Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (50 page)

"Word from William, aye," Robert answered. "And more. When we reached Dunfermline, there was word already there for you from the duke of Brittany."

"The duke!" Sebastien said. Alarm went through him. "Does he summon us back into his service?"

"He is content to let us stay in the service of King William," Robert said. "Duke Conan sent a reply to the king's letter regarding the welfare and whereabouts of your son."

"Word of my son!" Sebastien leaned forward, easing the restless Arabian in a slight turn. "Where is the letter?" He extended his hand through the rain.

Robert smiled and pointed. "There," he said. "A small package sent to you from the duke. His own namesake."

Sebastien turned. Three other riders came toward him. One of them, a monk, supported a child in front of him, wrapped in a fur-lined mantle.

He stared, heart pounding. Then he leaped down from his horse and ran forward. The monk stopped his horse and waited, opening the cloak so that Sebastien could see the small, oval face shadowed within, the wide brown eyes, the glossy silk of pale golden hair.

"Conan," he breathed, reaching up. "Conan."

"Papa," his son said, and went easily into Sebastien's arms.

* * *

The rain drummed on the earth, soaking her shoes, splashing mud on the hem of her skirt. Alainna shivered and touched Finan's head, his wet coat darkened to iron gray, his eyes mournful beneath the tufted brow as he looked at her.

She turned away from the gate. She had known that Sebastien had to go, but she had never imagined he would go so soon, without a farewell. Once he had learned that Lome would recover, he had left quietly. Perhaps he had not wanted to break her heart.

But he had done just that.

She walked away, and the dog barked. "Come, Finan
Mor,"
she said. "I am sorry to keep you out here. Come, now." She beckoned to him and walked ahead.

Finan barked again, then whined. He nosed at her arm. She grabbed his collar and pulled. He set his feet into the mud and refused to go, barking again.

Then she heard the thunder of horses' hooves, and looked up. Four riders came through the gate, one of them leading a creamy, riderless Arabian. She ran forward, alarmed, knowing Sebastien's horse, and knowing the leader. "Robert!" she called.

He dismounted and turned. "My lady," he said, smiling. "We are back from Dunfermline." Behind him, she noted three cloaked men, one of them holding a large bundle. She nodded toward them, and hardly looked further. Sebastien was not among them.

"Sebastien," she said to Robert. "You have his horse! Where is he?"

"He will be here," he said simply. "May we go into the stables, and then to the hall?" He smiled as he spoke, and she looked at him, puzzled.

"Please," she said wearily, "go inside and get warm and dry. I will wait for Sebastien." She turned toward the gate, and stopped in surprise.

A man stood in the rain outside the gate. A Highland man, dressed in a
breacan,
without a horse. The rain soaked his hair from gold to dark brown, drenched the wrapped and belted plaid and the shirt beneath it, soaked the hide of the wolfskin boots.

She stared at him, speechless.

"A thousand blessings on you," he said in Gaelic in formal greeting. "May God make smooth the path before you."

"A... a thousand blessings on you," she said in return, taking a step closer. "May you be safe from every harm."

Sebastien took a step closer, too, but did not cross the threshold of the open gate. "Long ago," he said, "a beautiful woman once came to a king's court. And the lady asked a favor of the king."

Alainna tilted her head, listening, her heart beating hard within her breast. "And what did she ask?"

"She asked the king to send her a warrior," he answered. "A fine Celtic warrior, she wanted. A man whose lineage was as ancient as her own, a man of compassion and courage, a man to defeat her clan's enemy."

"Ah," she said. "She wanted an exemplary warrior."

"She did," he agreed. "She asked that the king find a warrior who could speak the Gaelic, and who could travel to her home from his own lands within a day's time."

She fisted her hands against her hips. "And what happened, then, to this woman? Did she find her warrior?"

"He came to her," he said. "Dressed in fine Highland style... though he was wet as a pup in a bath," he added, "for the spring rains arrived with him. He walked to her fortress from his own lands within a moment's time, for his lands encompassed her own. And he spoke the Gaelic to her as best he could—which was rather well, actually." He smiled, while the rain ran down his cheeks, dripped from his chin, soaked his hair.

She pressed back her own smile. "And was he a man with heart and courage?" she asked, stepping closer. Finan went with her, panting and whining, longing in his way for the man's love and devotion, as she yearned in hers.

"He was," he said, "although the woman, who was finer than the moon and brighter than the sun to him, challenged him to be a better man than he had been before."

She choked back a sob. "And what of his lineage, which the woman so foolishly asked, though it did not matter?"

"He was from a land of ancient Celts himself, though it was far from her own land," he said. "It was the best lineage he could offer her, and he hoped she would accept it."

"I am sure she thought it an excellent heritage."

"He defeated her enemy," he went on. "Though his heart nearly burst within him, he did that for her. And for her kin as well, whom he loved like his own family."

Alainna felt tears well and overflow as she watched him, adoring him. Tears mixed with the rain that poured over her, over him, and over Finan, who circled between them now, confused but happy.

"There was one other condition she gave," he said. "And that was the hardest one of all."

Her heart surged within her. "What was that?" she asked, breathless.

