The Return of Black Douglas (33 page)

Chapter 35

For God’s sake hold your

tongue and let me love.

—“The Canonization”
John Donne (1572?–1631)
English metaphysical poet and clergyman

Alysandir was sucked into the violent circulation of a waterspout that drenched the castle, sent a flood of water gushing down the gargoyles, and nearly drowned him in a puddle with the cocks in the courtyard below.

He awoke with a start and sat up in bed. His heart pounded. He looked around the room, breathing with rapid pants, but at least he was breathing. A dream, he thought, and he fell back in bed. And what a dream. He hadn’t been this shaken by a nightmare since boyhood.

For some time, he lay there thinking…

His life had been a lot like a waterspout since the day he met Isobella, for it had become a tumultuous rush of confusion toward an unknown ending. Things were not going well. He wanted to change that. He did not know how. How could he end this stalemate between them and come out with both of them getting what they wanted?

His passion for her was now raging at its highest peak, and during his convalescence, his pent-up anger with himself had time to gather like rain in a Highland tarn. He realized that he was a man with a heart as hard as a grape stone and that he had, as she had once told him, the brains of a bowl of oatmeal. He smiled.

He knew now that he would do whatever it took. To win her favor, he would face a volley of arrows, a shower of stones, and a hailstorm of cudgel blows, but inwardly, he knew it would not be as simple as that.

With a curse, he left the bed, dressed, and went to find Drust. He wanted to saddle Gallagher and ride away from the castle for a while. A deer hunt would get him out in the open, and he could leave the Mackinnon chief behind and be Alysandir for a while.

The problem was that even out in the open, he could not stop thinking about her. He knew what Isobella wanted. All he had to do was to get over his fear of giving it to her. He had confessed that he wanted her in his life, but he stopped short there. He could barely force himself to think of the word, and he certainly could not say it. Not to her. Not to anyone. And therein lay the problem, for if he did not say it, and soon, he feared he would wake up one morning and find her gone.

“Are ye trying to find answers to a question you keep avoiding?” Drust asked as he rode up beside Alysandir. “She loves ye. Ye love her. ’Tis simple, no?”

“Aye. And for all yer nosey prying, ye can see to the deer carcass,” he said, handing Drust the reins to the packhorse.

With a laugh, Alysandir tuned to watch Bradan’s horse ambling along behind him. “What say ye that we race back to Màrrach and leave Drust and Colin to see who wins?”

Bradan’s eyes lit up. “Aye,” he said, and kicked his horse into a gallop. Alysandir watched him go, feeling pride in his heart at the fearlessness his son possessed. He remembered having thought the boy was soft, but now he knew that one day Bradan would be a man of dauntless courage. And he would have never known that had it not been for Isobella.

Finding her wasn’t as easy as he had thought, for after searching and asking about the castle, he decided she must be in that place he was growing rather jealous of. The cave. He invited Bradan to go with him, and the two of them rode down the beach.

He knew they had found her when he saw Artair and Margaret playing in the sand near the cave. They called out to him, and Bradan dismounted and led his horse over to where they sat. Alysandir rode on, listening to Bradan telling his young aunt and uncle about the hunt.

After bumping his head on the entrance, Alysandir followed the glow of light until he found her. Along the way, he noted that the rock-paved floor was strewn with bits of charred firewood, limpet shells, animal bones, and the skeletons of three infants near a crude altar at the back of the cave.

He stood for a moment without announcing his arrival, content to look around at the cave walls marked with signs of fire, ashes still adhering to one side. Her back was turned toward him as he walked close enough to see she had a plaid stretched out on the floor, on which she had arranged tools of stone, flint, and bone. There also were a few seashell ornaments and a bronze torc.

He shook his head. Any other woman would want silks and jewels, but not Isobella. Just give her a little dirt to dig in, and she was happy. He would never find another woman like her.

“I thought I would find ye here.”

She gasped and turned around quickly. He noticed a knife in her hand and saw the belt and the scabbard around her waist. “Ye were not thinking of stabbing me with that, were ye?”

“No, of course not. Why are you here? I was about to finish up and return to Màrrach.”

“I came to see ye.”

“Why?”

“Mayhap I enjoy seeing ye standing amongst ancient burial urns, digging in the graves of those who spoke deceased languages. Your face is dirty.”

