Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

" L aird! Laird! A retinue o' men is climbing up the mountain! Come doon at once!" the steward's voice sounded frantic on the other side.

"Go to the dressing room," Altair hissed at Laura, waiting for her to hide in the small room before he unlatched the door.

"How many men?" Altair sat on a stool while he tied his boots under his knees. Berenson was too overwrought to ask questions about how Altair had managed to belt the plaid around his midriff so fast.

"Stephen counted six torches, Laird. They are nae approaching with stealth. They make no secret of their progress."

"So, it's nae ambush. What the foutering hell do they want?"

When Berenson tried to answer him, Altair cut him off. "Awa' with ye, man. The question was rhetorical. Six torches means they must count at least twelve in number—only servants carry torches. Hie doon to the armoury and get me two latchbows, a dirk, and another sword. Step lively."

The moment Berenson left, Altair slung his sheathed sword over his shoulder and then picked up Laura's plaid off the floor. Striding into the dressing room, he growled a few abrupt orders. "Dinnae fash aboot dressing, sweetheart. Dance those pretty feet o' yers doon the stairs as fast as ye can and get into bed. I will send Mistress Berenson to sit with ye in a moment or two. Got that?"

Shaking with shock, Laura picked up her ghillies and stockings on the way out. "Are we being attacked?"

"Nay, nothin' so dramatic. This sometimes happens after I visit Iolaire, that is all. It's probably just a bunch o' concerned citizens wanting to ken what me motives are."

He watched her patter downstairs, listening carefully for the sound of her bedchamber door opening and closing before going to join the small Berenson clan in the vestibule.

"Mistress Berenson. Go sit with the Maid. Make sure she is nae a-feared o' this nonsense. Bring her comfort. Got that?"

The housekeeper grumbled when she saw how her elderly husband and two sons were arming themselves. "I am nae liar, Laird. I cannae tell the maid nothing is wrong when something clearly is!"

"Do me this kindness. I thank ye, Mistress," Altair dismissed her with a curt nod. "And dinnae let her keek oot the window either."

The laird's tower was part of the castle's keep, a tall, imposing edifice in the middle of a thick barrier of walls. There had never been any need for a moat because the steep cliffs of the mountain acted as a terrifyingly imposing barbican, the name these military structures gave to outer defensive walls.

The armory was at the bottom of the watchtower. The Berensons waited for their laird's orders as they buckled on breastplates and tried on helmets for the closest fit.

"Let's go up to the gatehouse and await them there," was all Altair had to say. He was galled beyond all patience at this intrusion. In his mind, if this turned out to be some blethering envoy from Iolaire come to threaten him with excommunication for practicing witchcraft, the laird would be very tempted to kick their arses all the way back down the beinn!

The four men watching the line of bobbing lights wend along the mountain pass. When the retinue reached the portcullis, they craned their necks back to look up at the battlements before thumping their fists against the heavy gate doors. "Hie! Sentry. Awake! Visitors ahoy."

After a nod from Altair, Berenson stuck his head over the crenellation. "And who the foutering heck is calling at such an ungodly hour, ye big bunch o' bampots!"

A tall, blond haired man stepped into the torchlight. "We have traveled far and fast. I received word from me betrothed wife that she was ambushed at the foot o' the beinn and made her way up here. I am Ethelred Donaldsson, son o' Laird Redmond Donaldsson."

Pushing Berenson out of the way, Altair leaned over the battlement. "D'ye bear some token with ye? The maiden cannae be handed over to any random stranger who claims to be her betrothed."

Was it a figment of Altair's imagination, or did an intense expression of irritation flicker over the blond man's face?

"I have a token, but I dinnae see why I should flash it at a mere sentry guard."

"Then we dinnae have to open oor gate to the likes o' ye!" Berenson sniped back.

Putting a calming hand on the old steward's shoulder, Altair shouted down. "Fine, fine. Everyone, keep yer hair on. I'll come doon and keek at yer precious token."

But it turned out that Altair did not need to inspect the blond man's token. He knew every plaid weave in the Highlands, and all twelve men were dressed in Donaldsson plaid.

He sent Berenson into the courtyard. "Dinnae let in the whole lot o' them," he told the old man. "Tell the laird's son to send half of his party back doon the beinn to wait for him there. Six is an adequate escort for his betrothed."

And so it was arranged. Only six members of the Donaldsson clan entered the fortress, while the others stomped back down the mountain. After telling the Berenson sons to stay out of sight with their crossbows ready, Altair stepped out of the shadows and bade the men welcome. Now that he was inside the castle, Ethelred was not as diplomatic as he had tried to be at the gate.

"So this wreckage is the awesome Beinn na h'Iolaire ? The great fortress o' myth and legend?" Sniggering, he looked around him with a sneer on his face. "It only goes to show how little faith we should put in the bedtime stories oor nannies told us."

Altair had made sure to wrap his black cloak around him and pull the hood over his face so that no part of his body was visible. "How sweet," his deep voice rumbled from the shade of the hood, "ye have a nanny telling ye stories at bedtime."