"A name. She wanted to gift her warrior with her name. But he refused out of great pride, for he liked his own name well."

"Ah," she answered. "And what happened then?"

"He came to her—in the rain," he added. "And he offered a trade. He would take her name, and carry it into the future as she wanted him to, through their sons and daughters. But she must take something of his in return."

The rain streamed down, and the thin light bloomed brighter as they faced each other across the threshold of the gate.

"What was that?" she asked.

"His heart."

Her own heart leaped within her, and she smiled, stepping closer. He took a long stride, and she stood face-to-face with him, breast to chest, a delicate layer of rain between them.

" A name," she said, "is not so valuable as a heart. She got the better part of the bargain."

He bent his head, and she tipped her face to him. Drops of rain jeweled his eyelashes, and funneled from his hair to fall onto her cheeks. "The bargain could be made more equal," he said. "She could give him her heart in return."

"She could." Alainna smiled up into his eyes, gray and soft as the rain. "A heart for a heart. What then, for the name?"

"Ah, well. He could give her a child to carry the name."

She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, her lips under his. He took her into his embrace, his hands firm and strong at her back, his mouth wet and cool, warm within.

He pulled back to look at her, smiling. "Well? Do you want a husband, lady, as well as a warrior?"

"I do," she said, laughing, her arms looped around him, her body pressed to him. "Do you want a Highland wife?"

"I do," he said, and kissed her again, deep and full and endless. The dog circled them, barking. Sebastien chuckled against her mouth and drew back again.

"Alainna,
mo caran,
will you let a man in out of the rain?"

She laughed again and pulled him inside the gate. His arm was strong and warm about her as they walked toward the tower, where the light of torches showed within, and the sound of laughter drifted through the open door.

At the foot of the steps, when she would have climbed up, he stopped her. "There is something more the warrior brought to the woman," he said. He reached out and brushed the wet tendrils of her hair away from her brow.

"What was that?" she asked.

"A son," he said. "His own."

"Conan?" she breathed.

He nodded, then looked up the steps and smiled, and she saw the silver flash of deep love in his eyes. But it was not for her this time.

She followed his gaze. Just inside the open door, Una and Giric stood with a small boy standing between them, his hands in theirs. His eyes were dark and beautiful, his hair fine spun gold.

She gasped, and Sebastien tightened his arm around her. "Robert brought him back," he murmured. "Come up,
mo caran,
for the rain is cold. Come inside where the hearth is warm, and meet the youngest member of Clan Laren."

She placed her foot upon the step beside his, and they moved upward together.

Epilogue

Summer, 1171

"Is it time to go across the loch yet?" Conan asked in Gaelic, looking up at his father. Sebastien smiled, thankful that his son had a gift for language, for Conan had learned almost as much Gaelic in a few months at Kinlochan as Sebastien had learned in three years at the king's court. "I want to walk on the new path that the men made to the island!"

"Causeway," Sebastien said. "Not yet, though I know you are eager. We are waiting for the others, for we will all walk across today and see what the stonemasons have done. Have patience."

Conan jumped up and down on the stony beach of the loch beside his friend Eoghan, a year younger. The boys, dressed in wrapped plaids and shirts, ran toward the white-foamed waves that swirled around their small bare feet. They giggled and splashed, their glossy hair floating around their heads like dark and pale silk.

"When, Sebastien
Ban?"
Eoghan asked. "When can we go?"

"Patience, my lads," Sebastien said again, but neither listened. He looked up when he heard a silvery laugh, and saw Alainna. She moved with the same grace he had always seen in her, though more slowly now, with their child increasing within her. As it grew, so did her lush beauty, and his endless love for her. He smiled, watching her.

"Patience, you say to them, and they but small boys," she said, smiling, teasing.

"Ah," he said. "They say that patience will wear out stone. It is a good virtue to have."

She tucked her hand inside the crook of his arm. "We will all need patience for your project at Kinlochan."

"Two years," he said. "Perhaps three, until our island castle is finished." He lifted a brow as he looked down at her. "Speaking of patience, you could hardly wait for the first cartloads of stone to come over the hills."

She laughed, lifting her face to the warm summer wind, which played with the tails of her long braids. "I confess," she said. "I was eager to see the stone. You chose well. The honey-colored sandstone quarried in the hills to the south will be beautiful on our island. It will shine like a tower of gold."

"John, the master mason, told me that they expect another load of stone today," he said. "And more loads over several days, until the stone for the foundation and first level is here. Then stone will be quarried and sent as it is needed."

She nodded. "And the limestone for the chapel?"

"That will arrive this week, I think."

"Master John finally seems to have accepted that a woman is going to carve the decorative reliefs for the chapel," she said. "He did not think that was possible."

"Until you showed him the work that you have done, and charmed him as well," Sebastien said.

"And assured him that I would wait until my child was born to begin," she added.

"That reassures me, too," he said. "About the stone that is to arrive today or tomorrow—Master John is certain that the Caen limestone will be with it."

She gasped with joy. "The cream stone! Here, already, from Normandy?" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "You are indeed a wonderful husband, to ask the Breton monks to have that sent to me!"