Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (22 page)

Sebastien circled his horse to walk in tandem with hers. She smiled at him despite her racing, anxious thoughts.

"You were courageous back there," she said. He shrugged and murmured a dismissal. "That was a mighty deed," she insisted. "Giric will report it to my kinfolk, and Lorne will be delighted. He is already composing a poem about you and the boar. Now he will need to add more verses. And I am so grateful to you for acting so quickly and saving Father Padruig's daughter and his grandson. You will hear many thanks for this."

She babbled a little, she knew, but she wanted to keep her thoughts, and her glance, from skipping back toward the forest.

"I reached them first, that is all," he said. "Giric would have done the same, or Robert, or anyone else with the skill and the weapons. The brave man was that mysterious Gael who ran off before we could thank him."

She kept her profile to him. "I hope he is not badly hurt."

"Let us hope he has kin nearby who can tend to his wounds," he murmured, sliding a glance at her. She merely nodded and kept silent. "Eoghan is a fine boy," he commented after a moment.

"He likes horses and warriors, as small boys will do," she said. "You were patient with him."

"A pleasure. His grandfather is the priest?"

"Father Padruig and his wife have three daughters. Highland priests who are part of the Celtic Church, rather than the Church of Rome, often marry and raise families."

"I have heard that. I know Rome condemns the practice, but Highlanders do not seem bothered by that." He glanced at her. "Is Eoghan's father alive, or was he one of those lost fighting for Clan Laren?"

She hesitated. "His father is Cormac MacNechtan."

"Cormac!" Sebastien stared at her. "I thought he was not wed—he petitioned for your hand."

"A few years ago he and Lileas were handfasted," she said.

"Handfasted?" he said. "Like marriage?"

She nodded. "A step between betrothal and marriage, with the vows of the one and the privileges of the other. The couple are allowed to dissolve the union after a year and a day if they are not happy. Most go on to take vows before a priest."

"Lileas and Cormac did not have their vows witnessed?"

"She lived with Cormac at Turroch, but their handfasting did not last the year. She gave birth to Eoghan a few months after she returned to her father's house. Now she and the boy live in a house of their own, which Cormac provided for them. He acknowledges the child, as he should."

"Then he has some honor to him," Sebastien drawled.

She shrugged. "You were kind to the child. I hope knowing the name of his father will not change your mind."

"I would not visit the sins of the father upon the child," he replied. The wind caught the thickness of his hair as he looked up at the mountains. "He reminds me of someone."

"Eoghan does resemble his father."

"He reminds me of my own son," he said.

She gaped at him. "Your son?" The day had enough shocks in it already, she thought in a daze; first the wolves, then Ruari, now this. She continued to stare. "Your son?"

He gave her a slow smile, and she saw pride and pleasure in it. "He is a little older than Eoghan. I am widowed."

"You never told me," she said.

"You never asked." He echoed her earlier words. "This marriage came quickly upon us both. There are details we do not know about each other." He paused. "If you have anything to tell me, now may be the time to do it."

"I have no husband," she glowered. "Nor children."

"That is good to know," he said mildly.

"When were you married?" she asked, breathless suddenly, her heart thumping at the thought of him with an earlier wife—no doubt one he had wed from choice. Unbidden, the memory of their shared kiss made her cheeks burn.

"About six years ago. Over three years have passed since she died." He fisted a white-knuckled hand on his thigh as he rode. The silent poignancy tugged at her heart.

"And the child? Where is he now?"

"In Brittany. He is just five. Conan is his name, after my leige lord, the duke of Brittany."

She watched him, astonished and curious. A deep well of feeling and experience existed within him, she realized. He had shared only the surface of that with her, but the glimpses beneath were tantalizing. He was a father, had been a husband, had grown up an orphan child in a monastery for foundlings. No wonder he had shown such patience and kindness to Eoghan.

"Will you tell me about him?"

Sebastien paused. "He is clever and strong, blond-headed like me, with his mother's brown eyes. He is... like sunshine." The subtle glow in his smile pulled at Alainna's heart to watch. "I placed him with friends, monks, in a monastery in Brittany, the place where I lived as a small child. I thought it best."

"He is safe and well-kept, I am sure, while you are away."

He frowned. "Conan is no longer there. A fire destroyed much of the complex, and they were all forced to leave. I learned about it just before I was sent here." He tensed his jaw. "I do not know where he is now."

"Oh, Sebastien," she whispered. She reached out to touch his steel mesh sleeve. "That is why you are so determined to go back."

"In part. I sent a letter as soon as I found out, offering the use of my own Breton holding, but I do not know if the letter will reach them."

"You must go back and find him," she said decisively. "And bring him back to Scotland with you."

Sebastien raised his brows. "Here?"

She nodded. "He has a home and a family here."

He slowed his horse and stared at her. Then he resumed riding in silence, looking at the hills as if he had forgotten that she rode beside him.

"Sebastien?" she asked.

"I... had not planned to bring him here," he said. "I have always planned for Conan to grow to manhood in Brittany. He will become count of his mother's lands in France, which his grandfather now holds."

"Ah." Cold hurt crept through her. "I understand. You do not want your son raised as a barbarian in a savage land."

"It is not that," he said abruptly.

"I am not a fool." She would not look at him.

He sighed as if reluctant to speak. "I... I have had many dreams, much ambition in my life," he finally said. "I did not expect any of it to lead me here, but somehow it has."

"And you are sorry for it," she said. The wind picked up the hem of the cloak she wore, tugged at her hair. "That is understandable for a knight of your caliber and upbringing."

"You know little of my upbringing."

"Then tell me, so I will know."

"I have scarcely told anyone."

