The Forbidden Land (2 page)

‘It’s just I do no’ feel like I belong here,’ Finn muttered as she allowed Donald to help her down from the wall.

‘O’ course ye belong here, lassie,’ Donald said warmly. ‘Are ye no’ a NicRuraich? Can ye no’ tell where anyone is merely by thinking o’ them? The bluid o’ Rùraich the Searcher runs strong in ye, as anyone could tell simply by looking at ye. Do no’ be such a porridge-head!’

Finn laughed reluctantly and followed the old gillie down the tower stairs, the elven cat tucked in the crook of her arm. ‘If only she did no’
fuss
so,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m being
stifled
.’

‘Wha’ ye need is a guid day’s hunting,’ Donald said encouragingly. ‘We’ve all been cooped up for weeks wi’ the snowstorms; it’s enough to make anyone cranky. A day out on the hills will make ye feel a wee bit better.’

Finn’s hazel eyes lit with green lights. ‘Och, if only I could!’

‘It’s a clear, frosty day,’ Donald said thoughtfully. ‘Happen we’ll bag ourselves a crested pheasant which ye can have for your supper.’

Finn was so pleased with this idea that she came into the great drawing room with a light step and a happy face. Her mother was sitting on a chaise lounge, her embroidery frame before her. Brangaine sat at a stool at Gwyneth’s feet, a selection of silk threads spread over her skirt, while Finn’s brother Aindrew leant against her knee, playing contentedly with a pile of brightly coloured toys. Unlike Finn, he had taken after his mother, sharing the same pale silken hair, fine skin and green eyes. Brangaine had also inherited the MacSian fairness, both women having long pale hair bound into a plait that hung over their shoulders and down past their knees. The firelight played over the three corn-silk heads, bent close together, and over the blue and grey plaids that both the women wore about their shoulders.

Finn’s step faltered and she scowled. The handful of middle-aged women gathered around the drawing room looked up and silence fell over the room. Gwyneth rose with a welcoming smile, holding out her hands to Finn. ‘Where have ye been, dearling? It’s been hours and no-one has been able to find ye anywhere!’

Finn gave a clumsy bob and said, rather gruffly, ‘I’m sorry, mam. I did no’ mean to worry ye. The sun is out for the first time in days and I just needed a breath o’ fresh air …’

‘But it is after noon and ye’ve been gone since we broke our fast.’

‘I went down to the stables to see Cinders. I knew she would be restless after being cooped up for so long and thought I would take her out for a ride but Casey said none o’ the grooms were free to go out with me. He would no’ let me take Cinders out by myself—he bade two o’ his men escort me from the mews. When I refused to go and ordered them to unhand me, he told me no’ to be such a foolish bairn.’ Her voice rose with indignation.

‘Ye ken ye must always be accompanied if ye wish to ride out,’ Gwyneth said with some exasperation. She took Finn’s hand and drew her down to sit next to her. ‘I do no’ make these rules to vex ye, dearling. These mountains are dangerous, ye ken that. What if ye were to be thrown and break an ankle?’

‘Cinders would no’ throw me! I have no’ lost my seat in years.’

‘What if she was threatened by a woolly bear?’

‘We’re no’ afraid o’ a stupid bear!’

‘Och, ye should be. Ye ken they are surly, unpredictable creatures, and certainly no’ the only danger in these parts. What if a troll came down from the mountains, or a pack o’ goblins?’

‘I wish some would, at least then there’d be some excitement!’ Finn burst out.

Gwyneth sighed in annoyance. ‘Finn, a pack o’ marauding goblins is no’ something to wish for! We may be safe here in the castle, but what about the crofters? Goblins have no respect for life or property—they hurt for the pleasure o’ it. Ye will be the NicRuraich one day; it is your duty to guard and protect your people. Wishing harm to come to them for your own childish pleasure is no way to behave.’

Finn bit back rebellious words, but her eyes smouldered and her jaw was set firmly.

Gwyneth took a deep breath to contain her exasperation, then said affectionately, ‘Dearling, I ken ye find our life here rather tedious but indeed, peacefulness means happiness. There has been so much strife here for so long we auld ones are all rather glad to have some peace and quiet for a change. Your father is home now, thank Eà. As soon as his wounds are fully healed, he’ll take ye out riding the boundaries and teach ye more about the laird’s duties. Until then, ye must bide here in patience.’

‘Yes, mam,’ Finn said dutifully and let her mother kiss her cheek.

