The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy

by Alisha Klapheke

  Thane tensed when she touched his arm.

  She didn’t say a word. The wind blew, cold and quick, across Thane’s pinked cheeks as she looked up at him. The pain on his face, in his gray eyes, tore her heart—bright, burning strips of pain across her chest. She was part of the reason he felt this way. Why had she questioned him again? Faith had to come into play here. Without it, and a heaping measure of trust, they’d never make it through the uprising.

  Taking handfuls of his sweater, she pulled him close and set her forehead against his. The muscles in his arms relaxed as they slipped around her middle. His breath was soft and his skin smelled like sage and cotton. They stayed that way, a warm cocoon in the light snow shower, until a smile washed Thane’s features and Aini’s heart felt whole again.

  Then she told Thane about Vera’s news.

  Thane’s face was grim. “This is good. It’s a stroke of good luck at last.” He touched her chin. “We are going to win this thing, Aini MacGregor.”

  “Did you Dream it?”

  “I don’t need to. Reality has provided all the necessary ingredients.”

  “A perfect mixture for a rebellion.”

  “Exactly so.”

  In Inveraray Castle’s high-ceilinged armory, Aini sat in a red velvet chair at Thane’s right hand. Vera, Myles, Neve, Bran, and Senga filled the other chairs at the head of the room. The large table had been cleared away to allow a crowd. A circle of Brown Bess rifles—all burnished steel and polished wood—made a sort of wreath over the hearth. Lochaber axes, muskets, and Scottish broadswords hung on the gold-painted walls. The tattered British flag hanging on the far wall, evidence of the Campbells long-running support of the monarchy, was disturbing to say the least. Long-handled, axe-like halberds fanned out from the rifle collection.

  Aini squinted. Blood stained one of the weapons. Though the room was cool, tension had her feeling like she was in the Grassmarket under the July sun.

  Vera licked her lips in excitement. Win or lose, she was having a fine time. Aini wished she could get excited about the idea of a fight. She was ready for it, but joy was definitely not part of that.

  Every time Aini glanced at Thane, he took her breath away. He’d swept his golden hair back from his face, and his gray eyes snapped clear and ready above his high cheekbones. Wearing his clan’s sage green, black, and blue tartan in the old-style—hanging as a long kilt and draped over his jacket—he looked the part of a powerful chieftain.

  One of Senga’s men strode into the room wearing a simple black suit with a gold and black brooch in the shape of a boar’s head. “The representatives are prepared to meet, Master Thane.” The man bent slightly at the waist.

  “Jimmy!” Thane left the table to embrace the man.

  Senga smiled. “He came back as soon as he heard what was happening.”

  Jimmy studied Thane’s face. “This is all we could ever hope for.”

  “Thank you for being here,” Thane said. He slapped Jimmy on the back, then returned to his spot beside Aini to straighten his tartan.

  This was all so formal. Aini felt completely out of place. She could almost feel every wrinkle in her new dress. Kind Senga had bought it over the phone and a girl had delivered it just fifteen minutes ago. There hadn’t been time to iron the black-striped, colonial cotton skirt properly. The top was green velvet so at least no wrinkles marred that bit.

  Thane stood, squaring his shoulders, and a rush of pride soared through Aini’s chest. He held a hand to her. She gripped his fingers briefly and squeezed them.

  Her pulse drummed in her ears. What exactly was she going to tell these men to push them from Nathair to the Dionadair, to support Thane? Would they listen, or would they just start ripping the ancient weapons from the walls?

  The thud and slap of boots carried from the dining hall and kitchens until a crowd of kilted men and finely dressed women—every age and size—had filed into the armory. Some took seats, others stood against the walls, their arms crossed over their chests.

  Thane spread his arms wide. “Fáilte, cousins, neighbors, countrymen.”

  A hunched man cleared his throat loudly. He hadn’t been here earlier, or at least, Aini hadn’t noticed him. He squinted at Thane. “What are you planning, my lord’s son?”