She waited, but he said no more. "You guard your past carefully."

"I am simply not one to talk about it. My past is... my own."

She frowned at him. "Someday you will take down that shield you hold over your heart, Sebastien
Ban."
The name Una used for him came naturally to her lips.

"Someday I may," he replied.

Robert hailed them from behind with a shout. Alainna and Sebastien turned and halted while the other knight caught up to them, leading a garron carrying the two wolves.

* * *

Alainna walked out in a thick morning mist, carrying an offering of oats to leave the stone pillar. She noticed that the cream, oats, and cheese she had left before were gone, bowl, sack, and all. Usually her offerings were eaten by animals, she knew—but animals did not take bowls with them.

"Finan!" she called, as her deerhound wandered off to sniff the grass. Likely he scented whoever had most recently been near the pillar stone. He faced the crescent of forestland that stretched beyond the Stone Maiden and barked.

"Finan, hush," Alainna said. "We are not chasing deer today. Come back!" The dog ran toward her and circled away, following the same path, barking again. Alainna glanced around, but could barely see past the stone and the near edge of the loch, where the fog drifted in ghostly streams.

A line, cold rain began, and she pulled her
arisaid
snug against the drizzle. She murmured a chant, circled the stone sunwise, and turned to walk back to the fortress.

"Finan!" she called.
"Ach,"
she muttered in irritation, for he had disappeared. When she heard him barking near the trees, which were blanketed in mist, she walked toward the forest, glancing cautiously around.

The dog's bark was the excited, pleased sound Finan used for her kinsmen and for Sebastien le Bret. But the men were still inside the fortress. They usually rode out every day to patrol the property and to visit the tenant farms one by one. Sebastien had also begun to estimate the acres in the holding by measuring the distances between the boundary stones. That task alone would take the Breton knight a long time to complete. But nothing could be done in such thick fog, so the knights had stayed inside Kinlochan today to repair and clean their armor and weapons and the horses' gear.

"Finan! Here, lad! Here to me!"

"Alainna!" A man's voice, hushed and urgent, came from the direction of the trees. The voice was familiar, though distorted by fog.

"Niall?" she asked. "Lome?"

"Alainna, here. Help me."

A chill ran along her backbone then. She stepped toward the dog and grasped his collar. "Take me to Ruari," she urged.

Finan led her into the cover of the trees, into the thick fog. Alainna plunged ahead, and heard her kinsman call again.

A man loomed ahead of her. "Alainna," he said. She had not heard that familiar, welcome voice in a long time.

He leaned one broad shoulder against a birch tree and smiled.

She halted. "Ruari! Oh, Ruari, it is you!"

"Alainna
mills,
sweet one," he said. Finan ran toward him, and Ruari patted the hound's head and grinned at her again. His hair was whiter than she remembered, his beard whiter too, both still streaked with black. His eyes were the same keen blue she remembered beneath dark arched brows. And his smile, ever crooked, ever charming, had not changed at all.

He opened an arm to welcome her, and she ran forward. "Are you a ghost?" She half laughed as she threw her arms around him.

"I am no ghost," he said, with a little grunt. "Flesh and blood, and come back home, hoping for a welcome."

Alainna kissed his leathery cheek, then stood back, dashing away tears, remembering that he was wounded. One arm was wrapped in a ragged, bloodied cloth and held close to his chest.

"How is it you are here? We heard you were dead! Have you seen Esa? Does she know? Oh, Ruari, I could hardly believe my eyes the other day when I saw you there in the forest, fighting off those wolves! Are you sore hurt?"

He chuckled a little at her barrage of questions. "Esa does not yet know," he said. "I was on my way there when I discovered the wolves. I am not so hurt that I am dead, though."

"How is it you are here at all? We heard you were killed in a battle with the king's men!"

"I was sore wounded there. A few of my kinsmen escaped the field and took me with them. When I recovered my wits, I learned we were in Ireland, in exile. I had no chance to come back until recently, and that in secret."

"And you sent no word to us in all this time? Nor to Esa? How could you not? Ruari
Mor,
that was a terrible time for us all, the knowledge of your death, and you alive all the while!"

He looked sheepish. "I could not send word. But you have the right to be angry."

"I do, for Esa's sake! She has suffered so for you, mourned you—and your son—she will not even leave her home in the hills."

"Is she well?" he asked urgently.

"Well in body, but failing in spirit. Will you go there now? Even in this fog, you will know the way by heart."

"I would, but I cannot. Alainna, I need your help." He stood away from the tree, which he had been leaning against. She realized then how weak he was, how pale his cheeks. In addition to his crudely bandaged left arm, his left calf was also covered in bloodied bandages.

"I need a safe place to rest. I found a cave, and kept a fire going to keep beasts away. Last night was the first I had the strength to walk out. The oats and cream you left for the Maiden were delicious." He smiled.

Alainna gave a moan of sympathy. "Stay here with Finan. I will fetch my kinsmen—"

"Do not," he said quickly. "There are knights at Kinlochan. One of them saved my life when he killed those wolves. Why are they there? Who are they?"

"The king sent them. He granted Kinlochan to a Norman, a Breton knight, the one who fought for you. We are... to be wed."

"You, wed to a Norman? Kinlochan is his?" Ruari frowned. "When did this happen?"

"Recently. I am not glad about it, but this will help protect my people from MacNechtans."

"Ach,"
he said. "Alas. Your father is dead, then."

She bit at her lip, realizing that Ruari did not know. "By the hand of a MacNechtan, a few months ago," she said somberly.

Ruari nodded grimly. "Bless his soul. I am not surprised Kinlochan is lost to the crown now that Laren is gone."