"The Avenels love you. They would tell you the same. Go the way of your heart, and let the rest tend to itself."
In the darkness, she glowed like moonlight. He slid his hand over the satiny crown of her head. "You sound like Laurie," he said, smiling wearily. "Please myself first."
"Laurie is another with a foot in both lands. He decided for England, and will not waver."
"Oh, I do not know about Laurie," he said. "He wavers more in his heart than he lets on. His wife is English, and Laurie likes life to be easy. He says he only comes here for the ale." He smiled a little. "But he respects the Scots and he does not like this fight. 'Twould not take much to sway Laurie to the Scottish side someday."
"Would he follow you if you came over?"
"He is not a follower. He goes his own path—as I do mine."
"When you were looking for me in the forest, the day we rescued the cygnet," she said. "What were you going to tell me?"
"Who I am," he said. "What I had found here at Glenshie. I wanted you to know all of it. Including what I have been ordered to do at Elladoune."
"Close it," she said.
"Raze it," he said. "That is the full truth."
She gasped, and gasped again, and sat up, turning away from him. "Nay," she whispered.
"Juliana, it torments me," he murmured. "With you there at Elladoune—with MacDuffs there—how could I do this? But my orders will not change. Naught will change just because I wear a plaid in this moment. My chain mail is hidden away, but it still exists. 'Twill not go away."
She was silent for a long while. "I think," she said, "you made your decision long ago. For England."
He let out a regretful sigh, as if he could release some of his sadness. "I am a knight of King Edward. I have a chance to gain the right to Glenshie by that means."
"Ruin my family's castle," she said, "to save your own."
He puckered his brow. "I never intended to destroy Elladoune. As soon as I can, I will ride out to see the king's commanders myself and argue for it. But I will clear it and close it down before I leave. That will satisfy De Soulis until I can appeal to the king's generals—if anything can satisfy him. He will do whatever he can to ruin me now, I suspect."
She kept her face turned away, and said nothing.
He reached out and touched her hair, a silken sweep of light in the darkness. "You thought I would choose for the Scots."
"I hoped you would. I still hope so. I think your heart lies there."
"Juliana, regardless of which way I lean in my heart and soul, I need to do what will serve all those whom I love—my family in England, my kin in Scotland. My honor as a knight. You," he whispered fervently. "I can ensure your safety if I remain with the English. Do you not see that?"
"Safe," she said, "without you?" She glanced over her shoulder. "What serves you in this?"
"That I can help others, and protect them," he said. "It means much to me, that, though some think it my greatest flaw. If I sacrifice something of my life, I gain in other ways. Mayhap you would still love me," he said softly, wonderingly. "If so, 'twould be more than enough."
"You I love," she murmured. "But a Sassenach who rides through Scotland, ruining it for his king—'tis hard, that."
He stood abruptly and stepped away, placing his foot on the rubbled wall. "So that is your answer. You cannot love a Sassenach."
She stood and came toward him. "You I love. You. 'Tis my own flaw. My own weakness. Or my strength," she whispered. She touched his arm.
He turned with a low groan, overwhelmed by what he felt, what she offered. Gathering her into his arms, he tucked his chin over her head and stood silently with her.
"There is another way to claim this place," she said, looking up at him. "Claim it through your king—your own king, the King of Scots. You were born a MacDuff, not an Avenel."
He looked over her head at the night landscape and did not reply. There was irrefutable truth in what she said, and undeniable risk.
"Robert Bruce will take this land back from the Sassenachs one day. Scotland will be free, I know it in my heart. Glenshie is yours by right. Your own king would not dispute such a claim."
"Unless the claimant fought for the English." He sighed. "I have been tempted to put my faith in Robert Bruce and his campaign, I confess it. He is a true king, noble with it."
"Would you give your fealty to a man who has himself transgressed against King Edward, and made his obeisance three times? Would you pledge to follow that man, now that he has followed his heart and become King of Scots?"
