“He had two blades,” Keenan said (10 page)

“Elenor, cease,” Keenan said low, his tone of warning evident.

She closed her mouth but looked mutinous.

“I will protect Lachlan and this clan as I always have. I will die honorably knowing that I have done my duty.” He said the words he had repeated most of his life, the only words that had brought approval from his parents. It was unthinkable to abandon something he had been raised to believe ever since he could understand what death meant.

Elenor’s words were soft. “Keenan, have ye kissed her?”

The question sliced through him. His answer was traitorous, and he would have denied them if the memories did not haunt him constantly.

He looked away from her, and he heard her suck in her breath.

Her voice echoed hope brightly, victoriously. “Ye have. Ye’ve kissed her.”

“Once, to distract the jailors to save her brother, and once to wake her from some sort of trance.”

“Trance?”

“Aye, she walks toward the west in her sleep.”

“West?”

“Another oddity,” he said, and for a brief moment had a hard time keeping his grim expression in place.

Elenor grinned at him. Her eyes shone brightly with youthful enthusiasm. He hadn’t seen that for a long time.

“I’m telling ye, Keenan. She’s the one, and we will soon see that this prophecy did not name ye to be the one to die, mark my words.”

Keenan sighed and shook his head. “Elenor, what am I to do with ye?”

He was about to answer his own question with threats of nunneries and shackles, but a swish of petticoats brushed the stone steps next to them.

“Oh Serena,” Elenor said. “Ye look lovely in that gown.”

Serena gasped and whirled around, her hand at her chest. Relief relaxed Keenan’s chest, she hadn’t heard the treasonous conversation. Dear sweet Lord, she was beautiful. Her face flushed, lips parted, the sides of her hair pulled back into a simple braid of blaze to fall among the gentle waves to her waist. The laced stays and petticoats accentuated her narrow waist, and the color of the blue lamb’s wool matched the violet blueness of her eyes.

A matching streak of blue shot across the rafters, diving. Elenor gasped and Serena laughed lightly as Chiriklò fluttered to her shoulder. Aye she was the one, and there would be no hiding it today. Once Lachlan…

“Good morrow to ye all,” Lachlan called as he clipped across the smooth rock floor toward them.

“Good morrow, Lachlan,” Elenor replied softly, her eyes darting between Serena and their fast approaching brother. Keenan nodded in greeting, but Lachlan’s eyes had first gone to the bird perched upon Serena’s shoulder, then to her gown. Keenan’s gut tightened and he forced himself to unclench his fist as he watched his brother scrutinize the gown closely along Serena’s full bodice.

“Good morrow, Miss Faw. Ye have quite the unusual pet there,” Lachlan said, jovially and then he froze. Keenan couldn’t discern even a breath from his brother. Would he die on the spot? Thick tension encompassed the four standing along the points of a square at the edge of the great hall. No one spoke for a moment.

“His name is Chiriklò. His color is quite unusual,” Serena said.

Lachlan finally drew in an audible breath. “Aye,” he said slowly. “Quite unusual, like yer eyes, Miss Faw,” and then almost to himself, “and yer hair blazes like the flame.”

Serena looked at Keenan. He kept his full attention on the raging that strummed through his muscles and tendons. If he didn’t start throwing his sword soon, he would explode. It was as if things moved in slow motion, but then all at once. Everyone but Keenan began talking.

“They’re really just a violet shade of blue,” Serena said defensively as she looked back and forth between Elenor and Lachlan.

“Aye Lachlan, Serena has violet eyes and blazing hair and if I’m correct, a fair number of oddities,” Elenor said.

“Oddities?” Serena said frowning, her eyes stopped on Keenan.

“She’s the one?” Lachlan said.

“And Keenan brought her safely to us,” Elenor said. “As was his duty.”

“Brought me to you? Keenan?” Serena said and stared at him.

Keenan released a long breath and shook his head, the same head that now pounded with a need to roar.

“She doesn’t ken?” Lachlan asked.

“Nay,” Elenor and Keenan said together.

“No!” Serena yelled as Elenor and Lachlan began babbling. Chiriklò flew to perch somewhere up in the rafters. She pressed her palms against her ears and closed her eyes until Lachlan and Elenor paused. When silence sat awkwardly between them all for several long moments, Serena opened her violet eyes and looked straight at Keenan. He saw understanding in those eyes. “Perhaps someone should explain this prophecy to me,” she said.

