by Shana Ab
The rogue queen's gown lay crumpled on her pallet, and Hannah bent over now and began to fold it up.
“No,” Lauren said, stopping her.“I'll do it. You must be tired. Go rest.”
“Are you certain?”
“Aye.” Lauren nodded. “I'll see you for supper, no doubt.”
“As you wish.” Hannah offered her a short embrace, ending it with her hand cupping Lauren's cheek, smiling at her.“It's good to be home, isn't it?”
“Aye,” said Lauren again, and then Hannah was gone.
She gazed down at the English garment before her, still resplendent despite its undignified state, glowing so richly. Lauren went and turned the lock on the door to her chamber, then reached for the dirk she always wore at her waist. Her hands grasped at nothing; she had lost the dirk down the gorge with the Viking she had killed. Very well.
In her jewelry box was another dirk, very much like her old one. A little thinner, a little longer, more tarnished with age. Her mother's. Lauren picked it up now, examining the blade. It appeared honed enough.
She sat down on her pallet, lifting the heavy hem of the amber cloth to her lap. Lauren turned it inside out, examining the stitchwork there.
When she had found the right spot she took the dirk and made a small hole in the material, where the cut of the cloth was widest from the hem, and from that hole she made an incision, the sharp blade of the dagger slicing almost with ease.
Lauren held up her prize: a narrow strip of fine amber, slight enough not to be missed from inside the gown, significant enough to her that she could curl it up into itself to make it small and tight. She took it back to the jewelry box and pushed aside Murdoch's ring to place the cloth behind her clan's badge, rolled away and hidden beneath the metal.
Not good enough. Winks of amber peeked past the brooch, and so she used the dirk again, this time to cut a nearly invisible slash near the seam of the lining of the box, and then tucked the English cloth down into that, smoothing it until there was no hint of anything improper.
She closed the lid, then fixed the dirk to the leather belt at her waist, where it belonged.
The jewelry box would accompany her when she left for the mainland, off to her future with the Murdoch. She would keep it with her always, and put away the things there that she should—her wedding ring, the rowan brooch, whatever trinkets or baubles he might see fit to give her.
And only she would know the secret hidden there. Only she would know about the stolen strip of gold from an English queen's gown, and that she had been that queen for just a day—for an English knight who had awakened her heart and then burned it to ash … the day she would carry with her for the rest of her life.
INNER PASSED AND SHE ENDURED it, and surely it was not her imagination that everyone seemed a little heartier around her now, dressed as one of them again.
Lauren took her usual seat at the head table and felt a sad surprise to see her father's empty chair. She had not been gone so long, but already the memory of his death had faded.
It was an enchantment, perhaps, cast over her by the Earl of Morgan, to ease her pain. It could be no less.
When he had held her and let her release her tears to him, all the fears and wrath from Da's death had seemed slowly to dispel, leaving only the sorrow behind, only the grieving for him.
It was a keepsake from her enemy, unexpected, un-precedented. When Arion had wrapped his arms around her and taken in her anguish, she had felt such a heavy relief from it all. She would never have guessed it possible, what he had done. Yet it had been real, and the proof was that she was able to sit beside the empty seat of the laird and feel almost none of the barrenness of before, none of the blank numbness.
But she was sore and fatigued and it must have shown, for people were kind to her, courteous now, and after just a few bites of grilled fish and bread Lauren had to retire, back up to her room, where the darkness was a close companion, and the clouds beyond her window glowed pale and ghostly in the night.
She slept.
Morning came and the air left no doubt as to the winter approaching. But when she looked out her window there were only the same clouds as before, low and bubbling against Shot, dark grays and pearls surrounding the landscape.
The council would be meeting this morning. She must not miss it. Perhaps she could persuade them against Rhodric. Perhaps she could convince them anew that the du Morgans were potent allies, vital friends on Shot. It could be her final gift to Arion, the tempered goodwill of her people before she left the island forever.
Lauren dressed in a hurry and rushed down the stairs. She could tell by the light in the sky that she would be late but not too much so. She rounded the corner of the entrance to the great hall and stopped, slightly breathless, staring at the scene before her.
The room was filled with people, many more than was normal for the meeting. The elders of the council were discussing something among themselves, a few heads nodding, a few shaking. Their voices were rumbles across the room to her, deep and serious as they always were, but that was not what had halted her.
Her father's chair was no longer empty. Her cousin Quinn sat there.
He spied her across the distance and waved her forward, and Lauren obeyed his command, though her mind seemed mired in astonishment. Yes, it was Quinn, much paler than before, and so much thinner, but it was he, her father's heir.
Quinn was in Da's chair. She could no longer sit there for the meetings. She could no longer take his place. She could no longer speak her thoughts, give voice to reason, echo the spirit that had been Hebron.
Quinn was the laird, awake again.
And Lauren understood—instantly and inexorably— that she was nothing more than a woman once more, bride of Murdoch, key to a very different sort of alliance than she had hoped.
