The Swan Maiden

by Susan King

  They stared at her. Lucas lowered his brows. “Live under the same roof with Sassenachs?”

  “Lucas, we could keep your family there, so you would be free to join Robert Bruce’s army,” Juliana said. “Angus, you could go with him. I will ask my husband to shelter those made homeless by the Sassenachs. But for now, I must get back, or my long absence will appear suspicious.”

  “Hah,” Lucas muttered, “she has to slip away to come see us, but she is sure we will all be welcome at the castle! Girl, just let us into the castle by night. We will see to the rest.”

  “I cannot do that,” she said. “But the women and children and old ones can find shelter at Elladoune.” Surely Gawain, who had an innate kindness, would allow that. “He is an honorable man, my husband, for a Sassenach.”

  “Bah,” Lucas said.

  “Smitten,” Beithag said, nodding to Uilleam.

  “It is better than staying here,” Angus said slowly.

  “I will be back,” Juliana said. “I must go, and hope that my chaperones will believe that I have been playing in the loch with the swans and sunning myself like an otter.”

  She bid them farewell, and jumped lightly down from the cave mouth to run back through the forest.

  Emerging from the water inside the cove on the other side of the loch, she sluiced back her wet hair. Then she hurried to the fallen tree and reached under it.

  Her gown was gone. She knelt to grope beneath the trunk, finding only old leaves. Rising to her feet, leaves and dirt clinging to her sopping chemise, she turned, confused, thinking she must have made a mistake.

  “Looking for this?” a man asked.

  Gasping, startled, she flung her arms over her breasts in the wet linen, and turned. Laurie stood amid the birches, her mulberry gown draped over one broad shoulder. Brother Eonan stood well behind him, a hand over his eyes.

  Laurie turned. “Brother, if you think it a sin to see her thus, stay back. I mean to have a few words with the lass. My lady,” Laurie went on as he strode toward her, “just where the devil have you been?” he finished impatiently.

  Silently, she lashed out an arm for her clothing, and then covered herself hastily when he did not relinquish it.

  Laurie put his hand on the gown. “This? You want this?”

  She nodded, shivering, dripping, fuming.

  “You willna have it until you and I talk some,” he said. “Och, stay, dinna flee from me. I have sisters and a wife. The sight of a wee wet lassie doesna fret me as it does poor Brother Eonan, there.”

  She backed away, eyeing him warily, arms crossed. He took a couple of steps toward her.

  “It wounds me to my soul that you dinna trust me,” he said. “First you willna speak to me, then you steal away from my company, and now you think me a lecher.”

  She gulped and watched him, wishing she had not tried to fool him earlier. He was a strong man in a fierce temper, and suddenly she was not sure of him at all.

  “Listen to me,” he said sternly. “I see that look upon your face. I would never lust after my friend’s own wife. Fine as you are, lassie, you are like a saint to me. Understand?”

  Nodding with relief, she inched forward, then lunged to grab the hem of the gown.

  He caught her arm firmly in his big hand. “Nae yet. Now tell me. Went for a swim, did you?” She nodded vigorously. “I saw you cross the loch and run into the trees on the other side. Where did you go?”

  She shivered, growing colder in the shade of the trees despite the summer heat, and shrugged. Laurie let go of her hand.

  “Questions require answers. You can speak, lass.”

  Juliana only scowled at him.

  “You trust Gawain enough to talk to him,” he said. “I have seen it. If you have secrets, I dinna care to know them. But I am tender in my heart, and I hoped you would like me well enough to trust me too. Hey,” he murmured, “remember I am a Scotsman. Doesna that count for something?”

  A Scotsman who rode with English, she wanted to reply. But he was Gawain’s friend, and she appreciated his gentleness with her now, and she was strongly tempted to trust him.

  Silence rolled out. Birds twittered, the breeze rustled the leaves. Brother Eonan turned his back, clearly tired of holding his hands to his eyes.

  “Tcha,” Laurie said in exasperation, whipping the gown from his shoulder. “Take it before you catch an ague. Gawain would have my hide for that.”

