The Raven's Wish

by King, Susan

  "Do not move," she said.

  "What do you want?" Puzzled, mildly amused, he kept still, one leg extended and his foot sure on the cool floor, ready to pounce if need be. His nudity, if it was apparent to her in the darkness, did not seem to bother the girl. She watched him warily, but did not answer.

  He realized that she had not understood his English. He rephrased the question in Gaelic.

  "I came because I owe you an apology," she answered.

  "Frasers apologize with drawn blades, do they?"

  "I meant to give you a warning. But I did not mean to say it so sudden, in the hall." She drew a long breath. "Listen well to me, lawyer. You must leave this place, and quickly."

  Duncan glanced down at the blade of the dirk. "Is this your sweet farewell?"

  "I needed to speak to you. The best way was to be prepared," she answered. Her tone was so simple, so honest, that Duncan almost laughed.

  She intended to be bold, but her hair flowed loose past her shoulders with a warm light of its own. The gentle beauty of her face and hair contrasted with the brave fix of her stance: legs spread, head defiant, dirk gripped in a remarkably steady hand.

  "Fearless," he said, "to come into a man's bedchamber and steal his own blade."

  "I had to speak to you alone, but knew you might mistake me for an enemy in the dark."

  The girl dressed like a man and kept company with a pack of wild Highland youths, he thought, but she was slight, and no match for a grown man a head taller and nearly her weight over again heavier. He leaned forward, and she tightened her grip on the blade.

  "Do you threaten me, Elspeth Fraser?" he asked coldly. "What of the trust between guest and host? In the Highlands, no guest, even an enemy, can come to harm in his host's castle. Murder under trust is a serious crime. I would not do that."

  "Spoken like a long-robed lawyer! I know well the trust of hospitality, and I will not break it. Only listen, and I will go."

  "What is it?"

  "There is great danger for you here."

  He laughed softly. "From a spit of a girl with my own dirk?"

  She took a step toward him, holding the blade. Duncan tensed, ready if she moved again.

  "I will not harm you," she said, "but you must take heed. Be gone at first light. We have no need of Lowlanders here, nor long-robes."

  "I am no Lowlander. And though I am the queen's lieutenant, I am also a Highlander born and bred."

  She narrowed her eyes. "You do not act or dress like a Highland man, though your Gaelic is well spoken. Then go into the Highlands or go south, it is no matter to me. But leave here."

  "I will leave when my task is finished. Now, if your apology and your warning are delivered, let me get back to sleep."

  "Listen to me," she said. "I saw tragedy for you. Leave, and perhaps you will be safe."

  "Tell me what you think you saw today, at the stream."

  She lifted her chin. "I will not speak of what I saw. Just know that you must leave here."

  Duncan sensed his patience fading. "You mentioned death when we were at the stream. If you speak of my death, believe me, girl, you had better say what you mean."

  "Only a fool asks the truth of his own death," she said.

  "I do not believe anyone can foresee a man's death." He narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion. "You knew that a lawyer would come here. If this is some scheme to scare me away from my duty, it will not work."

  She spoke a soft Gaelic curse and leaned forward. Duncan reached out quickly, so fast that her defense, lifting the dirk, came too late. Grabbing her arms, he flung her down on the bed and fell deliberately on top of her.

  The girl exploded with movement like a shot from a cannon. She kicked out and pushed against his grip with such strength that he could barely hold her down. Squeezing her wrist until she let go of the dirk, he pinioned her hands to the bed, above her head. Twisting fiercely, hair flying, she tried to bite his arm, while her strong, slender legs coaxed a few good bruises from his shins. In the midst of the commotion, he was glad she was barefoot, given such good kicks.

  Gripping her wrists in one hand, he snatched up the dirk with his free hand and tossed it away. Realizing that she might have another weapon, he slid his hand along her torso, though she bucked desperately beneath him—and he found the thin, sharp blade of a sgian dhu tucked into a small scabbard at the back of her belt. Extracting it, he flipped it away to land near the dirk. Barely holding her down, he kept her wrists in each hand again.

