by Pam Binder
Lachlan’s clansmen were riding a short distance behind them as they approached the entrance to Urquhart. Together they rode through the massive wooden gate. He’d not spoken to Amber on their journey from Inverness. For the first time she realized what her aunt had meant when she’d said conversation was not important, it was what was left unsaid that held the substance.
Urquhart, shrouded in a mist, had a surreal white glow. It was as though all the ghosts of the past had merged together and blanketed the castle. The image of Molly as she lay dying and her stillborn baby had occupied Amber’s thoughts on the journey from Inverness. She prayed that the young girl and her child had found peace.
Amber was startled by a sudden crashing noise.
Near the main entrance a half-dozen wagons stood, overflowing with furniture, rolled tapestries, and leather-bound chests. What looked to be the frame of a bed lay in a pile of twisted wood on the ground. Servants dressed in short tunics and pants in shades of greens and browns crowded around the broken pieces. A slender man stood before them. He was wearing light-colored hose, gold ruffled pants that only reached the tops of his thighs and a wide-shouldered royal blue satin short jacket with lace at the collar and sleeves. To Amber he resembled a peacock in a covey of mud hens.
Lachlan turned in his saddle to face her. “Theseus has arrived. I fear he has brought the entire contents of his castle and all his servants as well.”
“Who’s Theseus?”
“A guest.”
Amber smiled to herself. Well, so much for asking a direct question and receiving the bare minimum in return. She took a closer look, remembering that the tour guide at Leeds Castle had mentioned that King Henry the VUL along with others of the nobility, might often bring furniture with them when they traveled. She hadn’t taken the guide literally, thinking that history, in the retelling, had been exaggerated. Judging by the confusion in the courtyard, the guide had been right.
Lachlan reined in his horse, dismounted and motioned for the others in their party to do the same. At his command, men ran to hold their mounts and Angus joined him in whispered conversation.
MacDougal barked excitedly at the newcomers. From Amber’s vantage point on her horse, she saw the wolfhound race for the back entrance of the kitchen followed closely by Gavin and Elaenor. She stretched her tired muscles and watched the two young people disappear into the castle. She looked over at Lachlan and Angus. They were engrossed in a discussion that involved a lot of grunting and head nodding. From the serious expressions on their faces, she was just as glad she couldn’t hear what was being said.
The shouts of the attending men competed with the sound of squawking chickens in the yard as, one by one, the horses were led to the stable. The sound of a voice filled with terror caused her to look over her shoulder. Bartholomew. A chill ran through her. His hands were tied behind his back, and he stood next to Angus. Beside the schoolmaster was a body slumped over a black horse. She shuddered. More death. A gray cloud, on its path across the sun, darkened the sky. Amber’s hands trembled and she grabbed the saddle horn to still them.
“The ground at Urquhart is harder than the sweet grass near Inverness. Let me assist you, lest you fall again.” Lachlan was standing next to her horse with his arms outstretched. His voice was low.
Amber reached out and let him help her down. She held onto his arm and realized she didn’t want to let go.
“I’d forgotten about Bartholomew. What are you going to do with him?”
Lachlan looked over at the schoolmaster. “The man will be tried for his crimes.”
Amber followed his gaze. Two of Lachlan’s men carried a body on a makeshift stretcher. She shuddered. She’d been so tired when they had started their journey from Inverness she hadn’t paid any attention to who was riding with them. “Who killed that man? Was it Bartholomew?”
“O’Donnell still lives, although Bartholomew did attempt to murder and then rob him in his sleep.” Lachlan put his hand over hers and his eyes darkened. “The schoolmaster will have much to answer for when he is tried.”
Remembering Molly, she felt a tightness in her throat. The woman had loved Bartholomew. She’d said so with her dying breath. Her feelings for the schoolmaster had been so intense and absorbing that Molly hadn’t seen, or had not wanted to see, that he’d never keep the promises he made. Blinded by his education and his station, the young woman had not been able to tell reality from fantasy. Amber didn’t want the kind of blinding love that only allowed you to see the outer shell of the person, instead of what was in their heart.
Pushing the troubling thoughts from her mind, she played the hours she spent with Molly through her head like the fast-forward button on her VCR. There must have been something she could have done to save her. Grizel had said she’d suspected the girl had taken pennyroyal to abort the child. Amber admitted she knew next to nothing about childbirth, but Molly was almost to term. The baby should have had a chance. She remembered Grizel being a little surprised that the child was born dead. The pennyroyal may well have been laced with poison. MacDougal, the wolfhound, barked, bringing her thoughts back to the present.
Lachlan tightened his grip on her hand. “What troubles you lass? Your thoughts are far away.”
“I was just thinking about Molly. What will you do with Bartholomew?”
