Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

I t felt as if her soul had left her body. She was free as a bird, flying high in the sky with her wings outspread and the cold air currents threading through her feathers. Home was where her heart was, so she headed for the mountain, Beinn na h'Iolaire . Her mountain home. The eagle's peak.

She felt such joy as when the mountain appeared on the horizon. The sea was not for her. Nor were the forest, rivers, and glens. And certainly not the polite green fields of England.

Shrieking with happiness, she flew like the wind homeward-bound. Far below, the rabbits ran from her shadow as it darkened the meadow grass they were grazing on. But not even her gnawing hunger was enough to slow her down and make her turn from her mission.

A far greater hunger lurked inside her. She must find her mate. Nothing else mattered. Soon, the fortress tower loomed in the distance, with the turrets shrouded in misty clouds. Laura could see through the foggy curtains, her eyes focused on the goal.

Seeing the open window in the tower, Laura tilted her wings against the stiff breeze to slow down her trajectory. Alighting on the ledge, she craned her neck forward to look inside the dark chamber.

And this is what she saw.

A tall silhouette paced the floor like a caged beast, striding from one side of the room to the other in a helpless mockery of forward motion. For all the energy the beast used to fret its sorrow away, it never got anywhere or achieved its goal of oblivion.

The long dark hair flowing down his back. The black cloak wrapped around his broad shoulders. It was Altair.

A timid tap at the door made the rapid pacing stop for a moment. "What?" His voice was harsh, more animal than human, as his lip curled up in a snarl.

"Ye have nae touched yer dinner again, Laird. I beg ye?—"

The querulous plea was cut short by another snarl. "Leave me be. I pray for death. I beg for it! Why will it nae come and ease me pain?"

The only reply the dark laird got was the sound of footsteps scurrying away from the door. He noticed the winged visitor on the window ledge. Picking up a hunk of semi-raw meat from a plate on the side table, Altair came towards Laura.

"So, ye're back, and small comfort ye bring with ye. I have nae use for food, so ye're welcome to it."

It thrilled Laura to hear his deep voice speaking so affectionately to her again. Preening her ruffled feathers, she winked and blinked, trying to convey her pleasure at being with him again. But when she saw his haggard appearance, it rattled her. His once beautiful amber eyes were sunken and dark with no light inside them. No sharp blade had scraped the bristles from his thrusting jaw for many days. Listening keenly to the steady, relentless beating of his heart, she took the rare meat he held towards her.

Laura ate and was hungry no more. Clutching it in her claws and tearing the hunk into small chunks, she tilted back her throat to swallow. Altair watched her fondly, the quirky smile she remembered so clearly tilted his mouth. "Perhaps I could end it all if I jumped off this ledge and tried to fly with ye."

Was he teasing? It did not sound like it. Scolding him harshly, Laura allowed the wind to lift her up—one last mournful cry, and she was gone.

Heading down the mountain at a breathless rate, she circled the air until she saw the healer's cottage. It looked as though Agnes was watching the sunset behind the rolling range of purple heather covered mountains, but she looked up at the bird when she saw it above her.

"Love can never be selfish, Maiden. Ye will find happiness when Laird Sterling learns to love selflessly ."

That is the clue. To love someone more than myself. And to fight for them. That means she should be prepared to die if it means saving her lover. She needed to tell Altair. He could no longer meet her halfway—he had to take a leap of faith and stop wallowing in self-pity.

Laura woke up with a gasp. As always, Nurse Mildred was snoring softly beside her. Poking the elderly woman until she snorted and woke up, Laura urged her to listen.

"I'm going back to Beinn na h'Iolaire , Nurse, and you must come with me. If you stay, they will think you had something to do with it."

All traces of sleep left Mildred as she listened. "Have you run mad? How will we ever leave this place, Laura? They own you."

After washing her face in a basin of cold water, Laura patted her face dry. "The blacksmith leaves early to fetch wood for the forge. If we lie quietly under the canvas sheet he keeps for the rain, he will not notice us."

Laura was impressed with how quickly Nurse Mildred began to get ready. The Donaldssons had failed to make a good impression on the elderly woman. Taking only the barest essentials with them—cloaks, a pouch of coins, and the black wool arisaid—the nurse and the maiden sneaked into the stables. They found the blacksmith's cart easily because the floorboards were stained with ash. Pulling the heavy canvas tarpaulin over them, they waited in the dark for the sun to rise.