  Another stranger, ruddy-cheeked and new to the group, pointed at Vera, Myles, and Neve. “Who are they? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “If you’ll give me a moment, MacCoran.” A muscle twitched in Thane’s jaw.

  Aini pulled at the high neckline of her dress. Myles winked. She gave him a weak smile. Vera bristled at the end of the row of chairs like she was ready to tackle every Campbell in the room.

  Thane held up his hands. “My father, Nathair Campbell, has gone mad.”

  Menzies stood at the back of the room, face unreadable. Callum sat beside Senga. He rubbed his mouth with a knuckle, a mannerism Aini had noticed in Thane from time to time.

  “He ravages his own countrymen—from Glasgow to Inverness to Edinburgh—for his own gain and that of the English king.” Thane pounded a fist on the table and the pillar candles flamed higher. “He no longer acts like a Scotsman.”

  “This is foul talk, young Thane,” a woman in Campbell tartan whispered. “Are you sure we just heard you right? And I want to know about what happened outside.”

  Callum’s sharp eyes found the woman’s face in the crowd. He stared. Aini wasn’t sure whether he planned to shout back at her or have her shot.

  But it was Menzies who spoke first. “Just listen to the man, Hawes. He…there is more happening here than you think. Believe me.”

  Hawes blinked, obviously surprised a man like Menzies would say something that sounded so reasonable.

  Aini touched Thane’s hand. Go on. Do it.

  Senga put a hand on Thane’s shoulder, tears shining in her eyes. “It’s true,” she said to the room. “My husband has become Scotland’s worst enemy. A snake in our own grass. He is as much a monster as the false king, John III.”

  A man near the door threw up his hands. “Now that is treason!”

  Others joined in, calling for Thane’s arrest and spewing obscenities about the Dionadair.

  But no one denied the fact that Nathair had become Scotland’s worst enemy. That was something, at least. Aini’s palms left marks on the table. Her heart knocked around inside her ribs.

  “No.” Thane’s voice was thunder. “It’s treason against Scotland to deny the truth. The Dionadair are our enemies no longer. To rescue our people from the machinations of my father and the false king, they follow the lead of this woman, Aini MacGregor, MacBeth’s Seer.”

  She knew it was coming, but it didn’t stop her stomach from flipping.

  The room erupted into shouts and jeers.

  “Criminal!”

  “Take her!”

  Senga, Myles, Vera, Bran, and Neve gathered around Aini and Thane. Men and women bumped against them, raising their fists. Some angled themselves toward the crowd, backing Thane and Aini.

  Sweat drew down Aini’s back and she reached for Thane’s hand. He wrapped his long fingers around hers and held tight. She memorized the feel of the callouses and lines, and the bones of his hand and wrist.

  Thane’s voice stormed over the crowd. “Quiet.”

  “Don’t you see what Nathair has become?” Aini raised her voice, making eye contact with everyone she could. “He has asked many of you to swear fealty to him alone, outside of the king and his mandates, hasn’t he? Admit it.”

  Many looked from side to side, obviously not wanting to admit what they’d done.

  “I did,” one man said, raising a hand briefly. “He demanded it.”

  “And you think he’ll do something to help us Scots? Do you truly believe he is in this to improve your life and increase your freedoms?”

  “Listen to her. Do you think my father will do anything that doesn’t simply feed his own power?”

  “The power of the Campbells is our po
wer too, if we support him,” the man said.

  Aini shook her head. “We have proof that Nathair plans to poison the people of Edinburgh.”

  The talking died to a murmur of questions and whispers.

  “He’ll put the blame on King John to gain power.”

  “What does he want all this power for?” a deep voice said from the back. “What claim does he have to the throne? He’s not of the royal line and we’d only get more trouble from France if he wrested control away from the one who does. Am I wrong?”

  There were those who spoke up in agreement and some that just put their mouths into tight lines and crossed their arms.

  “Even if it did help Scotland—which most of us realize it definitely will not—is that something you can live with? Men, women, children—innocents—dead in the streets? It’s horrible enough that he rips sixth-sensers and those merely accused of it from their homes.”

