Maybe This Time, page 11
“Her what? Her loyalty?” Sharpening his sword blade on a whetstone, Kevan scoffed, not missing a stroke. “Only a fool would question her loyalty to me now. The woman fought. She saved my life.”
The steady scraping grated at David’s raw nerves. That his laird wouldn’t like what was being said about his betrothed was about as clear as the waning sun hanging in the western sky. “Nay, ‘tis not her loyalty what’s in doubt. The men agree she’s a fine warrior.”
“Her ability speaks for itself,” Kevan agreed, still rhythmically scraping the blade. “So what do they doubt, then?”
Firelight gleamed off the length of the blade. David preferred looking at it to meeting the hard look Kevan had levied on his head. He rubbed his neck and again considered not telling his laird of the gossip. But likening that action to treason had him flushed and reconsidering. Besides, he’d been Kevan’s second too long to take serious offense at the man’s glares. Still a bit of space between them was wise—in case the laird reacted first, then thought.
As David stood, his knees cracked. He grunted and pulled a log from the pile of gathered wood, then dropped it on the fire. A shower of sparks lifted and floated on the wind. It was unwise, dangerous, to provoke the laird, but he must be told.
Kevan tested the edge of the blade with his thumb, then returned it to the stone. “Well?”
“Her womanhood,” David fairly whispered.
The scraping ceased. Kevan looked up at his second, his expression masked. “Her womanhood?”
“Aye.”
Narrowing his eyes to slits, Kevan shifted his hand to the hilt of the sword. His voice went soft. “You forget the woman is to be my wife.”
“Nay, I haven’t forgotten, Kevan.” David’s words tumbled over themselves getting out of his mouth. “‘Tis not me who doubts Lady Alyssa is a woman. ‘Tis mainly Innes’s warriors.”
“Ah . . .” Kevan’s manner eased. He moved his hand and returned to his sharpening. “Innes has changed his mind. He wants the lass, after all.”
“Mayhap.” Never so glad to hear the infernal scraping in his life, David stared into the fire and shoved at a fallen log with the toe of his boot. “Will you be giving her back to him?”
“Nay. The woman is mine.”
David’s sigh escaped before he could stop it. “So you’re really going to wed her?”
Kevan’s brows shot up. “I said I was.”
“Aye, but I thought mayhap you were goading the girl for being so, er, forward and asking you to wed.”
“Nay, though forward she was, I mean to make her my wife.” Kevan ran his thumbnail over a plump ruby embedded in the hilt of his sword. Scratching at a bit of dried blood smeared on the stone, he grinned. “She requested me.”
A smile curved David’s mouth, too. Clearly the laird didn’t oppose his wife being forward, at least not with him. “That took courage.”
“I don’t think the woman lacks courage.” Kevan chuckled and scratched his head. “But God-given sense is another matter.”
David smiled down at the ground. It was hard to believe, but Kevan was in a good humor over the issue. And, though David feared his curiosity would spoil his laird’s fine mood, he risked asking the question uppermost in everyone’s mind. “Why did you give her three requests? The clansmen—no doubt, even the lady herself—expected you’d kill her for her deceit.”
“I might have, if I’d known marriage to me would be one of her requests.” Kevan laid his sword aside and cocked his head. “The truth of it is, though a woman and not duty-bound, she risked her life for her clansmen and her laird. For that, she deserves to live.” He held out a hand. “Give me your blade.”
David unsheathed his sword. “I should be stoning your sword, Kevan, not you mine.”
“The grinding soothes me.” He took David’s sword, tested it, frowned at the dullness, and put it to the stone.
Stretching behind him, David retrieved his flask and two cups. He filled one with ale, and passed it over. “You’ve explained why you spared her life, but why are you wedding her?”
Kevan took the drink. “What say you? Would you have left the hellion to Innes?”
Swallowing a long draw from his cup, David frowned. “Nay, the bastard doesn’t deserve her.”
“I didn’t think so, either.”
Understanding lit, and David quit his frowning. “That’s why you allowed him to strike her.” His ale sloshed in his cup. “I wondered about that. You wanted just cause to break the betrothal.”
