He lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he looked at the loch. "I wonder if that isle would be a good site for a castle."
She shrugged. "A beautiful setting, but is it practical? You would need a boat to access it unless you built a causeway."
"That can be done. The loch is narrow, and it would provide excellent protection."
"True," she said. "And some ancient clan did build on that island. The ruin is very old, and only houses birds now."
Sebastien nodded as he looked at the island, and planned to investigate it later when a chance arose. He would also sketch out his ideas, for the thought of a castle on an island had great appeal.
As they rode forward, he heard a growling sound, violent and alarming, echo across the meadow. He glanced back at Robert and Giric, both of whom frowned as they turned in their saddles.
"That sounds like a wolf," Giric said.
"More than one," Robert said. "It comes from there—in the woodland across the meadow." A scream, high and shrill, followed the harsh growling. Then a shout, and more growls.
Sebastien glanced at Alainna, who had turned pale as she pivoted to look toward the forest. "Stay here!" he ordered her. He touched his knees to the Arabian, who launched forward in response to skim across the meadow.
Behind him, he heard Robert and Giric thunder in pursuit. A quick glance showed him that Alainna rode behind them. He swore under his breath, but he had not expected her to listen to him.
As he neared the edge of the forest, he could hear the growling sounds and the shouts clearly, even above the pounding of hooves on the snowy meadow. He reined in his mount and entered the thick woven canopy of the bare-limbed trees cautiously, ducking his head beneath a branch. He grasped the hilt of his sword, wishing that he had brought his javelin.
Just ahead, he saw, through the mesh of branches, figures struggling in the blue shadows. The screams and horrible growls continued without abate. He tore off his cloak and dismounted.
Running forward, he cast one quick glance backward to see Robert and Giric close behind him. Alainna, he saw, was still on her garron. He only hoped she had the sense to remain there.
As he ran closer, he saw a man locked in a struggle with a wolf, while a second wolf leaped at him. The man, a Highlander to judge by his belted plaid and bare knees, lashed out with a foot and with a single kick knocked the second wolf senseless. The animal yelped and fell to the ground to lie still.
The first wolf kept a vicious grip on the man's arm. They wrestled together, turning in a horrible dance, the man standing and the gray wolf on its hind legs. Sebastien saw a woman scramble into a tree, boosting a small child above her onto a sturdy branch.
Sebastien spun toward Giric and Robert, several yards behind him. "Your bow!" he shouted, waving a hand in agitation. "Your hunting bow! Give it to me!"
Giric, who was carrying the weapon, ran forward and thrust it toward Sebastien, grabbing arrows from his belt and handing those to him too. Sebastien snatched them and whirled back.
The Highlander still fought with the attacking wolf, and now the second one lurched to its feet. The woman screamed.
Sebastien nocked and balanced the arrow and pulled the string taut in one fluid motion, releasing the bolt to shoot the advancing wolf. It fell to the ground. Sebastien ran forward, Giric and Robert on his heels. He could spare no moment to look toward Alainna.
He realized, coming closer, that he could not shoot the other wolf so easily. The constant twisting and turning of the man and the wolf as they struggled made the shot so treacherous that he feared he would kill the man instead of the wolf.
He stood, legs wide, and aimed, again and again without releasing, dropping the angle of the arrow each time, never seeing a clear shot. The growls and the vicious struggle he watched made him desperate with the need to help. The Highlander had clearly put himself in danger to save the woman and the child, who clung together up in the tree.
Only seconds passed while he stood there, but time was far too precious to attempt to wait. He handed the bow to Giric and drew his sword, running forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Giric pull the bow taut and train it, and saw Robert draw a short dagger to follow, ready to guard.
Drawing his sword free, Sebastien ran closer and then stood, balancing lightly from one foot to the other, his sword raised. As the man and wolf turned again, Sebastien waved the long blade in the air, prepared to strike as the man and wolf circled.
As soon as he saw the wolf's long muscular back turn toward him, he sliced sideways with vicious power and speed, taking the animal down within the instant. The wolf slumped to the ground, losing its grip on the man's arm.
