Snow Raven

by Patricia McAllister

  “Lindsays can be restored ta their rightful power in the Highlands, but only wi’ the help of yer countrymen. I see this, I ken Ran clings ta old ways, old days, but The Wolf’s hour has run its course.” Hugo’s icy blue eyes hardened on her. “Ye can still help us, milady, lead the Lindsays into the future. Gie us yer loyalties now, help put Ran into the purgatory o’ the past wi’ the rest of them.”

  Merry shook her head, and felt a tear trickle down her face. “Never,” she whispered fiercely. “Never.”

  “Then you may sit there and watch him die,” Sir Jasper said flatly. “I’ve no more patience for coaxing.” He motioned to Hugo. “Go and set a watch for your beloved half-brother, Hugo. We daren’t be taken by surprise.”

  * * *

  THE NIGHT PASSED IN a slow blur of cold and misery for Merry, as she huddled beneath the extra cloak Sir Jasper had carelessly tossed at her. He dared attempt to share her warmth, dropping down beside her as the fire died, and inching gradually closer as the wind picked up. When he tried to sling his arm around her, Merry lashed out with her fist, catching him squarely on the jaw. Sir Jasper sprang to his feet and cursed, then stalked off into the darkness. She heard Hugo snigger softly in the shadows.

  Merry rolled herself snugly in both cloaks and turned her back on her captors. Her thoughts whirled wildly with fear for Ran and the frightened clans folk at Auchmull and Edzell, and she was sure she couldn’t sleep. Stress had taken its toll, however, and despite her best efforts, her eyelashes slowly drifted shut. In the wee hours of the early morning, she awoke feeling stiff and cramped with cold. The damp of the ground had seeped through her layers of clothing, and she shivered as she sat upright and tried to work the kinks out of her neck and back. Balefully she regarded the snoring lump of Sir Jasper across the cold remains of the fire. Hugo had taken last watch. He glanced at her from his position by the trees as she stretched and stirred.

  Merry was hungry, but determined not to lower herself to begging for anything from these animals. Nature, however, impressed a call of a different sort now that she couldn’t ignore. She got to her feet, hugging the loose cloak about her like a blanket, and approached Ran’s half-brother.

  Immediately Hugo struck an aggressive pose. “Stay put,” he ordered her. “Yer nae allowed ta wander about.”

  “I have to find some bushes,” Merry said, avoiding his eyes, her meaning clear enough. He shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. A second later, he jerked his head sharply to the left.

  “Right there,” he said grudgingly. “Where I can keep an eye on ye.”

  She flushed with humiliation. “Nay, I cannot.”

  He smirked. “Then ye’ll hae ta hold it, milady.”

  Merry bit her lower lip. “Please. I won’t go far. Just behind those bushes there.” She pointed to a nearby clump of bracken. She tried to convey a sense of urgency by jiggling up and down.

  At last, Hugo impatiently waved a hand. “Be quick about it. If ye tarry, I’ll drag ye out wi’ yer breeches still down.”

  Merry nodded and hurried off into the edge of the woods. She was aware of him watching her closely, so she stopped and took care of necessities the moment he was out of view. When finished, she stayed in a crouch and looked furtively about. She hadn’t intended to run, but the temptation was too great. Sir Jasper was still asleep, as were most of his men. There was only Hugo to worry about with any distance; mayhap she could elude him long enough to find her way back to Auchmull.

  The horses were secured on the other side of the camp, so she would have to flee on foot. Quickly Merry untied and shed both wool cloaks, to make her flight easier. It was chilly without any protection from the elements, and a light drizzle was starting again. Not cold enough for snow, but that might change. She heard a rustle of brush and then Hugo’s low, impatient voice spoke nearby.

  “Milady?”

  Merry sprang from the bushes and ran. She heard Hugo swear, then the crash of his big body as he came flying through the bracken after her. The trees were thick enough she was able to evade his clutches and dart off between them, her smaller frame more nimble than his. Her breathing sawed harshly in her throat as she scrambled over an endless obstacle course of fallen logs and cut an erratic, weaving path through the woods. Merry panicked she might be going deeper into the forest. Then she spied the black sparkle of Badanloch and stumbled, gasping, into the clearing where she had been captured the night before.