  Panting like a runner, he collapsed his full weight onto her, torso slanting over hers. Unwilling to crush her with his greater weight, he was more unwilling to give her a chance to get free without an explanation first. He flung his upper leg over her thighs, aware of the heat that emanated from their bare legs pressed together, feeling the gentle swell of her torso beneath him. He told himself to focus on more immediate concerns.

  Breathing hard, she lay still, glaring at him, a crescent of light falling across her face. Seeing the furor in her eyes, he realized that an important part of his nude body was unprotected. He angled his groin away from her squirming legs.

  "Now," he said, holding her hands and arms flat on the bed with his own, "tell me about this danger you see for me." He lay nose to nose with her, his dark hair weaving into the bright amber flame of hers. His breaths mingled with hers. "How is my life forfeit?"

  "Get off of me!"

  "I will not," he grunted as she struggled beneath him. "Likely you scheme a plot on me yourself. Any threat on my life might come from you and the Frasers."

  Pausing, Elspeth stared up at him. "Never!"

  He blinked, having expected her to agree with him. "What should I think when a blade is pulled on me in my sleep?"

  She scowled. "I will not harm you. Now get off me." She arched with her whole body.

  Beneath him, her legs were smooth, taut muscle. He could feel the alluring curves of her body, even swathed in the bulky plaid. Her breath on his face was light and sweet. Firm, lush breasts rose and fell beneath her shirt, the linen grazing against his bare chest.

  She was warm and strong and wildly beautiful, Duncan thought, and somehow she belonged here in his bed, with him, but not for the reason she was in fact here. He shook his head slightly at his impulsive thought. When she arched again, the mimic of a more delicious thrust sent a hot shiver through his body. No longer struggling, she only pushed against his weight.

  Her lips were a breath away from his. He inhaled, taking in her air; he exhaled, and she took in his. The exchange entranced him. He leaned closer. Her eyes, cool and deep, watched his mouth. Luscious heat gathered wherever their skin met, and he sensed the warm, yielding length of her all along his body. He felt each small movement that she made.

  Earlier that day, he had wanted to touch her, hold her. The yearning now was strong and urgent. When she ceased to struggle, the nature of their contact changed, gentled. Now he moved forward, unable to stop himself. His lips brushed her cheek, her lips. For the briefest moment, her mouth softened beneath his.

  Then she turned her head away. Her cloud of hair was soft, fresh as heather. She lay tense as a drawn bowstring. He stroked a thumb over her wrist as his heart thumped heavily.

  "Elspeth Fraser," he murmured against her cheek, "you touched my hair while I slept."

  "You dreamed it," she whispered.

  "No dream. I woke up." He looked at her; even in this light, she blushed like a rose.

  He had relaxed slightly, remaining solicitous on behalf of his most sensitive area, but he was too greatly aware of her body beneath his, her hands curled in his, her lips near his own. Best the girl go now, he told himself, before he lost the precarious hold he had over himself.

  "Without a doubt," he said, "I will forfeit my life—this very night, at the hands of several angry Frasers, if you do not quit my chamber. Now." He released her hands, sat up, and pulled a corner of the bedcover to drape over his lap.

  Leaping away, she whirled.
"Never force your hand to me again!" she said.

  "Fine," he drawled, drawing up the rest of the covers, "and do not threaten me with your sweet hand again." He reached out to capture both his dirk and her sgian dhu, and pushed them firmly beneath his pillow. Then he lay back on it, positioning his hands casually behind his head.

  "Is there something else?" he asked, tilting a brow.

  She stood watching him through the dark, her breathing soft and quick. "You see this as a jest," she said. "It is not. I am a taibhsear, and I have given you a warning. Will you heed it?"

  "If I could get some sleep I would consider anything, even a warning from a crazed, dirk-waving lass. Only remember—I have a task here, and I will not leave until it is done. And remember as well," he added softly, "that I will learn the truth of whatever you saw today." He rolled over, presenting his broad back and shoulder in dismissal.

  After a moment, he heard thequick, muffled sound of her barefoot steps padding away.

  Puzzled, he turned over. No slam of the door? The inside bolt was still in place. Frowning, he looked around the room. Where the devil had the lass gone?

