Chapter Thirty-One
Enfold him in the gossamer wings of my love,
hold him tightly to my heart...
—Iain Montgomerie Ogilvie
A sennight had passed since the wedding. The landscape remained held firmly in the grip of deepest winter, so Guillaume and Rowanne remained at Craigendan. Skena was delighted for she enjoyed having the companionship. At evening’s end, her cousin would gather the children around her and tell them stories of Norse raiders, the Auld Ones, and lore of the Cait Sidhe—the Daughters of Anne. Andrew, so full of child vigor, would act of many of the scenes from Rowanne’s tales. With a happiness that filled her heart, Skena watched as Annis curled up in Noel’s lap, to listen to the myths and legends.
Life was good— a thought that filled Skena’s mind each morn and each night as she lay with Noel.
Humming to herself, Skena carefully guided the shears through the rich velvet, careful not to ruin the lovely fabric. The shade was pale blue with a grey cast, perfect for Noel. With the hurry to wed, there had been no time for her to sew him a wedding gift. Twirling the ring around her finger, she thought of the past few days and how their bond strengthened with each breath. When Rowanne had presented her with several bolts of velvet as a Yule present, Skena spied the grey-blue fabric as just right for Noel and immediately set it aside.
The winter day was drawing in, the hours of light growing few. Soon, Noel would return with the other men from the hunt. She wanted to have the cutting done before he came back, in order to keep it a surprise until she could present it to him on Hogmanay.
Rowanne’s mouth pursed while she watched Skena trimming the edge to match the pattern of Noel’s tunic that she had borrowed for that purpose. “I thought the material wouldst make you a lovely kirtle, dearest cousin,” she chided, a note of jest in her voice.
“Your gift is generous and I canno’ offer you thanks enough. ’Tis been a while since I had a new kirtle,” Skena replied, raising up from her bent over position. “Enough will be left from this bolt. I can fashion part of a gown—an insert for the bodice and the skirt, mayhap lining for the sleeves. Then, Noel and I shall match.”
“There be no need for raiments to make Noel and you match. You be perfect together. Such a beautiful pair, and you will make beautiful bairns. I thought you both so lovely in deep wine for the wedding,” Rowanne complimented. “But ’tis the colors of Noel’s heart and his love for you that be important, and methinks it holds all the hues of the rainbow. I have never seen you happier or more beautiful.”
“You shall put me to pale come Beltaine when you wed with Lord Guillaume.” Skena offered Rowanne a loving smile. She pondered her cousin’s skittish ways toward the new baron, before returning to work on the velvet.
At length, Rowanne said, “If we wed...” allowing the words to trail off.
Skena glanced up from the task, permitting her fingers, sore from the shears, to rest. “Your betrothal be made with Julian Challon’s blessing and by king’s command. ’Tis not our Pictish ways any longer, Rowanne. Times change. Choice be taken from your sisters and you. From what I hear, Tamlyn be happy, and Guillaume spake Aithinne and the new baron of Lyonglen suit as well, that they were lovers even before they married. Lord Guillaume be a fine man. I truly admire him.” She could not hold silent her feelings any longer. “He cares for you. It pains me to see you so cool toward him. I saw the hurt in his eyes last night when he went to help you take a seat at the table―and you abruptly shrugged his touch away. ’Tis unlike you to be deliberately cruel. Why do you treat him so?”
Rowanne tilted her chin up. “Edward Longshanks gave Glen Shane, along with the three daughters of Hadrian to Julian Challon to do with us as he pleased. He chose Tamlyn, then informed Raven and me that we wouldst marry with one of his brothers. No by your leave. To add insult to the high-handed situation―Destain offered to joust for which sister each brother should wed. The servants overheard the jibe. It was all over Glenrogha before Vespers. ’Twas...insulting!”
Skena’s laughter bubbled forth. “Sorry, I do no’ make light of your feelings. Men oft say foolish things never stopping to hear how they sound to others. I doubt Sir Destain truly meant they should joust, with Raven and you as prizes. You have had Guillaume under roof for the better part of a year. In truth, I little understand how you keep your distance. I love Noel and think him the handsomest of men. But no woman could look at Guillaume and not envy you. Cousin, he be an honorable man, in his promise to you and in his deeds. The whole time at Craigendan he has kept to himself, even requests Muriel to help him with bathing so no tales are carried back to your ears. Few men be that careful. Noel thinks of him as a brother. Do you not wish to marry with him? His keeping his promise to you shows just how gentle he be toward your feelings. Any woman wouldst be desirous to have him as her lord husband.”
