Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (36 page)

Sebastien looked at the stone on the bench as she removed the cloth and chose a chisel and mallet from an assortment of tools. She positioned a toothed chisel and gently tapped the mallet against the wooden handle of the chisel, moving the teeth over a section of the slab.

Aware that he came closer, she could not seem to calm the fast thud of her heart or the tremor in her hands. She continued to manipulate the chisel.

"What stone is this?" he asked. "I have not seen you working on it before. A beautiful color, like fresh cream," he said, tracing a finger along the edge. "And smooth to the touch, too. Is it limestone?"

"Caen limestone. Malcolm brought this from France, I think."

"Normandy. Caen is in Normandy. I have been there myself, and I have heard of its famous limestone."

"Justly famous, for it carves beautifully. The stone is soft enough to be easily worked, compliant to the slightest touch, but hard enough to take fine detail and polish like good marble." She chose another chisel as she spoke. "It does just what the tool wants, just what the hand and the mind want, yet only needs the lightest touch, the gentlest hand."

"The perfect stone for you, I think," he murmured.

She lowered her glance, but loved his quiet compliment. "I wish I had more of this limestone," she said, and tapped again with the mallet, focusing on her task for a few moments. "Since I have only this piece, I want to carve something unique."

He bent closer to look at the stone. "What is this scene?"

"Parts of it are only scabbled—roughed in—but there is a tower here, with a palisade around it, and a man and woman waiting inside the gate...."

"And outside, trees, and water, and birds flying. I see. Is it meant to be Kinlochan?"

"It is a scene from a very ancient tale of a legendary place called
Tir Tairngire,
the Land of Promise, or
Tir na n'Og,
the Land of Endless Youth. A beautiful green island far to the west, where the sun sets like melted gold on a shining sea. On that isle, there is a tower whose walls are made of silver, its roof thatched with the wings of white birds, surrounded by a palisade of new bronze," she said in a dreamy voice.

"You are as much a poet and storyteller as your great-uncle, though you do not see it." He spoke in Gaelic, although they had been using English. His voice dropped to a tender, deeper level.

She felt herself blush, felt a shiver ripple through her. "The lord of that land is the bravest warrior among men, and his lady the most gracious and beautiful among women. Their land is full of plenty, fruit trees on the hills, salmon in the river, birds in every tree."

"Paradise," he murmured.

"Paradise," she repeated, running her fingers along the plaited design of the carved border. "A land full of joy and hope. A land where no one grows old or feels sorrow." Tears of sudden longing stung her eyes. "It is not Kinlochan."

He tilted his head. "Is this where you wish to be?"

"Who would not want to live in a land of peace and plenty?" she asked, and leaned forward to choose a different chisel.

"Indeed," he said. He stood beside her as she worked.

After a while she looked up. "I meant to tell you that Donal and Lulach went out to talk to the tenants on Kinlochan lands to request whatever oats and barley they could spare to feed your horses. I think we can acquire enough to last through the winter."

"Good. Next year, though, we will have to bring in grasses for hay, or our livestock will suffer for it."

Our livestock.
She looked away, putting down her chisel to choose a sharp point. "If the horses are here next year, certainly we will care for them well." Setting the tip of the point against the stone, she angled it carefully, pounded it once, and knocked away a chip, which fell to the floor.

"So long as we are talking about Kinlochan matters, rather than our own marriage—whatever sort of marriage it is," he added, while Alainna frowned quickly at him, "I wanted to mention to you that I looked for you the other day, when the fog was so heavy, to talk to you about provisions for the livestock. I thought you would be here at your carving, or with Una and the other women, but no one had seen you."

"Oh. That day," she said, heart leaping. She glanced up at his unwavering gaze. He frowned, his eyes crystal gray and somber. "I was... I went outside the walls."

"Poor weather to be out," he commented. "Or to row a boat."

"B—boat?" She knocked the mallet into the point again.

"I walked out to the Stone Maiden to look for you, and saw you far down the loch, in a small boat with Finan."

Her hand, around the iron tool, slipped, and the mallet smacked into her hand. Wincing, she dropped the tools and grabbed her throbbing thumb.

Sebastien reached for her hand. "Let me see."

"It is fine," she insisted, but his fingers were warm and strong, and she allowed him to cradle her hand in the palm of his own. "I am used to such," she said, with a rueful laugh.

"It is a shame for you to be used to being hurt." His fingers rubbed over hers, creating pleasant chills in her.

"It will ease quickly," she murmured, pulling away, but he kept hold of her hand, smoothing his fingers over hers.

"You were out on the loch," he said, resuming the topic she wanted to avoid. "I wondered why you went to that island alone on such a day. I would have called for you, or gone after you myself, but one of the squires had trouble handling my horse in the stable during a shoeing and someone ran to get me. By the time I looked for you again, Una said you had returned and were in your bedchamber."

"Oh. Oh," she said, searching for an answer. "I... when I was a child, I used to think of that little isle as
Tir na n'Og.
In the summer especially, at sunset, it is a beautiful place, green and lush on the shining waters. Sometimes I go to the island to collect stones for carving. Most of my small crosses are made from stones taken from there." That was all true, she thought frantically.

"On a cold day, in fog, it can hardly be a paradise."

"The island is a... a quiet place, a haven for meditating on God, which Father Padruig urges us to do often."

"You took your dog in a little boat and went to that island there to meditate on God and holy matters?" He looked incredulous, his fingers still over hers.

"To... ah, contemplate acts of charity." Close enough to the truth, she told herself. "Fog and mist, and dawn and sunset, are thought by the Celts to be mystical times. Good for meditation, do you not agree?"

