English, Elizabeth (29 page)

"Ian
and Alistair happened by. What a fight!" He laughed softly. "I can
still see them, standing back to back, both of them with daggers drawn. They
fought like... like they were one. They could have taken twice as many with no
trouble at all."

It
had been brave of them to fight against so many, Alyson thought. But it had
been braver still for Jemmy to face them all alone.

"After
the others ran off, Alistair took me to the stream and washed the blood away.
He bound up my hand and I went home again. It was all right for the two of
them, but I didn't want anyone to know, because I wasn't supposed to have left
the yard. I was being punished for something, I can't remember what, so for the
next day or so I kept my hand out of sight and my hair over my face, hoping no
one would notice. And they didn't—not at first. But the hand got inflamed and I
came down with a fever and soon enough the tale came out."

"Did
you get in terrible trouble?" she asked, amused, thinking what she would
do to her own young brother for such disobedience.

"No.
My mother said I'd done what she would have in my place and that I wasn't to be
punished for it. My father knew better than to cross a breeding woman and so he
let it pass."

He
sighed and moved restlessly beneath her. "I remember it well because she
died soon after."

"From
the child?" Alyson asked softly.

"In
a way. The fighting was very bad that year. My grandfather died and my uncle,
Father's youngest brother. When they brought him back—my mother fell down in a
faint and the child came that night, three months early. Neither of them
lived."

Jemmy
was silent then, remembering the day Stephen's body had been returned to them,
the shouts and curses and the screaming that went on and on...

Alyson
felt him shudder and moved closer in his arms. So many dead, she thought,
despairing. War was not confined to the battlefield as the songs and stories
would have it seem. The evil of pure hatred went on, destroying everything it
touched. Just as it would destroy what had happened here tonight. Lies and more
lies, deception without end—but this feeling between her and Jemmy was no lie;
it was real and true and fine. And yet it must be wrong, for the moment she
spoke the truth the fragile bond between them would be irrevocably shattered.

"There,
now," Jemmy said gently, stroking the hair back from her face. "I
shouldn't have gone on like that. 'Tis all long past and now everything will be
different. We'll see to that."

"Oh,
Jemmy," Alyson choked. "If only it was so easy."

"I
never said it would be easy, but—I think it's what must be. 'Tis strange,"
he mused, his lips moving softly in her hair, "when I think how hard I
tried to fight it. But now I see—I think—that this is where I've always wanted
to be, doing what I was born to do. You made me see that."

Alyson
felt a guilty pang as she considered that Darnley would have been very pleased
at what she'd done. If not for her, Jemmy would be gone—perhaps already—back to
the safety of the sea. "But you could be wrong. What you said before—the
sea—perhaps that is where you belong—"

"Oh,
I still miss the sea, I suppose I always will, but you were right, I've been
running for too long. Ian—God rest him—Ian was my brother and I loved him well,
but he couldn't do what we will do together. Just think—our children will be
Darnley and Kirallen."

He
rolled atop her, supporting his weight on his elbows. "You do like
children, don't you?"

"Yes.
I do."

"I
never did much. But now—shall we have a bairn, Maude? Or no, we should have two
at least, a daughter and a son. Would you like that, sweeting?"

"Yes,"
she whispered. "I would. More than anything."

Aye,
just the thought of it, the children they might have had together, was more
than she could bear.

"Jemmy,
I—when I came here—it wasn't—"

"You're
trembling!" he said with swift concern, lying down beside her. "I'm
sorry, here I have been running on and never thought—you must be exhausted. As
I am," he added with a smile that turned into a yawn. "Lie back now
and go to sleep. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow."

He
yawned again and drew her closer, his hands moving in lazy arcs over her neck
and shoulders. She braced herself against his warmth, his touch, clinging
desperately to her wavering resolve.

"No,
wait—"

"Hush,"
he ordered firmly, pulling her head down to his shoulder. "Whatever it is
will keep until tomorrow."

Tomorrow,
Alyson thought. One hour more and tomorrow will be here. One hour to lie here
in his arms and listen to the beating of his heart. The moment the sky
lightens, she promised herself, at the very first streak of dawn... I will wake
him up and tell him everything...

Maude's
chamber was much larger than Alyson had
remembered it. Her footsteps
echoed as she walked across an endless floor toward the dais. Though the rest
of the room was dim, banked candles shed their light on the three figures
waiting for her.

Maude
was stretched upon the settle. Her father stood beside her, hands clasped
behind his back. Sir Robert sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the
dais, which was higher than Alyson's head. For some reason the knight was
dressed in motley; the bells on his cap jangled harshly in counterpoint to the
music coming from his lute. It was a strange air, dissonant and eerie, that
reminded Alyson of dried cornstalks clattering together in a gray November
field.

Alyson
stopped at the edge and curtsied silently.

"You
are a very stupid girl," Maude said. "We told you what would happen,
but you didn't listen, did you? And now look what you've done."

"Wait,"
Alyson tried to say, though no sound came from her lips. "Wait, I can
explain—"

"Have
you nothing to say for yourself?" Darnley demanded, drawing an enormous
knife from his belt. "Very well. Bring the boy."

Faceless
forms in black laid Robin on the dais, but now it was an altar and Father Aidan
stood above the bound figure of the boy.

"You
did this," the priest said. "You alone. He is the lamb who will
suffer for your sin."

"Ally!"
Robin cried, his eyes wide with terror. "Ally, help me!"

Alyson's
limbs were leaden, every step impeded, and silent screams ripped from her
throat as Darnley raised the knife above his head. With the greatest effort of
her life she spurred herself forward and at last found her voice.

