English, Elizabeth (18 page)

"Aye,"
he said. "And where's this danger coming from?"

"Darnley."

Jemmy
sighed. "Your news is stale. I'm married to his daughter—"

"I
ken."

"—so
you can go haunt someone else. Why don't you visit Alistair? He's the one who's
supposed to have the Sight."

"Alistair
is in danger, too, perhaps greater than your own. He's blind and deaf to all
but his grief—"

"You
mean his anger. Stephen, it's been interesting and all, but the night is nearly
over and—"

Stephen
reached for him, one white hand closing over Jemmy's wrist. The effect was
instantaneous. Jemmy jerked upright, suddenly stone sober and very wide awake.

"
'Tisna only for your sake I'm here, but for mine as well."

"Yours?
I'm eighteen years too late to help you, Stephen, and I'm sorry for that. Why
aren't you in... well, in heaven?"

"I
should have passed over long ago—but I didna, I couldna, not without— Oh,
Jemmy, ye dinna ken how long it's been, so long and all alone. Time is...
different for me now. Almost I'd forgotten what held me here, forgot all but
the wanting—and if that happens, if I truly forget, then I'll never leave this
place. But you're here now, and ye can help me, you're the only one who can.
Please, Jemmy, ye have to help me."

Stephen's
voice was so urgent, his face so taut with concentration, that Jemmy merely
nodded.

"I'm
listening."

Stephen's
face worked as he tried to speak, but no words came from his lips. At last he
said, his voice strangled, "Trust your heart."

"Trust
my heart? That's what you came from the grave to tell me? Trust my
heart?"

"Aye!
If only ye would
listen
—not to what I'm saying but to what isna being
said—"

"God's
bones, Stephen, can't you do any better than that?"

"No.
I canna. Damn ye, Jemmy, ye didna used to be so hard!"

"Well,
a lot has happened since we last met," Jemmy said, sinking down into a
chair. "For instance, I—"

But
Stephen was gone.

Jemmy
sat for a long time, staring at the hearth as the fire wanned his icy limbs.
Long after dawn his men found him there, fully dressed and fast asleep.

The
mountains rose on either side of Alyson, so high
that they took her
breath away. The air was crisp and cool and smelled deliciously of heather. But
though she was on her way to the McLarans at last, she found no pleasure in the
thought that her time at Ravenspur was at an end.

She
kept thinking of the gardens, the poor neglected flower beds. So much beauty
and all of it wasted, while the flowers bloomed unseen and spilled forth their
scent into the empty air. Soon the weeds would choke them and they would be
gone forever.

But
one day there might be another lady there, one who would have time and leisure
for a garden. Perhaps it would be Jemmy's lady. Alyson imagined herself safe
among the McLarans and Jemmy with another wife. If he survived the coming
battle he'd have no choice but to wed again. And then his bride would stand
with him before the fire, would feel his arms around her. But would she tremble
at his touch as Alyson had done? Would the feel of his lips make her faint with
longing? No, it wasn't possible she could want him half as much as Alyson had
done that night.

And
it wasn't possible that she would understand him as Alyson did. No doubt his
new bride would think, as all the rest of them already did, that he had been
mistaken to try and make a peace that was never meant to be. She would never
understand that it was strength, not weakness, that made him lead the clan
where they did not want to go; that it was wisdom that made him try to stop a
war that had destroyed so many lives. She will never truly know him, Alyson
thought, blinking back sudden tears. And even if she does, she could never love
him as I do.

The
Laird rode beside her. After a time Alyson realized he was trying very hard to
engage her attention and made some attempt to respond. She watched without
interest as a hawk circled the hills, gazed on the gleam of a loch far below,
tried to summon a smile for the small yellow flowers the Laird pointed out to
her. She had just turned to look at a breathtaking mist-covered mountain rising
in the distance when she spotted the band of horsemen approaching at a gallop.
Kirallen saw, too, and called for Jemmy, who spurred his horse to his father's
side.

In
no time at all the horsemen were upon them, aiming straight for the Laird,
their drawn swords flashing in the sunlight. Jemmy brought his horse crashing
into the leader's, and the man went down, his sharp cry cut short by churning
hooves. Then Alistair pulled up and he and Jemmy were fighting side by side,
the other men ranged behind them. The battle was short and hot; four of the
attackers lay dead upon the ground before the others turned as one and galloped
off, the Kirallen men in hot pursuit.

Alyson
turned to see Laird Kirallen ashen-skinned and blue-lipped, clutching his
horse's mane. She dismounted and helped him from his horse, easing him back
against the bracken and taking his hand in her own.

"It's
all right, my lord," she said, straining to see what was happening in the
meadow below. "They're gone. Here, now, the men are coming back again,
every one of them."

Alistair
leaped from his horse and grabbed Alyson by the shoulders, his hands biting
painfully into her skin as he pulled her to her feet.

"What
d'ye ken about that?" he demanded.

"I—nothing—nothing—"
she stammered.

"I
dinna believe it!" he cried, shaking her as though to force the truth from
her. "Tell me!"

"Alistair,
cease—" Laird Kirallen said weakly, struggling to rise.

"What's
this?" Jemmy dismounted and seized Alistair by the arm, whirling him
around. Alyson stumbled back, dizzy with fear, and sat down hard beside the
Laird. "How dare you lay hands on—"

"Those
were Darnley's men," Alistair shouted.

"Alistair,
no! What are you saying?"

"Who
the hell do ye think they were?"

