Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (20 page)

D
eirdre crouched
low in the saddle, the horse's mane mingling with the hair whipping back from
her face. When they reached a low hedge she urged the horse forward, laughing
as they cleared it in one mighty leap and the animal surged up the hill. She
pulled up, breathless, at the top as Alistair's mount thundered up the slope.

"Whisht, woman, ye ride like
the wind itself," he said, halting beside her. His cheeks were flushed,
his hair in disarray, and he looked far younger than his thirty years.

She laughed again, the wildness
of the ride still humming through her blood, and patted her horse's steaming
neck.

Alistair dismounted and put his
hands about her waist, swinging her easily from the saddle. "Well, lass,
ye look a proper hoyden," he said, sounding so like Deirdre's old nurse
that she slipped back into childhood and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Say what you like, sir, I
won and you lost and that's the end of it!"

"Quite full of ourselves,
aren't we? Well, truth is truth and ye did win. What will ye have of me?"

A kiss
. For a moment
she almost thought she'd said the words aloud and the blush that still plagued
her, despite her twenty years, swept from the neck of her gown to the roots of
her windblown hair.

He laughed and caught her from
behind as she turned away. "How now, miss, cat caught your tongue? Take
your time and think of a proper forfeit..." 

They stood together, looking back
over the purple moor toward the dark lines of Ravenspur against the sky.

"Ah, 'tis beautiful,"
she whispered. A light breeze ruffled the long grass about her knees and she
leaned against the solid strength of Alistair's broad chest, letting her head
fall back against his shoulder.

I'll never forget this moment,
not ever, she thought. Not the scent of heather or the sunlight on the moor,
the hawk swooping through the sky or the jingle of the horses' bridles. I'll be
remembering it all when the last breath leaves my body.

For she knew, with a certainty too
deep for words, that Alistair was about to speak. And when she thought of what
her own answer would be, her heart filled with a joy too deep for laughter. It
was right, so right. Let them say what they would, she knew Alistair was a good
man in his heart. No matter what might happen here, they would see it through
together.

B
eautiful,
indeed, Alistair thought, though it wasn't the view before him that he meant. His
eyes were fixed upon the spot where Deirdre's neck met her shoulder, a spot so
sweet, so vulnerable, that it seemed made for kissing.

He'd bend and put his lips there—just
there, where the skin was so white and soft. Then he would move slowly upward. He
wouldn't hurry, oh no, he'd take his time about it. She would lean back
further, her eyes falling shut, and he would feel the weight of her against him.
He would move his hands, now clasped loosely about her waist, and cup her
breasts.

He knew exactly how they would
feel, soft and full, fitting perfectly to his palm. Then he would trace the outline
of her perfect ear with the very tip of his tongue. And when she was shivering
in his arms, he would whisper, "Stay with me forever, Deirdre, marry me,
for my life is nothing if you're not here to share it."

He saw each movement with crystal
clarity, and he knew what her response would be. She would say yes.

She would say yes because she
wanted him, he had seen that in her eyes that night in the woodsman's hut. And
if wanting and loving were two very different things, surely one could grow
from the other. He would happily spend the rest of his life seeing she never
regretted her decision. If only things were different.

He straightened and let his arms
fall from her waist.

"Aye, 'tis beautiful to
me," he said. "'Tis my home, the place where I belong. I see that now.
I hope ye will remember it—and me—kindly when you are gone."

"When—when I am gone?"
she faltered.

"When you are home again, in
Ireland."

If this was the price he had to
pay, seeing the hurt spring to her eyes as she turned to face him, then he
would pay it. Best she go in anger than in pity—for go she would, and soon,
he'd see to that.

"I'm afraid I canna leave
here after all," he said. "But I will arrange an escort and ye can go
tomorrow. Will ye miss it here?" he added, then cursed his reckless tongue.
Deirdre had a way of coaxing words from his mouth that he never meant to say.

