The Raven's Wish (16 page)

Seven or eight men, plaided and dirked, rode slowly over the rough moorland, past a fringe of birchwood. Duncan could see the glint of weapons at the Highlanders' waists. Their bronze-trimmed targe shields gleamed in the thin light. The mix of tartan patterns that decorated their plaids made it difficult to guess their clan. These were not any Frasers that he had seen, though they rode, armed and bold, through Fraser territory in clear daylight.

At that moment, a lone Highlander emerged from the birchwood at the edge of the moor. Clothed in dark green and blue, the Highlander was clearly a Glenran Fraser. One fat braid glimmered like soft copper.

"
Dhia!
" Duncan swore. He watched as the armed riders moved toward Elspeth. Soon she was surrounded, her head a bright flash in the midst of the garrons and the tartaned plaids.

Duncan dropped the reins and ran down the slope, one hand

gripping the dirk sheathed at his waist. His black cloak beat out in the wind behind him as he descended the slope in leaps. Bounding with fluid strength over the swells and dips in the ground, still unseen by the group not far ahead of him now, he came to a rocky outcrop and hunkered down out of sight.

Crouched behind a boulder, he studied the distance and the number of men, judging the best angle for his approach. Eight mounted Highlanders circled around Elspeth. One of them spoke to her. She answered, standing very still, her back to Duncan.

He knew now that these men were not Ruari MacDonald and his brothers, whom he had seen that first day at the stream. None of the men wore bonnets, and without knowing their plant badge, he could not identify their clan easily.

Elspeth spoke, pointing and shaking her head. One of the riders reached out an arm to her as if to lift her to his horse, but she shook her head again and stepped back. The man reached forward again.

Anger roiled in his gut. Duncan stepped forward. His approach would be no secret across the open moor. He would have to hope that his sudden appearance would startle these men into riding away. If not, then he would have to fight his way free. Either way, he would do his best to protect the girl.

He stalked firmly toward them with deliberate footfalls, his gaze direct and unafraid. Never show fear to an enemy, his father had once told him; he had remembered it all his life, had made it a part of everything he did. Even the law used unpredictability as a defensive element. With his hand openly resting on his dirk, he stepped boldly into the circle.

"Greetings," he said in Gaelic.

Surprised gazes swiveled to meet his. Duncan lifted a hand in casual salute, the other resting tense and ready on the dirk. Elspeth stared at him. Cocking his head toward her, he beckoned with authority, his glance wary. She walked toward him.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. Without answering, he wrapped his fingers around her elbow and pulled her to his side. One of the Highlanders dismounted. Duncan tensed and began to back slowly toward the birchwood.

The man was tall and very thin, with black hair and a wide mustache that hid his mouth. He approached Elspeth and Duncan, frowning, his large hand on his own dirk.

"Shall we kill this one for you, Elspeth?" he asked.

Duncan blinked in surprise and looked down at her. She slid a quick glance at him and smiled. A deep dimple came and went in her cheek. "Leave him be," she said. "He is the queen's own long-robe."

"Ah," the Highlander said. "You would be Macrae, then."

"I am," Duncan said cautiously. The Highlander held out a hand for him to grasp, and after a moment Duncan took it. The man was very young, no more than twenty, with sharp green eyes and a serious manner.

"I am Diarmid Fraser," he said. "We are the MacShimi's tail, just come from Lovat Castle at his request."

A muscle pumped in Duncan's cheek, and a slow flush crept up his neck. Elspeth turned to beam at him, obviously enjoying his discomfiture.

He had tried to rescue her from a pack of Frasers. Damn the whole lot of them, he thought sourly; there are far too many to count. If any clan needed a bond of caution to keep them at home, it had to be the Frasers. He was more determined than ever to get the cursed paper signed and get out of Glenran.

"These are more of my cousins," Elspeth said. "Diarmid you have met. Over there are David, Aindreas, Tomas, Domhnall, Iain, James and Johnnie."

Duncan nodded to each one. "You form your chief's tail?"

"We do," Diarmid answered. "We are his bodyguard at Lovat, and ride with him whenever he needs us. He sent word a few days ago, asking us to ride patrol around Fraser territory."

"The patrols are needed to protect our people from the MacDonalds," Elspeth said.

