"When you bring it to her, try again to convince her to come and stay here at Kinlochan," Lome said. "She is stubborn, but the winter will be fierce this year. All the omens point to it." His deep, smooth voice, whose magic Alainna had loved since childhood, held a distinct weariness.
She glanced up, and saw him pause by the long trestle table that held several stone slabs, each as long as a man's forearm. He bent to study them, his shoulders bowed, his long white hair swinging down to hide his handsome, hawklike profile.
"This place is freezing." Una closed the wooden shutter with a decisive bang and latched it shut. "You will catch a chill in your lungs, keeping the window open all day."
"I need the light," Alainna said, tapping again. She paused to blow at the powder that collected at the chisel's edge.
"It is dark as night in here," Una complained. "I can hardly see at all." She stepped forward.
"You just closed the window," Lome reminded her. "None of us can see now."
"There are candles on the shelf," Alainna answered. "The brazier gives out a little light, too."
"Not much light," Una said. "And not much heat. So you might as well stop working for a little. You have not stopped all this week, I think. Oh, move, you greedy hound, taking up all the room in here. Alainna, I know you like this dog, but he is not much of a guard, or much company, lying about all day."
Alainna glanced at the large deerhound who slept contentedly by the brazier. "Finan is a fine guard when he needs to be. And I like his sort of company. He leaves me alone."
Lome chuckled as he found a candle and lit it with a dry stick touched to the brazier's red coals.
"Alainna, we came here to ask you to share supper with us this evening," Una said.
"And we came to see how you are progressing in your work," Lome added. "It is good indeed. The story stone you have just finished is even finer than the others."
Alainna smiled. "Thank you. And I am not hungry, Una." She set down her chisel to choose a pointed iron tool, and used the mallet to drive the sharp end into the slab to clear away a small chunk of stone. "Morag brought me food earlier."
"Morag has brought your meals in here for two days. She told me that you came late to your bed last night, and rose early to work again. You will exhaust yourself and become ill."
"I have much to do," Alainna said as she blew away pale dust from the stone's face. "This is the seventh stone. The scenes I plan to do will need twenty stones, maybe more."
"You have set yourself quite a task, child," Lome said. "But you need to rest. No one can finish a lifetime's work in months."
"I must." Alainna smacked the point with the mallet.
"Come into the hall, eat with us, and get warm," Una insisted. "The old ones will all be pleased to have you among them."
"I have much to do," Alainna repeated, clearing another chunk of stone.
"It grows dark," Una said. "A candle does not give enough you light. You have hardly set foot in the hall for two days. I have a hot venison stew in the kettle, and after we eat, Lome will tell a fine tale. Morag has seen that all is in order in the household, the floors swept and clean rushes laid down, the linens and plaids aired, the beds and pallets readied for the night." She glanced at her husband, then back at Alainna. "All is in order at Kinlochan, except that the chief of the clan shuts herself in a tiny workroom with unswept floors and no food in her belly while she works like a laborer."
Alainna flexed her aching shoulders. "Cousin Morag manages our household well. She loves the work she does for Kinlochan, and she never rests until she is satisfied that her tasks are done to perfection. And I love the work that I do, even if it is messy. I want to continue, too, until I am satisfied that it is done."
Una sighed impatiently. "What you do here is not done in a day, girl, like most household tasks. You must eat, you must rest! And your kin need their chief among them. Lome, speak to her."
"Niall wants me to begin the cycle of the Fionn stories tonight," Lome said. "But Una and Morag want to hear the tale of Deirdre and the sons of Uisneach again. Which shall it be? Niall says he is tired of love tales, and wants to hear one of war and men, with a long passage about a battle in it."
"I like the tale of Deirdre of the Sorrows," Alainna said. "I never grow tired of that story. When Deirdre sees Naoise and his brothers for the first time..." She sighed. "Ah, it is beautiful, that."
"Then Deirdre it will be, if you join us this evening. Leave your work. There is time."