He huffed a flat laugh at the irony she pointed out. "You are asking me to change my allegiance."
"You did so once."
"I need to ensure the safety of my English and my Scottish families," he said gruffly. "The best way to do that is to serve my knight's obligation, and earn what privileges I can—for your sake and for the Avenels both."
"You choose obligation, not love. Loving us, you could still follow your own heart. We would understand that."
"Understand this. I obeyed my heart once, and went over to the Scots. It ended in disaster."
"Then try it again."
He stared out at the mountains and the loch. "'Tis a beautiful place, this," he murmured. "I remember it well. I always wanted to come back. But I love the Avenels, too."
"You have family here—your own MacDuff kin."
"I know. I must speak to them."
"And someday," she said, taking his hand and placing it on her abdomen, "there may be others who are kin to you."
He kissed her temple. "Would you want that, with a Sassenach knight?"
"I want that with you," she murmured decisively.
He framed her face. "Would you go with me to England, if I asked that of you?"
"To visit your family, but I cannot live there. My soul is here."
He nodded his understanding. "You bargain hard, my love."
"'Tis worth the price," she said. "I will not give up."
"Give up for now," he murmured. "Here, in this place, we need have no loyalties but the one between us." He bent close, so that his brow touched hers.
She smiled sadly. "Just while we are here, then," she whispered. "Hidden away."
The night wind was soft around them, and stars glittered in the indigo sky. He slipped his hands into the silk of her hair and tipped her face upward. He kissed her tenderly, and drew her down to the cool grass. While the cool wind caressed his skin, he bared hers gently, and surrounded her with his plaid.
With slow, deliberate, gentle caresses at first, he skimmed his hands over her body, cherishing her, feeling her warmth surround him, succor him. Kissing her deeply, luxuriantly, he groaned low when her knowing touch stoked the fire within him.
Unable to hold himself back any longer, he felt urgent with an intense need that was more than physical. The sun would rise soon, and the obligations of the outer world would return with it. When she arched in sweet and silent ecstasy, he filled her, and loved her, and lost himself within the boundary of her soul.
* * *
The water was dark and calm, swathed in mist, and the sky paled as dawn approached. Gawain walked away from Glenshie to stand on the long slope that overlooked the loch. Long ago, he had stood here with his father, and had first heard the legend of the swans of Elladoune.
He turned to see Juliana coming toward him, folding her arms around herself, her hair and tunic pale in the darkness. She had slept only a little, he knew, as he had, until the cool, damp air had awoken him.
He took her hand and looked back at the loch. A sense of peace surrounded him. No matter what he did, she would love him. And he would always love her, to the depth of his soul, and beyond. Nothing would alter that.
Soon they would have to cross the water and face what had been wrought around them, and between them. For a while, he just wanted to be here with her, immersed in tranquility.
Dawn emerged, soft and cloudy, a pale, opalescent pink, the hills soft b
lue-gray, the loch silver. Swans floated, white crescents upon the breast of the water. The mist slipped away on gentle winds.
At the heart of the loch, he saw a shimmering veil of gold. The dawn light was growing faster than he wanted it to come.
"Look," she whispered. "Do you see it?"
Frowning a little, he looked again. Juliana shifted closer to him, and he put his arm around her.
A wash of golden color hovered below the water. It wavered, and took the shape of walls—windowed walls.
"Dun nan Eala," she whispered. "'Tis the fortress of the swans. The sunken castle. Do you see it?"
He saw it. Though he could hardly believe his own sight, there it was. If he blinked, the vision might disappear. He drew her closer in the circle of his arm.
"'Tis a gift," he murmured, and kissed her hair. She slipped her arm around his waist and nodded.
Time suspended, misted and still. A moment later—a blink, a breath—and the legendary place vanished.
Juliana turned full into his arms, and he heard her sob. He felt stirred enough to weep himself. He cradled her close.
