Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (3 page)

Months had elapsed since the abbot had sent out his plea. Sebastien, unaware of their dilemma, had not replied.

He growled in despair and swiped at the buffeting wind. Then he lowered the sword and faced the rising sun, hair and shirt billowing, body and spirit stilled and strong.

He had allowed his hunger for land wealth and chivalric renown to rule him, and his son was no longer safe as a result. Since the death of his noble French wife, he had continued to pursue his ambitions on behalf of the child whom he adored.

Conan would someday own his mother's dowry property, still in the possession of her family, who had only disdain for her widowed husband. Sebastien had earned the love of his late, sweet wife, but her family thought him unworthy.

What worth he possessed had been conjured from nothing. Sebastien le Bret, famed for prowess and valor on the jousting field and in battle, knight in service to dukes and to kings, lacked ancestry, inheritance, and an old, proud surname.

Left as a foundling at the monastery of Saint-Sebastien in Brittany, he had only the name the monks had given him. The rest he had gained for himself. He was weary of striving, but he would continue for his son's sake.

Now he must set aside his dreams and goals and return to Brittany as soon as possible. He lifted the sword over his head and slashed it downward in a final blow, sweeping it into another arc, spinning with the turn. He stopped and stood in the wind.

The sun crested the mountains like a glowing wafer. Morning brought duties that required his presence as an honor guard to the king of Scots. Sebastien turned, snatched up his tunic and belt, and headed for the stairs.

Chapter 1

Scotland, the Highlands

Autumn, 1170

In the hushed, shadowed time before dawn, Alainna set a small sack of oats and a handful of wildflowers at the base of the stone pillar. She murmured a blessing and stood back. Beyond the tall stone, the loch swept rhythmically to shore, and a pale glow edged the sky.

She twisted her hands anxiously, then stilled herself, realizing that impatience would not hurry the beneficent spirit of the Maiden.

The pillar called the Stone Maiden rose twelve feet in height, a column of gray granite shaped like a gowned woman. Ancient carvings on the front and back were worn smooth in places. Mist wreathed the stone, cool and damp.

"Maiden," she said, "I am Alainna, daughter of Laren of Kinlochan, son of Laren, son of Donal, son of Aodh—" She did not continue, although she knew the names of her ancestors back to the Stone Maiden herself—with whom she shared a name, from
alainn,
beautiful—and to Labhrainn, the Irish prince who had founded the clan centuries ago.

Legend said that the stone housed the spirit of a maiden who had been captured there, long ago, by a faery spell. The Stone Maiden, tradition claimed, acted as a guardian for Clan Laren. Generations of the clan had left offerings and had spoken charms to appeal for the Maiden's protection. As clan leader since her father's death a few months earlier, Alainna hoped for a reassuring omen to report to her kin.

Now she murmured her heartfelt wish to see her clan safe and flourishing, and waited.

Wind whispered over her head, loosening strands of her braided, red-gold hair. She heard birdsong, the shush of the loch, her deerhound's bark as he fretted a field mouse nearby. The rising sun glinted on the wooden fortress of Kinlochan across the narrow stretch of water. She stood patiently beside the stone, but no clear sign appeared.

She sighed. Somehow she must save Clan Laren from vanishing into Highland memory. The solution she needed would not come from offerings and chants. Only swift action would solve their dilemma.

The deerhound ran toward her to circle her anxiously, barking. He faced the hill that sloped away from the loch-side. Peering through the mist, Alainna saw a red deer there, nosing through old heather.

"Ach,
Finan, do you long to chase the deer, then?" she asked, touching his head, which reached above her waist. The dog's fierce growl raised chills along Alainna's spine. "Finan, what is it?"

A man walked over the top of the hill and came down the hillside. Alainna knew him by his height and heavy build, by his wild black hair and the red and brown hues of his plaid.

Cormac, the young chief of Clan Nechtan, her enemy, came toward her. Had she known that he was out here, that he watched her when she was alone but for the dog, she would not have lingered.

"Hold, Finan!" she commanded. She curled her hand in the dog's leather collar. His long body quivered, growls rumbled in his chest, and his wiry blue-gray coat lifted. But he stayed, as she knew he would.

"Alainna of Kinlochan!" Cormac halted a few feet away, spreading his feet in a wide stance. His deep, thick voice sundered the peaceful atmosphere. "I saw you while I was hunting with my kinsmen. I want a word with you in private."

"Cormac MacNechtan," she said. "We have nothing to say."

"We do. Are your kinsmen about?" He glanced around.

"They will be here soon," she said, knowing they would search for her when her absence was discovered, or whenever someone inside Kinlochan glanced across the loch toward the stone.

She knew Cormac by sight, but had rarely spoken to him since childhood, when their paths had crossed too often as she wandered the hills with her two younger brothers and their foster brother. Cormac had proven himself mean-spirited both as child and as man, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

But she and Cormac were the leaders of their feuding clans, and she could not shun him if he was willing to talk with her. The beginning of peace between them might be but words away.

She stood proud and straight, like a small twin to the great pillar stone, and held the growling dog's collar firmly to show Cormac that she was protected by the dog as well as by the stone and its legend.

"Quiet that great blue hound of yours, or I will do it for you." Cormac touched the dirk sheathed at his belt.

