Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01]

by The Stone Maiden

  He noticed as he spoke that the knights had been drawn into lively conversations with some of the Highlanders, while Giric and Lorne, who spoke both Gaelic and English, helped them to understand one another.

  "If only these few remain, your clan has lost much to this feud," he remarked.

  "Too many. Sons and brothers and fathers killed in battle, daughters lost to illness or childbirth, or who have left to remarry. Children dead from sickness, or taken away by mothers seeking better lives." She glanced down. "I lost my two brothers two years ago, and my father six months ago."

  In the angle of her bowed head, Sebastien glimpsed the vulnerability she tried to hide. He felt an urge to touch her shoulder to offer comfort. "I am sorry," he murmured.

  She stared toward the hearth. "I am the last of the chief's blood." He saw tears shine in her eyes. She blinked them away. "I am the youngest of the bloodline of the original father of Clan Laren, the father of the Stone Maiden."

  "The Stone Maiden?"

  "Tomorrow you will meet her. Tonight there have been enough sad stories." She smiled, a wistful curve. "I want to ask you to read the king's letter."

  "Certes, but not here. We need a more private place."

  "Lorne is about to begin a story. No one will notice if we leave." She stood, and Sebastien did too.

  "I was going to ask you to read the letter tomorrow," she said, looking up at him in the shadows. "I wanted one more night of peace, one more night as the leader of my clan before our future is taken from us."

  He watched her. "What changed your mind?"

  "Your eyes," she said. "It was the kindness in your eyes. It made me feel as if I could bear hearing the king's message tonight, after all. And I will have to find the courage to face it sooner or later. Let us go outside and talk." She gave him a rueful smile and turned toward the doorway, picking up a pair of shoes from the floor as she left.

  A large blue-gray deerhound rose from a spot near the fire and padded after her. Silhouetted in the doorway, she touched the tall dog's head and stepped outside.

  Sebastien admired her exit, which had the grace and dignity of a queen out of legend. Then he fetched his cloak, and followed quietly through the shadows.

  Chapter 7

  Cold night air frosted Alainna's breath as she crossed the yard with Finan beside her, drawing her plaid over her head and shoulders against the chill. Hearing the knight's steps behind her, she stole a glance at Sebastien le Bret.

  He had picked up his dark blue cloak as they left the hall, and its folds swirled around his legs as he walked beside her. He matched the darkness somehow, his cloak like midnight, his hair gleaming in the starlight. That stirred the memory of her magical dream of the faery warrior, and she shivered, then rushed ahead.

  She walked toward the timber palisade that surrounded the bailey. An earthen incline ringed the inner wall, forming a grass-covered wallwalk. She climbed the slope to its flat top to peer over the spiked ends of the palisade.

  Finan stood beside her, a simple, devoted soul, a friend. She rested her hand on his tufted head and looked out over the wall. The loch gleamed dark and sparkling beneath the shadowed mountains. Overhead, the moon shone, a slim curve in a lavender sky.

  "'Tis not yet dark, though 'tis late." Sebastien joined her beside the palisade. Although she had to lift on her toes to see a wide view, he simply gazed out.

  "The light will stay like this for hours, not fully dark, especially in the spring and summer months."

  "'Tis a peaceful sight."

  "But it is not a peaceful land." She turned to him. "Have you come to help us regain peace? Or to bring more strife?"

  "I am here as your champion, not as your conqueror."

  "You are not the champion I wanted."

  "I know," he said quietly. He reached into the leather pouch on his belt and removed a folded parchment, which he offered to her. "The king's letter."

  "Be his voice as well as his sword arm. I cannot read."

  "Then break the seal yourself, for the king ordered it delivered to you alone."

  She took the parchment and slipped a finger between the two dangling strings fused by the seal. Opening the page, she saw neat writing, indecipherable to her. She handed it back to him.

  "Can you understand Latin, when spoken?" he asked.

  "I can," she said. "Read." Although she stared calmly at the loch and the sky, she clenched her hands in front of her. She guessed what he might say, and dreaded hearing it.

