Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (46 page)

"Juliana, regardless of which way I lean in my heart and soul, I need to do what will serve all those whom I love—my family in England, my kin in Scotland. My honor as a knight. You," he whispered fervently. "I can ensure your safety if I remain with the English. Do you not see that?"

"Safe," she said, "without you?" She glanced over her shoulder. "What serves you in this?"

"That I can help others, and protect them," he said. "It means much to me, that, though some think it my greatest flaw. If I sacrifice something of my life, I gain in other ways. Mayhap you would still love me," he said softly, wonderingly. "If so, 'twould be more than enough."

"You I love," she murmured. "But a Sassenach who rides through Scotland, ruining it for his king—'tis hard, that."

He stood abruptly and stepped away, placing his foot on the rubbled wall. "So that is your answer. You cannot love a Sassenach."

She stood and came toward him. "You I love. You. 'Tis my own flaw. My own weakness. Or my strength," she whispered. She touched his arm.

He turned with a low groan, overwhelmed by what he felt, what she offered. Gathering her into his arms, he tucked his chin over her head and stood silently with her.

"There is another way to claim this place," she said, looking up at him. "Claim it through your king—your own king, the King of Scots. You were born a MacDuff, not an Avenel."

He looked over her head at the night landscape and did not reply. There was irrefutable truth in what she said, and undeniable risk.

"Robert Bruce will take this land back from the Sassenachs one day. Scotland will be free, I know it in my heart. Glenshie is yours by right. Your own king would not dispute such a claim."

"Unless the claimant fought for the English." He sighed. "I have been tempted to put my faith in Robert Bruce and his campaign, I confess it. He is a true king, noble with it."

"Would you give your fealty to a man who has himself transgressed against King Edward, and made his obeisance three times? Would you pledge to follow that man, now that he has followed his heart and become King of Scots?"

He huffed a flat laugh at the irony she pointed out. "You are asking me to change my allegiance."

"You did so once."

"I need to ensure the safety of my English and my Scottish families," he said gruffly. "The best way to do that is to serve my knight's obligation, and earn what privileges I can—for your sake and for the Avenels both."

"You choose obligation, not love. Loving us, you could still follow your own heart. We would understand that."

"Understand this. I obeyed my heart once, and went over to the Scots. It ended in disaster."

"Then try it again."

He stared out at the mountains and the loch. "'Tis a beautiful place, this," he murmured. "I remember it well. I always wanted to come back. But I love the Avenels, too."

"You have family here—your own MacDuff kin."

"I know. I must speak to them."

"And someday," she said, taking his hand and placing it on her abdomen, "there may be others who are kin to you."

He kissed her temple. "Would you want that, with a Sassenach knight?"

"I want that with you," she murmured decisively.

He framed her face. "Would you go with me to England, if I asked that of you?"

"To visit your family, but I cannot live there. My soul is here."

He nodded his understanding. "You bargain hard, my love."

"'Tis worth the price," she said. "I will not give up."

"Give up for now," he murmured. "Here, in this place, we need have no loyalties but the one between us." He bent close, so that his brow touched hers.

She smiled sadly. "Just while we are here, then," she whispered. "Hidden away."

The night wind was soft around them, and stars glittered in the indigo sky. He slipped his hands into the silk of her hair and tipped her face upward. He kissed her tenderly, and drew her down to the cool grass. While the cool wind caressed his skin, he bared hers gently, and surrounded her with his plaid.

With slow, deliberate, gentle caresses at first, he skimmed his hands over her body, cherishing her, feeling her warmth surround him, succor him. Kissing her deeply, luxuriantly, he groaned low when her knowing touch stoked the fire within him.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he felt urgent with an intense need that was more than physical. The sun would rise soon, and the obligations of the outer world would return with it. When she arched in sweet and silent ecstasy, he filled her, and loved her, and lost himself within the boundary of her soul.

* * *

The water was dark and calm, swathed in mist, and the sky paled as dawn approached. Gawain walked away from Glenshie to stand on the long slope that overlooked the loch. Long ago, he had stood here with his father, and had first heard the legend of the swans of Elladoune.

He turned to see Juliana coming toward him, folding her arms around herself, her hair and tunic pale in the darkness. She had slept only a little, he knew, as he had, until the cool, damp air had awoken him.

He took her hand and looked back at the loch. A sense of peace surrounded him. No matter what he did, she would love him. And he would always love her, to the depth of his soul, and beyond. Nothing would alter that.

Soon they would have to cross the water and face what had been wrought around them, and between them. For a while, he just wanted to be here with her, immersed in tranquility.

Dawn emerged, soft and cloudy, a pale, opalescent pink, the hills soft blue-gray, the loch silver. Swans floated, white crescents upon the breast of the water. The mist slipped away on gentle winds.

At the heart of the loch, he saw a shimmering veil of gold. The dawn light was growing faster than he wanted it to come.

"Look," she whispered. "Do you see it?"

Frowning a little, he looked again. Juliana shifted closer to him, and he put his arm around her.

A wash of golden color hovered below the water. It wavered, and took the shape of walls—windowed walls.

