Susan King - [Celtic Nights 01] (9 page)

"No doubt you will discover that soon enough. Take twenty men for now, and ride out. Leave me enough Bretons to keep an honor guard. Send for more men when you determine what is needed there." King William sipped his wine, relaxed and confident in his orders.

"What of this MacNechtan, who submitted a petition?"

"He claims his loyalty, but if he proves a threat to the lady's clan or to the crown, he must be quelled."

"And if he is not a threat?"

"I am not so foolish as to give him that holding." The king set down his cup. "There is another reason that I want you garrisoned up there. The MacWilliams are still adamant that they have a claim to this throne through their descendence from King Duncan. They may have found support in that part of the Highlands."

Sebastien frowned. "We routed a group of those Celtic rebels over a year ago. Those who did not die on the field, and escaped capture and execution, sailed for Ireland and exile. They would be fools to return."

"'Tis said at least one of them has sailed out of Ireland to raise support in the Highlands for their cause—Ruari Mac William."

"I remember the name. A fierce Celt, and a force to be reckoned with," Sebastien said. "I thought he was dead."

"We all did. My source has been in Ireland and the western isles recently, and says this man left Ireland not long ago, and headed for the area around Kinlochan."

"Why? He can find no useful support from a failing clan."

"The MacNechtans may provide that support. Find out if they side with the rebels. They might be harboring this Ruari MacWilliam. If so, they must be dealt with, and harshly."

"Loyal or not, MacNechtan may rebel when he learns that Kinlochan has been granted to a foreigner. Highland Mood fires easily, and does not cool well."

"That hot blood is precisely why Kinlochan cannot remain in Celtic hands alone. A knight of calm temperament and military experience is needed there. I will rely on you."

Sebastien bowed stiffly and walked away without a word. When he reached for the door latch, his hand was so tightly fisted that his knuckles were white.

Chapter 5

Alainna thought she heard the thunder of horses, and turned, lowering the bow she held. She saw only hills and bare trees silhouetted against a vivid sunset sky. Just the wind pummeling the trees, she told herself, and turned back.

In the narrow glen below the slope on which she stood sentry, her kinsmen and their dogs pursued a small herd of red deer. Alainna had climbed higher to keep guard while the men and dogs drove the deer into the bottle-shaped glen. The dogs barked at the deers' heels as they ran along a rapid burn and deeper into the trap. Giric, Lome, and Lulach veered off to stretch a net across the entrance to the glen, which was enclosed by snow-frosted hills.

Now Clan Laren would not go hungry, Alainna thought with relief. The deer herd was large enough that a few stags and hinds could be cut out of it, allowing the hunters to spare the majority, along with mothers and fawns. MacNechtan raids had left her clan few cattle and sheep to slaughter for winter meat. Venison carcasses, salted and stored, would help to feed her people through the winter months.

Holding the bow, with a few arrows tucked into her belt, she watched for escaping deer as well as approaching enemies. With so few men left in the clan, she often provided an extra set of hands and eyes during hunts. While the hounds took down the deer with their powerful jaws, and her kinsmen followed up the kill, Alainna stood guard.

A thin crust of snow crunched beneath her boots, and the wind swept over the slope. She was glad that she had worn male clothing that day; the versatile wrapped and belted plaid, layered shirts, and the woolen trews beneath were warm and snug against the bitter cold. She loosened the long pin that held the plaid on her left shoulder, and pulled the gathering over her head as a shield from the wind.

The thunderous noise rumbled behind her, louder this time. She glanced toward the hilltop. The setting sun threw pink streaks across the sky, and she lifted a hand to shade her eyes against the brilliance. Then she gasped in astonishment.

A group of horsemen appeared on the hill crest like a host of bright angels, their cloaks winging out, their shields shining in the late sun. As they skimmed the hilltop, their leader paused to wave at the others, and they drew to a halt.

Even at this distance, she saw that they rode tall, fine-blooded horses, carried good weapons and elongated shields, and wore quality armor and fur-lined cloaks. Few Lowland knights and fewer Highland men could afford such horses or armor.

Normans.
Her heart thudded heavily. She had been dreading their arrival for weeks. Normans rarely traveled into the Highlands except on royal business, and although many of them had Lowland properties, none so far held land in the north.

She climbed toward the hilltop. The king must have sent them to Kinlochan, she thought. If the king had made his decision, her land, her future, and the welfare of her clan now hung in the balance.

Two knights split away from the rest and rode toward her, both hooded and cloaked over their chain mail, one on a dappled gray horse, the other riding a beautiful horse the color of rich cream. She wondered if the Breton, Sir Sebastien, was one of them, but she could not see their faces.

The dogs' furious barking drew her attention back to the glen. The deer, sensitive to new sound and movement, had scattered, some of them leaping over the net. Alainna cried out in dismay to see the deer, pursued for hours, lost so easily. She realized that her kinsmen, trying to corner the deer once again, had not yet noticed the knights on the hill.

Temper sparking, she strode toward the knights, hardly caring who they were. Those deer had been essential to the welfare of her clan. She stood before the riders, fisting a hand on her hip, the other hand gripping her upright bow.

"Be gone from here!" she shouted. "You ruin our hunt!" She spoke in Gaelic without thinking, then realized that the knights would speak English or French. If Sebastien le Bret was among them, let him translate, she thought sourly.