The muscles in Lachlan’s face tightened. “He will be held in the dungeon until the judgment. I have decided the trial will be long in coming. Bartholomew needs time to realize the weight of what he has done.“
Amber remembered holding the lifeless baby in her arms and the look of despair in Molly’s face before she died. This was one time when she was not going to interfere. She watched the limp figure of O’Donnell being carried to the entrance of the Great Hall. Bloodstains covered his shirt and contrasted vividly with the almost blue white of his skin. Her legs did not feel as though they had the strength to hold her upright. The violence of this century was one thing the historians had depicted very accurately. Bartholomew may not have killed O’Donnell outright, but she doubted he’d survive long. She didn’t remember seeing any bandages to stop the bleeding. What the man needed was the emergency ward at a hospital, but he’d probably get leeches. She had failed Molly. Could she do any better with O’Donnell?
She nodded in the direction they had carried the man on the stretcher. “Lachlan, where are they taking him?”
“There is life in him still. I shall have Marcail see to him. Two days and he will be fully recovered.”
Amber watched the torches being lit on the inner walls of the castle. The flames tried feebly to burn through the mist-encased courtyard. “He appears more dead than alive. You think it will take him only two days to recover?”
“Aye.”
Conversation with Lachlan was at times very frustrating. She had the feeling that he only told her what he wanted her to know. Nothing more, nothing less. And what she wanted to know was how he could predict exactly how long it would take for a critically injured man to recover.
He motioned abruptly to Angus and the men surrounding Bartholomew. “Take him away. I shall see to him later.”
The schoolmaster struggled against those who began to drag him forward. As he passed where she stood in shocked silence, a look of unmasked hatred was evident in his eyes.
Lachlan’s voice was low and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. “Enjoy well the freedom in the cell you share with the rats. It will be the last comfort you shall have. After you are judged, you will deal with me.”
The fight drained away from Bartholomew as he was dragged to the dungeon by two of Lachlan’s men.
Gavin provided a welcome interruption. “Lachlan.” The boy raced into the courtyard, yanked on his brother’s tartan and whispered something in his ear.
“Aye, I will go to our mother at once.” Lachlan turned toward Amber. “Lady Diedra requests that I speak with her. There are arrangements to be made for the Council members who have arrived in my
absence. Angus shall escort you to your rooms.”
He covered the distance to the Great Hall with long hurried strides, leaving Amber in the midst of shouting men, barking dogs, restless horses, and dozens of strangers. Everyone appeared to have somewhere to go, or some duty to perform. Except for her. Well, she could at least check on the man named O’Donnell. It would give her a focus. She needed something to keep her mind from dwelling on Molly and her baby.
Angus appeared at her side, waiting patiently to fulfill his duty to Lachlan. She’d known dogs that weren’t this loyal. Clearly, there was no way she could take a step without the big man on her heels, but then, she doubted he would mind if she wanted to volunteer to help an injured man.
“I’d like to see what I could do to help O’Donnell.”
Angus frowned slightly. “Nay, lass, ‘tis not a task the laird would wish you to perform.”
“And why not? Didn’t Lachlan say I should be given as much freedom as Marcail or Elaenor? We’re betrothed after all, and I think I should be allowed to check on an injured man if I want to.”
A hint of a smile crossed Angus’ mouth. She knew she was no more betrothed to Lachlan than Angus was, but the entire population of the castle had bought the story. If she were a betting person, she’d wager than Angus was only going along with the fairy tale because of Lachlan.
“Well then, lass, since you are intent on this course, be warned, it will not be a pleasant sight.” Angus pointed in the direction Lachlan’s men had taken the stretcher.
Amber reached up, kissed him on the cheek, gathered her skirts, and headed in the direction Angus indicated. She could hear him tsk, tsking behind her. Okay, so maybe she should have just said thank you, and left it at that. She’d have to remember next time that this century was so formal it made Jane Austen’s era look like Sodom and Gomorrah.
Chapter 8
Lady Diedra ordered candles to be kept lit both day and night and their light spilled into the hallway as Lachlan entered. These surroundings were all too familiar. The walls and bedcoverings were draped in red silk. A framed portrait of his mother and shields of varying sizes and shapes glimmered over the mantel. His mother stood across the room from the crackling fire by the window that looked out onto the sunlit waters of the loch.
Her hair, gray as the clouds over the Highlands before a heavy rain, hung past her waist. She wore a white velvet tunic over a linen shift. Celtic symbols and letters were sewn on the hem and sleeves with gold thread. In the six years since her husband and children’s death at the hands of Subedei, this was the only style of garment she would wear.
He remembered her words the day she had first shown it to him. “I wore this very gown when I was wed to your father and drank the Elixir of Life. It will be what I wear when I die.”
Lachlan felt as if his legs were somehow rooted to die floor, like an ancient tree, free only to observe, but never to take part in the events that swirled around him. He was helpless to change what he knew was happening. His mother longed for death to take her.
It was the custom of his race, once the Council of Seven granted approval for a couple to marry, that they would drink the elixir that reversed their immortality. Within two to three years the sterility was reversed. It was expected that seven children would be born in remembrance of the seven original families who had escaped after their island home was destroyed. Some felt the loss of their immortality was too high a price to pay for the gift of being able to have children. It had not been so for his parents. At least, there was a time he believed this to be true. They would begin to age, but, it was at a slower rate than mortals. It was not unusual to be able to live another one hundred to one hundred and fifty years after taking the elixir.
