The Inscription

by Pam Binder

  She pushed the door to her chamber open and leaned against the wall. The tapers had burned down low; the night air cooled the room. O’Donnell rested quietly on the bed. The Lady Amber was asleep. All was as it should be.

  A dog barked. Marcail looked down the dimly lit hallway and saw MacDougal, the wolfhound, race toward her with Gavin close behind. The animal trotted in, sniffed the ground, her shoes, and then went over to the foot of the bed where he settled down and rested his head on his paws. Gavin stared at her, his eyes wide. He squared his shoulders and tightened die line of his mouth.

  Marcail knew this child was wary of her and knew well the reason. She avoided all those who tried to come too near. In her self-imposed isolation, she had become abrupt and distant. However, for all that he must be feeling, he struggled to conquer the emotion. She admired the lad’s strength of will. With Lachlan’s advice to guide him, he would grow into a worthy man. But for now, he was still just a child and must be taught. There were certain expectations when someone was recovering from an injury, even if that person be immortal.

  “That vermin-infested animal has no place in this chamber.”

  Gavin met her gaze. “MacDougal belongs to me. He bathes more often than anyone in the castle.”

  The barrier around her heart weakened. This lad stood his ground in defense of his dog. She walked over and stroked the fur on MacDougal’s head. His coat was indeed well cared for. She looked over at Gavin. “And are you as clean?”

  Gavin folded his arms across his chest in a gesture that reminded her of Lachlan. “MacDougal and I bathe together. The Lady Amber says washing will help prevent me from getting side MacDougal as well“

  Curious. The woman’s views were not common in this part of the world. This theme kept playing over and over, just under the surface, as though it held hidden meaning. It is she who will bring the knowledge and the courage of generations yet unborn.

  She would not think on it tonight, there were other matters more pressing. She noticed that the young woman slept as soundly as O’Donnell through all the commotion. Marcail understood the level of exhaustion that would allow a person to sleep through any sound. She had often been able to rest in a protected shelter while a battle raged around her. She picked up the book that had dropped to the floor at the Lady Amber’s feet and shook her gently on the shoulder.

  Amber stretched and opened her eyes. She looked toward the bed. “Is O’Donnell all right?”

  “He is indeed. You have done a great service by reading to him this night, but you have missed the meal in the Great Hall. I have told Una to send food to your chamber.”

  “Thank you.” Amber yawned. “Gavin, what are you doing up so late?”

  The boy motioned to O’Donnell. “I wanted to help Marcail read to him. I think he will like the ”Knight’s Tale.“ Lachlan said O’Donnell is…” Gavin paused and looked at Marcail.

  She put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and pressed lightly to caution him. “… a great warrior. Is that not correct?”

  He nodded slowly. “Aye.”

  Thank the gods, the boy realized what he was about to say.

  Amber stood and kissed Gavin on the top of his head. “I’m glad you’re here to help Marcail read. She looks as tired as I feel.”

  Gavin’s face glowed with pride. “I shall read the ‘Knight’s Tale.’ I have been practicing.”

  Marcail watched Amber smile before she turned and left the chamber. In a few words Amber had managed to let Gavin know his importance to her. The boy was beaming with pride. Marcail had been on this earth for hundreds of years and thought she knew all there was of life to learn. It was time she began to show Gavin the love she felt for him. It would not make him weak, but give him confidence. She hoped now, more than ever, the test Angus planned would prove Amber immortal. Their race could be only the richer for Amber’s contributions.

  She felt Gavin tug on her sleeve. Marcail walked over to the bench by the window and patted a place next to her. “Would you like to begin the story?”

  “Aye.” His voice was eager and his eyes lit up as though she had offered a sweet rather than a book for his enjoyment. He indicated O’Donnell. “Can he hear us?”

  She smiled. “We shall have to ask him when he awakes.”

  Gavin snuggled against her. She put her arm around him and pulled him close. Her heart warmed. She had forgotten the forgiving nature of children. In Lachlan’s correspondence he had described Gavin as a child who hated to learn, and would rather spend his day practicing with sword and ax than in a classroom. She knew well Bartholomew’s failure to teach the lad. Yet Amber had unlocked the scholar hidden within. An intelligent mind could be nurtured and taught the skills necessary to survive. Yes, she would be most curious as to the outcome of Angus’ test.

