“The marks,” Isabella guessed, and he looked up to find her eyes wide.
Murdoch nodded. “He told me later, in one of his rare talkative moments, that the marks would make me one of theirs. And in truth, he had similar adornment upon his flesh. But that first time, he did not speak. I fought against the biting snakes and the prick of his tool, until suddenly the chamber was filled with radiance. The Elphine Queen came to me then and kissed my brow, and I was in the hall at her side once more. The music played and the golden wine flowed.”
He swallowed and frowned. “I thought I had had a nightmare, no more than that, perhaps because of the wine.” He slanted a glance at a rapt Isabella. “But I had the same dream over and over again in that place. Each time I thought I slept, I awakened with the dwarf. Each time, the marks upon my flesh were more extensive. Each time I was seemingly awakened from the nightmare of that dungeon by the kiss of the Elphine Queen. Over and over and over again.”
Murdoch swallowed. “And in those dreams of the dwarf and the dungeon, the realm I visited was vastly different from the one in which I danced so merrily. Its denizens lived in darkness and rot, favoring the shadows and the cemeteries, the dark places beneath stones. They ate of carrion and drank blood. They were deceitful and devoid of emotion, knowing nothing of love or affection or kindness. They sought only pleasure and amusement, no matter the expense to another. I saw that they all had such marks upon their flesh, and it was the dwarf who also told me that they were not dead. He said they stood outside of time, subject neither to birth or death. He told me that some are content with their state, still others meddle in the affairs of mortals. Yet others actively conspire against mortals, blaming us for their situation.”
“But how did you escape?”
“I began to dread those nightmares and even to become convinced that they were the truth of this realm. The time came when the marks covered all of my flesh and the Elphine Queen showed me favor in the hall. She led me to her bedchamber, and a dread filled me. I begged her for my release, that I might see my father and my home again. At first, she would not heed me, but then I told her that I would trade any one thing to return to Seton Manor.”
“She released you?”
“Evidently so.” Murdoch nodded, then slanted a glance at Isabella. “I found myself in that same valley, my steeds grazing by my side, the sides of the hills touched with snow. The marks upon my flesh were gone. My horses looked exactly as I recalled. Even my hair was the same length. I thought I had dreamed the entire adventure. I thought the golden hall with its wine and music and even its queen had been a dream that had come to me while I slept out the storm.” He patted his leg. “Except that my thigh was completely healed, just as it had been before I went to France. That made me question the evidence before my eyes.”
Isabella’s eyes were round. “A miracle.”
“Or a debt.” Murdoch frowned. “I reached home to discover that the war in France was over and that the king returned to Scotland. I learned that it was not the spring of 1421. It was January 2, 1424.”
“Just a few weeks ago!”
Murdoch nodded. “But all has changed at Seton Manor. My father is dead and my brother blames me for the loss. He is bitter, for he is a laird with no coin to his hand.”
“But that is not your fault!”
“In a way, it is. Indeed, it seems that there is much laid at my door. After my departure, my father changed his mind and chose to take my counsel. He attended the auction of relics at Ravensmuir and emptied his treasury in order to acquire the hand of the Magdalene.”
“That would have been when you were journeying home,” Isabella mused.
Murdoch nodded. “And the relic was a boon to Seton Manor. Several miracles were attributed to it and pilgrims came, just as I had expected they would. The coffers were not barren any longer, though my brother tells of my father blaming me for not insisting upon the choice instead of riding to war.”
“All is clear once it is done.”
“Last spring, the Earl of Buchan spent a night at Seton Manor. He thought to confirm my health and welfare, given my unfortunate state when we parted. He is a good man and had been greatly concerned for me – his duties in France had kept him there since my departure. But that was when my father learned that I had been so sorely injured. In three years, I had not returned. They concluded that I must have died on the journey and though the Earl gave his condolences, my father – according to Duncan – took to his bed and died within a fortnight.”
“He feared he had lost you forever, and because of his own refusal to listen to you.”
