ARRIVAL AT DUNKELD
The woods were bright with morning by the time Dougal reached the fortress of Dunkeld. He had ridden along all the pathways that he knew, followed the three main paths at least halfway into the woods, searching and calling. To no avail though. There was no sign of her. Not a piece of cloak, a trail of hoof prints, nor a strand of hair. Nothing. It was as if she had simply disappeared. Having been out for the whole night searching, carrying a brand in his left hand to give some light, Dougal was exhausted. His wounds ached and blood had flowed and dried down his side, making him stiff with blood, the tunic tugging at the wound when he moved his arms.
He was frozen to the marrow and his eyes ached with weariness. Yet he would not stop.
“Mayhap...she is...here.”
He whispered it aloud. He started talking to himself halfway through the night, both to raise his spirits and to stave off the silence in which terrible futures lurked, futures where Joanna was wounded, lost, or harmed, or even dead.
He was so close now. Dunkeld was the last place she might reasonably be expected to be. It was just on the summit of the hill, bathing in late morning sunshine above the tree line. He could not give up now.
He leaned forward in the saddle, his whole body bruised.
“Come on,” he said to his horse. He clicked his tongue, making his horse snort in response, and they went on up. His horse, Dougal knew, was at least as exhausted as he was himself. They must have been riding for more than twelve hours, with a short rest in a deserted cottage for a few hours. He shivered simply thinking of it. If he and his horse survived this journey, he would be grateful. They were almost through.
He was riding up into brighter light now, heading up the hill towards Dunkeld. He heard the sound of his horse's hoof beats change and realized they were on a paved pathway. They must almost be at the hilltop.
“State your business, sir.”
Dougal blinked. After twelve hours of riding, this was the last thing he expected to face. His head ached. His back was cramped with cold and exertion so that he could barely sit upright on the saddle any longer. He was face-to-face with a young guardsman, freshly shaven and bursting with the desire to exercise his authority.
He sighed.
“I'm Dougal, Lord Blackheath, earl of Lochlann. If that doesn't tell you what I'm doing here, then you're new on this job. Now go and tell the master I'm wanting to see him.”
The guard stared as if he had just spoken in tongues. Dougal sighed again. He was too tired to lose his temper and he hadn't even raised his voice.
“Go on,” he said mildly. “It's too cold to wait out here.”
The guard nodded, eyes wide. He saluted smartly and headed off into the castle courtyard.
Two minutes later – two freezing, anxious minutes – the guard returned. By then, Dougal was almost asleep in the saddle, his horse standing, head down, and too exhausted to move.
“Sir?”
“Mm?”
“His lordship says he'll see you in the solar.”
“Thank Heaven,” Dougal said. He straightened his back, which made it ache even worse. He eased his foot out of the stirrup, and then the other one. He swung his leg over the side, and then collapsed.
His last thought as he lay on his back, looking up at the sky, was that he had made it. He was here, where Joanna might be.
Joanna.
The scent of tallow, burning, woke him. Paired with the firelight, dancing on his eyelids. He felt a sudden thud of panic. The forest. The old cottage. Was it on fire? He sat bolt upright, then groaned as pain stabbed into his brain, intense and aching.
“Hello,” a tranquil voice said. “You're in the fortress at Dunkeld. You fainted at the gates. Welcome.”
Dougal stared. The voice sounded close enough to Joanna's to have made him think it was she who sat there by the bed. However, this woman was older. Even so, she could have been her sister. The same long oval face, the same heavy-lidded eyes. The full mouth, lips dark damask, the same long neck and pale ivory skin. There were also too many differences, the high brow was framed with black hair, bound back with a filet of silver. A thin line bisected it, the only trace of wrinkles on her skin. The eyes were pools of midnight, shifting, dark, and slightly dangerous.
“Who...?”
The speaker smiled. “I'm Alina. Joanna's aunt.”
“Oh!” Dougal felt relieved. That explained the resemblance. However, if this was her aunt, then... “Where is Joanna? Can I see her? Did she reach the castle?”
Alina smiled. He was not sure he didn't prefer the frown. The smile was slightly mocking, slightly amused. He shivered but could not have said why.
“She was here,” she said. “But you cannot see her today.”
“Why?” he was suddenly frantic. “What has happened? Where is she?”
“She has gone on a journey with her mother, the lady Amabel,” Alina said tranquilly.
Dougal felt a surprising relief. “She was here! She made it safely.” He grinned. He was surprised by how much more important it was to him that she was safe, than that he missed her.
“Yes,” Alina said. Her eyes had warmed, as if he had faced a challenge and been victorious in it. He wondered why. “That's the material point.”