Kevan didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to. David smiled. “And all the clans witnessed his abuse themselves.” The fire popped and David watched sparks fly into the air. “She could have stopped him.”
“Aye, she could have,” Kevan agreed. “But she didn’t.”
“She’s clever, isn’t she?”
Before answering, Kevan took a long swig of ale. “She is. Too clever for her own good, I fear. But I’ll take her in hand.”
Two guards came to warm themselves at the fire. David lowered his voice so just his laird could hear. “Her first request was simple to figure. Only a fool would want to wed Innes. Though, I think if you’d denied it, she would have done her duty.”
“She would,” Kevan said without hesitating.
“It’s her request to marry you that has me puzzled.”
Kevan shrugged. “I didn’t agree to withdraw her second request. Her father’s life—and the future of her clan—was in jeopardy. The woman knew that if I permitted the withdrawal, her father would no longer be lord of the clan. ‘Tis simple, David. Honor is what prompted her request to marry me.”
“Honor?” David sprawled out on the ground and folded an arm behind his head. Soon it would be twilight, his favorite time of day.
“Aye. If we are wed, her clan is safe and—”
“And so is her father’s life. You wouldn’t kill the father of your wife.” Grinning, David slapped at his thigh. “The woman is more than clever. She is cunning.”
“Damned cunning, though I expect she thought I’d refuse,” Kevan agreed. “But marrying her won’t stop my beating a little sense into her father. His daughter fighting in battle.” Kevan grunted lustily. “The man should die.”
“She won’t like that.” David’s smile turned to a grimace. “There’ll be trouble with Innes, too. He wanted her lands, I fear, more than he wanted the lady.”
“Her father’s lands belong to me.”
“Then mayhap Innes does want the woman.” David shrugged. She was a bonny lass, to be sure. But she was a better warrior than Innes, and David didn’t think the man’s pride would let him forget that.
Kevan’s expression grew deadly. “The woman, too, is mine.”
The lethal edge in Kevan’s voice had the hairs standing up on David’s neck. “And what is yours, you keep.”
His laird didn’t answer, just stared at David with eyes hard as iron and as frigid as the stream in high winter. David blinked and looked away. “Innes will never give her his loyalty.”
“She shamed him. But he shamed himself more. Still, he’ll think the wounds she inflicted deepest,” Kevan predicted. He sighed and rubbed his sore shoulder. The bandage would need changing soon. It was gray with dust from the winds. “I’ll give him time to see to his wounds. Then, she’ll have his loyalty . . . or I’ll have his head.”
His laird’s mind was an intricate maze that David had difficulty understanding. “If you’re willing to kill him, why didn’t you let Lady Alyssa declare war on Innes?”
“She isn’t a lord. She has no right to declare war. She’s a woman under my protection.”
“And your women do not fight in wars.” David grew thoughtful, then added in a lighter tone, “But as her husband, you will fight.”
“If there is need, of course. ‘Tis my duty to protect what is mine.”
“I think, Lady Alyssa is not the only one who’s cunning. Still, she won’t appreciate your relieving her of her sword.”
“What she’ll be is bloody furious,” Kevan speculated, giving David’s blade a long swipe from hilt to tip. “But I’ll not leave her empty-handed.”
Perplexed, David asked, “What weapon will you give her?”
The devil danced in the laird’s eyes. “A broom.”
“Sweet Christ.” David sat straight up. “Mayhap you shouldn’t wed her, Kevan. If you do what you say, she’s sure to be a shrew. The woman will make you crazed.” And every Buchannan warrior and allied-vassal would be mighty miserable. An unhappy laird sure as certain meant everyone would be unhappy.
Kevan paused, as if considering it. “Mayhap I shouldn’t. Who shall we wed the hellion to, then?” Testing the blade edge, he grunted. “Mayhap you?”
“Nay—Nay, not me.” David stammered. “She’ll be a handful, without a doubt. She’s skilled, and never have I seen one more beautiful to the eye, but there’s not a drop of humility in her body, nor modesty in her soul. I’m not of a mind to take my wife and my sword to bed at night for the rest of my days.”
