The Raven's Wish (12 page)

"Good," Kenneth said, and stood back to let Callum take the next shot.

"Excellent," Callum grunted, and swung.

Silent, Duncan stood back, puzzled, intrigued.

* * *

"They are waiting for you, Duncan Macrae," Flora said, "up on the roof."

"The roof?" Duncan asked. Setting his beaker of ale down on the table in the great hall, he glanced at his golf partners, lately returned from the moor. Thirsty from the long game, they shrugged in unconcerned response as they drank their ale. Crossing the hall toward Flora, who stood in the doorway, Duncan asked again. "On the roof, you say?"

Flora nodded her heavily jowled face, and pointed upward with a long, knotty finger. "The MacShimi did say, when the long-robe returns, send that one to the roof." She directed her finger toward the stairs, and Duncan nodded.

He quickly mounted the spiral steps, which curved around a central pillar, his boots scuffing on the worn stone. Afternoon sun slanted through the arrowslits cut into the outer wall.

Climbing to the uppermost level, he reached a small landing lit by one arrowslit opening. A rough-hewn wooden door led outside to the roof and parapet wall. He heard voices beyond the door, raised in argument.

Through the tiny window, motes spun along a slender shaft of daylight. He stepped toward the door and reached out to grasp the iron latch. He heard an angry curse, uttered in Elspeth's clear, light voice.

Those pure silvery tones, in other circumstances, might have reminded him of an angel. At this moment, he thought only of an avenging angel. His hand tightened around the handle.

Pushed from the other side, the door burst open. As the heavy oak planking slammed into the bridge of his nose, his vision went momentarily dark, then red and gold before the first flash of shocking pain began to clear.

"
Dhia
!" he exploded, and pressed his hand to his nose to subdue the pain with pressure. He took his palm away, saw no blood, and touched his face gingerly. His nose throbbed beneath the cover of his hand.

Elspeth had stopped short in the doorway and was looking up at him in evident surprise. Behind her, sunlight made a golden halo of her hair. She stepped into the small landing and slammed the door closed behind her with a resounding, apparently satisfying crash. The iron latch rattled and fell still.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, glaring up at him.

"Holding my nose," he answered in muffled irritation. Massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers, he frowned at her over the rim of his hand.

Ignoring his intent stare, she stepped sideways, passing through the shaft of light that beamed across the landing. For an instant as he watched, she seemed to glow, her hair turning to delicate copper, her smooth brow and cheek to creamy gold. When she looked back at him, her eyes caught the light. Their hue was extraordinary, like transparent silver, or sunlit water.

Despite the pain he nursed, Duncan had thought of angels when he had heard the sweet, light air of her voice; now he thought of fairy beings. The girl was sylvan and delicate, with an unearthly purity beneath the tartan plaid, the linen shirt, and the tousled, thick plait of hair.

"I did not know you were there," she said in a clipped tone that offered scant apology. "You will have a bruise for your trouble, I think. Is it listening you are doing, here at the door? Do you seek information for the queen's council? Ask my half-brother, then. He lives in the same pocket that keeps you!"

The gossamer moment vanished. Stepping forward, Duncan shot out an arm to block her way at the head of the curving steps. Leaning his weight into his hand, palm flat against the stone wall, he looked down at her.

"I am no spy, Elspeth Fraser," he snapped.

She looked up at him, her breath heaving in her throat. "Are you not?" she asked. "What is a spy, but a man who lingers at doors and follows others through the dark of night."

Narrowing his eyes at the insult, he lanced her with an angry look. She skipped her eyes away. Leaning on his extended hand, he stood a head taller than Elspeth. He felt as if he caged her in that small space. Another step, the slightest movement of his other arm, and he could trap her against the wall. He considered it briefly, for she had a bitter edge to her tongue. And his nose throbbed. He thought he deserved some apology.

Even in the midst of anger and pain, he was aware of the indefinable pull that he felt each time he saw her, as if a whirlpool swept him along its outer edge. He wondered if she felt it too. But when he looked at her again, he saw only a cool spark of anger in her eyes. His own temper began to flare.

