Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (10 page)

H
e was awake.

Grianne Nixon knelt down beside the pallet, careful of
her aching joints. The man lying on the straw tried to lift himself but fell
back, one hand clutching his bandaged head.

"Lie still," she said in the toneless voice
of the deaf.

His lips moved, and though she could not hear his
words, the meaning was plain enough.

"My grandson pulled ye from the river," she
said, offering him a spoonful of hot broth. "I've been tending to ye
since."

His lips formed the words, "How long?"

"About a fortnight," she answered, putting
the spoon to his lips. He accepted the broth hungrily, but before the bowl was
empty he lay back and fell asleep.

She rose stiffly to her feet and shuffled back to the
fire, picking up the torn plaid the man had worn and squinting as she threaded
her needle.

Not a word of thanks did he think to give me, she
thought, shaking her head. But then, what could you expect from a Maxwell?

D
eirdre woke with a start, heart pounding in her
breast,   Maeve's panicked screams ringing in her ears.

"What?" she said, straining to see into the
darkness. "Maeve—"

Maeve twisted beside her on the forest floor, tangled
in her cloak, her small fists flailing wildly. Deirdre caught her hands and
held them close. "What is it, Maeve? Are you hurt?"

"Ugly!" the child cried. "No—get away—"

"It's just a nightmare."

Alistair's voice came, deep and calm, as he bent over
Maeve, thrusting his dagger back into its sheathe.

"Wake up, love," Deirdre pleaded. "'Tis
a dream, no more, it cannot hurt you—"

"No!" Maeve sobbed. "Ugly! Mam!"

"I'm right here, love, just beside you. Wake up
now."

The child stopped struggling and lay very still. "Mam?"

"That's right," Deirdre breathed. "I'm
here."

Maeve was crying in soft, heartbroken sobs that tore
at Deirdre's chest. "What is it, baby?" she asked.

"The man," Maeve sobbed. "Ugly."

"Hush, now," Deirdre said. "It was just
a dream, it wasn't real."

Maeve twisted from beneath her hand, her breath coming
in great noisy gulps. "No!" she cried. "Real—"

"Was it a monster, then?" Alistair asked.

The child trembled in Deirdre's arms. "Monster."

"Ah, well, then you've naught to fear," he
said. "I've fought more monsters than you can count. Why, there was one I
met just the other day, a great hairy fellow with long arms and huge white
fangs. But after we'd fought a bit he ran off, crying for his mam."

"He did?" Maeve gulped.

"Oh, aye. And then there was the other one, a
huge great dragon with red-gold scales and teeth as long as my arm, sitting on
the biggest pile of gold you've ever seen. He riddled me three times and three
times I answered. Dragons are no' so clever as they think they are," he
added confidentially. "The trick is to keep your sword to hand and your
wits about ye. We parted well enough in the end, for I let him keep his gold,
all but a pretty bauble I took, just in case one day I should meet a lady who
needed one."

Maeve's body was soft and heavy against Deirdre's now.
"Dragon," she whispered drowsily. "Giants?"

"Oh, so ye know about giants, do ye?"
Alistair said.

"Finn Mac Coul," Maeve said with a sleepy
smile.

"Well, I'm sorry to say I've never met him in
particular," Alistair said, "though one time, way up in the hills on
a fine spring morning, with the sun shining bright and the birds all singing
and the sky the same blue as your bonny eyes..."

As his voice grew lower and finally died to silence,
Deirdre laid her sleeping daughter on the ground and covered her again. Alistair
added some more wood to the fire and drew his sword and whetstone.

"You're very good with her," Deirdre said,
sitting down beside him and holding her hands out to the blaze.

"I like bairns." He shrugged, running the
stone against the blade and testing it with his thumb. "And ye ken I've
had my share of nightmares."

Deirdre nodded. Not a night had passed that Alistair
didn't start at least once from his sleep, waking her from the fitful doze that
was all she usually could manage.

"Do you dream of monsters, as well?" she
asked lightly.

"No." For a moment it seemed he would say no
more, then he sighed and added, "I dream of Ian. I thought I was finished
with all that, but these past days the dream has started up again. It always
begins the same way..."

He told her of the day when he and Ian had found young
Jemmy tied to a tree, the way he and Ian had fought the tinker lads, and how
Ian ran off after them.

"Up until then, it's all just how it
happened," he said, "Once Ian was gone I saw to Jemmy as he bade me,
but in the dream, every time, when Ian runs off, I know that he's heading
straight for Darnley's ambush. I chase him, but I never reach him in time.

"Sometimes I end up at back at Ravenspur. And the
laird—he's there and he looks at Ian and then at me and I know what he's
thinking, why are you alive when he is dead? It all comes back then, knowing
how I failed him, failed Ian, failed my men...and then the laird gives a great
cry and falls down senseless, just as he really did that day.

"But usually I come out of the forest and I'm on
the moor and there they are—my men—lying in the bloody snow with Darnley riding
off. And then I stay with Ian while he dies again—and again—" He stared
into the dark forest, his face strained and pale. "If only I could catch
him," he whispered. "If only I could reach him in time..."

"Then what?" Deirdre asked gently. "What
could you do if you reached him? He's dead and gone."

"He may be dead, but I think—at times I wonder if
he is truly gone."

Deirdre shot an uneasy glance about the clearing, then
gave herself a shake. "Of course he is gone," she said briskly. "'Tis
yourself you should be worrying for now."

He ran a hand across his face and shot her a wry
smile. "Thank you, lady," he said. "You are quite right, of
course."

He bent to his sword again, his expression chill and
shut. Deirdre watched the competent movements of his hands, sensing he was
sorry for confiding in her. She could hardly blame him. She had handled it
badly, she knew that, but while tales of spirits might be fine around a
winter's fire in a crowded hall, out here in the dark forest it was a bit
unnerving.