  "Christ," he muttered, realizing that she knew of some secret doorway in and out of his chamber. Many castles had sliding panels of wood or turning stone blocks that led to narrow dark tunnels and stairways.

  "By the rood," he grumbled, yanking up the covers. "How many of these crazed Frasers know about the damned thing?"

  Chapter 5

  The first an step that she steppd in,

  She steppd to the queet;

  `Ohon, alas!' said that lady,

  `This water's wondrous deep.'

  ~"Clyde's Water"

  Darkness enveloped her, a black so deep that Elspeth could not see to move. Some soggy, heavy burden tugged at her arms, and her legs were encumbered too. Opening her mouth to scream, she spat out something wet, cold, slimy as mud. There was no air—she could not breathe. Her lungs burned as she struggled—

  Elspeth awoke with a start, heart pounding. Sucking in fresh night air, she sat up, grateful to see the glowing hearth. Flinging off the bedclothes tangled around her legs, she went still, suddenly, hearing a noise.

  A light tapping sounded in a corner of her bedchamber. Drawing a woolen blanket around her nude body, she got out of bed and crossed the room to where a hanging length of tartan wool hid a small wooden door in the wall. She opened it and saw Kenneth peering up at her. A rushlight flickered behind him, held in Callum's steady hand.

  "Tonight?" Elspeth asked softly. Kenneth nodded. "I will dress and meet you," she said.

  "Hurry, then." He ducked down and closed the door.

  Laying out her plaid, she yanked on a linen shirt, tied a cord around her waist and tucked the shirttails between her legs and up to tuck and form breeches. Then she wrapped the long plaid around her, tossed an end over her shoulder and fastened on a wide belt. Reaching for her little knife, she remembered that her sgian dhu was in the possession of the queen's lawyer.

  And that one, she thought, would disapprove if he knew the cousins were riding out tonight. He would have little understanding of the Highland system of borrowing good cattle in the dark of night.

  She pulled on high deerhide boots and laced them to her knees, glad that Glenran's guest lay sleeping in his chamber now. Ducking low through the hidden door, she followed the stairs through the narrow space carved from the thickness of one of the castle's broad, sturdy outer walls. The secret stair spanned five levels, leading past a chamber on each level and down to the kitchen level. She and her cousins often used the hidden stair, which was no secret at Glenran.

  Nearing the doorway that led to the bedchamber where Macrae slept, she hurried past and down to the castle yard, where her cousins waited with the horses.

  * * *

  Again that night, Duncan woke, hearing a noise. His first thought was that the girl had returned. Thrusting his hand beneath his pillow, he closed his fingers around both his dirk and her little knife. He heard soft footsteps beyond the wall.

  Bounding out of bed, he went to the wall and began to probe, listening as his fingerpads moved over the cool stone, seeking the opening he was certain was there.

  There: a faint noise below. He sighed with victory as his canny fingers found the low door hidden in the shadows behind a high-backed wooden chair angled to conceal the corner. Finding the latch, he pulled the door open and peered into the dark stairs beyond.

  He wondered how generations of tall, burly Frasers had ever managed to negotiate the stingy dimensions of the secret stair. Being easily as large as any of the Fraser males he had seen, he was not eager to try it, but the Fraser girl, slim and lithe, could pass in and out like a cat.

  Then he heard a door closing somewhere below. Frowning, he wondered who might leave the castle in the middle of the night—and why. And as the queen's lieutenant, he was obligated to investigate this. Sighing, he pulled on trews and shirt, wondering if he would get any sleep this night. He laced up his leather jack and found his black cloak and high boots.

  If anyone understood venturing out on a dark night, it was Duncan Macrae. He had ridden with his own brothers, long ago, to raid on Clan MacDonald, and in the Lowlands, he rode with the best of the Border reivers. They had gone out in silent packs through the darkness to steal cattle and sheep, to burn a barn, or even to kill if the feud, or the moment, merited it.

  Something of the sort was happening here tonight. His senses were tuned to such stealth and tension. He knew well the lure of a clear night; he had followed many times the beckoning glimmer of the moonlight.

  With a muttered oath, he bent and eased through the narrow doorway.

