Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01]

by The Stone Maiden

  "The queen of winter rules now, while Aenghus mac Og, the golden one, sleeps. Soon he will awaken, and he and Brighid will bring the springtime back, and we will have sunshine and greenness once again."

  "Ah, is that what we wait for," he murmured. "Spring."

  She looked out over the whiteness the snowfall that lazily filled the air. "I always think of snow as one of the time-between-times," she said. "There is magic in such times, the stories tell us. Mist, fog, dawn, twilight... when the world is neither one, nor the other. Snow and ice seem that way to me, the world gone white and still and beautiful, conjured out of crystals and clouds."

  He tipped his head to look down at her. "It is a magical time, in a way. Life is frozen. Time can seem frozen too."

  She nodded. The distant bell pealed again, and Sebastien lifted his head to listen, his profile strong and handsome.

  "I am sorry about your men," she said.

  "I know," he said. "I should be there, helping the others."

  "You were there this morning," she said. "And I asked you to ride back with me and my kinswomen, which you kindly did."

  He smiled ruefully. "You and Una sought an excuse to bring the invalid back home."

  Home. The word echoed between them silently.

  "We did," she agreed. "You should not be doing the work of digging now, and risk opening your stitches."

  He nodded. "Lome told me that you have been making stones for the graves. Thank you."

  She nodded. "I am glad to be able to do something for your friends. Our friends," she added quietly. "Come, I will show you." She stepped into the workshop, and he entered too. Finan rushed past them to claim the warmest spot by the brazier, and Alainna shut the door and turned.

  He went to the workbench and she followed. "I used some small slabs of sandstone." She pointed toward one of the stones. "I incised the lines rather than carved them in relief. It is a faster method, and can make a handsome image."

  Sebastien nodded as she spoke. The outlined crosses were filled with a pattern of interlaced lines. "These require careful effort, I am sure, yet you have done four of the five already."

  "Sandstone is soft enough to carve rapidly, but it does not take fine detail well, so I used a simpler zigzagged key design. I usually do not like to work with sandstone."

  He lifted a brow. "Because you make tomb sculptures in it?"

  "That," she admitted, "and because it is soft and gritty and raises a choking dust that makes me cough. And it wears my tools out too quickly. Lulach grumbles when he has to sharpen them too often."

  "You made these quickly. You have been working hard."

  She sat on the stool and picked up a v-shaped chisel and a wooden mallet. "It needed to be done." She moved the tools in a rhythm, making channels in the stone, which fell away like clay beneath her tools. The light tapping sound filled the air for several moments.

  "That blue hound of yours sleeps deeper than any hound I have ever seen," Sebastien commented, lifting a brow to glance at Finan, who nestled, eyes closed, beside the brazier. "The noise does not disturb him at all."

  "He is used to it, and nothing can stir him awake if he wants to sleep," she said. "He is getting older, too. He seems to sleep more often and more deeply lately." She sighed, thinking that he was yet another one of those she loved who was growing older.

  Sebastien watched her. "You look tired. You are thinner."

  She gazed at the shadows in his face, at the new gauntness that revealed the classic balance of the bones beneath his skin. "So are you."

  He reached out to brush at her cheek with a thumb, taking away some stone dust. "There are dark circles under your eyes."

  She half smiled. "You sound like Una. Next you will want to know when last I ate, when last I slept, and for how long."

  "Well," he said. "Tell me." She grimaced, and he smiled. "One of the monks at the monastery of Saint-Sebastien would peer into our faces and comment on our pale cheeks or red noses, and tell us to eat more or to get more sleep. He meant well, and cared about us. I suppose I learned it from him. I mean well. I care about you," he added softly.

  She ducked her head over her work. A sneeze began high in her nose. She released it into her hand. "The stone is making too much dust." She picked up a damp cloth and rubbed down the powdered surface of the stone.

  "Alainna, I think you should rest for a bit," he said.

  "I want to finish this today." She picked up her tools again. "It is the last of the knights' crosses."

