Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (17 page)

"We have nothing to celebrate," Alainna said.

"You are to be wed," Una replied calmly. "We are all glad about it. You should be too. Soon we will have young ones here once again. You will birth children to carry on our name and brighten our hearts. Beautiful children, from such beautiful parents," she added, leaning toward Morag, who nodded with her.

"Indeed, we will have a feast," Lome said. "First we will take the Normans out on a hunt, so we will have enough meat for all. Then we will see the priest at the church, and after that we will have a feast, and a wedding. We have much to celebrate. Clan Laren has hope again."

Alainna rubbed her fingertips over her brow as if she could wipe away her dismay. Her kinfolk leaned forward to chatter in excitement as they began to make more plans. Their trust and their hope settled over her like a heavy cloak.

"I am eager for Father Padruig to hear our glad news, but we can wait a few days," Una said. "We must plan the wedding."

"How can you call this glad news? We have lost Kinlochan," Alainna said, just short of a dismayed moan.

"Sweet girl," Lorne said, leaning forward to take her hand in his. "We have not lost Kinlochan. You and your husband will hold it, and your children will hold it after that. All you have to do is convince this man to take our proud name."

"He will do that," Niall asked. "Our ancient heritage, from Irish kings, is one to envy."

"We have not lost anything, Alainna," Una said. "We have won our future, which was lost to us."

Her kinfolk murmured to each other, planning the hunt, the wedding, and her future. Alainna hung her head and took her hand from Lome's grip. She wondered if they knew that they had just rested all their hopes and dreams upon her shoulders.

Somehow, she told herself fiercely, the Breton knight would have to agree to bear their clan name. But she knew that she had met, in Sebastien le Bret, a will as strong as her own. He had flatly refused to change his name or allow his children to bear her clan's name. The future at Kinlochan would belong to the descendants of Le Bret rather than Clan Laren.

That would hurt her kinfolk deeply, and they had endured enough sorrow and loss. No matter what the Breton knight wanted, she could not allow the last bit of hope to be taken from them.

If that meant she had to look elsewhere for a husband, then so be it, she thought, frowning while the excited chatter continued around her. There was one more chance remaining to her to avoid this Norman marriage, and she meant to grasp it before the day was out.

* * *

"Giric!" Alainna called as she saw her foster brother cross the bailey, leading a saddled garron toward the gate. "I would speak with you." She clenched the skirt of her tunic in her fingers as a frisson of uncertainty went through her.

She was determined to speak her thoughts, although she could guess Giric's reaction to her impulsive, even implausible, plan. But if he would agree, it could solve her dilemma.

Giric waved at her. Beyond him, she saw several Norman knights and Highlanders inside the long, low stable. The Breton knight stood near the doorway. She saw the glint of his golden hair in the shadows as he spoke with a young squire, one of the three boys who had accompanied the knights, and who now helped the men ready their horses to ride out.

Giric left his horse standing in the care of Aenghus at the gate, and came toward her, his gait easy and long-limbed. "What is it, then?" he asked her. "We are nearly ready to ride out."

"I know. A few words, please, before you go."

He frowned. "Alainna, I know you are unhappy about the Normans. I will speak with you about it later, if that is what you need of me."

"I did not call you over here to complain. Walk with me. We can wait outside for the knights." She tugged on his arm. Giric took hold of the garron's bridle and led the animal alongside.

They climbed down the rocky slope toward the loch, where calm waves flowed. Alainna walked toward the water and held up the hem of her gray skirt when the froth seeped near her leather shoes. She waited while Giric left the garron to graze in the meadow.

"Alainna, what is it?"

She heard the concern in his voice. "What would I do without you, Giric MacGregor?" she asked, turning to smile. "You have been a good friend and a brother to me since you first came to foster with my father as a lad."

"I was not so good a friend when I first came here as a seven-year-old," he drawled. "I did my share of teasing you and tripping you, and running from you, as I recall, even though you were three years older and bigger than me."

She smiled ruefully. "You did treat me ill sometimes, you and my brothers. But I thank you for it now. All that teasing from three boys made me stronger, I think."

"You rarely cried, and often got us back, I remember. And you are most welcome for the toughening." He winked at her.

"Ah, Giric," she said, gazing around, folding her arms against a sudden chill. "I miss them. I miss them all... so much." She bit back a sob. "I wonder what they would think to know we have lost Kinlochan to a Norman." She fisted a hand to her mouth and listened to the wind moan over the loch.
"Ach,"
she said. "Do you hear their sorrow in the wind, as I do?"

Giric put an arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side. "Your brothers and your father may be gone, and most of the men of your clan too," he said. "But I am here, and the old ones. You are not alone." He rubbed her arm.

"I know. You are so loyal to all of us. We are grateful. I know you must leave to return to Clan Gregor, but I... I hoped you might want to stay with us."

"Now that the king has sent help to Kinlochan, I will soon be free to return home. I would like to do that." He looked at her. "What is it you need, girl? Only ask, and it is done."

She gazed at the mountains overlooking the fortress, and shivered in the shelter of his arm. "Tell me what you think of the king's decision, Giric."

"I think it is a necessary thing," he answered grimly. "You can no longer fight the troubles of this clan alone. You need the help of a husband, a warrior with men at his back. I think the Breton is well suited to the task."

"He is not suited to me, nor I to him."

"With such a man for a husband—a champion in many courts, his knights have told me—your clan will prosper at last."

"He will not have our name. And he is not a Gael. My father would not have approved him."

