Highland Storm (25 page)

At hearing the name, Lianae’s shoulders tightened. “The lady Uhtreda?”

Had she come to retrieve her stones?

The steward nodded, as though he’d read her thoughts. But nay, he could not know she had them… nobody but Keane knew she had the charm stones. Lianae furrowed her brow. “Does she come alone?”

“Nay, m’lady. She comes with six of fitz Duncan’s guards.”

“But not fitz Duncan himself?”

“Nay, m’lady.”

Relaxing a bit, Lianae put her quill down upon the table and pushed the ledgers away, reminding herself that she had fifty men—plus a houseful of servants who were loyal to the old Moray thane. Not even fitz Duncan would dare defy a king’s writ. She was lady of the manor now, and she refused to be cowed by fitz Duncan in her own home. At any rate, Lianae no longer had the majority of the stones, nor did it behoove her to confess herself before a woman who’d raised a monster such as William fitz Duncan. “Let her in,’ Lianae allowed.

“Art certain, m’lady?”

Lianae sat straighter in her chair. “Dinna worry, Balloch. If she dares to challenge me, it will be the same as challenging her sworn king. Show the lady Uhtreda into my hall.”

“Very well, m’lady,” Balloch agreed, though reluctantly, but then he stood, his lips parting as though he meant to speak again. It was a look she was coming to know well, for the man always seemed to be on the verge of telling Lianae something more. But he shut his mouth again and turned to go.

Lianae let him leave, and once he was gone, she went to change her dress.

Despite that she was far more accustomed to wool than silk, it was a message she meant to send to the lady Uhtreda.
She
was the lady of Dunràth now, and as such, Lianae would look the part to face her accuser. For a moment, she considered leaving the small silk purse behind, but as they went with her everywhere now, she did not wish to leave the charm stones unguarded, not even in her own house. Fastening the purse to her girdle, she made her way toward the great hall.

The Lady Uhtreda herself had once been the consort of a king. Her father Gospatric was Earl of Northumbria, but Lianae was a daughter of Moray—the true Moray heir.

Dressed in one of Aveline of Teviotdale’s mended gowns—a pale rose samite surcoat, with a white tunic beneath and a gilded girdle—she arrived in the great hall to find the long-faced woman seated calmly at her table, without her guards. Having left them outside, she sat alone, blinking innocently at the sight of Lianae.

To the contrary, there were at least four of Lianae’s guards present—two at the hall doors, one each at opposite ends of Lianae’s long table. Intrigued that the lady would come without her hateful son, Lianae approached the table and sat down, facing the older woman.

“What brings you to Dunràth, Lady Uhtreda?”

Lianae couldn’t quite give the woman the deference her title commanded. It made her stomach even more ill than the haggis she’d consumed this morn—and she longed for a bit of her husband’s whitebeam tea.

Uhtreda smiled cannily, with hooded eyes. For an older woman, Lianae must admit she was still lovely, with dark hair and bright blue eyes though her face was marked with even more wrinkles than Lianae remembered. She wore her hair in braids, much as a young maid would, laced with golden ribbons. Her dress, as well, was finely sewn, woven with tiny threads of gold. “I had a visit from an auld crone a few days past… she wore a patch over one eye,” she said at last.

“What has some auld woman to do with me?” Lianae asked her. The stones at her belt seem to weigh a little heavier.

Uthreda’s eyes twinkled with a certain knowing. “Ah, well, she was passing through on her way to the Isle of Skye,” she said.

“And?”

“She assured me I could retrieve the remainder of my stones… from
you
.”

Lianae’s breath caught over the blatant challenge, and the two women assessed one another across the table. Lianae felt the edge of her dirk cut into her thigh, but Uhtreda did not lose her temper, nor was there any true imputation in her tone.

After a moment, the woman reached for a small purse attached to the girdle at her waist—a purse not unlike Lianae’s—and Lianae heard the hiss of steel leaving a scabbard as she reached for the pouch.

