Not far from where Aleck had been felled, a set of inquisitive eyes watched through the darkness. The Morgan warrior dragged the limp form to the edge of a deep ravine. Shoving his quarry over the rim, the man whooped loudly; then wrapping his plaid around his body, he ran off into the night.
The onlooker stepped from behind the tree that shielded him. Loping to the cleft in the ground, he peered over its rim. The big man lay on his back at the bottom. With care, the watcher climbed down the steep-sided chasm. Reaching the horseman, he knelt and pressed his ear to the man’s chest. He was amazed to discover that the man still lived.
In quick order, he bandaged the man’s wound with a length of linen ripped from the horseman’s shirt, its tail pulled free of the buckskin breeches. Then he drew the man’s sword from its scabbard and set to chopping down a number of young saplings. Afterward he fashioned a litter, tying the poles together with strips of leather cut from the horseman’s jerkin. Next, he rolled the injured man onto the conveyance, then scrambled up the steep walls once more.
Finding the skittish stallion not far from where it had bolted, he led the horse along the edge of the ravine. Finally, they reached the point where the sharp sides eased to a gentle slope. The stallion snorted as it was routed back along the floor of the narrow chasm; a quick hand covered its nose and stroked gently. The horse quieted.
Half an hour later, the litter secured to the saddle, the tousle-haired lad emerged from the narrow gap. On into the night, he silently guided the stallion along the paths he knew so well, the injured horseman in tow. Just as the rain began to pelt the earth, the trio reached the broken-down bothy hidden deep in the wood. He could not speak, but Owen called the deserted croft his home.
Chapter
13
Pink fingers of light stretched upward from the horizon, marking the dawn. The early morning rains had ended, the clouds dissipating. Fresh and clean, the air was filled with the scent of heather, the first of its flowers opening on the moors. The day promised to be exceptional, but Chandra seemed not to notice the beauty of the Highlands. Standing high on the battlement at Lochlaigh Castle, she looked south, toward England. Never had she thought she’d miss the lush greens of its landscape, but she did. It was the man she missed most, not his homeland.
Worry knitted her brow as she reexamined the past few days. She’d hoped her return to Lochlaigh would be joyous, but it was not. On her arrival, she’d found her clansmen locked in turmoil, all squabbling among themselves. Some welcomed her, elation showing on their faces; others had simply glared their discontent. Of the latter, Cedric seemed the most hostile, his disposition the surliest of the lot.
Each day was a struggle as she tried to keep her wits sharp and her temper in check. Having demanded that the raids on their neighbors be stopped, she kept a tenuous hold on those who were still eager for blood. How long they would obey her commands, she kenned not. This wasn’t the clan she knew, the clan she loved and honored. A malignancy had grown within its core, and her uncle had fostered its eruption. But to ostracize Cedric meant stirring even more unrest, something she could ill afford. Her only hope was that their fear of James was far greater than their hatred of him.
“Remember the clan Gregor,” she had told them shortly after she’d gained a full understanding of why their king was so angry, “for if you persist in this aggression, if you continue to disobey James, the name Morgan will be no more.” Hearing those words, the majority had apparently grown thoughtful. The raiding and pillaging had ceased. So far, the self-imposed truce held. If it would only last!
A foot scuffed against the stones behind her, and she turned. “You seem overly intrigued with the southern view,” Cedric said. “Does your heart now belong to England?”
“No,” she snapped. “I survey Morgan lands. Naught else.”
“You’ve changed, Niece,” he said, studying her closely. “You hold a faraway look in your eyes. You long for something—or someone. ’Tis the Sassenach, I’ll wager.”
When she’d returned, Chandra had withheld any mention of her marriage, stating only that she’d managed to escape—which was true. While her clan had applauded her cunning, elated that she’d outsmarted her captor, Cedric had remained suspicious. He continued with his baiting questions, his niggling probes, apparently hoping to discover far more. Wisely, she kept her secret close, for if the truth of her marriage came out, she’d immediately be ousted as chief. Chandra knew that all too well. “Wager what you wish, Uncle. I am the same person who left here,” she lied. “I am The Morgan of Morgan—your chieftain. ’Tis best that you remember it.” She strode past Cedric, away from the crenel, for she trusted him not. A small shove, and she’d be lying at the base of the castle. “Has something of importance brought you here? If not, I go to Devin’s grave.”
