Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (29 page)

"You do not merit a happy welcome," she snapped. "I do not consider myself your wife. You did not have my consent for the marriage."

"Listen to me. You were made mine by a formal ceremony in France, under sanction of the Church. I could take you now, there in that bed, and seal the marriage in the eyes of God and man." He gestured with a thumb toward the curtained bed. "I ought to get a true son upon you now, so we need have no more talk of Ninian being my son."

Eva flared her nostrils, fighting repulsion. "You hear me. I fended for myself while you were away. My home was taken over by soldiers and I had to find safe shelter elsewhere. And you threatened my family. After that, I would never fall willingly into bed with you—or into a marriage with you."

"You gave me your promise." He stepped forward to look down at her, his face reddening. "Your temper has not changed, has it? Still fire and spit, and still appealing." He smiled. "No one forced you to leave Innisfarna to stay in this hut—that was your own spoiled nature. But you can leave with me and come to Strathlan to live in far better luxury."

"I will go nowhere with you," she said stiffly. "You married me without consent, and you promised to help my brothers and my kinsmen, and have not done so. What news do you bring of their appeal?"

"I had written permission from your guardian—from Donal, in exchange for my influence in his case."

"Written? Have you seen him? Is he well?"

"I obtained his signature of consent while I was in France. I sent you word of it," he barked.

"I never got it. How is Donal? Will he be freed?"

"Thin, weak, and made docile by his situation."

"Donal would never be docile," she said, raising her chin. "Nor would any of my MacArthur kinsmen."

"Or you," Colin said.

She folded her hands, her heart pounding. "I have waited a long time to hear good news on behalf of my kinsmen. Have you any to report?"

"I have met my promise, as I said I would," he said abruptly, and stuck two fingers inside the arm opening of his cuirass, bringing out two creased and much-folded parchments. "This is an order signed by the king, and another document that will interest you. According to this, Donal will be released and pardoned, and your kinsmen as well, with conditions. So you see, I have done what you wanted of me."

She stared at him, stunned, feeling a burst of relief and a dark tug of sadness. "Let me read it," she said, and reached for the page, scanning it quickly before he snatched it from her.

"The order is provisional," he said.

"Why so? Give it to me. I can read—English, Latin, whatever it is." She stretched, but he held it above her head.

"Conditional," he said, "upon the granting of Innisfarna to me. This other page is the deed to the island, copied out of the property rolls kept in Edinburgh. The place became mine upon our marriage, provisional upon your signature in agreement, which I will send back to the clerk of the crown.

Then," he said, "your kinsmen will be pardoned, according to the king's conditions."

"Conditions?" She stared at him, her blood running cold. "What if I should refuse to sign that page?" she asked softly.

"Refuse?" He snorted in disbelief. "My good influence will be withdrawn and turned against your clan. Donal will die—the king grows short in patience with this matter—and your kinsmen will be hunted down until they are all dead, too." He shrugged. "Of course, it is your choice. Do you have ink and pen in this hovel or shall we see to the signing at Strathlan, in the comfort of our home, dear wife?"

Hand flattened over her heart, Eva stared at him, unable to answer, whether to agree or to protest.

Chapter 20

Following his nose, and the thin veil of gray smoke that hung over the middle of the forest, Lachlann found the charcoal burner by midday. He cautiously guided the garron and the packhorse, whose lead he held, through a pine forest over a path carpeted with russet pine needles. The tangy smell of sap was so pleasant that he pulled in a deep breath.

Then the odor of char grew stronger, and between the trees, he saw a clearing and the conical shape of three charcoal-burning mounds, as large as small houses, from which smoke drifted.

As he emerged from the trees he saw a man and a woman in the clearing. Both were small and shriveled and gray, as if the constant overhanging smoke had withered them. They watched him silently as he dismounted and tied the horses to a tree.

"I told you he would come, and here he is," the woman said, nudging the man forward.

"You are a MacKerron," the man said. "I know the look of your kin. You have been here before, but not for a long while. And your father was here, too, long ago. I am Leod."

Lachlann took the little man's grimy hand. "Leod, greetings. I remember you. Years ago, I would come here with Finlay MacKerron to buy charcoal. He always said that yours was the best quality and made the best steel."

"The best, of course," the woman said, scurrying closer.

"No one can make good steel without our charcoal. We cut the trees and burn the wood in secret ways," she confided. "You are not Finlay's son. The other one was your father. Look at him, Leod, he is the one." She jabbed him with her elbow.

"I know who he is, Nessa," Leod said, sounding irritated.

"And you have the look of his mother, too," Nessa whispered loudly. "Blue eyes, blue eyes, cousin to a king," she sang, and smiled up at Lachlann, so short and hunched over that she scarcely came to his waist.

"What?" Lachlann asked, a little startled by her behavior.

"Your mother," she said. "She had the same bluebell eyes as you have, and she was a cousin to the king. Not that her Stewart blood saved her, or avenged her. But there are kings and faeries in you. Good blood in you." She kept smiling at him.

"You knew my mother?"

"She was a kind beauty, and her love a fine dark man—oh, so handsome, that one! And you have both of them in you."

"Tell me what you know of them."

"Is it charcoal you want?" Leod asked. "Or is it truth?"

"Both," Lachlann said. "J came here to ask you what happened to my parents. Mairi said you might know. And I will buy charcoal—the best you have, for the best steel."