Donald had been waiting quietly just within the door. He had taken off his tam-o’-shanter and his shining bald dome was rosy in the firelight, fringed all round with grey curls. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady, but I ken how cooped up the young ones must be feeling wi’ the snowstorms keeping them so much inside. I was thinking I could be taking them out for a ride and maybe beat up some pheasants for your dinner, seeing as how we are all sick o’ eating mutton-and-taties.’

Gwyneth smiled, looking out at the blue sky. ‘It does seem to have cleared up. If ye take Casey with ye and some o’ the men, I do no’ see any reason why Fionnghal and Brangaine should no’ go out …’

‘Excuse me, my lady, but I fear a storm is brewing,’ Brangaine said respectfully.

Finn stared at her with hatred. ‘But the sky is clear! There are no clouds …’

‘The clear sky is deceptive, I’m afraid, Fionnghal,’ her cousin replied sweetly. ‘A storm front is coming and heavy with snow. By mid-afternoon the blue sky will be gone.’

‘Well, in that case there be no question o’ ye riding out,’ Gwyneth said decisively. ‘The storms do come very quickly here, ye ken that, Fionnghal. I do no’ wish for ye to be caught out in a snowstorm.’ She saw the look of bitter disappointment and dislike on Finn’s face and said comfortingly, ‘Never mind, dearling. The next clear day ye can ride out, I promise ye.’

‘It’s fine today!’

‘Aye, for the moment, but ye ken Brangaine has the Talent. If she says a storm is coming, ye can be sure that it is.’

‘She’ll probably whistle up a storm just to make sure I canna go out!’ Finn cried and leapt to her feet, knocking over her mother’s embroidery frame. The court ladies threw up their hands and several cried aloud in condemnation. The elven cat hissed at them from Finn’s shoulder. Finn turned and ran out of the room, knocking over a little gilded table on her way and smashing the heirloom jug that stood upon it. Dashing tears from her eyes, she did not stop, slamming the door shut behind her.

Distressed, her mother ran after her but although the corridor stretched both ways as far as the eye could see, there was no sign of her wayward daughter.

That afternoon a blizzard engulfed the castle in a tumult of snow and wind that had everyone huddled up in their plaids. It did not make Finn feel any better knowing that Brangaine had been right and that any expedition into the forest could well have ended in disaster. She moped around the castle, staring out the windows at the whirling snow and blaming her cousin for ruining her life. Although her mother reprimanded her gently, Finn was unable to shake a deep sense of injury and cast Brangaine many a smouldering glance.

That evening she was allowed to see Anghus for the first time, the castle healer having pronounced him strong enough to survive a visit by his tempestuous daughter. Finn’s sulky expression cleared as if by magic, and she eagerly followed Donald into the prionnsa’s bedroom and threw herself upon her father.

He embraced her with his one good arm, though he winced with pain, saying, ‘Careful, lassie, those ribs are still a wee bit tender.’

She lifted herself away a little, saying urgently, ‘How are ye yourself, Dai? Ye look awful!’

The prionnsa smiled ruefully. ‘Thank ye, dearling.’

She examined his face closely. He was pale and haggard, with dark shadows under his hazel eyes. The bones of his face and hands seemed more prominent, and she thought with some distress that there was more grey than chestnut now in his long curly hair. Two white streaks were clawing down into his magnificent red beard, which flowed down over his chest.

‘Are ye sure ye be feeling better?’ she asked anxiously, settling herself by his side with Goblin curled up on her lap.

He nodded, smiling a little. ‘Much better, lassie. Though I could wish ogres did no’ have such filthy personal habits. The healer says his claws were so dirty it was as if he had dipped them in poison.’

‘Was it exciting?’ Finn asked rather wistfully. ‘Fighting an ogre, I mean? I wish I’d been there.’

‘I canna tell ye how glad I am that ye were no’,’ Anghus replied, all traces of humour vanishing from his face. ‘Finn, I was lucky to escape the ogre alive! Three o’ my men were no’ so lucky. Do ye think their widows and orphans do no’ wish with all their hearts that that blaygird ogre had no’ stayed deep in the mountains? It was no’ exciting, Finn, it was tragic.’

Finn nodded her head, though her mouth once again had resumed its sullen droop. Anghus looked at her carefully. ‘Your mam tells me ye have been most restless and unhappy,’ he said gently. ‘What is wrong, lass?’

She kicked the leg of the bedside table, turning her face away. ‘Och, naught.’

‘It does no’ sound like naught,’ her father said, pulling her a little closer so he could see her face. She glanced at him, then away, her brown cheek colouring, her hands pulling at the elven cat’s tufted ears.