It was confirmed in every face before her, in varying degrees of satisfaction, or pity, or musing quiet. She felt it pound through her, the insurmountable fact of her future and her role in the clan. Almost everyone had noticed her by now, turning to look, to judge her.
“Lauren,” greeted Quinn, and he alone had a smile for her. He stood awkwardly and came around the table in stiff steps, and she moved across the hall to embrace him, blinking at his chest.
“How do you fare?” she managed to ask, pulling back.
He smiled again and she saw Da in a second, the same way his eyes narrowed in humor, the same easy spirit. “They tell me I'll live, though if I see even one more leech, I'm not so certain.”
His face sobered, and he bent his head to her, private words.“Your Da,” he began, and then shook his head.
“I know,” Lauren said, holding his hands. “It's over now. He'd be so proud to see you here.”
Both of them fell quiet; Lauren heard the expectant silence of the elders behind them, watching, a few shifting around in their chairs, taking drinks from goblets.
“Well,” said Quinn now, with every bit of Da's charm. “We're having a meeting, lass. You're a bit too early to break your fast, but mayhap you can convince the cook to offer you something—”
“I'm here for the meeting,” Lauren said firmly.
And instead of the resistance she had been expecting, Quinn only shrugged and turned away, not looking at her, which was her first clue that he had known all along why she had come, and that he was not yet ready to ban her completely.
The elders were not so compliant. They threw her bristled looks while Quinn sat again, their hands knuckled together in opposition.
Lauren took a seat on a bench as near to them as she could, next to a few of the warriors she knew. She waited while the meeting dragged on, discussions of things that seemed ridiculously unimportant to her right now— fishing conditions, whose boat needed repair the most, the amount of wool stored away at Keir for weaving, the date of the wedding coming up….
She glanced up from where she had been resting her chin on her fist, drowsing in spite of herself, and found still that none of the m
en were looking at her, although they discussed the arrival of the Murdoch in tones of such certainty, and the fact of her marriage in words that made it seem as if it had already happened.
Disconcerting, and vexing. But when the council had worked out the details of the celebration that bothered them—had they enough swine fattened, had enough ale been prepared?—all the men began to push their chairs back and rise, a sign that the meeting was over.
Lauren quickly stood.
Quinn acknowledged her with a nod, forcing the other men to sit again, pinched lips and shifting eyes.
“What of the alliance with the du Morgans?” she asked them all.“You didn't discuss that.”
“We did,” replied Quinn. “While you were at El-guire.” He hesitated, then said,“I'm sorry, Lauren.”
“But—”
“It's over, lass,” said Quinn now, firmer. “It worked for a time, but now it is ended.”
“But the meadow!” she said anyway, disbelieving. “And the Vikings there! We fought as one! We defeated them only because we were united!”
“ We would not have had to fight that battle were it not for your alliance,” claimed James. “Those Vikings were on du Morgan land. It would have been their fight alone.”
“They were stealing our sheep, from our village,” Lauren retorted.
“And our lads died for it on English land,” said Ranulf now, curt. “We've lost enough men for the du Morgans.”
“You must not do this thing!” Lauren stepped around the table in front of her, addressed them all. “You must not be so shortsighted as to let this end, when the threat is not yet over!”
“ ‘Must not?' ”
It was the voice she least wanted to hear, Rhodric, standing up from a table on the other side of the room. “ ‘Must not?' ” he repeated, light and mocking. “You cannot tell the council what they must and must not do, Lauren. Leave this work to the men!”
His words began a slow wave of comment around the hall, approval and masculine nods. Rhodric glanced around, then looked back at her, superior. “It is not your place to question the decisions made here.”
“I am a member of this clan! It is my place to question them, when I think they are folly. And this would be naught but folly! We need the du Morgans, we need their cooperation. Without them, we will only lose more men!”
“It was a trial, Lauren.” James glared down at the audience, his eyes skipping over her. “We knew it from the start. Do not argue to change the laird's mind.”
“The laird—” Lauren began hotly, then stopped herself, realizing what it was she was about to say.
The laird would want this. The laird would want his daughter to show the clan peace, and strength through unity.
But not this laird, apparently.
The hall was utterly silent, locked in agreement against her, and Lauren felt the futility of her argument. Every face before her was closed and tight, shut against whatever she might say. No one would listen to her.
She stood alone, feeling like an outsider again in front of these people, men and women she had known her entire life. They turned away from her now, stone cold and rigid, every one of them, even Quinn.
Lauren shook her head, perplexed and hurt, and then walked out of the hall, leaving everyone, everything. They let her go without a word.
She found herself wandering without direction through the depths of the keep, lost in her sense of surprised misery, isolated from the one thing she had always assumed would hold her dear and close: the clan, the MacRaes, her very own kin.
The day was dark and cold and inside Keir it was no less so, with torches and lamps that gave off only short stabs of light. She knew every inch of it, every slate-blue stone, every room, every turret. She knew all the views from all the windows, and which areas were best in summer, or winter, and which had the strongest drafts, and which the nicest tapestries. She had spent the whole of her life here, laughing and loving and growing.
Today was the end of that. Today she became a stranger to it all, because, God help her, she didn't even know herself any longer.
