Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (31 page)

"Aenghus saw this beautiful maiden in a dream," Lome said, and Alainna echoed him. "She appeared to him again and again, kind and exquisite, sometimes playing for him a harp. Mad with love for her, unable to have her, his longing grew great. He searched for her endlessly. Finally he learned that she was Caer, the daughter of a king, and that she could be found at a certain loch with other maidens. Aenghus hurried there."

Pausing when Lome did, Alainna glanced at Sebastien. She thought of her own dream of a magical warrior. That man now sat in the shadows, and her heartbeat quickened.

"When Aenghus arrived at the loch, he saw thrice fifty white swans swimming there. Caer was among them, and her father told Aenghus that she was enchanted. If Aenghus could recognize her, he could have her. He knew her, his love, immediately.

"Caer was the loveliest of the swans, the purest white, the most graceful. He called to her and she swam toward him. But she could not be his because he was in the shape of a man and she a bird. And so he took the shape of a swan for her.

"They rose into the air together, linked by a golden chain, and flew side by side to his fortress, where they lived forever in happiness. Every other year they became swans together."

As Alainna finished her translation, a certain line echoed in her mind.

And he took the shape of a swan for her.

She had asked Sebastien to take her form, to become a Celtic warrior with a Highland name. He had refused. Closing her eyes, she wished, wildly, fervently, that she and Sebastien could be like the swans in the story, sharing the same form, together forever.

She opened her eyes and found him gazing at her. And she knew that he understood the story of Aenghus and Caer as she did.

The choice was his, and the power was his, to stay or to go.

* * *

The hour was late, and the mist was thick and cold. Alainna was glad that Giric was there to row her and Esa out to the island after everyone else had gone to sleep.

Ruari waited for them on the shore, a tall, silent figure in the mist and the moonlight, his hair silvered. The boat touched the pebbled beach, and Giric stood, stepping out to pull the boat firmly ashore. He turned back, holding out his hand.

Esa rose from the boat and stepped out, gliding past Giric. Alainna watched from her seat.

Slim and graceful, Esa stood before the man on the beach. Ruari held out his hand. She took it in hers and lifted it to her face, looking up at him with wonder that was pure and clear in the moonlight. She kissed his hand.

She touched his cheek, his hair, his chest. He slipped his hand over her head and said something. Then she laughed, a sound like a silver chime, and threw her arms around him.

Alainna looked away, her eyes glazed with tears.

Giric sat down beside Alainna, and took up the oar. "I will return," he said, "before dawn, to fetch her to back to Kinlochan again. And every night, I will row her out here to him, so long as Ruari wishes to hide here." His voice sounded thick.

Alainna nodded, unable to answer for the tightness in her own throat. She dashed tears away and pulled her plaid closer about her head as the boat floated with the current of the loch.

The love that Ruari and Esa shared was deep and strong. She hungered for such passion in her life. Now she knew that she felt that for Sebastien, and she was sure that he felt something genuine for her.

What was there could grow and deepen, could last forever. But pride and honor separated them, and she did not know if that barrier could ever be breached.

She looked over her shoulder one last time. Ruari and Esa had vanished together into their private, misted world.

Chapter 19

Snowflakes spiraled down in lazy paths as Sebastien walked through the bailey. He glanced up, wondering if the snow would grow heavy, for the wind had a bitter edge. He ducked his head against the cold, wishing he had not left his cloak in the hall as he crossed the yard toward Alainna's workshop.

In the few days since they had fetched Esa, he had glimpsed Alainna here and there as she walked toward the kitchen, or carried a bucket of water from the well, or exited the hall as he entered. He had exchanged only brief greetings with her, and she had not attended supper or storytelling. Una had told him, when he had asked, that she was busy with her stonecarvings.

In the evenings, the hall seemed cold and dim without her there. Even Lome's tales sounded flat without Alainna's soft voice echoing translations. He and Giric had translated, neither of their efforts as lyrical as hers. For Sebastien she was the warm, bright heart of Kinlochan.

After his weapon practice that morning, he had returned determined to seek her out to discuss Kinlochan and its tenants, although in truth, he simply wanted to see her. They were to be handfasted in another day, on Christmas Eve, and he found himself thinking about that often.

Another reason he wanted seek her out was to clarify certain issues and questions before he could finally approach Cormac MacNechtan with the king's orders. He wanted to ride to Turroch soon, certainly before the new year.

Sebastien brushed snow from the sleeves of his dark tunic, the flakes so large and white that their patterns stood out against the wool. Long strides took him through the middle of the yard. Hearing his name called, he looked around.

Una stood in the doorway of the kitchen, beckoning to him. He changed his direction and strode toward her.

"Come in, Sebastien
Ban,"
she said. She tugged at his sleeve to urge him inside. "I want to speak with you. The snow is light, eh?"

"I wonder if it will thicken," Sebastien answered in Gaelic.

"It may." She walked to the wide hearth constructed of fieldstone and set against the back wall. Several oatcakes were baking on a large iron griddle just over the fire. She used a wooden spatula to turn a few of the cakes.

"I always watch the weather omens," she said as she worked. "Birds, shadows, wind, clouds all tell me what to expect. That, and my husband's aching bones."