Lifting his head, he looked again. No trace existed of the magical fortress. Above the loch, the sky brightened, its upper region heavy with clouds. He glanced at the opposite shore.
Something moved among the trees in the forest. He narrowed his eyes, watching more carefully. Shapes emerged—figures in long, dark robes, hauling a structure of some kind.
"What," he said, "is that?" Whatever it was moved away from the abbey into the deeper part of the forest.
"Ach," she said softly. "You do not see that."
"I do see it," he insisted. "It looks like they are moving the bell tower. God save us," he muttered, watching as the tall timbers swayed, as if on a base of wheels. "It looks like a siege engine."
"'Tis naught. Come away." She pulled at his arm.
"Naught? A siege engine in the forest, propelled by a bunch of monks, naught?"
She turned to him, her face earnest. "Gabhan MacDuff—I will call you that so long as you wear that plaid—you needna think upon it. You wear a Highlander's garment, and stand on your own Highland property, and speak to your Highland wife. And so you do not see that, over there."
"Juliana," he said crisply, "why are the monks moving a siege engine?"
She sighed. "They are taking it to the King of Scots."
"Ah," he said. "I see. The scaffolding. Malcolm and his brethren built this under De Soulis's nose. Under mine as well."
"They did," she said. "De Soulis burned the other one the rebels had made, which was already promised to the king."
"Juliana," he said, "what rebels?"
"The ones in the forest," she admitted. "The ones in your own, ah, castle."
He rubbed a hand over his face. "Let me guess," he said. "James Lindsay came here to claim that machine for the king."
"To check on its progress," she said. "In part."
"So I have been harboring rebels under my roof, and consorting with them daily."
"You have."
"And I am married to one of them."
"You are." She glanced up at him anxiously.
He stood quietly, taking all of it in. Then he shook his head and laughed. Putting his hand over his eyes, he laughed yet again, a rueful sound that ended in a groan.
She smiled up at him. "Heaven will not stop playing its games with you until you give in, I think."
"Give in to what?" He looked down at her in surprise.
"Being the Scot you were born to be," she answered.
He shook his head, still smiling. He had no immediate answer for her, but the truth of his feelings was abundantly clear. Yet he had followed heart and instinct before, when he had gone over to the Scots. And he had held himself back from doing so ever again, no matter his leanings.
What would happen if he followed his heart again? He had much more to lose than before. He rested his arm on Juliana's shoulders.
The sky was a soft blush color, its upper layer filled with heavy gray clouds. Rain would come later in the morning, he thought, feeling the cool dampness in the wind.
He looked across the loch, and drew his brows together.
The image of the castle was there again, tipping the waves with golden veins of color. This time, the image was brilliant orange-gold, floating on the surface of the water.
"Juliana," he said warily.
"What?" she asked, and lifted her head, and cried out.
"Elladoune is burning," he said.
He took her hand and began to run down the hill.
Chapter 31
"Is there no boat?" Gawain asked when they reached the pine tree at the edge of the loch. "We would cross faster."
Juliana nodded, breathless with running. She realized he was right, though she used the boat only in cold weather. Turning, she skimmed along the forest path with Gawain until they reached a narrow pebbled beach below the level of the trees.
Hidden in the shallow water in a reed bed was a small round boat made of hide, with one cross seat and a triangular paddle inside. Gawain helped her into the boat, which spun a little. He leaped inside and took up the paddle.
"I have never rowed a curragh," he said. "Though I remember riding in them as a lad."
"Rhythm," she said as he began to move them out of the reed bed. "Rhythm and stroke will balance it."
He nodded. Despite some crazy wavering, he dipped a curving stroke to each side and mastered the skill quickly. The little boat struck out over the loch, creating quiet waves.
The swans glided out of the mist and surrounded them, floating alongside, some of them taller than the low-slung hide boat. Their escort and the pockets of fog on the loch concealed them from sight as the boat skimmed toward the other shore.
