Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (26 page)

She shook her head. "I... made a solemn promise to Colin."

"Then that is what you must do," he murmured. "And what I must do is leave here. I thought I was made of rock... but not where you are concerned." She realized that what he mentioned went far beyond friendship, something deep, tender, and straight out of her dreams. Her heart pounded as she stared at him.

She wanted to reach out to him, but she felt ensnared in obligations. "If I... if I were to refuse Colin? What would you do then?" She was trapped by Colin, but she had to know the answer.

He gave her a quick, crooked smile and lifted her chin with his knuckle. "Come find me if you decide that, and then you will know," he said. He turned, opened the door, and slipped outside.

Eva leaned her palms against the closed door, rested her forehead on its grainy coolness, and moaned as she exhaled.

Chapter 18

Lachlann beat out a fast rhythm, his hammer striking molten iron. Sparks sprayed over his leather gauntlets and apron, and a few stung his forearms, but he shook them off, hardly feeling the burn. Welding shut a link in the chain, he began another, bending the amber-bright metal with a fierce turn of the tongs, threading the new loop into the last link, closing the open ends with a slam of the hammer, spitting sparks.

While he worked, he remembered the sight of Eva with Jehanne's sword in her hands. And he felt again the warmth and deliciousness of Eva in his arms. She had uncommon grace and certain magic, and each day he felt more compelled to be with her. He knew now that he could not stay at Balnagovan if he could not have her.

Turning to heat another piece of iron, watching it transform to solid light, he was aware of the burn within him, body and soul, for Eva. Her nature was like his own, fiery and strong. What existed between them was full of sparks, blaze, and enduring warmth—or could be, if given freedom and nurtured.

Pounding out another link in the chain, he realized that he was glad she had discovered Jehanne's sword, for only she could understand what the sword meant to him. He had loved Jehanne chastely, with the respect of a brother and comrade, or as a man might love an angel walking upon the earth.

His feelings for Eva were deep and fervent, ever increasing, part of the intricate layers of his soul. He sensed her compassion, part of what he loved most about her. But she did not know the darkest part of the tale: that he had failed the angel who had been entrusted into his care.

Slamming the hammer with force and fury, he built the chain, cleaving hot iron, molding it to his will. His memory conjured another heavy black chain, manacled to a slight, stubborn, remarkable girl. He could do nothing for Jehanne now but honor her request and remake her sword.

To finally heal himself, he knew that he must somehow claim his long-cherished dreams. Swordsmithing might prove impossible for him; and his yearning for Eva was a precious dream that seemed so close suddenly, yet still so far beyond his reach.

Soon the chain was complete, its length dunked in water to cool it, the links oiled to a black sheen. Dripping with sweat, Lachlann wiped his smudged arm over his brow and took up the twig brush to scatter the embers and let them burn down.

Opening the smithy door, he savored the cold nip of the wind on his slick skin. Thirsting, he dipped a ladle into a tub of water beside the doorstep, and swallowed. The sky had already darkened to twilight, the day passing faster than he had been aware while he worked at forge and anvil.

He looked across the meadow at the house. The windows were shuttered against the wind, and pale smoke drifted from the chimney. He glanced down when his toe struck a cloth bundle on the stone step. Inside the packet were oatcakes, a thick slab of cheese, and a cooked apple, still warm and savory with spices. A covered jug sat on the step, too, its belly frosted.

Nodding silent thanks toward the house, he took the food and went back inside.

The following morning, after a brave dip in the cold water of the loch to refresh himself and cleanse away the grime of his work, he smithed iron throughout the day, then deep into the night. He repaired the harnesses from the stables, forged a fire grate for the house's hearth, and created sturdy ladles and small, sharp iron knives for both Eva and Margaret.

Eva did not come to the smithy that day, although he hoped she would. When he went to the house later to set the new fire grate into place, she was not there. He ate alone, murmuring to the adoring dogs, and fed Grainne two oatcakes, for she was greedy. He wished Eva had been there to scold him for it.

Returning to the smithy, he shut himself up with his work, with heat, sweat, and the incessant ringing of the hammer. The steady sound and the constant demands on his attention helped to block his troubling thoughts and emotions, and the intense heat and hard work helped drive out his frustrations.

Exhaustion dragged at him as he worked deep into the night. Hammering, he felt strangely as if he beat upon some inner level, transforming his own will, remaking his own future.

If only it were so simple,
he told himself, and he worked like a demon at the forge, hot and fast and half wild with the urge to do as much as he could, no matter the late hour. His vision blurred, and the odd lights spun when he blinked—but it was glowing red iron that he forged, simple and straightforward in its color changes, not fine steel, and so he continued.

When the knock came at the door, it was so quiet at first that he scarcely heard it. It sounded again, and he went to the door, hoping to find Eva.

She was there, her eyes wide, her face pale, and she was not alone. A young Highlander stood with her, in a dirty plaid, hair braided and unkempt, his handsome face remarkably similar to Eva's despite the scruff of whiskers. His eyes were weary and shadowed with care for a man so young. Lachlann stared at them for a moment, then stood back to let them into the warm smithy.

"Simon," he said. "Welcome."

"Lachlann," Simon said, grasping his hand. "It has been a long while. I trust you are well."

"Well enough," Lachlann said, and glanced at Eva, who stood a little apart, as if she were only the escort and not a principal—although Lachlann was sure she was as invested in the MacArthur rebellion as her kinsmen were. "I am glad you decided to see me after all. I have a message for you."

