Ravenheart (29 page)

“Have you seen many naked women?”

“I haven’t seen any—well, until now.”

She laughed. “Then it is not much of a compliment, Kaelin Ring.”

“I guess not, Chara Jace.”

She lifted the woolen shirt over her head and slipped into it. Then she shivered. “That’s better,” she said. “Tell me, why did my name seem to upset you?”

At first she thought he had ignored the question, for he
looked away once more. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with sadness. “I knew someone with that name,” he said at last. “A sweet girl. She wanted to walk with me to the Beltine Feast.”

“She was smitten by you?”

“I think that she was. Because of it she was raped and murdered by two Varlish.”

The words hung in the air between them. Chara did not know what to say. Rape was a rare crime in the highlands, but to murder a woman? As the silence grew, she knew she had to say something to break it. “I am so sorry, Kaelin. Did you love her?”

“Sadly, I did not, though I regarded her highly. She was attacked because of me. Had she fallen for one of her own kind, she would now be walking the hills and enjoying the sunshine.”

“Did they hang the men who did it?” asked Chara.

“No. Someone hunted them down and killed them.”

“Someone?”

He looked uncomfortable. “It was never discovered who did it.” He looked at her and smiled, but she could see the smile was forced. “I am sorry that I lost my temper with your father and that I was gawping at you.”

It was a clumsy attempt to change the subject, but she accepted it without comment. “Well, I forgive you. Perhaps my father will, too.”

“And what of Bael?”

Now it was Chara who looked away. “He is a proud man, Kaelin. I think that he will challenge you.”

“Do you care for him?”

“Of course I care for him. He is my brother.” Pulling on her leggings and shoes, Chara rose. “We should be there by dusk,” she said.

Call Jace was troubled. A strong man, he liked to believe he was in control of his life and the security of his clan. Mostly that was true, but occasionally, as now, he was forced into the
realization that sometimes a situation would develop its own momentum. Attempts to change its course were fraught with peril.

Bael was right. Kaelin Ring had stared at Chara with undisguised longing. That had caused momentary irritation. As a result he had insulted the boy. Who could have foreseen the outcome? That Bael was alive was little short of a miracle. The problem now was partly one of perception. Call bore no grudge against Kaelin Ring, but that was beside the point. The Black Rigante prospered because of the tribute paid by all landowners and farmers. That tribute was not in the main paid out of love or respect. Fear was the foundation. The hard-won reputation of the clansmen was that they made merciless and deadly enemies. Now this incident would be the talk of Black Mountain and the surrounding settlements. The clan chieftain had been struck, and his son shot, by a southern boy. Without retribution the clan’s reputation would suffer, and others might think of denying tribute.

The easy answer was to let Bael kill the boy. Yet easy answers, he knew, were often wrong.

He left the big house and wandered out into the foothills on the long walk to Shrine Hollow. He hoped the Dweller would be home, but she had not been seen for some months, and he doubted he would be able to call on her wisdom.

Shrine Hollow was a place of mystery and quiet beauty within the forest. In the late afternoon shafts of sunlight speared through gaps in the trees, bathing the forest floor in gold. A man could sit there, close his eyes, and almost hear the whisper of the Seidh flowing back through the centuries. Call always went there when he was troubled. He sat for a while listening to the birdsong, then climbed to the western lip of the hollow and stood looking out over the glittering waters of Sorrow Bird Lake. In the distance, due west, the mountains dipped and rose sharply, forming a V-shaped goblet into which the sun sank. At sunset the iron-gray waters would become bright bronze and crimson, as if the dying sun had melted and was flowing under the mountains. Call Jace
had never lost the sense of wonder inspired by Sorrow Bird Lake and Shrine Hollow.

Shading his eyes against the harsh sunlight, he stared out at the large island at the center of the lake. Huge trees grew there: oak and ash and a few silver birch. There was a small bay on the eastern shore. The Dweller’s boat was not there. Call was disappointed. She often had glimpses of the future, and he needed such a glimpse now.

He had sent Chara and Wullis Swainham to scout for Kaelin Ring. Once they had seen him make camp, Chara had ordered Wullis to return and report. There was no need to do that. Other scouts would have brought news some hours before their arrival. That meant that Chara was seeking time alone with Kaelin Ring.