For a moment, Sebastien and the Highlander stared at each other. The man was coated in blood. The torn, light-colored plaid wrapped around his arm as a flimsy protection was saturated with red. He stood, breathing heavily, his face rugged and handsome though aging, his eyes striking blue beneath dark brows, his dark hair streaked with silver. He locked his gaze with Sebastien's. Then he glanced beyond him toward the others.
With a quick nod of gratitude to Sebastien, he turned and ran into the dusky shadows of the forest.
Chapter 13
Alainna cried out and ran forward, hiking her skirt high enough to clear her booted stride as she crashed through the undergrowth and shoved slender branches out of her way.
Ahead of her, the struggle between the man and the wolf had ended. From a distance, she had seen Sebastien strike and kill one wolf, and she had watched in terror as he had run even closer, as if he had no fear for his own life, to strike the other down at close range with his sword.
She halted and watched as the Highlander faced Sebastien over the body of the dead wolf. Her heart, slamming in her chest, nearly stopped in that moment.
Ruari MacWilliam looked at Sebastien, then glanced over at her. Their gazes touched directly, knowingly.
Then he turned and ran.
Alainna gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, hands shaking. Giric and Robert ran past her in pursuit, their footsteps crunching over snow and bracken.
She was sure the man she had seen was her kinsman Ruari Mor. But Ruari was dead, she reminded herself, killed by the king's men on a battlefield in the south of Scotland, a year past.
Yet she was certain. She would know him anywhere, under any amount of blood and beard. And he had known her. She had seen the awareness of it in his eyes.
Legs quivering, she moved forward. Sebastien wiped his blade clean in the snow and sheathed it, and stepped beneath the tree to assist the woman and child hiding there.
Alainna ran to help. As the woman climbed down to the ground, Alainna recognized her as a friend. Both women cried out and wrapped in an embrace.
"Lileas," Alainna gasped. "Oh, Lileas! You are safe now!" She looked up. "Is it Eoghan in the tree? Ach, lad, come down! The knight will catch you! Come down, now!"
"Eoghan," Sebastien repeated, stretching up to grasp the boy by the waist. "Come down to me. There you are," he said pleasantly as he took the child's slight weight into his arms.
He turned with the dark-haired child balanced easily in his arms and looked at Lileas, smiling. Eoghan, who Alainna knew was three years old, watched the knight and his mother with wide brown eyes, remarkably calm.
"Thank you," Lileas said in Gaelic. She looked at Alainna uncertainly. "Alainna? Did this knight come with you?"
"This is Sir Sebastien le Bret, who has come to Kinlochan with the king's men," she answered. "Sebastien, this is Lileas, daughter of Father Padruig, our parish priest. And her son, Eoghan."
He covered his surprise admirably well, Alainna saw, certain he had not often met the daughter and grandson of a priest. He blinked once and smiled immediately, inclining his head to Lileas in a courteous greeting.
"We are so grateful to you," Lileas said. She held out her arms for her son, who shook his head and clasped his arms around the knight's neck. Sebastien seemed at ease holding the child. Conversin
g with him quietly, he distracted him from the sight of the slain wolves and bloody snow as he carried him toward the outer edge of the forest, where the horses waited.
Alainna followed, her arm around Lileas, who pushed a trembling hand over her dark red hair. She shivered with cold, and Alainna stopped to take off her plaid arisaid and wrap it over Lileas's thin shoulders, seeing that the young woman wore no woolen plaid over her brown tunic.
"Eoghan and I were walking home from my father's house, back to our little cottage," Lileas told Alainna breathlessly. Sebastien turned to listen. "I did not mean to be out so late. The wolves appeared and followed us, so silent and menacing...." She shivered again, this time with horror.
"Who was the man with you?" Sebastien asked.
"He was not with us. He came out of the forest to help us. He was suddenly there, thank God. I have never seen him before. He lifted Eoghan into the tree and pushed me up there too, and then faced those wolves as if they were nothing to fear." She looked behind them. "I hope they find him. I do not know why he ran. He is sore wounded, I am sure, though I gave him my arisaid to wrap over his arm as he approached the wolves."
