The Raven's Wish (18 page)

"Mmmmm...." The low growl in his throat seemed to tickle along Elspeth's spine. "It should be, for I am a Highlander. I did not learn Scots English until I was nearly seventeen." He held the spoon patiently while Eiric wound more yarn around it. "Why does Bethoc call you
mo cuachag
—my little cuckoo?"

Elspeth shrugged. "She has called me that since I was a child. It is a term used sometimes for little girls who sing sweetly." She felt her cheeks pinken again, and took her hand away from his face.

"I hope you are not done," he said softly, his eyes closed. "That feels...quite nice." She hesitated, then began to rub another dab of ointment into his skin with the tip of a finger. The bruised area had grown flushed and shiny as she had applied the nurturing ointment.

Bethoc was right, she thought. The best healing comes from the hand that gave the hurt. Even her own anger and fear, which had simmered ever since Robert's arrival, seemed to be dissolving. Ruari MacDonald seemed less of a threat, too, and the tangle of fear and attraction she felt toward Duncan Macrae felt eased.

"
Mo cuachag
," Duncan said. "My little cuckoo. A good name for you, I think. You do tend to repeat yourself." He lifted his brow and opened an eye, a starlight blue twinkle. Then he made a soft cuckoo's call in his throat. Eiric laughed, a sweet happy trill. He did it again, grinning at Eiric. The child imitated him, and he laughed with her.

Elspeth twisted her mouth in a grimace. "Stop, you. And how is it that I repeat myself?" She lifted her hand from his cheek.

"You say over and over that I must leave," he murmured, "but I am content to stay, little bird." Sitting on his knee, Eiric made the cuckoo sound again.

Elspeth frowned. "Do not jest with me about this."

"Never," Duncan said softly. His gaze locked with hers.

* * *

"He is a good, fair man, your lawyer," Bethoc said. She stood in the doorway of the cottage, watching Duncan, who had gone outside to tend to Lasair. He had taken Eiric with him, for she had cried so loudly when he went out the door that he had turned back to scoop her up.

Elspeth watched Eiric earnestly help Duncan pour out a bucketful of oats and barley into a small trough. "My lawyer? He is the queen's lawyer."

"He is good with the child. Magnus needs to show more interest in Eiric. She adores her father, but he does not really see what a treasure she is. Ask Magnus to come back with the lawyer when he comes to get his horse. Magnus will see the love she shows Duncan Macrae, and he will be jealous."

Elspeth chuckled at this devious plan, and nodded.

"I saw some images, when I held the lawyer's head today," Bethoc said. "There is much goodness in him. But there is a deep sorrow too. I saw sharp steel, and men riding at night. There is more in his past than he tells."

"I sensed an old hurt in him, too," Elspeth admitted. She glanced outside. She had wanted to tell Bethoc about the strange and disturbing vision she had seen of the lawyer, but she had not yet found a moment. Perhaps now she could speak of it.

Eiric took Duncan's hand and began to drag him happily toward the little burn at the base of the hill. Elspeth knew that Duncan was about to be coerced into Eiric's favorite pastime, watching the fish in the burn. That would provide the time she needed to talk with Bethoc.

"The first day I met him, I had two visions," Elspeth said, turning away from the open door. She sat on a bench, and Bethoc joined her there, listening attentively as Elspeth told her what she had seen.

Bethoc's brow creased in a frown. "You saw his execution?"

Elspeth nodded. "Somehow," she finished, "I feel that I will lead him to the block. But I do not understand how I could become involved in a political death. Perhaps the vision was wrong."

Bethoc continued to frown. "Such visions prove true, given time. You know that. You have never yet been wrong."

"I have tried to warn him," Elspeth said. "If he leaves the Highlands, and stays away from me, perhaps he will not come to the block at all. At least he cannot bring me into his death, and so it may change the outcome for him."

"Warn him, and say no more. Fate cannot be altered."

Elspeth shook her head. "I wonder, Bethoc. If a seer warns a woman of an accident with fire, and the woman takes such great care that no burning occurs—then fate has been altered. Have we no responsibility as seers to speak out, to save those in danger?"

Bethoc shook her head. "I think God determines these things, and only shows them to us. Take care, girl. Your heart has been hurt already, seeing the death-knowing for someone."

