The Raven's Wish (19 page)

"You look like a Highland man now," Magnus said.

Duncan smiled, fisted his hands on his hips, and the Lowland lawyer disappeared. Elspeth saw a Highlander as wild as her cousins. The plaid set cold fire in his blue eyes and lent even more power and pride to him.

She sucked in a breath—and realized she already loved him. That had started within her without her knowing it until now. The thought set her head to spinning. She set a hand on the door frame and said nothing.

"Soon," Magnus said, "we will go on a hunt. Will you come, Macrae?"

"I will."

"And what do we hunt? MacDonalds?" Elspeth asked, more sharply than she meant.

Duncan laughed. "Only the red deer, my girl," he said.

Her heart leaped. She turned away.

Chapter 11

`O will ye be a robber's wife

Or will ye die by my pen-knife?'

`O I'll nae be a robber's wife

An' I'll nae die by your pen-knife.'

~
"The Bonny Bonny Banks o Fordie-O"

"
Abab!
" Kenneth swore in disgust. He relaxed his hold on the bowstring and turned to glare at Elspeth, who had just sneezed. The light sound had scattered the herd of deer that they had been stalking throughout the morning.

"Sorry," she murmured. Along with Kenneth, Magnus, and Duncan, she lay flat on her stomach in deep, damp heather beneath the wide gray bowl of the sky. From her perch on the hilltop, she glimpsed the white tails as the deer escaped into a thick birchwood. Sighing, she turned to sit up, and another waft of heathery scent tickled her nose. She sneezed again.

"Elspeth—" Kenneth began impatiently.

"The girl could not help it," Duncan said. He got to his feet and stretched his arms. "We will find the deer again. And we have been lying here on our bellies for a long time. All of us are tired and stiff and hungry."

"Very hungry," Elspeth grumbled.

"We should have left her at home," Kenneth muttered as he stood up. Elspeth was not surprised to see a near pout on his face. Kenneth was intense about deer stalking, and had often complained that she was restless on a long hunt and too unwilling to see the deer brought down. Yet he often asked her to come, because she seemed to know where the deer were.

Her Sight allowed her to sense the deer. Unlike the dull, plodding presence of cattle, the deer felt, to her, like the western wind, soft, light and fast. She loved their elegant grace, their earthy coloring and silent alertness.

And though she did not enjoy hunting, she had come out with her cousins today, and she knew why. Sliding a glance at Duncan, she stood and brushed at the bits of heather scattered over the wool of her plaid.

Since dawn, they had been stalking a herd of deer, following them over hills and moors on quick silent feet. Her cousins and Duncan carried yew bows, with quivers slung over their backs. They had stopped often to watch and wait; hunting required a great deal of lying still in wet heather, and hours of tedious silence. Elspeth would rather roam the hills, watching the deer run freely along the moors, than stalk them for a kill.

She scanned the overcast sky. The day was damp; her plaid was wet, her knees were mucky, her braid was heavy with mist. She was cold, hungry, and impatient to be done with this.

Duncan spoke to Magnus, who nodded. Elspeth noticed how handsome Duncan was, admiring the black brows, the fringe of eyelashes. He spoke again, low, and she felt the sound within her body.

Enough of that, she thought, kicking at a snag of purple heather. This keen awareness of a man who should be riding back to his queen, was consuming her. Too often lately she found herself watching him, and many times she caught the quick flash of his blue eyes.

She wished he had never kissed her that night on the fairy hill. Even more, she wished he would do it again. She wanted to feel that dizzying, joyful lift of her soul with him. She sighed, watching him. He wore the green plaid Bethoc had given him, with a linen shirt beneath; he had borrowed wool knee-stockings and a pair of leather brogues. Much better, she thought, than wearing the raven's color. She could only admire all the fine, long length of him, his muscled legs and long back. His hair spread between his shoulders like a glossy black wing.

How like her cousins he was. How well he fit here. And what fascination could dry laws have, she wondered, to keep him away from the hills where he obviously belonged?

