English, Elizabeth (19 page)

"I'm
fine," she repeated. "Just in case ye wondered."

He
nodded and turned back to his perusal of the fire.

"Are
ye reading the future in the flames?" she asked, then wondered what had
happened to her voice. She'd meant the question to come out lightly, but
instead she'd sounded belligerent. And unless she was mistaken, there had been
a slight slurring of the words. "The future" had sounded suspiciously
like, "Th'fushur." Or so she thought. She wasn't really sure.

"I
beg your pardon?"

He
looked at her, brows raised in question.

"Never
mind."

She
waved one hand in airy dismissal, mortified when it stuck him on the cheek.

"My
lady," he said gravely. "You are weary—"

"Oh,
no!" she laughed. "I feel better than I have for— well, for—for a
long time!"

"Still,
I think it best that you lie down."

"But
I'm not tired in the least! D'ye know what I'd like to do?" she asked,
struck with the brilliance of her idea. "I'd like to dance! Who's that
fellow wi' the pipes? Tell him to play something merry—or no, 'tis no matter,
I'll tell him myself—"

"No,"
Jemmy said, catching her by the arm as she struggled to rise. "Sit down.
This is not the time for dancing."

"I
don't see why not!" she said indignantly.

His
lips twitched as though he was about to laugh. She was affronted, yet at the
same time she was intrigued. Perhaps she could win one smile yet before they
parted.

"Well,
if ye say so," she said grudgingly. "Though I do so love to
dance."

"You
do?"

"Oh,
aye. And so do ye. I kent ye that night—the night of the—oh,
you
ken,
the night that we were—"

"Married?"
He supplied the missing word with flawless courtesy, but the tantalizing
promise of a smile vanished.

"Aye.
Standin' up there, callin' out for a woman to partner ye. Oh, I saw it."

"Did
you? How interesting. Now I think 'tis time—"

"And
that lass—what was her name? I kent her after, the black-haired wench. Bold as
brass she was. 'I will, my lord!' I heard her clear enough—"

"Maude,
be quiet!" Jemmy ordered, glancing at the people sitting around them.

"But
why?" she demanded. "I only speak the truth! And what I meant to say
was... was..."

What
had
she meant to say? Something about their wedding night—or no, Maude's
wedding night—something about...

"Dancing!"
she exclaimed triumphantly. "That's what we were talking about!"

Now
he did smile, and if it was a trifle on the wry side, not near enough to make
his dimple dance, it was better than nothing.

"Yes.
Dancing. It's a pleasant pastime, but perhaps you should finish your supper and
we can try a walk instead. The loch is lovely in the moonlight."

She
managed to eat the best part of her meal, for once she started she realized she
was ravenous. When she set it aside he stood and took her hands, pulling her to
her feet.

She
picked her way carefully among the people seated near the fire. The ground was
far more uneven than she had noticed earlier. But she navigated carefully and
soon stepped out of the circle of firelight into cool darkness.

Jemmy
walked silently beside her. She couldn't make out his expression but suspected
it was grim. Ah, well, so much for her plan. Even if he was grinning ear to
ear, she wouldn't be able to see it. But still, it was nice to be away from the
others for a time. As they walked down the hillside, the sounds of the people
up above faded into the soft swish of water against the stony shore.

"There
is no moon tonight," she pointed out. The loch ahead was invisible, save
for the occasional silver flash as a dark wave caught the starlight. "But
'tis still lovely."

She
kicked off her shoes and hose, then stepped carefully over the rocks until the
water lapped at her bare feet.

"Going
for a swim?" Jemmy asked from behind her.

"
'Tis a bit cold for that," she said regretfully. A swim would have been
just the thing to clear her head. But the cool water felt pleasant on her feet,
and she wiggled her toes, smiling a little. She felt better now, not so dizzy,
but still very light. It was a pity that they couldn't dance. Even Maude had
admitted that she was rather good at that.

They
were quiet then, listening to the endless pull of the loch against the shore.
From the hillside came the soft strains of a clarsach, and the sweet harp music
was joined by a single voice.

My
love built me a bonny bower,

And
clad it all wi' lily flower

A
brawer bower ye ne 'er did see

Than
my true love he made for me.

There
came a man by middle day

He
spied his sport and went away

And
brought his kin that very night,

They
brake my bower and slew my knight.

Such
a sad song, Alyson thought, tears welling in her eyes. But then, so many were.
At least the songs that were sung on the Borderlands. Sir Robert and Lady Maude
had brought other songs from London, merry tunes and pretty little ballads that
did not end in heartbreak. But London was another world entirely. In this
world, Alyson's world, violent death was commonplace, and those who were left
sang of what they knew—tragedy and sorrow, loneliness and loss...

She
had lost Jemmy already, she knew that, but at least they were still together.
When they reached the McLarans she would not have even that. There was so much
she didn't know about him, would never know now. So many questions she longed
to ask...

"You're
shivering," Jemmy said, his boots splashing in the shallows. "Come
back now and try to sleep."

"Not
yet. I'll stay a little longer. You go if you like."

Jemmy
heard tears in her voice and wondered at the cause. Whisky, most likely, he
decided, stamping down hard on his sympathy. First she wanted to dance, and now
she was crying over nothing. No doubt she would turn maudlin next. He sighed,
braced for the tears and reproaches she would surely make. But when she spoke,
it was not what he expected.

"What
was your ship's name?"

"The
Osprey,"
he answered, startled both by the question and the wistful
tone in which it was put to him.