“My brother blames me now for my father’s death, for clearly I was stubborn myself and refused to return home.”
“But you did not!”
“But I cannot tell him of the Elphine Queen.” Murdoch sighed. “Worse, the earl had a young knight pledged to his service, name of Ross Lammergeier.”
“My brother.”
Murdoch nodded. “My father’s old prejudices came to the fore during that visit, and I do not doubt that he made some comment to which your brother took exception, for evidently they exchanged heated words. It was not uncommon for my father to do as much when he was in his cups.”
“But the relic disappeared that night,” Isabella guessed.
Murdoch took her hand in his, even as he grimaced. “Indeed, my brother discovered after the earl’s departure that the hand of the Magdalene was gone. He and my father concluded that this was my fault, for they had known the true nature of the Lammergeier from the outset but I had swayed their judgment. The loss was worse than the original situation, because of me. The treasury was empty. The relic was gone. I was apparently dead, and once again, there was no grain for tilling.”
“That was why you believed the relic to be at Kinfairlie, because of Ross.”
“Because my brother sent word to the earl, demanding reparation for the loss, and the earl admitted that Ross had left his service abruptly.”
Isabella bit her lip. “I wonder if this was the source of the argument Alexander had with Ross at the Yule. It was Alexander who negotiated for Ross to serve the earl after he left service at Inverfyre.”
“And so he might rightly be vexed by your brother’s choice to abandon the earl’s household.” Murdoch nodded understanding, then smiled at Isabella. “I develop a keen sympathy for Alexander with so many willful siblings beneath his care.”
Isabella smiled. “Tell me more about Seton Manor.”
“I returned home to a cold greeting. My brother blamed me, not only for my father’s death but for the expenditure of coin that left Seton Manor destitute when the relic was stolen and for its current destitution. Instead of welcoming me home, he turned me away at the door. He bade me repair what I had done, speaking as bitterly as once my father had done.”
“And the Elphine Queen?”
“I thought she had released me, at least until I reached home. I had only just abandoned my suspicion when I was proven to be wrong. As Stewart greeted me, an unholy wind blew down the valley, covering the trees with hoarfrost and setting snow upon the road. I saw her, triumphant, and knew she had only relinquished me for the moment. I learned later that she had taken my heart as her due in exchange for my reprieve, and so ensnared it that I could survive only one month. My choice was to return to her or die, and likely still be claimed as her plaything.”
Isabella’s hand tightened on his. “It is not much of a choice.”
Murdoch looked at Isabella, seeing the empathy in her eyes. “I thought my course a true one, until she haunted me in Kinfairlie’s forest. I thought I might lose my wits before the month was ended.” He smiled at Isabella. “I did not count upon a curious maiden. ” He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, closing her fingers over his embrace. “I hope you do not pay too high a price for your faith in me, my Isabella.”
“I will not,” she said with a conviction he did not share. She knelt beside him and reached for his shoulders.
“There is no price that can make me regret this,” she vowed softly, then kissed him.
He might have succumbed to her allure once again, but there was a severe knock upon the door.
* * *
Isabella might not have answered the summons at the door, but Murdoch did not hesitate. In the blink of an eye, he had risen to his feet and left her side, striding across the cottage with a vigor that recalled her first sight of him in Kinfairlie’s bailey. He hauled open the door, then laughed aloud.
“Master Smith!”
Isabella hastened to his side, seeing that it was indeed the smith from Kinfairlie village. There was snow on his hood and his shoulders, and he stamped his feet against the cold. His breath came in white puffs and Isabella saw that the fields were covered with a fresh blanket of snow.
The smith looked at her, understanding in his eyes, then glanced down at the threshold of the cottage and smiled. The silver hilt of that blade shone there, even surrounded by fresh snow. Then he spoke to Murdoch. “The laird will ride to hunt at first light, and you are the prey he seeks.”
