The Highlander’s Challenge (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  Somewhere in the room, he heard the sibilance of laughter.

  The laugh was not a cackle, more of a rustle, like dry leaves blowing down ancient halls. The sound of the long dead, rasping a chuckle. All his hair stood on end. He looked around wildly as if to find escape.

  “You come to visit me?” a voice asked.

  Duncan stretched his eyes wide. At last, his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. He saw hair, first. Pure, white hair, arranged in a high, piled style that would have graced the court of the previous king. Below it, a face emerged from the darkness.

  Duncan found himself looking into the gray eyes of what was easily the most royal face he had ever seen.

  “My lady,” he stammered. He felt himself give the deepest bow he had ever done. Her face, fine-boned and regal, drove any thought but respect from his head.

  The voice rolled over him. A low chuckle this time, full of warmth and irony.

  “Come, young man,” she said. “You came in with so much violence, so much aversion. Why change now? If you wish to finish me off, I am here. Waiting.”

  The voice was a challenge, the steel eyes mocking him, though they also teased.

  Duncan let out a shuddering breath. “My lady,” he said slowly. He could see things now, and discerned another chair, lower than hers. He took it. He looked up at her. “If I came with violence and aversion, I beg forgiveness for the offense. I did not come here voluntarily, but under duress.”

  “Oh?” the old lady raised a brow, eyes shining. “Has that uncle of mine taken to throwing his guests to the lions, as it were? Or is it his son, perhaps, with some wild scheme?”

  Duncan shivered. “My lady, it is both. Neither. I do not know.” He shook his head, feeling profoundly inadequate in the face of those eyes. How did she know so much?

  She smiled. She was quite beautiful, her old face radiant, the fine lines of it unmarred by the wrinkles and faded hair. If anything, they complimented it. Made it radiate a power like a lamp does, the alabaster walls worn thin so that the light shines through the brighter.

  “You need not worry. I see much of what concerns the heart, though many conceal it from me. And from themselves. I see you have no harm in you.” She smiled. “You are here against your will, yes. But I think you were not honest when you came?”

  Duncan swallowed. He felt as if something moved across his mind, searching him, probing out the weak spots and testing him.

  He cleared his throat. “My lady, I...” he stammered, then began afresh. “I was not honest. I admit this to you, though I would not to any other. I came under false pretenses. I said I came to betray my brother. In truth, I came here seeking a pearl.”

  “A pearl?” the old lady's thin eyebrows rose a fraction. She smiled. “There are few such here. Priceless gems, carried far over the seas from the Orient.”

  As she spoke, she leaned forward slightly. Duncan stared.

  On a slender chain around her neck, she wore a single, large pearl. It caught the candlelight and shivered there, a drop of pleasant light.

  Duncan tried to speak. His voice came out a wordless croak. “Is that..?”

  She laughed. “What do you think? Think carefully, young man. A pearl could be many things. A seed. An idea. A hope unrealized. A name.”

  Duncan bit his lip. He had no idea if he was right. If this pearl was the one his uncle sought. He thought through the plans he had made before he came here, seeking for the answer there.

  He had come here, he remembered, seeking a lady. A lady who would be old, about Lord Brien's age, perhaps a little older. A lady of the Duncraigh's. A lady.

  He gasped. A lady, old and regal. A pearl without price.

  Opposite him, the old lady chuckled. It was a warm sound, a lovely sound. The laugh of a young girl, delighted by a charm.

  “And so?” she asked, raising that elegant brow again. In that moment, he could see the girl who had made Lord Brien forget himself, forget everything but her. “I await an answer?”

  Duncan coughed. “You,” he said hesitantly. “You...what is your name, my lady?”

  She smiled. It was brilliant, radiant. Her lips, dark by artifice or careful preservation, drew back to show perfect teeth.

  “My name, Lord Duncan, is Benoite. Have you your answer?”

  Duncan sighed. Leaned back. Looked up at the ceiling and felt like bursting into a prayer of thanks. He had found her. The pearl beyond price.

