Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01]

by The Stone Maiden

  A moment later, too soon, she pulled back. "You did not touch the stone for your answer," she said.

  He grazed his fingers over her hair in a cherishing gesture. His heart thumped oddly. He settled her plaid over the crown of her head against the snowfall.

  "I did not mean to ask the stone," he said. "I asked you."

  He smiled at her arid although he wanted to pull her back into his arms, he shouldered her pack instead. "Where is your kinswoman's house? I long for a warm hearth."

  "We do need to get out of this wind," she agreed.

  "I would warm you," he said, "until you were like a fire." She stared at him without answer, but he saw longing flare in her eyes. It flared within him, too, sudden and hot and fierce. He looked away. "But that would not be wise. What we just did was not so wise, either."

  "Must one only be wise?" she asked. "If that was foolish, fools are happier than sages."

  "Fools," he said soberly, "have their own sort of wisdom." He turned. "Is it this way?"

  "It is," she said, and walked ahead along the shoulder of the hill.

  A little while later, the snow had thickened to a white haze. Sebastien saw, along the slope ahead of them, a stone house with a thatched roof, protected from the wind by the lee of the hill. A spiral of smoke curled out of the roof and an orange glow lightened one of the two windows to either side of the door.

  A goat ambled toward them, stood staring with unblinking eyes, then wandered away. The door of the house opened, revealing the tall, slender silhouette of a woman.

  "Alainna? Is it you?" The woman stepped out. The goat slipped past her through the open doorway.

  "Esa!" Alainna ran forward. Sebastien hung back while they embraced. Then Esa turned and smiled at him, and he was, for an instant, struck dumb.

  She had a startling beauty. Her smoothly knotted dark hair was threaded with silver, her frame tall and thin, clothed in a simple gown of russet wool and a blue plaid arisaid. She moved like a swan on water. Her face was exquisitely modeled, with rare, perfect symmetry, her smile was charming, and her thick-lashed brown eyes were warm and bright.

  He saw all of that in an instant. He saw, too, kindness and sorrow in her magnificent eyes, tinted with shadows, fragility in the slender curve of her throat, and determination in her narrow, straight shoulders. He liked Esa immediately, and he understood why the men of Kinlochan seemed terrified of her and in love with her all at once.

  He took her hand. "Dame Esa," he said, bending over her slim fingers. "I am honored to meet you."

  She bowed her head graciously. "Sir, it is my pleasure to welcome you to my home." Her voice was low and mellow.

  "Esa MacLaren, this is Sebastien le Bret," Alainna said.

  He glanced at Alainna. Her vibrant coloring was cream and fire beside Esa's cool, dark elegance. A sudden, small shock thrilled through him. Esa was a stunning and perfect beauty, but Alainna was the flame in the center of his being.

  He smiled then, his gaze only for her. The snow drifted down around them, but he hardly felt the cold.

  "Come in," Esa said, opening the door. "I can offer you hot porridge and a warm hearth, and a sleeping pallet tonight, for the snow is getting thicker. But I hope you have not come all the way up here to ask me to go to Kinlochan with you."

  Alainna went into the little house with Esa and stood in the dim interior. She urged the goat through the doorway and looked at Sebastien. "Will you lead her around to the side of the house? There is a turf block there for her to feed on. And take the sheep with you as well." She urged a fat sheep outside after the goat, and gave Sebastien a beautiful smile.

  Sighing, he did his best to shoo the animals toward the other side of the house. A tiny hillock had been built against the stone wall, where grasses and heather grew, ragged and winter-brown The sheep took to its meal immediately, but the goat trained its strange golden gaze on Sebastien and followed him in a circle.

  He stepped around it and went back to the house. As he ducked his head to cross the threshold, he saw the women embracing each other. Alainna was whispering something to her kinswoman. He heard Esa gasp and clutch Alainna's arms.

  Then Esa drew back, her eyes sheened with tears. "We will return to Kinlochan at first light," she said firmly.