Rowanne crossed her arms as if keeping her emotions held tightly within. “I―”
“Màthair.” Andrew half-bounded into the room, Annis trailing behind him. “The day wanes. When does our Noel come back?”
“Anon. Why do you fash?” she asked, pleased at the our attached to Noel’s name.
Annis held up her beloved puppet. “Mama, can you make my Muriel ’nother dress?”
“Och, I might be able to do that. Mayhap a mantle as well?” Skena watched her daughter’s eyes shine with the prospect. “With the scraps from the bolts I should be able to fashion several changes for Lady Muriel de Servian. She will be all the envy when she goes to Court.”
Andrew tugged on the skirt of Skena’s kirtle, wanting her undivided attention. “I wish to go wait for our Noel. He promised I could ride Brishen when he came back. Please?”
“Me…I want to ride, too,” Annis complained.
Skena patted them both on the shoulders. “You may walk outside and see if Noel has arrived. Go no farther than the gates. Then, come right back. Be sure to keep the hoods up on your mantles for it has started to snow again. I mean it. I will no’ have you waiting outside and getting sick. Return straight away if he not be in the bailey. Understood? Tell Jenna to give you some warmed cider.”
“Yes, Màthair,” they said together, heads bobbing. They started to run out of the sewing room, but turned and hurried back. Each hugged her about the hips, and then clamored out of the room in a flurry of giggles.
“Did we ever have that much strength? They wear me out watching them.” Rowanne chuckled.
Skena laughed at the children’s antics. “Och, I better go make sure they get bundled up properly. Yes, Màthair does not always mean yes, Màthair.”
As Skena hurried out of the room to catch the children, she slammed hard into a body. Her heart jumped, thudding painfully against her ribcage. Startled, she backed up a step, but saw it was only Ella. She steeled herself to her customary dislike for the woman, suspicious as to why she was lurking in the shadows. Once again, there was no reason for the woman to be in this area of the fortress.
“Ella, what do you here?” She wanted the question to sound offhand. Instead it had an edge to it.
“Beg pardon, Skena. Came―” she suddenly gripped her stomach and doubled over, “for a tansy. Aye, need some worts to help me. Got the gripe somethin’ awful, me has.”
Recalling how Ella was in this part of the fortress just before the first attacks, Skena hesitated, leery to be alone with the strange woman. “Rowanne, come aid me in mixing a tansy for Ella.”
Rowanne, fingering the velvet, flashed her a silent question, but gave her a brief nod. Dropping the material, she then followed them to the still room.
♦◊♦
As Skena stepped from the keep, she paused to pull the hood of her mantle about her face. Rubbing her cheek against the fur lining, she smiled, enjoying the warmth and protection that her bride’s gift afforded. She had never owned a cloak of this fine quality. The cozy raiment reminded her of Noel’s love.
The snow had returned, heavier since the men had set out to hunt. The dark clouds hanging low over the high peak of Ben Shane promised bad weather would reach them before nightfall. From the steps of the high arched entrance, she scanned the bailey, looking for the children near the gates. Jenna said they had not come back. She was furious they were out in the storm waiting for Noel. She wanted them to inside before they took a chill. They could ride Brishen another day.
Failing to spot them, Skena exhaled in frustration. No one stirred within the ward, as if they sensed the snow was settling in for the long night. Inside, they had rushed to complete their chores for the day, and were already by the fire in the Great Hall, a few likely sharing the warmth of the kitchen.
“Annis! Andrew!” she called. No reply. She strained to hear their voices. No sound anywhere, only the low whirl of the wind pushing the snowflakes through the ballium.
The gatekeeper would still be at his sentry post, since the riders had not returned. Skena glanced up at the sinking sunlight, casting shades of pinks and purples across the snowy landscape. A faint unease brushed her mind. They should be home by now. Though nothing untoward had happened this past fortnight, she suddenly wished Noel here, and they were gathered in the Great Hall, snug against the worsening stour.
The wind shifted, colder now, the flakes swirling thicker. The children were too small and could take chill easily. A blast of frigid air buffeted her, as her steps carried her down and into the bailey. She hugged the heavy mantle about her, glad of the cloak’s shield against the waxing weather.