Keenan clenched and unclenched his fists. He breathed evenly belying the passionate need to leave the stifling quarters as soon as possible. “Lass, I told ye as we rode in yesterday,” Keenan said somberly. “Ye seem to be the one that our family’s prophecy predicts will save our clan and herald in a new era of peace for the Macleans of Kylkern.”

“A prophecy of peace?” Serena asked. “Why does fear surround it?” She glanced at Lachlan then back to Keenan. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Keenan returned her gaze. “I have no fear regarding the prophecy,” he said hollowly. “Elenor will explain it further. I must check on the villagers.” He turned to leave.

“Keenan,” the plea in her voice stopped him mid step. “I am no witch.”

He turned back slowly. She looked betrayed, angry, a bit frightened, and all he wanted was to pull her up against him, run his hand down her hair and promise her that all would be well. And it would be well, after he died.

“Elenor will explain, Serena,” he said, and blessedly Elenor chose then to take Serena’s gloved hand in hers.

“Come Serena, let us break our fast and I’ll show ye to my work room. Ye may find it as fascinating as I do,” Elenor said, as they approached the long table. Lachlan hastened to catch up to the two ladies while Keenan turned and briskly exited the hall.

Keenan pulled his sword from the scabbard strapped across his back before he reached the bottom of the stone steps. No foes stood in the bailey, only the ones that plagued his traitorous mind, traitorous in the crack of hope that Elenor had chiseled into him.

Chapter 7

Elenor’s amazingly strong arm guided Serena through the corridors.

Serena concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as fury and fear assailed her. Keenan had known about this prophecy, had realized that she played a part in it, and hadn’t mentioned it. Oh, he had tried perhaps in some miniscule way. Serena’s chest ached as if out of air, and she forced in a full breath through clenched teeth. She had begun to trust him even though she couldn’t read his thoughts. She should have known better. Everyone hid secrets, and she couldn’t read his.

Elenor stopped before the entrance to one of the small rooms at the back of the castle. Serena sniffed back the tears and caught the aroma of culled grains and spices.

“Several years ago,” Elenor said, “I had the contents moved to set up an herb room.”

Inside the tiny room dried leaves and flowers of every botanical species hung from the rafters. Jars of liquid with dark shapes suspended in them sat on shelves. A large iron cook pot hung in a small hearth in the corner. A stout table ran nearly the length of the room. Several books sat open on the table, and more reclined against one another on a small bookcase. Mortar and pestle, knives, bowls and filled bladder sacks sat about on shelves. One small window let in a stream of light where dust fairies floated about. Although crammed full, the room was tidy.

“I call it an herb room to others, but it’s really my magic room,” Elenor whispered.

“Your magic room?”

“Aye, I’ve created it for ye,” Elenor said excitedly and started pointing out the many tinctures and dried herbs she had already prepared.

“For me, you say?” A chill ran down Serena’s back.

“Aye, for ye if ye are the Maclean witch that the prophecy describes, Serena.” Elenor beamed encouragingly at Serena.

“Elenor, I am not a witch.” Witches worshipped Satan and sacrificed unbaptized babies.

“Ye have magical powers.”

Serena pursed her lips together to stifle a sigh. “Perhaps you should tell me about this prophecy,” Serena said.

“The prophecy is a prediction that has come down four generations from a wise woman that my great-great seanmhair, grandmother,” Elenor translated, “invited into Kylkern one dark snowy night.” Elenor’s exuberance dimmed, and she stepped over a bench to sit opposite Serena at the table. “My seanmhair worried about her family and asked the wise woman to scry into the future for her.”

“What did she see?”

“She saw many things, like births and deaths, battles and full harvests. And with each part that came true, the final words of the wise woman became more and more real until it became a prophecy.”

“Tell me,” Serena whispered.

“One day, when the Maclean clan is in its darkest moment, a witch will wed one Maclean son and lead the clan to peace while the other son will defend and die. Lachlan was born seven years before Keenan, so Papa and Ma had already decided it was Lachlan who would live by the time Keenan was born.” Elenor nodded. “He has always been told that his place in life is to protect his brother and to die so that his clan will know peace once more.”

“Does the prophecy specify a time?”

“Nay, just that the witch,” Elenor paused. “Well she has violet eyes,” she moved her hand toward Serena’s hair, “and red hair.” Elenor’s voice dropped. “We thought it would be shortly after the witch came.”

So Serena wasn’t only a burden because of her brother. She also heralded Keenan’s death.