Lianae lifted a hand to stay her guard as Uhtreda lifted the purse from its clasp. Calmly, unconcerned about the guards, Uhtreda opened the small purse and dumped the contents upon Lianae’s table.

Lianae stared, aghast.

There were seven stones laid before her; some landed on their backs, displaying two moons, side by side, with a lightning rod betwixt. It was the very same symbol on the stones Lianae had lost. Slowly, after meeting Lianae’s gaze, the woman turned her charm stones over, one by one, until all were displaying the finely etched moons on their backs.

They were the same stones.

Even the rare white quartz was precisely the same color.

But it was not possible, for Lianae had lost the other seven charm stones in the brambles at Lilidbrugh—beneath a mountain of snow.

It was near twilight now, and Lianae had yet to light the candles in the hall. Uhtreda’s charm stones appeared to glow with the same strange pale light she recalled from the ruins at Lilidbrugh—ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.

As though they grew in weight yet again, she felt the heaviness of the five stones attached to her belt… as though they longed to be reunited with the stones laid out upon the table. Self consciously, Lianae put a hand to the purse attached to her belt, lifting her face.

Both women locked gazes.

Uhtreda smiled yet again—but this time, it was a weary smile that was neither cold nor cruel, nor was it warm and loving. She seemed merely tired—like a woman who’d long weathered the whims of men. “You see… she brought me these stones,” she explained, “and assured me
you
would return the rest.” She fingered the runes, one by one. “Do you see these marks?” She continued to pet the stones over the moons, and they seemed to shiver slightly, like tiny living creatures. “So finely etched. There are none remaining of their like. These in particular were branded by Taranis, the thunder god himself.”

“And who is this woman who claims I would return your stones?” Lianae asked, unwilling to part with the ones she had. If, indeed, it were true that they were special, she didn’t relish the thought of leaving them in fitz Duncan’s hands.

The lady Uhtreda shrugged. “She is known by many names, I hear. Some call her the great white witch. Others call her The One. Still others have named her Cailleach.” She narrowed her eyes, peering straight into Lianae’s soul. “My grandmother knew her by another name…”

“And what name is that?”

Uhtreda’s grin revealed straight white teeth. “She was known to my kinsmen as… Merlin. It was she who helped restore my great, great grandfather Uhtred to his seat as Bamburgh’s Earl. I am named for him, ye ken?”

Her eyes seeking proof of her stones, Uhtreda glanced over the table at Lianae’s purse. “You are drawn to keep them close, are you not?”

Lianae tapped her fingers upon the table. “If you believe I have wronged you, lady Uhtreda, why is it that you have come alone, without the aid of your son? I am quite certain if William raised his standards he could decimate Dunràth in but a day.”

“My dear child, I have no delusions about my son. Any mother worth her salt kens the worth of her men. William is not fit to rule, and neither was his father.”

“And still you wed him?”

Uhtreda arched a brow. “As did you with one you ought not love?”

Lianae swallowed the words that longed to emerge. Whatever it was she did or didn’t feel for Keane, it was none of Uhtreda’s concern.

“Lucky for you. Not all women are fortunate enough to wed for love,” Uhtreda said. “And for such a coupling, ye ken, a woman might be branded a shrew?”

As a matter of courtesy, Lianae averted her gaze, for she herself had sometimes spoken ill of the lady. There were not many who’d been spared Uhtreda’s biting tongue—Lianae and her sister included. It galled her more for Elspeth’s sake, for now her lovely sister was dead. Lady Uhtreda had opposed their marriage vehemently, but only this moment did it occur to her to wonder why. Perhaps she’d known something more about her son. Or, she might have simply been a shrew, but she was neither shrewish this moment, nor unkind, and the look in her eyes was empathetic.

“I would wager my son did not mean to harm your sister,” Uhtreda said. “He was born with the same affliction his father had. To put it rather indelicately, my child, neither could produce proper seed… without a bit of bed play. I fear your sister Elspeth was dealt a mercy by Bhrìghde herself.”

While Cailleach was the mother of winter, Bhrìghde was her summer sister, whose smile could raise up saplings from the ground by its warmth alone. But not even Bhrìghde could raise her sister from the dead. Lianae’s heart wrenched.

