Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (2 page)

Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing.

—
Robert Burns

Prologue

I heard the sweet voice of the swan

At the parting of night and day,

And who should be guiding in front

The queen of fortune, the white swan

—
Carmina Gadelica

Scotland, the Highlands

Winter, 1286

"In the time of the mists," the
seanachaidh
said, "when faeries danced upon the Highland hillsides, a maiden lived in a fortress of bronze and silver on an island in a loch. She granted her heart to no one, until a certain warrior wooed her and won her love."

Gabhan MacDuff, grandson of the
seanachaidh
and son of a warrior, yawned as he lay on his stomach beside the hearth fire. His parents sat nearby with kinfolk and a few servants, all quiet as they listened. He rested his head on his folded arms and watched the flames dance.

"Their love was bright as a rainbow," his grandfather went on. "And all who knew them admired them for the love they bore each other. They were to be wed—he who was dark as a raven, and she who was fair as a swan."

At the mention of their love, Gabhan wrinkled his nose. His father chuckled softly, sitting nearby, his long booted legs stretched out to the fire. He touched Gabhan's head with his big, gentle hand, reminding him to show better respect.

"But one man, a Druid, secretly wished them ill. He coveted the maiden for himself, and his heart had grown hard and dark with longing. He vowed that if he could not have her, then no one would.

"On the eve of the wedding, the Druid went out into the moonlight and spoke a spell. He took a faery bolt and shot it into the skies. Clouds gathered and a great storm arose. The waters of the loch swallowed the island, and lightning struck the fortress. The walls crumbled into the loch."

Gabhan liked the part about the destruction of the fortress. He propped his head on his hand and looked at his grandfather. The older man was handsome like Gabhan's father, with blue eyes and black hair gone gray. Gabhan's own eyes were brown, like his English mother's, though he favored his Highland kin otherwise.

"All who lived in the fortress were drowned on the eve of the wedding," Adhamnain MacDuff continued. "And the dark-haired warrior and the pale maiden were lost, too, in the deep loch."

Gabhan frowned. He did not like to imagine the warrior and the maiden sucked into the murky waters. He waited, hoping to hear that they would be saved.

Seated beside his father, his mother smiled at him, and then gazed lovingly at her husband. Gabhan knew that his mother had left her English family to come to Glenshie Castle to be with her Highland husband, also called Adhamnain, although her family thought him a savage and unsuited to her. Now she rested her hand upon his arm, her face glowing and happy, her dark eyes warm and sparkling.

Gabhan looked up at his grandfather, feeling anxious. He did not want the story to end in disaster.

"But the hearts of the lovers were pure, and the power of shared love is strong and good, and cannot be destroyed. Such love makes its own magic, and that is what saved them all... in a way. Every soul who drowned that night became a swan," his grandfather said, leaning forward. "The maiden and the warrior transformed into the most beautiful and most graceful of all the enchanted swans on the loch.

"The Druid saw the birds, and saw the loving pair at the center of the flock, and knew that his evil plan had failed, for he had not separated them. He fled the land. The descendants of those swans live upon that loch still, and the magic and mystery of that place will always endure. And it is said that at certain times, in certain lights, the walls of the sunken fortress may be seen—but only by those whose hearts have been opened by great love." He sat back, smiling.

"What happened to the Druid, Grandfather?" Gabhan asked.

"Some say he still lives, having found the secret of eternal life, and that someday he will return to claim the swan maiden."

Gabhan shivered at the thought. "I know that place," he said. "It is called Loch nan Eala, the loch of the swans. It is not far from here. My father took me to see the swans there. A castle is on the shore, called Dun nan Eala, and a family lives there. And my mother told me that she and my father saw the fortress once, shining at the bottom of the loch."

His grandfather smiled. "Surely if any have seen it, those two have," he said, eyes twinkling as he glanced at his son and daughter-in-law. "It is believed that sometimes the warrior and his lady come ashore, shedding their swan skins and regaining their human forms for a few hours. They search for a way to break the spell. If they ever find it, they will be free."

"Can it be broken, Grandfather?"

"They say that a warrior who knows true love must catch a faery bolt and fling it into the heart of the loch, the opposite way that the evil man threw it," his grandfather said. "Then the spell that surrounds the loch will end at last."

"Ach,
" Gabhan said. "I could catch a faery bolt."

"Could you?" Old Adhamnain smiled. "That is hard to do."

"I could do it," Gabhan insisted confidently.

His grandfather smiled. "Faery bolts are very hard to find. And the swans on that loch are happy, after so long."