"Will I
miss
it? You
mean the moor, the burns, the heather?  Is that what you are asking? If I'll
pine for
Scotland
when I'm gone?"

"Aye," he said
inflexibly.

"I'll miss the heather and
I'll miss the moor. But I won't miss
Scotland
," she cried. Her
cheeks were red and her eyes flashing, wisps of dark hair flying behind her in
the breeze. She had never looked so beautiful as she did now in her anger,
against the backdrop of the azure sky.

"Oh, no, I won't miss
Scotland one bit. I'll be glad to leave, glad to see the back of this wretched
country, and when I reach home I won't forget it. No, I'll be sure to remember
it every single day so I can give thanks that it's behind me!"

She stopped, breathing hard,
hands fisted on her hips.

"There's no need to
shout," Alistair said mildly. "I hear ye. So, I imagine, does
everyone from here to Ravenspur."

She turned with an incoherent
sound of rage and put her foot in the horse's stirrup, then turned to him, eyes
blazing.

"I should thank you for all
you've done for me, and what thanks are due I give you. Now it's finished. Leave
me be, Alistair Kirallen!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Just let
me alone! For I never, ever want to speak to you again."

Without giving him a chance to
answer, she jumped on her horse and galloped back to Ravenspur.

T
he stableyard
was empty now, for which Deirdre was thankful as she vainly tried to smooth her
hair and compose herself before walking into the manor.

Alistair rode into the yard
behind her. She watched from the corner of her eye as he took her horse and his
own back to the stable. Let him go, she thought. Let him stay far, far away
from me.

She stopped at the well and drew
a bucket, taking the ladle from its hook and drinking deeply before splashing
her burning face, her eyes lingering on the stable door. She was using a corner
of her coif to dry her cheeks when she stopped, every nerve in her body
thrilling as though someone had passed a practiced hand across her heartstrings.

Slowly the coif drifted to the
ground as she covered her mouth with her hand to still her cry of shock. Slowly
she turned, already knowing what she'd see, and found herself looking straight
into Ronan Fitzgerald's eyes.

Her heart stopped, then resumed
with a lurch, and she touched the well behind her, thinking this must be a
dream. But no, it was no dream, for though she had imagined meeting him a
thousand times, her dreams had never taken into account the four years that had
gone by.

Dark hair streamed over his
shoulders, framing a face both known and unfamiliar. It was a face that four
years had changed, stripping away the last softness of his boyhood, digging
deep hollows beneath his high sharp cheekbones, emphasizing the elfin slant of
his emerald eyes. Different, yes, but still the same, still Ronan, with his
patched green cloak—it couldn't, surely it
couldn't
be the same one—and
his high dusty boots, looking tired, looking weary to the bone, for of course
he'd hurried to her, just as she had known he would.

"D-Dee?"

His voice, warm and smooth as new
cream, the voice that had never faltered in the longest and most complicated
lays, stumbled a little over her name. He started to say something more, then
stopped, his eyes pleading with her now, and just the thought of Ronan pleading—
Ronan
,
whose arrogance was as much a part of him as the harp slung across his shoulder—broke
through the shock that held her frozen to her place. She stumbled forward, he
took a step to meet her, and then she was laughing and crying against his chest
as he caught her close and held her as if he'd never let her go.

"Dee, I thought I'd never
find you," he said. "Since Beltane I've been dreaming of you—lost—and
so I made for Cranston Keep—they said you were gone but wouldn't tell me where—"

"I know, Ronan. I knew you
were coming. Why didn't you get here sooner?" she cried, then laid her
head against his shoulder and burst into tears.

A moment later, warned by some
instinct, she raised her head and saw Alistair walk out the stable door. He
stopped and took in the two of them with one assessing glance. His face went
very still.

"Ye must be
Fitzgerald."

His voice was flat,
expressionless, and Ronan nodded briefly.

"And might I be askin' who
you are?"