"That clan must be anxious to harass you, to ride out on summer raids," Diarmid said.

"The nights are not nearly dark enough yet for good raiding," Duncan said. "Late autumn or winter nights are always best. They take a chance raiding in this season, even in late summer." He saw Elspeth glance at him in surprise; she obviously did not expect a lawyer to know much about raiding.

"They do," Diarmid agreed. "Ruari MacDonald and his brothers can be sly and mean, but they have never been blessed with wits." Diarmid turned to Elspeth. "Come with us to Glenran." He held out his hand, but Elspeth shook her head.

"I will not, Diarmid," she said. "I have already told you so." Duncan realized with chagrin that a similar conversation had brought him hurtling to her rescue.

"It is dangerous for you to be out here alone," Diarmid said. "There could be MacDonald scouts in this area."

"Hah! They would not dare to set foot on our land in daylight," she said. "I have promised to visit a friend. I will be safe, Diarmid. You go on."

Her cousin sighed. "Then the long-robe will see you safely where you mean to go." He lifted a brow at Duncan, who nodded.

Diarmid bid them farewell and mounted his horse, then saluted them with a wave of his hand. The Frasers rode away, hoofbeats pounding over the moor.

Elspeth turned and walked past Duncan without a word or a glance, heading up the slope toward his waiting horse. He was reminded of the cool manner in which she had walked away from him the evening before. He caught up to her easily.

"We cannot ride—" he began.

"I walk more than I ride," she said. "Perhaps it is different in the south-country." She stomped ahead.

"We cannot ride," he repeated in a clipped manner, pausing by the horse, "because my horse has gone lame. I will not lead him over a long distance. I would prefer to lead him back to Glenran before I escort you. How far do you need to go?"

She turned, her scowl changing to an expression of concern. Coming back toward him, she stroked the horse's shoulder. "Which hoof?" she asked. He told her, and she bent to gently lift the front left hoof, examining the bruise carefully.

"Sasunnach horses are not suited to the Highlands," she said.

"This is not an English horse," he said, irritated by her criticism, and her icy tone. His temper had been tested today by her half-brother, and tested sorely by Elspeth yesterday. She had thrown a door into his face, had insulted him, and had riled his temper; and last night she had enchanted him, and had kissed him quite fervently. Now he had no patience for her changeable temperament.

"Scots may not legally own English horses, though in the Highlands I doubt that matters," he explained. "Lasair comes of a strong Border breed and has done well enough in this terrain."

"Until now. You should be riding a garron. They climb well, and their hooves are tougher for the rocky ground."

"The Council did not provide me a garron," he snapped. He did not need lectures on horseflesh from a girl who spent more time on foot than in a saddle. "All they gave me was that cursed document. I brought my own horse because I had no desire to walk here from Edinburgh."

She did not glance up. "His hoof needs attention." She rubbed the stallion's glossy black shoulder, murmuring softly."What do you call him?" she asked Duncan.

"Lasair."

"A flash of fire?"

"He is fast on Lowland terrain, I assure you."

"He is a beautiful animal." She straightened and looked at Duncan, her eyes rainwater gray. Drawing her slender brows together as if she considered something, she turned abruptly. "Come this way, then," she called over her shoulder, resuming her walk. "I know someone who can tend to your horse."

"Who, and how far?" he asked impatiently.

"A healer," she said simply. "Not far."

Duncan watched her stride away from him. If he took the horse back to Glenran, he knew that Elspeth would stubbornly go her way without him. And he agreed with Diarmid Fraser: she was not safe out here alone. The MacDonalds were not to be trusted.

Sighing audibly, he tugged at the reins and followed her.

* * *

They climbed along the gentle shoulders of slopes whenever possible, avoiding the steeper peaks in consideration for the horse. Now and again, sunshine broke through the clouds, wide transparent beams that sliced down and disappeared quickly. They walked on in silence; if Elspeth spoke at all, it was more often to Lasair than to Duncan.

She strode ahead, quick and sure, her plaid swinging above smoothly muscled calves. Duncan found this simple action quite pleasurable to watch. Her braid, gold and copper threaded together, thumped rhythmically between her shoulders. Suddenly he longed to flex his fingers in that mass of hair, to loosen it and feel its cool silk again. He wanted to hold her and create a new rhythm for her body in tandem with his own. His heart bounded at the thought, and he sucked in his breath.