  "I can see the strain of the work in your face and your voice. You have been up too many nights with only a bed of stone for your head." He lifted the silken tail of one of her long braids, shaking a few tiny stone chips from it.

  "When I cannot sleep, the work soothes me," she said.

  "The work does not let you sleep. There is no need to hurry so to finish these stones."

  "They are nearly done. It is not difficult carving. If I am in a hurry at all, it is to return to my own work."

  Sebastien went to the table beneath the window, where her gray limestone pieces lined the table top. He looked at them, pausing at each one. "You have done much in the last weeks. Three more are finished. And the scene of the Stone Maiden is done." He bent to examine it. "This is truly beautiful work. You are an artist."

  "I am a craftswoman," she said, and tapped the mallet as she spoke. "An artisan. A preserver of my clan's heritage. I am a woman who works hard, who does not give up once she sets her mind to something. I fear that I only have until spring."

  "You have your entire life." He turned. "The work you do is outstanding, yet you do not see that. You see only the need to work, the need to finish another stone and move on. Stop, Alainna," he said. "Stop for a moment and come here."

  He beckoned, and she shook her head. "I cannot stop," she said, and tapped her mallet on the chisel, blew away the dust. "There is so little time left."

  He crossed the room and took both of her arms in his, nearly lifting her from her stool, turning her, urging her ahead of him with his hands on her shoulders. "Here," he said, halting with her in front of the table. "Look."

  "At what?"

  He touched a finger under her chin and turned her face a little. "Look at your stones," he said gently. He pressed her hand to the limestone, her fingers caught between the cool, hard stone and his warm, strong touch.

  "Feel the texture," he said. "Smooth and polished, neatly carved. Look at the designs. There, Labhrainn and the mermaid he loved. That one, Mairead the Brave fighting a wolf to save her child. Here, under your hand, the Stone Maiden—Alainna, the beautiful one, who watches over her clan forever." His voice softened. "Look at the stones, Alainna mo caran," he urged. "Tell me what you see."

  She looked at him, her heart beating fast and sweet. Mo caran, he had called her—my beloved.

  "Tell me," he murmured again.

  Alainna turned her head, and looked. "I see... oh," she said, tracing her fingertips over the intricate plaiting in one border, the knotwork in another. "It is lovely. The carving is... so carefully done."

  "It is," he said. "What else?"

  "I see pictures of... courage, and of love for the clan. Oh," she murmured again, suddenly surprised by the artistry in the stones, a balance of graceful curvilinear design combined with intricate detail. She had intended them to capture the stories, but she had not dared to hope that they could be beautiful, too. Her breath caught on a sob that bubbled up from deep within her. Tears sprang to her eyes. "They are wonderful," she said.

  "They are." He took her hand in his, and kissed it. "We all know it. But you need to see it for yourself."

  She nodded, and gazed at him through a glaze of tears, grateful for his kindness. He gathered her into his arms and she rested her cheek against his wool-covered chest, hearing the thud of his heart, sensing his vigorous strength, glad he was healing so quickly.

  Most of all, she was grateful that he was here, and alive. Seeing him so close to death had frighte
ned her to the depth of her soul. She had not told him how deeply her vigil by his bedside those many days and nights had affected her.

  He lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth hot and gentle. Her head arched back, long-throated, and her knees shook beneath her. No matter what her thoughts were, his touch always seemed to open the gates of her soul.

  Parting his mouth from hers, he slid his hands along her back, holding her close, resting his cheek against her head. Finan slept at their feet, his tail swiping an idle rhythm. Outside, the wind swept past in a cold, whistling sound.

  She sighed against him, sadly, the burden of her thoughts heavy on her mind and her heart, and she knew that she must speak, that she could no longer hold back what must be said.

  What she wanted most could not be. The agony she had endured watching him slide so close to death made her choice clear. She feared for his life if he stayed at Kinlochan.

  "Sebastien Ban," she began. "I have done much thinking in the days since you were injured and ill. I have come to a decision." She looked at him, her heart pounding. "Do you still plan to go back to Brittany when the weather clears?"