Had she taken a fancy to the young man? Call hoped not. There were enough complications already.

Call walked back down to Shrine Hollow, took a silver flask from the pocket of his coat, and took a deep drink. The Uisge was cask-mellowed and twenty years old. It flowed into his throat like silken fire. Holding out his arm, he tipped a measure to the earth. “For the children of the Seidh,” he said.

He heard movement from the east and turned toward the sound. Bael appeared. He had removed the bandage from his head, and the ten stitches could be seen on the scabs covering the wound. “I thought you would be here, Father,” he said. “No sign of the Dweller?”

“No.” Call tossed him the flask. Bael took a deep swallow.

“Man, that’s good.”

“The water of life. What brings you here?”

“I wanted to tell you that I’d abide by any decision you make. If you desire me to offer no challenge, I’ll accept it.”

“You are a Rigante, Bael. You have reached majority. The clan chief cannot order you to accept an insult.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking of you as the clan chief but as my father. I will do whatever you require.”

“Thank you, lad. I wish that I had not insulted the boy. His reaction was courageous. Three armed highlanders, and he
did not hesitate to attack. I respect that. However, the circle must be closed. Challenge him, Bael. Swords, not pistols.”

“Swords, Father? He is a southerner. Swords are forbidden to them. He will have no skill.”

“You said you would abide by my decision, Bael.”

“And I will.”

“Then let’s be getting back to the house. They’ll be here within the hour.”

Chara Jace had enjoyed the walk with Kaelin Ring. He was not like most young clan men she knew. While in her company he did not feel the need to fill the silences with empty chatter. Nor did he seek to impress her with tales of his exploits.

She guessed, though without any real evidence, that Kaelin Ring had avenged the death of the girl back in Old Hills. Something in his expression when he spoke of the “someone” who had killed the murderers had convinced her. Added to which she had seen the sudden violence with which he had reacted to Bael’s assault. Kaelin Ring was not a man to cross.

That in itself produced a disturbing thought. What if Bael challenged him and he killed Bael? The prospect made her feel cold inside. Yet what if Bael killed him? Even the thought was frightening, and Chara was not a woman given to fear.

The sun was setting as they climbed toward the stockade wall blocking the pass.

Chara paused. Kaelin walked on for several paces, then glanced back.

“Why are you waiting?” he asked.

“I think perhaps this is not such a good plan,” she said. She sat down on a rock.

He strolled back to her. “What is the problem?” he asked.

“I do not want Bael to kill you. And I do not want you to kill Bael,” she added hurriedly.

He looked back at the stockaded wall. “There are guards there, and they have seen me. I cannot walk away now. Perhaps there will be no fight. I shall apologize to your father.”

“And to Bael?”

“Aye, if that is what you want. He struck me, but on the other hand, he could have shot or stabbed me. He was defending his chieftain.”

She smiled and rose, taking his hand. “Good,” she said. His hand was warm, and she squeezed his fingers, enjoying the touch of his flesh. He made no effort to pull away.

“You say there are no soul-names in the south? We could ask the Dweller to give you one,” she said.

“I have one. I am Ravenheart.”

“I am Flame on the Water.”

They stood in silence, then Kaelin raised her hand to his lips. “It has been good walking with you, Flame on the Water,” he said. “Now let us go and meet your father.”

Kaelin felt a welling sense of disappointment as they passed through the stockade gates. Two sentries came down and began laughing and joking with Chara. They were speaking Keltoi, and Kaelin felt excluded. Worse, he felt as if he had lost something precious. The journey with Chara had been fulfilling in a way he had never experienced before. Her company was a delight to him. Now that company was being shared.

Chara took one of the guards by the arm, a tall man, wolf-lean and hard-featured. She led him to Kaelin. “This is Rayster, my dearest friend,” she said.

Kaelin struggled to be polite. “Good to meet you,” he managed to say.

“And you, Kaelin Ring.” Kaelin looked into the man’s bright blue eyes and saw the glint of amusement there. Rayster held out his hand, and Kaelin shook it. The grip was firm. “You’ve the look of the Rigante about you,” he said. “Rare for southerners, I find.”