"Dun nan Eala," she whispered. "'Tis the fortress of the swans. The sunken castle. Do you see it?"

He saw it. Though he could hardly believe his own sight, there it was. If he blinked, the vision might disappear. He drew her closer in the circle of his arm.

"'Tis a gift," he murmured, and kissed her hair. She slipped her arm around his waist and nodded.

Time suspended, misted and still. A moment later—a blink, a breath—and the legendary place vanished.

Juliana turned full into his arms, and he heard her sob. He felt stirred enough to weep himself. He cradled her close.

Lifting his head, he looked again. No trace existed of the magical fortress. Above the loch, the sky brightened, its upper region heavy with clouds. He glanced at the opposite shore.

Something moved among the trees in the forest. He narrowed his eyes, watching more carefully. Shapes emerged—figures in long, dark robes, hauling a structure of some kind.

"What," he said, "is that?" Whatever it was moved away from the abbey into the deeper part of the forest.

"Ach,"
she said softly. "You do not see that."

"I do see it," he insisted. "It looks like they are moving the bell tower. God save us," he muttered, watching as the tall timbers swayed, as if on a base of wheels. "It looks like a siege engine."

"'Tis naught. Come away." She pulled at his arm.

"Naught? A siege engine in the forest, propelled by a bunch of monks, naught?"

She turned to him, her face earnest. "Gabhan MacDuff—I will call you that so long as you wear that plaid—you needna think upon it. You wear a Highlander's garment, and stand on your own Highland property, and speak to your Highland wife. And so you do not see that, over there."

"Juliana," he said crisply, "why are the monks moving a siege engine?"

She sighed. "They are taking it to the King of Scots."

"Ah," he said. "I see. The scaffolding. Malcolm and his brethren built this under De Soulis's nose. Under mine as well."

"They did," she said. "De Soulis burned the other one the rebels had made, which was already promised to the king."

"Juliana," he said, "what rebels?"

"The ones in the forest," she admitted. "The ones in your own, ah, castle."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Let me guess," he said. "James Lindsay came here to claim that machine for the king."

"To check on its progress," she said. "In part."

"So I have been harboring rebels under my roof, and consorting with them daily."

"You have."

"And I am married to one of them."

"You are." She glanced up at him anxiously.

He stood quietly, taking all of it in. Then he shook his head and laughed. Putting his hand over his eyes, he laughed yet again, a rueful sound that ended in a groan.

She smiled up at him. "Heaven will not stop playing its games with you until you give in, I think."

"Give in to what?" He looked down at her in surprise.

"Being the Scot you were born to be," she answered.

He shook his head, still smiling. He had no immediate answer for her, but the truth of his feelings was abundantly clear. Yet he had followed heart and instinct before, when he had gone over to the Scots. And he had held himself back from doing so ever again, no matter his leanings.

What would happen if he followed his heart again? He had much more to lose than before. He rested his arm on Juliana's shoulders.

The sky was a soft blush color, its upper layer filled with heavy gray clouds. Rain would come later in the morning, he thought, feeling the cool dampness in the wind.

He looked across the loch, and drew his brows together.

The image of the castle was there again, tipping the waves with golden veins of color. This time, the image was brilliant orange-gold, floating on the surface of the water.

"Juliana," he said warily.

"What?" she asked, and lifted her head, and cried out.

"Elladoune is burning," he said.

He took her hand and began to run down the hill.

Chapter 31

"Is there no boat?" Gawain asked when they reached the pine tree at the edge of the loch. "We would cross faster."

Juliana nodded, breathless with running. She realized he was right, though she used the boat only in cold weather. Turning, she skimmed along the forest path with Gawain until they reached a narrow pebbled beach below the level of the trees.

Hidden in the shallow water in a reed bed was a small round boat made of hide, with one cross seat and a triangular paddle inside. Gawain helped her into the boat, which spun a little. He leaped inside and took up the paddle.

"I have never rowed a curragh," he said. "Though I remember riding in them as a lad."

"Rhythm," she said as he began to move them out of the reed bed. "Rhythm and stroke will balance it."

He nodded. Despite some crazy wavering, he dipped a curving stroke to each side and mastered the skill quickly. The little boat struck out over the loch, creating quiet waves.

The swans glided out of the mist and surrounded them, floating alongside, some of them taller than the low-slung hide boat. Their escort and the pockets of fog on the loch concealed them from sight as the boat skimmed toward the other shore.

Juliana watched Elladoune. Bright flames licked the inner side of the castle walls, and smoke billowed from one corner of the bailey. "Only the kitchens are on fire, I think," she said. "'Tis not the great keep. And the stables are on the opposite side. Surely whoever is in there will get the horses out!"

"We will be there soon enough," he said as he rowed. "And Laurie and the MacDuffs will be fighting the fire, no doubt. If 'tis the kitchens, the blaze can be put out and the place saved."

"Look," she said, pointing. "The sheriff's men are outside, on the hill leading to the gate. They must have shot fire arrows into the bailey. 'Twas not an accidental fire."