  "'William, by God's grace king of Scotland,'" he read in Latin, "'to Lady Alainna of Kinlochan, greetings.'"

  His Latin was that of a monk, she thought as he continued, fluid and precise, an art in itself. She closed her eyes and listened. He had the voice of a bard, clear and rich, soothing, although the words he spoke sundered.

  "'In the matter of the inheritance of Kinlochan and the welfare of its heiress and subtenants,'" he read, "'be it known to all our subjects that we declare, as is our right, that the said property of Kinlochan, fortress and environs, be given into the care and service of Sir Sebastien le Bret as baron and—'"

  Alainna sucked in a breath. "So it is you!"

  "Listen to the rest," he said brusquely.

  "Say it out plainly, then, instead of in clerkish Latin."

  He held out the parchment to her. "Very well. You may want to study this later, or have someone do that for you."

  "None of us can read but the priest. Go on."

  He drew in a long breath. "Alainna of Kinlochan is to be given in marriage to Sir Sebastien le Bret. There is to be a nuptial contract between them, according to the king's wishes as stated in this writ." He paused and glanced at her.

  "Marriage," she repeated softly.

  " Aye," he answered. She heard gentleness in his voice. It did not matter if he were kind or cruel, she told herself. He was not the one her clan needed. He was a Norman. The king had not considered her clan's request.

  She stared at the loch, her head balanced high on her neck. Her heart beat hard, her limbs shook, her thoughts whirled. The hope and promise of a Celtic warrior to defend her clan and continue their bloodline had been snatched away.

  "You told me that you would not come to the Highlands," she said in a wooden tone. "You said that you had no interest in this land, or in a Scottish wife."

  He watched her steadily. "Neither of us has a choice in this."

  "You do."

  "I am obligated by the pledge of my signed contract of knight service to the king. And I owe a debt of gratitude to William of Scotland. To repay that faith, I accepted the responsibility, and the grant."

  "And the wife," she snapped.

  "And you," he agreed.

  She tipped her head downward. "Go on. Tell me what more is in the writ."

  "I have been instructed to raise a stone castle here."

  "A castle!" she burst out Her hands trembled so much that she joined them into a fisted ball.

  "We can discuss the details later, when you feel calmer."

  "I am as calm as stone," she said curtly. "What else does the king declare?"

  "Minor issues of land measurement, tenants, knight service as my relief fee for the land, and so on. And he directed me to meet with Cormac MacNechtan to judge the man's loyalty to the crown."

  "Cormac is a thief and a liar and a murderer. Take that word to the king."

  "I am to determine if he has leanings toward rebellion. The king is concerned about this feud between your clans. MacNechtan petitioned the king with a promise of support and a pledge of loyalty if he might have your hand and your property. King William is distrustful of it, as am I."

  "At last, a matter we can agree on."

  "If he is determined to be disloyal, he is to be stopped by force of arms. That should suit you, at least."

  "It does," she said. Finan nosed under her hand, standing between her and the knight. "Tell me," she said. "How can the king give you this property when I paid the relief fee for it? Was the ston
e cross not enough? He accepted the token. It was all I had to give. I thought the inheritance was secure."

  "He could have granted me the land without the marriage," Sebastien said. "He honors the payment of your token by providing you a husband and a protector, as you require."

  "This is not what I require!"

  "Your people need protection that you cannot provide," he said, a little sharply. "Is it so?"

  She looked down and nodded. "It is so."

  "The king is your guardian, since you are an unmarried heiress." He paused, and again she nodded, knowing that what he said was true. "The king owns Scottish land, not the people, no matter their rank. He portions it out as he sees fit. Holdings are traditionally passed down in families, but in this case, the king must decide who will best care for the demesne."

  "In the crown's interest," she amended.

  He inclined his head. "That may be. But all of this is properly done by law and by obligation. There is naught you can do—naught I can do—but comply."

  She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by all that he had told her. She drew a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure, to master her temper and her fears.

  "I expect that you will settle the land with Norman knights, and toss Clan Laren out into the cold. I have heard that has been done by other Normans. Your reputation is not the best."