  The inner courtyard was bathed in sunlight as Lachlan removed his shirt and tightened his plaid around his waist. His men were putting away their weapons. He dismissed the notion that they were lazy and reminded himself they were able warriors. Yet he found the further he tested his physical endurance, the more alive he felt. He took a breath of the sweet-smelling autumn air and swung his sword above his head. Over the past year he had increased the length of each day’s training. Once more he needed to have a heavier blade forged. He heard the familiar sound of a weapon being pulled from its scabbard and turned to see Angus.

  His friend lunged toward him. “I knew I would find you here.”

  Lachlan deflected the thrust. The force rang along the blade and through his hands. He smiled. Angus was a worthy opponent. “You are late this morning.”

  Angus sidestepped Lachlan’s counterattack. “Marcail and I were trying to discover the mystery that surrounds Lady Amber.” He nodded in the direction of the entrance near the cookroom.

  Lachlan saw Amber sitting on a bench reading to Gavin. He paused, his concentration temporarily broken. The afternoon sun seemed to focus all its light in her hair. How long had she been sitting nearby? He felt a sudden burning sensation on his arm and looked down. Angus had cut him with his blade. Droplets of blood formed over the wound. He had allowed himself to be distracted. He lunged forward.

  Angus blocked the attack. “Amber is a pleasant diversion, but there is a strangeness that lingers around her.“

  His friend was indeed close to the truth. He made contact with Angus’ blade and drove him back. “You and I shall outlive most men one hundred times over, and yet you call her strange? She has been under our protection these past few weeks. Why the sudden need to discover her origins?”

  “Have you considered that she might be immortal?”

  Lachlan’s pulse quickened. “It is unlikely.” He held his sword out before him.

  Angus attacked. “Do you never tire of fighting?”

  Blade struck blade, the clamor ringing off the walls of the courtyard as the force of the blows resounded through Lachlan’s grip. He knocked the sword out of Angus’ hand and it clattered to the ground. “I do not see the need to refute my love of battle.”

  His friend reached down and retrieved his weapon. “You more than love battle, Lachlan, you need it. Take care you fill your life with more than a hunger for the fight. There has not been a time when I would choose my blade over the smile of a lass.”

  Lachlan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and looked across at Amber. “You make the choice sound simple. It is not.” He sheathed his blade. “She is unlike other women.”

  “Aye, on that we are agreed. Our own are treated as equals and she behaves as though she were raised in the same manner. It is not hard to see she is as well-educated and outspoken as any man. The perfect companion for one of us. But maybe too perfect. Is that why you are afraid to discover her origins?”

  “I fear only that I shall be drawn into your wild plans.”

  Angus raised an eyebrow. “Marcail says O’Donnell’s wounds are healing without a scar. The test would be a simple one, with little bloodshed.”

  “I do no
t want her harmed.” Lachlan felt the anger well inside him. He let his eyes linger on her, feeling a protectiveness surge through his blood. “She is not immortal. You have my word.”

  “How can you be so convinced? The depth of her knowledge and self-confidence are uncommon qualities in mortal women. What other explanation could there be?”

  “Question her if you are so determined, but upon your life, harm her not.”

  A rider entered the courtyard and Lachlan turned toward him, welcoming the distraction. Dust swirled around the horse’s hooves as the man brought his animal to an abrupt halt. He shouted to Lachlan as he dismounted.

  “The Campbells have again raided your cattle.”

  The rider’s arrival was timely. Lachlan relished the challenge. “How many are missing?”

  “Ten, maybe more.”

  A sudden scream pierced the air. Lachlan turned abruptly to see Amber and Gavin sprawled on the ground. He caught the glint of metal as Angus stood and brushed off his tartan.

  Lachlan covered the distance, pushed Angus aside and helped first Amber and then his brother to their feet. She was holding tight to her hand. Blood oozed through her fingers.