Ethelred scowled, stepping forward with his hand on the sword hilt hanging by his side. Something unnerved him about this place. No torches had been lit and placed in the sconces to produce a welcoming glow. No excited hounds sniffed around his ankles or barked from their kennels. The moon hid behind scudding clouds, throwing the courtyard into stark contrasting shadows and shimmering starlight.

When he looked around, dead ivy branches moved slowly in an unseen wind. Weeds had tried to grow between the eroded flagstones, but given up the ghost and died before they could spread their seeds. Everything seemed to be coated in a fine dust, or was it a thick layer of spiderwebs? The laird's son had no way of knowing, and nor did he think it wise to ask.

When Laird Donaldsson's heir looked up, he saw shapes flittering across the moon, blocking out its silvery beams. At first, he thought they were bats, but when he looked more keenly he saw that they were great birds from their wingspan. There was something deeply unsettling the way the birds circled above him like watchful, silent sentries, using the air currents to keep them in the sky so that they did not even have to flap their wings. Wrenching his gaze away from the birds, he shook his head as if to clear the thick fog of dread away.

"I stand by what I said," he grumbled. "This place is a ruin."

The dark cloaked shape inclined its head towards him as it placed a hand over its heart. "Whenever has the ooter shell reflected the inner workings, Ethelred, I ask ye?"

"Are ye takin' the pish?" the laird's son jutted his chin at the cloaked figure with pugnacious fury.

Mistress Berenson hurried into the courtyard just in time to stop the taunt that rose to Altair's lips. "Whatever are ye doing loitering in the bailey courtyard like a bunch o' dolts?" she scolded the gathered men before turning to Ethelred. "Yer betrothed is dressed and ready to travel, Master. Turn yerself around and tarry ootside the portcullis. She will join ye there anon."

The Donaldsson party backed themselves out of the castle, muttering angrily about Altair's enigmatic statements. "Tell the maiden to nae dilly-dally," ?thelred snarled. "She's made me wait long enough."

With the men gone, the Berenson family went back to their quarters. Not one of them wanted to witness the couple's bitter parting.

Laura had no trunk to carry. Wrapped in her velvet cloak, with her satin kirtle covering her ghillies, the maiden walked into the courtyard with leaden steps. She stopped a few feet away from the dark figure.

"P-please, Altair, do not make me leave."

The cloak opened and billowed out as he stepped forward to place his arms around her. They stood together for a long while as he soothed her trembling. "Ye're me brave lassie, Sonsie. Be strong. Step up and grab yer destiny with both hands. We always kent this is how it would end."

Looking up at him with tearful eyes, Laura refused to listen. "It will never end! I will love you for the rest of my life."

Her body bent over as sobbing racked her. Altair had to hold Laura up or else she would have collapsed onto the hard stone floor. He could not stop the anguish from entering his voice as he begged her to obey the rules they set out for each other at the beginning of this idyllic interlude.

"Think o' yer faither, sweetheart. Dinnae make him a forsworn knave by disobeying his arrangement."

Still, it was a long time before Laura could steel herself to stop crying, and then she only did so because her body was empty of tears. He lowered his head to check her face. "There noo, ye're still as bonny as ever. Yer betrothed is the luckiest man in all o' Scotland. And ye will have a happy life."

She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze. "I am doing this for you, Altair, and for my father." Giving a long, shuddering sigh of grief, Laura somehow managed to swallow her agony and set her face into stoney determination. "I will never forget you, Laird. You are the greatest love of my life and that will never change. I think it was destined to be. Farewell."

His hand reached for her as she walked to the gate, but he grasped at air. His empty hand fell back down to his side. "Farewell, Sonsie."

Ethelred kept shooting Laura worried looks as she sat on the pony that was carrying the Donaldsson party's saddlebags. The girl was as pretty as a picture and as plump as a downy chick, but her face was set in a blank stare. Perhaps it was her way of showing her maidenly shyness.

"I came as soon as we got yer letter, Maid," he tried by way of conversation. "I have traveled withoot stopping to rescue ye."

"How kind," was Laura's thin lipped reply.

"Where is this nanny o' yers?" Ethelred inquired.

"Mildred is with the healer. At her cottage."

The strange way Laura spoke only confirmed his belief that she was a shy wee thing, overwhelmed from being alone with a man for the first time.

"I have nae doubt that ye will be glad to put this wretched beinn behind ye forever, Maid." Ethelred bragged, "Oor castle is by the sea, and not one stone of Donaldsson castle is cracked or wobbly. It is a strong residence. Oor sons will inherit a great legacy."

"How nice," Laura replied with that eerie blank stare on her bonny face. At that, Ethelred gave up and moved to the front to chat with the captain of the guard.

It was dawn when they arrived at the cottage. Holding up her hand for the dozen men to wait outside, Laura ducked her head inside. It was the first time she had seen the croft in daylight, with no rain. It seemed even more decrepit than she remembered it, or maybe that is how everything would appear to her now for the rest of her life—faded and jaded.

"Agnes, is Nurse Mildred ready?"

"Ye're early, Laura," Agnes said, a knowing look in her eyes. "And I see yer business is half-finished. What a shame."

