“He had two blades,” Keenan said (28 page)

Keenan’s lips seared her as he tangled hands through her hair. She had just baited a lion and she was about to be consumed. Keenan loosed the rest of the blanket while leaving her lips to run his hot mouth down the side of her neck. Serena panted softly into the soft waves of his dark hair as his mouth claimed one of her breasts. His desire rolled through, bringing her own senses to a boil. Whether through some magic connection or through touch alone, she felt his passion as her own climbed to meet it, to embrace it, to build upon it. Yes, she had baited a lion and he was ready to swallow her, she thought as she sank to her knees before him. Never before had prey looked so forward to being eaten alive.

****

Lachlan Maclean paced before the dying flames in the great hearth. He watched the shadows play against the stone walls hung with polished shields, axes and swords. His father’s broadsword, his grand da’s shield. They hung there, a place of honor after days of battle. They hung there waiting, waiting for him to take them up. He sighed heartily and took another gulp of the fine mulled wine Elenor had brought him after the messenger had ridden away.

Lachlan glanced back at the table where several Maclean warriors stood, where the missive lay curled exactly where he’d left it. He saw Elenor where she still watched him. His beautiful sister, so lovely and yet none was brave enough to marry her. He turned his stare to the tapestries overhead, their threads woven and needled to depict great scenes of Macleans defending Kylkern, Macleans knee deep in battle defending their family, their people.

Would anyone ever take month after month to needle a depiction of him, Chief Lachlan, son of Angus, into a tapestry? What would it look like? Would it be of him hiding behind the locked doors to his rooms, or him fleeing down one of the secret passageways saved to evacuate the women and children? Perhaps there would be a magnificent tapestry woven to depict him clutching behind his beautiful sister’s skirts.

Lachlan rested his forehead against the back of his hand on the mantel. He looked down into the brittle logs, licked black with flame. More likely there would be a tapestry of his brother, Keenan, standing in front of him, his sword raised to protect him, as his duty demanded.

Hamish, his friend from childhood, came to stand beside him at the hearth. “What answer do we send, Lachlan?”

Keeping his forehead against his hand, Lachlan turned his gaze to his friend. “Do we ken where my brother is?”

“Nay, but I’ve sent a scout down our usual route toward England.”

“One scout?”

“Aye, I dinna dare send more in case we need to ride quickly.”

Lachlan nodded, rubbing the top of his hair against his hand. He turned his head again so his eyes could study Hamish. “What say the men,” he said glancing toward the standing warriors on the other side of the room.

“They are ready to chase the English from our soil and raise Prince Charles to his rightful place. They but wait for word from ye and for Keenan to return.”

Lachlan shifted away from the mantel. “Keenan, they but wait for Keenan.” Lachlan held his voice down, but softness could not cloak the sharp edge in his tone.

“And yer word, Lachlan. Ye are our chief.”

“Chief in name only,” Lachlan forced out from clenched teeth.

Hamish did not answer for a long moment. “Chief Maclean, we wait yer word.”

Lachlan turned to the bowing man and then looked out toward the rest of the room. “Send word that we arm ourselves to join the call to Drumossie Moor.” His voice filled the rafters with its force.

“To Culloden!” the men echoed, raising their swords to stab high into the air.

Lachlan turned to Hamish. “Send the answer to the MacDonalds that we ride in three days to meet them at Culloden. We will lay camp on the fifteenth.”

“And Keenan?” Hamish asked.

“Keenan can come along if he makes it in time. Otherwise, I will lead this clan into battle.”

Hamish hesitated just long enough for Lachlan to narrow his eyes. A challenge.

“Aye, Lachlan,” Hamish answered. He turned on his heal and headed for the door, his men behind him.

Lachlan turned back to the fire as Elenor walked over to stand beside him. She placed her soft hand on his rigid shoulder, but didn’t say anything at first.

Lachlan kicked at the logs and several sparks shot out, crackling in the thick silence.