Humility.
Modesty.
Feeling as if he’d been struck by a lightning bolt, Kevan went statue still. The amulet at his neck vibrated, then glowed. He turned from David and cupped the crystal in his palm. Memories of other places, other times, flooded his mind. The Elder . . . The Elder was summoning.
Kevan hauled himself to his feet. “Send word to the lady, David. We wed now.”
“But the priest hasn’t returned—”
Kevan glared down at his second. “Go get him.” He knew his voice was cold-to-the-bone, but he couldn’t melt the ice from it. “Get him, David. Now.”
Leaving David gape-jawed, Kevan turned from the fire and headed toward the wood. His second no doubt thought his lady had already made him crazed.
When he reached the small clearing, Kevan again cupped the crystal. “Your grace?”
“Here, Prophet.”
The wisp of sound came from behind him. Kevan turned. From among vapors of silver mist, the Elder of the Council of Perfection stepped out into the sun-dappled clearing, then walked to meet him.
“You have seen your woman,” he said, more than asked.
Was their mission here over? What had been accomplished? Had Alyssa failed because she’d fought? “I have.”
“And your findings?”
Kevan swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and spoke the words that had put it there. “Alyssa is brave, loyal, and skilled in this level, your grace, but she is not yet humble or modest.”
The Elder frowned. “This is not a good sign, Prophet.”
“Nay, but she has shown promise—at least in humility.”
“Promise?” The Elder dipped his chin. “In what regard?”
“When she buried her men, she knelt to each of them and recited something. From her expression, I’m certain the words came from her heart. It was . . . tender and very emotional, your grace.”
A weak glimmer flickered in the Elder’s left eye. The right one remained flat, void of light. “What did she say?”
Prophet had grown accustomed to seeing no light reflected in the Elder’s eyes. It seemed odd to see a gleam present and, though he knew he shouldn’t, he stared. “I couldn’t hear her words; no one could—I’ve asked those who stood closest. But after I lowered the boxes into the graves, I went to her.” A knot of emotion lodged in his throat. Kevan cleared it. “She was in tears, your grace. Alyssa was in tears.”
The flicker in the Elder’s left eye grew to a weak glimmer. “She cried?”
“Aye, I saw the evidence of it myself. Her face was smudged with dirt from the battle.” He lifted his fingers to his own cheek and let them drift downward. The tears streaked a path straight to her chin.”
“I am encouraged by this news. Most encouraged.” The Elder rubbed his frail fingers over the crystal at his own neck. “It is but a small step in her journey, yet it is definitely a step toward the light.”
Kevan reveled in the Elder’s pleasure. “Given time, she will make her discoveries, your grace. I have every faith in her.”
“You always have.” The Elder sighed. “I shall inform the Council. You know I shall have to remove your memory—and your powers of vision.”
“Aye, but not without regret, I would guess.”
The Elder smiled. “You would guess right. I still have my doubts about your woman’s worth, Prophet. But I have none about yours, and you want her. So, I wish her every success.”
“Thank you.” A respectful smile tugged at his lip. “I have it on the best authority that one should not doubt, but have faith, in one’s humble servant.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye.” So the Elder wouldn’t admit that it had been his voice Prophet had heard when beginning the quest. Had it been? “Alyssa will succeed, because she must.”
“For both your sakes, I hope you’re right.” The Elder stepped back into the silver mist, then faded.
Kevan found himself standing alone in the small clearing. Hearing hoofbeats, he turned toward the sound, but saw no one. Who had been watching him? Why? And how in bloody Hell had he gotten to the wood without knowing he’d left the fire?
RETURNING TO Cameron campsite, Alyssa felt closer to fainting dead away than she ever had in her life. Clammy and dizzy, she crawled down from Streak’s back and walked toward the fire. She spread her hands over her stomach and took in deep breaths to calm herself, then stared without seeing into the flames.
Avoiding the rumors racing through the camps, she’d ridden hard to unleash. But the turmoil she’d felt then was nothing to compare with what she felt now. It was on the way back to camp, near the small wood, that she’d been . . .