"Ah, he will be making faery steel soon," Nessa said, nodding sagely. Leod scowled at her.

"Go tend the fires, Nessa, or we will have nothing but ash and soot. This man wants the best charcoal we can sell him. Go." He turned back to Lachlann. "We cut the wood and burn it carefully, tending it for weeks at a time to make our charcoal pieces. Those huts there are still burning inside, but I have some of our best new-made charcoal for you."

Lachlann watched as Nessa went toward one of the huts, using a long stick to poke at the embers buried beneath the pile that stood higher than her head. "I can give you as much charcoal as your packhorse can carry and as much as you can barter me for smithing work, or food, or even coin. How much do you want?" Leod asked. "And how much truth do you want?" he added.

Lachlann blinked. "Three sacks for now, and I will pay in smith work or coin, either one. As for the rest... tell me as much truth about my parents as you know."

Leod nodded, rubbing his whiskered jaw. "You do have the look of Tomas MacKerron, that dark faery blood—black and tall he was, like you, with eyes like silver. He was a good smith for the finest faery blades."

Lachlann looked at him cautiously. "Finlay told me of a tradition for that sort of thing among MacKerron smiths."

"More than tradition. You wanted the truth. Tomas MacKerron made faery blades, and he was killed for them."

"If you knew this, why did you never seek me out?"

"Finlay knew. And it was your place to seek me out, and so you have," Leod said. "I will tell you now, but I would not carry tales then. There are those who would not like it. I stay out of business that is not my own. I am but a charcoal burner."

"Leod, if you know who killed my father, and why, tell me.

"Nessa and I were there that night, bringing a load of charcoal to Tomas," he said. "He lived just over the hill—that way. You can see the ruin of the smithy and the house, near the great charred oak on the north hill."

"What happened?" Lachlann asked.

Nessa came back, lugging a huge sack of charcoal nearly as large as she was. She dragged it past her husband, who only watched her. Lachlann stepped toward her to help her lift it, but before he could get to her side, she had hefted it onto the packhorse. Smacking dust from her hands, she marched back.

"Well," she said. "Tell him, you old fool. I would have told you myself, young man, but the faeries would not let me."

"They—what?"

"Them, there," she said, pointing. "The little ones watching you. They would not let me tell you. Said it was yours to learn, and when you were ready, you would come to us."

Lachlann looked where she indicated, but saw only a pine forest. Nessa apparently saw more, for she waved and giggled. "There they are," she said. "They are glad you finally came. It is about time, they say. Listen. 'Time, time,' they are singing... 'time the smith made his faery sword.'"

He stared at her, then turned back to Leod. The old man smiled as if there was nothing odd in his wife's chatter. "What... ah, what happened that night, Leod?"

"It was the old one," Leod said. "Old Murdoch Campbell."

"Colin's father?" Lachlann asked quickly, recognizing the old laird's name.

Leod nodded. "He came to the smithy where your father was working after dark. 'Come out,
gobha,
' Murdoch said, and he held a sword upright." Leod deepened his voice and reached up with his arm, acting out what he had seen. "'Ho,
gobha,
this is not the sword I ordered from you. Come out, smith, and give me the faery blade I paid for!' And Tomas the
gobha
came out, wiping his hands on his apron, with his pretty wife at his side."

Nessa hurried forward. "And then the smith spoke again," she said, as if eager to take part. "'I made you a good battle sword, Murdoch. Now go away. You are drunk again,' your father said to him," she recounted, lowering her voice to a masculine pitch.

"'But I want a faery blade. Give it to me, or you shall have this one between your ribs!'" Leod said, swaggering and waving his arm like a mummer at a fair as he played Murdoch Campbell.

"'Go away, Murdoch Campbell, and leave my husband alone. You always talk of faery blades when the drink is upon you!'" Nessa said. "And then your mother shooed him with her hands." She gestured and minced. "She was graceful as a faery girl."

Lachlann stared, both entranced and horrified by their strangely comedic behavior.

"Did Murdoch kill my father?" Lachlann ground out.

"Staggered near off his horse, he did, drunk as that man was." Leod spoke, while Nessa mimed a stumble. "He always talked of faery blades when the
uisge beatha
was upon him. He even came to me. He wanted a faery sword, you see, for he had dark ambition in his hard old soul. He knew he could win that island in the great loch if he had such a weapon." Beyond them, Nessa waved her arm high as if she held a sword.

"He what? Do you mean Innisfarna?" Lachlann asked.

"That old fool wanted Innisfarna," Nessa said. "Murdoch tried to wed the girl who owned it, but she married the handsome chief of the MacArthurs and gave him three lovely babes." She smiled. "Murdoch always craved that island, for he thought if he held that, he would hold Scotland in his power, beyond the king's control. The faeries told me he could not have it. Not for him, that place. Not for him." She peered closely at him.

Lachlann stared at her as if he had been struck. "So," he said, half to himself. "His son Colin wants Innisfarna too."

"That may be, I do not know," Leod said. "But I remember that Murdoch demanded the faery blade from your father, and Tomas said he could not help him. Quiet of voice and strong of spirit was that young man. 'Leave us be, Murdoch!' Tomas said, and he sent his wife inside and faced the old man alone."

"'Aileen, my love, go inside with you!'" Nessa said.

Leod turned. "Go get the blade," he told Nessa. She turned and hastened into a little hut set apart from the charcoal-burning piles, which Lachlann presumed was their home.