Magnus shouldered his bow. "If we do not chase the deer now, we may lose them."

Duncan looked up at the sky. "Rain hangs in those clouds, and if that happens, the deer will find cover. We should go now."

"Then I will fetch the ponies to carry the game," Magnus said, and loped off toward a copse of birches not far away, where two sturdy garrons were tethered.

While they were talking, Elspeth scanned the birch trees below, where the deer had run. She could sense them somewhere off to the left, but could not see them.

Duncan came to stand beside her, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. "Look there," he called to Kenneth. "The deer are just inside the wood, heading west."

"Come ahead," Kenneth said. "We will catch them now, I think. Elspeth, you wait here."

She looked at him in surprise. "But—"

"With the rain coming, we will either find game soon, or call off the hunt."

"Kenneth is right," Magnus told her, coming back with the horses. "Wait under those trees. We will be back soon."

She scowled, but Kenneth raised a finger and pointed at the stand of birches nearby. Knowing that she could listen or not, as she pleased, she did not want them to lose their quarry, for every moment counted. She shrugged and walked toward the trees.

Kenneth and Magnus stepped over the rise of the hill and began the downward climb toward the birchwood. Duncan began to follow, then turned to her. "Stay safe—the rain is coming. We will be back soon."

She scowled at him, too, for good measure, as he went with the others. They crossed a small burn and entered the wood, and soon she could no longer distinguish Duncan's plaid from the tangled screen of birch and alder and fern that filled the stretch of forest. Plucking a stem of heather, she twirled it in her fingers, waiting.

A strong breeze whipped past, and gray clouds gathered overhead. She ducked deeper into the birch copse and found a tiny burn, burbling over rocks. She scooped up a handful of cold water and drank. Sitting beneath some trees, she unwrapped a hunk of cheese that Flora had sent with her and ate. Then she glanced up at the sky, which was eerie now, the wind chilly.

To pass the time, she sang a little, her voice blending with the rise and fall of the wind. She closed her eyes and thought only of the warbling sweet tune.

Then she broke off the song and sat up. A prickle at the back of her neck told her that something had disturbed the peace of the birch copse. Looking around, she relaxed again, and told herself that she sensed only the threat of the storm. She hoped the men would return soon.

Resuming her song, she tapped out a rhythm on her knee.

"Lovely," a voice said. She turned her head. A man sat on a pony, silhouetted against the sky. Leaping to her feet, Elspeth reached for the little knife at her belt and slid it free.

"Elspeth Fraser," the man said, stepping the pony slowly toward her. "We must talk."

She angled the blade toward him. He stopped a few paces away and watched her, his eyes wary. A thick shock of reddish hair blew back from his forehead. His red plaid was oddly brilliant in the greenish light.

Her fingers flexed on the knife. "We have no words to share, Ruari MacDonald."

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Duncan and the Frasers left the wood. Kenneth had shot one of the hinds, and Duncan another. The animals were now slung over the backs of the two garrons, along with the bows and quivers.

"The quickest path back to Glenran is that way," Kenneth called to Duncan, pointing in an opposite direction.

The wind lifted the plaid at Duncan's shoulder, and blew his hair wildly. "You go on," he called over the wind. "I will get Elspeth." The Frasers nodded and moved off, leading the horses. Duncan began to climb back up the long hill toward the place where they had left Elspeth.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked up. An ominous cloudbank, heavy and dark, moved rapidly across the sky. He felt an uncomfortable prickly sensation, like dread, forming at the back of his neck. The threat of the coming storm must be making him anxious, he thought. Picking his way around the sharp angles of rocks, taking the slope with long steps, he hurried up, wanting to find the girl and get back to the castle as soon as possible.

Thunder pounded somewhere off to his left. He doubted, now, that they would reach the castle without a thorough soaking. He heard a raw screech and glanced up. Overhead, a raven cut past, its wide wings carrying it away from the storm.