“No! Alexander would not,” Isabella began to protest, the words dying on her tongue as she realized he would.
“His beloved sister has been seized by a renegade,” the smith said quietly. “What else would a man of honor do but lend chase? He would have ridden out last night, had it not been for the storm.”
“I thank you for your tidings,” Murdoch said briskly. “Come in.” Even as he gestured in welcome, he retrieved his boots and tugged them on, then lifted his tabard.
The smith’s gaze danced over the interior, his eyes narrowing as he watched the fire on the hearth. Isabella realized then that they had never put more wood on the fire during all the night, yet it blazed as vigorously as it had upon their arrival. “I will not, but I thank you.”
“We should leave with all haste,” Murdoch said to Isabella. “We will not be here at cock’s cry.”
She nodded and hastened to fetch her own kirtle, well aware that the smith lingered outside the door. In moments, they both were dressed, their cloaks only slightly damp. Murdoch caught her hand in his and led her through the portal, then bent and removed the dagger from the threshold.
Even as he returned the blade to the smith, the doorway glimmered and shimmered. The sight reminded Isabella of the surface of the millpond in summer, then the entire cottage faded from view as surely as if it had never been. Snowy fields stretched around them, the air still and cold. In the distance was the silhouette of Ravensmuir, silhouetted against the pewter churning of the sea.
A horse nickered and Isabella turned to see a white stallion stamping behind the smith, fighting the bit and tossing his head.
“Zephyr!” Murdoch strode to the horse, his delight more than clear. He stroked the beast, checking him with care and the horse nuzzled his hair with affection. “How did you retrieve him?” he asked, his eyes alight with pleasure.
The smith smiled. “I feared his shoe was loose. Indeed, concern kept me awake half the night, until my own wife bade me go and check so she could manage to sleep. I could not confirm my suspicion, so was compelled to take him for a ride.” He shrugged. “It seems I erred, for his shoes are all in good condition.” His eyes widened in mock horror. “In fact, the beast fared so well that he escaped me this morn and I could not catch him.”
“I thank you for yet another gift!” Murdoch said, clasping that man’s hand and grasping his shoulder. “I owe you much, Master Smith.”
The smith turned to Isabella with a smile. “I told you once, Murdoch Seton, how you might best repay me,” he said softly, his words making no sense to Isabella.
Murdoch grinned, through, and caught Isabella around the waist, swinging her into Zephyr’s saddle. He was invigorated and animated as he had not been since that first day, and Isabella dared to be encouraged by the sight.
“I shall do my utmost to keep that pledge, Master Smith,” he vowed.
“A man of reason can ask no more.”
“Can you tell us more of how Murdoch can evade the Elphine Queen?” Isabella asked.
The smith shook his head. “The charm must be filled unwittingly, but fear not, my lady. I believe he has embarked well upon it.”
It was not all the reassurance Isabella might have hoped to hear, but she smiled a little and thanked the smith all the same.
The men shook hands then, and parted. For a long moment Murdoch watched the smith walk back toward the village. He then took the reins in his hand and led Zephyr across the fields. He kicked the snow aside whenever he had doubt as to what laid beneath it, and Isabella admired the care he took with his steed even though they made a slow pace. She could see that not far ahead, the ground became more level, and there he would be able to ride with her.
There was a faint tinge of pink on the eastern horizon when Murdoch abruptly stopped. He gestured to the surface of the snow, and it was only with the light of the dawn – and the shadows it cast – that Isabella could see what he indicated.
Tracks in the snow.
“What is it?” she asked.
He crouched, peering at the marks without disturbing them. “Small boots, like those of very small children.” He flicked a glance at Isabella and she knew what he was thinking.
“Spriggans.” She pointed to long lines. “Dragging their spoils in the night to Ravensmuir, just as they vowed they would.”
“They are the thieves?”
“They reside at Kinfairlie keep. My sister Elizabeth has seen them for years. There was a time when one of them, a spriggan named Darg, believed all the hoard of relics within Ravensmuir’s caverns to be its own possession. That spriggan fought mightily with my aunt Rosamunde when the hoard was sold at that auction.”
