Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (30 page)

"What happened then?" Lachlann asked.

"Murdoch sat upon the horse and threatened, but your father was not afraid of him. Old Murdoch swung the sword, drunk as he was, and caught Tomas in the chest." He shook his head sadly.

Lachlann was grateful that the old man did not act that out for him. He was not so sure Nessa would have held back from it, however. "He killed Tomas then and there. And he told his son to set the smithy on fire," Leod went on.

"His son?" Lachlann asked. "Colin was there?"

Leod nodded. "Murdoch told his son to do it, but he begged his father to leave. The old man was so drunk he set the place alight himself, using the torch that he carried in the dark, and he and his son rode off."

"You saw this?"

"I did not," Leod said. "Nessa saw it, and came running for me. By the time we got back, the smith was dead, the smithy and the house were on fire, and his beautiful wife, oh, she was gone too, taken by grief and by the smoke. I ran into the house and grabbed up the babe—you, Lachlann MacKerron—and I took you to Finlay and Mairi at the other end of the loch. A long journey and, oh, such a sad night." He shook his head.

"Leod, I owe you thanks for trying to help my parents. And I owe you my own life."

"You do," the old man agreed easily.

Lachlann shoved his hand roughly through his hair. "Why was this withheld from me? Was nothing done about their deaths?"

"Murdoch died not long after that—fell from his horse, they say, drunk again. With your father's murderer dead, who else was there to blame? Though Finlay judged Colin harshly in his own mind for it, I think. The son tried to stop the father, though he did run like a coward with him."

Lachlann pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. "Was the sheriff told of all this?"

"Finlay told him. It was not pursued. Smithies catch fire easily. Tomas's body was burned, and no one saw the wound. Only Nessa." Leod shrugged. "And no one believed Nessa but me, and Finlay! Some think my wife is a little mad," he whispered.

She came back, dragging a long leather sheath along the ground. "The faeries want you to have this," she said, and handed it to Lachlann.

He drew out a beautiful sword, shining and perfect, with a hilt of polished bone and a cross guard ending in quatrefoils. The lower part of the blade below the cross piece was etched with a tiny emblem. Lachlann peered closer.

"A heart," he said. "For MacKerron, as Finlay and I always used... but this one has a small 'T' in the center of the heart."

"Tomas MacKerron," Leod said. "He made this blade."

Lachlann hefted it in his hand, raised the tip, which caught the sunlight. "Is this the blade that Murdoch—?"

"Not that. This one your father made for himself. I took it out of his house when I rescued you. I knew one day you might want it, and I kept it for you. This is a faery blade."

Lachlann looked askance at him. "How do you know?"

"Feel the power in it," Leod said.

Lachlann turned his wrist slowly, arcing the blade to the ground, back up again. The sword sliced through the air with a whistle finer, sweeter than any he had ever heard. A delicate shiver began in his arm and spread throughout his body, and suddenly the blade felt feather-weighted and full of sunlight.

"It is beautiful, whatever it is," Lachlann said.

"Tomas knew the secret, and he had the knack," Leod said. "Finlay knew the method, but he could not make a true faery blade. He was a fine craftsman, but your father was an artist of the sword, had the making of them in his heart, see. You are Tomas's son, and you have the knack. I see the spark in you."

Lachlann stared warily at him.

"You know the secret already," Leod said. "But to make the blade sing, you must have the knack. What did Finlay tell you?"

"Air, earth, fire, and water must mingle in a faery blade," Lachlann answered. "That much I understand—those materials are part of all blademaking. He also said that it required the pouring on of light and a magical blessing. He told me more, but he was weak and could not tell me all of it. Not that I could use it, even if I understood."

"Oh, you can. You have the spark," Nessa said. "Ask Leod."

"I know the blessing," Leod said. "Air, earth, fire, water, and the rest."

Lachlann looked at him in surprise. "You?"

"I taught it to your father," the old man said. He held out his right hand, which was bent and disfigured, the fingers fused together by the scars of old, devastating burns. "A smith I was, once, and cousin to your father and Finlay. Leod MacKerron, I am called. I will teach you the charm of the MacKerron smiths."

* * *

With his father's sword and sheath secured to his saddle, and his head and heart full of what he had just learned, Lachlann rode back to Balnagovan, leading the packhorse loaded with sacks of charcoal. Although deep in thought as he crossed the long meadow, he heard the commotion in the smithy yard before he saw it.

Several soldiers were in the stretch of land between the smithy and the stable. Some of them were clustered in a circle, laughing heartily. In their midst, two men competed to lift an old anvil that sat near the smithy doorstep. Lachlann dismounted in the yard and stood watching, shaking his head, half laughing as John Robson came toward him.

"I have been scraping mud from my boots on that anvil for as long as I can remember," he told Robson. "And these fools are trying to lift it. Have they nothing better to do?"

"They are waiting," Robson said.

"For Alpin and the boat? Or for the horses to be saddled? Where is Ninian?" He looked around.

"Hiding in the stable," Robson said. "His father is back."

Lachlann felt the shock of that news in his bones. "Colin Campbell? Where is he now?"

"Inside," Robson said, "with Eva."

He was halfway across the yard before Robson finished speaking.

* * *

"When will King James release Donal and pardon the others?" Eva asked Colin.

