Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (44 page)

He went to Alainna first and held out his hand. When she placed her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the smooth knuckles. His gaze was only for her, and he smiled.

"Welcome back to the hall," she said softly. "My kin are glad to see you well at last."

"And are
you
glad?" he murmured.

"You know I am," she said.

He lowered her hand and let it go, and turned to the man who sat across from her. Ruari stood slowly and faced Sebastien across the width of the table.

Wordlessly, Sebastien leaned forward and picked up a wooden goblet and a jug of ale that sat on the table. He slowly poured a cupful, and handed it to Ruari.

"I owe you thanks," he said. "We all do here."

Ruari accepted the cup with a nod and a wry smile. As he sipped and raised his cup in turn to salute Sebastien, a cheer rose in the room.

Chapter 27

The bronze bell in the church tower echoed a lament over the hills. Alainna listened, standing in the open doorway of her workshop beside Finan, her hand stilled on his head. Every strike of the distant bell rendered a mark upon her heart, as if grief were a chisel. Father Padruig had promised to toll the bell every hour in a dirge for the fallen knights until they had all been buried.

Snow flurried down again, but the snowfall of the previous week had melted enough for a solemn procession to leave Kinlochan to carry the slain knights, and to attend a mass. Giric, Lorne, and some of the others were still at the church, digging graves in the almost frozen ground, but Alainna, Sebastien, and others had returned a little while earlier.

Blinking back tears, she saw that the bailey was silent, cold, pristine with snow. Beyond the palisade, the rugged blue mountains wore a crown of pale clouds.

She saw Sebastien walking through the yard, his long, agile stride filled with natural masculine grace, although she knew he was still weary from injury and illness. The wind whipped at his golden hair and billowed the plaid that he wore wrapped about his shoulders, draped like a mantle.

Her heart seemed to reel in her breast, as she often felt when she saw him. "May God make smooth the path before you," she said in Gaelic as he came near.

"And may you be safe from every harm," he answered. Finan nosed under his hand, and he scratched the dog's head, then leaned a shoulder against the door frame. "The world sleeps beneath a white coverlet lately," he mused. "We will have even more snow by the look of those clouds."

"The queen of winter rules now, while Aenghus mac Og, the golden one, sleeps. Soon he will awaken, and he and Brighid will bring the springtime back, and we will have sunshine and greenness once again."

"Ah, is that what we wait for," he murmured. "Spring."

She looked out over the whiteness the snowfall that lazily filled the air. "I always think of snow as one of the time-between-times," she said. "There is magic in such times, the stories tell us. Mist, fog, dawn, twilight... when the world is neither one, nor the other. Snow and ice seem that way to me, the world gone white and still and beautiful, conjured out of crystals and clouds."

He tipped his head to look down at her. "It is a magical time, in a way. Life is frozen. Time can seem frozen too."

She nodded. The distant bell pealed again, and Sebastien lifted his head to listen, his profile strong and handsome.

"I am sorry about your men," she said.

"I know," he said. "I should be there, helping the others."

"You were there this morning," she said. "And I asked you to ride back with me and my kinswomen, which you kindly did."

He smiled ruefully. "You and Una sought an excuse to bring the invalid back home."

Home.
The word echoed between them silently.

"We did," she agreed. "You should not be doing the work of digging now, and risk opening your stitches."

He nodded. "Lome told me that you have been making stones for the graves. Thank you."

She nodded. "I am glad to be able to do something for your friends. Our friends," she added quietly. "Come, I will show you." She stepped into the workshop, and he entered too. Finan rushed past them to claim the warmest spot by the brazier, and Alainna shut the door and turned.

He went to the workbench and she followed. "I used some small slabs of sandstone." She pointed toward one of the stones. "I incised the lines rather than carved them in relief. It is a faster method, and can make a handsome image."

Sebastien nodded as she spoke. The outlined crosses were filled with a pattern of interlaced lines. "These require careful effort, I am sure, yet you have done four of the five already."

"Sandstone is soft enough to carve rapidly, but it does not take fine detail well, so I used a simpler zigzagged key design. I usually do not like to work with sandstone."

He lifted a brow. "Because you make tomb sculptures in it?"

"That," she admitted, "and because it is soft and gritty and raises a choking dust that makes me cough. And it wears my tools out too quickly. Lulach grumbles when he has to sharpen them too often."

"You made these quickly. You have been working hard."

She sat on the stool and picked up a v-shaped chisel and a wooden mallet. "It needed to be done." She moved the tools in a rhythm, making channels in the stone, which fell away like clay beneath her tools. The light tapping sound filled the air for several moments.

"That blue hound of yours sleeps deeper than any hound I have ever seen," Sebastien commented, lifting a brow to glance at Finan, who nestled, eyes closed, beside the brazier. "The noise does not disturb him at all."

"He is used to it, and nothing can stir him awake if he wants to sleep," she said. "He is getting older, too. He seems to sleep more often and more deeply lately." She sighed, thinking that he was yet another one of those she loved who was growing older.

Sebastien watched her. "You look tired. You are thinner."

She gazed at the shadows in his face, at the new gauntness that revealed the classic balance of the bones beneath his skin. "So are you."