"I have no patience for your obscure taunts," Laura astonished herself with her rudeness. She was at breaking point. "Is this not what you wanted?"

Agnes grabbed Laura's hand. "Finally! A bit of that auld spirit I kent ye have by the bucketload. What took ye so long to find yer gumption, lassie?"

Trying to twist her hands out of the healer's grasp, Laura huffed. "Leave me be. I suffer dreadfully. If my happiness was high-flying, you must know that it feels like my heart has crashed to the ground, breaking against the rock like shards."

Agnes poked Laura's chest at the spot over her heart. "Only ye can change yer fate, dearie. But I have some small comfort for ye." Pressing a small flask into Laura's hand, Agnes whispered. "Drink this and ye will see yer love again in yer dreams. There is only enough potion for it to work once—so do it cautiously."

Nurse Mildred came pottering out of the garderobe holding her walking stick. "Laura! I am so thankful to see you in one piece. Let us leave the shadow of this malicious mountain forever."

When she dropped the flagon into her kirtle pocket, Laura felt a small box in there. She frowned because it had not been there when she dressed so hurriedly in the castle bedchamber. When she brought the small box out, she saw it was her mother's baubles she had rescued from the coach.

There was something else in the box as well; it looked like a small stone talisman with the etching of an eagle carved into it.

Agnes saw the charm, and smiled wistfully. "It has been a long time since I saw that precious object. And the laird gives it freely to ye. He must love ye greatly."

Laura pouted. "He never told me he loved me. He did not even protest when my betrothed came to claim me." But all Agnes did after Laura's sulking statement was a smile.

Making up her mind, Laura locked eyes with Agnes. "I will drink it, Agnes. And I thank you."

The Donaldssons had hired a coach in Iolaire for the ladies to use. "Only the best for me bonny betrothed," Ethelred chortled as he handed Laura up into the comfortable seat. "It's all doonhill from here, I'll have ye ken. We'll reach Donaldsson Castle before nightfall."

"He seems like a nice young man." Nurse Mildred said in an approving tone. "And he came to rescue you from that awful castle. My opinion of him has gone up a lot."

Ignoring the nurse's prattle, Laura could only think that every turn of the coach wheel was taking her further away from Altair Sterling. If she craned her neck, she could see the fortress walls faraway, towering up into the sky. Suddenly, a small shape plummeted down the mountainside, sweeping past the steep cliffs and diving over the boulders.

It was an eagle. Faster than the wind, it flew, speeding over the rough Highland landscape, searching for her. Laura waited because she knew in her heart that he would find her. Circling high above the coach, the eagle kept the Donaldsson party under keen observation, checking for hidden crossbows or slingshots. Only when it was certain the men were paying no attention to it did the bird fly closer. Its shadow fell across the coach window as it soared close enough for Laura to look it in the eye.

"I love you," Laura mouthed the words as she stared into the bird's unblinking amber eye. "I will dream about you tonight."

Nurse Mildred woke up with a start. "W-What was that you said, my dear? Those dem potions the healer woman administered to me have made me as groggy as a sailor."

Giving a small wave with her hand to the eagle, Laura ducked her head back inside the coach. Smiling at the elderly woman, Laura patted Mildred's hand. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your love and care, Nurse? How long have we been together now?"

Mildred was touched. "You, dear child. I was eight and thirty years old when I was your wet nurse. You were my third nursling. That was twenty years ago now, who would believe it?"

"Twenty years." Laura marveled. "I feel older. It has been five years since my mother died. Running the household with all the chores of a wife, but with none of the benefits or status."

"You will certainly have that now," Nurse reminded Laura. "And he is a good-looking young man."

Tilting her head to look out of the window, Laura observed Laird Donaldsson's son. The thatch of blond hair and youthful beard; the pale blue eyes; the heavy frame of his body; all of these things made Ethelred seem like an alien to her.

"Is it not funny how we have nothing if we don't have love?" Laura mused out loud.

Nurse Mildred shot her a perplexed look. "Who put such a silly notion into your head, Laura? Life can be good with a kind husband and a quiverful of children to carry on the family name. Love has nothing to do with it."

Maybe Ethelred had caught Laura looking at him because he reined in his horse and waited for the coach to catch up with him. Then he walked alongside it, talking to Laura through the window.

"I think we should begin preparations for the feast this evening and marry on the morrow. The beddan will be tomorrow night. I cannae wait for ye to produce a son for the clan."

Laura shook her head. "I think not. I must recover from the journey. And my bridal was stolen, so I will need a new robe?—"

"Nay!" Ethelred shut her down. "Ye can borrow a robe. Ye have made me wait long enough."

Laura shook her head, but it was not to say no, more in sad amazement. "What is my name?" she asked the blond man.

He looked at her strangely. "What's that got to do with it? Raleigh. Sir Raleigh's daughter. Ye're a noblewoman. That's all that counts."

All Laura did was shut the coach window with a snap. Removing the small box out of her pocket, she lifted the talisman delicately out with her finger and thumb. Opening her locket, she placed the talisman gently inside and snapped it shut. The ribbon and locket settled back under her chemise, nestling hidden between her breasts, over her heart.