Their eyes locked, emerald and
silver, in a flash of instant and mutual dislike. Then Alistair's glance
flicked down to Deirdre and he was once again the terrifying stranger she had
glimpsed before, his lips curling in a smile that chilled her to the heart.

"Well, Deirdre? Why don't ye
tell the man who I am?"

"Ronan Fitzgerald, this is
Sir Alistair Kirallen," she said, stepping away from Ronan and nervously
brushing back her tangled hair. "He is—well, Ronan, he is—"

And while she hesitated,
wondering how to possibly explain, Alistair turned and walked away.

"I
'm sorry,
Alistair, but he canna be seeing anyone just now." 

Donal moved to stand directly
before the doorway of Jemmy's chamber, a drawn sword in his hand.

"Look here, lad, I need to
speak with him—"

"Sorry," Donal said. "Not
now. Do ye no' ken the hour?"

"Of course I do,"
Alistair answered tightly, glancing up and down the deserted torchlit hall.

"Then just take yourself off
and if he wants to see ye, he'll send."

"Will ye no' at least tell
him—"

"Who is it?" Jemmy
called from behind the door.

"'Tis Sir Alistair,"
Donal called back. "But—"

"Well, let him in!"
Jemmy cried impatiently.

"All right," Donal said.
"But I'll have that sword first, if ye please."

Alistair handed it over and
reached for his dagger, his fingers brushing the empty sheathe before he
remembered he had given it to Deirdre. Donal opened the door and stepped back
for him to pass.

"Did you disarm him?"
Jemmy called from the bed, where he lay propped up on several pillows. "I
hope you got the knife in his boot. And while you're at it, you'd best take the
ties from the bedcurtains—he might decide to strangle me." As Donal
hesitated, Jemmy added smoothly, "Oh, and don't forget the pillow. 'Twould
be easy enough to smother me as I lie here helpless in my bed."

His face was grave, but his dark
eyes were gleaming in their shadowed hollows. Alistair bent his head to hide
his smile. This was exactly how Ian used to talk when he felt Alistair was
being overly cautious. He knew from experience that Donal was not the least bit
amused.

"Go on, Donal," Jemmy
sighed. "'Tis just a joke. Go back to the door."

He shifted a little on the
pillows, grimacing. "Here, hand me that, will you? And pour for
yourself."

Alistair passed the cup and
filled his own, letting the spirit slide down his throat in a warming glide. Half
a dozen candles in an iron stand cast a glow over the crimson-hung bed, but the
rest of the room was in shadow, save the fire burning faintly in the hearth.

"Where is your lady?"

Jemmy nodded toward a door
leading to an inner chamber. "Best she bide there for the time. She
couldn't sleep for fear of disturbing my shoulder."

Alistair sat back in his seat,
relieved. He had been wondering how he could pry Alyson from Jemmy's side, for
what he had to say was for Jemmy's ear alone.

"Donal's right, you
know," Alistair said. "You should be guarded."

"'Tis a bit late for
that," Jemmy said wryly. "And I suppose that's what's eating at the
two of them. Ah, well, they're good lads and they do their best. But the
danger's not so simple as they would have it. Unless, of course, you did come
to murder me. In which case, I hope you'll have the decency to let me get
thoroughly drunk before you do it."

"Shut up, Jemmy," Alistair
said roughly. "I didna come here for that."

"I suppose not," Jemmy replied
evenly. "So why did you come? To tell me about the council meeting?"

How cool he is, Alistair thought.
Surely he knows it was his own death we spoke of there.

"It was...interesting,"
Alistair answered. "Malcolm stood up to them like a man. A
foolish
man," he added, shaking his head. "But no more foolish than other
Kirallen men I've known."

"Aye, he told me something
of it. He never did care much for Sir Calder. No more did I."

"Then why the devil did ye
let him and his cronies on the council in the first place?"

"Father did it," Jemmy
said. "I tried to stop him, but— I'm afraid that during this past year
Father and I haven't gotten on as well as I had hoped. He never did forgive me
for marrying Alyson. And after the last attack he grew... unreasonable."