“Very brave, brother,” she said. “Perhaps foolish, but very brave.”

Lachlan lurched and kicked the stone hearth. Elenor jumped back. “Doona pass judgment on my actions, sister,” he hissed before throwing himself into one of the two chairs flanking the fire.

Elenor didn’t retreat, but remained standing. Lachlan looked at the palms of his hands. They were supple. He rubbed them together. “They are like hands of a woman,” he said softly.

Elenor sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. She didn’t say anything, just ran her fingers along his palm. He looked up to her. “They should be rough, calloused, Elenor. Not soft like a maid’s.” He pulled it back and put his face in his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Dear God, Elenor, what have I been doing with my life?” The fire cracked and wheezed.

“Hiding,” she said simply.

Anger surged through him only to crash down as he recognized the truth in her word.

“Hiding,” he repeated and scrubbed at his face. “Aye, that I have.”

He looked up to Elenor and straightened in the chair. “But I’ve finally found the witch. Perhaps I can stop hiding.”

Elenor frowned. “Serena’s not here.”

“But she was, and she will return.”

“With Keenan?”

“Aye, of course,” he began and hesitated, wondering at her question. “Keenan will bring her back.” Lachlan’s frown increased. “My brother kens his duty.”

“Just as ye ken yer duty to hide, Lachlan?”

“What do ye hint at, Elenor. I grow weary of reading behind words.”

“Just this, how would we all act, who would we all be, if we weren’t ruled by the prophecy? Would ye hide here watching yer friends grow in valor and strength? Nay. Would I wither away as an old maid?” She tipped her head to the side and smiled. “Perhaps,” she teased. “But perhaps ye would have wed me off long ago so I wouldn’t plague ye so, brother.”

Lachlan clapped his hand down over hers but did not release his frown.

She continued more seriously. “Would Keenan spend his whole life obsessed with protecting ye, only to die without having ever lived?”

Lachlan caught his breath at the tear swelling the rim of Elenor’s eye. He watched it grow until it broke free to race down her cheek. Leaning forward, he caught it on his finger.

“Or,” she continued ignoring her tear. “Or would there be bairns filling the nursery and young lads and lasses laughing through these grand halls, playing out the stories of bravery, stories about two great brothers, strong and cunning.” She sat back to look into the dying fire. “Aye, Lachlan,” she sighed. “I wonder how different things would be if we had never heard a single word of our prophecy.”

Lachlan let her hand go and looked up again at his father’s sword. He had raised it upon the wall at his da’s death. Keenan already had his own sword, from his seanair. That sword on the wall was meant for him, Lachlan.

Lachlan jumped up from the chair. He felt Elenor’s eyes as he picked up a stool from against the wall to move it under the sword. Climbing up, he placed his two hands under it, careful not to slice them on the blade. It took a little force to wrench the weapon from its slumber in the hooks. He curled his hands around the smooth leather wrapped hilt and stepped down.

Lachlan turned, sword pointed upward. Elenor stood by the chair, her smile at odds with the tears running freely down her cheeks.

“It looks good in yer hands, Lachlan,” she said and sniffed.

Lachlan swung it slowly in a low arc. “Three days, Elenor. I have three days to learn to swing Da’s sword.”

She came up to lay her hand on his arm. “Yer a Maclean, Lachlan. The feel for it runs in yer blood.”

He nodded and turned the weapon slowly catching the firelight along the polished steel.

“Da is smiling down from heaven, Lachlan. I know he is.” She was crying again.

Lachlan lowered the sword, tip to the floor and put his arm around her shoulders. “Da smiling? Da never smiled. When he was happy, he just bellowed softer.”

Elenor laughed through her tears and hugged Lachlan. “I love ye, Brother.”

He hugged her again, and then took the sword up again. “And I love ye, Elenor.” The heaviness of the sword ripped through him, causing all the hairs in his body to come alive. He gave a shout, a battle cry in the sleepy hall.

