“I shall look forward to that day,” Lianae said. “And I thank you kindly for your hospitality, laird.”
Aidan reached out to pat her horse’s mane. “This was Una’s mare though she never once put her arse in the saddle,” he said. “She will serve you well.”
“Thank you,” Lianae said again, and then, “And I am sorry for your loss.”
“As we for yours.”
Tears pricked at Lianae’s eyes.
“Look after my brother is all I ask.”
No matter what tensions had bee roused between them, Lianae could see the affection in his eyes. She nodded, her throat too thick to speak.
Flanked by Cailin, Sorcha, Lachlann and Luc, Lael took the lead to guide the way out of the vale and Lianae waved good-bye to Keane’s brother, and then, with a last look toward the mountain where Una met her fate, she fell in line behind them.
Chapter 25
Dunràth was nothing at all like the scabrous Norman creations that had risen along the southern border of Scotia. No walls surrounded this coastal city, although the tower itself had been erected upon a motte, near An Cuan Moireach, with a network of sturdy tunnels descending to the beach. Lianae knew this despite that they could not be seen. For centuries, it was the way the lords of Moray had used the coastline, much of which had been formed by the capricious North Sea.
Surrounded by mostly wattle and daub homes, with brown thatch roofs covered in snow, the hallhouse itself soared high on the hill, attached to a single tower of the type that could be found throughout much of the northlands, made of field stone and mortar.
Gold and red, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim’s lion rampant standard flew from the rooftop—one to match their own—a reminder that no matter what their history here, their future would be determined by the reigning king of Scotia.
But from the time Lianae had first learned to walk and talk, this was the land she’d called her home. She felt her strength renewed as the cavalcade came to the journey’s end.
As the mesnie rode through Dunràth, the chapel bells began to ring, luring villagers out from their homes. The people waved as Lianae passed by, or stopped and stared, and what a sight they must have presented, with three war-clad women in their midst, a burly Highlander, and a Lowlander, garbed in Norman mail.
Mingled with the salt spray of the ocean, the moorlands held the very scent of green, even beneath a mantle of snow. At this time of the year, it was not unheard of to see snow swirling in the sky, even beneath a bright blue sky. And Ailginshire was close by, not more than a half day’s walk along the shore.
Dunràth’s thane had been a Morayman, who was loyal to Lianae’s father, but he too perished that day at the battle at Stracathro in Forfarshire. It was a kindness that fate placed her here, amidst these people who would surely welcome a daughter of Óengus.
Simple as the place might be, Dunràth filled her with awe. It wasn’t Ailginshire, but now it was hers, and in her saddlebag she held the chatelaine’s keys along with a writ from the king to command a garrison to keep her people safe.
Her people—even more than Keane’s.
Trying not to think of her husband—waging another hopeless war—Lianae took the lead now, cantering all the way up the hill. And the higher they climbed, the more of Moray she could spy. Sandy beaches. Fishing huts dotting the horizon as far as the eye could see. The rich, snow-covered moorlands, the blue-gray dolphins surfacing close to shore.
Once, when Lianae was three, they’d found a whale stranded in the shallows along the inner Moray Firth. The neighbors all shared the spoils, and the whale’s fat lit their homes for years thereafter. The sight of her home shire took Lianae’s breath away, and judging by the way Keane’s sisters all gaped, they too were instantly enamored of the place.
Neither Cailin, nor Sorcha, nor Lael had ever set their jewel-green eyes upon the great North Sea, and a sense of pride filled Lianae as the cold wind whipped through her golden hair.
“Tis the lady of Dunràth!” Luc announced to one and all. “Make way,” he commanded a wee boy with a goat.
Lianae and the dún Scoti sisters all shared a smile, for Luc had taken to puffing up his chest in a prideful manner, and, in fact, seemed quite enamored of Sorcha.
“Make way for your new lady,” he shouted as they approached the top of the hill. “’Tis the lady of Dunràth ye’d behold!”
Keane’s sisters, all three, surrounded Lianae protectively, but there was little need. Lianae was home. There were no gates to admit them, so she dismounted before the hall, where a pair of armed men stood guarding the entrance to the hall.