"Ho, lad! Good day to you!" The knight on the dappled horse waved and pushed back his cloak hood. He was a large man with blunt, pleasant features, a face reddened with cold, and hair the color of brass. "Tell us the way to Kinlochan!" As she expected, he spoke English.

Her heart slammed hard. "Be gone!" she shouted again in Gaelic, waving her arm. She had seen him weeks ago, guarding the king beside Sebastien le Bret. She looked at the other knight.

She knew him then, even hooded, knew the wide set of his shoulders, the length and power of his mail-encased legs. A delicate shiver went through her, neither cold nor fear, stirred by the memory of steady gray eyes, and a pair of strong arms that had lifted her in a church.

Sebastien le Bret dropped back the hood of his fur-lined blue cloak, worn over the dark green surcoat she recognized from the first time she had seen him. Chain mail framed a face whose striking planes and steel gray eyes were familiar. His brows drew together as he looked at her.

"Have we met before?" he asked in Gaelic.

She gave him a frown to equal his, her heart still pounding, "Leave, you," she said, pointing in the direction they had come.

"He speaks only the native tongue, Bastien," the other knight said. "And he seems annoyed with us."

" We have disturbed their hunt. Look down in the glen."

"Ah. They were trapping the deer. I have heard that the Highlanders practice that barbaric method of hunting."

"When men are hungry, they are practical," Sebastien said, watching Alainna.

Her gaze locked in the grip of his. She suspected that he recognized her—but if both men assumed she was a boy, she would take advantage of that anonymity.

" Ask him to tell us where the castle is," the other urged.

"Hugo, we must ride farther northwest. I was told 'tis situated by a narrow loch at the foot of a mountain. We will find it soon. Disturbing their hunt was not necessary." He lifted the reins. "Our apologies, lad."

"This damned wind is cold," Hugo complained. "The hills are more vast than I thought. We must find shelter soon or sleep in a cow byre tonight. What is the word for castle?
Dun,"
he said clumsily to Alainna. "Kinlochan."

"There is no castle near here," she told Sebastien. "Kinlochan fortress is three leagues northwest. What is your business there?"

"King's business," he answered. "What of Turroch, which belongs to Clan Nechtan? Where is that holding?"

"Turroch! Why do you want to know?"

"King's business again. Which direction is it?"

She glared at him. "The fortress of Cormac MacNechtan," she said in precise, clipped English, "is five leagues west from here. If you are welcome there, you are surely not welcome at Kinlochan. Ride on."

"Your English is surpassing good for a Highland savage," he drawled. The steady glint in his eyes told Alainna that he knew her now. She reached up to draw back the plaid that obscured her hair, and stared up at him openly.

"So I thought," he said. "Greetings, Lady Alainna."

"The Highland lady, by God!" Hugo crowed.

"I wondered if she had a brother with the same eyes, but 'tis the demoiselle herself." Sebastien inclined his head.

"It is," she answered. Hearing a shout, she glanced back at the glen. Her kinsmen climbed the long hill, spears in hand.

"Those savages are in a mood to attack," Hugo said. "Iron-tipped spears and bare-legged barbarians are no match for mounted and armed men. Shall I summon the others, Bastien?"

"A few barbarian spears can bring down armed knights," Sebastien said. "Ride back and tell the others to hold. We want no trouble here." Hugo wheeled and rode toward the others.

"Go with him," Alainna told Sebastien. He did not move, watching her, his hands relaxed on the pommel. After a moment, she held up her hand to signal to her kinsmen to wait. They stopped cautiously, standing on the hill, spears ready.

"I am not leaving," Sebastien said. "I have ridden a long way to talk to you."

"Last we spoke, you were planning to depart Scotland."

"I will do that soon enough. For now, I am here in the king's name."

"What is your mission?" she asked, heart pounding.

"The king sends you a champion, and a husband," he said.

She frowned up at him warily, unsure if he referred to himself or one of the other knights. Her gaze flickered there, returned to him. "Which of you is this champion? And why do you have orders to go to Turroch?" She fervently hoped the king had not chosen Cormac MacNechtan after all.

"My comrades and I would be happy to discuss it out of the cold. I believe there is a Highland custom of hospitality."

"Find your welcome at Turroch," she snapped. "We have another Highland custom—my enemy's friend is my enemy."

"Then your friend's friend is your own, I think."

"We have no shared friends between us."

"The king is your friend, lady, and mine. He sent me here to offer you a solution, as you requested of him."

"I did not request interference from Normans."

His eyes, winter gray, swept her from head to foot. She raised her chin under his silent scrutiny. Cold wind skimmed her cheeks and strands of hair fluttered across her eyes. She would not look away for pride.

"Cool your ardor, my lady, we mean no harm," he said. "This wind may not bother you, but I am not overfond of it, nor are my men. We have been riding since dawn. Will you offer welcome to us or not?"

She sighed. "We will." By tradition, hospitality was never refused, even to an enemy. Nor could she refuse a messenger sent by the king. "Wait with your companions. I will speak to my kinsmen, and we will lead you to Kinlochan. Now that the deer are gone," she added, "we have no reason to stay out here longer."

She glanced past him and counted at least twenty knights. Without venison, she was not sure how Kinlochan's hospitality would feed such a large host of knights. She doubted that Normans liked porridge any better than they liked cold weather.

"We will await the lady," Sebastien said courteously, but his eyes sparked like steel. He gathered the reins. As the horse turned, Alainna saw the blue painted shield that hung at the side of his saddle, until now partly obscured from her view.