The Raven's Wish

by King, Susan

  "You do not consider warnings," she said.

  His hands tilted her face upward. "There has been a pull between us since the first moment. We both feel it," he murmured.

  "We do," she said softly. "I fear for you if you stay. Yet I do not want you to leave."

  "There is nothing to fear. I will not leave you."

  "Duncan—"

  "Hush you," he said. His lips traced along her cheek.

  She moaned on a soft, low breath, and turned her mouth to seek his. His lips met hers fully, his mouth moist and warm on hers, starting a rapid pulsing deep inside her body. His fingers skimmed along her jaw, down her neck, dusting over her upper chest. Shivers waved through her body, delicate, airy.

  He lay her back on the bed, his lips drifting over her face, along her throat, finding and holding her mouth again and again. She opened her mouth to his tongue, tasting the heat and moistness there, easing back her head as he moved to kiss her throat.

  The sheet that had been tucked around her torso slid away as she shifted in his embrace. She felt the cool drift of the night air on her skin, and then his warm hands covered her. Slipping down the curving length of her torso, skimming over her breasts and along her abdomen, he swept his hand over her hips and back up again to rest over her breasts, the light touch increasingly firm. Lifting her arms around his neck, she arched toward him.

  Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply, her hands resting on the firm planes of his chest. The soft hair there cushioned her palms, and she felt his heartbeat, took it into her own.

  He circled her breasts with his hands, smoothing, stroking, coaxing the center buds to harden. She sighed and arched her back, reaching to draw him down to her. His body was warm and hard and solid over hers as she drew him closer.

  Warm, hard, solid and real. She embraced him with a growing fervor, wanting something fierce from him, something so strong it would drive off the fear inside her, and replace it with the deep comfort and safety she felt in his arms. He sensed no doom in his future. She wanted to feel the same; she wanted to draw strength and surety from him like water from a well, as he had said; she wanted to know only the present moment, wanted to forget visions and fears. And she wanted to share his courage, share love and loyalty, let that flourish and spring within her.

  He kissed her again, and as his hands soothed over her, she arched closer to him, wanting him so badly in ways she could not define, wanting him to ease the desperation that troubled her, wanting him to fit into her heart as she was fitting into his arms, where her soft curves met his taut torso. She felt a deep quivering within that needed—demanded—release and expression. A subtle shift of her hips brought his body closer to hers, immediate and real, and his hard firmness pressed to her softness, and she knew then that she was where she belonged, and need not fear.

  Time could not spin away from her here; time and worry did not exist in this moment, in these sensations. She had him here, now, to love, to treasure with kisses and caressing fingertips as their bodies eased together. She could love him here without dreading the next day or the next, wondering when and if the vision would come to fruition.

  His fingers traced down to feather at the very threshold of her body, slipping then inside to nurture a sultry spark there like a need-fire flame. And as that sensation became lambent, as she felt a deep radiance like a small, hot flame kindled within, as he moved his fingers within her, he turned his head to take one silky nipple in his lips, and she gasped, arched, ached for him. Married, they were, bound together, married forever—no matter what else might come of it, that was the truth of it always, and there was a blessed freedom in the realization. No fear, not here, not now—and she wanted so to believe it.

  She pressed against him, feeling his need for her, hard and wild, making her burn for him, moan for him, and he knew—he understood, and shifted, a luscious, firm slide that brought him into her, and she eased over him like glove to hand, a fervent small push that took him into her, and she could feel him, blood heart and bone, within her, body and soul all at once. And she found courage there, and love, so much. Here, here was what she had sought for so long, and she sighed, and cried out, and took what he offered—giving of herself even more so, until she wept with it, and subsided, and felt his arms again, just there, so tight and safe around her.

  * * *

  "What," he said, rolling onto his side on the bed, "is that?"

  Elspeth wrinkled her nose and sniffed. "Heather," she said. "And bog-myrtle, to keep away fleas." She lay tucked on her side next to Duncan. The mattress, filled with feathers, had lately been re-stuffed and freshened with a mixture of pungent bog-myrtle and light, sweet heather. The aromatic filling rustled beneath her hips as she stirred next to him.