  "My own reputation is impeccable, I believe," he said. "I have no plans to toss anyone out into the cold." Again that calm tone. If he had been sharp with her, if he had displayed his greed, she would have a reason to be angry with him. She wanted desperately to be furious with him, and with the king—and most of all with herself for appealing to the king for royal mercy.

  She caught back a sob as despair struck her, swift and keen. Fighting tears, she stood still and silent. The knight watched her, leaning a shoulder against the rampart, his cloak billowing in the breeze.

  "I trusted the king to aid a Celtic clan."

  "He must see to the welfare of Scotland above all." Terse words, but not unkindly said. "Surely you realized that when you came to him for help."

  She shook her head as she stared at the mountains. "I thought only of my people," she said. "I was a fool to think no further. I am no leader to them, to bring this upon them."

  For a moment, she felt as if she could not breathe, as if her heart grew impossibly heavy within her. She stood motionless, her face and hands chilled from the wind. Strands of her hair slipped free from the confines of the plaid around her shoulders and looped out in the breeze.

  Across the loch beneath the violet sky, the Stone Maiden stood pale and eternal, a monument to strength and tragedy. The Maiden had given hope and beneficence to her clan. Now all seemed finally, utterly lost.

  Finan nuzzled at her hand. She lifted it away, not wanting to touch or be touched. Comfort could break her. She needed to stay strong. She felt dull and cold within, as if she too were formed of granite, the fire of her anger smothered by sadness.

  "Lady Alainna," the knight said. He reached out a hand and cupped her shoulder. "I know this news is not welcome to you. There are other issues to discuss, but—"

  She stepped away from his warm touch. "I cannot listen to any more from you just now," she said. If he spoke again in that low, mellifluous bard's voice, if he touched her—dear God, if he touched her, she would crack open like a flawed stone.

  Stifling a cry, she ran past him and headed down the earthen slope with the dog behind her. She needed to go where she could be alone, where she could find solace. Reaching the gate, she waited impatiently while Donal, who had returned to his post, opened the gate after Alainna told him that she wanted to visit the Maiden for a special blessing, promising to return shortly.

  Donal slid the heavy beam aside in its iron brackets. She stepped through the gateway with Finan beside her, and took the path that led around the loch toward the Stone Maiden.

  * * *

  Sebastien sighed, watching. The girl should not run about the hills at night unescorted, prey for wolves and MacNechtans. He strode forward, amazed that her elder kinsman let her go. He touched a hand to the hilt of the dagger sheathed in his belt, deciding it would have to be enough to ward off trouble if any were met. Then he walked quickly toward the gate, glancing around the starlit yard as he went.

  The bailey was spacious, its wide circular shape defined by the timber palisade, its center dominated by a high wooden tower. Smaller buildings huddled against the inner walls: sheds, stables, kitchen and brewhouse, one or two other buildings whose function he could not identify. Only the kitchen, built of stone where the others were of timber or wattle and daub, glowed with a lighted hearth. A woman's shadow crossed the open doorway as she tended to some chores. Elsewhere, a cow lowed from a pen in the corner, along with quiet snorts from the horses in the stables.

  The tower soared above all, three stories high on stout timber posts. A few narrow windows cut in the wooden walls blinked like sleepy golden eyes. Music and laughter floated out from the second story, where the long hall was located. Nearly everyone present at Kinlochan would be inside, either in the main hall above the storage chambers, or in the sleeping chambers on the third and uppermost floor.

  "And your business, Norman?" the guard at the gate asked.

  "To protect your clan chief," he answered bluntly. "Do you want to follow her yourself, or would you rather I do it?"

  "Your legs are younger than mine. You go. I will shout a warning if any demons be about. But the Stone Maiden protects our own Maiden of Kinlochan."

  Sebastien cast him a puzzled look at the odd remark, and stepped through the gate. The air outside was cool and unconfined and moist from the loch. Overhead, the night sky deepened to indigo.

  He narrowed his eyes and scanned the countryside, seeking a flitting shadow or the bark of the deerhound. Then he glimpsed the girl and her dog running through the high grass, already on the opposite shore of the loch.