Elspeth would not like that omen, he thought with wryly. Ravens made her anxious. He watched the bird before he went on. More thunder growled, and a crash of lightning struck somewhere, far behind him. The sky was now as dark as at twilight.

Reaching the top of the hill, he saw them almost immediately. A man in a red plaid sat a pony near Elspeth. Their backs were turned away from him. He wondered for an instant if she had found another of her cousins, part of the MacShimi's tail. If so, he would have to be careful to approach more politely this time.

Then, in one fast motion, the man slid from his horse and lunged at Elspeth. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted her savagely as they locked together in a struggle.

Duncan ducked his head down and ran, groping for his knife, pounding across the moor. His shoulder hit into the man's back with all the force of the thunder that slammed overhead.

He heard Elspeth cry out as they went down in a brutal tangle. Throwing one arm around the man's neck, he pressed the flat of his dirk to the man's chest and tightened his grasp. Rolling away to free Elspeth, who was caught underneath, Duncan threw his leg over the man's thigh and pinned him securely.

Trapped, the man cursed in a guttural, half-choked voice. Duncan did not relax his grip, but glanced at Elspeth, who crouched nearby, watching them with wide eyes.

"Who are you?" he gasped out. Rusty-colored hair and a red plaid were all that he had seen so far. "What do you want here?"

The man swore and struggled against him, but Duncan gripped hard around his neck and pressed the edge of the dirk against his throat. Although Duncan was the larger of the two, his opponent was compact and wiry.

"Say your name," Duncan rasped.

"Ruari MacDonald," the man spit out.

"Get up," Elspeth said, her voice quavering. "Please!"

Duncan got up, grabbing Ruari's arm to pull it behind as Ruari stood. With his free hand, Duncan pressed the blade point to Ruari's throat.

"Why did you attack Elspeth? And may I tell you that I have recently sharpened my dirk," Duncan said.

"I only wanted to speak with her," Ruari said. He was shorter, and Duncan could easily see over the top of the red curls, and saw the man glare back at him. Elspeth, a few paces away, grasped a knife in her hand, her feet in a wide stance, and glared back at MacDonald.

"You have no cause to speak with her, and no cause to be on Fraser land. MacDonalds have lately been reiving here and harming Fraser kin. If I were a Fraser, your throat would be cut now." He pressed the blade closer. "Perhaps I should let Elspeth do that."

She took a step forward, eyes flashing silver fire. He almost feared she would do it.

Ruari flinched. "She is a damnable witch. But my uncle obtained her for my bride, and her brother made the promise good. Gordon has tried to withdraw it now, but the Frasers owe her to me. I saw her out here, and only tried to tell her that I am still willing to wed her."

"If you saw her here, then you were following her," Duncan said.

"If you say I am a witch, why do you want me for a wife?" Elspeth demanded.

Ruari laughed. Duncan saw the lust in those flat brown eyes, in the curl of his lip, heard it in the hoarse rasp of the man's breath. He knew why Ruari wanted her. The knowledge sent a twist of rage through his gut. He squeezed the hilt of the dirk in an effort to keep it still.

"The crown says we must cease fighting with Clan Fraser," Ruari said. "My uncle wants this marriage made." He stared at her, breathing hard. "I need a wife. Once you are away from the evil influence of that old clubfooted witch, you will not practice witchcraft. Tell the MacShimi that I will still take you to wife."

Elspeth stepped toward them. "Let him go," she said to Duncan.

He frowned at her. "Elspeth—"

"Let him go."

He released Ruari's arm, but kept the dirk ready. He waited, watching Elspeth.

She stared at Ruari, who stood only a little taller than she did. Thunder rumbled and leaves rustled in the cold, fast wind. "If you should visit Bethoc MacGruer again," she said, "you will learn what witchery can do." She slapped his face then. "That is owed to you for Bethoc. Now get on your horse and be gone from here. I lay a
damnadh
on you, Ruari. You will not touch me or my kin unless you wish to bring harm to yourself."