He reached out to brush at her cheek with a thumb, taking away some stone dust. "There are dark circles under your eyes."

She half smiled. "You sound like Una. Next you will want to know when last I ate, when last I slept, and for how long."

"Well," he said. "Tell me." She grimaced, and he smiled. "One of the monks at the monastery of Saint-Sebastien would peer into our faces and comment on our pale cheeks or red noses, and tell us to eat more or to get more sleep. He meant well, and cared about us. I suppose I learned it from him. I mean well. I care about you," he added softly.

She ducked her head over her work. A sneeze began high in her nose. She released it into her hand. "The stone is making too much dust." She picked up a damp cloth and rubbed down the powdered surface of the stone.

"Alainna, I think you should rest for a bit," he said.

"I want to finish this today." She picked up her tools again. "It is the last of the knights' crosses."

"I can see the strain of the work in your face and your voice. You have been up too many nights with only a bed of stone for your head." He lifted the silken tail of one of her long braids, shaking a few tiny stone chips from it.

"When I cannot sleep, the work soothes me," she said.

"The work does not let you sleep. There is no need to hurry so to finish these stones."

"They are nearly done. It is not difficult carving. If I am in a hurry at all, it is to return to my own work."

Sebastien went to the table beneath the window, where her gray limestone pieces lined the table top. He looked at them, pausing at each one. "You have done much in the last weeks. Three more are finished. And the scene of the Stone Maiden is done." He bent to examine it. "This is truly beautiful work. You are an artist."

"I am a craftswoman," she said, and tapped the mallet as she spoke. "An artisan. A preserver of my clan's heritage. I am a woman who works hard, who does not give up once she sets her mind to something. I fear that I only have until spring."

"You have your entire life." He turned. "The work you do is outstanding, yet you do not see that. You see only the need to work, the need to finish another stone and move on. Stop, Alainna," he said. "Stop for a moment and come here."

He beckoned, and she shook her head. "I cannot stop," she said, and tapped her mallet on the chisel, blew away the dust. "There is so little time left."

He crossed the room and took both of her arms in his, nearly lifting her from her stool, turning her, urging her ahead of him with his hands on her shoulders. "Here," he said, halting with her in front of the table. "Look."

"At what?"

He touched a finger under her chin and turned her face a little. "Look at your stones," he said gently. He pressed her hand to the limestone, her fingers caught between the cool, hard stone and his warm, strong touch.

"Feel the texture," he said. "Smooth and polished, neatly carved. Look at the designs. There, Labhrainn and the mermaid he loved. That one, Mairead the Brave fighting a wolf to save her child. Here, under your hand, the Stone Maiden—Alainna, the beautiful one, who watches over her clan forever." His voice softened. "Look at the stones, Alainna
mo caran
," he urged. "Tell me what you see."

She looked at him, her heart beating fast and sweet.
Mo caran,
he had called her—my beloved.

"Tell me," he murmured again.

Alainna turned her head, and looked. "I see... oh," she said, tracing her fingertips over the intricate plaiting in one border, the knotwork in another. "It is lovely. The carving is... so carefully done."

"It is," he said. "What else?"

"I see pictures of... courage, and of love for the clan. Oh," she murmured again, suddenly surprised by the artistry in the stones, a balance of graceful curvilinear design combined with intricate detail. She had intended them to capture the stories, but she had not dared to hope that they could be beautiful, too. Her breath caught on a sob that bubbled up from deep within her. Tears sprang to her eyes. "They are wonderful," she said.

"They are." He took her hand in his, and kissed it. "We all know it. But you need to see it for yourself."

She nodded, and gazed at him through a glaze of tears, grateful for his kindness. He gathered her into his arms and she rested her cheek against his wool-covered chest, hearing the thud of his heart, sensing his vigorous strength, glad he was healing so quickly.

Most of all, she was grateful that he was here, and alive. Seeing him so close to death had frightened her to the depth of her soul. She had not told him how deeply her vigil by his bedside those many days and nights had affected her.

He lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth hot and gentle. Her head arched back, long-throated, and her knees shook beneath her. No matter what her thoughts were, his touch always seemed to open the gates of her soul.

Parting his mouth from hers, he slid his hands along her back, holding her close, resting his cheek against her head. Finan slept at their feet, his tail swiping an idle rhythm. Outside, the wind swept past in a cold, whistling sound.

She sighed against him, sadly, the burden of her thoughts heavy on her mind and her heart, and she knew that she must speak, that she could no longer hold back what must be said.

What she wanted most could not be. The agony she had endured watching him slide so close to death made her choice clear. She feared for his life if he stayed at Kinlochan.

"Sebastien
Ban,"
she began. "I have done much thinking in the days since you were injured and ill. I have come to a decision." She looked at him, her heart pounding. "Do you still plan to go back to Brittany when the weather clears?"

"I have been thinking too," he said. "And I have talked to your men and to mine. We are all in agreement. As soon as the snow clears, we will move against Cormac, and repay him for the betrayal he showed us."

She sucked in a quick breath. That was not what she wanted to hear. She stepped away from him, frowning, thinking, and went to another stool beside a second workbench, where she kept the piece of cream limestone. Whipping the cloth from its surface, she picked up a fine-edged chisel and a wooden mallet and began to furrow into its surface.