"If I had not followed you through the dark of night on your raid," he said, lowering his voice to a growl, "—and believe me, you Fraser cousins were easy enough to follow with the noise you made—all of you might have been beset by angry MacDonalds. And you, my girl, would have been swallowed whole by the peat bog."

She lifted her chin. "What does a lawyer know of rounding up cattle? We were fine, needing no help. And I would have pulled myself and the lamb out of that bog in quick time."

"Ah, well, then, my apologies. And your apology to me—?" He rubbed meaningfully at his nose.

"I am sorry that I did not know you were spying behind the door," she snapped.

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Graciously said."

Elspeth scowled. He studied with interest the delicate wrinkle between her slender brows. "Go on, then," she said, gesturing toward the door. "They wait for you. The MacShimi, my cousin Ewan, and my half-brother Robert Gordon."

"On the parapet? Do they expect an attack?"

"They do not. Hugh often holds meetings on the roof. He enjoys it there." She frowned up at him. "Go, then. You and my half-brother have much in common, I think."

"And what," he said between his teeth, "might that be?"

"Robert has come here to demand that I marry with Ruari MacDonald within the month. An order you would approve."

"Ah. And so you gave him the same forthright answer that you gave us in the hall the first evening I was here."

"I did." She looked up at him defiantly.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Do you always answer any mention of marriage with the help of stout doors?"

"Robert has no right to demand this of me. The MacShimi, as chief of the Frasers, is my guardian. My father is dead, and Robert is not a Fraser."

"Then whatever the MacShimi decides for you, that you must do. Where is the difficulty? He and Robert both want you to wed this MacDonald. Some of your cousins do as well."

"And the queen's lieutenant approves." She scowled again.

Duncan shrugged. But an odd twist swirled in his gut. Suddenly he no longer approved of this marriage arrangement. Before he could follow his own contrary thought to discover why, Elspeth had stamped her foot in blatant anger.

"None can make me wed this man!" she burst out.

"You seem certain of that."

"I am." She spoke through tightly pinched lips. "Ruari MacDonald will not live long enough to wed."

Duncan watched her warily. A chilling suspicion occurred to him. He stepped closer, and pressed his fingers hard against the cold, rough stone. With his other hand, he circled strong fingers around the back of her neck. Though she resisted, he tipped her head up with his thumb. Her hair slipped over his hand like cool silk. Her gray eyes sparked like flint.

"Another prophecy?" His quiet voice toughened with anger. "Have you warned Ruari MacDonald of his awful fate? First you attempt to frighten me away from my duty. And now you try to avoid this marriage the same way."

"Do not mock me," she whispered.

He leaned close enough to threaten, so close that his breath fluttered the soft, wild curls that edged her brow. With his restraining hand, he felt the tension in her neck as she looked up at him. Delicate muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed in the silence.

"This is a dangerous, witless game that you play," he said.

"I do not—"

"Never claim knowledge of a man's death, my girl," he went on. "Unless you have seen his death with your own eyes."

He heard her sharply indrawn breath. With a muffled exclamation that sounded like a sob, she thumped a fist against his chest and pushed. He would not let her pass. Grabbing her shoulder, he held her firmly in place. Swirling currents seemed to race unbidden through his body whenever, wherever, he touched her, but he tightened his will against them.

"Would you call me a liar?" she sobbed, pushing again at his chest. "I will tell you this, and it is no lie—Ruari MacDonald will never wed with me. I will kill him myself if I must! And that is no prophecy!"

"Indeed. That sounds like an angry threat," he said. She nodded. Her nostrils flared and her breath came too fast. "How does a feud cause you to hate this one man so?" he asked.

"Surely the queen's lawyer knows what a feud can do." Her voice was bitter. "Let me pass."

Keeping his gaze and his grip on her, he suddenly remembered the vile taunts that Ruari and his brothers had called out by the stream. They had very nearly accused Elspeth of witchcraft.

Certainly there was more to this refusal than she had told anyone, he thought. He would wager that her cousins were unaware of her intense anger against Ruari MacDonald. Surely they would not support the marriage offer if they knew.

With that quick understanding came a frisson of dread. "Elspeth," he said slowly. Afraid to ask, he knew he must. "Has this MacDonald done harm to you? Has he laid a hand on you?"

She flashed her eyes away from his. "Let me go, Long-robe."

