True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse (15 page)

“The next day, Ruaraidh began to build his abode, thinking all the while of what the king’s daughter might like best to see in her new home. And so his days and nights fell into a pattern. Each day, he worked on the house. Each night, a wolf attacked him. Each night, the warrior defended himself, and each night, he ate another wolf heart and stretched another wolf hide. Whether it was because his mother’s tale was true, or because living alone on the land made him think like a wolf, the warrior became more adept at anticipating the wolves.

“So it came to be that at the end of a year, the king and his men made a visit to the point of land. As the months had passed, the king had come to regret his choice and to fear that he had sacrificed his best warrior on a quest that could not be won. His delight was complete when he strode to the best vantage place on the point, only to discover that Ruaraidh had not only survived, but had thrived in the wilderness. The abode was simple but complete, a solid structure with a small hall on the ground floor and a chamber for sleeping above. The floor of that chamber was thick with wolf pelts, cured and soft, making a bed fit for a queen.”

Orson leaned closer to Annelise, dropping his voice low. “And so I should imagine you, my lady Annelise, sleeping upon the pelt I brought to you.”

“Oh, but you should not,” Annelise protested, feeling herself blush.

Orson smiled. “I agree it is not entirely appropriate, at least not yet.”

He lingered on this last word, giving it an import that made Annelise’s heart still.

“But in time, it will be most suitable,” he concluded.

“But not possible,” Annelise replied calmly. Orson looked at her in confusion but she smiled even as she lied. “I no longer have the pelt. I do not wish to insult you, but it smelled.”

Orson inhaled sharply. “How can this be? It did not smell this morning!”

“Perhaps it needed only to become warm.” Annelise shrugged. “I gave it to my maid, for she could not discern the scent.” She offered the knight a cheerful smile. “Perhaps she sleeps upon it.”

Orson paled and sat back, his lips drawn in a line of disapproval. “All this for a maid,” he muttered and took a great draught from his chalice.

Andrew continued, while Annelise bit back her smile. “There was great joy in the company, for Ruaraidh had been missed by his fellows and the king had not been the only one fearful of his fate. Ruaraidh was stronger than he had been before, and indeed, he even seemed to be taller. There was a new glint in his eyes, one that hinted he could not be readily surprised, and he moved with new silence, even in the driest bracken. The king’s daughter looked upon him with shining eyes.

“When Ruaraidh was asked about the wolves, he admitted that there were none left. He told the king what he had done, and from that point on, he was called Ruaraidh the Wolf. The king kept his vow and married the warrior to his daughter. They not only lived long in that abode and kept their fealty with the king, but they had many sons and prospered in that place. They bred a line of warriors, men who could not be defied. People said it was because of their family tradition.”

He paused and Orson raised his voice. “Tell us of the tradition, Andrew.”

“As each son came of age, he undertook a hunt to prove himself worthy as an heir to the holding. Only when a son had stalked and killed a wolf was he considered a suitable candidate for the lairdship. I do not doubt that many ate the heart of the wolf so killed, for they remained a valiant line.”

Annelise found this a somewhat unpleasant detail, but most in the hall regarded Andrew with smiling approval. They might have savored his melodious voice for its own sake, or perhaps they were too polite to challenge any detail of his tale. Perhaps they had little affection for wolves, but Annelise thought of the white wolf weeping in her dream.

“The years passed, and so the good fortune of the Wolf’s kin continued. The sons married women as filled with beauty and valor as the king’s daughter, and they were blessed with so many sons that the line of the Wolf continued down the centuries, uninterrupted. For their service to the king, they were made lairds in their own right, commanding the fealty of that entire rich valley.” Andrew paused to sip from his own chalice and the company awaited his next words in silence.