“Will they be away for a long time?”
“Several days. You are welcome to wait.”
Dougal frowned. He couldn't stay. He had so much to do. So much to find out, and so little time in which to do it. However, at the same time, he knew he was in no state to ride back. Not today, anyhow. Neither he nor his horse would manage that, he knew.
“I could wish to impose for one more night?” he asked.
Alina laughed. “It is no imposition, Dougal, son of Adair. You are welcome.”
“Son of...you know my father?”
“I'm your cousin, distantly,” Alina laughed. “Think about it.”
Dougal sighed. She was right. He had entirely forgotten. Not that he could blame himself, mind – he had just woken from unconsciousness, after all.
“You're right,” he said succinctly. She laughed.
“Well, in that case,” she said, “I think we should consider the practicalities. Dinner is in two hours from now, but you really ought to take something now – I suspect you haven't eaten for a day.”
Dougal nodded. The thought of food made his stomach twinge with a queasiness that made it either a terrible idea, or a necessity.
“I think I could manage that.”
“Good,” she laughed again. “And while we're at it, I think your wound needs a fresh dressing. I did it when they brought you in, but I'd be more confident if I knew it was dry. If it stays wet, it has a chance of going morbid. And that is not what anybody wants.”
Dougal winced at the thought of anyone touching his wounds. They still ached and he would rather try to forget they were there – as if he could.
“You are a healer, yes?” he said, recalling Joanna's mention.
“I am, yes.” Alina nodded.
“Thank you for your help.”
She laughed. “Not at all. Now, if you sit up, I think you'll have rather less for which to thank me. This is going to hurt.”
Dougal nodded. He sat up. She was right. It did hurt. A lot. He closed his eyes and thought of Joanna. She was very like her aunt in many ways, but where her aunt was acerbic and contemplative, Joanna was forthright and direct.
“Joanna was in good health when she arrived?” he asked as Alina replaced the bandage, her long fingers moving over his back, her touch cool and remote, a surgeon's hands.
“You could say so,” Alina frowned. “Depends what you mean by in good health. She was as exhausted as you were, for certain. Though without the week-old wounding. You're both stubborn.”
Dougal laughed. She was right.
“You know her well.”
“She's like a daughter to me,” Alina said in a voice raw with emotion. “Though I have my own daughter, as merry as a lark and a constant source of sunshine. You'll meet her later.”
After a bowl of gruel, Dougal felt well enough to rise from his bed. He still ached but his head pained less and he could feel his toes and fingers again. He shrugged his cloak on round his shoulders – someone had thoughtfully loaned him a fresh tunic and trews – and walked slowly down the hallway.
“No, Father! You cheated, you know you said I could go first on Oriflamme.” A childish voice rose in the mist-chilled air of the courtyard.
“Stop it, Brodgar. You lost and you know it.” Another boy replied, voice higher than the first.
“I did not! You always cheat.” The first boy sounded indignant.
“I'm faster than you. Let's race!”
Dougal smiled, feeling his heart twist with a bittersweet fondness. He looked over the balustrade.
He could see three boys, running in the practice ground below. They were dressed for riding, which was evidently where they had just been. The front-most one was sturdy, with dark brown hair, while the two who ran behind him had slightly paler hair.
“Alf, Conn, watch your step! Those stones are slippery...”
A man walked behind them, calling out to the two sandy-haired boys, who stopped, then ran ahead, laughing and shrieking in amusement. Tall, with broad shoulders and a long, serious face, the man looked up at Dougal and grinned, shielding his eyes from the wintry sunlight that slanted into the courtyard.
“My lord! Welcome. You are feeling better?”
“Thank you, yes,” Dougal called down. “I am grateful for your help.”
“Not at all!” the older man shouted up cheerily. “I'm glad you're better. I'm coming up to the solar in a moment, if you care to talk over some ale?”
“That sounds pleasant, yes,” Dougal called down. “I'll wait for you.”
“Perfect,” the man called up. “Boys! Careful! You know that wall's not safe to clamber on...” he ran a hand through white-touched black hair and shook his head, still grinning.
Dougal laughed. While he walked back up the hallway, he wondered whom the man and the children were, Joanna's father and brothers, perhaps, or her uncle and cousins. He would soon find out.
It was strange to be here, in this warm, vibrant family, meeting Joanna's kin without her being here.
He reached the solar and found it empty. He sat down on the settee, close to the fire. He looked around.
