FINDING INFORMATION
“So it is our old enemies. The MacDonnell's.”
Alina looked up from her breakfast of oats porridge. She was so weary she could barely find the energy to raise a spoon. She could still smell smoke from where the gate had smoldered and, somewhere, behind the building, the hammers rang out as joiners reinforced the gates. She gave her great-uncle a long look. For someone who manned defenses all night, he looked remarkably energetic.
“You found proof?” she asked mildly.
He directed his keen gaze at her. “We did. A brooch. And the testimony of some prisoners. I do not think they lied. It is hard not to reveal the truth in such...travail,” he said piously.
Alina closed her eyes. Under the “travail” of torture, you would confess to flying on a broomstick, she thought privately. Anyone would. She felt a slow, bilious anger against her uncle, an impatience borne partly of tiredness and partly of anger against his need to blame and revenge, to be always in control, as he was of her and Duncan's lives. She did not voice the comment, however, but reached wearily across to the salt-cellar where it stood at his right hand.
“Here.” One of her uncle's house guests, a handsome man of around thirty called Dougal, passed it to her.
“Thank you,” Alina said quietly. She took a spoon of salt and passed it back.
She was exhausted beyond imagining, numb with the shock of having taken a life, and angry with her uncle. The anger and tiredness wore at her. She poured the spoon of salt onto her porridge and stirred it in, hoping it would revive her.
Chrissie, white and drawn, faced her across the table. She, too, looked exhausted, black rings around her pale eyes. Alina lifted a brow and gave her a sour smile, inclining her head towards their uncle. Chrissie dimpled and looked down at her hands. She did not want to giggle openly. Alina was pleased that, at least, she could make Chrissie laugh.
“You plan action against them?” a young man spoke from down the table. Alina looked across at him. The voice was Heath, the fosterling. His lean, clever face turned to Uncle Brien, seeking his approval.
“I do, lad,” Brien said wearily. Heath's face fell and Alina wished he had not been so dismissive. “But we must consider things before we act,” he continued loftily. “Can we face them now they have allied with those eternal running sores, the Duncraigh's?”
Alina looked at him. “We face both of them at once?”
He nodded, reaching for a linen square to dab his beard. “Indeed.”
Alina looked across the table at Duncan. He was looking at the old man with disbelief.
“You know this, and you do nothing?” he asked.
Alina drew in a breath. She looked at Duncan as if to say to him: no. Do not provoke him.
Her uncle looked down at his plate, cutting a slice of ham. Not looking at Duncan, he replied mildly. “I know this, and I pause and reflect. It is a wise thing to do, young man. Though I think it comes more naturally to those of advanced experience. The young are impetuous and foolish.”
Alina choked. They all looked at her and she waved a slim hand, trying to convey that she would not choke to death. When she had recovered, she looked about, eyes damp with coughing.
“I accept the wisdom of that, my lord,” Duncan said when he, too, had recovered his power of speech after the shock of Brien's reply. “But I do question the wisdom of delay in the face of such an alliance. Should we not be gathering our own troops?”
“Against that lot of wind and water?” Brien chuckled. “They make a foray against our gate, enter with less than thirty men and are repelled within two hours?” he waved a hand at the rest of the company, as if dismissing something trivial. “I know their thane. He'll sit in his fortress in Inverglass and mumble about the turret rooms being cold and the flour being stony. I see no cause for concern.”
Duncan raised a brow at him. He leaned back, contemplating his words. Alina watched him and felt her own worry subside.
On the surface, what her uncle said was correct. The thane of Inverglass was old – older than Uncle Brien, who was by no means young himself. He had not been a threat for many years. The feud between them had passed away over the years, neither party interested in maintaining it for longer. However, with the MacDonnell's, intent on avenging the death of Lord Thomas, as their allies? Alina was not sure her uncle's simple assessment was correct. She leaned back, long fingers plucking at green velvet skirts as she considered the implications.
“We should send scouting parties there, my lord?” Heath spoke up again, making a suggestion. “Determine the magnitude of their threat.”
“We could,” Brien agreed mildly. “But they will tell us nothing we don't know, so why throw men into the task fruitlessly?”
“What if the Duncraigh's are increasing strength?” Heath bravely persisted.
“They have an army of two hundred, lad,” the earl said tiredly. “And if they haul in their tenants, they'll number twice that. But they're safe in their hill-fort and they know they are. They've never brought the army out yet. It'll be the same now.”
Heath leaned back, handsome face confused. Chrissie looked at him with a little frown and Heath smiled at her affectionately and then looked down, clearly worried.