Gabhan nodded, and rested his head upon his arms once again when his grandfather turned to murmur with his parents.

Though Gabhan listened, he understood little of their discussion. They spoke of the recent death of the King of Scots, and the struggle with the English king who was sending his armies north. The English had no rights here, his father insisted. Righteous rebellion already brewed in Scotland, and he would fight in the forefront of battle if he must, to protect Scotland and his home and kinfolk.

The hour was late, and Gabhan was tired, and the warmth of the hearth and the low drone of voices put him to sleep quickly. He dreamed of a sun-sparkled loch where white swans glided. He was a swan himself, gliding beside a beautiful female. Their matched bodies were mirrored in the smooth glass of the water. A golden chain circled his neck, and hers, and bound them together. He felt the gentle tug of the links as he floated in the cool lap of the water beside her.

Storm clouds sailed over the loch, and Gabhan lifted his wings. Beside him, the beautiful swan did the same. They rose from the water as one, with the chain draped between them like a banner of sunlight. They fled from the storm, but it caught them with a fierce, dark wind. Lightning flashed, clouds rolled like boulders, and the wind spun them down into the water's embrace.

Gabhan awoke with a cry, and felt his father's hand upon his head, soothing and strong.

* * *

Not long after that night, Gabhan rode over the heathered slopes away from Glenshie alongside his weeping mother, his grim nurse, and an old male servant. They were leaving the purple hills and the swift streams, leaving the stone tower that was home. His mother said they were going to England.

His father was dead. Killed. Gabhan could not think of it, for the pain was too deep. The castle had been attacked, and his grandfather had died as well. His mother had urged him along on a desperate escape in the dark of the night, while he heard shouts behind him and smelled smoke. He understood little, if any, of what had happened.

Still, he squeezed back tears and held his head high as he traveled. Determined to defend his mother, knowing his father would expect that of him, he kept his wooden sword pointed outward. His nurse told him to put it down before he hurt someone. But his mother smiled wanly, and thanked him for his chivalry, and let him keep the sword.

At the English border, his mother traded his red plaid, which his father had given him, to a farmwife for a brown tunic that fit Gabhan like sackcloth. His mother told him he must speak only English now. He must never speak Gaelic again, she said, and he must answer to Gawain, never to Gabhan MacDuff.

He had nodded obediently, his wooden sword ready, his back straight. He did not understand all that she asked of him, and he missed his father so much that he ached as if he were ill. But he loved his mother and would do whatever she asked. The sadness in her eyes matched the hurt in his heart. He only wanted to see her smile again.

Her English kin were strangers, but kind, and the hills near his grandparents' castle were low, green, and lovely, though not as beautiful as the hills near Glenshie. He liked the long-legged horses and the dogs and cats his uncles and grandfather kept, and he often walked along a nearby river to watch the swans there. They, more than anything, reminded him of home.

Later, his mother wed Sir Henry Avenel, a handsome widowed knight who made her laugh, and who had three small sons. With his young stepbrothers, Gawain ran errands for the knights who rode in and out of Avenel Castle. Fascinated by their armor, their horses and weapons, and the endless stories of their noble deeds, Gawain yearned to become a knight.

No one ever mentioned Glenshie or the MacDuffs to him again. Gawain sometimes saw his mother gaze at him with sadness in her eyes, but she only shook her head if he asked, and turned away.

Secretly, Gawain thought of Scotland often, cherishing vivid memories. He intended to return to Scotland one day and find Glenshie Castle, to claim his rightful land and title. That must wait, he knew, until he was grown and a knight, the master of his life, the benevolent defender of others that he so wanted to be.

He grew tall, and manhood strengthened him, body and heart and soul, and he felt his boyhood dreams fade. At last he knelt before the king of England to be knighted. Promising fealty, he swore to dedicate himself to the principles of chivalry.

When he finally returned to Scotland, he rode behind his king, and beneath the dragon banner, the sign of destruction.

Chapter 1

Scotland, Perthshire

Spring 1300

Flames poured upward, fierce and beautiful, licking delicately at the door frame. Blinking in the light, Juliana stumbled back as a web of fire spread over the floor rushes. She ran to the window of her bedchamber, whirling uncertainly.

Somewhere below, she heard a crash as the blaze engulfed more of her father's castle. Struggling against panic, she reminded herself why she had come back here against her mother's wishes, just as they had been ready to escape by the postern gate. She was sixteen and a woman grown, she had told her mother; she would be safe, and would return quickly.