  "I have been thinking too," he said. "And I have talked to your men and to mine. We are all in agreement. As soon as the snow clears, we will move against Cormac, and repay him for the betrayal he showed us."

  She sucked in a quick breath. That was not what she wanted to hear. She stepped away from him, frowning, thinking, and went to another stool beside a second workbench, where she kept the piece of cream limestone. Whipping the cloth from its surface, she picked up a fine-edged chisel and a wooden mallet and began to furrow into its surface.

  Working with the Caen limestone was always comforting to her. The stone cut easily, willing as butter, never crumbling, never in need of force. It was almost fluid under the touch of her tools, as if the stone knew the shape she wanted it to take.

  Not so her dreams. She heard Sebastien walk toward her.

  "Alainna?" he asked. "What is it?"

  "You cannot stay at Kinlochan," she said bluntly.

  "I told you that I would go, I know. And I must find my son. But I will not leave here until I have returned the hospitality Cormac showed to us on his land," he said grimly.

  Her hands trembled. "Do not change your plans," she said. "Go to Brittany and find your son. That is most important to you, and that is what you must do."

  "Surely you can see that I must meet Cormac first," he said.

  "I do not want you to fight this endless feud," she answered stubbornly. "You have other goals, other matters to attend to. You have fulfilled the king's orders here." Her fingers shook so on the chisel that she put it down. But she was too anxious, and could not sit idle.

  Picking up the mallet and an iron punch, a pointed tool, she began to clear excess stone away from the left side of the design, where the background needed deeper cutting. She set the point in place and smacked its handle.

  "Why this change of heart?" he asked. "Not so long ago, you wanted me to stay."

  She smacked again, freeing a chunk of creamy white limestone. A new ridge was exposed in the stone. She brushed her fingers over it and drove the punch with the mallet again.

  "Alainna," he said sternly, "stop that and talk to me."

  "You cannot stay here," she insisted. "Your son awaits you. He must be raised in Brittany, and you must be with him." She hit the point handle hard.

  "All I know now is that I will face Cormac-MacNechtan and seek payment for the lives of my comrades."

  "Do not change your plans. Go back to Brittany." Again she struck, and a wedge of stone flew to the floor. The lumpy ridge seemed larger now, an imperfection in the stone. She had not suspected the flaw earlier.

  "I cannot as yet."

  "We do not need you here. We can fight our own feud, as we have always done. When you leave, our handfasting will be voided, and... my kinsmen will choose another to help us, as we planned to do all along—before the king sent his champion."

  Heart pounding, she regretted the words as soon as they were said, for she knew they would hurt him; she had wounded herself by uttering them. But she followed an almost desperate need to convince him to leave Kinlochan.

  "I see. You have decided that you would rather have your Celtic warrior after all, than settle for a foreign knight."

  "It is not that at all." She shook her head in misery. "If you stay, Cormac will attack again. He may kill you next time." She angled the point to cut away the flaw in the stone. "He will never give up until he sees you dead." She hit the chisel.

  "So that is what troubles you," he said softly.

  "Go to Brittany," she said. "Go to France, or even back to Dunfermline. Find your goals and be content."

  "My goals have changed," he said. "Even as we speak, they are changing still." His voice was grim, hard, hurt.

  "What will you do?" she asked in a flat tone. She scraped the stubborn fault in the stone with the chisel.

  "Whether you want me here or not, I now have my own dispute with Cormac MacNechtan, and a matter to be settled."

  "Cormac and his kinsmen will never settle with us!" She raised her voice frantically. "I have lived with this feud all my life. Too many of the men I have loved have died fighting the MacNechtans." She choked back a sob. "I cannot bear for that to happen to you, too!"

  "I will be fine," he said calmly.

  She shook her head. "Do you think I want to carve your... tombstone out of that piece of sandstone, where we... where we..." She gasped, remembering the incandescent passion of the night they had laid upon that stone. She turned away and smacked the stone again, hard. "I want you to leave. I cannot endure this."