  * * *

  Over hills springy with summer heather they rode through moonlight. Crossing the stream that bordered Glenran, the Frasers guided their sturdy horses, slipping silently into territory that they knew belonged to Clan MacDonald.

  Riding beside Ewan, Elspeth glanced at Kenneth and Callum ahead. Only these three rode out with her tonight, though raids often involved several riders, kinsmen gathered from around the area. She had ridden in parties as large as thirty riders, mostly cousins all of an age. But tonight was meant to be a quick raid in answer to the MacDonald attack a few nights past.

  The night wind whipped their hair and refreshed their lungs, and Elspeth smiled, loving the cool snap of it, the scent of heather and moss and pine in it, the way it shook her braid loose and played with her hair. She laughed aloud and Ewan, riding beside her, turned.

  "Elspeth," he said, "hush now, and tell us what you know."

  She closed her eyes briefly. After a moment she felt the presence of cattle, like a dull congestion in the air, without human presence: unguarded cattle grazed to the east.

  "That way," she said, pointing.

  Her cousins nodded, turning their horses' heads to follow Kenneth, who went ahead at her bidding. They rode through rolling landscape, hills and burns and forests lushly beautiful even in moonlight. At the crest of a hill, Elspeth halted her horse. The glen below was not familiar to her.

  "Here," she said. "Somewhere near here."

  "MacDonald cattle," Kenneth remarked quietly. "Listen: lowing loud and rude like their owners. Look there." He gestured. Peering through the milky light, Elspeth saw the black dots of a herd of cattle, at least fifty head, moving slowly over the slope below.

  "The girl is always right," Callum said with admiration.

  "And the MacDonalds are snoring loud and rude inside their castle," Ewan said. "Simple, this will be. Come ahead."

  Rounding up a part of the herd was quick work. Kenneth and Ewan, fast and certain on their mounts, with Callum and Elspeth on foot, split off a group of a dozen or so cattle from the larger herd. Silent and swift, the reivers followed an unspoken Highland tradition of courtesy in raiding, which ensured that a full herd was rarely taken.

  Small, black, shaggy, and impossibly dumb, the cattle followed wherever they were shooed. Soon the Frasers were
on horseback again, guiding the animals between them. Grinning widely, they rode back toward Glenran.

  Now and then Elspeth kicked out a foot to remind one or another of the short-horned steer to stay with the group. When her boot lacing came loose, she fell behind, pausing to retie the thongs.

  Hearing an odd sound, she lifted her head. For a moment, she thought a baby cried nearby, then recognized the bleating of a lamb. Dismounting, she walked toward the sound, emanating from a cluster of bushes beside a rocky outcrop on the moor.

  She knelt and reached carefully into the knotty base of a thorn bush. Tangled in the prickly branches was a lamb, no more than a few months old, bleating furiously, barely audible over the wind and the muted thunder of the passing herd.

  "Ach, little one," she crooned, "come here!" She freed its soft fleece from the thorns, and disentangled one small leg from the branches. The little creature trembled like an aspen leaf under her touch as she gathered it in her arms and stood. She hurried toward her pony, which grazed nearby. Ahead, her cousins paused to wait, and she hastened to join them, the lamb settled in her lap.

  "What do you have there?" Callum asked as he looked at the little black-faced lamb, which bleated and struggled for a moment. Elspeth soothed it quiet again.

  "We shall reive this little one from the MacDonalds too," she said, patting its soft white fleece, its body warm against her. Bony legs and little hooves restlessly kicked her. "Stop, now," she murmured. "I will not harm you."

  For a moment she recalled saying something similar earlier that night, when the lawyer Macrae had pinioned her to his bed like an eagle catching a hare. Blushing hot, she ducked her head and urged the horse onward, though she could not dismiss the memory of his strong arms about her twice that very day.

  The lamb shifted inside the swath of plaid that covered her chest, and she stroked it as she rode. A whistle from Kenneth, up ahead, reminded her that she had a task to perform. She nudged with her toe at the nearest shaggy cattle rump. Obligingly, the animal stepped away, though it responded with a loud, round lowing that startled Elspeth with its volume.