  Hugo was not far behind. His shouts had roused Sir Jasper and the other men, and she heard them stumbling and running for their mounts. Horses whinnied and loud curses sliced the early-morning air as the men set out in pursuit of Merry on horseback.

  Spying the overgrown path she had taken last night, where Orlaith had trampled down the new bracken, Merry lurched across the clearing in a westerly direction. Behind her, Hugo emerged from the trees and hoarsely ordered her to stop. She heard a strange “thunking” sound and glanced back in time to see the big man cocking a deadly crossbow with his foot. He swung the wooden stock to his shoulder as if to fire.

  “Nay!” The shout came from Sir Jasper, who hurled himself from the back of a galloping bay and knocked Hugo sideways to the ground.

  Surprised Sir Jasper intervened, Merry nevertheless turned and hurried on down the path. The brush closed behind her as she heard Sir Jasper shout at Hugo, “Idiot! Without the woman, there is no bait for the wolf trap.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  THE SIMPLE KEEP OF Invermark, smallest and most remote of the Lindsay possessions, had not been used since the death of Ran’s grandfather, the ninth Earl of Crawford, in 1558. Since then, the castle had deteriorated, and the wild heather and bracken had crept up through the glens, effectively blending the rough stone into the background.

  The roof, such as it was, had half caved in, and birds nested in the cavern of what had once been the great kitchen. Once Invermark had commanded the outpost against the invading Caterans, the later castle evolved from a fourteenth-century fortress. The huge drawbridge and massive iron gate still remained operable, however, and made for strategic defense with the torrent of the Mark keeping any harriers at bay.

  Here Ran had escaped, managing to elude the queen’s soldiers just as they swept down upon Edzell in search of him. Kinross was away at the Stuart Court, and while Darra was left to deal with the minor Tudor inquisition, Ran did not doubt his spirited sister was equal to the task. By now, he wryly reflected, the soldiers were probably wishing they had never crossed the path of the undaunted Lady Deuchar. Fortunately, Gil and Darra’s boys had been sent to safety before the invasion, and Ran doubted Elizabeth Tudor considered it worthwhile annoying a powerful border lord like Scott simply to question children about his whereabouts.

  The isolation of Invermark suited his nature, and soothed his anger somewhat, but he knew the entire clan stood to suffer for the latest happenings. King James was well pleased with his capture of the reivers of crown cattle, but sooner or later he would cave in to his royal cousin’s demand and reluctantly uphold the charges of outlawry. Ran might conceivably evade everyone for weeks yet, for the spring was too cold and young for easy traveling with troops, but he realized Invermark was but a temporary solution.

  Besides, there was the matter of Merry. Thank Jesu he had sent her home to England, though he had done so in a fit of anger rather than concern for her welfare. He walked up the stairs of the central tower, overlooking the Gothic battlements and the distant Howe of the Mearns and felt the spring breezes ruffle his hair, whip his kilt and tartan about his body.

  Growing up, Ran felt closer to his grandfather than he ever had his own sire, and here in the splendid seclusion of a rugged outpost, he imagined, for a moment, he lived in easier days, a petty laird in a humble keep. Good company, hearty but simple food, a woman with a ready laugh and a sparkle in her eye … He shifted slightly, bracing one foot against a crumbled pinnacle, and in his mind’s eye heard the silvery laughter of his wife. She burst from the castl
e into the glen, humming beneath her breath, turned and shielded her eyes against the sunlight as she looked up at him.

  “Whatever are you doing way up there, milord?” she laughed at him. “You’ll tumble and crack your thick Scots noggin, and I’ll not be a bit to blame …”

  Ran felt his breath leave him in a sudden rush, for the vision in the imaginary sunlit glen was not Blair, but Merry. Merry of the blazing hair and rain-colored eyes, the ready smile and dazzling wit, and a heart open to him with such innocent devotion he felt a corresponding ache in his own breast.

  The pain was as daunting as the joy as he realized what he had been denying for months. How hard he had fought against the notion of loving anyone, much less an impertinent Sassenach lass with the magic to make Blair’s memory fade. It was the source of his true terror, this gradual understanding there might be another who could ease his grief, bring him happiness when he wanted so desperately to cling to old wounds, never let them heal. It was fear had prompted him to lash out, push her away.