“’Tis not wise for you to venture alone onto the moor, Chandra. ’Tis dangerous for you.”
“Dangerous? How so, Uncle? I am, after all, on Morgan lands. By right, no harm should come to me. Unless, Uncle, someone plots against me. Tell me, should I fear one of my clan? Does he intend to use his blade and cut me down by stealth?” Eyes expressionless, Cedric remained silent. “Since you have no answer, I must assume I’ll be safe. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.”
By the time Chandra reached Devin’s grave, the sun had crept higher, its rays warming the air streaming across the moor. Kneeling, she gazed at the barren spot, small tufts of moss and grass just starting to sprout from the broken soil. The first time Chandra had come here, she’d sobbed out her grief; the second, she’d sat silently. But this day, recollections filled her.
Devin’s laughing eyes; his gentle smile; his bounding about the glade, only to tumble over the side of the ravine; their race down the hill; his protective arm about her shoulders as the arrogant Sassenach appraised her—it all came to mind. His sitting opposite her while making their list; his attack of violent coughing; Aleck’s intervention, whereupon he’d carried Devin to his bed—all this she remembered.
As she and Devin stood outside her antechamber, his soft kiss had fallen on her palm. He has the power to change the course of your destiny … your future is in his hands. Don’t be afraid of this winged hunter. For all his fierceness, he might actually be a dove. Her cousin’s words spun through her head; it was as though she were hearing them for the very first time. She couldn’t help but wonder if Devin had already foreseen his fate. Had he been saying his final farewell, letting her know he approved of the Englishman, encouraging her to accept what was preordained? I hope, Chandra, that your lord of legend will be forever kind to you. A sword flashed in her memory. “’Tis easier this way,” he’d said just before he fell to the floor, his life ebbing from him. Looking back on it, she had to agree. His end had been swift, not one racked with pain as he gasped for each breath while he wasted slowly away. She’d blamed Aleck for Devin’s death, yet by the mercy of her husband’s blade, her cousin did not suffer, and for that Chandra was most thankful. Yet the way in which Devin had died would always stand between Aleck and herself. Her clan would never accept it.
Do not let them dictate the course of your heart. ’Tis love that gives you life, Chandra. You have found it. Do not let it go.
Devin’s voice boomed in her ears uttering words she’d never heard him say; she nearly fainted at its force. Impossible, she thought, drawing a swift breath. Then she felt a presence behind her. She whipped around on her knees. The moor lay deserted. A chill ran through her; she rose to her feet. Scanning the trees a distance away, she saw movement. Owen.
He motioned to her. The action surprised Chandra, for when spotted, he normally dashed through the wood, disappearing from sight. She moved toward him, then stepped under the sheltering limbs. He appeared pale, distraught.
“Owen,” she addressed him by the name she’d bestowed on him. “’Tis good to see you.” She wondered if he might be weak from hunger, for until now she hadn’t thought about him. After her abduction, he might have
gone with little food, her clan not seeing to his needs. “Are you hungry?” She didn’t wait for a nod. “I shall go to the castle and bring you some food.” Owen caught her arm as she started to turn away. Standing eye to eye with him, for they were nearly the same height, she saw the negative shake of his head. “What is it, then? Has something happened that worries you?”
He nodded, then pulled at her hand. Chandra assumed he wanted her to follow him.
“You wish me to go with you, right?”
Again he nodded.
“Is it far?”
His head bobbed.
“I’m curious, but I must return to the castle. I have been gone far too long already.” It was inadvisable for her to allow Cedric much time alone with her clan. Even now, the dissenters among them might have grown by half. “Mayhap we could meet later.”
Owen’s head nearly shook from his shoulders. Then he lifted what appeared to be a gold chain from his neck and whipped it over his head; an emerald-encrusted medallion jumped from inside his frayed saffron shirt.