  They had dozed a little, but the darkness in the room told her that dawn had not yet come. She looked over her shoulder and saw Duncan lying on his side. His bare chest gleamed in the subtle blend of the peat fire's glow and the cool blue light that flooded into through a crack in the window shutter. His hair seemed black, his eyes dark as berries. She thought him as beautiful and wild as some elven king. He looked at her and curved his lip in a lazy, contented smile.

  She reached up a finger to trace the outline of his lips.

  "I will have to go back to Edinburgh today," he said softly. "The Council is waiting for the bond."

  She half-sat, remembering something. "Duncan," she said. "When you were asleep, after Flora gave you the headache potion—Robert left. He took the signed bond with him."

  Duncan sat up quickly. "Took it?" He shoved a hand through his hair, swearing softly. "Did anyone try to stop him?"

  "Robert took his leave of my cousins after you had gone to your chamber. They did not realize he had the document until after he had gone."

  "Then I must go after him." He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "That bond is my responsibility. Mine alone."

  Elspeth grabbed his arm. "It is still night. He will not reach Edinburgh for days yet. You have time. Stay."

  He sighed. "I must leave by dawn." When she pushed him, he lay back on the feather pillows. Elspeth stretched out beside him and touched his arm. She felt the tension in him like a taut bow, the hard muscle of his chest, the rise and fall of his breath. She stroked his chest, his shoulder.

  "Robert is anxious for the Council's approval, to do this," she said.

  "I did not trust him entirely—but did not expect him to take the thing himself."

  "He is after his own gain. He has ever been that way."

  Duncan circled an arm around her; she settled against him. "Men like that are so caught up in their own glory that they do not care who is trampled as they climb up. But only the rare man has a true inclination to evil. I am not so concerned that Robert took the bond—but I need to appear before the Council when the bond is delivered to them. No one else."

  "If Robert presents it, he will serve his own purpose."

  "I see. The Frasers must not suffer any injustice from his. Elspeth" He rubbed her arm in silence. "I have a house outside of Edinburgh, near the castle," he said after a moment. "You will like it there, I think."

  A strange sensation plummeted through her, heavy with dread. "I will not go to Edinburgh," she said. "I will not live there with you."

  His soothing hand paused on her arm. "I am a lawyer for the crown, and so I live there."

  Elspeth was silent. She lifted her hand from his chest. "I will not live in the Lowlands. I am a Highlander," she said.

  "They say a wife should go with a husband," he murmured.

  "Even so, I have a family here, and I will not leave them."

  "They want you to leave Glenran," he said. "Ruari MacDonald lives too close to Glenran for any of us to feel comfortable."

  "But I will not go to Edinburgh," she said flatly.

  "Where do you think to live with me, then? Or do you think to live with me?" His voice grew harder.

  "I might." She smiled as a solution occurred to her. "Your ca
stle in Kintail. We will go there."

  "It is too far from Edinburgh."

  "Alasdair went there," she said, remembering that her cousin Alasdair was married to Duncan's sister. "I can stay with them until Ruari finds another bride and forgets his insult here."

  He leaned toward her in the dark. "First of all," he said, his voice near a growl, "Ruari will not forget this insult and he remains a threat to you. Second, I will not go to Kintail. So, will you come to Edinburgh?" He waited in the shadows.

  She sat up and drew the sheets around her.

  "Why will you not go to Kintail?" she asked. She knew he had family there, he had spoken of his early home.

  He was silent.

  Then she knew. "The scar you bear—your family holds you responsible for someone's death," she said suddenly. When he did not answer, her heart beat heavily, and she felt the ring of truth: here was his pain. "Duncan, I know—"

  "Leave it be. Your Sight is not welcome in my past."

  "But your family in Kintail would welcome you."

  "They would not. Leave it. Come to Edinburgh."

  "I will not leave the Highlands." She sighed and looked away. "And I will not go to Edinburgh…because the heading block is there."

  He blew out a heavy breath. "There are heading blocks in other towns as well. Will you avoid all of them?"

  "For you, I will," she said softly.