As her uncle spoke, Alainna tipped her head to assess the scene that she carved. Three men in a ship, holding upright lances, had been lightly sketched on the surface of the stone. Only the excess limestone had been cut away, with clawed chisel marks over much of the rest, to form a high relief.
She sighed and glanced at Lorne, whose blue eyes gleamed with affection. Beside him, Una, not even as tall as her husband's shoulder, watched her with a frown of concern. Alainna sighed again and set down her mallet.
"You are right. I am tired."
"Good. Your kinfolk miss you," Una said.
Alainna wiped her tools with a soft cloth and set them aside. Then she covered the stone with another cloth and straightened, stretching her arms. "I must sweep this," she said, glancing at the floor, which was covered in stone chips and dust.
"Tomorrow we sweep," Una said. "Tonight we rest. Come, girl. You work yourself too hard. You fret too much."
"I do not fret," Alainna said stiffly. She removed the kerchief that protected her hair from stone dust, and shook her braids free. "I never fret."
"Of course you do not," Lorne said. "Tonight you must eat well, listen to a story, and think about only what is most pleasant."
"Especially do not think about those Norman knights that the king may send here," Una said.
"Una," Lorne said, "I think your stew needs stirring."
"Morag will see to it," Una said. The deerhound rose from his place by the brazier and yawned, stretching his long legs. He padded toward Una and nuzzled at her, his head just below her shoulder. She patted his nose, and was licked for her effort.
"Come, Finan Mot, you lazy thing," Una said. "I will give you a piece of meat." She went to the door with the dog.
Lome waited while Alainna blew out the candle and took off the old tunic that she wore over her gown for an apron.
"You worry about what the king will do, my girl," he said. "I have seen it in your eyes these two weeks since your return. That is why you work so hard on your stones."
"Carving does help ease my mind. It is hard, this waiting for word from the king."
"Difficult for all of us. Come ease your mind with good food and good company. Perhaps the tale of Deirdre is not right for you tonight. You need something to make you chuckle, like the tale of the simpleton at the wedding, and how he tried to bring the pond indoors to serve fresh fish to the guests."
Alainna smiled. "Niall likes that one, too. We want him to be happy, since he must wait to hear stories of the Fianna."
"He will not be unhappy if our chief is safely in the hall, well fed and laughing, with her worries forgotten."
"Never forgotten, Uncle," she murmured, and sighed.
"And the sound of her sigh was as the whisper of grass in the autumn," Lome said softly, watching her. "Or as dry leaves beneath the wind, shifting to their winter sleep."
She smiled sadly. "How could I refuse a chance to listen to such a poet? We had better hurry. Una will be tapping her foot because we are not yet seated at the table, and the food ready."
"She will be too busy keeping Finan's snout out of her stew to think about that," Lome said.
* * *
"Sire, I am not the champion for the task." Sebastien stared into the flaming hearth in the king's private chamber as he spoke. "The lady wants a Celtic warrior in plaid and braids."
"She has no choice," the king replied. "She will have you."
Silently, his jaw clenched, Sebastien walked to a table and lifted a bronz
e jug to pour hot spiced wine into wooden goblets banded with silver. The steamy fragrance wafted up as he handed one to the king, and then placed a bowl of apples near his chair. He returned to the hearthside and remained standing as he sipped from his own goblet.
"Lady Alainna asked for an exemplary warrior, and I will send her one," the king said. He peeled an apple with a small knife. "You witnessed her audience. You know that her clan is in need of a protector."
"Aye, my lord, I remember." Alainna MacLaren's graceful dignity and the haunting need in her blue eyes were not easily forgotten. The girl had even appeared in his dreams, disquieting sequences of lust and heartbreak that left him with a sense of longing. He felt an undeniable urge to help her and her clan, yet he wondered at the origin of that desire.
"My lord," he resumed after a moment, "I am honored by such favor, but I plan to reside in Brittany and marry there."
