Laird of the Wind (50 page)

As chatelaine, Emlyn had done her best to care for the children and the household. She had managed to send some silver marks to the king, though it drained the coffers, but coin was her only hope of seeing Guy again. She had tried to keep her thoughts on God and turn her anger to forgiveness, but that was exceedingly difficult.

Her parents and older siblings were gone by God's will or another's, but the three little ones were safe in her care. After her brother Guy's capture, Emlyn had vowed that she would never leave the children, and that their lives would be free from the stresses she had known. As their sole guardian, she would do her utmost to make sure of that pledge.

Tibbie went on. "And what," she asked pointedly, "was ye doing in the forest alone? Why did ye not bring even Cadgil?"

"I was practicing," Emlyn said. "And Cadgil is getting old."

"Tish-tosh! Never the bow and arrow?" Tibbie glowered. "Ye've been tempted with those things since ye was a child, and met that accursed outlaw. Else ye're a biddable maid."

"Oh, Tib," Emlyn sighed. Being biddable was her downfall. "Guy himself taught me archery. Many ladies hunt with bows."

"Pah! The fine ladies that traipse about with hunting parties are after bigger game than rabbits! They hunt for rich lords. Had ye not spent years in a convent, ye'd know that."

Emlyn looked away. Tibbie was too close to the truth—hunting a lord was exactly what she had inadvertently done.

Taking a quick breath, Tibbie rushed on. "Why would ye slip away from those that would protect ye from that wicked king—God forgive me, he's a one—to go out shooting at wee creatures? Better to be at yer prayers for Baron Guy, God save him." Another fingered cross hit the air. Then she sighed. "But truly, I cannot blame ye."

Emlyn blinked. "Tib?"

"No wonder ye flee this place, with all our troubles now. Tell me, did ye catch good game for the table? Did ye fetch back a hare or a squirrel?"

"Not quite." Emlyn cringed as she thought again of the knight—dusky eyes, warm hands, sharp words, bloody wound.

"Lord knows we need extra fare for the table now, with too few men to hunt for game here. The king's fines have taken almost all we have. The barrels of salted meat are near empty."

Emlyn sighed, for it was true. Despite a bustling household with servants and craftsmen at work in keep, kitchens, stable, brewhouse, and smithy, supplies were dwindling. And the reassuring presence of a castle garrison was conspicuously absent.

Only a few armed men walked the parapet now. When her brother Guy had been taken, most of their men-at-arms had gone elsewhere by king's order. Few men were available for hunting, and the lack of soldiers also meant that Ashbourne Castle could not withstand for long any attack from outside.

"We are surviving just fine," Emlyn said defiantly. "Somehow I will pay the rest of Guy's inheritance fee. And this year our sheep's wool will fetch a good price."

"Not enough for that grasping king," Tibbie grumbled.

"Then he must accept another payment in part."

"Hmph," Tibbie commented.

Thank heavens, Emlyn thought, for the help and wisdom of Walter de Lyddell, Rogier de Ashbourne's seneschal, who had remained with them. With his guidance, the castle household had a semblance of normalcy. Emlyn wanted to shield her little siblings from the current predicament; the children were her responsibility, entrusted to her and Guy when Rogier had died.

"The twins must be well occupied. All seems peaceful," she said to Tibbie, looking around, realizing there was silence.

"Oh, quiet might mean a child is plotting the most wicked of troubles. Ye and Guy, bless him—the king's a bastard, forgive me Lord," she muttered, index finger flying, "were a pair to keep up with, and yer sister Agnes and brother Richard too—God bless his departed soul, and watch over sweet Agnes in her convent." She hurried on. "But I kept after all of ye, just I do now with the twins and precious baby Harry. The twins are playing a board game, and little Harry is sleeping, bless him." Just as she spoke, a child's screams sounded overhead.

"What is that?" Emlyn looked up.

"Saints and angels, the Saracens are come again," Tibbie muttered. "I told them not to—"

"I will tend to it." Emlyn turned to run up the curving stair that led to the bedchambers above the great hall, her leather soles scuffing a rhythm on the stone steps.

The Black Thorne's Rose

Special
Author-Cut
Edition

by

Susan King

~

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Page forward for an excerpt from

Susan King's highly-praised

The Raven's Wish

A Scottish Historical Romance

Excerpt from

The Raven's Wish

The
Author's Cut
Edition

by

Susan King

Chapter 1

Betwixt the hours of twelve and one

A north wind tore the bent,

And straight she heard strange eldritch sounds

Upon that wind which went.

—Tam Lin

~

Scotland, the Highlands

Summer, 1563

"Aaarrghh! Missed him, the son of a snake!" Splashing through the water, scrambling over slick rocks, the girl gained steadier footing. Staring intently into the stream, she swore again, and the airy Gaelic oath sounded like a prayer.

Ignoring the raucous chorus of male laughter that floated out from the bank, she shifted her fingers along the stout stick gripped in her hand. A silvery flash teased past her bare legs, and she struck downwards, cursed loudly. Cold water surged over her knees, saturating the hem of the plaid wrapped about her slim hips and slung over her shoulder.

"That fish won't wait for you! Strike faster, cousin!"

"Elspeth! Use your Sight, girl! Find yourself another fish, just as you find the cattle when we go raiding!" More laughter sounded.

Scowling, Elspeth glanced toward the bank. Four young men, her cousins, stood on the slope, two or three guffawing heartily as they watched her efforts. Sunlight brightened the deep blues and greens in their plaids, echoing the colors of the grassy moors and distant hills beyond. A quick, cool breeze lifted and dispersed their laughter.

"Hush," Elspeth called. "Loud as the pests of hell, the lot of you, and scaring the trout too. How can the Frasers boast of their own way of fishing, striking fish with rods, if the Frasers themselves cannot do it proper?"

"Ah! Fraser
men
can do it proper! Look here, girl!" Ewan, the red-headed cousin standing on the bank, gestured toward the slithery pile of fish that already lay on the turf. He and the others grinned.

Her own laughter bubbled out. "Men?
Gillean gòracha
."

"Foolish boys, is it?" Magnus said, his blond hair bright in the sun. "Foolish girl, you should be home preparing our supper, and not out here playing with the lads!"

"My cakes would be burned, and I would make a mess of your fine fish," she called back. At this, Ewan, along with her cousins Kenneth and Callum after him, bent forward playfully, clutching at imaginary bellyaches.

"A fine wife she will make for Ruari MacDonald," Ewan said to the others.

"Do not dare say that name," Elspeth snapped. "Huh, Fraser men, is it, and acting like babes," she grumbled. "Now be silent, all of you."

Balancing her club between her hands, she bent forward to scan the shallows. "Ah, there you are, back again, old fish. Flora MacKimmie wants you for her cooking pot, and won't take no for her answer...."