Chandra nearly fell to the ground when she saw it. Immediately she snatched it from his hand. It was indeed Aleck’s. “Where did you get this?”
Owen pointed through the trees. Then, seizing her hand, he urged her to follow.
“Has he been injured?” she asked, already knowing he had been before seeing Owen’s nod. There was no other way that someone could have wrested the medallion from him, unless—Dear God, no! He is not dead!
Chandra didn’t hesitate. The heavy gold chain slipped over her head, and the medallion fell beneath her tunic to lie well below her breasts. Pulling her skirt up between her legs, she tucked the hem into her waistband. The blood pounded in her ears as she raced along the paths, tracing Owen’s fleet steps, her heart crying her husband’s name: Aleck!
At long last, they came to the little cottage. Nearly hiding it from view, a tangle of briers scaled the stone walls, stretching to the tattered thatched roof. The shoddy place appeared close to collapsing. Chandra was amazed to see it, for she knew nothing of its existence. Her quick footsteps carried her over the threshold of the open door; she skidded to a halt. Eyes adjusting from sunlight to shadow, she saw Aleck lying on the makeshift cot, a bloodstained piece of linen binding his head. His normally bronzed complexion seemed exceptionally pale; she felt her heart stop.
“Aleck?” she whispered, dropping to her knees beside him. He breathed steadily, and Chandra offered up a prayer of thanksgiving. Then her trembling fingers lightly touched his brow. Carefully unwrapping the bandage, she inspected the deep gash that streaked from midtemple back into his hair. “How did this happen?” she asked, looking at Owen.
The boy stood back. His hands formed a large circle, then his fingers gripped together and he raised his arms above his head, rotating them in a wide arc. Suddenly they stopped; his fingers sprang apart. His hand slapped the side of his head.
Chandra stared at him. “A mace—are you saying he was hit by a mace?”
Owen nodded.
She looked at Aleck. Incredibly, he’d survived the blow. A miracle, she thought, then turned her attention back to Owen. “Did you see who did it?”
He grabbed hold of her plaid and pointed to it.
“A Morgan,” she said; again Owen nodded. “Are you familiar with him?”
A scowl marked his face, and Owen strutted about the floor, beating his chest. He stopped, and swung his fists through the air.
Chandra gritted her teeth. A pompous warrior. “’Twas Cedric,” she said, and Owen nodded vigorously. “Did he see you?”
At the shake of Owen’s head, Chandra felt greatly relieved. Then, by way of Owen’s miming, she learned how Aleck had been shoved into a ravine and how the lad had fashioned a litter to carry her husband out. Aleck’s stallion, she was told, had been hidden close by. As the story unfolded, Chandra felt her anger grow to insurmountable proportions. Her uncle would pay for his transgressions. This she promised.
“Has he awakened?” she asked about Aleck, her attention again falling on her husband. Once more she surveyed the ugly wound; her heart ached and she prayed he would live. A hand touched her arm. Looking up, she watched the slow shake of Owen’s head. Then his shoulders lifted, as though he were asking what he should do. “I must go back to the castle and fetch some medicinals and fresh bandages. Stay here with him. I’ll return shortly.”
Chandra leaned toward Aleck. After placing a gentle kiss on his parted lips and receiving no response, she rose and walked out into the sunlight; Owen followed. Glancing around her, she found she was hopelessly lost. “Which way is the castle?”
Owen pointed in its general direction, and as Chandra looked up the hillside, her shoulders slumped, for the brae was naught but a mesh of briers and brambles, the same as the cottage. Noting her discouraged expression, Owen tugged at her hand. Again, he wanted her to follow him.
“But someone must stay with Aleck.”
Owen put his palms together, then tilted his head, resting his cheek on his hands.
“He sleeps, you say.” The lad nodded. “That he does, Owen. But I pray it is not forever.” Deciding she had no choice, she waved Owen on ahead of her. Moving away from the cottage, she looked back at the door. “I won’t be long, my love. Do not leave me, please.”
Inside of a quarter hour, Chandra stood in the wood just below the place where she had always left Owen his food. He motioned that he’d remain there and await her return, so he could lead her again to the cottage.