However, after the deaths in his family his mother had aged more rapidly. Her stare held the vacant air of one who had already left this world for another. He felt the old anger rise to the surface. Lachlan had not been there to protect them. He closed his eyes to try and quiet the self-accusations.
The warmth of the chamber was suffocating. He shifted his weight and waited for his mother to acknowledge his presence as memories drifted back to him. Although she had been vibrant and full of energy when he was a lad, and had followed his father on the battlefield wielding her own sword, his childhood was little different from Gavin’s. His parents, like many others of his race, left their children to raise themselves.
He joined her at the narrow window. It was believed that the only way a child learned was from the harsh methods used by tutors such as Bartholomew. He thought of Amber reading aloud to Gavin, and of her befriending Elaenor. She used a gentle touch and Gavin had blossomed under her care. Elaenor, too, had emerged from the shadows that held her in the grip of sadness. Amber had shown him that, indeed, change was possible.
His mother turned and stared at him, as -though realizing for the first time that he was beside her. Her eyes were lifeless and her voice did not hold the strength he had remembered as a lad.
“Do not give up your birthright.”
It was the same thing she had said to him during each visit. She regretted the loss of her immortality in order to marry and bear children. He wondered if that was how it had to be with his kind. Would they regret it so much that they ceased to live long before their hearts stopped beating? Was it the reason Angus had not asked to relinquish his immortality? Lachlan knew he loved Myra, but perhaps not enough.
He put his arm around his mother’s waist and helped her to the bed. Each day she was thinner. He glanced over at a tray of food. It looked untouched. What Una had told him appeared to be true. His mother was slowly starving herself to death.
She sat down and smoothed the material of her gown. “You have an interest in the Lady Amber?”
Lachlan remembered the night he found his mother outside Amber’s chamber. He crossed to the window, picked up a chair and brought it over to the bed Lachlan wanted to delay the onslaught of questions he knew to be forthcoming and wagered she knew more about the lives in the castle man he did. The knowledge did not sit well. He was not prepared to speak of his feelings for Amber. In truth, he did not know how she might fit into his life.
He sat down and decided to evade the direct question. “We have often provided a safe haven for those in need.”
She reached for a book that lay on the table and opened it with care. The pages were framed in gold, blue and red intertwining flowers. Her eyes seemed to hold a depth of compassion he had rarely seen and he wondered at the cause. Then as suddenly as the emotion had crossed her face, it vanished. She closed the book and set it down.
“I can no longer see to read the words, but my mind has not dulled so much that I am unable to tell when my son avoids my question. I ask it only because I would warn you.”
He leaned back. His mother rarely took an interest in the events in his life. “Do not be afraid to speak the questions you wish to ask.”
She laced her fingers together in her lap and stared at them. “Your father was direct as well. It was what first drew me to him.” A smile crossed her face. “That, and his strength of will.”
A sudden gust of wind blew against the window and rattled the leaded glass panes. The sound was so loud in his ears he could barely hear her next words.
“I loved your father and enjoyed our time together.” She paused and glanced toward the hearth where flames curled around the wood, and smoke drifted upward through the chimney.
She only remembered the times before his father was taken by the madness. She turned back to him.
“Although the children I bore with him will ensure our race continues, there are times when I regret the impulsiveness to end my immortality.“
“Mother, you have lived the span of twenty lifetimes. Surely that is enough, even for us.”
Her eyes opened wider and there was anger in their depths. “Should twenty be enough, if thirty were possible? I would return to the time before I drank die elixir and refuse your father.”
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nbsp; A cloud blocked the light of the sun, transforming the room into shades of blood red. He looked at the wasted figure on the bed. She spoke of her children as obligations she had been required to produce. He wondered if others of his race shared her view. She seemed to take the love she professed for his father as little consequence when compared with her immortality. He hoped that the regret he heard in her voice was a result of the madness holding her prisoner and did not reflect her true feelings.
“Gavin told me you wished to speak with me.”
“I am told Subedei marches once again toward Urquhart. Has he not taken enough from us?”
Lachlan stared at the flames in the hearth. “I should have had him executed for his crime, instead of allowing your wishes to be fulfilled.”
Her voice became shrill and frantic. “He raped your sister, Beatrice, tore her heart from her body, and left her in the streets of Naples. I demanded my rights as mother to my eldest daughter. I called on the justice of the ancients, and a judgment was passed down that would assure he remembered what he had done to my child for the rest of his immortal life.”
“We had him castrated, but Subedei is not one to retreat into the woods, whimpering like a wounded animal. He is a man who will seek vengeance. We must prepare for battle, as he comes for all who presided over his judgment.“
She nodded weakly and sank back on the pillows, her eyes once more vacant and lifeless. “There is a greater battle you have not spoken of, my son. One for which there is no defense. I blame myself, for I saw the beginnings of the insanity that is the curse of our people before I wed your father. I had thought I could both change him and prevent the madness from occurring in our children. But where I have failed, this woman may succeed. I know why Amber has come to you.”