"You mean his wits left
him."

"You could put it that way. Or
you could say we disagreed. But either way, Calder took your seat on the
council and soon he got some others on, as well—oh, why am I bothering to tell
you?  You know it all already, don't you?"

"I know what they told me
today."

Jemmy smiled. "Aye. Of
course. You haven't been in contact with him all along."

"No, Jemmy, I haven't. Whether
ye believe it or no', 'tis true. Even if I thought Malcolm should be laird, I
would never have gone about it this way," he said, gesturing toward
Jemmy's bandaged shoulder. "Calder is the traitor Malcolm named him—but
then, ye must be thinkin' I'm no better."

"Well, the thought had crossed
my mind. But it wouldn't be fair to put you in the same boat with Calder. He's
out for everything he can get, while you—I suppose you're acting in Malcolm's
interests. Just as you were last year."

"Aye, well, there's no
denying I did some foolish things last year," Alistair said uncomfortably.
"All I can say is that they seemed the right things at the time."

Jemmy sighed, looking suddenly
exhausted. "I know that. And who's to say they weren't? Father has come
round to agreeing with you."

Alistair shifted in his seat. "I
spoke with him last night."

Jemmy held out his cup again for
Alistair to fill.

"How was it, then?" he
asked casually.

"Good." Alistair turned
the flagon in his hands, staring into its depths, then laughed shortly. "Terrible."

"Ah."

"He seemed glad that I was
there."

"I think he was holding on
until he saw you. I know he regretted what happened between you last year. It
was another of the things he held to my account. Not without reason,"
Jemmy added judiciously, taking a small swallow. "I forced his hand that
day and he never truly forgave me for it. He still thinks if I had married
Maude you would have given up and accepted the way things were."

"He was wrong,"
Alistair said flatly. "Nothing would have made me give up. Except, of
course, what did happen."

"It isn't easy to carry on a
war when one side leaves the country," Jemmy said mildly. "I don't
suppose even you can manage it."

"Not for lack of
trying," Alistair admitted. "I followed Darnley as far as London and
made sure he knew of it. He kept a guard around him day and night, but still,
he was always looking over his shoulder. I suppose I might have gone to
France..."

"Why didn't you?"

Alistair hesitated, then said,
"My purse was stolen. Down at the docks, while I tried to find the ship
the bastard had booked passage on."

Jemmy maintained a tactful
silence, his face studiously blank.

"Oh, go ahead, laugh if ye
want. God knows Ian would have laughed his fool head off if he could have seen
me."

"No, I don't think he would.
I think he would have told you to give it up and get on with your life."

"Well, I had no choice but to
give it up. For now."

"Maybe Darnley's dead
already," Jemmy mused, a smile curving his pale lips. "God knows I
hope he is. Rotting somewhere on a French battlefield."

"He's not. I'd ken if he was
dead."

Jemmy raised a brow. "The
Sight?  Ian always said you had it."

"And ye never did believe
it."

Jemmy shrugged, then muttered a
curse as the movement disturbed his shoulder. "Well, here's your chance to
prove me wrong. Go on then, Alistair, tell me the future. Isn't that why you
came here tonight?"

Alistair felt a surge of
admiration. Here Jemmy lay, wounded, helpless, surrounded by enemies at every
turn. Even his own father was against him now. Yet when he lifted the cup to
his lips, his hand was steady, and his dark eyes held no trace of fear.

"We'll get to that,"
Alistair said. "But first I wanted to talk about Ian."

"Ian?" Jemmy sighed.
"Let's have it, then. I was a bad brother to him when I left and a worse
one when I came back again. Now he walks the halls of Ravenspur, crying out for
vengeance."

Alistair shuddered, for Jemmy was
closer to the truth than he wanted to admit.

"Ian never blamed you for
leaving," he said abruptly.

Jemmy stopped, the cup halfway to
his lips. "I thought he was furious."