Elenor laughed and shushed him.

“Na’ quiet this eve, Sister. I am off to ride.”

“It’s dark, Lachlan.”

“Aye, and a fine night for a ride with my sword.”

Lachlan left her as he strode to the door. For once no one stood behind him with words of caution. He was done hiding, done being the Maclean coward. Lachlan Maclean had three days. And he planned to live every minute to its fullest.

****

Keenan walked his horse over to Serena’s and mounted. “Doona look so sad, wife. We’ll return someday,” he said, as he too looked around the soft, mossy ground. His words held hope for their future, but something in his tone made it sound more like a goodbye. He turned his eyes on her.

“It’s a special place, Keenan. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He smiled. “It’s our special place now.” He reached out and squeezed her hand before nudging his horse forward out through the thorny bramble.

As they rode out of the dense clearing Serena noticed a shift in the wind. She shivered against it and pulled the blanket closer around her. She sucked in her breath so quickly that Keenan turned in his seat.

“What is it?”

“The pull,” she said holding tight to the mane of her horse. “The pull to the west is so great it nearly yanked me from my horse.” Serena looked directly west, feeling the tight thread pull sharply from her birthmark. She rubbed her hand across it through the layers of her shift, stays, bodice, and the blanket.

Keenan reigned in so that he sat next to her. She looked at him. “I feel that we must both go west,” she said, staring into his eyes, trying to convince him of something she didn’t even understand. “Like it is the most important thing in the world for us to go,” she paused. “Together.”

Keenan’s frown turned in that direction. “I’m not sure, but I think I feel something also.”

“You do?”

“Aye, like a tug telling me exactly which way west lies.”

“What do we do?”

Keenan looked out through the tree line that broke onto rolling hills that would eventually lead them to the sea. He slowly shook his head. “After we return to Kylkern, then we will see what lies to the west.”

Serena’s stomach turned, and she took some steadying breaths to focus her shields against the tug. Something or someone was pulling with all their might to bring her, to bring them, west. Keenan’s hand grasped her upper arm, and she opened her eyes.

“Are ye well, lass? Do ye need to ride with me?”

Once she fortified the wall around her, Serena felt better. She smiled timidly. “It takes a bit more concentration to prevent me from galloping off in that direction,” she tipped her head west. “But I am well.”

Keenan didn’t like that answer and swiftly pulled her onto his horse. He leaned back to tether Serena’s mount to follow his. “We’ll ride together, then. I have no time to be chasing ye across Britain.”

Serena’s head bumped his chin slightly as she settled against his hard chest. “So you would chase me?” she teased.

His arms came around hers like warm iron. “Yer mine, in the eyes of the church, and with our vows in the clearing, yer mine before the stars and before God, lass. Aye, I’d chase ye.”

Serena smiled up into his serious eyes. “Then you best chain me to your side tonight else I walk all the way to the sea.”

She turned and felt his breath hot against her head as he chuckled into her hair. Then he leaned down to her ear, his lips just skimming the tender ridge. “I’ll be sure to tire ye out then, lass, so exhaustion will hold ye in place by my side.”

His threat, spoken so intimately caused a ripple of giddy excitement to run down her neck and into her body. Serena leaned back into him and enjoyed the ride. She closed her eyes to rest, a smile played across her face as she thought of the long night ahead in his arms.

****

Icy mountain water rushed into a pool below, raising a mist of colors within the secluded glade. Sharp, thin slices of ice jutted out from the high peak where the water crested to fall. Serena shivered, looking at the freezing majesty of water nature before her. She leaned back into the warmth of Keenan’s chest as they stared at the beauty. She felt him move, his arms tightening around her, his breath hot at her ear.

“Ready for a swim?”

Serena twisted in his grasp until she caught his gaze and saw the teasing glint that revealed his jest. “To swim in that would be a wish for death,” she retorted with a sarcastic smile.