“I am your new lady,” she announced, addressing a tall, lean man with silk-white hair. He was not a Norman, nor was he a Scot and she recognized the auld thane’s faithful servant.
His blue eyes were sharp and wary, but held a spark of recognition. “Lianae of Moray,” he said, clasping her hand. “Welcome, m’lady,” he said, his eyes brimming with tears. “Welcome!”
Built upon the ruins of an old Roman fortress, the city of Carlisle was a strategic stronghold for Scotland. William Rufus raised it, but David intended to keep it and make it Scotia’s southernmost capital. Understandable that he should wish to, for even when the countries were not at war, the Border Reivers were a pain in David’s arse. Controlling them, even more than controlling the new cathedral, was his ultimate design.
Three thousand men marched on the city at sunrise, and ill prepared for siege, the gates opened swiftly. There, in the name of the Empress Matilda, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim sent splinter troops to seize Wark, Alnwick, Norham and Newcastle. MacKinnon would descend upon Aldergh within the fortnight. Only once Carlisle was secure, David took Keane aside, and gave him the news about Lianae. The words he spoke sent cold shivers down his spine.
Bolting out of the king’s court, leaving a sour-faced sovereign in his wake, Keane told Cameron on his way to the stables, “We ride for Moray now!”
“With David’s blessing?”
Keane shot Cameron a quelling glance. “I go with or without it!” God’s truth, if they had told him what Lianae would discover at Dunràth, he would never have let her go alone.
With all due haste, Keane gathered the men he’d been promised—only seven. Forty more would follow once David could spare them. The rest awaited him at Dunràth—all under Lianae’s command!
Angrily, he secured his saddle, while Cameron watched. “What if she has found them?”
“I canna say what Lianae will do, but you knew—you knew, damn it. And yet ye dinna say—why?”
“I will break no more oaths,” Cameron said simply.
Despite Keane’s fury, both men understood what it meant for Cameron to keep his vows. He struggled now to live a life of honor, in order to redeem himself in the eyes of the world—in the eyes of Aidan and his sister most of all.
But this was the one thing Cameron had yet to learn: If you were not fighting for the ones you loved, who the devil would you be fighting for?
“Damn you,” Keane said, and turned on his heels. “Stay and fight for your king,” he commanded him.
“I will come—”
“Nay!” Keane shouted. “I’llna ride with a man whose loyalty I must question.” In one easy leap, he mounted Beithir. To his men, he commanded, “Ride!”
Even if he rode day and night, without rest, it would take them a sennight to reach Moray at best.
He didn’t care whether Cameron joined them. Furious beyond reason, Keane led his men through Carlisle’s open gates. Once the last man had passed over the bridge, he heard the groan of metal as the portcullis lowered. He did not look back.
The dún Scoti sisters remained at Dunràth only a few days—long enough to see their horses rested and procure a few nights’ rest. But they did not go before Lianae escorted them down to the beach and let them touch their toes in the ice-cold surf. She cajoled them to return in summer, when they would enjoy the warmer weather. Lael spoke of bringing her daughters and
mayhap sending Kenna along. “It’ll do her good to get away from Keppenach,” Lael said.
Lianae couldn’t be happier to hear this. She felt more at ease than she had in years. In fact, she had little to complain about, save for the sudden bouts of sickness she couldn’t quite explain. It was Cailin who asked before she left, “Might you be with child, Lianae?”
The possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. Despite her lies to the king about Keane, Lianae hadn’t truly considered how quickly it might happen. She and Keane had spent nearly every waking moment in Dubhtolargg… getting to know one another. So it was certainly a possibility, and the notion pleased her.
A child?
With Keane.
How different her life would be. As close as they were, she wasn’t even concerned about the possibility of seeing Lulach again, or William fitz Duncan, for she had the king’s writ in her possession and a prince of Scotia at her side. Not that she had ever aspired to such things, for Fitz Duncan was a king’s son, after all. But Keane dún Scoti—even as modest a man as he was—was worth ten of fitz Duncan.