"A widower with a son needs a wife. I am giving you a Scottish heiress with vast property. As my champion in the north, you will add immeasurably to your status in Scotland, England, and France. Live where you choose with your family after you ensure that Kinlochan is in a state of peace."
"The lady will protest the grant and the marriage. No doubt her clan will protest it too."
"As do you, I think," the king said. "Why do you hesitate?"
"I prefer my land and my women tamed, sire," Sebastien said in a wry tone. William chuckled.
In truth, Sebastien wanted to accept this choice parcel of land, but he did not want to marry to keep it. He hoped to find a noble French or Breton bride to replace the wife he had lost. His son did indeed need a mother, but Conan had a claim to a French inheritance through his deceased mother, and needed to be brought up in France or Brittany, not in cold, distant Scotland.
Still, the thought of marrying Alainna MacLaren sent a deep and subtle tremor through the core of his being. He frowned, thinking, staring into the vivid flames.
Wild, remote Highland slopes inhabited by barbarians—even those led by a beautiful damsel—would not help him establish the legacy of land and heritage that would secure his son's future. He sighed heavily.
"Surely Lady Alainna pleases you," the king said.
"She is... lovely. But Scotland is a long way from Brittany, sire. And this girl expects her husband to take her family name." He paused. "I cannot do that."
"Then refuse to take the name." The king shrugged. "If you want the rights to this land, and the title and privilege of owning such a grant in Scotland, you will have to marry the lady. She paid a relief fee. Kinlochan cannot be granted to anyone else for a year, except through marriage. When you send a copy of the nuptial contract between you and Lady Alainna to my chamberlain, the new grant will be drawn up in your name."
"And not before," Sebastien commented flatly. He felt a muscle thumping in his jaw, felt a trap closing about him.
"And not before," the king repeated easily. He sliced off a wedge of apple. "Tell me, Bastien, what land do you own now?"
"A small castle and manor house in Brittany, of fifty and a hundred acres each, held of Duke Conan," Sebastien answered. "In York, a fortified house and a thousand acres held of King Henry for services to him years ago. He promised a title with the grant, but he seems to have overlooked that since I came to Scotland," he added dryly. "I have never resided at my properties, but rent them to tenants."
"Are there lands owned of your late wife?"
"Not personally, sire. My son is heir to a castle and lands in France, but his mother's family resides there still."
William nodded pensively. "Your original fealty is owed to Duke Conan, of course. But he assigned you and your comrades to me for so long as I require knight service from you. The pledge you signed is not yet expired. And it can be renewed."
"I am honored, my lord." He spoke slowly, warily. "But as you are aware, an urgent matter requires my presence in Brittany as quickly as possible."
He had explained his son's dilemma, and that of the monks of Saint-Sebastien, to the king days ago. The privilege of a royal messenger had been extended to him, so that he could send his answer to the abbot. In his letter, he had loaned them the use of his Breton properties, and had promised to return as soon as he could buy passage on a ship bound for France.
"Certes, you must go back, but not yet. To ease your mind, I will dispatch a messenger with a letter for Duke Conan and his duchess, my sister. I will recommend that they look into the welfare of this group of monks."
"I am in your debt." Sebastien bowed stiffly, clenching his fist. He was no fool. He realized how deep that debt had just become.
"It is my charitable duty. The debt can be repaid in continued service. Your signed pledge to me stands for several months more. For now, your skills are needed at Kinlochan."
Sebastien watched the king with narrowed eyes. He felt a surge of anger, but knew that outright refusal of the grant could destroy not only his chances for land in Scotland, but any help the king would extend to Conan and the monks.
"My lord is generous," he said curtly. "But I remind the king that I am not the warrior that I once was."
He started, then, catching the apple that William flipped toward him. He had not seen it coming from his left side until almost too late due to his impaired vision. But he cupped the fruit in his left hand with rapid agility. Had it been the edge of a blade, he would have deflected it with shield or weapon out of sheer instinct.