  Chapter 18

  The fire flared, and sparks floated like faery lanterns. Around it, the little room spun. Alainna blinked and watched as the earthen floor and low rafters seemed to tilt, along with the table, the benches, and the loom. She wished she had not finished the heather ale so quickly after supper.

  Beyond the fire's glow, Esa and Sebastien stood beside the huge loom that dominated the center of the single chamber. The reds and deep greens in the weaving stretched there shone rich in the firelight. All the colors around her seemed saturated and luminous. Sebastien's hair, she thought, was like molten gold, his eyes like silver. Just like the golden warrior in her dream, she told herself... but he did not want to be that for her.

  She sighed as she remembered the feel of his arms about her, the taste of his lips on hers. She watched as he spoke with Esa, but the room only tilted more. She put a steadying hand on the floor beside the pallet upon which she sat.

  "It is just as well the snow storm kept us here," Sebastien said quietly, glancing at Esa. "Alainna looks ready to fall asleep. She would never have made it back to Kinlochan."

  "I would," Alainna protested, curling up on the floor beside the hearth. The fire was so warm, and the pallet beneath her, two thick plaids layered over a dense mat of heather and straw, felt as comfortable as her own feather-stuffed mattress. She rested her head on her folded arms. "I could walk down those hills faster than you if I had to do it."

  He chuckled. "I am sure you could." He came over and knelt beside her to pull another plaid over her, settling it about her shoulders. "Now rest."

  "Do as he says," Esa told her. "Rest. The night will be long and quiet, with the snow falling so thick out there. If it is not too deep, we can go to Kinlochan tomorrow. We will have to bring the goat and the ewe. I will not leave them here."

  Alainna yawned and snuggled down, and Sebastien reached out to brush strands of hair away from her brow. "Sleep," he said.

  She closed her eyes under the caress of his fingers. His hand rested on her shoulder briefly, then he stood. She heard him murmuring with Esa again.

  "I notice that you wear a plaid of my own weaving," Esa said. "But you do not wear it as a breacan."

  "I am not a Highland man," he murmured.

  "You remind me of one. You are much like my own Ruari Mor."

  Alainna propped her head on her bent arm and watched, knowing that Esa would never reveal Ruari's secret. In the hours since Esa had learned about Ruari, her natural beauty had deepened to radiant, and the shadows had left her face.

  "I have heard that your husband was a great warrior."

  "A great man," Esa said. "Brave and kind. Handsome and strong. You are fair, and he... was black-haired and blue-eyed. But you make me think of him." She considered Sebastien for a moment. "It is the quality of gentleness beneath great strength, I think. Strength of heart as well as of body. Not every man has that, and only the best have it so strong in them that it shines like a vein of gold in solid rock."

  Sebastien inclined his head. "I thank you for such a fine compliment. But if there is any vein of gold in me, it only shines because of the reflected light of two such beautiful women." He smiled, a sparkle dancing in his eyes as he looked first at Alainna, then at Esa.

  Esa laughed with delight. "Indeed, you are very much like my Ruari," she said. "If you two knew each other, you would be fast and loyal friends."

  Sebastien said nothing, but his gaze slid toward Alainna. She watched him steadily, and her heart fluttered to see him look to her so naturally, so intimately.

  She rested, listening as they talked, their laughter soft and genuine, their friendship forming and strengthening. She felt a small pang of jealousy, knowing that Sebastien had f
allen under Esa's spell, as did most men who gazed upon her beauty, and discovered her warm and wonderful soul.

  Yet she could not envy the attention Sebastien gave to Esa. Her kinswoman had a fine, stubborn spirit, and was not afflicted by pride, which Alainna knew was her own shortcoming. Esa had given her heart to Ruari, and thinking him gone, had retreated into solitude. The love between them was rare and beautiful, and Alainna felt tears spring to her eyes as she thought of that joy restored to them.

  "Look," she heard Esa say. "Alainna has fallen asleep by the fire. I meant to share my bed with her, and to give you that hearthside pallet. But we cannot wake her to move her now."

  "I can lie down in any corner."

  "Rest beside Alainna, close to the hearth," Esa said. Alainna opened her eyes quickly in surprise. "You two will be handfasted soon," Esa went on. "In our custom, promised couples often rest together, even share the same bed, when the girl is swaddled in blankets, as Alainna is now."