They stared at one another and Elenor scooted around the table to sit next to Serena. “This burden, it hasn’t been easy for Keenan. Papa and Ma,” she sighed. “They didn’t seem like they wanted to get attached to Keenan because they kent that he was going to die.”

Serena couldn’t stop a tear from rolling down her cheek.

Elenor placed her hand over Serena’s. “I tried to love him enough for all of us,” she shook her head. “But it wasn’t from me that he needed acceptance.”

“What were the words exactly? Of the prophecy,” Serena asked.

This was ludicrous.

How could a whole clan treat one man like this, raising him to defend them, raising him to die for them? Keeping him at arm’s length, so they wouldn’t get attached. Anger boiled inside Serena.

Elenor nodded briskly and stood, pulling a leather-bound book from a shelf. Its cover was inlaid with a beautiful mosaic made with small polished stones. Serena knew very little of the Gaelic language. She pulled a glove off one hand and ran fingers over the aged page. Dread ran like ants up her arm, and she forced herself not to pull it back. She didn’t need to comprehend Gaelic to hear the words, read and thought by so many over the years, but Elenor translated out loud.

“
As the century passes to the next, strife with the English king boils over. Yer son’s son will join the revolt against the monarch but it will be his son that will carry it through to peace. To yer son’s son will be born two sons, handsome and brawn. When a witch of great power comes with hair ablazin’ like fire and violet in her eyes, she will wed the brother destined to bring yer clan to peace, a peace to take it into many centuries beyond. The other brother shall defend and die. So say I.”

Feelings of hope, worry, and desperate searching rose like waves from the book lying open on the wooden table. The words cut deeply into Serena as if she had read them all these years with all these people.

“Close the book, Elenor,” Serena said quietly. “Please.”

Elenor clapped the book shut and whisked it off the table. She sat down across from Serena and grabbed Serena’s bare hand.

Serena searched deeply into Elenor’s pleading eyes. “He’s already accepted his death,” Serena said, “but you don’t.”

Elenor gave a brief shake of her head. “Never have.”

“Why not?”

Elenor sat back, breaking the bond, but Serena already felt the great love between sister and brother.

“I love him, with all my heart, Serena. We are only one year apart. We grew up together, played together, and fought together. But I was treated much differently.” Elenor stood and walked as if inspecting some of the shelves. “Our mother doted on me and Lachlan, withholding nothing. But with Keenan, she was distant. Papa only praised Keenan in his training, so Keenan made sure that he was always the best. He practiced and trained until he couldn’t move. I’d convince Lachlan to help me drag him inside to bed.”

Elenor sat down again. “It’s not just that I felt pity for him, he wouldn’t allow that. His is a life of honor, of duty, and he has never complained.”

The anger that balled in Serena’s stomach tightened at the thought of Keenan as a small, unloved child. “And his parents ended up dying before him,” Serena said with a shake of her head.

“Aye and with my parents’ deaths, so went Keenan’s quest to win their love. He kind of gave up on it, probably well before they died. His great quest was to gain respect.”

“He wanted respect?”

“He grew from a child craving love which never came into a warrior that wanted respect, respect from his clan, from his men. And probably from Lachlan, too.”

“And what of Lachlan? Did he try to help?”

Elenor spoke carefully. “I love Lachlan too, as a sister must.” She lowered her voice. “But I have never respected someone who allows unfairness to preside without voicing fault.” Elenor kept her face even, but Serena felt the bitterness pour out of her. Serena nodded in understanding. “Let us get some fresh air,” Elenor said and rose.

The two stepped out into the bright sunlight. The wind skittered across the ground to run past the edge of Serena’s blue gown. She drew in a cleansing breath, filling her chest and pushing out the remnants of musty air. Her mind replayed the information about Keenan and Lachlan. What darkness dwelled inside Keenan to have been raised under such pressure?

“So Lachlan does not practice the art of battle as Keenan does?” Serena asked.

“No. He kens how to hold a sword, not how to swing one,” Elenor said as they walked around the edge of the stone wall far from anybody who might overhear.

“And he is the leader of your people?”

Elenor nodded. “Through title, aye, he is the chief, but it is to Keenan that the warriors look for leadership. It is Keenan who trained them, bled with them, healed with them. They swear fealty with words to Lachlan, but they swear fealty with their swords to Keenan.”

“Perhaps Lachlan’s strength lies in his cleverness?”