"What did you want to tell me, Dame Una?" Sebastien asked. He inhaled the aromas of baking oatcakes and something savory that bubbled in a kettle over the fire. The kitchen was fragrant and dimly lit. Long and low-ceilinged, it was the only building in the fortress constructed of stone and roofed in slate to discourage fires. A thick oak table, knife-scarred and scrubbed clean, filled the central space. Herbs and onions hung in bunches from the ceiling; baskets of apples and carrots and sacks of grain lined one wall.

"I want to give you a gift," Una said. She slid the steaming oatcakes off the griddle to cool on the table surface. "A kitchen is not a place for a warrior, I know, but I thought you might be hungry. I saw you outside at the pillar not so long ago, like a fine warrior protecting our Maiden." She grinned, her delicate head trembling a little.

He chuckled. "I practice at swords in the mornings. Though I would gladly protect your Stone Maiden if she were real."

"She is," Una said matter-of-factly.

"You mean Alainna."

"Both of them. Here you, eat. These are made with honey and salt. Sweet and good. You need it."

Sebastien took one obediently and bit into it. The cake was thick, hot, and delicious. He swallowed, and accepted the cup of fresh, cool ale that Una handed him.

"How is the Stone Maiden real?" he asked.

"She is caught inside the pillar stone," Una said. "She waits there, watching over us. She is under a spell of magic cast by the faeries, but she will be free soon."

"Ah, the faery spell. Alainna told me."

"I want to thank you for going out each morning to protect our Stone Maiden," Una went on. "Her strength may be waning now, as the seven hundred years draw to a close. She is grateful that you guard her." She smiled. "Here, Sebastien
Ban,
I want you to have this." She held up a folded plaid of a rich dark green, threaded with yarns of black and red.

"This is a fine gift," he said. "I cannot—"

"Tcha, you can," she answered, draping it in a swath over his left shoulder. "You have done much for us. And I am thinking you are cold in Norman cloth. This is good Highland wool, woven by our own Esa, from yarns that the women of Kinlochan have prepared from Kinlochan sheep. Such a garment will keep you as warm as if you sat at our hearth, eh?" She patted his chest and smiled at him.

Sebastien felt his heart wrench beneath her small mothering hand. "It will," he agreed, smiling fondly at her. "It is a good garment indeed, and a good gift."

"May it bring you joy and blessings, and may it keep you safe." She paused, her lips trembling. She handed him a long iron pin, twisted decoratively at one end, to fasten the plaid. "Wear it in the manner of a Highland man. You look fine in the
breacan."
She gave him a quick and impish smile.

"But I am not a Highland man."

"You are, in your heart, if you but allow yourself to be," she said cryptically. She pushed him toward the door. "Go, you, and find Alainna. She is working this morning."

"Working again?" He had not meant to say that.

"She does her carving every day, every night, even on the Sabbath. Go talk to her," she urged. "Tell her she works too hard and does not rest enough. Tell her you want to see her in the hall laughing and sharing stories with the rest of us."

He smiled ruefully. "I doubt she will listen to me."

"Ach,
she will. After all, you were sent here to protect the Maiden."

"The Stone Maiden, or the Maiden of Kinlochan?" he asked as he opened the door.

"Both," Una said, and pushed him outside.

Sebastien smiled to himself as he crossed the bailey, and paused to adjust the dark green plaid around his shoulders like a cloak. He folded its long length, draped it over his shoulders, and wrapped the excess across the front, using the iron pin to fasten it closed. The thick wool blocked the wind admirably as he resumed his walk through the falling snow.

"Now that," a man said, "is not the way to wear a plaid."

He swiveled to see Lome coming toward him. The old man's long hair seemed whiter than the snow itself, his beard a pale dusting on his gaunt cheeks, his eyes piercing blue. He carried a long sword in his hand, and Sebastien looked at it, puzzled, knowing the bard was not a warrior.

"Do I need to show you how to put on the
breacan
again?" Lome asked.

Sebastien shook his head, smiling. "I remember," he said. "Una gave me this length of plaid just now," he explained. "I am honored by her gift. But I am not certain that I should wear the plaid in the Highland manner, being Breton by birth."

Lome smiled. "That plaid belonged to our son."

Sebastien stared in astonishment. "Morag's husband? I did not know—"

"No matter. Wear it with courage and grace, as he did. It is no good to him now, and it is no good to hide it in a chest wrapped in bog myrtle to keep out the pests. Una is right to give it to you."

"You should give it to a Highlander."

"We have many plaids to share in this clan. We have so many, Sebastien
Ban,
because we lost many men. The women have chests full of things stored away. You wear it, and may it bring you good fortune." Lome clapped a hand on Sebastien's shoulder.

"I am grateful to you."

Lome held the shining sword upright by the hilt. "And I was coming to find you today, to give you this." He offered it to him. "Take it. It is what we call a
claidheamh mor,
a great sword. A Highland sword."

Sebastien took it in two hands. "I have heard of these claymores, and I have seen them used," he said, looking at the long, heavy blade, the two-handed grip swathed in leather, the brasswork on the hilt. "This is a very fine weapon. I cannot accept such a—"

"We want you to have it," Lome said brusquely. "My kinsmen and I. Lulach and Niall, Donal and Aenghus, we all talked about this. We have seen you at your swording nearly every morning, out there beside our Stone Maiden. You have excellent skills and great strength. You need one of these."

Sebastien hefted it experimentally. The claymore was far longer and heavier than his own blade, but beautifully balanced by the weight of the longer hilt and the downward-sloped guard. "I have used two-handed broadswords before, but this is even longer than those. It is taller than some men I know."