  Ran took another shuddering breath, scouring his surroundings through new eyes as the red-haired woman faded into the mists of dreams and furtive hopes. Love … he had felt love for Blair Maclean, aye, of an intensity so fierce it bordered on obsession. This emotion with Merry was different, softer, more blurred and indistinct, yet oddly comforting just the same. He knew somehow he could turn to Merry, lay his head on her shoulder. She would hold him, never question the need for it, nor doubt his strength. Could this not be love also?

  Mayhap love was not always the finely honed passion of a blade; maybe it was the gentle brush of a fingertip across a cheek, or warm laughter flowing across the room, gazes meeting and sharing a smile, all of these and more. He sat down suddenly, as if stunned, upon the edge of a caen stone turret, and never heard the mocking caws of a white raven in the wind.

  * * *

  THREE DAYS LATER, RAN risked a quick return to Auchmull for more supplies, and there heard the news of Merry’s return and subsequent disappearance. By then, she had been missing a day. When he realized she must have ridden out and met with disaster, he swore under his breath and smacked a balled fist into the palm of his other hand.

  “By all the bloody hounds of hell! Doesn’t the woman have half a brain?” Ran, seeing the genuine alarm in Nell’s face, softened his tone. “’Twas the height of foolishness for her to return at such a time. D’you have any idea where she went?”

  Nell shook her head. A second later, she ventured, “I do remember she kept asking about Badanloch before she vanished, milord.”

  “What about it?”

  “Lady Merry wanted to ken exactly where ’twas. When I asked why, she said she had a fancy to visit it sometime.”

  “Badanloch,” Ran mused softly. He was still taut with rage from being hunted by the Tudor soldiers; encountering a pack of Macleans trespassing on Lindsay lands on the way here had not improved his temper any. Though the supposed “enemy” had turned out to be nothing more than a handful of youths intent upon some mischief-making in another clan’s territory.

  Despite their breaking up into separate groups and fleeing, he’d caught a couple of them, and obnoxious as the boys were, Ran believed their story that they knew nothing about Merry or any possible kidnapping. One of the older lads, named Malcolm, had particularly impressed Ran with his cool head and obvious intelligence. He appeared to be only about ten or so, but his natural Highland defiance had tickled Ran. Malcolm had been utterly unimpressed finding himself the prisoner of the Earl of Crawford, until Ran had given him a good switching. Then at last there had been a grudging respect in the lad’s eyes.

  Ran finally set the Maclean lads free after questioning them at length. Back at Auchmull he quizzed the guard who had delivered the note to Merry, but the man admitted he couldn’t attest to the contents of the urgent message she’d supposedly received. At this news, ominous chill gripped Ran. Someone had deliberately lured his wife away from Auchmull. But why?

  * * *

  THE RAIN WAS A solid downpour by the time Merry finally straggled from the forest, shivering and soaked to the skin. She was exhausted and dispirited, stricken with fear. Faced with the ruthless elements, she’d almost turned back and offered herself into Sir Jasper’s hands again. She had never been of strong constitution, and the weird shadows and sounds of the primal forest sent deep chills wracking through her. It seemed she had been walking, or stumbling rather, for hours. Time ceased to matter, for the mist never completely burned from the woods.

  Once free of the meadow, she fell to her knees in the slick meadow grasses and pressed the painful stitch in her side. Her hair hung in sodden ropes around her, and her shirt and breeches were torn from the thorns and branches she’d encountered during her flight. She wondered if she could ever get up again. Yet she knew she must get back to Auchmull somehow.

  After a respite, Merry heaved herself up again and staggered on. She had barked her shin on a lichen-covered boulder sometime earlier, and her bruised, bloodied knee throbbed and burned with every step she took. She knew she must look a sight. Fashion had never been farther from her mind, however, and somehow she doubted it would ever mean much again.

  Gray sheets of rain had changed the landscape into a murky, indistinct canvas of threatening cliffs and deep gullies. Merry soon lost sight of the washed-out trail left from Orlaith’s hooves. Uncertain of her directions, she was soon forced to admit she seemed to be going in circles. Auchmull was nowhere in sight. Only the icy rain, beating a steady tattoo upon her head, provided any company for a lone woman wandering through the hills.