  "I must go to Edinburgh to find your brother and get back my document. If I do not—"

  "What then?"

  He shook his head. "I must go."

  She gasped. "You are the pledge for the bond. Duncan—"

  "I am the pledge. And so I must present that bond to the Council properly. If I am not there, Robert will say what he pleases. Your brother, not you, could land me on the block."

  Elspeth stared at him. "Ach, Dhia," she breathed.

  "Exactly," he muttered.

  * * *

  Wind blew through his hair, whipping the dark strands, longer than he had worn in many years, across his brow. He lifted his face to the crisp autumn wind and rode his horse out of the castle yard, passing beneath the stone gate.

  Guiding the horse past the lochan, he felt disappointed that Elspeth had not come to say farewell. He had gone to his chamber to gather his things, and when he had come down to the hall, Flora said that Elspeth had gone out. Bidding a goodbye to the Fraser cousins and Flora, he kept glancing around, looking for Elspeth.

  He could still feel the soft touch of her all along his skin. He had loved her again, fiercely, before dawn, and though he had drawn soft, passionate cries from her, he had not been able to find a way through her stubbornness. She still refused to come to Edinburgh with him.

  Sighing, he resolved to attend to the business of the Frasers' bond and return to Glenran as quickly as he could.

  His black cloak blew out behind him as he rode past the lochan. Trees rustled in the brisk wind, and the steady shushing sound reminded him of the sea near Kintail. The air was clear and sharp, showing the autumn colors of the hills and trees with keen detail. After riding a half-league or so, he saw a slight figure standing on a hill. He reined in the horse and walked his mount that way.

  Elspeth waited for him on the rise of a knoll. A wind lifted her braid from her shoulder, sparkling copper and gold in the sun. She moved to face the wind, and to face Duncan.

  The horse took the slope easily. Duncan stopped, and looked down at her. "Is this another fairy hill?" he asked.

  "I wish it were." Her gray eyes were storm-colored; he saw the burden of hurt there. "We could be caught and held inside for a hundred years. Nothing could harm us then."

  He sighed, and looked away, toward the pewtery flash of the great loch in the distance. "I must go, Elspeth," he said.

  "I know," she said.

  "Will you come with me?"

  She shook her head, looking down. Then she stepped closer and laid her hand on his leg. He caught her fingers. "I do not know whether I will see you again."

  "There is no danger, love. I will be back for you," he said.

  She smiled ruefully. "Love and fear both, you brought the day we met."

  "Not fear." He touched her head. The silky strands blew over his fingers. He knew that she had a brave, strong heart, but he knew the fears she had to face, and must, on her own. But he wanted to assure her that she was not alone with them. Sighing, he glanced at the landscape, beautiful and wild. Then he frowned.

  "Elspeth," he said slowly, "what is that plume of smoke there? It is not from a hearth."

  Elspeth turned to look. "Bethoc's house is just over that hill."

  Just at that moment, he heard the rough thunder of horses' hooves behind them. Turning, he saw Magnus, Hugh and Callum galloping toward them.

  "What is it?" he called.

  Callum reined in his garron as Hugh and Magnus tore past, their faces grim and set. "Fire," Callum called. "At Bethoc's. Hugh saw it from the roof just now." He cantered away.

  Elspeth stared up at Duncan, her eyes wide with fear. He held out his arm; she grabbed on to his forearm and leaped up behind him. Digging in his heels, he urged the horse forward.

  Chapter 18

  Nimbly, nimbly raise she up,

  And nimbly pat she on,

  And the higher that the lady cried,

  The louder blew the win.

  ~"Clyde's Water"

  Fire plumed over the thatch roof of the cattle byre attached to the house. Duncan halted his mount and Elspeth jumped down, running toward Bethoc, who carried a bucket of water. Frantic, Elspeth noticed with relief that the house was not yet on fire.

  Magnus now ran toward the house, his expression terrified as he passed Elspeth and ran into the house and quickly emerged. "Eiric! Where is she!" he called.

  "There." Bethoc pointed. The child sat beneath a fir tree a safe distance from the house, a tiny figure beneath the spreading branches. Magnus ran toward his daughter.