"Ah," he said. "And your dog meditates with you?"

She smiled angelically. "He is a remarkable hound."

"Indeed." He released her hand, and she flexed her thumb and reached for her tools. He frowned down at her, his fingers resting loosely on his hips. "As for charitable acts, to my mind, you perform those daily around here. If you wish to meditate upon holy matters too, you must be near a saint."

She stopped, chisel poised on stone. "I am hardly that!"

"My lady, if you are compelled to contemplate heaven in cold, mystical places, you would be happier in a convent than wed to anyone," he said. "You did mention that when I first came here."

"That was my temper, sirrah, which should prove that I am no saint or martyr." She bent to her task once again and gave the chisel a sharp whack. "What is it you wish to say?" Her hands trembled and her heart paced rapidly, but she had to know what he suspected, for Ruari's sake, for the sake of her people. "I find the courteous Norman style of speech confusing at times. Highlanders are so forthright as to be blunt, and that is what I am accustomed to. Just say what you think."

He frowned, folding his arms over his chest. "I can be blunt, if that is what you want. What you did was dangerous and irresponsible. And it made me wonder if there is something you wish to keep secret on that island."

She stilled her tools and stood, thinking fast, wiping her dusty, trembling hands on her smock. "I often like to be alone, as I think you do, sirrah. What more reason could there be?"

His gray eyes seemed cool and wary. "It was odd behavior when there are men hiding in the hills, and who knows where else. I would not want you to be harmed."

"I am safe at Kinlochan."

"That is why I am here," he answered simply. "To see that you stay safe, and that your people are kept safe."

She nodded. "And that is why we are handfast, when neither of us wants to be. Now be blunt with me on another topic," she said, anxious to change the subject. "Do you still plan to leave Scotland as soon as you can?"

"I do. And I plan to return from time to time to ensure your welfare. Such is the case with many marriages between knights and their ladies."

She searched his face. "So you do intend to keep this marriage between us."

"It is the king's expectation and his order for us."

Her heart slammed in her chest. She waved an arm in impatient, passionate anger. "A marriage of chivalry, where the knight does as he pleases, taking his adventures here and there, gaining land and wealth and more and more worth, while his wife sits in a tower and waits for him, and fends for herself and her own kind, and raises their children alone, all the years that he is gone?" Her voice rose to a shout. "It would be better never to wed than to have that sort of protection and good company!"

He reached out and took her by the upper arms, his fingers like steel bands. She flattened her hands on his chest, where she felt the heavy pulse of his heart and a tension, as if he held back a wellspring of power.

"What sort of marriage do you want?" he demanded.

"The sort that are made in the Highlands. The sort that I see in my own family."

"Enlighten me."

"Honest and strong," she said. "Shared lives, filled with love."

"Do you think I do not want that?" he growled under his breath. He pulled her toward him, dipping his head, his mouth finding hers with a sureness that took her breath, sent her spinning deep into a thunderous kiss.

His arm slid behind her like a rod of iron, and his hand cradled the back of her head, fingers sliding into the wealth of her hair, loosening her thick braid. His mouth moved over hers with a power and a gentleness that stunned her, his body hard against hers.

The kiss lengthened, grew hot and exquisite, until she made a soft moan and felt her knees weaken. Sebastien pulled back, holding her tightly—if he had let go just then she would have stumbled, unsure of her legs. He looked into her eyes, his gaze a keen, clear pool.

"Is that what you want?" he asked hoarsely.

She closed her eyes, her body yielding to the strength in his arms, her thoughts muddled. She nodded fervently. "I asked," she breathed, "what you wanted."

"I want what you want. Paradise." His voice vibrated within her body, and his fingers brushed so gently over her hair that she felt the tenderness all the way to the soles of her feet. "But I do not think that exists for me anywhere."

He let go of her. She reached out to cold limestone for support, her heart pounding, flattening her other hand on her chest. He turned and went to the door. When she thought he would open it and go out, he paused.

"Alainna," he said, "I am a solitary man by nature. It is not easy for me to reveal what is most dear to me."

"What is that?" she asked, her near whisper carrying.

"My dreams," he said, his voice husky. "My son." He placed his hand on the iron latch. "You, now."

She moved to him, her spirit so full of longing that her body trembled. "Stay," she whispered. "Do not go."

"Stay for what purpose?" he asked huskily.

Her heart pounded hard. "For peace," she said. "For hope."

"Our pride will not allow us peace, or hope, or a marriage."

She touched his back. "Stay. Tell me your dreams."

"My dreams are my own. My own to meet, or to lose."

"And yours to share." She trailed her hand over his shoulder, feeling the hard strength in his arm, the tension there. "I have shared mine with you."

He turned, face partly angled, partly shadowed. "Your dreams? Ah. Your carvings."

"Especially my Land of Promise," she said. "I have never shown that stone to anyone. It is the dearest one among them all, to me. It holds... all my hopes. All my dreams."

He turned and gazed at her. "Then I suppose you expect to hear my dreams." He sounded wry, but gentle. She nodded. "A boy raised in a monastery learns to be silent and still," he said. "I kept my thoughts to myself. The habit endures."

"Tell me," she said. "Make another habit."

He chuckled, flat and dry. "I dreamed much, as a child, of what I wanted in life. I created ambitions and goals that grew stronger until I had to act on them."

"What was it you wanted?" she asked.

He looked past her, and she knew he looked at the cream limestone with her scene of the Land of Promise. "A noble title, land wealth, status as a knight, the worth of a name," he listed. "A home. Family," he added quietly.

Her heart wrenched for him, thinking of that young, lonely boy. "You achieved those."