"Well, he wasn't. The rest
of us were, but never him. He—" Alistair swallowed hard. "He was
proud of you for doin' so well. And he used to read your letters over and
over."

"He might have answered
one."

"Ah, ye knew him, Jemmy. Never
picked up a pen if he could help himself. But he always enjoyed your news. All
he cared about was that you were happy."

There, he'd said it. He felt
better now, lighter, as though a burden had fallen from his shoulders.

"Thank you," Jemmy said.
"I'm glad you told me."

Alistair took a long breath. "And
that's why I canna do as your father asked me."

"But I thought—didn't he
tell you to—" Jemmy stopped, frowning.

"He did. Take it all, he
said. Let Malcolm rule after."

"Which, if I recall, is
exactly what you told me you intended to do last year."

"It was. But not now."

"Why?" Jemmy asked, his
voice hard with suspicion.

Alistair gripped the cup tightly
between his hands. What should he say next? How could he possibly make Jemmy
understand?

"You won't believe it if I
tell ye."

"Try me."

"All right, then. It started
last Beltane Eve—but no, I won't go into that, you'll think me mad for sure. Just
know that Fergus sent me on a—well, a journey, and I had a—a dream. A Sending. Of
Ian. It's been with me ever since, over and over again, always starting the
same way. But I didna ken what it meant."

"Now you do?"

Alistair nodded.

He was running
down the forest path, chasing Ian, and then with shocking suddenness Ian was
there before him, not a boy now but a man.

"Stop
following me!" he cried. "Ye canna help me now, 'tis too late!"

"Then
what?" Alistair demanded. "What is it ye want?"

"I want ye
to do as I asked!  Think, man,
think
!"

"W
ell?" Jemmy
prompted. "Are you going to tell me what the dream meant?"

"'Take care of Jemmy,'"
Alistair whispered, staring down at his empty cup. "That's what he said. The
dream was always a bit different, but that part never changed. I didna mark it
until yestere'en."

Jemmy leaned back against the
pillows. "I'm hardly in a position to question something that benefits me
so profoundly, but I must confess to some concern. What if you have another
dream?"

"This was no ordinary dream,
but a Sending," Alistair snapped. "Believe or no' as ye choose. But I
know what he bade me do and I mean to do it."

Jemmy grinned. "Whether I
want you to or not?"

"That's right."

"Well, then, having no
choice in the matter, I suppose the only thing to do is thank you."

"Then you believe me?"

"Does it make a
difference?"

Alistair slumped back in his seat.
"I suppose not."

"Well, for what it's worth,
I do believe that you mean what you say. As for the dream—" He frowned. "A
year ago I would have laughed, but I've seen some strange things myself since
I've come back. May I ask how do you intend to go about it?" he added
quickly, before Alistair could ask what he meant. "All along I thought you
were the one making the plans, but if that's not so, then Calder is more
dangerous than I thought."

"He is. But not nearly so
dangerous as I can be if I put my mind to it."

Jemmy smiled. "I do believe
that's true."

"I have my seat on the
council back, that's the first thing. And now I ken what they mean to do. You're
safe enough until the laird goes but after that—well, we'll have to fight. I
see no other way. Who can we count on?"

After they had decided which of
the knights could be trusted, Alistair said, "I will talk to them—"

"No," Jemmy said. "I
will do that."

"But—"

"Leave it to me, Alistair. You
don't have to see to everything, you know. I am not entirely helpless, no
matter how I look just now."

Alistair smiled. "Aye. Right.
The fewer who know I'm involved in this, the better. We'll tell no one, Jemmy.
Not until we must. And no one knows what was said here tonight. Not even your
lady. Let them all think I'm Calder's man—or he's mine."

"Which is it to be?"
Jemmy asked. "Calder's been in charge for some time now. Has it occurred
to you that he may not
want
you back?"

"He doesn't. But 'tis too
late, isn't it? After all, I'm here with the laird's blessing. I suppose I'll
have to challenge the bastard, though. He'll be expecting it."