  Gavin paced back and forth in nervous concern. Amber turned to him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  Lachlan felt an instant surge of anger and let it build unchecked until he could hear it thunder through him.

  Angus adjusted his sword. “I am sorry, lass. I stumbled.”

  Lachlan grabbed Angus around the throat. The words tore through him as he shouted each one. “She is cut.”

  Amber tore cloth from her undergarment and awkwardly wrapped the wound. “It was an accident.”

  “By the gods, it was no accident.” Lachlan doubled up his fist and hit Angus in the face. The man crumbled to the ground. “That, too, was an accident. I meant to break his neck.”

  Amber put her bandaged hand on Lachlan’s arm and the contact was like cool water over heated skin. It brought him out of the haze that held him in its grasp. The words of the legend of the Lady of the Loch rolled through his mind like the mist over Loch Ness. She could not have the power to turn him from the fate that had taken his father and now consumed Subedei. Surely, nothing could. Even his mother had tried and failed.

  Her fingers pressed his arm. “Excuse me, but I’m bleeding here. You and Angus can fight over whether or not it was an accident later. I’ll need stitches, and I’m assuming I’ll have to find something vile to use, and that it will hurt a lot.” She motioned to Gavin to gather their books.

  Lachlan addressed his brother. “See to Angus and have Una tend him. She still has not forgiven him for eating all her pies when first he arrived. I shall seek out Marcail to look after the Lady Amber.” He picked her up in his arms. She flinched when her injured hand brushed against him.

  The extent of her pain pierced through him like a blade. He pulled her gently to him, suppressing the anger he felt toward Angus as he walked into the castle. It was a new sensation for him to be able to temper his rage. He wondered if it was Amber’s doing. But even legends contained flaws. He doubted his reprieve from madness would be permanent. Perhaps, if he could not escape his father’s destiny, he could delay its inevitable progress.

  Lachlan ran the sharpening stone over the edge of his blade in the smoky workroom of the castle blacksmith. He concentrated on the familiar grating sound and the patience needed to complete his task, but it did not block out that which he so wished to forget.

  The image of Amber as she watched Marcail stitch the wound on her hand was still fresh in his mind. Amber would not show pain and had detached herself from what was happening. She had carried on a conversation with him the entire time. He recalled not the words, just the tone. He had behaved in such a manner when he was flogged on a ship bound for the Spice Islands. Knowing he would recover had not dulled the pain, so he had concentrated on reciting aloud the tale of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Marcail had told him to let Amber rest, but when his work here was finished, he meant to seek her out to see for himself how well she fared. Then he would investigate the report of stolen cattle.

  He heard someone enter and knew without turning it was Angus. The man cleared his throat.

  “The stitches may not have been necessary.”

  Lachlan turned. “She asked for needle and thread. Would an immortal request such?”

  Angus leaned against the rough wood door of the blacksmith’s quarters and picked at the splinters. “A wound of such size would heal before I found the needle.“

  “Precisely.” Lachlan put the stone down and grabbed a rag from the rim of a bucket. He wiped the fragments of dust off the blade and listened to the drizzling rain.

  “Are you of a mind to use that sword on my flesh?”

  Lachlan glanced at his friend and discovered he was no longer angry. The man only searched for the truth. Amber had, in fact, possessed traits common to immortal women. He did not approve of his methods, but Marcail had admitted to her part in the plan. Lachlan had expected better from the healer.

  He smiled, remembering the look on Amber’s face when he’d vowed to banish Angus and Marcail for their deed. Amber had shaken her finger at him, as though he were a naughty child, and told him to grow up. If she were part of the legend, then in truth, the gods surely had outdone themselves with this woman.

  Lachlan raised his blade and tested the sharpness with his thumb. It sliced a layer of skin and drew a small droplet of blood. He wiped the cut on his plaid and turned to Angus. The man stood as quiet and as stoic as the marble statues in Greece. He knew Angus longed for some acknowledgment.

  “I have need of your help.”

  Angus straightened, clenched his fist, and crossed his arm over his chest. He bowed. “Name it, Lord.”