Alina set her spoon aside, watching the two young people. Heath had changed recently: where he had been courtly and attentive on Chrissie, clearly interested, he seemed to have retreated. Always a serious young man, he focused even more on his books and his fighting than before, staying out of the castle for hours at a time. Alina wondered what had caused the change.
“I should leave,” Duncan said suddenly. He stood and pushed in his chair, surprising everyone.
Alina looked up at him. He looked back at her, his brown eyes full of love. His lips lifted in a smile which he quickly hid, but not before Alina saw it and felt herself shiver with surprise.
She looked back down and caught Chrissie looking at her with an expression of amazement. She bit her lip. Chrissie managed to tear her eyes away and looked down at her hands, flushed at having been caught staring at Alina.
“I, too, have much to do,” Alina said wryly, as Duncan walked through the door. He stopped and Alina wanted to smile. “I will retire upstairs shortly.”
She made a final valiant attempt to take some porridge, but was sure she would keep nothing down. She pushed it away and stood. “I think I will go and sew. We're in dire need of new tapestries in the hall, I am sure.”
Uncle Brien regarded her tranquilly and said nothing. The rest of them looked up at her, surprised.
“Can I help you later?” Chrissie asked, looking at Alina with wide eyes. Alina guessed she was troubled and wanted to talk.
“Of course,” she said, inclining her head to the girl. “I'll be in my chamber shortly.”
She turned and walked out of the room.
In the hallway, her pulse thudded as she looked left and right and then went up the stairs. She walked quickly to her bedchamber and looked about. Blaire was not there. Alina sighed and collapsed onto the bed cross-ways, heart thudding.
She lay there for a minute, relaxed at last. She looked up at the ceiling with its vaulting and the high arch of the window she could just see if she tilted her head back.
After a moment she heard feet in the hallway. She tensed.
Someone knocked at the door.
“Come in?” she called, sitting up quickly and adjusting the fillet that held her hair back from her brow.
She turned to the door. Duncan was there. He had a sheepish smile and met her eyes, his own eyes gentle.
“Alina?”
She shook herself. Duncan was here, on the doorstep of her bedchamber. There was little more against protocol than that. If he was found there they would both be disgraced and probably banished. She stood and quickly walked to the doorway some strange spark outweighing shock.
“Come in,” she said in a whisper. “Close the door. But don't stay long.”
Duncan nodded. He stepped in, shut the door, and turned to face her.
“Alina...”
His arms were warm and Alina stepped forward, saying his name.
They embraced. His hands brushed along her back, stroking her with a touch that was soft but carried a fevered need. She shivered and leaned close. His mouth moved over hers, lips hard and firm on hers. She sighed and parted her lips.
Duncan pressed closer and his tongue explored her mouth. Alina sighed and closed her eyes. His body pressed against hers and his arms were strong around her, the shoulders solid muscle where her wrists rested, her hand on his shoulder and the other on his neck.
“Alina,” he murmured, breaking the kiss. “My dear. I want you. I want you so...”
Alina bit her lip, feeling the warmth within her well up and thought she might melt. She knew very little of what happened between men and women, though she had, in her healing work, seen men unclad and knew something of the anatomy of man.
She knew now that she desired him.
He moved and bent to kiss her once again. She sighed and pressed her body against his, feeling her own body throb with insistent need. She held him close, her arms wrapped firmly around him.
He squeezed her against him and leaned forward. She felt his weight press on her and took a few stumbling steps back, losing her balance.
They landed on the bed. He lay beside her, his body pressed against hers, arms squeezing her close, his lips against her hair. She could feel her own heart pounding. It felt wonderful to lie thus beside him.
He leaned down to kiss her, his arms tightening, body pressing on her.
Then, suddenly, he gasped.
He sat up, breaking the kiss.
“Alina. I can't. I...” he sucked in a breath. “If I stay, I'll...” he hesitated. “I'll do...”
Alina smiled at him a little sadly. She, too, sat, hands at her sides. “I know what you want to say,” she said gently. “I think you're right.”
Duncan looked up at her. He sat, head bowed, a sad smile on his own lips. His brown eyes looked relieved, as if pleased she understood.
“I do not want us to forestall...our vows,” he explained hesitantly. “I want something different.”
Alina smiled. She swallowed hard. “I know,” she said. She slid her hand across the covers towards him, a gesture of conciliation. “I do know.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
She chuckled a little shakily. “We should both go,” she said. “I promised Chrissie I'd talk to her.”