“Then you do not know my uncle Jaim Grymauch.”

Rayster chuckled. “Oh, I know Grymauch,” he said. “He’s a bull-stealing drunkard, and I love him dearly. But then, he’s no southerner. He was born not three miles from here. I have
not seen him in many months. I heard, though, how he thrashed the Varlish fighter. Man, but I would love to have seen that. There’s no better knuckle and skull fighter than Grymauch.”

Kaelin found himself relaxing in the man’s company, though he wished Chara would let go of Rayster’s arm. The other guard was a smaller man, wiry and round-shouldered. He had a thin, straggly red beard that barely disguised his receding chin. Chara introduced him as Wullis Swainham. Kaelin thrust out his hand. Wullis took it, the handshake soft and swift, then swung away to climb back to the stockade wall.

Both guards were wearing pale blue and green cloaks checkered with red vertical and horizontal lines, and Rayster also sported a kilt crafted from the same cloth. “I thought Rigante colors were outlawed,” said Kaelin.

“Aye, they are, but this is not Eldacre, man. This is Black Rigante country. Beetlebacks do not trouble us much now. However, we remain vigilant. There’s always talk of some force or other on its way to wipe us out. They are not foolish, though, these Varlish. Take a look around you. This pass is one of only three routes into our stronghold. It is guarded—as are the others—and great would be the loss of men among the attackers. The pass narrows and climbs, and we have traps all the way along it. Aye, and two cannon, both equipped for canister shot.”

“What is that?” queried Kaelin.

“The Varlish developed it. Hundreds of tiny lead balls fired with a single charge. One blast could wipe out scores of attackers. My guess is they’ll leave us alone for a little while yet.” He swung to Chara, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Kaelin quelled his anger and looked away. “Time for you to take our guest up to the great house,” said Rayster. “I’ll see you at the feast.”

Chara led Kaelin farther up the trail. As Rayster had said, the pass narrowed, the walls on either side sheer. It was a hard climb in places. At the top was a second set of gates, and
behind them two large cannons with fluted barrels. The sentries there merely waved from the wall as the two travelers walked on.

From there the pass opened out, and Kaelin saw a beautiful valley spreading out below them. There were small lakes and a wide ribbon of a river. A water mill had been constructed on its banks, the settlement close by. The houses were well built of stone and timber, and on the flanks of the foothills below the mountains herds of cattle grazed. Kaelin drank in the scene.

“This is my home,” said Chara.

“It is nearly as lovely as you,” he heard himself say. “And not a Varlish in sight.”

“This is only part of our lands. Across the mountains all the way to the coast there are settlements.” She moved in closer and touched his arm. “See there,” she said, pointing. “That is my father’s house.” He glanced down and saw a large, circular structure built of gray stone. It had crenellated ramparts and looked more like a fort than a house.

“It was once a keep,” said Chara. “Built by the Varlish three hundred years ago. It even has dungeons, but my father uses them to store Uisge casks.”

“Is Rayster your intended?” he asked her suddenly.

“Why do you ask?”

“Is he or not?” he snapped.

“He is not,” she retorted sharply. “Though it is none of your concern.”

Kaelin struggled for calm. “You are right. I am sorry. I don’t know what is the matter with me. Must be the mountain air,” he added lamely.

“I am betrothed to no one. I only reached my majority last week.”

“And I yesterday,” he said.

“Yesterday? I thought you were older.”

“Yesterday I
was
older,” he told her. “Today I feel like a child.” Taking her hand, he made as if to raise it to his lips. Instead he dipped his head and kissed her mouth.

“I did not say you could do that,” she said without anger.

“May I do it again?” he asked.

“You may not. This time I shall do it. Close your eyes.” He did so and felt her arms encircle his neck. His head was drawn down, and he felt her lips upon his. When she drew back, he was almost dizzy.

“That was the single greatest moment of my life,” he said.

“Then you have led a dull life, Kaelin Ring,” she told him with a bright smile. “Now let us go down and meet my father.” She took his hand, but he did not move.

“Must we go now? Can we not sit here awhile?”

“No, we must go. It is still a long walk, and you have a great deal of apologizing to do before supper.”