“Then all went awry,” Andrew said, his tone low. The company leaned forward. “One fine spring, not that long ago, a son was born to the then-laird. It was this laird’s first child, and both he and his wife were delighted that he was born so hale and handsome. The old midwife who had ushered the child into the world, though, was a seer, and she warned the mother.
‘The Fae will seek their vengeance upon this one,’
she decreed. The mother was fretful and wished to confine the boy to ensure his safety. The laird, though, dismissed the warning as the nonsense of an old woman. He did not believe in the Fae, for he had never seen any, and even if there had been Fae, he saw no reason why they should wish to avenge themselves upon him.”

“And so it was that this son, named Coinneach, grew to manhood. He was a fine boy and a finer man, taller and stronger than any father could have hoped, as honorable and handsome as any mother might desire. That his mother never bore another son was of less concern than it might have been, for no soul doubted that Coinneach held the future in his hands. Some said he was the Wolf returned, for his valor and power could not be denied. A healer came to Coinneach’s hall in those days. Her name was Rowena and she was beautiful and kind. She was very fond of Coinneach and would have welcomed his advances, but he was proud and believed her to be too low-born for a man with his destiny. His pride opened the portal to the Fae realm and made his destruction possible.

“The day came that Coinneach’s father lay dying in his bed. He summoned his son and gave him a bow and a sword, bidding his son hunt a wolf to prove his valor. Coinneach knew the import of this and he kissed his father farewell with a heavy heart. Rowena wished to give him a token, but he spurned her, then marched into the forest surrounding the hall. He traveled many days and many nights, seeking a wolf to hunt, but he found none. One night when the moon was full, he heard a woman singing in the most wondrous clear voice. Coinneach was a man enthralled and knew he must see the lady who sang so beautifully. That she sang of a noble knight battling for his lady’s love seemed to be an invitation intended for his own ears. He managed to track the sound to a clearing and nigh froze to the spot in awe when he saw her.

“She was beautiful, more beautiful than any maiden Coinneach had ever seen, and might have been wrought of moonlight herself. You can believe that he rubbed his eyes to look again, so great was his wonder. Her hair was long, falling all the way to her knees, and was so fair a blond as to look white. Her eyes were clearest blue, her face most fair and her lips as red as blood. Her kirtle was made of a shimmering cloth and thick with embroidery on the hems, its cut revealed that her figure was both lushly curved and slender. She seemed to discern his presence immediately, for she turned to face him and sang directly to him.”

“Or perhaps she had been waiting for him,” Orson murmured darkly. When Annelise looked at him, he smiled, but his smile was hungry and made her shiver.

“What do you mean?”

“Listen,” Orson hissed, his eyes shining. Annelise turned back to Andrew, feeling fearful. Why had Andrew chosen this tale?

Those gathered in the hall of Seton Manor were rapt, their attention fixed upon Andrew as he recounted his tale. The torches were burning low and the hour was late, the darkness outside the hall nearly complete. But no one dared to leave before they heard the end of the tale.

“Coinneach was utterly enchanted. He learned that night that the lady’s name was Florine and, even better, she welcomed his attentions. Each morning, she disappeared, but each night she returned to sing for him. Coinneach forgot his quest completely, so enthralled was he by his lady Florine and her song. The sweet heat of her kisses drove all else from his mind but her. And so it was that the moon was full again when Florine agreed to be his wife. He returned home with his lady and wedded her before every soul in the hall. Coinneach was certain he was the happiest man in all the world.

“The only sadness was that his father had died in his absence. While this was a loss to mourn, Coinneach became laird in his own right and could offer more to his Florine. To his dismay, his mother took a great dislike to his new bride, blaming Florine for Coinneach’s failure to hunt a wolf on his journey. She prophesied doom from this choice, feeding whispers and rumors in the holding, before she died herself. Coinneach mourned his mother, but hoped that her absence would let the whispers fade. He also hoped his bride would be more content. For the fact was that Florine was not happy and Coinneach could not unearth the reason why. She spent much time alone, and he found her often in the woods outside the hall. She declined to speak to him of whatever ailed her but she sang no more, no matter how he entreated her.