"Your father would have been glad of this," Giric said. She looked at him, stunned. "I am sure of that. He would agree that the clan, such as it is now, needs the protection of Normans."

"What we need are men to vanquish our enemy, and the Normans do not promise that."

"True, the old ones would rather have vengeance against Clan Nechtan. Is that what you want?"

"Vengeance is a man's word. I want peace, an end to this feud. But marrying Sebastien does not guarantee it, and will invite more trouble! Cormac will be furious, you know that." She stepped away. "This will bring more battles upon us, and could destroy us all. Normans do not have the skills to fight Highlanders. How can you say my father would agree? How can you agree? I do not understand! None of you side with me. Not even you!"

"Peace." Giric raised his palm. "I am not your enemy."

She sighed and nodded. Her foster brother could often calm her. She loved him as her dearest friend, but he often only placated her, offering her no argument, no challenge.

"I am the last of them," she said, gazing over the loch.

"They are glad that you will be well married, and that their blood will continue that way."

"Well married—that is the problem."

"The Breton knight is the right choice for you, I think."

She stood as straight as the pillar that overlooked the loch, while the wind beat her skirt about her, tugged at her braids. "Giric," she said. "There may be a solution to this."

"What is that?"

"Marry me. Take our name." The words hung in the air.

"Alainna." Giric walked over to stand behind her. "I would do anything for you. But this I cannot do."

"You can. We could marry, according to the Roman church. We are not of shared blood."

"But our priest follows the Celtic church. According to Celtic law, fostering makes us as close as brother and sister. Closer, some say. Father Padruig would refuse to witness our marriage. Alainna—"

"There must be some way," she said. "If we wed now, if we handfasted ourselves today, without the blessing of the priest, I would not have to wed the foreign knight." She began to pace over the pebbled beach.

"Why are you so intent on this? It is not what you want."

She ignored his calm logic. She wanted action, a passion to protect her clan that matched her own. "He refuses to take our name," she said. "That will tear the heart from my kinfolk!"

"Alainna," he said quietly. "Even if we could wed, I cannot take your name either. My father is a chieftain among the
Gregorach,
and I answer to the
toiseach
of Clan Gregor. He would be furious if I were to do such a thing, and so would my clan." He touched her shoulder, kneaded it. "I wish the
Gregorach
would send help to Clan Laren, but our chief has refused to enter into a dispute with the MacNechtans."

"I know you have asked them to help us," she said. "Giric, what else can I do about this? You are the only man who can understand why my husband must take my name."

"I do understand. But I cannot do this."

She looked down at the stones around her feet. "I did not think you would agree. But I had to ask."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You do not want me for a husband. We are foster siblings, and we are friends, but we are not suited otherwise. You with your temper and your iron mallet, and me with my great fear of you, since I was a lad not as tall as your shoulder." His tone was teasing.

She blinked tears away. "And now I am the one not as tall as your shoulder, and I need your help."

He gathered her under his arm. "
Ach,
you know how I love you," he murmured. "You know I want you to be happy. I do not want to see your tears. And when I take a wife, I want her to be exactly like you."

She sniffled. "Stubborn and solemn, as you always call me?"

"Fine as rain and bright as stars." He held her away from him to look down at her. "I thank you for the honor. But listen to your heart, not your fears. You need a man with fire to match your own."

"You have enough fire for me," she said petulantly.

"You have too much of it for me. That hair, that temper. You singe me, and I but a coward, and a quiet man."

"I like quiet men."

"The Breton knight is not a loud or a boastful man," Giric said, smiling a little.

She dashed more tears away. "You and all the rest of my kin think I should wed him. Not one of you argued against the king's orders."

"Not only because the king orders it," Giric said, "but because this Norman is a true warrior, which all your clan needs, and he has the strength and spirit you need in a husband. Marry this warrior."

"That is what the rest of my kin say. They want to talk to Father Padruig and have the marriage made quickly. The knight wants the marriage done soon, too. He will not get the king's signature on the charter unless he produces a marriage contract," she added, scowling. "Am I the only one who sees the danger in this?"

"I, too, urge you to do this." He looked thoughtfully at her. "You spark like fire when you are near him, did you know?"

"That is not a good thing," she muttered.

"Sometimes not, but that sort of spark between two people can make a good strong fire."

"What would you know? You sound like an old woman." She slanted a glance at him.

He chuckled and put his arm around her again, then turned with her toward the meadow. "Look there, the riders come down from the fortress," he said. "It took them long enough to ready themselves. So many trappings for the horses, and for the knights as well. I prefer Highland simplicity."

"So do I," Alainna said. She watched the knights guide their horses down the slope and pick up speed on the flat meadow. Even over the rushing rhythm of the loch, she heard the thud of horses' hooves and the jangle of mail and weaponry.

"Shiny as new coins, each of them, and riding fine horses from Spain and Arabia," Giric remarked. "I suppose we should tell them that those slender-legged horses will falter and be injured on our rocky Highland slopes."

"We should tell them, true," she agreed. "They do look fine, all gleam and sparkle, like a host of faery."

"Ah, caught by the glitter of chivalry? Next I will hear you do want a knight for a husband instead of a Celt."

She did not answer. As she watched the knight riding in the lead, her heart leaped within her like a salmon upriver.

Giric hugged her close, and she leaned against his comfortable strength. Her foster brother was right in guessing what she needed. She craved more than warmth and complacency. Fire to match her own would make a marriage challenging and strong rather than dull.