He held up a condescending hand. "When Innisfarna is proven to be mine, then Donal will be free. I will travel to the royal court to remind the king of his promise. Your kinsmen will benefit within the king's conditions."

"What conditions?" Eva asked again, for Colin had not yet answered that query directly.

"Exile," he said. "The MacArthur men must leave Scotland and go elsewhere-—France, Ireland, or Denmark will take them in. They can never come back."

She stared at him in shock. "Never? That would kill them! Their souls are here in these hills."

He shrugged. "It is their bodies you asked me to save. Let a priest tend to their souls. This is the only bargain I could arrange for your kin."

"One that takes Innisfarna from me and leaves my clansmen without rights or homes."

"It leaves them alive," he enunciated, leaning toward her.

"You wanted that. I will let you visit them wherever they go. The French favor the Scots, but the Irish are savage—your kinsmen might be more content among them." He came toward her, hands out. She stepped back, and he pulled her away from the hearth. "You will burn yourself. Come here." He kissed her, his mouth moist and ale-rich.

She pushed him away. "Why are you so set upon marrying me? You do not care about my kin, and you could find a wife with a dowry and a powerful family. Tell me why you want me."

"You are lovely, and I am fond of you. And your father was an old friend."

Regarding him suspiciously, she suddenly realized the truth. It rang in the silence between them. "You argue for my clan's pardon, and accept an impoverished bride, only to own Innisfarna. But why should the island matter so much to you?"

"It is not the island, but my devotion to you," he insisted.

"My kinsmen will never accept exile. They will refuse this bargain—and I will refuse to hand the isle into your keeping."

"Then you should all think of Donal. It is an awful fate, to be beheaded. You do not want to condemn him to that—"

"Stop!" She backed away, suppressing a sob.

He came toward her with heavy steps. "And your kinsmen will be hunted down like wolves and slaughtered," he hissed.

As he advanced, she heard a knock on the door and saw the latch move. Expecting Ninian or Robson, she glanced up to see Lachlann loom in the doorway. She felt immediate relief.

"Who the hell are you, walking into a private house?" Colin demanded.

"I am the smith, and this is my house. Eva MacArthur is a guest here," he said, gazing at her as he spoke. "Eva, do you need me?" he murmured.

"I do," she said. "Stay, please."

He walked inside, and the air seemed charged with lightning. She felt the power of it in keen waves.

"Smith, eh?" Colin asked. "I have some tasks for a good smith. Are you skilled in making weapons?"

"Of course," Lachlann said. "I am a MacKerron."

"I should have realized," Colin said, narrowing his eyes. "I knew the MacKerron smith at this end of the loch, but I heard he died. He fostered a son... I had forgotten. He trained you in the craft, then."

"He did," Lachlann said calmly. "I am the son of Tomas MacKerron, who smithed near Strathlan... when he was alive."

Hearing the low and dangerous tone in his voice, Eva looked at him sharply, noting the pulsing in his jaw, the fisting of his hands. She could see that he restrained himself, keeping under tight control.

"Ah," Colin said. "That was a tragedy."

"You ought to know," Lachlann said.

Colin paused, then slowly smiled. "How fortunate that a MacKerron smith is at work on Loch Fhionn again. If you have your father's talent, perhaps you will do some work for me."

"My work comes at a high price," Lachlann said.

"Well worth it, I am sure."

Eva watched them, sensing at any moment that one or the other might strike, though both stood still.

"I need a sword," Colin said. "A special one. But I must be sure that you have the talent to make it."

"Oh," Lachlann said in that same lethal tone, "you can be sure. But do not be so certain I will make one for you."

"When coin is offered, a craftsman agrees to the work." Colin shrugged. "It is a simple arrangement. There are other matters on my mind now, but when next I return here, I will tell you the sort of sword I want. It will commemorate my marriage to Eva."

Lachlann looked at Eva. She felt herself go pale, as if all her strength drained from her, and she could not shift her gaze from the deep hold of his.

"And it will mark the granting of Innisfarna to me," Colin went on. "A fine sword is fitting for that event, do you not agree, my lady wife?" He moved toward Eva, putting an arm around her. "Congratulate us," he told Lachlann. "We have been recently married."

"So I heard." Lachann did not take his gaze from Eva.

"My wife will live at Strathlan, so you will have your house back again, smith. And there will be better peace in the area. Those MacArthur rebels will come out of the hills in droves once they learn that they have been pardoned."

"Pardoned?" Lachlann narrowed his eyes.

"Colin arranged for my brother's release," Eva said. "He has secured a conditional pardon for my kinsmen."

"Ah." She heard a razor edge in Lachlann's voice. "And of course you must honor your pledge. What are the conditions?" He stared at her, his blue eyes gone hard and cold.

"Exile," she said. "My kinsmen must leave Scotland."

"But they will live," Colin said.

Watching Lachlann, she felt a dynamic tautness stretch between them. Yet his returned gaze was flat and shuttered.

"And all you had to do was marry him," Lachlann remarked. "What a pleasant bargain." He walked out of the house, and the slam of the door ruffled her hair and gown like the breeze from a bellows.

Chapter 21

"Lady Eva, I am glad you are here." Robson turned toward her in the yard as she came out of the house, having heard men and horses outside the stable. Solas and Grainne had barked with such ardor that she opened the door to send them outside, and followed them into the midst of the commotion in the yard.