The guard held his hands over a small brazier, trying to warm himself. When he looked up and saw her coming, he hastily put them behind his back. “Eventide, my lady.”
She offered him a smile. “Go back to warming yourself, Robbie. I wouldst be doing the same if I were stuck out here waiting for the men. When the riders finally come back, go straight to Cook and tell him to give you some hot broth.”
“You are kind, Skena MacIain,” her soldier spoke with a nod.
She clutched the side of her mantle, as the wind whistled around them. “Skena de Servian, now,” she corrected.
“Beg Pardon. You take his name? What about clan law saying you needs must keep the MacIain name to hold these lands and title?”
She shrugged. “Times change. Lord de Servian owns the charter to Craigendan now.”
The elderly man grimaced. “’T’aint right, Skena. This is Scotland. He be Norman.”
“True. But he be my husband and lord here, now. ’Tis my will—no’ that of an English king.” Her tone was soft, but spoke she would hold no reproof for her choosing an English husband. She looked around. “Have you seen my bairns frolicking about? They were hoping to catch Lord de Servian’s return.”
“Aye, they were here for a bit. Then, they went to the stables to see the beasties. Young Andrew loves the horses.”
She looked to the barns. “How long ago was that?”
The man frowned. “A bit ago. Children little pay heed to time’s passage.”
“Or a mother’s warnings.” Skena laughed. “I shall go fetch them. They need to be inside.”
The man agreed. “The fury of that storm will hit soon, methinks.”
“I thought the same. I fear we will be in for a big snow.” Skena glanced up at the darkening sky, the storm clouds nearly blotting out the remaining rays of the sun. “Errant children, errant husband, no’ sure which be more troublesome.”
The snow crunched under her booted feet, as she skirted along the curtain wall to keep out of the biting blast of air that churned through the ward. At the stable she paused to listen for their chattering voices. Again, only small sounds broke the silence—horses in the barn murmuring or moving about, a dog off on the far side barking. The moaning wind.
“Annis! Andrew! Answer me!” From the corner of her eye, she noticed the postern gate. It was not locked. The door moved faintly, pushed by the storm’s force. Her steps quickened as she headed toward it. Looking down, she tried to spot their footprints in the snow. There had been considerable passings in the area, seeing the snow well-packed, too compressed to take an impression.
As she reached the entranceway, she paused, recalling the battle with the wolves. There had been no further incidents of the beasts trying to get in. Whilst they had taken down a large portion of the pack, there had been others that got away. Riders spotted a pack still lurked close by. She hoped the twins had not been foolish enough to sneak out the postern gate, hoping to meet Noel coming back. Jerking the door back, she looked out into the gloaming. There were several sets of tracks, nearly obliterating each other, but she spotted a small booted one off to the side.
Panic flared white hot in her. Skena followed, hurrying her steps. “I will take a switch to them,” she cursed under her breath. She was angry, but more so at herself. Had she not been stopped by Ella, she would not have delayed in fetching the children. The tansy had taken time to prepare, and then Ella ruined her efforts by tossing up the contents of her stomach, so she had to do it all over again. Had she not been engaged in dealing with the irritating woman, she would never have allowed the time to slip away.
She reached the point where she could clearly see the small print belonged to either Annis or Andrew. The size was right. Only, she could not understand why there were not more footprints. Another frigid blast of air buffeted her, knocking back the hood of the mantle. A chill went up her spine that had naught to do with the rising storm.
The reason there were so few prints—someone had passed this way behind the children. Larger ones―possibly two sets of women’s prints and one clearly a man’s―had come after them and mostly crushed the child size ones. She tried not to panic, but she was already running before she realized it. She spotted more partial imprints of the twins, leading away from Craigendan. Surely, the children would not be as foolish to come out here hoping to meet Noel?
Her lungs burned from running and breathing in the icy air. Gathering her wits against the all-out dread, she stopped to consider what was best to do. She looked around to get her bearing, and now realized she stood in the spot where she found the children the night they had come upon Noel.
How their lives had changed so since that stormy night. Nonce, she stood in another descending snowstorm.
Grimacing at the conclusion she drew―the children were either led away from the fortress, or someone was stalking them. Sheer terror raced through her blood. She frowned as her eyes spotted something, just paces up ahead. Lifting her skirts, she rushed forward, the snowflakes stinging her eyes as they were driven into her face.