  "It is not—" Sebastien began.

  "It is good for you to be alone and to be close before you are joined in marriage," Esa said.

  "That is not the way of it," Sebastien said.

  "Is it not?" Esa asked gently. "I have seen the way you look at each other."

  Alainna's heart thumped hard as she waited, eyes now closed. Sebastien's reply must have been wordless. Next she heard Esa's footsteps as she crossed the room.

  "Good night to you, then," she said. Alainna heard the sliding sound of the iron rings on the curtain that closed off her bed from the room.

  Alainna waited, motionless. She heard Sebastien stir, heard the thump of his boots as he took them off. Then he knelt beside her and stretched out as she lay on her side facing the hearth.

  She kept still as he shifted and pulled a plaid over himself. His breathing was soft and steady, and his hand curled close to her back, bridging the narrow space between them.

  The fire crackled, the wind whirled, their breaths fell into a rhythm. His quiet strength wrapped around her like a mantle, but she could not sleep. Her awareness of him was too keen. The handspan space between them felt so palpable that she could have dipped into it like a flowing stream.

  After a while, his hand shifted. She felt his fingers glide up her backbone, down again. Her heart pounded hard, and small shivers cascaded through her. This was not the effect of the ale, she knew. Only his touch could stir her like this. She ached to turn into his arms, but lay still, uncertain.

  His fingers glided over the mass of her hair, caught back with a thong tie. Then his gentle caress stopped, and his hand rested again at her back.

  She tried to rest, but sleep eluded her. Growing uncomfortable on her side, she shifted to her back, turned her head, and opened her eyes.

  He watched her, his face close to hers. Firelight illuminated the lean structure of his face, turned his eyes silver. She gazed at him, her breath quickening.

  His fingertip touched her chin, and he leaned toward her. She tilted her face as he kissed her, quiet and slow. His unshaven beard felt rough, but his mouth was silken on hers.

  The kiss seeped into her blood like heated wine, spilling throughout her body. She drank in his lingering kiss, and felt herself open like a flower, heart and body and soul.

  His fingers brushed her cheek and trailed down her neck and shoulder to settle upon the upper swell of her breast. She lay still, though her heart beat like a storm. If she moved, if she shifted, she feared that this beautiful moment would end.

  Tilting her head to accept his deepening kiss, she opened her mouth to his exploring, gentle tongue, felt his fingers drift over her breast. Delicate shivers slipped through her, and she arched eloquently into his palm, giving him her silent assent.

  His hand soothed over her breast, shaping the pearl, finding the other, sending such exquisite sensations through her body that she gasped low. He kissed her harder, deeper now. His hand glided down her abdomen, moving over the curve of her hip to the top of her thigh. Her heart jumped, her breath caught.

  She shifted, hungry for more, quickly aroused by the power of his languid but deliberate touches. Her body thundered for him.

  She slid her fingers through his thick, silky hair and glided her hand downward. His body was hard and warm beneath his tunic. She traced over the firm curves of his back, his flat hip, the strong line of his muscled thigh.

  He wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer until her abdomen pressed against his. The hard power of his arousal was evident, and she found herself neither surprised nor shocked. Moaning softly, moving against him as he kissed her again, she felt his own breathy groan slip into the recess of her mouth.

  His hand spanned her hips and rolled her against him. She melted within when his lips trailed over her cheek to her ear. She craved deeper touches, deeper kisses, craved the merging of her body with his with a sudden, ravenous hunger. She gasped into his mouth and writhed against him, pleading, her hands sliding over his back.

  He sighed, and separated his lips from hers, rolled his body away from hers. The heated layer of air between them seemed to pulsate. Alainna opened her eyes and met his gaze.

  "Not now," he whispered. "God. Not now." He brushed his hand along her face, and she leaned her cheek into his palm.

  "Why?" she breathed in protest, suddenly certain what she wanted, what she needed.

  "Turn away," he whispered, his hand on her shoulder. He rolled onto his back, raising his forearm to rest it over his eyes.