  He headed cautiously down the rocky slope, through the shadows of the unfamiliar landscape. Once on level turf, he struck out with a long, sure stride.

  Alainna ran toward the tall stone that jutted into the sky on a bank of the loch. She disappeared into its shadow.

  Sebastien slowed his step. If she needed time to herself, he did not want to disturb her. But he would not leave her alone out here, hound or none.

  He could not lag discreetly, for the dog barked and ran toward him, panting in a friendly manner, already familiar with him. He nosed at Sebastien and then shoved his huge head under the man's outstretched hand.

  "Ho, you ugly brute," Sebastien murmured affectionately. "Ready to protect your mistress, eh? I am no threat to her, though she thinks I am. Good lad." He strode ahead, the dog loping beside him.

  The stone loomed large as he came closer, a tall pillar of granite, like a serene giantess overlooking the loch. He glanced up as he walked. Even in the darkness he could see the graceful linear carvings that marked the front and back surfaces.

  Alainna stepped out of the shadow of the stone like a wraith. The dog ran toward her, circled beside her, then ran back toward Sebastien, covering the lessening distance between them, back and forth.

  "Finan," she said. "Here." The dog circled toward her and ran back to Sebastien. "Finan!"

  Sebastien reached out to ruffle the dog's head. Finan licked his hand and ran back toward Alainna, accepted a pat from her, and ran back again, his tail floppy and eager.

  Alainna walked toward them. "I do not understand it," she said. "He treats you as if you were one of my own kinsmen, though he hardly knows you. Finan, here!"

  The dog turned toward her, tongue lolling, and turned back to Sebastien for another vigorous rub on his head. "He did growl quite a bit when my men and I first came to Kinlochan," Sebastien said. "He seems used to my presence now."

  "He has seen Cormac MacNechtan many times, but he acts as if Cormac is the devil's spawn each time."

  "Ah, your Finan is a good judge of men, t
hen."

  "Not always," she observed. "He would defend me to the death if I needed it, but most of the time he seems to have very little wit. Finan Mor Here!"

  Sebastien urged the dog back toward her. "He's confused," he said. "He wonders why we wander about in the dark when we could be inside"—he bent as the dog returned to him, and rubbed his head—"lying beside a great fire, sleeping while the humans listen to stories, eh, my lad. There you go, back to your lady."

  Alainna patted the dog's head. Sebastien came close. "He is devoted to you, that hound," he said mildly. "See how he looks at you, so eager to please. He will do whatever you want of him. 'Tis a gift to inspire such devotion in a creature."

  "Ach, there is nothing to it. A pat on the head makes him silly with delight." She stroked the dog's head and glanced at Sebastien. "You are among the few who know Finan's secret now."

  He tilted his head. "Secret?"

  "Finan Mor is more than a fierce hunting hound," she said. "He is a fool for cuddling."

  "Ah." Sebastien laughed. Alainna smiled. His heart gave an odd lurch. "The fiercest creatures might be rendered gentle by the hand of such a lady," he murmured.

  She turned away without answer and went to the pillar stone. Finan bounded beside her, then looped back toward Sebastien.

  Sebastien glanced up at the stone, examining it in the shadows. It stood nearly twice as tall as he was and twice as wide, and was covered, front and back, with strangely beautiful incised designs.

  "We have standing stones in Brittany," he said. "Out in fields like this, or beside streams. Thousands of them, old as the hills. Some are immense, and some have symbols carved on them, and some have stories connected to them of sacrifice, or magic, or miracles."

  She said nothing, but he sensed that she listened closely.

  "The stones were put there by ancient Bretons," he said.

  "A Celtic people, they were. Our language is not unlike yours."

  "Are you descended from a Celtic bloodline?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "It could be. Tell me about this stone."

  She flattened her palm against the granite. "This is our Stone Maiden, who has watched over Clan Laren for generations. The Maiden was a daughter of Clan Laren, long ago." She drew her hand over the stone as if she soothed a friend. "But her magic, some say, endures no more. It may be that she is... weary. She has been trapped inside this stone for a very long time."