Before she could harden her heart, the woman claimed, “I have a gift to give you in return for my stones… a bit of news…”

The older woman watched her, studying Lianae’s expressions.

“I trust you have not yet visited the tunnels below your keep?”

“Nay,” Lianae said. There had been little reason to visit them as yet. They were mostly used by the men, for they were dark and deep and too dangerous for a woman to venture into alone. They were mostly used for access to the sea, and to house the gaols…

“Why should I trust you?”

Uhtreda shrugged. “If it makes any difference, I come without William’s knowledge.”

“But not without his men?”

The older woman shrugged again. “There are those who would see the Mormaerdom returned to its rightful state. I would not dare travel alone.” Her eyes fairly gleamed, piercing Lianae with their incredible intensity as she lifted her chin and peered down her nose. If there was aught about her that reminded Lianae of her son, it was that gesture.

“Your gift?” Lianae entreated.

Uhtreda stabbed a finger at the air in the direction of Lianae’s purse. “My charm stones, if you please, then I will tell you what I came to say…”

There were only five remaining, after all.

What good was one without the rest?

Curiosity needling her, Lianae sat back a moment to consider the offer. Only once she realized it was no offer at all—that her curiosity was worth the price of her few remaining stones—she pinched the purse from its clasp and set the purse upon the table. Uhtreda reached for her stones at once, her long lean fingers snatching the silk into her palm.

For an instant, she merely squeezed the purse with a look of quiet contentment on her face, and it was odd, for when Lianae blinked, it seemed that a few of the tired lines receded from her face…

T
he guards would have preferred
to deny her, Lianae realized. Wielding her chatelaine’s keys before her, she forced her way past two guards, and then lifting one of the pitch torches from its brace upon the wall, she descended into the ancient tunnels below Dunràth.
Alone.
If by chance they didn’t already know what awaited her there, she wanted no one present to witness what she would find.

Dark and cold, despite the glow from her torch, the scent of salt permeated the dank air. The walls themselves wept, leaving the rock stained and crusted with an age-old scab of white. Icy drafts swept past her legs, but she pinched her cloak together and continued boldly in her descent. Somewhere, beyond the confines of the walls, she could hear the surf pounding furiously against the cliffside. She met another guard along the way, but the instant Lianae met his gaze, the man fled before she could speak a word—
because he knew.

She was her father’s daughter, she told herself, a daughter of Moray. She would not cow before usurpers. Whatever it was that awaited her below, she was not afraid.

Brandishing her torch before her once again, Lianae inhaled a breath and continued the drafty descent. A rat scurried past her feet, startling her and she gave a little yelp, but not even a fear of vermin could stop her now. Were she told she might meet Viking marauders at the end of her journey, Lianae would refuse to turn back now.

She heard a crunch beneath her feet and felt the crack of bones. The remnants of another small rodent lay in pieces in her path.

If it were true what Uhtreda had said, all things were subject to change… especially with Lianae’s knowledge of the Destiny Stone.

Despite the woman’s uncanny sense of knowing, not even Uhtreda knew about that lost Stone from Scone. And yet… if Lianae betrayed confidences, if she spoke the words out loud, her life with Keane would lost with the very next breath. Alas, she must consider the good of Scotland, not simply her own welfare, or that of her babe’s.

Along the midway point, Lianae reached a forked passage, each tunnel descending further into darkness….

Which path to take?

Forward
,
ever forward
, she decided and chose the darker of the two—the one that promised the deepest secrets. Holding her breath against the stale, cold air, she moved past cobwebbed corners and putrid smells.

What would Óengus do?

At last, Lianae came to a recess in the tunnel, wherein they had carved four cells into the stone walls, each barred by heavy iron doors.

Here, even the sound of the ocean was quieted by the thickness of the earth. Inhaling sharply, Lianae thought about Keane and tears stung her eyes. Producing the chatelaine’s keys from her belt, she located the key meant to open the cell doors.