She smiled hesitantly and wiped at the smudges. He stepped closer. “Ye only made it worse,” he said, and wiped the dirt away with his thumb. “It will be dark soon. I will ride back with ye.”

Elisabeth walked out of the shadows. “Hello, Alysandir. Here to drag us out, are you?”

Isobella glanced toward the entrance to the cave, where long shadows stretched like returning spirits across the stone floor. She caught a stray wisp of hair and tucked it behind her ear as she glanced around the cave. “I suppose I should stop now, but there is so much to do here.”

“Aye, there is much history in this place.” He picked up the bronze torc. The metal had been twisted to fashion a woman’s necklace that fit like a collar. He placed it around her neck. “This dates back to the times of the Norse. The Celts were exceptional metal craftsmen. It has been waiting a long time for ye to find it, but it is safe to return home now, for it will still be here on the morrow.”

As they left the cave, Alysandir called out to Bradan, Artair, and Margaret that it was time to go. He felt a surge of pride followed by a bubble of humor, as he watched Bradan mount his horse and jovially hoist the other two upon the bare back. “They line up like peas in a pod.”

“You are proud of him,” she said.

“Aye, he is a good lad.” He laughed. “And Margaret as well, for she rides like a lad, and I am sure my mother must be frowning.”

Elisabeth mounted her horse. “I’ll ride with the bairns,” she said with a laugh as she rode off.

Alysandir mounted Gallagher and grinned down at Isobella. “’Twill require me putting my arms around ye, if ye can bear the insult.”

“I have managed so far, and your touch is preferred over blisters.”

“’Tis good to know where I stand in the order of pestiferous things.” He leaned from the saddle and gathered her into his arms, lifting her with such ease that she could have been as weightless as a feather. He placed her on the saddle before him as he guided Gallagher into a wide turn toward Màrrach.

They rode a while before he broke the silence. “Since ye carry on yer work with great attention and care, if it interests ye, I will show ye some artifacts of another kind. There are musty and sometimes nearly illegible charters in my library—manuscripts, rolls, maps, records, letters, two very old scrolls, and other written documents that have gathered there over the centuries.”

“Well, by chance, I have nothing to do when we return,” she said so quickly that Alysandir laughed heartily.

It was turning cooler, and a fine mist was falling by the time they reached Màrrach. He dismounted and lifted her to the stones of the courtyard. “If ye still have an interest in seeing the things I spoke of, wash off the sand and dry the mist from yer hair, and join me in the library.”

Her face seemed to light up from the inside. “Oh, I shall look forward to it,” she said, and hurried off, as if she was late for an appointment with a ewer of water and a comb.

I look forward to it as well.

***

When Isobella arrived an hour later, he took note of the fact that she looked fresh in a low-cut gown of deep burgundy, a fierce and passionate color of desire and warm pulses of the heart.

He was sitting by a blazing fire, a goblet of wine dangling from his hand. Her gaze went to the small table between two chairs, where a round of cheese, a small plate of fruit, and a few slices of crusty bread waited near a bottle of wine and an empty goblet. Her brows rose in question as she looked from the gourmet display to Alysandir for an explanation.

“Doubt is perfectly companionable with supper. ’Tis simple enough fare, and it will allow ye ample time to riffle through my collection at yer leisure, but be careful that ye dinna riffle them.”

She smiled at his use of the two meanings of the word ‘riffle.’ “I promise to look and withstand any temptation to steal.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and poured her a goblet of wine. “Join me,” he said, and she sat down warily.

They spent the next several hours pulling out relics. Then he sat back in his chair with his wine and his dog, watching the myriad of expressions upon her face as she reverently handled each thing she touched. Around her, the thick scrolls and books of papyrus and parchment looked terribly fragile on the library table surrounded by other relics—quill pens, silver ink pots, a letter opener carved from horn, and a silver crucible that burned oil.

He poured her another goblet of wine and continued to watch her, wondering if it would be possible to bewitch her or cast a spell upon her that would make her do his bidding. But he did not want that. He wanted her passion and her fire, yes, but only if she wanted him.

For some time, he watched her practically worshipping an illuminated medieval manuscript that was richly decorated with vivid colors and gilded with gold. Without speaking, he finished off the last of his wine and went to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and began to knead the muscles of her neck.