Frowning as he walked along behind her, he wondered, not for the first time since he came to Glenran, at the consistent, complex pull that he felt toward this girl. No matter that she had a brassy tongue that clashed with her delicate silver eyes and spun-copper hair. No matter that she flared his temper. He had been immediately and deeply attracted to her from the first moment that he had touched her in the stream. And each time he was with her, he wanted to touch her again, wanted to hear her voice, know her thoughts. Blinking in amazement at his own thoughts, he walked on.

That attraction was unlike anything he had ever felt before. A familiar, pleasurable current of lust was created whenever his strong male body responded to her femaleness, but there were many layers in his reaction to her. He could hardly comprehend what he felt regarding her; lust was only a part of that.

Simply, she fascinated him. He was aware of her presence, of the melody of her light, clear voice. Her professed ability to foresee the future—his future—touched off his curiosity, if not his belief. Watching her, he had seen that she was bold but vulnerable, keenly intelligent but stubborn. He had encountered in her delightful humor and a thunderous temper, and had tasted the sweet touch of her lips. Elspeth Fraser was by far the most profoundly intriguing part of his visit to Glenran.

The compelling bond between them had grown stronger; he could feel its pull. If she were a lodestone, he would be cut from that same stone, two pieces cast apart by fortune and thrown together again. Turned this way, he wanted to leap away from her; turned that, he was drawn to her like iron or steel.

The twitch of the girl's braid, her frown, her single dimple drew him in; her loyal, her bold and earnest character held him. Seeking to understand what was happening, he could not. And each time she looked at him, the lodestone seemed to turn.

This attraction to Elspeth went contrary to his plans for himself; he had left the Highlands behind, and had mapped out a peaceful, undisturbed life. He had endured enough turmoil, years ago, and wanted no more. Conquering his temper and his wilder urges, he had found intellectual sanctuary in the law. Wholly safe, if a mild challenge for one raised with strife and action.

He tightened his grip on the horse's rein, his scowl a twin of Elspeth's now. These feelings were disconcerting, unexpected and inconvenient. He intended to collect those signatures and leave Glenran; he intended nothing beyond that.

Elspeth glanced back, frowned at him, and lengthened her stride. Duncan, determined to keep up with her, walked faster, although he had hung back for the sake of the horse.

When he had been as young as these Frasers, a decade and more ago, riding with his cousins the Kerrs, he had enjoyed passionate involvements with young women. One dark-eyed girl he would have married. She had pleasured his body sweetly, and had a kind temperament. He had felt an obligation to her, a loyalty more than love. But she had died of a fever, and he had not met a woman, after that, with whom he cared to spend more than a night or two.

But even with that sweet girl, he had never experienced this deep, pounding rush of blood and heart and thought mingled together. He felt swept along by a force he did not understand.

Beside him, the horse nickered and pulled, slowing down.

"Easy," Duncan murmured. He stopped to look at the injured hoof. "Elspeth," he called.

She turned. "What is it?"

"He needs to rest." Seeing a huge old tree, Duncan led the horse that way. When he draped the horse's reins over a branch of the tree, Elspeth walked over to pat the animal gently along the nose, speaking softly.

Duncan sat and leaned against the gnarled trunk. He looked up into a maze of branches, heavy with dark green, shiny leaves. This was the largest yew he had ever seen, wide and enormously high, and intricately convoluted at the center of its trunk.

Elspeth reclined on the grass, leaning back on an elbow. She peered up into the screen of leaves. "This yew tree is said to be thousands of years old. See there, where it has split at the center—a new tree grows out of the old one."

Duncan noticed that the gnarled and twisted trunk was actually two trunks: the original yew tree, and the emerging trunk of a much younger tree.

"The new tree grows from the heart of the old," Elspeth said. "That is why the Frasers take the yew for our clan badge."

Duncan picked up a small broken branch from the ground, twirling it in his hand. He recalled what he had heard in childhood about tree lore. "The yew tree regenerates itself," he said. "Just as the Fraser clan has been reborn in these last twenty years."