Laura woke with a start as the cart jerked forward. The wheels trundled loudly over the drawbridge and downhill to the village. Peeking through a hole in the canvas, Laura saw the blacksmith go inside the charcoal burners' hovel to pay for the cinders.

Quick as lightning, she jumped down off the cart, turning to help Nurse Mildred down. The two women scurried to the hostelry.

Finding the innkeeper, Laura disguised her noble accent. "Might I ask when the next cart is leaving for Iolaire, Master?"

All the innkeeper saw were two servant women wrapped in travel stained cloaks. "Och, there's one leaving noo, lass. But it'll cost ye a groat."

Nurse Mildred put on a splendid performance. "Tuppenny for each of us? That's daylight robbery, that is."

"Aye," the innkeeper agreed, "but he takes ye the long way round the beinn. So ye can be sure nae to meet any brigands."

Laura shot the man a beaming smile. "I hear all those brigands are dead, but a groat is worth it to get back home."

Mistress Berenson slammed back the door to the tower bedchamber. "Enough! Enough o' these self-indulgent maunderings. Ye are a laird. Nae some lovelorn, skimble-skamble poet. For shame, Altair."

Berenson crept in after his wife. "I have brought up a bowl o' hot water to shave ye, Laird. If ye will, please let me do that at least."

But Mistress Berenson was not finished yet. "It's nae as though starvin' yerself will kill ye, Laird. Please, be reasonable."

"Give me enough time," Altair growled, "and I will slip into the healing sleep. Pray to god that I stay like that forever."

Berenson scoffed. "And what will happen to yer lands and yer servants? Withoot ye to protect us, the first band o' heathens that come up that mountain are likely to burn us at the stake."

Mistress Berenson changed tactics. "Stephen went doon to Iolaire and came back with news, Laird. If ye eat a wee bite o' food and let me husband shave ye, I'll tell ye what it is."

This worked. Altair was too tempted to find out what the news was. As racked with sorrow as he was, if Laura was married, he wanted to know, for better or worse.

Later on, Andrew and Stephen were surprised to see a perfectly groomed laird entering the great hall. " Huts , Laird. Ye look like shite," Stephen told Altair frankly.

But their laird could not muster up much of a smile. "Aye, I made a mull o' it with the maiden. I never should have let her go. What news d'ye have for me?"

Stephen shrugged. "‘Tis nae much. The healer—Agnes—has gone."

Raising one dark eyebrow, Altair thought about what that might mean. "Gone from the village entirely?"

"Aye, and in the middle o' the night too. She owed nae money nor broke a promise, but ye would think that such a beautiful woman would be more careful with her travels."

"Belike she had a secret lover coming from somewhere to whisk her awa'. That cottage will nae last another winter, I'll be bound." And that was all Altair had to say on the matter. If his mind went back to the day he visited Laura there and found her waiting for him at the cottage window, he did not mention it.

Calling for wine, the laird settled himself in the dining hall table and stared out into the darkness for the rest of the night.

"He cannae go on like this," Mistress Berenson told her husband. "He might be the last son of the Eternal Highlander, but a body must eat."

Berenson snorted. "Faugh! Perhaps he will get nourishment from the barrels of wine he is putting awa'."

"D'ye ken if they exchanged true love's vow with one another?" his wife wanted to know.

The steward pulled a face. "The laird is fatally attractive to women, Wife. Maiden Laura is just lucky that she managed to leave the beinn with her virginity intact. He needs nae sweet words o' love to tumble a girl into bed with him."

Mistress Berenson scolded. "Sooner or later, whether a man likes to admit it or nae, he must confess his love to a woman, or die tryin'."

"Ye're so dramatic all o' a sudden," Berenson sighed. "Go to bed."

And so it was that Altair found himself all alone in the middle of the night, drunk and wretched. The candles guttered in the tallow catchers, their dancing flames casting eerie shadows on the walls. The wind picked up, howling and beating at the shutters, making them rattle on their hinges like trembling hands.

Altair knew every squeak and creak the castle made, he was not scared. He was too drunk to feel anything, numbed from the red wine and with traces of purple grape skin must? * , staining his mouth. Tilting his head back and staring at the vaulted ceiling, he watched the dancing shadows until it made him dizzy.