“Mmmmm… that feels so good.” She relaxed back against him, and he could see the soft, white mounds of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Something deep and instinctive stirred within him: primeval, arousing desire. His hands moved over her shoulders, and he made love to her neck while his hands slipped further down to dip into the bodice of her gown. There he cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs teasing her until her breathing increased and little moans escaped from her lips.

Once, she made a move to turn toward him, but he held her in place. “Not yet,” he whispered, as he began to undo the buttons down the front of her gown, kissing her neck and shoulders. After he had the buttons undone, he peeled the gown away from her. When she tried to turn to him a second time, he said again, “Not yet.”

Her undergarments came next, until she was wearing only a chemise. His hands moved downward over the curve of her hip and the softness of her belly, calm and coaxing. He knew the stir of her body awakening beneath his hands, and he whispered warm, provocative words in her ear.

She was like butter melting against him, and each time she moaned, it made him want her all the more. She was ensnared in the web of passion as tightly as he. There was no escape for either of them, save satisfying the very urge that drove them. He dropped down and began to make love to her with his mouth. She protested. “No, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Aye, ye can,” he said, and he proved it with his mouth, which gently persuaded her until her body convulsed. She was too weak to stand, so he gathered her in his arms and carried her to his chair. He pulled a plaid over her and held her close. He never took his gaze off her lovely face until she fell asleep. Then he followed her into the arms of Hypnos, the god of sleep, and his brother Morpheus, the god of dreams…

And Alysandir dreamt of children.

It was still dark when he awakened, but Isobella remained sleeping in his arms. He wondered if that was because of the lovemaking or the wine, or both.

He thought of the children in the dream and found that something strange had occurred during his sleep, for he suddenly felt he truly wanted children, lots of them, scampering about.

And he wanted them with Isobella.

It was that simple. He vowed then to give her what she wanted. He would persuade her with charm, kindness, flowery praise, and good deeds. He had seduced her before and torn down her defenses, but this time it would be different. He had been a fool to think he could win her by force or skill. It would take gentleness to turn the current of her strong will. He would caress her with words, for a woman wooed was a woman won.

Chapter 36

Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists…

When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves.

We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost.

That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.

—Edmond de Goncourt (1822–96)
and Jules de Goncourt (1830–70)
French writers

A week passed. Isobella was ready to tear out her hair. She was frustrated. She did not understand what was going on between herself and Alysandir. How had it come to a complete standstill?

Everything had been absolutely perfect between them that night in his library. Truly, she was positive there had been a change in him that night; something beautiful had happened. She was certain. But what glittered like gold that night had turned to dross.

Now they seemed to be falling into a polite pattern of high regard. It was almost as if each of them was trying to outdo the other. She was upbeat and positive and pleasant. She laughed a lot and showed him her charming side. She was amiable, interacted with the family in the most positive way, and involved them in her digs, giving history lessons as they worked and explaining the value of what they were doing.

As for Alysandir, he spent more time around her. He was attentive, romantic, and devoted. They played games, danced, went riding, sat by the fire in the evenings, and talked. She taught him much about the future and modern civilization.

It was like the early days of courtship, but she wanted more than hand-holding and pecks on the cheek. Didn’t he understand he did not have to impress her? Didn’t he realize that she had been destined to love him from the moment he uttered his first words to her?

Her mind spun back to that day in the glen when he had flown down the side of the crag like a mythological being and into her life. She recalled how she had forgotten all about her throbbing ankle when he crossed his arms over the pommel of his saddle and leaned forward, his cold gaze going over her with slow ease as he spoke those magical words… “’Twould seem ye have yerself in a bit of a predicament, lass.”

Dammit! There had been so much promise in that face, those eyes, those words that flowed over her like molten lava. She wanted fire. She wanted passion. She wanted action. She wanted a declaration of love. She wanted marriage. She wanted children. She wanted a future… She wanted Alysandir.

But he seemed to be stuck on third base. And she needed a home run. She needed… She paused in thought, and then she smiled. She needed the Black Douglas.

Aye, anything is possible… if ye believe…

She plopped down on her bed. She closed her eyes
. “I believe… I believe… I believe…”

Nothing happened. She opened one eye, then two. No ghost. No green vapor. Not so much as a puff of wind coming down the chimney. She stood up.

“I know you are there, and I know you can hear me.” She walked around the room. Finally she gave up. She had no idea how to summon him when he did not want to be summoned.

