English, Elizabeth (20 page)

The
children were gathering wood for a bonfire, their laughter ringing through the
high meadow. Women came and went, cooking at open fires and talking quickly,
catching up on all the news of the past year.

"Hello,
Jemmy."

Alyson
looked up into the face of what seemed to her a giant, with a broad face
surrounded by a flaming beard. He was dressed in the McLaran colors.

"Hugh,"
Jemmy said, his voice expressionless.

The
two men looked at one another warily.

"So
this is the Darnley wench?" Hugh McLaran asked, nodding toward Alyson.

"This
is Lady Maude, my wife."

"Is
it now? You're a braw laddie, aren't ye, bringing her among us? Very brave,
Jemmy. Very foolish."

Jemmy
tilted his head back and glared into Hugh McLaran's eyes. "Is that a
challenge?"

"Och,
now, I wouldn't be challenging ye now, would I? Not after the McLaran has
forbidden it."

"Then
I suggest you shut your mouth," Jemmy said pleasantly, turning to leave.

Hugh
put one hand on Jemmy's shoulder. "But I'll see ye at the games."

Jemmy
whirled and grasped Hugh's wrist, twisting it until the McLaran grunted with pain.

"Aye,
Hugh, I'll see you at the games. Until then, keep your distance from me—and
from my lady."

"With
pleasure," Hugh said, shaking his injured wrist as he strode back into the
crowd.

"I'm
sorry for that," Jemmy said, turning to Alyson. "But it shouldn't
happen again. Just keep with the women and you'll be fine."

"All
right, my lord," she said distractedly, her eyes searching the throng.
"I'll be fine, dinna fret. Your father's waiting."

Jemmy
left her then and walked to the McLaran keep. He found his father and Alistair
waiting for him in the small downstairs chamber with its one narrow window
looking out over the hills. The Laird gestured Jemmy to come in and shut the
door behind him.

"That
was a disgraceful display yesterday," the Laird snapped without preamble,
glaring at both the younger men. "Fighting like that before the men—I
would have thought you, at least, would have more sense!" he said, turning
to Alistair.

Jemmy
was amused to see the flush rise to Alistair's cheeks. "How dare ye lay
hands upon Lady Maude?" the Laird continued, working himself into a rage.
"What kind of example do ye think that sets? The men look to you to lead
them—"

"Aye,
they do!" Alistair snapped back. "And why is that? Why don't they
look to Jemmy? Well, I'll tell ye why—"

"You
will
not,"
Kirallen ordered curtly. "I've heard enough from
ye. We have made peace with Darnley. 'Tis done, Alistair, a finished matter. Ye
hearken to my words, lad, and remember who you're talking to."

Alistair
bent his head. "Aye, Laird," he muttered.

"Then
that's all. Ye may go. As for ye, Jemmy," the Laird began when they were
alone.

"Oh,
no," Jemmy interrupted. "Not me. I won't be scolded like a
bairn."

"Then
stop behaving like one. This arguing with Alistair must cease. 'Tis dividing
the knights, and I willna have it."

"I
didn't start it," Jemmy said, feeling as though he'd been plunged back
into childhood. "This is ridiculous," he added, disgusted.
"Don't blame me for Alistair's mistakes."

"Alistair
is confused," Kirallen said. "He's grieving. He'll come round."

"I
don't see him doing it now," Jemmy pointed out. "I don't see him
coming round, Father. He'd lead the men against Darnley in an instant if you
weren't there to stop him."

"It
will just take a little time. He'll see—"

"He'll
never see. He said it himself yesterday. "Tis not over until Darnley's
dead and we've won, until we've taken all that's his,' he said. 'That's what
Ian wants,' he said. Not
wanted.
Wants. He talks of him as though he's
still alive! Don't you think that's a bit strange, Father? Sometimes I think
his wits are turning," Jemmy said, voicing the suspicion that had been
growing in him since his return.