  Opposite him, Lady Benoite was tranquil, though her eyes still shone. “I think you know an old friend of mine,” she said carefully. “One who was so arrogant, so afraid of refusal, that he never asked the question that has lived forever in his heart. Am I correct?”

  Duncan, sitting opposite her on the chair, felt his last hold on his mind stretch sorely, even as his heart radiated thanks. The quest was over and he completed all the tasks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  DESPERATION’S EDGE

  DESPERATION’S EDGE

  Alina screamed again. Lord Camry laughed.

  “You thought you could escape?” he asked. “Well, my. Am I so dreadful a prospect, so repulsive?”

  His face had darkened, his hand clamped on her wrist. Alina looked around, terrified. At any moment he would call the guards and she would be incarcerated somewhere else, this time with no chance of escape.

  She took a deep breath. Sent up a private prayer. Then, twisting her wrist so that the thin side faced his thumb, she pulled. His grip broke. She whirled away.

  “Guards!” he cried. Alina ran. She ran back the way she had come, heading for the stairs, for the great hall. The only chance was the courtyard. If she could somehow avoid the guards and reach the water gate, she could perhaps break through and into the woodlands beyond. So slim, but she had to take it. She ran.

  “Guards!” Lord Camry shouted. He had clearly just taken a repast and he was slow, head fuzzy with wine. Alina, always fast on her feet, ran to the stairs. She saw guards running, bemused, straight towards her.

  She screamed, and then whirled round. Ran down the stairs. She saw a guard run towards her, and swerved around him. She just evaded his outstretched hand. The flight of stairs to the courtyard was short, and she ran down and through the great arched doors that led to it.

  Outside, the day was changing fast, the dusk already fallen. Still, the men were practicing hard and they were making too much din to hear the shouts and commands inside. She ran past the men, dress streaming out behind her. If one or two men noticed, they turned and looked, whistling in appreciation.

  Shutting her ears to the noise, she raced on.

  “Stop her!”

  The shout rang out across the yard as she sped past the great hall, heading for the gate. The men had clearly been shouted into silence, for the clangs and applause had stopped. The courtyard was silent but for Camry, shouting his command.

  Alina felt her heart beat fit to bursting. She was tired. So tired and completely terrified!

  She looked quickly about. She was thirty paces from the gate. Already, behind her, she could hear the heavy sound of booted feet on stone, moving fast. The courtyard was not large and she had, she guessed, perhaps less than half a minute before the first men appeared behind her and explained their mission to the guards on the gate.

  She ran up to them, shouting out, distressed. “Oh, please! Open the gate! Please!” She looked wildly round behind her, not having to act the hysteria, the tears that ran in fast rivers down her cheeks. She was exhausted, terrified. At her wits' end.

  “Sorry, lass?” the gate guard, a kindly man with a helmet and some old metal mail on. “Are you supposed to be in the hall?”

  “No!” Alina cried. “Please! Help me! I'm under attack!”

  “What, lassie?” the second guard asked, looking concerned. “Speak up. You said...”

  “Arrest her!”

  Alina screamed. The two guards looked up in absolute confusion as a pack of men-at-arms appeared at the end of the path, twenty paces
away. They were about to do what they were instructed, when a horn sounded outside the gate, momentarily pausing everyone there.

  A moment later, the gate burst open and the men rode in.

  The hunt!

  There were men in green cloaks on horseback, armed with bows and spears and some with swords. A pack of dogs ran at their heels, their heads low, shoulders heaving as they quested from left to right, baying, then, as they flooded through the gates to home. Alina flattened herself against the gate, letting the hunt stream past, and then slow as they met with the wall of armed men. As the last man rode up from the back, Alina edged herself along the five feet of gate and slipped behind the last horse.

  At the back, standing unawares, was a pack horse. A small, solid pony, wearing a wide saddle. A dead creature draped across it. A youth held the reins, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the pile up ahead.

  Seizing his moment of distraction, Alina ran at him.