“All right! Throw away all you worked on! Don’t offer to help. We have a damozel in need of some major counseling here, in case you don’t know. What kind of family ghost are you?”

The tapestry over the window billowed out, and a great wind blew into the room. A candlestick fell over and rolled across the floor. Then everything died down.

“All right. I’m sorry. I’m just at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do about Alysandir. He is being too nice, and it’s driving me crazy. At this rate, we’ll both be moldering ghosts before we come together on anything. You were my dearest friend and confidant, and now you have abandoned me.”

Another gust of wind came into the room, stronger than the first, swirling around her with great promise. Then poof! It was gone. Everything was still and quiet. The tapestry dropped back into place.

Where is he? Humph! Maybe that legend about him and the Countess of Sussex was true. Maybe he is gallivanting around the universe with her.

From somewhere behind her, a deep baritone voice seemed to rumble out of nowhere.
I have passed o’er mountains old, through dungeons deep and caverns cold. I was not gallivanting with the Countess of Sussex.

She turned around, just as he folded his arms across his chest. “I thought we had the matter of ye and Alysandir settled.”

“Alysandir has changed. He seems stuck in neutral. We are going nowhere. I don’t know how to progress from here.”

“There is a time to retreat and a time to charge.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Ye will when the time is ripe.”

“Can’t you give me a hint?”

“When the right hand is wounded, the left hand takes over.”

“Gee, thanks.” She thought about that for a moment. Her eyes widened. “You mean me? I should take over?”

“Aye, ye are as wavering as a weathercock. Ye have fought him every step o’ the way, struggling to get the bit between yer teeth and run with it. Weel, ye have it now, lass. He has given ye free rein. What ye do wi’ it is up to ye. Ye are free to make a decision or to take action withoot Alysandir’s approval or asking me what I think aboot it. Every why has a wherefore, every action a result. But be careful what ye ask for.”

She was getting a headache from trying to follow his logic, and she decided he was either the wisest man ever created or the dumbest. “I never knew falling in love would be so difficult.”

“’Tis no’ so difficult once ye realize that when ye feel a great love for someone, the logical expectation is that it will bear fruit. But ye will never gather the fruit by standing still and doing naught.”

“Does this mean you are going to help me?”

“Nae, lass, it doesna. I willna do yer work fer ye. I am a ghost. I am not God. Ye were created with a free will. He who dares wins. Ye are either the hammer or the anvil. Ye canna be both. Yer destiny is what ye make of it. Ye canna choose what is in yer picture, but ye can paint it wi’ yer own colors.”

His hand reached out, and she felt the touch of warm flesh upon her cheek. “Ye are a lass this fond heart will never forget and when slumber has bound me in the dark o’ night, yer memory will be my light. Fear na ye. Yer destiny is a riddle for ye to solve. Stay the course, and ye will embrace stars.”

A sudden thought penetrated her mind and drew the mirth away, for something about the way he spoke touched her. “That isn’t the reason why you came here, is it? You came to tell me I won’t be seeing you again, didn’t you? This is good-bye.”

“Aye. Everything has its end. Now it is time to bid ye farewell, for ye have made yer journey and seen it to its completion.”

“But it isn’t finished yet. You’ve always had such a propensity for poking your head into my affairs that I’ve come to expect it.”

“Mayhap ’tis time ye learned to handle yer affairs yersel’.”

“This is not like you. You are always meddlesome. You love pulling my puppet strings one moment and tangling me up in them up the next. You tease and you taunt. You come when you aren’t invited and do not appear when you are.”

She paused and eyed him suspiciously. “Please say this isn’t good-bye. Maybe you could simply disappear for a while.”

“’Twould not be so good fer ye to become too attached to me, fer I canna remain in yer life forever, ye ken.”

“You can’t leave me now! This is the turning point in my life! You can’t abandon a sinking ship.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “’Tis no sinking ship I ha’ been visiting these past months, but a man-o’-war, sailing full speed ahead with all cannons loaded.”

An aching sadness settled over her. She was not prepared for this moment. She had become so emotionally involved with him, accustomed to having him in her life. What could fill the gaping hole once he was gone?

“So, you are leaving for good this time.”

“Aye, the painting misses me, and it is time to give my puir ghostly bones a rest. Go and reconcile yer differences with the Mackinnon. Ye have found yersel’ a guid man. Yer future is now in yer hands to make of it what ye will. ’Tis no so verra hard to do, lass. But, before I go, I have one last thing to say to ye. If ye still wish to return to yer time, it is possible.”