Three of the doors were already unlocked and slightly ajar, the fourth was shut tight against what lay on the other side…

The bars were too high to peek inside, but Lianae understood this would be the one.

She held her breath as she lifted the key to the rusted old lock, turning it quickly, before she could lose her nerve. For a long moment, she stood by the closed door, half expecting that whoever was on the other side would come barreling through at the turn of her key, but they did not. Somehow, Lianae sensed they were holding their breath as did she... Placing a hand to the cold iron, she pushed the door open. And there he stood.

Graeme.

Beaten and half starved, with a gaunt face that was dirtier than a chimney, her eldest brother stood staring at her through bloodshot eyes.

* * *

E
ven the trees wept
.

It was a strange winter they were passing, far warmer than any Sorcha could ever recall. It was as though the Mother of Winter herself had somehow abandoned them forevermore.

Betimes she missed Una more than she could bear, but the sojourn away from Dubhtolargg had managed to distract her from her grief.

Sorcha liked Lianae. And the simple fact that she liked her only served to prove that her brother was wrong to keep them all so secluded in the vale. People were mostly the same, no matter from whence they hailed. In the end, their bodies would all feed the earth altogether, and a new generation would arise again and pass.

“We are all merely passersby in this life,” Una once said.

Fleeting breaths, through impermanent lungs. There is an unseen life who dreams us… on who knows our fate…

As they sat watering their horses near a wide spot in the burn, Sorcha ferreted out the crystal Una had given her from her saddlebag, inspecting the bauble in the palm of her hand.

Una had been such a curious woman, and betimes Sorcha witnessed things in her grotto that could not be explained—like the color of her eyes now. One was violet, one was green, and she only realized it because Ria had asked. In fact, Sorcha felt changed after that morning in Una’s grotto—but the change was not so telling as the color of her eyes.

Tell me what you see…

Sorcha heard the auld woman’s voice even now, like a gentle whisper rifling through the ancient trees, and she studied the crystal in her hand, the milky white stone that once graced the hilt of Una’s staff—that punishing staff that so often found the pates of their heads. And yet Sorcha remembered it fondly, tears forming in her eyes.

The bruadar is yours alone to decipher…

They must be near Lilidbrugh by now; Sorcha could feel it in her bones—the same way Una’s crystal had called to her from her bag.

Lael had promised to stop and explore the old ruins along the journey home. They belonged to Keane now, but Una had often spoken of the birthplace of their clan—the pale stone towers that had once risen high into the pinewood trees, the cobbled courtyard made of the white quartz culled and hauled from the lands near River Ness. It was the same kind of stone some referred to as coldstones, used by the blessed to cure sickness and bring peace to the dead. Charmed by faeries, they were said to float like lilies on the water.

The fountain in the courtyard at Lilidbrugh had once been filled with coldstones, enough to provide blessings for every man and woman in Scotia. But, alas, it was as though the white city had decided it did not wish to be found, for they’d been searching for half the day and Lael was growing impatient. She had daughters waiting for her at home.

Thinking about Lael’s daughters, Sorcha studied the small crystal in her hand. Made of the same lucent stone as Una’s
keek stane
, the glass was smaller in size. It fit neatly in the palm of her hand and looked a bit like the one Una had kept upon her table—the one Sorcha had peered into the day before the old woman died. The
keek stane
was lost now—like the Stone of Destiny—but on the very day Una died, Sorcha had discovered this smaller stone lying upon her bed. It was as though Una had left it for her there… a gift.

Like the book.

The collapse of the mountain had not been the work of mortal men. The gods themselves had seen fit to take Una and her grotto, along with the Stone from Scone, with the sweep of a godly hand. Only
this
now remained…

Far more solicitous these days, with four girls to look after, her eldest sister came to check the bridle of Sorcha’s mare. “What is that?” she asked.

“Una’s crystal.”

Touched by a ray of watery sunshine, the glass seemed to wink in Sorcha’s hand.

Curious as to what they might be looking at, Cailin wandered over as well. “The one from her staff?”

“Aye.”