"But if I could do something to help, perhaps Macrae's death could be averted."

Bethoc watched her steadily. "My daughter's death would have happened, even if you had warned us of what you knew. My healing powers, my herbs, my hands—nothing saved her. Her death was meant to happen, for God's own reasons, not revealed to any."

Elspeth looked down. "I only told you that your daughter would have a beautiful baby girl."

"You took all the hurt into yourself. You were wise to hold your tongue." She leaned forward. "Be wise here, too. Warn where you can, and keep silent for the rest. If the lawyer is to die, you cannot change that fate."

"I would, if I could."

"Accept what the Sight shows you. When you predict a happy thing, it is a gift. Do not fret over the rest, or it becomes a burden."

Bethoc touched her arm. "I know you feel sorrow over this. Let me look into the water. Augury may help here."

She limped away to fill a wide wooden bowl with water, and placed it on the table, sitting down before it. Murmuring softly, Bethoc passed her hands over the water three times, and then stared at the still surface. Elspeth waited.

"There is strength and bravery in this man," Bethoc said. "He has the heart of a lion, stubborn and loyal. He is a peacemaker...with the devil's own temper." She tilted her head as if she listened to some inner voice, and watched the calm water.

"This man is your destiny," Bethoc said. "He is your heart, and you are his. That is why you want to change this fate for him. You fear to lose him."

"That is not so," Elspeth breathed.

"I see you standing at his left shoulder."

"I saw the same at the stream," Elspeth said. "My face and shoulders, at his left shoulder."

Bethoc nodded. "The left side is the position of love and marriage. There is a bond between you, and there will be a pledge. The bond has already begun to form."

Elspeth bit at her lower lip and stayed silent.

Bethoc continued to stare at the water. She shook her head slowly. "I feel death around him...but his end is not shown to me. Death is there, in his past."

Bethoc drew a deep breath and leaned forward. "I see ravens around him, but the birds have been there a long time. Three ravens. Three deaths trouble him from his past."

Bethoc frowned and leaned forward, her gaze focused on the bowl. "The images are gone now. I can see no more for him unless he asks me himself." She sat back, thoughtful, and then looked at Elspeth. "This man faces a great challenge, danger of some kind. Warn him if you will, but fate is set for him. He can endure what will come, but he must believe that he can endure it."

Elspeth drew her brows together. "He will die, then?"

Bethoc shrugged. "I did not see it. But if you saw it, perhaps it is so. I felt love and comfort between the two of you."

"Love and comfort?" Elspeth stared in disbelief.

Bethoc nodded. "He will offer you marriage. Accept it."

Elspeth stood quickly, stunned. "How can that be? I have warned him away to save him. A wedding between us would surely seal his fate."

"There is love there, Elspeth. The threat comes from elsewhere. The bond I felt between you is a gift that few ever have. Even if your time together is brief, the gift is precious."

"I will not love a man who will be taken from me! A parting by the heading axe is no memory to treasure!"

A shadow fell across the floor. Elspeth looked up.

Duncan stood in the doorway, holding Eiric in one arm. He looked evenly at Elspeth. There was no smile on his lips, and none in his eyes. She looked away, aware that her words seemed to hang in the air of the little house. A swirl of dread told her that he had heard them.

He stepped into the room. "We have seen enough fish for a lifetime, I think."

Elspeth's heart thumped heavily. She watched as he walked past her to sit down on a bench. Eiric curled into his shoulder, nearly asleep, and he spoke softly to Bethoc over the child's head. They laughed, something to do with the fish in the burn.

Elspeth looked at Eiric cuddled against him. What a simple, sweet joy, to rest so trusting in that strong embrace. To forget, even for a moment, the burden of his future would be blissful.

To forget, too, what Bethoc had told her: that he was her heart, and she was his. She walked over to Duncan and held out her arms to lift the child from him. Her hands trembled.

He looked at her, his eyes a startling blue in the quiet shadows.

"You look as tired as this little one," he said softly.

She shook her head, accepting Eiric's weight in her arms.

"We should leave soon," he said. "It is a long walk back to Glenran."

"Do not go back," she whispered. "Go south. Go home."

He half-smiled, a gentle curve of his upper lip. "
Mo cuachag
," he said. "Little cuckoo, always with the same tune. When will you change that song?"