"Truly?
I would have expected a pirate ship to have a different sort of name..."

"A
pirate ship? Did my father tell you that?"

"Sir—my
uncle said..."

"Ah.
Well, I suppose he could have said worse. I've done a bit of smuggling now and again,
but that's the worst of it."

His
eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and he could just make out the outline
of her form against the water of the loch.

"Did
you have it long? The
Osprey?"

"Four
years. Just long enough to begin to learn about her."

"Her?"

"Aye,
well, 'tis custom to call a ship that way."

He
was standing just behind her now, close enough to feel the heat of her body
against his.

"I
wonder why that is," she said casually.

"Oh,
I suppose it comes from sailors being too long at sea," he answered,
breathing the scent of her hair. "And ships have moods we cannot
understand."

One
step more and her head would be resting against his shoulder. He decided it
would be foolish to take that step and spoil the moment altogether.

"Like
women?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

"Aye.
Like women."

"But
you understand... your ship?"

"A
bit. At least I like to think I do. She still puzzles me at times, usually when
I think I've learned all there is to know. I suppose that's part of her
charm."

Her
laughter came softly in the darkness. "When you know her through and
through, then what? Will you change her for another?"

"Oh,
no. I think that if I ever learn her altogether, I couldn't bear to part from
her."

The
harper ended his plaintive tune and silence fell, while the water pulled back
and forth around Jemmy's ankles. A good pair of boots ruined, he thought, and
didn't care.

"But
you canna be sure of that. Perhaps, when there's no mystery left... you willna
like what you find."

"That's
a chance I'll have to take."

"Is
it? Sailors abandon ships, don't they? They do it all the time."

"Not
if they're the captain, they don't. Any captain worth his salt will stand and
fight."

He
stopped abruptly, realizing this conversation was leading somewhere else, a
place he didn't mean to go.

"I
ken," she said quietly, turning to face him. " 'Tis just like Sir
Alistair said before. A man fights for what's important to him." Her
fingers lightly brushed his cheek. "It's all a matter of finding that
thing, isn't it?"

Against
all intention he reached for her, but she slipped past him in the darkness.

Nothing
means that much to me, he thought as he splashed back to shore, feet squelching
coldly in his sodden boots.
Nothing.
And nothing ever will.

They
heard the music first. Pipes and tabors, voices
raised in song were the
sounds that greeted the Kirallens as they topped the rise of the high moor.
Then Alyson saw the people—hundreds, it seemed to her at first, dressed in a
confusion of bright colors. Some were dancing, and others stood about talking
and laughing together. When the Kirallens were spotted, many of the people
hurried over to welcome them.

Alyson
stood between Jemmy and his father. The two men were greeted warmly, but Alyson
received the slightest bow or curtsey, a murmured "My lady," and no
more. She suspected that she wouldn't have received even that much had it not
been for the two Kirallens, their very presence demanding she be treated with
respect.

At
last an older woman approached, wearing a gay plaid of red and gold, her white
hair drawn back from her weathered face. She did not curtsey as the others had
done, but held out her arms to Laird Kirallen and caught him in a strong
embrace.

"Gawyn,
I've been thinking of ye every day since we got the news of Ian. He was such a
braw lad, I can scarce believe he's gone." They held each other for a
moment, then she released him and wiped her eyes, saying briskly, "But I
see ye have your Jemmy back, and that must be a comfort. Now let me look at ye,"
she said, turning to Jemmy. "The last time we met ye were just a
bairn."

Her
face darkened as though at some painful memory, and Jemmy said softly,
"Aye. I remember."

"Ye
were gone too long," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"Emma,"
Laird Kirallen said. "This is Maude, my daughter. Maude, may I present
Emma McLaran?" Alyson nodded slightly.

Emma's
expression hardened as she studied Alyson. Then she looked at Kirallen and made
a slight movement with one shoulder, almost a shrug. "Ye are
welcome."

Alyson
could sense the Laird relax beside her, and she realized that she had passed
some sort of test.

"And
you, Alistair," Emma called, "Oh, I see ye over there. Come and greet
me properly! That's better," she said, giving him a quick hug. "Are
ye not wed yet? 'Tis a scandal and a wicked waste. I know the perfect
lassie—"

Alistair
laughed. "And me not here five minutes!"

"You've
wasted enough time as it is," Emma said firmly, though she smiled as she
spoke and ruffled Alistair's light hair as though he were no more than a boy.
"Just let me know and I'll have it done in no time at all."

"Where
is Hamish?" Kirallen asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Abed,"
Emma sighed. "Poor man, he wanted so to greet ye. Will ye stop and talk
wi' him awhile?"

"With
pleasure," Kirallen answered. "I hope 'tis nothing serious..."

"Och,
he's no' so young as he used to be," Emma said.

"Jemmy,
Alistair," the Laird said. "Attend me please."

As
they moved into the crowd Alyson scanned the people eagerly, her eyes lingering
on anyone who wore the McLaran plaid, hoping that she would recognize a
likeness to her mother or hear a familiar name. She had been searching her
memory for anything Clare might have said that would help her now.

There
was frustratingly little to remember. Until her final illness, Clare had never
spoken of her past. By the time she realized she would not live to take her
children home again, it had been too late.

Alyson
did not know the names of her grandparents or any of her kin but had been
certain that the Laird of the McLarans would help her there. Now it seemed he
was too ill to rise from his bed—yet she still hoped to find a way to see him.
Or if not him, then she would have to speak to Emma at the first opportunity.