"Robin!
No, don't! Robin!"

Hands
pressed against her shoulders and she struggled to free herself, frantic with
terror.

"Shh,
now, 'twas a dream, that's all. Just a dream."

She
opened her eyes and there was Jemmy leaning over her. With a wordless cry she
flung her arms about his neck.

"A
dream," she repeated, her voice shaking. "Yes. It was only a
dream."

He
held her, one hand stroking her hair, murmuring soft words. But there were
other voices, too, and Alyson drew back from the shelter of his arms to find
the room was filled with men.

"What—?"
she began, utterly confused, then saw with a sharp stab of fear that Jemmy was
dressed for riding. Oh, she hadn't meant to sleep!

"Why
are you up?" she asked weakly. "Is it dawn?"

"Nearly.
There's been a raid in Kilghorn and I must go."

"Wait,"
she said, pushing the hair out of her face and trying to collect her scattered
thoughts. "You can't—not yet. Please, my lord, just a moment of your
time—"

Celia
came forward then, her eyes holding Alyson's as she proffered a cup of morning
ale.

Jemmy
kissed her hard and quick. "I'm sorry, sweeting. I'll be back as soon as
may be—not more than a few days. God keep you."

He
touched her hair and smiled. Then he was gone and the rest of the men with him,
leaving her alone with Celia.

The
serving girl sat down on the bed and sipped the cup of ale. "Well,
well," she said, raising her brows. "Did you sleep well, my
lady?"

Alyson
didn't answer. She sank back among the pillows and closed her eyes. Robin, she
thought, tears stinging her lids. My poor Robin. What have I done to you?

***

B
y the time
Alyson was up and dressed, she had convinced
herself that her dream
meant nothing. It was not a Sending or a vision of the future, but only a dream
brought on by her own fear and shame at what she'd done last night.

She
should
feel shame, she reminded herself sternly. 'Twas sinful to be
humming a merry little tune as she went lightly down the stairway. And when she
took her seat between Malcolm and the Laird, she found that she was ravenous.
She doused her oats with milk and a generous portion of honey.

"Were
you caught in the storm?" Malcolm asked. "It was a bad one, wasn't
it?"

"It
was," she answered. "But I'm fine."

"Did
Uncle Jemmy find you, then?"

The
Laird's mouth twitched and Alyson realized that he knew—why, everyone must
know, just as Jemmy had predicted. The keep seemed so big but it wasn't,
really, not when it came to having any privacy at all. And the two of them in
the stables together was far too good a story not to get about—

"You're
very red," Malcolm said, looking at her curiously. "Are you all
right?"

"Aye."

"But—"

"That's
enough, Malcolm. Let your aunt eat in peace."

Kirallen
was smiling, his eyes filled with gentle laughter. But what would he think when
he learned the truth of it?

She
pushed the bowl away, her appetite gone.

"Are
ye finished?" Malcolm said, jumping up. "Let's go"

"Go?
Go where?"

"To
the butts! Ye did promise."

"Did
I? All right, then."

They
took bows and arrows to the archery butts. Alyson stood, her arrow nocked, and
faced the target. Sudden anger swept over her and she imagined she had Lord
Darnley in her sights.

"That's
very good," Malcolm said. "I thought you said you hadn't practiced
much."

"A
lucky shot," Alyson shrugged, though she was shaken by the hatred she had
felt in that moment. "Here, you try."

The
boy's arrow hit close to hers. "I'm getting better," he said.
"Father used to say—"

"What?"

"Oh,
never mind."

"No,
tell me. What did your father used to say?"

"You
won't like it. He used to say I should pretend it was a Darnley."

Alyson
began to laugh and found she couldn't stop. She wrapped her arms about herself,
shaking her head wordlessly to Malcolm's questions.

"I'm
sorry," she gasped, wiping her eyes. "It's just— they tell them at
home to pretend it's a Kirallen. It's all so senseless, don't you see? It's
all—just—wicked!"

Malcolm
stood, staring, as she burst into tears.

"I'm
sorry," he said. "I didna mean to—"

"It
isn't you, Malcolm, it's—everyone. Don't you see how wicked it is?"

"But
my father said—"

"Your
father was wrong! They're all wrong—all of them—"

She
sank to the ground and laid her head on her bent knees. After a moment Malcolm
knelt beside her and put one arm awkwardly about her shoulders.

"
'Tis all right," he said. "I shouldna have told ye. But I willna do
it anymore, I promise."

She
gripped his hands and her eyes blazed into his. "Will you remember your
promise? When you're a man and they say to fight, will you remember? They
aren't just Darnleys, they're people, every one of them. Some are good people,
too, with families—just like your father. No matter what happens, Malcolm, I
want you to remember that."

"I
will," he said, his eyes round.

"Aye.
I know you will. Go on," she said, looking over his shoulder. "Sir
Alistair is waiting for you. It's all right now, Malcolm, just run along."

He
left her there, though he wasn't happy about it. She looked so sad siting all
alone.

"You're
very quiet," Alistair said as they walked together to the practice yard.
"What was that woman saying to you?"

"She
has a name," Malcolm said sharply. "You should use it. 'Tisn't nice
to say 'that woman.'"

"She
isn't
nice. And who d'ye think ye are to be lessoning me in manners? Mind your
tongue."

"You
mind yours," Malcolm retorted pertly, and Alistair cuffed him—not hard,
just enough to remind him of his place. But Malcolm, usually so biddable, was
not himself at all today. He just stared at Alistair with his bright eyes gone
suddenly cold until the older man hooked an arm around his neck and drew him
close.