  The formal title chilled Lachlan’s bones. Angus spoke out of respect, and from the need to be pardoned, but Lachlan was in greater need of friends than followers.

  “A rider claimed the Campbells were responsible for the raid on our cattle. They are well aware of the sure retaliation I will pour down on their heads if these allegations are true. In the past, Clan Campbell’s judgment may have been in question, but not their intelligence.“

  “It sounds as though you doubt the scout’s information.”

  “Aye.” Lachlan clasped Angus on the shoulder. “Before I strike, I will find the truth. You and I shall ride out at first light.”

  “It will be as you wish.”

  The sky began to darken. Lachlan crossed to the window. Lightning split the gloom.

  Angus pushed away from the door. “Did you not feel it, my friend?”

  “Aye.” He glanced toward the castle wing that housed O’Donnell. “The time is at hand.” He sheathed his sword and motioned for Angus to follow him.

  The door to Marcail’s chamber was ajar as Lachlan entered the quiet room. Amber was reading aloud, while Marcail sat and gazed at O’Donnell. He saw the uncertainty reflected in Marcail’s eyes. He wondered at the cause and why she allowed Amber to remain. O’Donnell lay on the bed as still as death, his hands were folded across his chest and his eyes moved under their lids. He was only moments away from returning to them.

  The law was clear. “Lady Amber, you must leave. At once.”

  She opened her mouth to protest.

  He raised his hand to silence her words. No mortal had witnessed the Return to Life. His kind believed the knowledge was too dangerous. He trusted Amber, but his kind would not, and he had to honor their wishes and respect their fears. “Leave, Amber. Please.”

  Amber pressed herself against the wall as the last of the people hurried through the door. She had bandaged O’Donnell’s wounds and read to him until her voice was hoarse, but was not allowed to see him wake up. She dusted imaginary lint off her clothes, and off her pride. There was probably some rule, or custom, about visitors to a man who’d just recovered from life-threatening wounds. Nothing to get worked up about.

  Before the chaos began sh
e and Marcail were having a quiet chat about herbal remedies and increased life spans. Suddenly she was being unceremoniously ushered out the door. Immediately the parade had begun. Angus, followed by Gavin, the twins she’d seen the other night, and last, but not least, an assortment of people who looked as though they were representatives of the United Nations. Amber doubted all of them would fit into Marcail’s room. A sardine in a can would have more space to move around.

  Amber walked aimlessly down a torch lit corridor in an attempt to fill the hours before Una served dinner. Three days had crept by since Lachlan left Urquhart in search of those who had stolen his cattle. She’d spent her free time thinking about each moment they had spent together. It only made her miss him more. Amber had not realized how dull the castle was without him stomping about.

  She rubbed the palm of her hand. The stitches were beginning to itch. A sign of healing, her aunt always said. Marcail had done a great job. Amber would only have a small scar, but stitching up the cut had hurt like crazy. She’d turned down the wine Marcail had laced with some sort of painkiller, trying to act brave in front of Lachlan. Amber smiled remembering how much he had fussed over her. It was almost worth the injury. Almost.

  Amber paused. She was lost. The hallway stretched into a dark void. Terrific. The torchlights wavered, casting dancing shadows along the walls. Oh, well, if she didn’t reach a familiar wing, she’d just look out the window. Her rooms faced Loch Ness, so it should be easy to find her way back. Anyway, she had time on her hands since everyone was busy with O’Donnell. The man had recovered in exactly forty-eight hours as Lachlan had predicted. Once more she felt uneasy.

  The flames in the wall sconces flickered. This time she felt a cold breeze. Wandering around a dark castle at night was probably not such a good idea. More than likely all these corridors and vacant rooms were jammed full of ghosts.

  The corridor turned. She followed it, then paused. Portraits, the size of the big screen televisions in the Seattle sports bars, lined the walls. The people in the paintings were clothed in a manner that spanned both centuries and countries. A man dressed as a Roman warrior rode in a chariot pulled by a team of four white horses. Beside him, in a separate portrait, a woman in a full suit of armor fought a Bengal tiger.