“If I am not back in a reasonable length of time, go without me. Tend to my husband as best you can. I’ll be along whenever it is safe. No one must find him, Owen. His life is at grave risk. I am relying on you. Guard him well.” It was a large task for one who was not trained as a warrior, but Chandra felt that Owen possessed the ability to outwit nearly anyone who trespassed on his realm. “Thank you, Owen. I am forever indebted to you. I shall not forget this.”
She slipped from the wood into the open, Owen keeping watch on her. To anyone else who saw her, The Morgan of Morgan seemed not to have a care in the world as she strolled up the hillside toward the castle. But when she reached the fortress’s wide base, she scurried along its ancient wall toward the north tower. Coming to a mound of boulders surrounded by dense shrubbery, she disappeared from sight. Owen frowned; then, squatting against the foot of a tree, he waited.
Having ascended the staircase that spiraled up through the thick wall of the north tower and into its cellars, Chandra doused the torch she carried and emerged from the secret door hidden behind a row of shelving. Except for the area where she now stood, the place was little used. Above her, old furnishings littered the second and third floors; in the substrata below lay a rat-infested dungeon, its trapdoor centered in the dusty ground-level wooden floor.
She closed the portal, crocks rattling on the horizontal boards, and she remembered how as children she and Devin had found the concealed entry. Chasing around the stores of grain, they had hit the shelving with such force that the latch sprang free. Eagerly they had explored the winding steps, discovering the outer doorway. A pact was made, and they had vowed never to tell anyone of their discovery. Over the years the passage was used frequently as the two sneaked from the fortress to play in the wood.
She doubted that anyone else remembered its existence. At least, she hoped not, for it was her only link to the outside world whereby she could move in and out of the castle unseen. Her feet scraped along the rustic floorboards; then she held her breath and eased open the tower’s outer door. No one appeared to be in the immediate vicinity, so she quickly slipped out. Ambling across the inner ward, she passed into the kitchens.
The women were busy preparing the late morning meal. Greeting them with nods and smiles, Chandra wended her way around the group and into the pantry. Procuring a canvas sack from a hook, she filled it with a length of clean linen, thread and needle, ointment, a mixture of herbs, a block of cheese, a skin of goat’s milk filled from
a dipper, an assortment of fresh fruits, two loaves of brown bread, and bannocks wrapped in a napkin, which she stashed on top. Hoping to make it out to the wood again unobserved, then on to the cottage, she was disappointed. When she exited the pantry, she saw that Cedric awaited her.
“What is inside that sack, Niece?” he asked, eyeing her closely.
Chandra viewed the man, anger and loathing roiling inside her. Quickly she willed the sentiments to be still, lest she erupt with the force of her malice. “’Tis food for Owen,” she said, allowing him to look in the bag’s top. “While on the moor, I saw the lad. He appears frail. Apparently, while I was gone, no one thought to feed him.”
His hand fishing inside the napkin, her uncle pulled out a bannock, then bit into it. “With his poaching and thieving, he is naught but a nuisance,” he said, his mouth spitting bits of oatcake. “You should chase him away from here and be done with him.”
“He takes no more than a hare or two on occasion for his own needs. ’Tis not enough to cause concern. Besides, he bothers no one. As long as I am chief, he shall be allowed to remain. Do not challenge me on this, for I have spoken.”
Chandra brushed past her uncle and headed for the door. Cedric strode after her. “Where do you go?” he asked, trailing her closely.
“To the spot near the wood. ’Tis where I always leave Owen his food.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“’Tis not necessary.”
“But it is, Niece. Outside these walls is no place for you to be alone.”
Chandra turned on him. “I will go alone, Uncle. Owen is most timid. He trusts only me. You will stay behind, so that he doesn’t become frightened. Find something to keep your attention. I will not be long.”
Chandra marched from the inner ward to a postern gate. Ordering the guard to open it, she walked through, then traversed the hillside. As she made her way to the wood, she felt certain that Cedric scrutinized her from the battlement. Torn between seeing to Aleck’s care and the definite possibility that he’d be found were she to take to the woods with Owen, she knew she had little choice but to wait.
Lord of Legend Page 25