Lifting his goblet up, he toasted the darkness. "Here's to ye, me sweetest life. May ye bear yer yellow haired Viking many bairns!"

But the only reply he got was the moaning wind. Scowling with sorrow, Altair buried his head in his arms to block out the last of the candlelight.

He did not hear it when the last flame died out, the wick extinguished by the hot wax pooling around it. Smoke rose into the shadows, curling around the room as it looked for a way out.

But something roused the laird. Sitting up, he pulled the disheveled hair out of his eyes. He heard it again, this time the sound was more distinct.

A knock at the gate. Not the main gate, but the side gate he used to get in and out of the castle unobserved. Had Stephen or Andrew gone down to wassail in the village and come back? Scraping his chair away from the table, Altair tried to stand up. Staggering to one side and then listing over to the other, he realized how drunk he was.

"Damn it!" he cursed. "Where's the fouterin' servants?"

When he tried to look out of the window to see how high the moon was in the night sky, Altair saw two moons. "Damn it! I cannae tell me arse from me elbow, I'm so hammered."

Muttering under his breath, he tried to wend his way around the furniture. Every house kept the furniture pushed against the walls so that lighting a candle was not necessary to cross a room, but the Berensons had left this for Altair to do. So, the first thing the athletic and magnetically handsome Laird Sterling did was knock his shins and fall over a stool that was hidden by the darkness.

"Fouterin' hell!" It seemed like a good idea for him to draw the sword from his back sheath and use the mighty weapon as a kind of makeshift walking stick. The sharp steel rang out like a small bell every time he brought it down on the flagstones. It had been dozens of years since the fortress had bothered scattering rushes from the river to use as thresh on the floor. The noise of swearing and scraping steel must have been a fearful sound to the person waiting on the other side of the door—but still, they knocked.

"Comin', ye impatient, boggin' gowk!"

The words came out as one long slur, but it felt good saying them all the same. Altair found he had to stare hard at the door latch before he could work out how to pull it back. And then he floundered trying to twist the door handle ring.

Taking a deep breath, he managed to swing the door outward. This was an intentional design of the fortress. There was room for only one person standing on the doorstep. If there were more than two people outside, they would be pushed down the mountainside when the door opened wide.

At first, he thought the knocking must have been some trick of the wind. But then he looked down. Altair rubbed his eyes. It was Laura. His dear, sweet, beloved Sonsie. When he tried to express his emotions eloquently, no sound would come out of his mouth.

Stepping past him, she rubbed her hands briskly. "I can smell you have been drinking, so let us not waste time telling fibs about it. Now that we have the door open, I will go fetch Nurse Mildred."

He did not know what to say. It must be some kind of phantasm brought on by the drink. Laura saw his incredulous look and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand before whispering sweetly, "I'm back, my Laird."

Altair leaned into her touch, his head throbbing from the alcohol and the pure happiness that claimed his entire body. All he managed to say was, "I-I'll go get yer nanny, lass."

Laura giggled. "Please do not test your longevity by tumbling all the way down the mountainside, Altair! You can hardly walk. I will bring Mildred here. You can go light us a lantern for the love of heaven."

When he stumbled back with a lantern, not only was Nurse Mildred already inside, but Laura had found a tinderbox and lit her own candle. He knew he should say something witty and welcoming to impress Laura's nanny, but for the life of him he could think of nothing to say.

"We will leave introductions for another time. I am going to take Nurse up to my old bedchamber, Altair. Are you safe to go up to the tower on your own?"

It was as if she had grown up in some subtle way. She looked the same. The cute rounded cheeks and dark eyes, the color of licorice root; the beautiful shape of her deep bosom, heavy backside, and soft belly; those delightful features he found so enticing and feminine. But he detected a mulish determination in the way her lips were pressed together. This was a woman who would not take no for an answer.

Altair had been the master of his own destiny for such a long time that he was happy to accept the way Laura took control. And even though the room seemed to be spinning every time he looked around, he knew the stone fortress surrounding his heart had surrendered to love.

He did not even notice it when Laura undressed quiet as a mouse and crawled into the bed next to him. Still wearing her chemise, she snuggled next to the laird, laying her head on his chest until the strong beat of his heart lulled her to sleep.

* ? Grape seed residue