"Tell me," he said. His earlier suspicion of her so-called prophecies now paled to absurdity. Fear and anger stung him as he thought of what MacDonald could have done to this girl. "If Ruari has touched you, your cousins will kill him—and I would ride with them." He felt the sudden and total conviction of his words.

She stared up at him as if in surprise, silent.

"Has he harmed you?" he asked.

"Ruari has not harmed me," she said, and as she looked away, he bent forward to hear her, and her cheek grazed his in passing.

A sensation like sweet lightning shot through his body at the touch of that soft skin against his unshaven cheek. Silken hair slipped over the back of his hand at her neck. His hands on her body gentled, drew her nearer.

She held still, her breath a soft caress near his mouth. He shifted slightly, and her mouth met his so easily that it surprised him. Tentative, her lips brushed his and lifted away, more touch than kiss. A surge plummeted to his loins, intense and demanding, and the whirlpool began to spin. He took a deep breath to steady himself against the pull.

She drew back and looked at him, her eyes wide, her breathing as pronounced as his. "You would ride after Ruari?"

"If he harmed you, I would," he murmured.

Her brows drew together. "And what would that do for your precious bond of caution?"

She pushed hard at his chest and broke away. Duncan lifted his hands and stepped aside to let her pass. He watched as she ran down the curving steps and out of sight.

Sighing heavily, he rubbed at his aching nose. Once again, a few moments with this girl had thrown him into some mad eddy of emotion and impulse.

He reached for the iron latch, opened the door, and stepped out onto the parapet.

* * *

A breeze lifted his hair as Duncan advanced toward the three men who stood by the parapet wall. From up here, he noticed, the view extended for miles. Light flowed like liquid over heathery slopes, and the lochan below sparkled. Overhead, a few geese flew past, honking loudly.

"Aha!" Ewan exclaimed as Duncan came nearer. "Look at you. Caught the rest of Elspeth's temper, I think. Black as a badger about the eyes you will be by morning. And she, the little wildcat, will still be angry at all of us."

"I bumped into the door," Duncan said.

"A door named Elspeth Fraser," Ewan said, and smiled over at his cousin Hugh, who nodded.

"Elspeth has a disgraceful temper. Someone must control her." Speaking Gaelic in clipped tones, a man stepped out from behind the tall Frasers and looked coolly at Duncan.

"Master Robert Gordon," Duncan said. "It has been long since we last met. Inns of court, was it not?"

"It was," Robert replied. "Macrae of Dulsie. Greetings."

Duncan held out his hand, and Robert grasped it. Long-hooded eyes, a flat gray-blue, assessed him openly. Although it had been over ten years, Duncan had remembered the distinctive coppery hair and the down-turned mouth. He now saw the vague resemblance between Robert and his half-sister.

Where Elspeth's coloring was warm and delicate, like sunlight and roses, Robert Gordon's skin had a sour, yellow look. His lanky hair had a brassy tone, and his short beard was sparse. Unflattering but stylish, his slashed black satin doublet, trimmed with gold-thread embroidery and a stiff yellow lace ruff, added to the rancid impression.

Though a Highlander by birth and property, Robert wore a narrow bit of tartan in the Lowland manner, crossed over the front of his doublet and tossed over his shoulder like an afterthought. Robert's slender frame seemed slight beside the Frasers in their wrapped plaids. Even Ewan, who was not as tall as his cousins, was brawny beside Robert.

"Elspeth has never been encouraged to behave like a proper young woman," Robert said, his voice nasal and refined. "Now she has injured the queen's own representative in a fit of temper. This is shameful. Obviously I have made the correct decision to wed her off."

Duncan raised his eyebrows. Near him, he heard Ewan swear softly. Hugh turned to Duncan, frowning. "Robert has taken it upon himself to accept the MacDonald offer. He has promised Elspeth's hand to Ruari within a month's time. He has already sent word to the MacDonald chief. Without authority from us—"

"She is my charge as her half-brother," Robert said.

"I am chief of the Frasers," Hugh said, rounding on Robert to stare down at him from a height advantage of several inches. "I am her guardian. You had no right to accept the offer."

"You gave no answer to the MacDonalds," Robert said. "They were anxious to seal the bargain, and appealed to me."