“But you said…” Suddenly it did not matter what he said or how many times he confused her. She could not leave Alysandir. Not now.

“So, what is it to be lass?” He extended his hand toward her forehead. “Shall I touch ye, and ye’ll find yersel’ back in yer time for guid?”

She stepped hastily away. “No. My place is here, and you knew it before I did.”

“Aye, I had a suspicion, but there were times…”

“Yes, I know, and I am sorry.”

His form began to shimmer brightly. It grew darker and filled in more deeply until he was no longer a ghostly image but a man in human form. And what a magnificent sight he was.

He smiled, his eyes bright as the stars on his tunic. “Come and give an old knight a farewell greeting and send me away with a fond memory o’ ye.”

He opened his arms and she ran into them, crying and talking at the same time. “I don’t want to let you go. How can I, for I have become so fond of you.” She realized she was dampening the fabric of his tunic, and she began to wipe at it, crying and talking at the same time. “I cannot bear this. Please don’t leave for forever. Is there nothing I can say or do?”

“Nae, lass. ’Tis time ye made yer own way.”

“I shall miss you forever.” She pulled back and looked at his dear face. She wiped away her tears. “You don’t suppose you could pay me a surprise visit a time or two, do you? Would it be possible?”

His eyes were shining with mirth as he said, “With ghosting, anything is possible if ye believe. Now, go find yer lad, for he has suffered with yer indecision long enough.”

“It won’t be easy. We are miles apart on issues of grave importance, and there is the matter of the baby…”

“There will be other babes.”

“I’ve been the nice one in all of this. He’s the unreasonable one. Shouldn’t you be telling him that?”

“I dinna think I will have to, lass, for ye are certain to tell him yersel’.”

She sighed. “Well then, I suppose I will know when the time is ripe, like you said.”

“Oh, aye, ye will ken the moment it arrives,” he said, with amusement in his voice. “But, I ken ye willna want to discuss it at that particular moment.”

“Why not?”

His smile was X-rated, promising a vivid picture of just what she would be doing and who she would be doing it with.

“Oh.” She felt her face grow warm, and she tried to be nonchalant as she said, “I suppose one has to do what one has to do for the sake of history, doesn’t one?”

It was the first time she had ever seen him throw back his head and laugh heartily in his human form. Oh, how she wished she had known him as a mortal.

“Aye, all for the sake of history,” he said.

As his form began to fade for the last time, she said with conviction. “I will see you again.”

“Will ye now?”

She smiled. “Aye, I will, for in ghosting, like love, anything is possible if ye believe.”

His laughter rang out as his body faded away.

And then he was gone, and she knew no amount of calling would bring him back.

At least not today…

***

She sat in her room in the dark for some time, thinking. Moonlight spilled into the room. She wondered how long she had slept. She went to the window. The moon hung round and low in the sky. The night was young. She heard riders come into the courtyard, and she saw Alysandir with Gavin and Grim as they rode beneath the torches.

You win by surrender…

She lit the wall sconce and opened her trunk, pulling out the scarlet velvet dress that was new and yet unworn. She dressed quickly and went to Alysandir’s room. She did not light a candle but remained in the dark as she made her way to the far side of the room, away from the window and out of the moonlight.

She heard footfalls coming down the hall. The door opened, and Alysandir stepped inside. The door closed with a click. She watched his shadowy form as he crossed the room. He was pulling his hauberk over his head as he went. The metal links gleamed in the moonlight.

He paused long enough to light a candle beside his bed and then one of the sconces on the wall. He pulled off his tunic, washed his face, and ran his hands through his hair. Wearing only his trews, he turned and saw her. Astonishment plain on his face, he said, “Isobella. Why are ye here?”

She did not say anything. She did not need to. He saw the red dress wearing her. Indeed, it did look as if it had been stitched together on her body, so well it fit her form. It clung to all the right places and teased his imagination about the places he could not see. He looked her over at his leisure and felt his body respond. He liked the way the velvet clung to her slender shape, the way it outlined the fullness of her breasts. The velvet was like her, soft and smooth. Red, the color of passion.

“I did not expect to see ye here and certainly not dressed as ye are. I have never seen ye in that dress before.”