  She whirled and lay on her side. His words echoed, and she closed her eyes in anguish. She stiffened, hurt by his rejection, her heart and blood pounding.

  After a while, he shifted, wrapping his arm around her as if in silent apology. She stayed rigid, but his embrace was comforting though chaste, his chest firm at her back. Relaxing in spite of herself, yearning for passion to simmer again between them, she soon succumbed to sleep.

  * * *

  The next day, Alainna was the quietest of the three as they journeyed back to Kinlochan. Their descent went far more quickly than the long climb upward, even with a thin blanket of snow on the ground. The sheep and the goat came along with them, guided by calls and firm pushes. Esa was filled with smiles and dazzling charm, and Alainna knew that it was the thought of Ruari that made her beauty so breathtaking and gave her mood such sparkle.

  Sebastien spoke often enough with Esa, although he said little directly to Alainna. She did not join much in their chatter, although she saw the concern in his quick, sober glances. Her heart leaped whenever he touched her—a hand to her arm as they negotiated a rocky slope, a tug to settle her plaid when it slipped down.

  When they at last sat in the warmth of Kinlochan's hall, Alainna watched her kinfolk lavish an affectionate welcome on Esa. They included Sebastien in their family circle for supper, and thanked him repeatedly for helping to bring their kinswoman back into their fold. Alainna smiled and shared their joy, but part of her felt distant and pensive.

  The handfasting would be upon them the next day, she knew. The priest had been invited, venison had been hunted for the feast, Una and the women had worked hard all day to prepare the hall, and Lorne had kept to the isolation of his poet's bed during the day to hone his story skills for the celebration.

  She felt as if she hurtled toward something unpredictable and breathtaking. Handfasting with Sebastien would veer her life in a new, thrilling, passionate direction—or it could lead them both to devastation. She did not know, and she could not express her fears or her hopes to anyone.

  First, before any of that must be faced, there remained a task to accomplish in secrecy for Ruari and Esa.

  * * *

  "Aenghus mac Og, god of love and youthfulness," Lorne said, as he settled in his chair beside the hearth, "fell in love with a maiden one day. And when the god of love succumbs to the spell himself, it is a powerful weaving of souls indeed."

  Alainna leaned forward to murmur a quiet translation as Lome spoke, changing his words into En
glish for the knights who had fallen into the habit of taking seats near her so that they, too, could listen to the evening stories. Robert and Hugo sat to either side of her, and several other knights were nearby.

  Sebastien, she saw, had taken a seat in the shadows once again, a place he seemed to prefer. She glanced at him as she spoke, discovering that his gaze was already upon her, a gray and steady caress. Her cheeks burned in response.

  "Aenghus saw this beautiful maiden in a dream," Lome said, and Alainna echoed him. "She appeared to him again and again, kind and exquisite, sometimes playing for him a harp. Mad with love for her, unable to have her, his longing grew great. He searched for her endlessly. Finally he learned that she was Caer, the daughter of a king, and that she could be found at a certain loch with other maidens. Aenghus hurried there."

  Pausing when Lome did, Alainna glanced at Sebastien. She thought of her own dream of a magical warrior. That man now sat in the shadows, and her heartbeat quickened.

  "When Aenghus arrived at the loch, he saw thrice fifty white swans swimming there. Caer was among them, and her father told Aenghus that she was enchanted. If Aenghus could recognize her, he could have her. He knew her, his love, immediately.

  "Caer was the loveliest of the swans, the purest white, the most graceful. He called to her and she swam toward him. But she could not be his because he was in the shape of a man and she a bird. And so he took the shape of a swan for her.

  "They rose into the air together, linked by a golden chain, and flew side by side to his fortress, where they lived forever in happiness. Every other year they became swans together."

  As Alainna finished her translation, a certain line echoed in her mind.

  And he took the shape of a swan for her.

  She had asked Sebastien to take her form, to become a Celtic warrior with a Highland name. He had refused. Closing her eyes, she wished, wildly, fervently, that she and Sebastien could be like the swans in the story, sharing the same form, together forever.