  She screamed as she did so, a great screech that made the youth jump and turn round, dropping the rein in his sudden terror. Alina launched herself into the saddle, letting the carcass slide and drop off the saddle as she set her knees to the side of the small horse and rode.

  “Good horse. Good!” Alina whispered in his ear as he reared and plunged. Angry and burning to throw her off, he reared again and came down, all four feet on the ground. “Good,” Alina whispered, gritting her teeth as every bone jarred in her and the boy, inches behind, came round. The pony seemed to come to a decision, then, and shot off, heading towards the entry to the woods.

  Leaving the castle, where twenty men railed and sought to get past twenty horsemen, hounds, huntsmen, and verderers who insisted it was their right to block the gate.

  Crying with relief and fear, hair streaming back in the wind of their passing, heart thudding with relief and belated terror and elation, all mixed in a heady, fizzling mix within her blood, Alina rode to freedom.

  And into a forest at night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  HOMECOMING

  HOMECOMING

  Duncan walked lightly and quickly up the hall. It had taken him all day and all night to ride back, but, as soon as Lady Benoite assured his release from the castle, he had taken his horse and ridden, through all the night and all the day following, to reach home.

  “Alina?”

  He stood in the hallway that led to her bedchamber. Eschewing his lordship's hospitality, the offer of a wash, dinner in the hall, Duncan had come straight here. He had to see her first. Had to tell her the news.

  “Alina?”

  He paused. Walked quickly and quietly to her chamber door. Knocked softly on it.

  “Alina?”

  A woman opened it. He recognized Alina's maidservant, Blaire. Only she looked nothing like herself, as if she had aged a winter since last he saw her. Her eyes were swollen and her face was lined and pale.

  “Blaire?” he asked, feeling frightened. “Is Alina...”

  “Oh, sir!” Blaire said, raising a kerchief even as fresh tears started.

  Duncan gaped at her. Is Alina...he did not even want to think it. Was she ill? Fevered? Dead?

  At that moment, he heard a footfall and someone call his name. Chrissie.

  “Duncan?”

  He looked up. The girl, too, was pale, face drawn. She looked at him and her blue eyes swam.

  “Chrissie,” he whispered through a throat too tight to speak. “Tell me. Is Alina...?”

  “Duncan!” Chrissie went to him, tears falling in floods. He held her close, knowing that, however improper it was for him to touch a lady so, she needed care. He stroked her hair, clasped her shoulder, rocked with her a moment, then bent down to look into her eyes.

  “Where is she?”

  “Oh, Duncan! She's lost! We don't know where she is!” She sobbed and sobbed. “We sent to Amabel and Broderick to ask for help. They're searching the woods, but so far...so far...” she trailed off. “No one has found her. Oh!”

  She leaned against him, then, sobbing and, Duncan, stroking her hair and murmuring nonsense words of comfort, felt his heart turn bleak and cold, like ice.

  Alina is lost.

  “Where, Chrissie?” he asked gently, as the girl hiccupped and stopped sobbing gradually. “Where? Please...tell me anything you know.”

  She cuffed her cheek with her fingers and Duncan dabbed her face with his own kerchief, then looked up as she took a shuddering breath.

  “Her horse was found, Duncan. Argenta. She was in the forest. Alone. Someone had unsaddled her, and...”

  Chrissie got no further but burst into sobs again. Duncan felt his own throat close up. He looked up at the maidservant, Blaire, who was crying again too, thought she nodded.

  “What?” he whispered hoarsely.

  Blaire cleared her throat. “What the lady says is true. My lady's horse was found in the woods, not far from here. Perhaps a day's ride off, or so Joe told me,” she explained.

  “Where?” Duncan asked.

  “North of here, my lord,” Blaire said quietly. She leaned against the doorpost, a kerchief at her own face, dabbing away slow rivulets of tears.

  “When was this?” Duncan asked. He had stood up, gently unclasping arms from around Chrissie, who looked up at him, startled and confused.

  “Why,” Blaire sighed, looking at Chrissie for confirmation. “Two days afore, master.”