A fire blazed in the hearth, and the settee was padded with sheepskins, warm and comfortable. The windows – stone archways, elaborately carved – were all but hidden behind thick screens, colorful tapestries covering them entirely. The walls, too, were hung with tapestries. The table where the family would sit for their meals was carved and beautiful. The whole room, from the stone floor to the high, vaulted ceiling, was warm and pleasant.
How different it is to Lochlann.
He felt sad. How horrid it must have been for Joanna, to be there with him, when this was the place to which she was accustomed!
He looked up at the ceiling, admiring the stonework, thinking of Joanna. He imagined her sitting here with her aunts and mother, maybe sisters or cousins, her head bent over her tapestry work, face flushed and smiling in the lamplight. He studied the tapestries, wondering if he could guess which she might have worked on. There were some with green backgrounds, the shapes of magical beasts worked on them, others with bright birds or little flowers. A hunting scene, the stag proud and larger-than-life, the hunter a sketchy blur in the corner, made him think of her. She would have liked to make the stag the focus, the hunter insignificant faced with nature's glory.
He heard footsteps running down the hallway, a child's quick step.
“Come on, Conn! Last one in the solar has to eat the ginger cakes!”
He smiled. The three boys suddenly confronted him from the doorway. They looked startled. The front-most boy, wide brown eyes soft and long-lashed, stared at him. They all hung back nervously.
“Who are you?”
He smiled. “I'm Dougal, lord of Lochlann. My condolences for the loss of your great-great uncle.”
“Th...Thank you,” the boy said hesitantly. “I'm Conn. This is Brodgar and Alf.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Dougal said. “Is the lord of the castle about?”
The boys looked at each other, clearly confused.
“The fellow who fancies himself lord of the castle's here, yes,” a voice called from the hallway over their heads. “Whether I am or not is academic. I'd say my wife takes the title, most days anyhow.”
Dougal grinned broadly, recognizing the dark haired man from the earlier exchange.
“Pleased to meet you.” he stood as the man came in and held out his hand.
“I am, too,” the man replied informally. “I'm told you're Dougal, Lord of Lochlann. Condolences for the lost of your great-grandfather.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Dougal replied.
“Oh, yes. I'm Broderick, thane of Dunkeld,” the man said, almost as an afterthought. “I think you met my daughter, Lady Joanna.”
“Yes,” Dougal nodded.
So this is Joanna's father.
He should, he thought now that he knew, have noticed the similarities they had. Joanna had some features of her father's – like him, she was tall, and there was something about his carefree grin that made him think of her. Mostly, though, she must resemble her mother.
“She's away, I'm sorry to tell.” Broderick continued, waving them to seating. “She and her mother. They were very secret about it, mind. Said they'd be back in a week. I trust them,” he shrugged. “And they have five guards with them for good measure. These roads are not as safe as they were once.”
Dougal nodded. If the man intended subtle blame in that, he chose to ignore it. Something about that statement made him frown, but his concentration was broken at that moment by someone at the doorway.
A woman appeared on the threshold with a pitcher of ale and stone beakers while another was bearing spiced cakes. The latter was greeted with a roar by the three boys, who had settled at the table to play at a board game.
Broderick and Dougal suspended conversation while the boys argued heatedly over who got the cakes with jam on, laughing between them at their indignation.
“Your sons?”
Broderick grinned. “Only one of them, thank Heavens! The other two are the sons of my wife's cousin Chrissie.”
“Oh. Your son is the eldest?” Dougal guessed. The tallest boy with dark brown hair had a resemblance to the man who faced him now. It was hard to see him as Joanna's brother – the stocky, square-faced boy had little of her poise.
“That's right. Five years younger than Joanna. In five years' time he'll probably be lording it over me!” he chuckled. “Time goes so fast. You are unwed?”
“Yes,” Dougal said hesitantly. The topic of marriage was a desperately difficult one for him right now, and the last person he wanted to broach it with was Broderick. Unless he was asking him for Joanna's hand. He let himself imagine that a moment, imagine what it would be like to build a home with her. He sighed.
“Well, you will be,” Broderick smiled indulgently. “And then you'll go gray too.”
They both laughed.
They sat and talked for a while longer, the warmth and camaraderie a balm to Dougal's soul after so long in the cold, remote castle. Even when he had been a child, his home had been nothing like the cheerful warmth of this one. It was a pleasure.
He was so relaxed and cheered by the atmosphere that it was only when he was leaving, heading back up to his bedchamber to rest before dinner, that he remembered what had worried him about Broderick's earlier statement about Joanna.
She had been very secretive about it.
Where were they? Was it aught to do with her plans to solve the mystery? If it was, were they safe?
Broderick had said he trusted that they were.
All Dougal could do, then, was trust him. And hope he was right.