"That likely saved his arm," Sebastien said. He glanced at Alainna, frowning. "Did you know the man?"
She swallowed. "I... I did not see him closely," she said carefully. "The sight of an armored knight is rare here. He may have been frightened and ran for that reason."
Sebastien laughed, curt and quick. "A man who takes on two wolves does not frighten easily." He glanced back. "Ah, Giric and Robert are on their way back."
Alainna turned. "Without the Highlander."
Her foster brother and the knight dashed toward them. "He is gone," Robert said breathlessly. "Vanished. For a man so wounded, it is amazing. Not even a trail of blood to follow."
Sebastien nodded. "A mighty warrior, this man," he said thoughtfully. He looked at Alainna, his gaze clear and keen.
She lifted her chin and returned his gaze, her heart thumping heavily.
"Did you know him?" Sebastien asked Giric.
"I did not see the man well," Giric said. He slid a somber, rapid glance at Alainna. She realized that her foster brother had also recognized the warrior.
"If he was a MacNechtan," Robert said, "that would explain why he ran."
"Now that could be." Sebastien did not sound convinced.
"Lileas, girl, are you hurt?" Giric asked.
"I am fine," she said. "And my son is safe too, thanks to this knight, and to the man who fled."
"Let me take you home," Giric said. He looked at Sebastien. "Robert and I will load the wolves onto one of the horses, and Robert can bring them back to Kinlochan. Then I will escort Lileas and Eoghan to their home. It is not far from here, but it is not on Kinlochan land. Alainna should not come along."
Sebastien nodded agreement. "I will take her back to Kinlochan." While Giric went to fetch his garron and Robert went back to the tree, he turned, the child still in his arms, and walked toward the horses. Alainna and Lileas followed.
Eoghan pointed to Sebastien's horse, quietly grazing on the sparse grasses protruding from the snow. "Is that your horse?"
"It is," Sebastien replied. "Come, I will introduce you. His name is Araby. His mother came from a land where it is hot and sunny. He does not like the cold much," he added.
"I like the cold," Eoghan said. "I like horses. White horses." He grinned.
Sebastien lifted Eoghan up so that the child could touch the horse's long, cream-colored mane and pat the great head while the horse stood passively. Then he vaulted Eoghan into the saddle.
"I will have a horse and a sword," Eoghan announced. "I will be a warrior like my father."
"I am sure he is a fine warrior, and you will be, too," Sebastien said. He walked the horse in a circle while Eoghan beamed, holding on to the reins.
"Come now, your mother is waiting," Sebastien said then. "If you visit Kinlochan, you may sit on Araby's back and ride him around again. Would you like that?"
Eoghan nodded earnestly, and Sebastien handed him into his mother's arms. He bid them farewell, graciously accepting Lileas's thanks. Lileas hugged Alainna and carried Eoghan to join Giric and Robert, who were walking out of the woods.
"You are cold," Sebastien told Alainna sternly, lifting his fur-lined cloak from his saddle and draping its weight over her shoulders. "Take this."
She shivered and nodded her thanks. Sebastien helped her mount her garron, and as he turned to mount his own horse, she glanced furtively toward the forest as if expecting Ruari MacWilliam to appear.
Ruari was far from there by now, she was certain. She hoped he would go to the safety of his wife's house in the hills. Stifling a little gasp, she wondered if he had already been there, and if that was why Esa refused to come out of the hills to stay at Kinlochan.
Sebastien circled his horse to walk in tandem with hers. She smiled at him despite her racing, anxious thoughts.
"You were courageous back there," she said. He shrugged and murmured a dismissal. "That was a mighty deed," she insisted. "Giric will report it to my kinfolk, and Lorne will be delighted. He is already composing a poem about you and the boar. Now he will need to add more verses. And I am so grateful to you for acting so quickly and saving Father Padruig's daughter and his grandson. You will hear many thanks for this."