  "The risk of my death, fighting this feud for you and yours, did not seem to bother you before now."

  "I had not seen you near death then," she said. "I did not love you so much then."

  He lifted his hand toward her. "Alainna..."

  If he touched her, she would crumble, she thought. She struck the punch forcefully with the mallet. Another piece broke away, exposing more of the obstruction.

  Ach Dhia, she said to herself, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes. She felt brittle, near tears. "It is a shell."

  "A shell?" he asked. He came closer.

  "Limestone sometimes has seashells in it," she said. She sighed wearily. "When they appear, it is difficult to tell how deep they are in the stone." She chipped at the rippled edge of the shell. "I can remove it, I think," she muttered. Placing the point, she stood to angle the chisel.

  The obstruction to her own happiness could not be cleared away so easily, she knew. She tapped, freeing more of the shell. Carefully she positioned the point, using the sharp tip as a wedge.

  "Alainna, wait." He reached out his hand.

  She struck iron into stone, and heard a cracking sound. A gap appeared along the edge of the shell. The left side of the surface crumbled.

  Then the stone split, and part of it collapsed to the floor.

  Chapter 28

  Alainna stared in disbelief at the shattered, defaced stone. Then she dropped down to snatch at the creamy, splintered chunks, tears blinding her, slivers piercing her fingers as she frantically collected the pieces.

  Sebastien hunkered beside her. "Let me do that," he said. She batted at his hands and he pushed hers away. "Let me!" he snapped.

  He gathered the bits in his hands. Alainna stood, tears streaming down her face. When Sebastien tumbled the pieces onto the workbench, Alainna felt as if her heart broke within her.

  "It is ruined," she whispered.

  He brushed a hand over the intact part of the stone, where the relief was partially destroyed. "You can recut it. Here, and here. It can be redone."

  She shook her head. Parts of the tower and palisade were gone. "It cannot be reclaimed." She stifled a sob with the back of her hand, hardly believing what had happened, what damage her impulsive temper and her relentlessness had done.

  "We will fix this one, or
we will find another stone." He touched her shoulder, turned her. "Alainna—"

  She felt herself crumble. She slid into the opening circle of his arms with a dry, defeated sob. "The breaking of the stone is a sign," she said. "An omen. You must go and never come back. If you stay here, and give up all that you hold dear—"

  "Not all," he murmured, his lips against her hair.

  "—you could die fighting this feud."

  "Nevertheless," he said calmly, "I will stay and fight. There is no other choice, Alainna. None at all. Not now."

  She closed her eyes in misery as he held her. He feathered back the wisps of hair loosened along her brow. Grief welled up within like a fountain and spilled over.

  She cried for all of them, then—for Sebastien, who had nearly died, for his five fallen knights, for her father and her brothers and the kinsmen beyond them, all lost to this feud. She wept for her mother, for all the kinswomen, and for a maiden, long ago, who had died beside the loch.

  In the depth of her heart, she mourned the diminished clan that she could not save alone. Her carvings could not preserve them. Ultimately, only sons and daughters to bear the spirit and the blood of Clan Laren would do that.

  She could not ask Sebastien to stay with her at Kinlochan, yet she wanted to be with him, as his wife, as his lover and soul-friend. She wanted to bear their children inside her body, and live side by side with him in their own Land of Promise.

  But that place was a legend, and this place was fraught with danger. And the stone that had held her dream was destroyed.

  He braced her patiently until her sobs quieted. "Sebastien," she snuffled into his chest.

  "What is it, mo caran?" he murmured. His lips touched her brow, traced softly over her wet cheek.

  "I love you." Her heart bounded to say the words, to know how deeply she meant them. "And it is why I want you to leave. I cannot lose you to this feud, too."

  He pulled back to look at her. "Alainna, listen to me," he said. "I am here with you, and I am safe, and I will keep you and yours safe. I swear it. If you wish it, go out with me now, down to the loch, and I will swear it with my hand upon the Stone Maiden, and you may say all the charms you like around me."