, a boy so like Alistair it twisted her heart,
with yellow hair and bright blue eyes... Then she blinked and realized that
this part at least was true. Maeve was hanging on the hand of the golden-haired
boy as she dragged him forward, Malcolm following behind.

"Lady Maxwell," Malcolm
said, "This is Lady Alyson's brother, Robin."

"How do you do?"
Deirdre said, studying him with interest. So this was the boy who had been held
hostage by Lord Darnley to force Alyson into her near-fatal deception the year
before. He was not much like his sister, Deirdre thought, not as Haddon Darnley
was. With his sky-blue eyes and golden hair, Robin had the look of a young
angel, an image accentuated by the sweetness of his smile.

"Your sister will be glad to
see you!" Deirdre said.

"And I her," the boy
answered shyly.

"Robin's been off with his
mother's people, the McLarans," Malcolm explained. "They live in the
Highlands."

"Did you enjoy it?"
Deirdre asked.

"Oh, aye. 'Tis very
beautiful."

Maeve was gazing up at him, her
small face glowing.

"Did ye see the
giants?" she asked suddenly.

"Giants?"

"Star said they have giants
up there."

"Sir Alistair," Deirdre
explained. "He was telling her stories."

"Ah," Robin said. He
knelt down and looked at Maeve seriously. "Do ye know, lass, I didn't see
a one. I looked and looked, but they must have all been sleeping."

Maeve smiled brilliantly. "They
sleep a lot," she said confidentially.

"Aye, I've heard the
same."  Robin stood and added, "I must see Ally now."

"Robin."  Deirdre
inclined her head. "And Maeve—come here, now, turn Robin loose."

"Another ride?" Malcolm
suggested.

Maeve looked from Robin to
Malcolm, her eyes large and serious. "All right," she said, turning
her smile on Malcolm. "Horsy!"

But even as Malcolm bent to take
her on his back, Deirdre noted the way her daughter's eyes lingered on Robin as
he walked from the garden.

"I
don't think
he'll wake tonight," Master Kerian said, straightening from the bed and
giving Alistair a sympathetic glance. "I'll send for ye if he does."

"I'll sit a while."

The physician shrugged and moved
to the far end of the chamber, where he busied himself at a long table holding
the various tools of his trade.

Alistair regarded Gawyn Kirallen
sadly. It seemed unlikely the laird would wake again, and maybe it was best
that way. His profile was hawk-sharp now, the flesh stripped from his bones,
and his breath rasped in and out in a slow unchanging rhythm.

Alistair settled back in his seat
and at length fell into a light doze.

"Alistair?"

He snapped awake and saw the laird's
eyes were open.

"Aye, it's me, I'm
here."  Alistair gripped the laird's frail hand carefully in his own.

"Alistair, I'm sorry—"
Gawyn rasped, his eyes bright in his pale lined face.

"Hush, now, dinna worry
about that."

"—I was wrong, so wrong, how
can ye forgive me?"

"I do. You weren't wrong—I
left ye no choice—"

"Nay!" Gawyn struggled
to rise, then fell back with a moaning gasp. "I was! Listen to me,
Alistair, I've been waiting for ye, for I had to tell ye—"

He broke off, wheezing, and
Master Kerian hurried over, slipping one hand behind his head and holding a cup
to his lips. The laird drank, then waved the physician away.

"Hush, now, it's all
right," Alistair said. "Please dinna fash yourself this way."

"But it's not all
right," Gawyn said heavily. "I was wrong, I tell ye. I should never
have brought Jemmy back here."

Alistair stared, too surprised to
speak.

"He's no' the man to take my
place. You were, but I wouldna see it. Jemmy cares nothing for the clan—he
showed his colors when he married
her
. Ye were right, Alistair—"

"No," Alistair said
numbly.

"—Jemmy doesna belong here. All
the knights are against him. His fault. His damnable pride. He doesna have the
first idea how to hold them all together."

But it isn't Jemmy's fault,
Alistair thought. It's mine.
I'm
the one who set them all against him.

"Laird—"

"God knows I tried to put
things right, but he wouldn't listen. He never listens. He cares for nothing
but the woman. Och, I canna blame her overmuch—'tis Jemmy who should have known
better than to keep her here."

It's no wonder he kept her,
Alistair thought with sudden understanding. Who else did he have?

"Jemmy isn't the one to
blame. It's me."

"Whisht, don't be taking it
all on yourself. The thing with Darnley—aye, we disagreed on that, but still,
ye acted according to your honor."

"You don't know what I
did," Alistair said desperately. "'Twas I who turned the knights
against Jemmy—he never had a chance—"

Gawyn waved a hand. "I know
that you're the man to follow me, and then Malcolm after. If it means war wi'
Darnley, then so be it. Just return the boy, Alistair, that's all I ask. Send
Haddon home again before it starts. Can ye do that for me? Can ye promise not
to hurt him?"

"I—of course, I wouldn't
hurt the lad," Alistair said, revolted at the thought.