Run away, whispered a wicked voice inside her. Run to him. Leave it all. Be with him, only him, and find your happiness….
Lauren stopped, putting her hands over her eyes, leaning against a wall of the hallway, pressing back the urge to surrender to that selfish want.
“Lauren?” It was Vanora, coming up to her with con-cern.“What is it? Are you ill?”
“No.” Lauren straightened up.
Vanora studied her for a moment, then said,“I'm glad I've found you here. We were just about to go looking for you. Your gown is ready.”
“My gown?” Lauren thought of the amber and sapphire dress, lying flat over one of her chests in her chamber, ready to be returned to Elguire.
“Your wedding gown, lass. Come try it on. We're all eager to see it on you.”
And she indicated an open door that Lauren had just walked past, light spilling from it, faint feminine voices.
Lauren allowed herself to be pulled in.
They surrounded her and congratulated her, they stripped her of her clothing and put Murdoch's on her, and Lauren examined her wedding dress impartially, distant from all the praise that the other women were expressing.
It fit well now, altered for her figure. It looked acceptable. It was plain but not too much so, it was decided. And with the tartan of the Murdochs over it, surely it would be a lovely thing to see.
They pulled out the tartan and folded it over her— brown and russet and thin blue lines—and then someone brought out a mirror and held it up to Lauren's face, showing her the reflection there.
A Scotswoman stared back at her, pale and unsmiling. She wore a tartan that looked too stiff on her, and a gown that bleached the color from her cheeks. She was duty and common sense, honor and obligation. The woman in the glass was as far from a rogue queen as could be. The woman there would never hold soft dreams for an English knight, not for any reason.
“… would be better. What do you think, Lauren?”
“Hmm?” She wrenched her eyes away from the pallid figure in the glass.
“Swine or swan?”
Lauren stared at them all blankly. One of the women clucked her tongue in impatience.
“Roasted suckling or feathered swan, Lauren? For the first course of the wedding feast.”
She tried very hard not to sigh.“It doesn't matter.”
“Of course it does!” It was Michal, indignant. “We cannot insult the Murdoch with an inferior meal! Now, I know that you wanted the swine, Clara, but think how lovely it would be to present the swan, cooked and stitched back up in her own feathers. You know we've managed that before, and it worked so well. I think it was for Enid's wedding—”
“No, no, you're thinking of Arlene's wedding….”
Lauren stared out the window, at the roiling mass of clouds, the skeleton outlines of the trees near the keep. It would snow soon. The first snow of the season, soft white dust covering the island. She had always looked forward to it as a girl. Right now, however, it just seemed unbearable.
“Swan, then. We all agree. And swine to follow, of course. Naturally, Clara will make her special mulled wine, and Judith her gull pies—”
“I have to go,” said Lauren suddenly, her fingers working at the tartan, to get it off her.
“What are you doing, lass? Stop! Stop, I say! You'll ruin it, tearing at it so!”The seamstress slapped her hands away, glaring.
“Where do you go, Lauren?” asked Vanora.
“The patrol,” she improvised. “I'm riding out this morning with them. I'll be late.”
It happened again, that knowing connection of eyes all around her, beyond her. Lauren felt her fingers grow cold, but she pretended to ignore it all, moving away from them, fussing with the gown. Someone came up before her, blocking her way. She looked up to meet Michal's irritated gaze.
“You'll need to be at Keir when your fiancé arrives,” stated
Michal, a clear challenge.“You cannot keep running off like a heathen to fight with the men whenever you want. The Murdoch will be here any day, and how are we to explain to him that you're gone on some foolish ride, instead of greeting him properly as you should?”
“Explain to him that his bride is off defending her home,” Lauren said tartly. “If he wants some simpering maid, I'm afraid he's going to be sorely disappointed.”
“Well, that's what I expect,” snapped Michal. “That he will be disappointed in you! Any man would be, to find his bride so uncivilized!”
Lauren lost the last shred of control on her temper.
“Then let him marry someone else!”
There was a shocked silence all around her. No one moved, every face was turned to her in stunned disbelief. And then:
“Lauren! Yo u don't mean it!”
She didn't want to answer that. She had to.
“No. Of course I don't mean it.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “But I do have to leave now. I am riding out on patrol today.”
Again came that stilted silence, laden with meaning that was not meant for her to understand.
“Did you discuss this with anyone, lass?” asked Vanora, concerned.
“Yes,” Lauren lied.
“We thought you would be spending more time here, at Keir,” countered Clara, looking to Michal.“We thought you'd be more interested in your wedding.”
“Well, I am interested. But I'm needed on patrol.”
“That's not what James said.” Michal folded her arms across her chest, victory in the tilt of her head.“He said that you weren't going to go on patrol any longer.”
“That it was to be only the men from now on,” added Clara. “You're to stay at Keir until the Murdoch comes, preparing for your wedding. That's what he said, and the laird and the council agreed. They will not allow you on patrol.”
The lie stayed caught in Lauren's mouth, freezing her tongue in place. She was finally trapped, and she knew it.