"Never," she answered, and turned away.

* * *

A few days later, Elspeth returned to Bethoc's home, bringing Duncan and Magnus to fetch the horse. Lasair's hoof had healed by the second day, Bethoc said, though Duncan could not convince the woman to accept payment. Elspeth had watched with amusement, knowing that Bethoc would never take coin for such work.

"Come with me, Duncan Macrae. I have a gift for you," Bethoc said after the midday dinner. She beckoned to him. Duncan cast a look at Elspeth before he followed Bethoc into the second room of the small house, divided from the main room by a wattle screen.

Elspeth turned to look at Magnus, who sat with Eiric in his lap. He raised a brow in curiosity. "Bethoc likes the lawyer," he said.

"She does," Elspeth said, and went into the weaving room. Magnus, lifting Eiric, followed. The child played with her father's braids as they watched Bethoc, who was showing Duncan the new cloth stretched on her loom. Afternoon light sliced through a window; a cupboard, stool, and the large loom filled the snug space. On the wooden frame, a piece of plaid was stretched on the wooden framework.

"So this is where the Glenran Frasers get their fine blue and green plaids," Duncan said.

"They do," Bethoc said. "Woad for the blue, broom plant for the green—they grow in abundance near here, and give me the colors for my yarns." She stroked the cloth. "Tartan designs are simple enough—colored stripes and blocks are repeated in the warp and again in the weft. That is all, and yet it makes fine designs." She pointed out the pattern.

"Bethoc is well known for her tartan cloth," Elspeth said from the doorway. "She sells many lengths of her patterns every spring and fall at the Inverness market."

"Tcha," Bethoc said, "the trades bring me good soap and salt and wine in return."

"Hugh makes certain Bethoc always has what she needs," Magnus told Duncan. "Herbs and plants from England or Flanders, leather shoes, dishes. She takes little enough though."

"He tries to give me silver and gold, too, though I have little use for coins," Bethoc said.

"You could sell for a higher price in the Lowland markets," Duncan said, fingering the thick, soft wool. "There is a demand for good Scottish wool just now, both raw and spun, and for tartan weaving of this quality."

"I am a weaver, and I take joy in that. I care nothing for profit."

Duncan nodded, and Elspeth noted how much he respected Bethoc. The queen's lawyer had a caring heart indeed; though he had become a Lowlander, he was not like Robert Gordon.

Bethoc looked frankly at Duncan. "You are a handsome man, Duncan Macrae," she said. "With those blue eyes and dark hair…oh I wish I was years younger." She smiled. "I think you lack a good plaid, and I will give you a length of good cloth if you promise to wear it."

"He is Highland born and raised," Elspeth said. "So he has worn the wrapped plaid."

"I have. But in the Lowlands, a Highland plaid is no advantage."

"Is it better to wear the trews all day, with no freedom for the body? Or to wear only the raven's color?" Bethoc turned to the cupboard and opened it. Inside were folded tartan plaids. She chose a thick cloth of dark green, crossed with red, yellow, and brown.

"When you wear the colors of the earth, you invite its protection," she told him, draping the cloth around him, arranging it loosely.

Duncan let her wrap it about him. "This is too fine a gift," he said. "Let me pay you."

"You will not," she declared. "To refuse this gift would bring you ill luck, and you have need of good luck, Duncan."

He smiled ruefully. "That I do. I have not seen a plaid this fine since I was a boy." He rubbed the cloth between his fingers. "Soft and thick."

"You have been in the south-country, where the weavers make thin two-color plaids fit only for wrapping mutton," Bethoc said, and Duncan laughed. "Here we use carded wool, which makes a softer and warmer cloth." She smiled. "Mine are good designs. You will be glad to have one made by me."

"I am," he said. "Bethoc, I owe you for the cloth, and for helping both my horse and me." He touched a finger to his cheekbone, which was clear and smooth now.

Her green eyes crinkled beneath a frown. "I pray that you will return a favor to me, for the day will come when I may ask it."

Bethoc's ominous words sent a heavy swirl of fear through Elspeth, listening. She wanted to see him gone from here, not further bound to anyone here—including herself. The bond of caution would be signed, and he would leave. Please, soon, she thought. Have it done. But more each day, she wanted him here with her, and yet had no right.