  “Two days! But...” Duncan looked around wildly, thinking. He had been gone three days – one in riding to the castle, one there, and then the whole of the following night and today. She must have left the same day he did, or the day after.

  “She was missing the night you left, Duncan,” Chrissie said in a small voice. “We thought at first she had followed you, but, when her horse was found in a different part of the forest, we thought not.”

  Duncan almost swore. “She followed me?” He felt his hand clench angrily. Of course she did! Why had they not sent to Inverglass to ask of her? At least, he thought, feeling a flare of hope, if she was there, no harm would come to her! “Why did no one send to Duncraigh, to ask him?”

  He looked at Chrissie, who slowly shook her head. “We did, Duncan,” she said slowly. “We sent word to him the next day. Uncle agreed, even though it was against his pride to do it. He was very distressed. He sent Fergal to Inverglass with a message. Yesterday night, the word came back. She was never there.”

  Chrissie's words shook as she cried again. Blaire stepped forward wordlessly and held the girl in an embrace. Duncan, feeling his heart sink, looked away.

  “Thank you, Chrissie, for telling me,” he said. “Thank you, Blaire.” His voice was hollow, exhausted beyond anything he had ever known. He was tired, he suddenly realized. He had ridden for a day and a night, almost without pause. He had ridden here with his heart alive with joy, expecting to see Alina and share the wonder of his discovery. Now she was missing, perhaps dead.

  He felt too tired to move. His legs like lead weights on him, he turned and walked stiffly down the corridor, back the way he had come. He headed for the kitchens.

  Sluicing his head under the pump in the courtyard, though the water was raw ice and made him shudder, he crossed into the stifling space of the kitchen. There, collapsing on a stool, he asked the cook for bread and ale and she, terrified at the prospect of a lord in her kitchen, obeyed without question.

  Jaw working as he chewed the hard, dry bread, mind racing, Duncan made his plans. He would make his report to Uncle Brien as soon as he had eaten this, then he would rest for perhaps an hour, to clear his head. After that, he would take all the verderers, two huntsmen, and the dogs. He would start searching the woodlands. For Alina.

  For the heart that had died inside him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE DEEPEST DARK

  THE DEEPEST DARK

  Alina rode through the forest. The pony, valiant and strong, was starting to tire. She could hear the sounds of the hunt behind her, further down the hill. />
  She felt the pony slowing and she let him rest. He did so, head down, drawing deep, shuddering breaths.

  Alina bit her lip. Her heart was aching, desperate, sad. She was almost without hope. Behind her, perhaps four hundred feet away, the hunt was starting to make itself heard. She heard shouts, distant yet, and the muffled horn.

  I can't do this, can I? She thought sadly. There was no way she could evade the hunters for long. On a pack pony, recently loaded with a carcass and probably still faintly scented with blood, in strange woods in darkness.

  If the hunters don't catch me, the wolves might, she thought grimly. The dangers were everywhere.

  As she sat, patting the neck of her horse gently, she heard the shouts and horn again. One thing – that noise is enough to scare wolves away, too. She chuckled at that and felt a stray tendril of warmth grow in her heart.

  She patted the pony again, gently on his neck. “Come on, you,” she said carefully. “Time to go.”

  The pony huffed at her resistance, and then decided to be helpful. He turned and, at a slow walk, they headed away from the sounds of the hunt and into the deeper woods beyond.

  Here, the sounds were quieter, the woods still hushed. The woods seemed brighter, Alina noticed, the ground damper underfoot. They rode forward through blue starlight, the shadows of the trees black bars on slick silver ground.

  As she rode on, humming under her breath to keep up the pony's spirits – and her own – she noticed why.

  The trees are thinner here.

  Feeling a wild hope spark suddenly in her heart, Alina rode on.

  Nonsense, Alina, she told herself reasonably. It's a clearing, only. Not the end of the woods. Don't get your hopes up.

  Still, she rode forward, talking to her pony as she went. The starlight was silvery and Alina spoke softly, feeling her heart pounding.