"Reivers.
They spotted us and thought—"

"Oh,
Christ!" Alistair cried. "Ye dinna ken—ye dinna understand anything
that's happening here! Look at her," he pointed to Alyson, who recoiled
with a guilty start. "There's some trick here, the whole thing is rotten,
and ye canna even see it! Ye dinna ken the first thing about any of this— ye
haven't been here, Jemmy, have ye? No, ye weren't here while we were fighting,
dying—ye were off doing exactly as ye pleased. It means nothing to ye that Ian
lies dead, slain by ambush—"

"Damn
you!" Jemmy shouted, now equally enraged. "Do you think I don't mourn
my brother? Do you think I've forgotten what they did to our uncle? I was
there, Alistair, when they brought him back—I remember it all, and I can hate
as well as you. But it has to end sometime."

Alyson
heard the ring of bridles as the other men returned. They sat without speaking,
watching the two men before them. Then they moved their horses—just a step or two—
but enough to show that if sides were to be chosen, it was Alistair they
favored. Soon all who remained at Jemmy's back were the twins, Conal and Donal,
both of them looking very young and frightened.

"Oh,
aye," Alistair spat. "And end it will. It ends when Darnley's dead
and we've won, when we've taken all that's his."

"No,"
Jemmy said flatly. "It ends here and now. It's finished."

"For
ye, maybe. But not for me. Never for me."

Shouts
of agreements greeted Alistair's words, but he didn't seem to hear them. His
eyes were locked with Jemmy's in a battle belonging only to the two of them.

"Alistair,
please," Jemmy said. "Listen to me. I've been the world over and 'tis
everywhere—the English fight the French, the French fight the Spanish, the
Italians fight the Pope! And here—'tis not enough that we fight the English,
we're at each other's throats! That's what keeps Scotland down—it isn't them,
it's us. Because we can never stop— not for a single moment can we stop the
bloody fighting among ourselves. But it doesn't have to be that way."

"Ian
is dead—" Jemmy said, and Alistair bent his head, his face wrenched with
pain. "'Tis the worst thing that could have happened to the clan, I ken
that. But he's dead, and you have to let him go. What difference will it make
if you kill Darnley now? It will just start it all up again, the suffering, the
dying—and for what? So Malcolm can end the same way? Alistair, we have to pull
together, we must, or we'll tear the clan to pieces between us."

"Fine
words," Alistair said scornfully. "But that's all they are, just
words. I ken ye well, Jemmy, I always have. A man fights for what matters to
him most, and ye never fought for anything but yourself."

Alyson
watched fearfully, certain they would come to blows. But instead of answering,
Jemmy looked away.

"I
gave my fealty to Ian," Alistair continued. "Not to ye. As your
brother lay dying, struck down from behind by Darnley himself—aye, by the man
who fathered your wife—I swore that I would look after Malcolm as if he were my
own. And 'tis for Malcolm's sake I stay. Because when the day comes for the
clan to choose another laird, it willna be you, Jemmy. It will be Malcolm. And
'tis I who'll be his regent. That's what Ian wants."

Say
something, Alyson silently urged Jemmy. Show him who is in command!

"So
'tis to be Malcolm, is it?" Jemmy said coolly. "You may be right,
Alistair. Who can say? But until that day, my father rules here and you take
your orders from me. Now get on your horse. We've wasted enough time.
Father," he added, turning to the Laird, "Can you ride yet? If not
I'll wait with you until you're stronger."

"No,
I'm well enough." Kirallen stood slowly and drew himself up very straight.
He looked from Alistair to Jemmy and then to Alyson. "Daughter," he
said distinctly, holding out one arm. "Allow me to assist you."

"Thank
you."

When
Alyson took his arm she could feel it trembling beneath her hand, though the
nobleman gave no other sign of his feelings as he led her to her horse and held
the stirrup for her. Mounted, she looked down at Alistair. He stood, arms
folded across his chest, and met her gaze with hard, accusing eyes.

After
a moment she had to look away.

***

They
made camp for the night in a sheltered hollow of the hills with a broad loch
stretched below them. As sunset fell across its waters, splashing them with
gold and red and purple, Alyson seated herself on a log by the fire and waited
with the others for the food to cook.

The
company was subdued tonight. There was no singing and no laughter as they
waited for their meal. The two young knights, Donal and Conal, sat on either
side of her. At least Jemmy had them, Alyson thought. There might be others who
would come to his side—if only he would do something to win them over.

Donal
offered her a cup of spirit and she took it, gasping a little as the fiery
liquid went down her throat. But after the burning passed she rather enjoyed
the warm glow it brought to her empty belly. She took another sip and then
another and suddenly the cup was empty.

She
accepted her plate of meat and bread, but her appetite vanished when Jemmy came
to sit beside her. It was the first time she'd been close to him since that
night—but no, she wouldn't think of that. That was all over now and she was
going home. And there would be no opportunity for them to be alone during the
journey. The women had already spread their blankets on the ground, and the men
would stand guard in turn throughout the night.

She
should be glad. She
was
glad. Of course she was. Once they reached the
McLarans she would be done with the Kirallens forever. She would go to her
place and Jemmy back to his, and the two of them would never meet again. It was
all quite right and proper. And it would surely break her heart.

Firelight
played over his face as he stared into the dancing flames. She traced each
contour with her eyes, remembering the joy of running her fingers across the
sharp plane of his cheeks, his solid jaw, his lips... He had such a lovely
mouth. It was set now in a grim line, but she remembered the dazzling wonder of
his smile.

She
wished that she could see it once again, his smile, with its one merry little
dimple. Never, not in her wildest imagination, would she have suspected that dimple.
Just now it seemed impossible to believe in it, but she was convinced of its
existence. If only she could see it once again, just to be quite sure it was as
charming as she remembered...

She
shook her head and lifted the mug to her lips. Someone had filled it again and
she drained it without thinking, then choked a little on the harsh spirit. When
she caught her breath she saw Jemmy watching her, but he looked away instantly.

"I'm
fine," she declared. When he didn't answer, she dug one elbow into his arm
and he turned.