"That's
ridiculous," Kirallen snapped. "There's nothing wrong with Alistair's
wits. He's but misguided—"

"Why
do I try?" Jemmy said, throwing up his hands. "What point is there in
talking when you don't hear a word I say?"

"Oh,
I hear ye, Jemmy. I just dinna happen to agree. But of course ye can't accept
that ye just might be wrong. Oh, no. Alistair is mad and I am blind—you're the
only one who sees the truth of it. It doesna matter that you've been gone
twelve years! Ye think ye can walk right in and know everything it took Ian a
lifetime to learn. Every time ye ride out, I can only wait and worry, wondering
what ye might do next. I've tried to give ye my trust, Jemmy, but how do ye
repay me? Riding roughshod over the villagers' rights, flogging helpless
peasants—"

"Father,
that wasn't as it seemed—if you'd only let me explain how it happened—"

"What
difference does it make?" Kirallen cried, striking his fist upon the
mantel. " 'Tis too late now, the deed is done! Ian would never have—"

"No,
Ian wouldn't have been there! He would have sent Alistair or Sir Calder himself
to do the deed!"

"What
do ye know of your brother?" Kirallen demanded, whirling to face him.
"Ian was a fine leader and the best son a man could ask for. How could God
have taken him and left me—"

He
broke off, too late, and the words hung between them in the silence. Jemmy's
face stung as if he had been slapped.

"Jemmy,
I—I dinna mean—"

"Don't
apologize, Father," he answered through numb lips. "I already knew.
I've always known."

From
the next chamber came the sound of a dry cough.

"There's
no point in shouting at each other," Jemmy said wearily. "Though I
daresay the McLarans have enjoyed the entertainment. I was a fool to come back
here and try to help you when you can't wait to see the back of me."

"Wait,"
the Laird began, holding out his hand. "Ye were the one who never wanted
to stay in Ravenspur—ye said ye wanted to get back to Spain—"

"Did
I?" Jemmy said, turning in the doorway. "Did I really? Well, it
doesn't matter, does it, who said what. I only wonder that you sent for me at
all. I wish to God you hadn't."

The
Laird looked away, flushing. "I had no choice— Lady Maude—"

"Ah,
yes, Lady Maude. Have you considered what a terrible thing we've done to her?
Did you even give it a thought when you came up with your plan?"

"I
must do what is best for my people," the Laird said, running a shaking
hand across his brow. "All my people, not simply Lady Maude."

"Of
course," Jemmy said politely. "But you must forgive me if I can't see
it in quite the same light. As far as I can tell neither one of us matters any
more to you than pieces on a game board."

"One
day, perhaps, you'll understand..."

"Perhaps.
But will Alistair?"

"Alistair
is like a son to me," the Laird whispered, sinking down onto a bench.

"And
I am your son. But I warn you that my patience with you—and your plots and
plans—is wearing very thin."

Once
Jemmy was gone Alyson wandered through the campsite. She offered to help the
women but they refused, and she realized she wasn't wanted among them. Well,
what did you think would happen, she scolded herself, that they would take one
look at you and welcome you back again? She walked up to the high moor and all
at once the ground fell away beneath her feet. The day was bright, and huge
white clouds scudding across the sun sent light and shadow chasing each other
across the hills and valleys.

"Well,
Mam," she said, "I've done it. I'm here. Please help me now. Show me
what to do."

She
sat down and plucked a bit of grass, tossing it over the edge of the precipice.
If only Clare had lived a little longer, even a few hours, Alyson would know
far more than she did now. But the day Clare sickened she had been working in
Aylsford Manor itself, and by the time she dragged herself the three miles
home, she was already raving with the fever. Most of her talk had been
nonsense, at least to Alyson's ears. The only sensible thing she'd said was
that Alyson must get to the McLarans.

"I
canna just tell anyone," Alyson mused. "For what if it turns out to
be one of Sir Alistair's friends? There must be dozens of McLarans here from
all across the Highlands. Which were your kin?"