Murdoch nodded. “And so they reclaim what they believe to be their own.” He flicked a glance at her. “And so we find another place where the veil between the worlds is thin.”
“There is an old tale that Kinfairlie’s tower has a window which looks into Fae,” Isabella recalled. “My sister Vivienne was much enamored of that tale.” She shook a finger at Murdoch. “It told of a lost maiden, one claimed by a Fae bridegroom who left a red rose in exchange for his bride. That rose proved to be wrought of ice and melted in Kinfairlie’s hall. There is yet a stain upon the floor there, and Alexander always points to it when he recounts the tale.” She sighed and nodded. “And Rosamunde tells that she entered the realm of the Fae in the caverns beneath Ravensmuir, when they collapsed and killed Tynan. She only survived because she was taken into the Fae realm.”
He cast her an intent look. “But she left it.”
Isabella thought about the matter for a moment, then nodded. “She did! Padraig saved her, though they talk little of the details.”
Murdoch grinned at her and Isabella dared to be encouraged at his prospects.
“Why would the spriggans leave Kinfairlie?” he asked then. “It is no small labor to take their spoils this far.”
Isabella shrugged. “Darg sang of intruders, kings and queens who would seize what was not their own.”
“They fear to be robbed again.” He nodded, then cast Isabella a sparkling glance. His confidence was visibly returned. “And so they shall be, but not by a king or a queen.” And he swung into the saddle behind her, his arm locking around her waist.
“It is odd to see it without the ravens,” Isabella whispered, as the keep of Ravensmuir loomed before them.
"What do you mean?"
“There were always ravens resident here. They always circled the tower and it is odd to arrive here to find them gone.”
“What happened to the ravens? Did they leave when the keep was ruined?”
“No, they left later. Their departure was why my brother Malcolm chose to leave his inheritance.” Isabella was aware of Murdoch’s interest. “He said the entire flock flew around the broken tower, as if in tribute, then flew as one across the sea and disappeared. He took it as a sign that he, too, should l
eave Ravensmuir.”
“Where did he go?”
“He has taken the trade of a mercenary in Europe, against Alexander’s counsel. Alexander holds the seal of Ravensmuir in trust for Malcolm, as well as the horses that rightfully belong to that holding.”
“The black destriers?”
“Kinfairlie continues the breeding, in Ravensmuir’s stead.”
They rode in silence for a moment, then Murdoch cleared his throat. “Forgive me, but I do not understand. Why would Malcolm abandon his inheritance because of the ravens departure? While the keep is damaged, he would still have the income from the breeding of the horses to aid in its reconstruction.”
“He saw their abandonment as a sign,” Isabella said. “These ravens were not like their fellows elsewhere. My uncle could speak to them, it was said, and they gathered tidings for him from afar, ensuring that he knew of the deeds of men when he should not. It was told that he learned their language from his own father, who was Laird of Ravensmuir before him, and that no secrets could be kept from either of them.”
“And thus they were said to be sorcerors,” Murdoch said with a smile.
Isabella smiled back. “When truly, they simply had unnatural allies.”
“There are those who would call that sorcery in itself.” Murdoch sobered. “Or perhaps the spoils of an unholy bargain.” He surveyed the keep with narrowed eyes and she thought of his own bargain. Then he coaxed Zephyr to greater speed.
As if he would face the worst as soon as possible and be done with it.
Isabella swallowed, not nearly so intent upon parting from her knight – or seeing him pay some dreadful price. She wanted to hold this moment fast, to have as much time as possible with him, but she knew it was not to be. The moon was setting, taunting her with the fact that it was waning already. Its last light glinted on the snow, making its surface look to be crusted in diamonds.
In the distance, something gold winked as it moved into the shadow of Ravensmuir.
* * *
The Renegade's Heart Page 26