SUDDEN SHOCK
The castle interior was warm. So much warmer than the cold morning outdoors. Alina, sitting in the turret room, huddled by the fire. It was not just that it was icy cold on the top of the west tower, where she had just been. It was the sadness that had settled inside her, numbing all the warmth.
I cannot quite believe that he is gone. He had only just been here, only just sat and talked, and kissed, held, and loved.
She held her fingers to the blaze, wincing as the blood slowly spread to them, making them ache and itch with sudden warmth. As the heat from the fire flooded through her, she felt herself take heart. Duncan would return. He will. Why ever not? This task is not half as dangerous as the last one.
She sat there by the fire, letting herself return from the numbness and cold of the tower to a sort of drifting half-awareness. Once she had reached that state, she walked quietly from the turret room and down the stairs. She reached for her apron as she passed by her bedchamber, gathering her cloak over one arm. She had work to do.
“Good morning, my lady,” Patrice greeted Alina when she appeared in the kitchens. The place was like a furnace, the servants all red-faced and sweating as they washed pots, scoured pans, chopped turnips or baked bread. The noise was deafening and Alina had to raise her own to be heard above the cheerful cacophony of pots, pans, and shouts.
“Patrice!” she shouted. “How does your mother fare?”
“Oh! Ma's good, thank 'ee. Better. She's stronger each day.”
Alina felt a wash of happiness at that news. “Good. Do you still have parsley?”
“No, my lady. Finished it two days afore.”
“How is her chest?” she asked.
“Guid, my lady. Still wheezing a little, when it rains or in the evenin'.” Patrice turned away briefly, heaving a vast mass of parsnips into a steaming pot. Sweat streamed down her face and her already-curly hair crimped in the steamy heat.
Alina put her head on one side, thinking. “I will give you some more. You should dry it, and use a measure in a tea. Use it in the mornings and evenings.”
“Thank 'ee, milady.” Patrice curtsied, and then wiped the sweat off her forehead on her sleeve. “Bless ye'”
Alina smiled at her and went out into the rain-soaked gardens, relieved for once to be out of the furnace heat of the kitchen with the pot-boys and scullions, and scents, sights, and sounds. Here, at least, was utter peace.
When she came back in again, parsley delivered, she paused outside the great hall. The place was empty, caught in that odd silence between daybreak and midday. The guards were either playing dice or in the yard, where desultory cheers and the crack of staves on posts meant that they were practicing their art. There were, for the moment, no claims on Alina's time.
I think I will go and visit Aili.
She had not seen her aunt between the raid on the castle and now. She would like to know how she fared. She would also like to seek Aili's counsel. The worry for Duncan, the crawling discomfort of the guest at Dunwray castle, and the concern for Amabel weighed on her. It would be good to rest that burden for a while.
She returned to her room and shrugged off the apron. Then she headed into the icy, abandoned part of the castle, glad she had not left her cloak behind.
“Aili?”
“Come in.”
Alina entered to find her aunt sitting in her carved chair, as usual. She was wearing a black dress Alina had not seen before and she looked somehow more alive than she had seen her in a few years. She smiled.
“It is good to see you, Aunt.”
“And you, my dear. Good to have you back at Lochlann.”
Alina felt a twinge of surprise, than shook her head. It should really not surprise her anymore that her aunt knew precisely where she was and where she had been at any time. There was very little that escaped her – whether by some uncanny sense or simply through her observational powers.
“It is good to be back, Aunt,” she admitted, taking a seat at the table. Their visits were all comfortable routine: Aili would call for cakes and ale and they would talk, working from the everyday worries to deeper underlying concerns and then finally to their solutions.
“It is good to see you,” Aili agreed. “This castle is full of goings-on these days! A thousand different tales flying around, and probably none of them accurate.” Her aunt shrugged dismissively and lifted her glass from the tray.
Alina raised a brow, carefully selecting a delicacy. She chose a square of marzipan – her favorite sweetmeat – and bit into it, letting the sweet, rich flavor melt in her mouth.“What tales?” she asked as she swallowed.
“Oh, you know...” Aili waved a hand in a vague gesture. “The MacDonnell are lurking in the woods, waiting to attack. The Thane of Inverglass is amassing an army, come to take us. The castle is full of spies. Witches too, apparently.” she sniffed. “Though that is always the case.”
Alina met her eye and they both laughed.
“But people really expect an attack?” Alina asked, returning to seriousness. She cradled the goblet between her hands, glad her aunt had thought to have the ale mulled. It worked the last of the cold out of her fingers.
“Mm,” Aili nodded, swallowing. “They do so. And who am I to say they're foolish? Personally, I'll not think the MacDonnell thane would move against Lochlann. Not if old Benoite's still alive.”
“Benoite?” Alina stared at her.
Aili snorted. “You don't know, do you? No. I suppose not. Your uncle took a shine to her. More than. I think the man was entirely entranced. He was foolish with it.”
“Oh?” Alina watched her, transfixed. “She was a lady of the MacDonnell?”
“No,” Aili waved a hand, smiling. “She was born at Inverglass. Sister to the last thane. But she was wed to a MacDonnell later. After.” She said the last word with emphasis. Alina's mind leaped to the meaning of it.
“You mean...after Uncle...?” she asked hesitantly.
“After the old fool suggested to ally with the Duncraigh and was told where he could go next, yes.” Aili smiled. “By, but you know the stories as well as I.”
“Thank you, Aunt.” Alina registered her aunt's compliment somewhat distractedly. She was thinking of other things, trying to fit the new threads into the weaving she had made. “But...” she paused, biting dark-red lips. “If the lady was of the Duncraigh, and then she wed...she would be with the MacDonnell now, would she not?”
“Yes, lass,” Aili agreed, leaning back, contented. “She retired to seclusion after her husband, the old thane's elder brother, passed away.”
“But...” Alina covered her mouth with her hand, feeling sudden fear. “But that...” she trailed off.
“What, lass?” Aili asked, reaching her hand across the table to her.
She had sent Duncan to Inverglass. To find the pearl. Who was, it seemed, not anywhere near the place, but with the MacDonnell's. Duncan was riding to a hostile fort, poised for war with Lochlann – where he would find nothing. And it was her fault.
Standing, she looked wildly around.
“Forgive me, Aunt. I...I must go.”
“Whist, lass,” her aunt said tranquilly. “You know what you're doing. Don't fear so.”
Alina shook her head, heart pounding. Her blood felt as if it had pooled in her feet, her head light, her thinking a flurry of wild thoughts. I have to leave. To find Duncan. What if he is already too far away?
“I have to go, Aunt,” she said a little wildly. “I have to leave. Now.”
Before she was far too late.
Gathering her cloak in her hands, nodding to her aunt and the old maid-servant who had appeared to bring fresh ale, she ran past both of them and out of the door, heading down the icy steps and up to her bedchamber. To pack. To prepare. To leave now, while she still had a chance to reach him.