  She snatched the gown. “Thank you, Sir Laurie,” she said.

  His sudden smile was bright, and he bowed. “Lady Juliana,” he said gallantly, “You willna regret the faith you put in me.” He turned to give her privacy.

  She stepped behind the shelter of some trees, stripped out of her wet chemise, and pulled on the dry gown. She draped the linen over a tree limb to dry and walked back toward Laurie. He turned when she murmured his name.

  “The Swan Maiden likes to swim, does she?” he asked as they walked companionably toward Eonan.

  She nodded. “I love it.”

  “And what then, in the trees? Did you seek out the rebels to betray your husband and his duties here? I must ask that, you know.” He frowned.

  “I wouldna betray my husband,” she answered carefully. “I have friends in the forest, but they are homeless people in need, good people. Not warriors or enemies.”

  “Ah. Harmless, are they.”

  “Oh, aye,” she said.

  “And all you did was play a bit with your wee swans?”

  She drew a breath. “Swimming is something I have always done here. It feels like flying to me … it feels like freedom.”

  “Ah well,” he said. “You do need more of that, I think. Mayhap you can go swimming—if your husband approves.”

  She tilted a brow. “And if he doesna?”

  He pursed his lips, thinking. “I am a lazy man,” he said. “I dinna care to chase you about the hills like a nursemaid when I can rest on the shore while you go splashing. Shall we have a pact between us? Trust me, and I will trust you.”

  She smiled. “I would like that.”

  “Good. But dinna get me into straits with the constable of Elladoune. He isna so mellow a man as I.” He winked at her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Evening spilled amethyst color into the loch as Gawain rode back to Elladoune. Once again he scanned the dark shapes of the mountains reflected in the water. He had traveled the hills for hours, but had not yet seen the stark and craggy face he sought.

  He had ridden to Dalbrae, too, having learned its location from the monks. The gatehouse guard had told him that Walter de Soulis had not returned from his journey; the Lindsay brothers were inside, but Gawain lacked official permission to see them.

  With the rest of the day free, he had ridden over rough tracks, past greenwood, moors, lochans, and hillsides, moving toward the high mountains north of Elladoune. Beinn an Aodann was there somewhere, he was sure.

  By the end of the day, he mistrusted the memory. He thought Glenshie lay north of Loch nan Eala, but he had been a boy when he had left. Perhaps he was wrong about the location.

  Yet he could ask no one. No English knight would answer his inquiry without questioning it or reporting his interest. He could raise no suspicions, nor could he ask locally and risk revealing who he was.

  His mother surely knew where it was, but he could not bring himself to mention Glenshie when he had been at Avenel. He had not confessed to her his lifelong dream of claiming his inheritance. Unable to remind her of something so painful, he had kept it close.

  Regardless of today’s disappointment, he had to find the castle. The need sat in his belly like a great stone. Shoulders slumping, he felt weary in spirit and body as Gringolet took him toward Elladoune’s gate.

  He thought of Juliana waiting inside, and his discouragement lessened. Being with her—alone with her—would be heaven enough to ease his private hell.

  Supper, shared with Laurie, consisted of old ale and some sort of burned meat. Gawai
n ate sparingly and thanked Laurie for preparing it, then asked where Juliana was, since he had not yet seen her since his return an hour or so earlier.

  “Claimed she wasna hungry and retired to her tower chamber before you came in,” Laurie answered.

  “I was just there, writing down my notations on the landscape I saw today,” Gawain said. “She was not there.”

  “She is elsewhere in the castle, then,” Laurie said. “I am sure of it.” He cleared his throat.

  “You do not sound so certain,” Gawain observed. “Laurie, did you lose sight of her today?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

  Laurie shrugged. “She, ah, slipped away when we were down by the loch. But she only went for a swim with her wee swans. She said she likes to do that,” he added.

  Gawain lifted a brow. “She spoke to you?”

  “Aye,” Laurie said proudly. “The lass trusts me now.”