“Aye, my brother is smart, but he only carries on what my papa started. He doesn’t consider new ideas.”

Chiriklò dove down off the bailey wall to land on Serena’s shoulder as a group of Macleans escorted in a man and a boy. An image of a woman, her hands tied behind her back, left in the back of a dim cave, flashed from the mind of the bird into Serena’s.

“Chiriklò? Who is the woman I see in the cave?” Serena said to the bird and then turned to Elenor. “Who is that man, that boy?”

Keenan stood beside them, his hand resting on his sword as he spoke with the man. The boy stared at the steps under his feet. Every once in awhile, he nodded.

“I doona ken the man, but he wears a tartan with a weave unlike those around here. The boy looks familiar. There are several farmers and shepherds living on the other side of na beanntan,” Elenor said pointing to the mountains rising behind them.

Panic rolled along the thread that Serena focused on the boy. “His name is Jacob, and he’s terrified that man will kill his mother who lies bound in a cave nearby.”

Elenor gasped. “And the man?” Elenor asked.

Serena moved the fine invisible thread of telepathy from the boy, past Keenan who was still a void, to the man who now clasped Keenan’s hand and smiled.

Death, hate, vengeance.
It twisted into a fuming ball at the center of the man, behind his calm smile, behind the proper words of greeting and story of saving the lad. And it lay coiled to spring as soon as he had a clear shot at, at Lachlan.

“He wants to kill Lachlan.”

“Good Lord, and Keenan will try to get in the way,” Elenor said and broke into a run.

“I can help, Elenor, please slow down. Trust me,” Serena whispered. Elenor nodded and the two of them walked up the steps.

Serena went to the boy. “Hello, lad, this is Elenor, lady of the house. Why don’t you step back away from all these gruff looking warriors with her.”

“That lad is in my care. His mother was killed and I have brought him here to ask the Maclean of Kylkern for the warriors to avenge his mother’s death. Until then, he is under my protection.”

“Yes, Fergus Campbell, I know why you’ve come,” Serena said. “And I know the boy’s mother is alive and kept captive.”

“Ehh? I doona ken ye?” he sputtered and looked around him. “I’m no Campbell, I tell ye.”

Keenan looked back and forth between them, his eyes narrowing.

They stood in the growing wind at the top of the stone slab steps, before the giant double doors. Lachlan appeared in the doorway.

“I hear that this good man has saved an innocent child? Come inside and let us speak of this injustice,” Lachlan said and stepped out to face the man.

Serena carefully prodded at the Campbell’s mind, his plan of attack. He held two long bladed dirks tipped with poison. One sang of rage for Lachlan, the other tasted a necessary bloodletting for Keenan. He would strike Keenan first. Serena’s stomach twisted and her smile faltered.

I won’t let it happen.
Serena caught her toe on the edge of the step and tripped forward against the Campbell. Two seconds, could she but steal two seconds?

Her hand snaked under the plaid over the man’s shoulders. Careful to grab the handle and not the deadly blade, Serena pulled the dirk out and threw it down the steps.

“Beware,” she yelled, her eyes locking with the Campbell as she pushed away with all her senses. “The blade is coated with poison.” In a heartbeat, the monster pulled her up against his chest, his other blade pointed into her back as he jostled them over to the side of the outside alcove. Lachlan disappeared. The tip of Keenan’s sword stood balanced in the air mere inches from the Campbell’s throbbing jugular, just above Serena’s head.

“One move, Keenan Maclean, and this poisoned blade slides through her back,” he said. “It was meant for a man full-grown, so the poison is strong. She’ll die painfully before yer blade could reach me.”

“Who are ye?” Keenan asked, his voice solid as twelve-inch ice.

The man jostled Serena with him closer to the wall. The direct contact with such open panic and rage tore at her defenses. He smelled of hatred and fear verging on crazed viciousness. His foulness enveloped her body and her mind. Standing there locked in his arms, she could hardly feel or sense anything but him.

“I am Fergus Campbell, and I’m here to kill the chief that supports the Great Pretender, the Bonnie Prince.”

Serena knew all his motives, all his pain. She saw the death of Fergus’s mother by his abusive father. She witnessed the crippling of his sister, Jane, and the guilt he felt at having shoved her so hard that she fell in front of the charging horse. Serena saw it all. His twisted mind, given the seed of hatred and blame from Campbell rumblings, focused on a mission, to right his wrongs, to give his life meaning.