Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (52 page)

The fact that Normans sometimes took Scottish names became part of the inspiration for
The Stone Maiden.
I wondered what might happen if the Norman sense of honor and pride, so essential to twelfth-century knighthood, met its equal in Highland pride and stubbornness.

Generally I am careful not to alter historical fact, but I confess to some creativity regarding the origins of Clan MacLaren. Although the clan traces its roots to a thirteenth-century abbot, I have taken the liberty to provide a more ancient origin, complete with Irish roots. I did take care to preserve their legendary mermaid.

Other aspects of the research for this book led me into the fascinating web of Celtic culture. By the twelfth century, the art of bards and storytellers was already ancient in Scotland. Certain practices described in this novel, such as the "poet's bed" and the use of the silver branch, were used by early Celtic bards, and were still taught to Highland storytellers during the Middle Ages through at least the eighteenth century.

Chants, charms, and invocations of heavenly and elemental powers have been common in the Highlands since ancient days. Many of these beautiful verses were collected by Alexander Carmichael, whose
Carmina Gadelica
("Charms of the Gaels") was first published in 1899; a reprint edition was published in 1992 by Floris Books. The verses in
The Stone Maiden
are based on Carmichael's translations, but are a compilation of some original material with phrases and cadences common to Gaelic songs and chants.

Scotland has an abundance of native stone, and stone carving was an active art in medieval Scotland. Sculptures and carvings, produced in the Lowlands as well as the Highlands, combined Romanesque and Gothic features with Celtic elements in works of extraordinary beauty. Since medieval women played integral roles in the arts in Britain and Europe, it is possible that a woman could have wielded mallet and chisel upon stone in Scotland.

I am particularly grateful to Walter S. Arnold for sharing his expertise with me and for patiently explaining techniques and working methods. As one of the stone carvers chosen to work on the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., he helped to preserve and continue the honored traditions of medieval sculpture. For more information about stone carving, and to see some examples of Mr. Arnold's own work, visit his website at
www.stonecarver.com
.

Thank you for reading
The Stone Maiden
in its e-book form. I hope you enjoyed the story–and I hope you'll look for my other e-book re-issues as well as my books in print. Please check out my website at
www.susanfraserking.com
and look for me on the Word Wenches blog at
www.wordwenches.com
.

Happy Reading!

Susan King

Page forward and continue your journey

with an excerpt from

THE SWAN MAIDEN

The Celtic Nights Series

Book Two

Excerpt from

The Swan Maiden

The Celtic Nights Series

Book Two

by

Susan King

National Bestselling Author

THE SWAN MAIDEN

Reviews & Accolades

"...a fast-paced, action-packed, enthralling romance."

~Romantic Times Book Club

"With its well-conceived plot, and strong visual elements, this feisty historical romance will enchant."

~Publishers Weekly

Scotland, 1300

An angel flew out of the inferno and sank into the water. Surely it was the most beautiful and terrifying sight he had ever witnessed. Gawain ran forward, water lapping at his boots.

He searched, but did not see the pale slip of a girl who had leaped from the burning tower. Scores of swans glided on the flame-bright surface of the loch, but the girl did not emerge from the water, even as several birds launched upward.

Behind him, the bellow and crackle of the fire grew louder. He heard the commander, Sir Walter de Soulis, demand that the lady of the castle give up her home to him.

Bastard, Gawain thought. He hoped those inside the castle had found an escape somehow, though he doubted it. He was not certain that the girl who had leaped free had survived either.

"You—Avenel! Did the girl come out of the water?" a knight called out as Gawain went past.

He turned. "Nay. Likely she's drowned."

"Or killed by those birds. Swans can fight like demons. If she survives, Sir Walter wants her captured. But we may find the girl's body tomorrow."

Gawain looked up at the swans flying overhead. "The Scots claim that when someone drowns, their soul enters the body of a swan," he said.

"Where did you hear that?"

"When I was a boy. My... nurse was Scottish. There is a legend about enchanted swans on this very loch, if I recall. Each new swan is the soul of someone deceased, they say. Tell Sir Walter she went into the water and is gone," Gawain said.

"Edward of England owns this loch now, and he wants rebels, not children or swans. I do not want to tell Sir Walter the girl has drowned, I swear it." The man looked up at the white birds circling overhead. "How could she change into a swan? The longer I serve in Scotland, the more I believe anything can happen here," the knight drawled, and then walked away.

Glancing away from the burning castle—yet another raid by King Edward's knights on the Scots, yet another injustice that turned his stomach, even though he was part of it—he looked toward the hills for a moment. His boyhood home was somewhere among those slopes. Years ago, he had vowed to find his home again and claim his inheritance, but he had become, by necessity, a knight of King Edward—and so his secret dream seemed remote and impossible now.

He walked along the rocky edge near the burning tower and looked down into the loch. The water lapped at the promontory and sparks sizzled down into the loch like fallen stars. He searched, glancing here and there, not ready to give up on finding the girl who had thrown herself from the tower.

Then he saw the lift of a pale arm, glimpsed a face amid a few swans rippling the water's surface as they swam in agitation. She was there, he was sure—but he did not know if she was drowned or living.

He yanked off his red surcoat, pulled at the leather ties of his chain-mail hood and hauberk, threw off his belt and sword scabbard and struggled out of his gear. Piling all but his trews on the rocks in the fiery light, he slipped into the water, and swam toward the swans with strong, steady strokes. Pausing to tread water, he saw that pale form again, moving among the birds. She was swimming toward the shore. He surged after her.

Swans lurched upward, clumsy leaving the water, lovely in the air—grace lost, grace regained. When the commotion of swans cleared, he saw the girl again, nearing the reeds along the shore. He lunged forward, a few strokes more, and grabbed her. She struggled, but he got an arm around her and tugged her toward shore. When she began to scream, he cupped his hand over her mouth and stilled in the water, holding her close.

"Hush," he breathed out. "Easy! I have you!"

She twisted in his arms and gasped. Shouts sounded on shore. He saw the glare of torches and the glint of armor. Cradling the girl in his arms, he glided into the shelter of the reeds, his feet on the soft bottom of the loch now. He held her with him, low in the water.