She reached the path where it forked into three different directions. One branch would lead to the road to Glen Shane. Another led to Gailleann Castle and, then later, to Comyn lands beyond. The smaller track would circle around and come back to Craigendan. As she stood at the crossroads, she could not discern which way the children had gone. She carefully searched around, but there were no more small footprints. ’Twas as if they had vanished! Several steps from where the tracks stopped, there was a deep impression, as though an adult had fallen to their knees in the snow.
She started to call out to the children, as she had on the night they had found Noel. Only, something warned this was not a wise move. Far up ahead, in the middle of the path leading to the Comyn land, she saw something dark. Picking up the sides of her mantle, she hurried her steps to it. Bending over, she picked up the length of woolen material.
Her blood turned to ice as she saw the weave was one worn by Clan Comyn. Had Noel been right about Duncan after all? Had he been responsible for the strange happenings at Craigendan?
Her mother’s instinct pushed her to go onward and search for the children. The Kenning and logic warned her to turn back. She hesitated, torn by the warring pressure within her heart.
“Noel.” The name fell from her lips, as she knew she must go back and get him. Allow him to deal with finding the children. He would be returning by now. He had Guillaume and the men of Challon to back him. He would get to the bottom of this dark mystery.
With her mind resolute, she swung back in the direction of Craigendan, urgency biting at her mind. As she rounded the bend, the snow was coming down so hard she could barely see ten paces ahead of her. Startled, she pulled up short, when she nearly ran into Ella. Backing up a step, she clutched the mantle tightly about her.
“Ella...what are you doing out here? You following me?” Seeing the woman, inflamed her anger. She forever seemed to be asking Ella why she was in places where she had no reason to be. “I thought you were sick.”
The ugly, squat woman did not appear ill, but stood there grinning like a jackanapes. The woman was a riddle, but Skena had little time to fool with her.
“Sick? Been sick most of me life. Sick of them that thinks they be better than others,” Ella answered oddly.
Skena had no patience with the weird woman. “Well, be that as it may, I have no time to listen right now. I need to get back to Craigendan―” She started to move past Ella, who stood in the middle of the path blocking the way, but Ella slammed into her—just as she had when they passed in the hallway.
“Och, pardon me clumsiness, Lady Skena.” She just kept grinning.
Clumsiness, her arse! Ella had deliberately rammed against her as she attempted to pass. Skena tried not to show affront, but felt the frown creasing her brow. “Never mind,” she said dismissively. She misliked the gleam in Ella’s dark grey eyes, but simply wanted to get past. She would deal with the woman later, after the children had been found. “It happens. Footing is slippery in this snow. We both needs must to get back to Craigendan.”
As Skena, once again, started to move past the stout woman, Ella met her, the club-fisted hands shoving at her so hard, it knocked her back several steps. She had to struggle not to fall on her arse in the snow. A gentle mistress to her clansmen, Skena had never taken a lash to anyone, but she feared Ella was pushing her to that point.
“How dare you, Ella! What has gotten into your brain? Maggots?”
“You ain’t so high and mighty now, eh?” Ella came onward, clearly intent on pushing Skena again.
Enough of this! Skena was not having some sort of shoving contest with the ugly troll of a woman. While Skena had strengthened her muscles over this past summer and autumn, she recognized Ella had a good three stone on her, and not all was fat. The woman had a brutish thickness to her body, generally seen only on a man. Instead of waiting for the challenge, Skena spun on her heels and ran, intending on taking the path that circled around to Craigendan.
Moving fast, she did not slow as she rounded the bend. This time she crashed hard into another body. Dorcas. She jerked away from her half-sister and then looked over her shoulder to see Ella coming up behind her.
“Dorcas. What means this?” Skena demanded.
Dorcas smiled. “Tide and time, dear one. Winds of change blow. Methinks beginning with this fine mantle. I have never seen anything so beautiful. Take it off, sister.”
“Have you both gone mad? Lord de Servian will have you whipped.” Skena jumped as Dorcas grabbed at her mantle. Not about to give Dorcas spit if she was on fire, she punched out straight and caught her sister unawares. Her fist slammed upward to her sister’s chin, the force enough to knock her on her backside in the deep snow.
Skena rushed by the fallen Dorcas, but then another person stepped from the woodbines and into the pathway. A man. She staggered back in horror.
Angus.
“Well met, Skena lass. I have been waiting for you, said the hunter to the hare.” He laughed, the harsh sound ringing through the snowy landscape.