"Don't you miss Ravenspur?" she asked,
breaking the awkward silence. "Are you not wanting to be home again?"

"No," he said flatly. "Oh, I miss
Malcolm, even the laird, at times, but Ravenspur is—" he broke off,
frowning. "There's too much hatred there, too many old wounds that will
never heal. 'Tis a bad place these days, at least for me. I don't belong there
anymore." He stopped, looking faintly surprised. "It's taken me a
long time to see that."

"Then what will you do next?"

"Who knows?"  He glanced up into the trees. "I'm
just marking time, Deirdre. One road's much the same as any other these
days."

She glanced up, as well, and it seemed an icy finger
was laid upon her neck as she heard the faintest flutter of dark wings above.

"So you mean to wander rootless through the world
until you die?" she burst out, fear sharpening her words. "Is that
it? Just go from here to there as the wind blows you?"

"The wind blew me into your path, lady," he
reminded her. "But for that, you would be back at Cranston Keep."

"But what about when I am gone? What then,
Alistair?"

He shrugged. "I'll see what happens next."

She had the sudden desire to slap him hard, just to
see if she could rouse him from the dark dream he wandered in.

"You'll see what happens next?" she repeated
derisively. "Sure and that is the most pathetic, cowardly thing I have
ever heard!"

He looked at her, his eyes kindling with anger. "I
dinna recall asking your opinion on the matter."

"I
dinna
recall it, either," she
snapped. "Consider it a gift. There are a thousand things you could do,
but no, you want to skulk about the forest like some poor doomed outcast,
wasting all your talents!"

He laughed shortly. "My talents, is it? My men
are dead, my pledge is broken, and my kin have turned me out. Oh, I'm a fine
prospect! Of course, there are still some things I can manage. I can kill a man
in twenty different ways—now there's a talent for you! Makes me verra popular
among men who need killing done. The trouble is, I've had my fill of fighting
battles that have naught to do with me and killing men who've done me no wrong.
And that is all I'm good for now."

"Don't be ridiculous. You could leave this place
and start again, try something new. But no, of course you wouldn't do that—'tis
too much effort!"

"Well, lady, since ye are so free with your
advice tonight, where do
you
suggest I go?"

"To Ireland," she said, then stopped,
surprised. "Yes, to Ireland," she said after a moment. "Why not?
You could take service there... My father would welcome you to Tullyleah, and
he knows every family in Donegal."

Alistair glanced at her, brows raised. "You mean
I should try my hand at killing a few Irishmen? It seems hardly worth the
journey. From all I've heard, they bleed and die just the same as we do over
here."

"You don't have to be a hired sword,"
Deirdre said with exaggerated patience. "You are a seasoned commander, Sir
Alistair, and your reputation—"

"—is black as pitch," he said flatly. "Oh,
it may not have carried as far as Ireland, but there is enough coming and going
that it won't stay secret long. Who would want me then, Deirdre?"

"My father," she said at once. "He
would. When he learns what you have done for us, he'll find a place for you,
and he won't care what anyone says about it, either.  Father is... well, he
goes his own way, always has. And he would be very grateful."

Why had she not thought of this before?  Alistair
deserved some return for all the trouble he had taken and she was pleased to
offer him such a perfect solution to his problems. Perfect in more ways than
one, she thought, looking at him sideways.

Just the thought of Alistair living at Tullyleah,
where she would see him every day, made her heart beat a little faster. He
could redeem himself in Ireland. He could be more than a homeless outcast. If
he wanted to, he could be a very eligible suitor. If he wanted to. But did he?

"I thank you, lady," Alistair said stiffly,
"but I have no' been reduced to taking charity just yet."

"Charity?" she laughed. "Oh, it
wouldn't be that. We cannot afford charity. We cannot afford
anything
!
Between the O'Neills and the O'Donnels, there's precious little left of the
MacLochlanns. But we still have Tullyleah."

Oh, if only she could tell him how wonderful it was!
She could almost see it, the ruined walls and one standing tower, just at the
top of the cliff, with the sea below and the endless sky above.

"It is so beautiful, Alistair—oh, it's old and a
bit crumbly, I suppose, not grand at all. But it is always full of music and
dancing...
Everyone
comes to Tullyleah! Even if the rain does drip on
their heads, it doesn't matter. They come anyway and we have such good
times..."

He was staring at her in surprise, and she let her
words trail into silence, suddenly embarrassed at her enthusiasm.

"MacLochlann?" he said. "That is your
family?"

"Well, yes," Deirdre answered, puzzled. "Why?"

"Thus fell the MacLochlanns
," Alistair sang softly.

"Kings of Aileach and monarchs of Eire,

Deprived of a kingdom

Through the fortunes of battle

And the schemes of their rivals;

Trapped between swords,

Red ran their blood,

On the hills of Caim Eirge."

In his own voice he said, "That is your family?
Kings of Aileach and monarchs of Eire?"

"Several hundred years ago," Deirdre said,
surprised and a bit embarrassed. "Wherever did hear that bit of
song?"

"We had a tutor when I was younger, came from
Ulster way."  He was looking at her very strangely, as though he had never
really seen her before. "Aye," he added quietly, as though speaking
to himself. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

He grinned suddenly. "The way ye order me about,
for one thing."

"It doesn't seem to do me much good," she
answered grumpily. "You never listen."

"Och, I would not say that! Are we not bound for
Annan, exactly as Your Highness desires?" He made her a mock bow, very
graceful, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"You should think about the rest of it, as
well," she said. "Coming to Tullyleah."

"Leave Scotland?"  Alistair looked troubled.
"I've never thought of it."

"I don't see why not," Deirdre said shortly,
pulling her cloak around her and standing. "'Tis a horrid place."