"A letter from the king, but we know what he wants. He means to threaten us with fire and sword."

Lachlann sighed and rubbed at his neck, where the muscles stung with fatigue. "You know what Colin's messenger told Robson, but you need to read the official word."

"What do the details matter? Even if deathly threats are sent out, we cannot run like cowards. We are fighting for our lands, our name—our very existence." Even in the muted red light of the smithy, Lachlann could see that a few years, and a good measure of strife and responsibility, had matured Eva's younger brother into a hard-edged man. This was not the impulsive youth he remembered.

"Simon, I know you questioned my loyalty when you heard my mission. But you have known me a long while. I have changed no more than you have." He felt Eva's steady gaze upon him, but did not look at her. "I understand your cause, but I hope you will see the wisdom of obeying the laws of the land."

"The laws of the land took our father, our properties, and disbanded us for no good reason—except that our father was one of the chiefs who disagreed with the king's plan."

"No matter the past, you must cease your raids now."

"You did not need to search us out to tell us that. The patrols in the hills make that clear." Simon smiled, bitter and tight. "I came here hoping to appeal to old friendship, to persuade you to join us."

"Simon, listen to him," Eva said quietly. "Let him tell you the king's message." Her brother frowned, but nodded.

Lachlann sighed, began. "Not only will the king send fire and sword, but if you do not stop your attempts to regain your lands, Donal will be executed."

"Jesu," Simon said. "Would the king do such a thing, after taking our father?"

"He would, if given cause," Lachlann replied.

"I hoped Colin would—" Eva stepped forward. "Lachlann, is there mention of a pardon in the king's missive?"

"Not to my knowledge, but I have not read the letter myself. It is still sealed. But I know that if MacArthur raids continue past the delivery of this message, Donal's death is guaranteed—that could stay in force regardless of a pardon. Once you are informed, Simon, you become responsible for the outcome, according to the writ. Look at it for yourself."

Crossing the room to fetch his cloak, Lachlann withdrew a folded, ribboned packet from a pocket in the satin lining and returned to hand it to Simon, who tore it open.

Simon scanned the page. "It is true."

"When I heard in Perth about your raids, I offered to carry a message to you, and the king's advisors thought it a good idea. I hoped to negotiate with you, and gain you some time. The king was ready to send troops out then, but he agreed to wait."

"This is a clear threat," Simon said. "Once fire and sword are initiated, King James will not give up until every MacArthur outlaw is caught and hung."

Eva gasped. "But Colin petitioned for a pardon!"

"Apparently without success," Lachlann said brusquely.

"If more troops arrive here, and MacArthurs still run raids, you will all be captured sooner or later."

"We need weapons, not warnings," Simon said. "And we need more men with us. You are a fine soldier, one of the king's best. My cousins said you were in the elite guard in France. You were always one of us before, and you have the skill to arm us. We must know if you are with us now."

"You have my sympathy, but I will not lend you my skill. I lack the materials to arm you, even if I agreed to it. Steel needs charcoal and good wrought iron, and those are expensive."

"We can get whatever you need. We have our means," Simon said. "Campbells and Stewarts have cattle, and so we have our means. We make good coin selling their livestock in the Border markets." Simon smiled tightly, without humor but with pride. Lachlann saw Eva scowl, and noted the difference of opinion between the siblings on that matter—and, he surmised, other matters as well. The tension between Eva and Simon seemed clear.

"That sort of cleverness will win you a noose," Lachlann said. "I have conveyed the warning. There is little I can do if you will not heed it."

"There is something you can do. We need swords, dirks, and axe heads," Simon said stubbornly.

"I will not supply a rebellion." Could not, Lachlann thought. His abilities were compromised, but Simon and Eva—he could see the hope in her eyes as she listened—both had faith in his bladesmithing skills.

"We need weapons for survival as well as rebellion," Simon said fiercely. "Our possessions were forfeited when we were put out of our homes after my father's death. We have scarcely anything now but what we steal from the Campbells and Stewarts who hold our lands."

"And so you should be careful, for Colin said he would seek to gain our clan a pardon," Eva said. "Surely there is some reference to that in the king's letter." She reached out a hand.

"Colin's name is there, I saw it," Simon said. "You read far better than I. Here." He handed her the page. "She thinks to save us all," he muttered to Lachlann, as Eva perused the parchment. "I have cautioned her not to risk herself for us."

"And if Campbell does not meet his promise?" Lachlann asked quickly. "If he can—or will—do nothing?"

"Then I would be glad to be quit of the betrothal," Eva answered fiercely, glancing up from reading, her gaze meeting Lachlann's steadily for a moment, her eyes keen with determination. He nodded and felt hope glimmer again.

"Then your marriage hangs upon a thread," he said.

"I wish it would snap," Simon commented. "But Eva intends to save Donal and the rest of us—as if we cannot save ourselves, and she must lay herself upon the heading block for us." Hurt and obstinacy flashed in his blue-green eyes.

Aware of the loyalty and love among the three MacArthur siblings, Lachlann felt the discord between these two now. Their distress was heightened by the uncertain fate of their elder brother, yet both were proud and stubborn.

Eva read on, her brow furrowed, lips moving slightly, her concentration total. "Here," she murmured. "'Regarding the matter and request of Colin Campbell...'" Her voice faded.