Did the laird actually think he
was a danger to a
child
?  He did, he must, or he would never ask such a
thing. But even believing that, he would still hand Alistair leadership of the
clan.

If the laird had time to worry
for Haddon Darnley, surely he'd had time to consider Jemmy's safety. Yet not a
word, not a single promise had he exacted for the sake of his own son.

He's dying, Alistair reminded
himself. He doesn't know what he is saying. Else he would never leave Jemmy at
my mercy this way. He kens too well how it's always been between us. Why, for
all he knows, I'd slit Jemmy's throat before the funeral was over! 

Gawyn lay back with an exhausted
sigh, his eyes sunken in his ashen face. "I couldna die until I saw ye
home again. It broke my heart, sending ye away. Did ye ken that?"

"Aye, I know. I know ye
didn't want to. I made ye do it. But it was for the best."

"Where did ye go?"

"To Fergus."

Gawyn closed his eyes. "Another
sin upon my conscience. He wanted ye years ago, said ye had the makings of a
taibhsear
,
and I would not let him have ye. I thought—for Ian—well, we'll say no more
about Ian the now. I'll be seeing him soon enough."

His breathing slowed and Alistair
thought he had fallen asleep, but then his eyes opened once again.

"You," he said very
clearly. "
You
. D'ye ken?"

"Aye, laird. But—"

"Then it is well."

Though Alistair sat a while
longer, holding the laird's wasted hand in his, Gawyn Kirallen didn't speak
again.

W
ell, there it
is, Alistair, he said to himself an hour later as he sat down upon his own bed.
The knights are with me and the laird has given me his blessing. It's mine now,
all I ever wanted. All I need do is reach out my hand and take it.

He clung to the detachment he had
won so painfully during the past year, away from the close confines of
Ravenspur. From that greater distance he could see it was Jemmy's destiny to
rule here, not his, no matter what the laird might say. And Malcolm's to stay
with his uncle.

Let Jemmy fight the battle;
Alistair was past the squabbling for power that went on within these walls. He
would spend the time that he had left with Deirdre, doing everything in his
power to see her safe and happy.

He was almost resigned to it,
save for one thing. It was all well and good to be Deirdre's protector, but
what he wanted was to make good the vows they had exchanged today.

He closed his eyes and saw her in
the garden, felt her hand, so rough, so small, within his own. He smiled,
remembering the way her eyes had lit as she described her childhood in Donegal.
She'd been happy there and would be again one day. But once she had reached
home, he feared that he would lose her.

Deirdre would be back in her own
place, among her own people, the ancient nobility of Ireland. Alistair had
forgotten the unbreakable rules of rank and station, but now that he was back
at Ravenspur, he could not forget them any longer.

He would have no time with
Deirdre in Donegal. If he was lucky, he might see her from a distance now and
then, perhaps even exchange a word or two. But even if he accepted the place
her father, from charity and duty, must offer, he would be nothing, the lowest
of MacLochlann's knights. While Deirdre would be restored to her rightful place
as daughter of the house.

And of course the suitors—with
that young Fitzgerald at their head—would soon arrive to pay her court.

You don't have to lose her, a
voice whispered in his mind. If you but do as the laird asked, you could keep
her with you. Every day you would be with her; every night... He shifted on the
narrow mattress. Just the thought of the nights he would spend with Deirdre
roused him with swift urgency.

He couldn't do it, though...or
could he?  If Jemmy could be persuaded to go back to Spain, then he, himself,
would have everything to offer Deirdre. They would have
children...black-haired, gray-eyed sons and daughters... And Malcolm would be
with him every day, learning the way of ruling. When the time came, Alistair
would step back and see Malcolm just where he belonged, in Ian's place.

Would it be so wrong?  So very
wrong to do as the laird commanded? Jemmy had his lady...she was a brave lass,
too, and bonny, and loved him well. Why should Jemmy have everything?  He had
run off to please himself, but Alistair had spent his life in service to the
clan. It wasn't fair that Jemmy should take it all and leave him nothing...

His thoughts dissolved into hazy
images of the future as he drifted off to sleep. There he found the dream
waiting for him once again.

It began just as it always did
with Ian and Alistair walking down the forest path, discovering the tinker's
boys tormenting Jemmy. Ian cut his brother free and he and Alistair were
fighting them, outnumbered five to two. But then they moved to stand back to
back and there was no fear, only the joy of battle running taut and bright
between them. Then the tinker's boy's were running off with Ian after them,
calling back over his shoulder for Alistair to look after Jemmy.

"Ian, wait!" Alistair
cried, just as he always did. He sprinted after Ian, who was disappearing
around a turn, knowing it was hopeless but helpless to stop himself from trying.
"Wait, don't go, it's a trap!"

But this time the dream was
different. This time when he rounded the bend, Ian was waiting for him.

Alistair bolted upright on his
bed, heart pounding furiously. The room was in darkness now, twilight barely
lighting the casement. With a shaking hand he lit a candle and stared into the
flame, his eyes glittering coldly in the flickering light.

All his hesitation was gone, all
his questions answered. Come morning, he knew what he must do.