Juliana watched Elladoune. Bright flames licked the inner side of the castle walls, and smoke billowed from one corner of the bailey. "Only the kitchens are on fire, I think," she said. "'Tis not the great keep. And the stables are on the opposite side. Surely whoever is in there will get the horses out!"
"We will be there soon enough," he said as he rowed. "And Laurie and the MacDuffs will be fighting the fire, no doubt. If 'tis the kitchens, the blaze can be put out and the place saved."
"Look," she said, pointing. "The sheriff's men are outside, on the hill leading to the gate. They must have shot fire arrows into the bailey. 'Twas not an accidental fire."
"I want you to know this was done without my knowledge." He glanced at her. "De Soulis must have ordered the firing of Elladoune."
"I know. If the sheriff's men are at Elladoune, they will be patrolling the forest too. They will see the brethren and the rebels with the war machine!"
"Then I hope your friends have sense enough to abandon their engine and seek the safety of the abbey precinct."
"Hurry!" she said, leaning forward as if that could make the curragh fly faster over the water. "Hurry! There is something to be done to help them!"
He glanced at her as he dipped the oar along one side, then the other. "What is that?"
"You showed me your secret," she said, heart pounding. "Now I will show you mine. But you must never tell, Sassenach."
"I am a keeper of secrets, my lady," he said. "Trust me."
She waited while Gawain slid them effortlessly into the shelter of the cove. He leaped out into the shallows and beached the boat on the pebbled shore, then handed her out of the boat.
She ran toward the cache of belongings that they had left beneath the fallen tree. With shaking hands, she pulled out his chain mail and gear, and her own clothing.
Gawain picked up his quilted linen gambeson, pulling it on over the belted plaid. He strapped his sword belt over the war garment and pulled on his long boots. Juliana handed him the chain-mail hood and bent for the hauberk.
"Not that," he said. "There is no time. This will do." He took his sword and slid its length into the sheath at his belt.
"Highland men," she said, "often wear
only the quilted coat and helmet over their plaids. Most cannot afford a full suit of chain mail. Now you look even more like a Highland warrior."
He slid her a wry glance. "You will not stop, will you, now that you have this possibility at hand."
She smiled brightly. "Never, mo cridhe."
He looked toward the castle, where a rim of flame edged one wall. "We must go. Hurry." He held out his hand.
"Go without me," she said. "I will meet you there."
She fell to her knees and reached under the log again, pulling out another cloth sack from beneath a layer of leaves. She opened it and drew out a short white cloak made of swan's feathers sewn to a linen lining.
Standing, she draped the soft, delicate garment over her shoulders, tied it at the neck, and pulled up the hood. The cloak's curved hem came to her hips. In the soft silvery light of dawn, the feathers were nearly luminous.
"My God," Gawain murmured, watching. "So the Swan Maiden does exist." He tilted his head and gave her a curious smile.
"For now, she does," Juliana admitted. "And she has been seen before, near the loch, and in the forest."
"No doubt. So this is your secret."
"Part of it. We have used the ruse of the Swan Maiden for years, to mislead the king's men and keep them away from certain places in the forest and along the loch."
"Ah. So other siege engines could be moved."
"And so the king's men would keep away from the rebels' forest homes. When De Soulis captured me, and you brought me back to Elladoune, I thought I need never do this again."
"And your silence? What is the reason for that?"
"To encourage the legend. To confuse the Sassenachs. To keep secrets. Gawain—"
He placed a finger on her lips. "No need to say it." He touched the same finger to his own lips. "I never saw this."
He turned at the sound of horses thudding along a forest path above the cove. In the distance, through the trees, torchlight moved in a column along a path, and split in two directions—toward the abbey, and toward the castle.
Juliana looked in the direction of the abbey. In the forest beyond, her friends would still be dragging the siege engine, bulky and slow, along its route.
"We must hurry," she said. "I will meet you at Elladoune when the machine is safely to the river." She stretched to kiss him quickly. "Put out the fire and save our friends, I beg you."
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] Page 31