  “Where is your proof?” another voice asked. “How do we know Nathair really is ordering the city of Edinburgh poisoned?”

  Callum took a slip of paper from Vera’s outstretched hand and held it high. “This is the message. I believe it’s valid. And I’ve known Nathair my whole life. You can poke holes in this all you want. But I think you know what the man is capable of.”

  The tension in the room weighed on Aini’s shoulders. All around her, hands remained on belts where knives surely hid, sharpened and ready. One wrong move and this became a massacre with losses on all sides.

  Aini cleared her throat. “When I touched the Bethune brooch, I saw the Coronation Stone.” She closed her eyes and remembered she was meant to do this. “It was shaped like a seat, an ancient throne.” A shiver ran up her arms. “I found MacBeth’s dirk and the legendary Waymark Wall. Thane and I finally found the Coronation Stone on Bass Rock in Saint Baldred’s underground cell.”

  Vera hefted the stone in its bag onto the table with a thud. The gathering craned their necks to look as she pulled the burlap away to show the shining black rock.

  “That’s not the Coronation Stone,” Hawes said. “It’s too small.”

  But her voice trembled. They all had to feel it. The stone hummed like a beast about to spring. The gathering simply needed to see the magic for themselves.

  “Thane? Shall we?” She held a hand out to him.

  His smile was a sharpened blade. “Yes.”

  They slammed their palms onto the stone.

  A roar crashed through the room, jangling the rifles against the walls and blowing the candles out. People covered their ears and cowered as the wind rushed over them, whipping around Thane and Aini, lifting their hair like flames around their heads.

  Thane took their joined hands away from the ancient stone.

  MacCoran grabbed his own shirt front like he was having heart trouble. Several men crossed themselves and others muttered prayers.

  Thane looked ten feet tall, and Aini was pretty sure she looked just as mighty.

  “Swear yourselves to your new earl,” she said, “and the Heir of Scotland.”

  Thane’s eyes found hers as he spoke to the hushed group. “We will go to Edinburgh and save the people. We will crush my father’s mad quest for power. We will free Scotland from the tyranny of the English king!”

  With a great shout, the representatives of the clans—kilts and skirts of peat brown, heather, blood-red, rose, midnight, and sea green—threw their fists in the air. “Aini MacGregor, our Seer, and Thane Campbell, true Heir of Scotland!”

  Callum and Senga cleared everyone away.

  “Back, back,” Senga called out. “Time to make your allegiance official.”

  Jimmy and several others handed out the ceremonial swords the gathering had left on the tables. Once they had their swords on their belts, they made their mark beside their vote for Thane as chief of Clan Campbell, replacing the unfit Nathair.

  MacCoran slipped out a side door. Not today, Master MacCoran. Aini worked through the thick of bodies and steel, following him to the corridor beyond the armory.

  “Where are you going?”

  The old man stopped and turned his head to glare with dark eyes. “I won’t break the oath I already made to Earl Nathair. Besides, Thane cannot claim to be earl without approval from the king.”

  “He doesn’t need the pretender’s approval. He is the Heir.” Vera, Neve, and Myles joined Aini. “The stone’s demand overrides all,” she said. “There is no shame in correcting your mistake in swearing allegiance to the wrong man.”

  “With all respect, I disagree.” MacCoran eyed the group.

  “That’s fine. Vera, Neve, Myles. Would you mind helping me?”

  “As you wish, Seer,” Vera said before putting a gun to MacCoran’s back.

  “You’re just going to kill me, eh? For being honorable. So glad we’re gaining a new leadership. It’ll be such a change.”

  Myles snickered. “I like him.”

  “We’re not going to murder you, MacCoran,” Aini said. “But we can’t let you leave and warn our enemies of what we’re up to. Vera, do you have a place you could keep him?”

  “I’ll think of something. Neve, give me a hand, please.”

  Neve jumped to open the back door and they disappeared with the man.

  “That was neatly done,” Myles said. “Now, I think it’s time for a bunch of Scots to promise their souls to you and Thane or something.”