She babbled a little, she knew, but she wanted to keep her thoughts, and her glance, from skipping back toward the forest.
"I reached them first, that is all," he said. "Giric would have done the same, or Robert, or anyone else with the skill and the weapons. The brave man was that mysterious Gael who ran off before we could thank him."
She kept her profile to him. "I hope he is not badly hurt."
"Let us hope he has kin nearby who can tend to his wounds," he murmured, sliding a glance at her. She merely nodded and kept silent. "Eoghan is a fine boy," he commented after a moment.
"He likes horses and warriors, as small boys will do," she said. "You were patient with him."
"A pleasure. His grandfather is the priest?"
"Father Padruig and his wife have three daughters. Highland priests who are part of the Celtic Church, rather than the Church of Rome, often marry and raise families."
"I have heard that. I know Rome condemns the practice, but Highlanders do not seem bothered by that." He glanced at her. "Is Eoghan's father alive, or was he one of those lost fighting for Clan Laren?"
She hesitated. "His father is Cormac MacNechtan."
"Cormac!" Sebastien stared at her. "I thought he was not wed—he petitioned for your hand."
"A few years ago he and Lileas were handfasted," she said.
"Handfasted?" he said. "Like marriage?"
She nodded. "A step between betrothal and marriage, with the vows of the one and the privileges of the other. The couple are allowed to dissolve the union after a year and a day if they are not happy. Most go on to take vows before a priest."
"Lileas and Cormac did not have their vows witnessed?"
"She lived with Cormac at Turroch, but their handfasting did not last the year. She gave birth to Eoghan a few months after she returned to her father's house. Now she and the boy live in a house of their own, which Cormac provided for them. He acknowledges the child, as he should."
"Then he has some honor to him," Sebastien drawled.
She shrugged. "You were kind to the child. I hope knowing the name of his father will not change your mind."
"I would not visit the sins of the father upon the child," he replied. The wind caught the thickness of his hair as he looked up at the mountains. "He reminds me of someone."
"Eoghan does resemble his father."
"He reminds me of my own son," he said.
She gaped at him. "Your son?" The day had enough shocks in it already, she thought in a daze; first the wolves, then Ruari, now this. She continued to stare. "Your son?"
He gave her a slow smile, and she saw pride and pleasure in it. "He is a
little older than Eoghan. I am widowed."
"You never told me," she said.
"You never asked." He echoed her earlier words. "This marriage came quickly upon us both. There are details we do not know about each other." He paused. "If you have anything to tell me, now may be the time to do it."
"I have no husband," she glowered. "Nor children."
"That is good to know," he said mildly.
"When were you married?" she asked, breathless suddenly, her heart thumping at the thought of him with an earlier wife—no doubt one he had wed from choice. Unbidden, the memory of their shared kiss made her cheeks burn.
"About six years ago. Over three years have passed since she died." He fisted a white-knuckled hand on his thigh as he rode. The silent poignancy tugged at her heart.
"And the child? Where is he now?"
"In Brittany. He is just five. Conan is his name, after my leige lord, the duke of Brittany."
She watched him, astonished and curious. A deep well of feeling and experience existed within him, she realized. He had shared only the surface of that with her, but the glimpses beneath were tantalizing. He was a father, had been a husband, had grown up an orphan child in a monastery for foundlings. No wonder he had shown such patience and kindness to Eoghan.
"Will you tell me about him?"
Sebastien paused. "He is clever and strong, blond-headed like me, with his mother's brown eyes. He is... like sunshine." The subtle glow in his smile pulled at Alainna's heart to watch. "I placed him with friends, monks, in a monastery in Brittany, the place where I lived as a small child. I thought it best."
"He is safe and well-kept, I am sure, while you are away."
He frowned. "Conan is no longer there. A fire destroyed much of the complex, and they were all forced to leave. I learned about it just before I was sent here." He tensed his jaw. "I do not know where he is now."
"Oh, Sebastien," she whispered. She reached out to touch his steel mesh sleeve. "That is why you are so determined to go back."
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] Page 14