"Finan
Mor,"
she said. "Big Finan. Hold, you." The deerhound stayed still, his growls low.

"A great hound like that is a man's dog, and no hound for a woman," Cormac observed.

"Finan has been mine from his birth."

"Then he has been spoiled by a woman's hand."

She watched Cormac evenly. "Try him, and see if it is so."

"You are safe," he said. "For now. The legend of the Stone Maiden ensures that no man of Clan Nechtan can harm a woman of Clan Laren, or he will suffer the consequences."

"It is a shame no legend prevents the men of Clan Nechtan from warring on the men of Clan Laren," she snapped.

"An ancient wrong gives us reason to war upon you."

"Your hatred of us may be ancient, but ours is just as old! You would destroy us all if you could."

"Not you, Alainna. You, I want for my own."

"Do not say that to me in the Maiden's presence!"

"She cannot protect you much longer. The faery spell ends in the spring. All know that." He scowled.

He was not unhandsome, even with a thrusting, wide jaw, but the anger in his dark eyes ruined his appeal. "Some say that the Maiden's power to help her people wanes even now."

"Our bard says the Maiden's power will increase when the faery spell ends," she said. In truth, no one was sure what would happen when the stone's magic ended the next spring.

"Old Lome MacLaren would say so, rather than say your clan is lost!" Cormac flipped his fingers in dismissal. "The Stone Maiden will no longer keep you safe, if ever she could. The Maiden and her clan will both crumble."

"We may be diminished by feud, and illness, and poor luck," she said hotly. "We may have few left of our name. We may be threatened by a cruel enemy"—she glared at him—"but our pride, our legacy endures. You cannot destroy that with your raids and your hatred!"

He shrugged. "If you will listen, I have good tidings for your clan."

"Glad news for your clan cannot be good for mine." She glanced across the narrow loch toward Kinlochan. Tendrils of smoke rose from the hearth fires; soon her kinsmen would come looking for her. If they saw Cormac here with her, there would be another skirmish.

"I have petitioned King William for the hand of the Maiden of Kinlochan. The living maiden, not the stone one." He snickered at his poor jest.

She gasped. "I would never wed you!"

"You must wed soon. Your father is gone and cannot arrange your marriage."

"He is gone by your hand!"

"Not mine, girl." He shook his head. "Not mine."

"Yours or another's, a MacNechtan blade killed him, and took my brothers too. I would never marry you or any of your blood."

"You and your elder kinsmen want to end this feud, I know. And my own kinsmen urge me to wed you. It is time I married."

"You can wed the handfasted wife you cast aside," she said.

"Not her. You." He swelled his chest. "We can gain no honor fighting the old men of Clan Laren. You cannot oversee this vast property alone. Become my bride. Your father wanted this for the good of all."

"He never did," she said, and beside her, Finan growled low and shifted forward. She touched the dog's head. "You would take our land and our very name from us."

He scowled. "The king has the right to decide your marriage, since you are sole heiress, holding title and land. We will leave this up to him. I have offered for you. Such an easy end to this feud will please the king."

"King William himself could not force me to do what I will not." She lifted her head higher.

"A stubborn woman is a foolish woman," he muttered. "You are a willful girl, but I hoped you had more sense." He gestured impatiently. "The men of Clan Laren are too old to wield swords. Your foster brother, Giric MacGregor, is young, but he is one man—and we are many." He moved forward, but stopped when the dog shifted in response. "The blood of Clan Laren will live on in our sons."

"I want no sons with your name."

"Lovely girl, but troublesome. They say you are strong, too. Trained as a stonemason, like some others in your clan. They say you use a hammer and chisel like a man." He skimmed her body with his gaze. "I have a hammer and tools you can handle whenever you like." His smile grew wicked.

"Go away," she snapped. "My strong arm tires from holding back this great hound."

Cold anger flickered in his brown eyes. "Maiden of stone, heed me well—when spring comes, your safety ends. Who will protect you and your clan then? Not a girl with a mallet. Not a few old men."

"We can fend for ourselves."

"Can you? I could take you now if I wanted, at the foot of that stone. Neither hound nor faery could stop me. Or I can bide my time until spring. Either way, you would have no choice."

Alainna lifted her chin. "I will not wed you, and neither king nor Highlandman can force me."

"I will give you until Saint Brighid's day, when the faery spell ends, to agree. By then the king will have given his approval. Wed me, Alainna—or watch your clan die." He shrugged. "One way or the other will end the feud."

He turned away before she could reply, and strode up the misted hill to disappear over the top. Alainna watched, her heart pounding. The dog stayed beside her, his body taut.

She flattened her palm on cool granite and closed her eyes, wishing fervently for a solution, a savior. A miracle. She bowed her head to pray, and whispered an old Gaelic blessing to please both her Christian and her ancient heritage.

Then she turned to walk toward Kinlochan. Finan ran ahead of her through long brown grasses as she rounded the end of the loch, where the water shushed peacefully over pebbles and stones.

The morning sun had burned off the mist, and the wooden tower of Kinlochan, inside its surrounding timber palisade, glowed earthy red in the dawn light. Beyond it, dark mountains soared into the distance, their rugged crests ringed by clouds. The long, narrow loch spread like a pool of silver at their base.

The fortress gate swung wide and three men ran out, plaids flapping over bare legs. They waved and skirted the loch along the path she had taken earlier.