  “She cannot be allowed to stray too far and get herself—and us—into mischief,” Gawain warned.

  Laurie nodded with brusque conviction. After bidding him good night, Gawain walked out to search for Juliana, wondering if she was in the kitchen or the stables, or walking in the bailey.

  He saw her standing on the wallwalk overlooking the loch, watching the night sky darken over the mountains. She seemed to hold her own light, pale as a moonbeam. He climbed the steps and walked toward her. She did not turn as he approached, as if she knew he was there and calmly accepted his presence.

  A long plaid woolen shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Under it she wore a simple linen chemise. Her hair poured over her shoulders, brushed to a silvery sheen in the darkness.

  “The sky is beautiful,” she said, looking across the loch.

  “Aye,” he answered. “I was admiring it myself while I rode back here. I saw the swans out on the loch, though ’tis dark. A lovely and peaceful sight.”

  She nodded agreement. “The swans will swim all through the night, resting briefly here and there. In the course of a day and night they travel the loch and the water meadow and streams near the abbey and the mill.” She pointed out their path with a sweep of her hand from one end of the loch to the other. “Early in the morning, they are here, and at midday, they are at the abbey, for they know the monks will feed them. Each evening they come back to Elladoune. They always find their way back here.”

  “As did you.” He glanced at her.

  “My path was hardly the peaceful circuit that the swans make. Gawain, Father Abbot sent word this morn to invite you to the abbey, but you had already left to ride out to Dalbrae.”

  “I plan to go to Inchfillan soon.”

  “So you saw the sheriff and my brothers?”

  “I went there, but De Soulis has not yet arrived. I was not permitted to see your brothers, though the guards assured they are well. After that, I rode the hills.”

  “Looking for rebels?” she asked tartly.

  “Exploring,” he answered. “Learning the land.”

  “Ah. Every garrison commander must know his territory.”

  “I suppose. And what did you do today? Swim for freedom?”

  She shot him a quick look. “The day was warm, and the water is lovely this time of year. I often swim in the loch.”

  “I remember. I pulled you out of there once.”

  “As if I needed it. I would have made it to shore all on my own that night,” she said, folding her arms.

  “But you would not have made it past the Sassenachs.”

  “I did today,” she said crisply.

  “Promise me you will not disappear like that again. Laurie was as concerned, and embarrassed to have lost you. Though he is pleased you decided to speak with him,” he added.

  “I like him well,” she said. “But you can hardly expect me to disrobe in the open if I want to swim a bit.”

  “Do not go swimming at all. ’Tis dangerous.”

  “I am a strong swimmer. And the loch is calm.”

  “De Soulis and his men are the danger,” he pointed out.

  “So am I a prisoner, then?”

  “We agreed you would stay between the castle and the abbey for the time being. Would you rather De Soulis set the rules?”

  “You may set them.” Her meek response surprised him. He expected more argument. “Gabhan—I must ask a favor.”

  As before, she softened his name to Gaelic. She could not know the effect that had on him, but she used it unerringly to her advantage. He was ready to grant her anything. “Aye?”

  She hugged her arms over her chest. He wondered what she guarded so close. “There are people living in the forest near here. Some are my kin, and the rest are friends. They are homeless since the English destroyed their village.”

  “I saw the ruin of it.”

  “Now the sheriff’s men have burned part of their forest home. Father Abbot mentioned it, and then I saw the damage myself today, when I … went for a swim. They need shelter and safety. Gabhan, I want to bring them here to live at Elladoune,” she went on quickly.

  He glanced at her in surprise. “You expect me to allow Scots rebels to quarter in an English-held castle?”

  “I hoped you would act the charitable knight, not the king’s man,” she said curtly. “They are good folk in need of help, not warriors. There is plenty of room here with the garrison gone. This was once my family’s home.” She sighed, shook her head. “You dinna understand.”

  “I do. You are loyal to your friends. But there may be troops here soon. What then?”

  “I heard De Soulis say that Elladoune might be closed down by the English king.”

  “So you think to give the castle over to the Scots before the English have even left it?”