In fact, she had little doubt that if Keane’s brother had not lost Clach-na-cinneamhain—and she was quite certain now that’s what it was, the Stone of Destiny—the dún Scoti might have wreaked havoc with this knowledge alone. If what she suspected were true, King David was never crowned upon the rightful stone. Therefore, his coronation would not be sacrosanct. If anyone should glean this knowledge, Lianae had very little doubt there would be a race to the vale to recover the true stone and crown a new king. And, for that, there might be any number of contenders, all with more right to succession than David mac Mhaoil Chaluim, including William fitz Duncan, Aidan dún Scoti and her brother Graeme.
On the day the sisters departed Dunràth, Lianae was sorely tempted to ask them about the stone, and about the accident that blinded Constance, but despite that they had grown closer along the way, there was a way about the dún Scoti sisters that discouraged any such questions. For all that they’d seemed like normal siblings, with sweet, freshly washed faces, they clearly were not.
All three hugged Lianae before mounting their white horses, and even before they had returned to the saddle, their looks were stern and backs were straight. Once again they were bedecked for war.
“You!” Lael said to Lianae’s steward. The elder man looked terrified all at once. “Take care of your lady,” she demanded from her saddle, and the old man nodded quickly.
Smiling to herself, Lianae crossed her arms, battling yet another wave of nausea. Forsooth, it must be exactly what Cailin said. A child. The very thought made Lianae’s heart hurt. A child, but what if his father never returned? She had not seen Keane now for weeks, but she had the king’s writ, she reminded herself. And she had Balloch, the old steward.
But she would not think this way. There was much to be done before her husband’s return: take stock of their supplies, and find out how much remained before the spring planting. She must wash the hallhouse from top to bottom, give it the love of a home. There were grievances to hear, and bread to bake. She had heads to count and animals to see to. And most of all, she had a nursery to shape.
The old steward would help her, but out of everyone, she believed he would be most pleased to see the dún Scoti sisters go. For all that the man appeared to be her greatest ally at Dunràth, he was as timid as a church mouse.
Of course, goodbyes were never easily said, and Lianae had voiced them now more oft than she would have liked, but, of course, it was only meet that they should leave. Lael had her daughters to return to, and Cailin and Sorcha were expected in the vale.
“Godspeed, my sisters. May Cailleach be merciful and put the wind at your backs.”
“And you, Lianae… have a care,” Lael said, eyeing each of her guards, and once again the steward with a sharp, cutting glance. For emphasis, Lael placed a hand to her sword and gave each man a terrifying nod.
Lianae tried not to laugh at the looks the guards passed to one another. They might be afraid of the sisters, but Lianae herself was not afeared.
She had more than fifty men, with loyalties to her alone by writ of the king. So long as she remained vigilant, they would be more than enough to defend the hallhouse. As a daughter of Óengus, she knew every last villager would raise arms to defend her, even the smallest child. But soon after the sisters’ departure, they had a chance to test her theory. An envoy arrived, with riders bearing fitz Duncan’s blue and silver banner.
Lianae was eyeballs deep in the ledgers, for she could read, and she would have them settled before her husband’s return. Her father had never managed their accounts. It was her mother who’d kept the books. The old steward appeared in Lianae’s solar, standing there with wide, round eyes. “The lady Uhtreda bids an audience w’ ye m’lady.”
At hearing the name, Lianae’s shoulders tightened. “The lady Uhtreda?”
Had she come to retrieve her stones?
The steward nodded, as though he’d read her thoughts. But nay, he could not know she had them… nobody but Keane knew she had the charm stones. Lianae furrowed her brow. “Does she come alone?”
“Nay, m’lady. She comes with six of fitz Duncan’s guards.”
“But not fitz Duncan himself?”
“Nay, m’lady.”
Relaxing a bit, Lianae put her quill down upon the table and pushed the ledgers away, reminding herself that she had fifty men—plus a houseful of servants who were loyal to the old Moray thane. Not even fitz Duncan would dare defy a king’s writ. She was lady of the manor now, and she refused to be cowed by fitz Duncan in her own home. At any rate, Lianae no longer had the majority of the stones, nor did it behoove her to confess herself before a woman who’d raised a monster such as William fitz Duncan. “Let her in,’ Lianae allowed.