“The healer Rowena came to Coinneach and told him that his wife was Fae and bent upon his destruction. She insisted that he should see his new wife burned, but Coinneach believed the healer to be jealous. Rowena even blamed Florine for the death of Coinneach’s mother, a charge Coinneach refused to give credence. She confessed to Coinneach that the Fae have the ability to hear the thoughts of other mortals, men and beasts, and that Florine had used his own desires to ensure his entrapment. Coinneach dismissed this as nonsense. He bent his attention upon entertaining Florine. He had some success, for she was rounding with his child at the Yule, and Coinneach dared to believe that all would be well when the babe was born.”

Andrew paused to sip his ale, then continued. “Coinneach’s son was born during a strange storm that following June, when snow flew against the walls of the keep and the first new growth of crops froze in the ground. Even the wind was unnatural, blowing harder and colder than ever any soul could recall, then swirling around the keep so that it was almost hidden from view. Rowena declared the portal to the realm of Fae was open and that the Fae meant to steal both wife and child, but no one heeded her. Florine labored days and nights to deliver their son, and there were those who feared the weather was a portent of her demise.

“To Coinneach’s relief, the boy was born robust, and his wife survived. While Florine could have been said to have been wrought of moonlight, his son was as golden as the light of the sun. The boy’s eyes were of the same clear blue as those of his mother, and his father was beguiled by his son. When he held his son in his arms and sat at his slumbering wife’s side, once again Coinneach dared to believe that all would be well. Summer, he knew, would come. He dismissed the superstitions of those who doubted as much and showed his son to them with pride.

“But summer did not come that year, not to the lands claimed by the Wolf. The wind remained bitter and the hail fell at intervals. The seed did not grow and illness plagued those who were pledged to Coinneach’s hand. There were whispers of the prophecy and the vengeance of the Fae. Some whispered that Florine was Fae as Rowena insisted, and that she would bring ruin to them all. When he heard the slander against his beloved wife, Coinneach knew he could not leave the matter be. He believed the fault was his own, for failing to keep the tradition of hunting a wolf and set out to make the matter right. He cast Rowena into a prison, where she could speak to no one. He then armed himself with an axe and his sword, donned his cloak and strode out of his keep at night to hunt the wolf. He aimed to repeat Ruaraidh’s deed to secure the future.”

Andrew smiled, clearly relishing that he held the company in thrall.

“Coinneach hunted for days and he hunted for nights. He found evidence of a wolf, but never spied the creature itself, not until the night of the full moon. For then it was that he stepped into a clearing and saw a wolf, a wolf as white as new snow. It was a female wolf, for she was suckling, though it was late in the year for that. Though he could not see the pup clearly, Coinneach hesitated. His own father had taught him that no infant of any kind should be left without its mother before it could care for himself. The wolf looked up and he saw that it had eyes of blue.”

Annelise straightened at this detail.

“He saw also that it suckled not a pup, but a human child,” Andrew continued. “That travesty was too much for Coinneach. He threw his knife at the wolf and it lodged in the beast’s shoulder. The white wolf fled, leaving a trail of blood and abandoning the child. Coinneach went to retrieve the child, only to note its resemblance to his own son. He thought the matter most strange, but took the child with him, then tracked the wolf.

“The path of blood led to his own keep. There was no denying the truth of it. Coinneach checked its course again and again, arriving home just after the dawn. He followed the drops of blood through the hall and up the stairs, his heart pounding as he approached his lady’s chamber. The bloody trail disappeared under the door.

The company leaned forward, their eyes alight. Annelise found herself doing so as well, wanting to know what happened next.

“Coinneach knocked, then opened the door to Florine’s chamber, not wanting to give her the chance to refuse him. His lady was in bed, and there was blood on the linens. The child in his arms awakened and cried out then, prompting the lady to awaken. It was then that Coinneach saw that the cradle was empty, then that he realized he held his own son, not one much like him. Florine smiled at Coinneach and reached for her son, as if naught was amiss, but only with one arm. The other shoulder was bandaged, and his own knife was half-hidden on the table by her bed.