“Una gave that to you?” both sisters asked at once. That damnable ash wood staff had never left Una’s hand, and the thought of her prying out the stone from its hilt was inconceivable… and yet she must have, for here it sat.

“When di’ she gi’ that to you?” Lachlann asked. “I saw her with her staff the night before she died. I took the last watch on the hill.”

Sorcha shrugged. “I discovered it lying upon my bed…”

For a moment, whilst the horses drank, they all stood peering into the crystal as Sorcha cradled it within her hand, rolling it gently back and forth. And then she stopped and froze, peering inside. But neither of her sisters saw what Sorcha saw, for Lael and Cailin soon grew bored and walked away. Cailin stood chatting away with Luc.

“I say we leave off searching,” Lael said.

“Oh, nay! Ye may go,” Cailin argued. “We dinna need for ye to stay.”

Barely listening, Sorcha blinked, studying the crystal.

“I would not leave you,” Lael replied, her tone more snappish yet. “If I go, so do you—both o’ ye. I’llna give Aidan yet another reason to forsake me, do ye ken?”

“It isna your place to see to my welfare,” Cailin argued. “I am a woman grown! We are scarce twenty miles from the vale. Lachlann and I will see our Sorcha home!”

“Over my dead body,” Lael argued. “When I go, the rest of you will leave as well. There is naught for us here.”

Much like the
keek stane
in Una’s grotto, the crystal in Sorcha’s hand suddenly appeared to glow. The forest fell to silence, and the mist about them seemed to flow deep into the crystal. Inside the crystal, shapes began to coalesce, and Sorcha’s heartbeat a little faster. Mesmerized, she studied the changing shapes.

“Well?” Cailin prompted.

“What is wrong wi’ ye, Sorcha?” Lael asked. “Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost. And by the by, what the devil’s happened to your eyes?” she asked, as though she’d only now noticed the different colors in the glow radiating out from the crystal.

But Sorcha couldn’t pry her gaze away. She spied the same tower rise up—the one she saw in Una’s
keek stane
. Only now she recognized it all the better.

Because she had been there
.

Dunràth.

The blood drained from her face. There in her crystal, before the
motte
and tower raged a blue, four-legged bird, its beak dripping with blood… and then a wounded and bleeding wolf…
Keane would be that wolf.
Even as Sorcha tried to make sense of the images, she knew it for truth. The four-legged bird… it was the sigil of William fitz Duncan.

White-faced, Sorcha peered up at her sisters. “We must hurry back to Dunràth!”

* * *

L
ook to your heart
, not to your head.

Una’s words echoed in Keane’s head. Logic told him he should stay and fight beside his king, but his heart said he must go.

With the sweep of a hand, he could lose everything: Lianae. Dunràth. Lilidbrugh, and perhaps even his kinsmen, if Lianae had betrayed them. All for what? For a chance to hold his own seat under a sovereign his people never recognized?

But nay, that was not why.

He’d done everything for Lianae—for the woman who held his heart.

He had been willing to lie, to accept the sins of another man, to eschew his best friend—because, in truth, it should have been Cameron to hold Dunràth in his stead. If only Keane had not taken command of their men. And still, Cameron had stood beside him. The man’s greatest sin had been to withhold the news that Lianae’s brothers were awaiting sentencing at Dunràth, and this was why Murdoch fled as well.

Keane would not fool himself into believing that Lianae had chosen him for love. All she needed to do now was to free her rebel brothers and then hand over the keys to Dunràth to them—a stronghold from which they could mount a new rebellion against the king. There was no way to tell what might come thereafter, for half of Moray remained loyal to Óengus the Mormaer, even unto the grave.

For five years, David had held those lands per force. Why would he now put the Kingdom of Moray at risk? The king had pushed his pieces around his chessboard, marrying this laird with that lady, assimilating rather than conquering, despite that his armies grew and grew. But, then, he ought to know by now that you could not force Highlanders into subjugation. Even in death, the sons of Óengus would plague him still. Unless…

And suddenly he realized…

It was a test.

A test Lianae must not fail.