Her head swam, and she closed her eyes, told herself to settle down. What she’d seen didn’t bear thinking on. Stifling shiver upon shiver rattling up her spine, she forced her mind to focus on something else. The weather. She’d think about the weather. “Pity, these Highlands are cold,” she mumbled to herself. Even in the light of day, she’d not gotten hot. But now that the sun was sinking low over the mountain, her toes were near on to numb.
“My lady?”
She jerked, then seeing her second relaxed. “Yes, Duncan?” She moved closer to the fire.
“The priest has arrived.” He moved to her side. “You’re white as snow, lass. Be you ill?”
Alyssa pulled her plaid tighter around her. “Nay, Duncan. Truth is, I’m scared out of my wits.”
The old soldier guffawed. “I don’t believe it.
“Well, ‘tis truth.”
“You faced the raiders without losing your wits. Yet your hand trembles at wedding your laird?”
Wedding her laird. She swallowed hard. Was he an angel from Heaven, or a warlord from hell?
She shot her second a solid frown. “Damn it, Duncan. He was supposed to refuse. “With a heartfelt groan, she kicked a stone into the fire. A spray of sparks flew into the air. “He was supposed to let Father live. He was supposed to let the clan go on as it has in the past. Why can’t bloody men just do what they’re supposed to do?”
The brown warrior’s leathery skin crinkled near his eyes. “He’ll make you a good husband, lass. The Buchannan’s hard, but fair.” Duncan’s voice grew chill as the wind. “And he’ll never strike you in anger.”
“Are you still festering over that? For pity’s sake, Duncan. I wanted Innes to strike me. ‘Twas the only way to turn the other warriors support from him to me.”
“You’ve done that.” Duncan gave his beard a rustling swipe. “Though you’re fighting for your laird rankles them some.”
Alyssa bristled. “A man’s loyalty is proven when he fights. Mine is suspect because I fought. Where is the justice in that, I ask you?”
“There isn’t any,” Duncan said with a shrug. “You’re a woman. You shouldn’t be in battle, and that’s the truth of it.”
“Well, that ought not to be the truth of it.”
“I don’t see why you’re so fired up, my lady. A woman could have no better husband than the Buchannan.”
“Better? Humph! I don’t want any husband. Especially that foul-tempered, ungrateful—”
“Hush, lass.” Duncan spoke softly to take the sting from his words. “You have to marry. You can give me all the frowns you want, but if I was you, I’d be smiling.”
“Smiling.” she screeched. “This is the worst day of my life, and you want me to smile?”
“Aye. In fact, you ought to be bloody happy.”
“Happy? For pity’s sake, Duncan. Did you get hit on the head in battle? What I am, is bloody miserable.”
Duncan pursed his lips and stroked his beard. “You could be dead—or worse.”
“Worse?” She reached for him. “Oh, God. You did hit your head!”
He brushed her hands from his forehead. “Nay, woman. But you might have. Quit your railing and think. You could be marrying that braggart Innes. And if that isn’t worse than death, I don’t know what is.”
Her proper second was gone. Her friend and trusted family member, the tower from which she drew strength, had come. Duncan knew instinctively what she needed. He always had. And now, she suspected he hid a snarl under that iron gray tuft growing on his chin. “Duncan? I’ve never heard you speak ill of Innes.”
The old soldier shrugged. “Until today he was betrothed to my lady.”
“He is a horrid braggart.” Alyssa whispered her agreement.
“Aye. You’re well rid of him.” A twinkle lit in Duncan’s eye. “Now, the Buchannan. There’s a man worthy of you.”
Alyssa worried her lip with her teeth. Had she seen and heard what she thought she had in the wood? “Do you really think he’s worthy, Duncan?”
He tweaked her chin in a rare display of affection. “Aye, lass, I do.”
She looked up into the face of the man she trusted above all others. “You don’t find him . . . odd?”
“Odd?”
“Never mind.” Alyssa lowered her gaze. Duncan would think her crazed. She couldn’t tell him that she’d seen the Buchannan talking to a white-haired man with no eyes in his sockets.