"I think, Bastien," the king said softly, "you are every bit the warrior you once were, though your abilities be little used of late. Go to Kinlochan and see to this matter for me."
"Sire," Sebastien said.
"And see that a stone castle is raised there."
"A castle?" He felt as if the quagmire that sucked him down had just gotten thicker, deeper.
"Kinlochan sits like a gateway to the mountains of the western Highlands. Norman military presence there is essential to ensure our authority and discourage Celtic rebellion."
Sebastien stared at him in dismay. "Such a project could take years." He very much wanted an opportunity to supervise the building of his own castle, but not this way. Not in Scotland.
"You will have the time as baron there. You have some experience in the building of castles, do you not?"
"I have taken some interest in their design. The English baron who sponsored me as a squire and young knight built three stone castles in England while I was in his household and later in his service. He allowed me some responsibilities in overseeing the hiring of stonemasons and approving the design. I am not unfamiliar with the process."
"You will need that experience when you hire stonemasons and initiate the work. With help from royal funds, of course, although Kinlochan's own revenues will go toward it too."
"Let us hope Kinlochan has some revenues, sire. From what Lady Alainna indicated, it is a poor holding."
"No doubt you will discover that soon enough. Take twenty men for now, and ride out. Leave me enough Bretons to keep an honor guard. Send for more men when you determine what is needed there." King William sipped his wine, relaxed and confident in his orders.
"What of this MacNechtan, who submitted a petition?"
"He claims his loyalty, but if he proves a threat to the lady's clan or to the crown, he must be quelled."
"And if he is not a threat?"
"I am not so foolish as to give him that holding." The king set down his cup. "There is another reason that I want you garrisoned up there. The MacWilliams are still adamant that they have a claim to this throne through their descendence from King Duncan. They may have found support in that part of the Highlands."
Sebastien frowned. "We routed a group of those Celtic rebels over a year ago. Those who did not die on the field, and escaped capture and execution, sailed for Ireland and exile. They would be fools to return."
"'Tis said at least one of them has sailed out of Ireland to raise support in the Highlands for their cause—Ruari Mac William."
"We all did. My source has been in Ireland and the western isles recently, and says this man left Ireland not long ago, and headed for the area around Kinlochan."
"Why? He can find no useful support from a failing clan."
"The MacNechtans may provide that support. Find out if they side with the rebels. They might be harboring this Ruari MacWilliam. If so, they must be dealt with, and harshly."
"Loyal or not, MacNechtan may rebel when he learns that Kinlochan has been granted to a foreigner. Highland Mood fires easily, and does not cool well."
"That hot blood is precisely why Kinlochan cannot remain in Celtic hands alone. A knight of calm temperament and military experience is needed there. I will rely on you."
Sebastien bowed stiffly and walked away without a word. When he reached for the door latch, his hand was so tightly fisted that his knuckles were white.
Chapter 5
Alainna thought she heard the thunder of horses, and turned, lowering the bow she held. She saw only hills and bare trees silhouetted against a vivid sunset sky. Just the wind pummeling the trees, she told herself, and turned back.
In the narrow glen below the slope on which she stood sentry, her kinsmen and their dogs pursued a small herd of red deer. Alainna had climbed higher to keep guard while the men and dogs drove the deer into the bottle-shaped glen. The dogs barked at the deers' heels as they ran along a rapid burn and deeper into the trap. Giric, Lome, and Lulach veered off to stretch a net across the entrance to the glen, which was enclosed by snow-frosted hills.
Now Clan Laren would not go hungry, Alainna thought with relief. The deer herd was large enough that a few stags and hinds could be cut out of it, allowing the hunters to spare the majority, along with mothers and fawns. MacNechtan raids had left her clan few cattle and sheep to slaughter for winter meat. Venison carcasses, salted and stored, would help to feed her people through the winter months.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] Page 5