  At last Merry could go no further. She stumbled, slid, collapsed in a heap on the wet ground. Her shoulders shook from the cold. A second later, she heard the drumming of hooves, over her pounding heart.

  Peering out through her waterfall of wet hair, Merry saw horses galloping across the meadow towards her. Her fingers dug into the mud with fury, resignation. The desperate flight, risking her life, had all been for naught. Sir Jasper had found her again.

  Merry waited, weary with resignation. She could not summon the strength to plead for mercy; there was nothing left now but a cold hollow ache and the remnants of a bruised heart.

  When a horse slid to a stop in the damp grass beside her, she looked up dully, like a trapped animal. She let out a spontaneous cry. Ran! He vaulted from the saddle, dropped to his knees in the mud and grabbed her in his arms. Merry was wracked with dry sobs as he clutched her fiercely against his heart.

  “Ssh, sweetheart,” he soothed her in his soft Highland burr, “you’re safe now. Safe …”

  “How did you find me?” she sobbed.

  “Nell remembered you asked about Badanloch. I was following a hunch, nothing more.”

  Ran unfastened his badge, swept off his breccan and wrapped it around her. Merry clutched at the edge of the tartan, which was so large it nearly enveloped her like a blanket there on the grass and mud. She spoke through chattering teeth.

  “W-wickham m-murdered B-Blair …”

  Something flashed in Ran’s eyes, no doubt the same agony preventing him from ever loving her, and Merry drew the breccan tighter as if it might shield her from further pain. Ran did not speak for a moment, simply held her clutched against him. After a while, he nodded.

  “I always suspected, lass, but could never prove it.”

  “Hugo …” she whispered, dreading word of this betrayal more than the other. “He turned, Ran. To Wickham.” She licked her lips, wondering what else she might say to ease such a devastating blow. Ran whitened and drew in his breath, but didn’t look as shocked as she expected.

  “’Tis the matter of inheritance?”

  She gave a jerky little nod “’Twas all planned, Ran. The Badanloch massacre came about because Hugo killed your messenger, Nell’s husband. Later, Sir Jasper staged the attack upon the wedding party, hoping you would blame Macleans and inflame the feud more.”

  She inhaled deeply, trying to measure
what his brooding silence might mean. “Hugo has joined up with Wickham now. I saw a few other disgruntled Lindsays among the lot. They held me there in the woods, hoping to lure you into a trap.”

  Ran threaded his fingers through her damp hair, drawing her tightly against him. “Sweet Jesu,” he whispered roughly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  Merry exulted in his embrace, but feared to respond. Mayhap the emotion of the moment, the shock of Hugo’s betrayal had unsettled his reasoning. He still did not know about Blair and Wickham, the depth of their real relationship, the fact the child had not been his. Merry opened her mouth to tell Ran everything, but his lips silenced her. Gently yet urgently, with the depth of intensity she had only dreamed of henceforth, The Wolf of Badanloch kissed her. She clung to his broad shoulders, weeping, and suddenly nothing mattered but the reunion of two lost and hungry souls in the mist.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “WELL, ’TIS SURELY A scene worthy of courtly accolade.”

  Sir Jasper’s snarl was precipitated by horsemen bursting from the wood, and Merry shuddered as the Englishman’s soldiers surrounded her and Ran. Ran came to his feet, still holding Merry, his dark gaze never wavering from the man taunting him from horseback.

  “I thought a wolf was only capable of rending others, not offering succor,” Sir Jasper mused as he cast a disparaging glance upon the couple. “Or would you say this wolf, in particular, has a soft spot for red-haired lassies?” He gave the edge of his tartan a mocking flip in Ran’s direction, but the latter did not react. Sir Jasper shifted impatiently in the saddle.

  “You saved me the trouble of returning to Auchmull with a ransom demand, milord.” Sir Jasper smiled coldly at his adversary. “How nice to find both my objects neatly clumped together. Most considerate, wouldn’t you concur, Hugo?”

  The blond man riding at his side nodded, but Merry noticed Hugo did not seem to be of quite the same swaggering bent as before. Mayhap Ran’s cold, dark stare unnerved him more than he cared to reveal.