  “I don’t think souls will be mentioned. Just defense.”

  “Tomato, tomatooooeeee.” Myles held out a hand toward the armory and nodded for her to go in first.

  “Thanks.” She grinned.

  “Of course, my liege.”

  “Please stop.”

  “I don’t think so. This is the fun part.”

  Incorrigible.

  Chapter 20

  Be It Kenned to All

  One by one, each clan representative and their associates lined up in front of Thane and Aini.

  Callum was the first.

  His wiry, gold-red hair swept away from his wide face, he went down on one knee and set his sword on the ground. Holding his palms up, he spoke low, but loud enough that most could hear.

  “Be it kenned to all, I bind and oblige my heirs and myself by the faith and truth in my body to maintain, assist, defend, and concur with Thane Campbell, Earl of Argyll and Chief of Clan Campbell and his heirs and sundries their quarrels, actions, debates, and causes from this date.”

  Thane took Callum’s hand in both of his. He nodded his head, then looked to Aini. Callum inclined his head to her. He put a hand over his heart.

  “I give my respect to you, Seer. I’m amazed this old man has the chance to see this prophecy come to fruition.”

  Aini copied the gesture and rested her fingers over the soft, velvet neckline of her dress. Her heart beat, sure and steady, under her palm. “I promise to do my best to fulfill the role Fate has given to me.”

  One by one, the rest came forward and bent the knee to them.

  Thane wasn’t wearing a crown, but he sure did look like a king with the sun streaming through the windows and touching his head, and the crowd in quiet reverence as they listened to his responses. Aini never would’ve said it aloud—too crass, and it wasn’t important right now—but that look of power and capability was very, very attractive.

  When the ceremony finished, Myles and Neve found Aini and handed her a glass of wonderfully cold ice water. She drank it down and felt more hopeful than she had in days.

  “The real question of the day is, what the heck does kenned mean?” Myles took the glass and ate one of Aini’s ice pieces.

  “Known,” Neve said. “Let it be known.”

  Myles gave her a nod. “All right. I’m satisfied. Now, when does this dancing they’ve been bragging about start up? Let it be kenned I’m ready to set the floor on fire.” He shimmied against Neve’s hip and she bumped him, grinning.

  The twang and pluck of musicians readying their instruments trickled from the saloon
.

  “I’m guessing now?” Aini led them to the saloon’s door. “I’m going to freshen up a little. I’ll meet you in a minute or two.”

  They took off to mingle with those already gathered on the pale wood floors as Aini escaped to the restroom to have some much needed quiet.

  A half hour later, violins and drums fought for attention in the long, wide expanse of the saloon. Everyone was dancing the same reel, but it looked like poorly managed chaos to Aini.

  “Good evening, lovely,” Thane said from behind her making her jump. His warm hands circled her waist and the length of him pressed against her gently. “Are we going to dance or stand here plotting?”

  “There is a lot of planning to do.” Weapons. Locations. Information. Father had sent coded intel from Edinburgh an hour ago regarding Lord Darnwell—the French queen’s brother-in-law—as well as kingsmen movements near Edinburgh. The rebels had a true army to assemble. And Nathair was still “off the map” as Menzies had put it. Disconcerting, to say the least.

  “I know planning is your favorite past time, but could you spare a few minutes for me?” Thane’s breath on her neck turned her insides to molten silver.

  “I think I can do that.”

  She led him into the reel, her body finding the music and settling into its rhythm. His grin lit her up as she spun, then returned to his hands.

  “Are you wearing the stone?” she asked. The leather strap wasn’t showing on his neck.

  He tapped the tooled, black leather bag attached to one of two belts on his kilt. “It’s safe in my sporran.” With a wink, he started dancing again.

  The room was hot, but it wasn’t unpleasant. A ton of candles scented the air with beeswax and brightened the wood-framed portraits of Thane’s fancy ancestors. Vera and Bran argued beside the perspiring musicians.

  Thane nodded toward them as he took Aini’s hand and moved right two steps. “Should we intervene?”