‘It’s just there’s naught to do here,’ she burst out. ‘Dai, could I no’ go to the Theurgia in the spring?’

Anghus frowned. ‘But ye have excellent teachers here. We have spared no expense in bringing the very best to Castle Rurach. There’s a witch who trained at the Tower o’ Two Moons itself, no’ to mention the dancing-master, the music teacher to teach ye the lute and spinet, the scribe to teach ye how to write with a courtly hand …’

‘I ken, I ken,’ Finn said dispiritedly. ‘My hours are very well provided for.’

‘Then what is the problem?’

She met his gaze squarely for the first time. ‘I’m bored.’

‘Oh, Finn, everyone finds the winter very long and boring. The days are short and the weather too inclement for many excursions outside the castle walls. But what canna be changed must be endured. Ye must find something to do to keep yourself busy. Brangaine is much your age; what does she do with her time?’

‘Och, bluidy Brangaine!’ Finn’s hazel eyes hardened. ‘She’s naught but a stuck-up corn-dolly, content to sit and sew a fine seam and smirk at herself in a mirror.’

‘That doesna sound very fair, Finn,’ Anghus frowned. ‘Your mother tells me Brangaine works hard at her lessons and …’

‘Och, for sure,’ Finn said bitterly. ‘Everything Brangaine does is perfect. She’s just perfect in every way, the toad.’

‘Fionnghal, it troubles me to hear ye speak this way. Ye must remember that this is your home and Brangaine an honoured guest. She has had an unhappy life, poor lass, losing both her parents so young and so tragically. And she has a heavy load on her shoulders, inheriting the throne o’ Siantan when she is still just a lass and the land in such trouble. Do ye no’ think ye could try a wee bit harder to be friends with her? She is your cousin after all.’

Finn said nothing, lifting Goblin so her face was hidden by the elven cat’s sinuous black shape.

‘Come, lassie, do no’ look so cross. I tell ye what, next fine day we’ll take the horses out for a whole day, just the two o’ us. What do ye say?’

‘If we ever have a fine day,’ Finn muttered, then said, with a rather unconvincing smile, ‘Och, aye, that would be grand, Dai.’

The next fine day brought news that changed everything, however. A messenger struggled up to the drawbridge, cold, exhausted and frightened, his horse ridden close to death. The messenger’s shirt was half-torn from his back, the skin scored with three deep lines caused by a Fairgean trident.

‘The sea demons have come, my laird,’ the messenger cried, falling to his knees before the MacRuraich. ‘More o’ them than ever, my laird. We couldna keep them back. Already we’ve retreated to the third loch and still they keep on coming!’

Every year, the rising of the spring tides brought a bloodthirsty horde of Fairgean swimming down the coast of Rurach in pursuit of the blue whales, who migrated south each spring to mate in the warm shallow waters of the southern seas. Over the past ten years, the sea-dwelling faeries had been growing in strength and numbers, causing great havoc as they swam up every river and stream, killing every human and beast they could find.

Ten years of constant raids on coastal towns and villages had armed the Fairgean with swords, daggers and spears forged with iron, rather than their traditional weapons of coral and sea jewels, and honed their fighting skills so that each year it grew increasingly difficult to drive them back into the sea. With their steel weapons, the Fairgean were able to cut through the nets strung across the river to entangle them, and were able to fight on an equal footing with the laird’s soldiers.

Every year saw a flood of refugees fleeing the coast and river as the Fairgean transformed into their land-shape to rampage across the rich rolling farmlands that filled the hinterland. The spring crops were trampled, herds of goats and sheep had their throats cut, and many crofters, stubbornly staying to defend their land, were murdered. Trade between the towns and the countryside was impossible without the freedom to boat up and down the river, and so lumber sat rotting in the yards, the furriers were unable to sell their winter cache of furs, the stonemasons and metalsmiths sat idle, and shipwrights starved. Every spring and autumn, the highland towns were crowded with refugees from the lowlands and each year, fewer and fewer returned to their farms in the lowlands. For the past few years, the MacRuraich had been struggling to fend off famine and disease, for the highlands simply did not have the resources to support so many people.

The news that the Fairgean had struck again, so early in the year and with such force, made everyone anxious and afraid. Almost immediately Anghus was calling for his sword and his horse, though a white-faced Gwyneth was begging him to remember how weak he still was. He only caught her to him and kissed her, telling her to be brave and to keep the castle gates locked tightly. ‘If they have swum as high as the third loch already, we canna be sure they will no’ swim higher,’ he said grimly. ‘Start preparing for a siege, dearling, and keep those gates shut!’