  She looked away. He saw her brow fold, saw her mouth work in anger—or distress. “They are in need: There are children among them, and women, and elderly folk. A woman great with child, her four bairns, a man who is a dimwit, a blind man, old ones gone feeble but keeping their pride—”

  “Stop.” He held up a hand. “Do not weaken me so.” He said it sincerely. “I have obligations to consider.”

  She bowed her head. “Please,” she whispered.

  He blew out a breath, unable to refuse her even if he had wanted. “We can shelter the neediest of them here. No more. Certainly no rebels.”

  Her smile glowed for an instant. “My thanks. I will go tomorrow to fetch them. You willna regret it, I promise.”

  “I will, if I lose my head for it,” he murmured.

  “We willna say who they are, if the sheriff comes by,” she said. “They will have ready hands for the chores and can tend the livestock. They can be pages and grooms and serving maids. And there will be women to bake and brew and cook—”

  “Now that,” he drawled, “you should have said first. I was wondering how long we could survive on Laurie’s concoctions.”

  She smiled. “And I could have a few ladies’ maids, too.”

  “A few? How many do you have in mind to bring here?”

  She tilted her head. “How fine a lady do you want me to be?”

  He laughed, and she smiled again. Pale and beautiful in the moonlight, she seemed ethereal and magical. For a moment, he found it easy to believe that she was an enchanted swan.

  “I am grateful,” she said. “I hoped I could trust you to be the Swan Knight I remember—chivalrous and willing to help those in need. Just think how often you have saved me.”

  Her words touched him deeply, but he would not show it. “Ah, well. You seem to need saving, now and again.”

  She tilted another glance toward him. The pull between them felt strong and clear. Suddenly he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her—yet he would never force that on her.

  He looked away, his gaze scanning the magnificent view over the loch. “Those mountains—what are they called?”

  “Those are only hills. The true mountains are in the upper Highlands.”

  “They look like mountains to me.”
r />   “Ach, well, the Sassenachs have only low, plain hills in England.” A little smile played around her mouth.

  “Aha. And what is that tall peak called, over there?”

  “That high one we do call a mountain—Beinn Beira.”

  “Mountain of Beira, the old Celtic goddess of winter,” he said. She turned with him, and they strolled on the wallwalk. “You do have a little Gaelic.” She sounded impressed.

  “Aye. Is there one near here called … Beinn an Aodann?”

  She shook her head. “I have never heard that name. Why? Are you ordered to claim some new property for your king?”

  He shot her a quick look. “I was just curious. It means … mountain of the face.”

  “It does. But I havena heard of it.” She paused. “Tell me how a privileged English knight knows Gaelic.”

  “A Highland nurse watched over me from birth. She remained with us until I was old enough to become a page. I never forgot the Gaelic. ’Tis a beautiful language. What of you? Your English is very good.” He wanted to deflect her questions away from his upbringing.

  “Me? I was born at Elladoune. We were happy here,” she whispered. She looked out over the battlement. “And the monks taught us to read some, and taught us English and Latin.” She paused. “Gawain, please help me free my brothers—all of them.”

  The wallwalk ended where it met the largest corner keep at the part of the castle that overlooked the loch. He stopped in the shadows. “I will ask after them. The two in De Soulis’s keeping—what were their misdeeds? You have not said.”

  “Alec and Iain are scarce more than babes. The sheriff took them to keep a tight fist on Inchfillan and the abbot.”

  Puzzled, he looked askance at her. “Babes?”

  “Seven and nine.”

  “God save us,” he murmured. “Children. I did not know.”

  “You see why I must have them back safely, and soon.”

  “I will do what I can.” He reached out to brush a windblown lock of hair from her brow.

  She lifted her head. Her eyes gleamed like the night sky, indigo sparkled with stars.

  “You remind me of a swan at times,” he murmured. He skimmed his palm along her sleek hair to her shoulder. “Slender, pale, gracefully made.” His heart beat fast in his chest. “Faithful. Passionate. Loyal.”