“Oh.” Duncan smiled. “Well, then.”
“Indeed.”
They both grinned, though their smiles were wistful. He went to the door and she followed, standing at his shoulder. He looked into her eyes.
“I have to do as your uncle asks,” he said softly. He shook his head, sighing, a smile crossing his face. “I have to wed you, Alina. I will die else.”
She smiled. “Talk not of death.”
“No. I need to do what he asks, but I don't know how to start.” He looked down at his hands, helplessly.
“Well,” Alina said slowly. “I know where you start. What happens next, I know not.”
“You do?” Duncan smiled at her, relief clear in every line of him.
“I think so,” Alina said. Then she smiled and added firmly. “I shall tell you. Only if we go downstairs to the solar. We really should.”
“Oh,” he chuckled, nervously. “Yes. True.”
She followed him as he went quietly through the door and down the hall, waiting so they did not leave together. As she closed the door behind her, she bit her lip, concealing sadness. There was a part of her that ached to do what they had almost begun and, though she knew it was unseemly, she wished they had. She loved him so much. She needed him. She ached to experience what her body seemed to know of, even if her mind was uninformed.
He was ahead of her in the stairwell and she walked lightly down behind him. In the hallway before the solar, they joined up again. The family had left, the servants quietly cleaning away the last of the meal.
Alina went to the settee and sat down, heart pounding. Duncan sat opposite her. She gave a little sigh, feeling grateful. Had he been beside her on the settee, she would not have been able to think clearly. She needed to.
“I know where you should begin,” she began quietly.
“Tell me,” he said, eager and urgent.
“The sword belonged to my family. I recall, now, that there was a ceremonial sword – said to have been used by Donald, the founder of our line. It went missing nigh on sixty years ago. We believe the Blackwood's have it.”
“Blackwood's?”
“Distant relatives. They disputed our right to the sword. They also have several boundary disputes which made them longtime enemies. If you were seen to take from them...”
“Lord Brien would have pretext to override their boundaries,” Duncan contributed directly.
“Yes,” Alina said, smilingly. She was impressed. “You understand quickly.”
He laughed. “You answered the question for me, and you say I understand fast? My dear, I was lost!”
Alina reached across and took his hand. He twitched and looked up into her eyes. The intensity of longing in those brown eyes almost tore at Alina's heart. She squeezed his hand and swallowed, swallowing tears.
“Stay safe when you go,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. “I won't brook any bad happening to you.”
Duncan grinned. “I think bad considers itself warned. If I were it, I wouldn't challenge you in a mood like that.”
Alina tipped back her head, laughing. “Oh, Duncan. You're sweet.”
“No. I'm sensible.”
They both laughed at that. Alina scowled at him.
“You're just pretending. I know you. You're not scared of anyone.” She grinned teasingly.
“I know my match, dear. My father always taught me a good warrior was one who was prudent. Prudence, he counseled, included knowing your opponent. And when you're outmatched.”
Alina grinned at him. She squeezed his hand. “We're well matched,” she said, voice concealing tears.
Duncan nodded. He, too, could barely speak. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes. We are.”
They leaned forward and his hands squeezed her upper arms, drawing her against him. She reached across and rested her hands on his shoulders. They sat like that, looking into one another's eyes, until they heard a footfall in the corridor beyond.
Duncan leaned back, shaking himself. “I should go,” he said quietly.
“I, too,” Alina nodded. She bit her lip. “I shouldn't keep my young companion waiting.”
Duncan nodded. “True.”
Neither of them moved. They still looked at each other.
At length, Duncan stood. “I should go,” he said, not looking at her. “I should plan. I have a lot to consider...”
Alina nodded. She bit her lip. She wanted to cry. “Yes,” she said. “You have. If I can help...” she trailed off.
“I'll be sure to ask.” His voice was warm, full of admiration. Alina swallowed hard.
He turned in the doorway and smiled, eyes shining. Then he turned and walked quickly down the hallway, heading left to the stairs.
Alina sat there after he had gone. She looked across the room, but she was staring into memory, and into blankness. The blankness that was the space his departure would leave. The emptiness that would fill her heart and the worry for his safety: he could die on this quest against their enemy. She bit her lip. She did not want to cry.
I will have to find a way to bear this. I have to.
She stood and, brushing her hands down her dark velvet skirts, walked out into the hallway and towards her bedchamber. To talk to Chrissie, who she was fairly sure had just walked past the door. Who was waiting upstairs. At least, she thought, she would provide some warmth in the approaching times.