  Elspeth grabbed the heavy bucket from Bethoc's arms and threw the water toward the byre roof. Behind her, Callum and Hugh and Duncan were doing the same, fetching, tossing, organized against the challenge of the fire.

  Tearing off his cloak, Duncan dunked his face and torso into the trough and then ran inside the byre, disappearing into the smoke. Elspeth paced anxiously, waiting, and Hugh grabbed the bucket she held to toss the water toward the roof. When Duncan emerged a few moments later, unharmed but sooty, he held an iron spade and a hoe. Tossing one toward Callum, he began to shovel dirt onto any patch of flame he could.

  Feeling caught in a nightmare, Elspeth worked on with the others, including Magnus, while Bethoc went toward Eiric to stay with her. Finally the fire lost its will as the smoldering byre collapsed. Elspeth accepted a ladle full of cool water from Duncan, and saw Magnus go toward his daughter. They heard Magnus shout, and Elspeth ran there with Duncan.

  Her cousin turned, holding Eiric in his arms, her face bruised and swollen. One small leg was wrapped in strips hastily torn from Bethoc's chemise.

  "Her leg could be broken," Magnus said flatly. "I will kill Ruari MacDonald for this. Tell them, Bethoc—tell them how this happened!" He drew his daughter tightly against his chest.

  "They came just after dawn," she said. "Ruari and his brothers. They dragged us from our beds and knocked over the furniture, destroyed the loom—" she paused, breathing heavily. Elspeth noticed that all she wore was a torn shift and a plaid shawl. "They took the animals, herding them away, and when they left, they tossed a burning peat brick onto the byre roof, where it caught fire."

  "What happened to Eiric?" Duncan asked harshly.

  "She ran after them when they took the lamb that Elspeth gave her. She cried and ran, and Ruari kicked her out of the way as the men left. She fell into the stone wall."

  "I will kill the man," Magnus said low, and handed the child gently to Elspeth. "Who goes with me?"

  "I do," Callum said. He and Hugh had walked up to hear Bethoc's story.

  "
We all will go," Hugh said.

  "Then we ride now," Magnus said.

  "What about the bond?" Elspeth asked. She glanced at Duncan, who stood nearby.

  "Remember what you have signed and promised," Duncan said.

  "No bond can stop me," Magnus said.

  Duncan sighed, looked away. Then he nodded. "Right. And I will ride with you." He turned to go with the Fraser cousins, and Elspeth tugged at his sleeve, holding Eiric closely.

  "The bond. Duncan—you are the pledge if something goes wrong!"

  His gaze was hard and keen. "Shall I leave and ride off to save my own neck? I cannot." He turned abruptly to follow her cousins as they thundered out of the little yard. Elspeth stared after them, soon hearing only the shushing wind and the soft crackle of cooling embers.

  * * *

  Elspeth stood outside the croft and looked out over the darkened moor under pale moonlight. The smell of charred wood was still strong in the air. She sighed, shook her head. Inside the house, Eiric slept soundly, soothed by Bethoc's infusion and Elspeth's singing. Bethoc slept with her, exhausted by the day. But Elspeth felt no sense of ease. Sleep was not possible for her just now. Her cousins and her husband had left to collect other Frasers and ride patrol, and she waited at the croft with Bethoc and the child, who should not be moved yet.

  She walked cautiously through the yard, needing to be sure, again, that all was peaceful. Thinking of Duncan and the others, she whispered a prayer to the angels and another plea to the fairies as well, to keep the men safe this night.

  Closing her eyes, she waited—but no vision or knowing could come this night, upset as she was, exhausted as she was. Time enough for visions when such was ready to come to her.

  Hearing a noise, she whirled. A small shadow slipped past the house, bleating, and she saw the tiny bog-lamb in the darkness returning to the yard.

  "Little one," she said softly, "where did you come from, hey?" The lamb trotted past her, heading for the turf block that served as an outside bench, where it began to nibble in earnest.

  Elspeth looked around, wondering, with a leaping heartbeat, if Duncan and the others were back, and had recovered the lamb. But she had heard no approaching garrons.