A
hawk cried out as it circled a small pool far below, then folded its wings and
dove. Alyson winced, imagining its sharp beak and razor talons fastening on its
prey, then sighed.

"Of
course it would be easier to tell Jemmy, but he's not the man he could be. He
can hardly solve his own problems, let alone take on mine. I canna trust
Robin's life to him," she concluded regretfully. "But I'll find the
way. I have to, don't I?"

She
stood and squared her shoulders. "I wish you were here to help me, Mam. But
that's all right. I'm sure you would be if you could."

For
a moment it seemed that Clare stood beside her, a presence so vivid that
Alyson's eyes stung with sudden tears when she turned and found herself alone.
She waited but there was no answer, no inner certainty. At last she turned away
and went back to the campsite. This time, though, she did not bother to ask if
she could help. She simply sat down by one of the fires and began to shell a
basket of peas. There were six or seven other women present, and they drew back
from her a little, whispering among themselves. Alyson felt herself begin to
blush but she resolutely continued with her work.

She
looked up as Emma McLaran came and sat beside her on the log, reaching into the
basket.

"
'Tis kind of ye to want to help, lady, but there's no need at all."

"I
don't mind," Alyson said.

"Please
yourself," Emma said indifferently.

Alyson
tried to think of some way to mention Clare, but the other women were listening
avidly, and her mind was a frustrating blank.

"
'Tis fine weather," she began tentatively.

Emma
nodded without answering.

"And
so beautiful here," Alyson continued in a nervous rush. "I had heard
it's very pretty, but even so I didn't expect—"

"Och,
aye, 'tis pretty enough," Emma said shortly. She threw the peas into the
basket and turned to Alyson. "Kirallen thinks he can bring the peace by
this marriage, and I'll no' be the one to say him nay. But dinna think that
means I approve of what he's done."

Looking
into Emma's clear blue eyes, Alyson's bright hopes collapsed. Had she really
expected the McLarans would rush to her defense? Likely they wouldn't even want
to acknowledge her, though if she appealed to them in Clare's name they might
have to do so. But they would not be happy about it. Who was she, after all?
Darnley's bastard daughter, that's who she was, an English stranger with no
claim to their protection.

And
what difference would Robin make to any of them? They didn't know him and he
was half English, just as Alyson was herself. They'd never even stop to think
of him. What was the life of one child—a common child, a stable boy—when set
against this clash of noble houses?

"I
was taught that forgiveness is the duty of every Christian," she said
quietly, remembering her mother's patient lessons.

"I'd
like to know who had your teaching!" Emma answered tartly, rising and
brushing the windblown hair back from her brow. "Surely it wasna your
father! And I'm afraid ye willna be finding many to agree with ye in these
parts. They think 'tis a sign of weakness in Kirallen, him marrying his son to
ye. Oh, they'll hold their tongues—or most of them will, anyway. Kirallen has
always been a friend to us. But dinna be expecting them to welcome ye or forget
that you're a Darnley. I wouldna ask it o' them, for it's more than I can do
myself."

When
she was gone the other women gathered in a little knot, pointed excluding
Alyson, until their work was done and they could join other, livelier groups.
Alyson remained by the fire awhile longer, but at last she wandered off in
search of her chest. She found it stored in a tiny stone cottage set far from
all the others. Though the other buildings were full to bursting, and most of
the men to sleep upon the moor, she realized that this place had been reserved
for her alone.

Pushing
her chest aside, she sat down on the pallet and buried her face in her hands.
How many times had she imagined coming to this place, knowing she and Robin
would be safe at last? She had invented all kinds of stories about the McLarans
and the magical mountains where they lived until it became a nightly ritual
with Robin.

"We'll
be going soon," Alyson would say. "Going off to the McLarans."

Now
she heard Robin's high voice responding, "They live far up in the
hills—"