“Art certain, m’lady?”
Lianae sat straighter in her chair. “Dinna worry, Balloch. If she dares to challenge me, it will be the same as challenging her sworn king. Show the lady Uhtreda into my hall.”
“Very well, m’lady,” Balloch agreed, though reluctantly, but then he stood, his lips parting as though he meant to speak again. It was a look she was coming to know well, for the man always seemed to be on the verge of telling Lianae something more. But he shut his mouth again and turned to go.
Lianae let him leave, and once he was gone, she went to change her dress.
Despite that she was far more accustomed to wool than silk, it was a message she meant to send to the lady Uhtreda. She was the lady of Dunràth now, and as such, Lianae would look the part to face her accuser. For a moment, she considered leaving the small silk purse behind, but as they went with her everywhere now, she did not wish to leave the charm stones unguarded, not even in her own house. Fastening the purse to her girdle, she made her way toward the great hall.
The Lady Uhtreda herself had once been the consort of a king. Her father Gospatric was Earl of Northumbria, but Lianae was a daughter of Moray—the true Moray heir.
Dressed in one of Aveline of Teviotdale’s mended gowns—a pale rose samite surcoat, with a white tunic beneath and a gilded girdle—she arrived in the great hall to find the long-faced woman seated calmly at her table, without her guards. Having left them outside, she sat alone, blinking innocently at the sight of Lianae.
To the contrary, there were at least four of Lianae’s guards present—two at the hall doors, one each at opposite ends of Lianae’s long table. Intrigued that the lady would come without her hateful son, Lianae approached the table and sat down, facing the older woman.
“What brings you to Dunràth, Lady Uhtreda?”
Lianae couldn’t quite give the woman the deference her title commanded. It made her stomach even more ill than the haggis she’d consumed this morn—and she longed for a bit of her husband’s whitebeam tea.
Uhtreda smiled cannily, with hooded eyes. For an older woman, Lianae must admit she was still lovely, with dark hair and bright blue eyes though her face was marked
with even more wrinkles than Lianae remembered. She wore her hair in braids, much as a young maid would, laced with golden ribbons. Her dress, as well, was finely sewn, woven with tiny threads of gold. “I had a visit from an auld crone a few days past… she wore a patch over one eye,” she said at last.
“What has some auld woman to do with me?” Lianae asked her. The stones at her belt seem to weigh a little heavier.
Uthreda’s eyes twinkled with a certain knowing. “Ah, well, she was passing through on her way to the Isle of Skye,” she said.
“And?”
“She assured me I could retrieve the remainder of my stones… from you.”
Lianae’s breath caught over the blatant challenge, and the two women assessed one another across the table. Lianae felt the edge of her dirk cut into her thigh, but Uhtreda did not lose her temper, nor was there any true imputation in her tone.
After a moment, the woman reached for a small purse attached to the girdle at her waist—a purse not unlike Lianae’s—and Lianae heard the hiss of steel leaving a scabbard as she reached for the pouch.
Lianae lifted a hand to stay her guard as Uhtreda lifted the purse from its clasp. Calmly, unconcerned about the guards, Uhtreda opened the small purse and dumped the contents upon Lianae’s table.
Lianae stared, aghast.
There were seven stones laid before her; some landed on their backs, displaying two moons, side by side, with a lightning rod betwixt. It was the very same symbol on the stones Lianae had lost. Slowly, after meeting Lianae’s gaze, the woman turned her charm stones over, one by one, until all were displaying the finely etched moons on their backs.
They were the same stones.
Even the rare white quartz was precisely the same color.
But it was not possible, for Lianae had lost the other seven charm stones in the brambles at Lilidbrugh—beneath a mountain of snow.
It was near twilight now, and Lianae had yet to light the candles in the hall. Uhtreda’s charm stones appeared to glow with the same strange pale light she recalled from the ruins at Lilidbrugh—ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Highland Storm Page 24