Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (41 page)

Eva stood beside him, watching the steel, which had yet to turn the straw yellow color that preceded brown. Her thoughts were preoccupied with Colin and the harm he could cause all of them. She looked up at Lachlann, not following what he had said.

He frowned. "You are exhausted. I can finish this."

She shook her head. "I will help. You are nearly done. And then we must both rest."

"Go up to the house," he said quietly, shifting the blade in the flames, "and lock yourself inside."

"Only with you," she answered, and leaned her head wearily against his solid upper arm. "I am not afraid of Colin Campbell. He will have such a headache and bad stomach that he will threaten no one for a while." She tried to laugh, but it flattened. "I am worried about my kinsmen, though. They did not come back—I did not expect them to—but with Colin so set on finding them, I cannot rest well until I know where they are. Something is wrong—I feel it."

Lachlann frowned as he waved the sword blade over the flames. "I will go out soon, and find out what I can."

She nodded. "Oh! It is brown—now, take it out now."

He did, and plunged it into the heated brine, then pulled it out to examine it. "Nearly done," he said. "For the final tempering, it is left inside the charcoal bed while the embers burn down around it."

"And then it is finished?" she asked.

"It must be polished and the hilt pieces added," he said, "and then it is... nearly done." He slid the supple blade into the long bed of embers. "Now let me see what I can learn about your brother." He kissed her and left the smithy.

Eva turned to the forge bed and watched the hot red glow seep into Jehanne's restored sword. Flames licked around it, and the heat seared her face and hands. She stepped back from the intense warmth.

"He loved and respected you very much," she said to herself, to the sword, as if the girl who had once wielded it could hear her. "Thank you for sending him home safe to me."

She went to the heather bed in the corner and lay down upon it, suddenly so weary she could hardly keep her eyes open, could hardly pull the plaid around her for comfort. Within moments, sleep took her into its gentle darkness.

When she woke, the forge fire was a tiny red glow. Lachlann was not beside her, and Eva rose, still weary but filled with a heavy dread that would not allow her to sleep. She went to the door and opened it.

The night was black and cool and foggy, peaceful at first, until she heard the murmur of men's voices far below on the lochside. She went outside, walking toward the long bank, and stood listening, wrapping her arms around herself in the chill.

The voices grew more distinct, though still not loud, and she recognized Lachlann's and Alpin's voices with others. She hurried to the crest of the hill as they climbed upward. In the inky, misted darkness, she did not see them until they were a few feet from her.

"Who is there?" she asked. "Has something happened? Oh, Fergus, it is you! And Micheil! I was so worried." She reached out to touch her cousins' shoulders. Their faces, even in the darkness, were pale and grim. Alpin stepped closer, his hand to his head. A dark streak on his face, she realized then, was blood.

"What happened?" she cried.

"Eva," Lachlann said, taking her arm. "Simon was taken a little while ago. Colin has him. Fergus and the others were with him, and Colin's men rode them down. Simon was the only one taken—the others were left here."

"Is he at Strathlan? We will go there." She turned, but Lachlann held her back.

"He is at Innisfarna. Colin took him there not long ago."

Her heart dropped like a stone. "Held in the castle?"

"They took my boat," Alpin said. "I came over the water in the darkness because I thought the lads called to me. But when I got there, it was not the lads, but Colin and his men. Colin was so stupid drunk he could barely stand—and a mean drunk he is, too. Hit me so hard with the flat of his sword I thought I might die, right down there, on that beach." He kept his hand over his head. "I heard Green Colin say they would cage a wolf pup, and see if the she-wolf would come to them," he said. "He expects you to come over to Innisfarna."

"And so we shall," Lachlann said.

Eva took Alpin's arm. "Come up to the house and I will get some of Mairi's ointment, and a cool cloth," she said. "Then you must rest."

"And you must ready yourself, Aeife," Alpin answered. "It is time. Save your brother—and your isle. I have trained you for this. All you need do is face them, as the legend demands, and let us do the rest. Lachlann and the lads will gather a force from all over the hills, from every house and every cave, every man and every woman willing to bear arms for this cause. Together we will take back the island.

But you must be the one to set foot first upon the isle and call for its surrender."

She said nothing as they walked toward the house. She knew, in her heart, that he was right. The time had indeed come.

And she also knew that she must face Colin alone.

Chapter 29

"Lachlann, I must ask you something," Eva murmured.

"Ask." He glanced up from his task, the polishing of the sword with various sands, coarse to fine, rubbed on with tough pieces of leather. Even in the dimness of the smithy, the blue of his eyes had a unique, startling clarity.

The day grayed toward night; Eva had spent most of that time tending to Alpin, a surly patient, and speaking with her cousins, who came and went in their effort to spread the word around the glens and hills that the leader of the rebellion had been taken, and would be rescued somehow, along with the island. She knew the men spoke with Lachlann as well, and she had seen Angus come and go with the others.

But she had seen little of Lachlann until now, and a peaceful hour with him in the smithy seemed like a gift.

She saw that the sword was nearly finished. The hilt pieces were fitted in place, and Lachlann had chased lily designs into the blade, filling them with gold scraped from the old sword. He had repeatedly polished and sharpened the blade. The result, delicate and powerful and shining in his hands, was magnificent.

"Ask," he repeated. "You have been deep in thought. Eva, we will help Simon somehow. What is it?"

She drew a breath. "Would you make a faery sword for me?"

His brows pulled together. "I would do anything for you," he murmured. "But not that. MacKerron faery blades are a legend, just as Aeife and her Sword of Light are legendary."

She watched the mirrored surface of the blade. "That looks like a Sword of Light to me."

He lifted the blade. "The old ones, when they discovered the trick of turning iron into steel, called the new blades swords of light, for the mirror shine. That is all a sword of light is—a steel sword." The blade seemed to release sunbursts as he turned it in the gloom.

"Do you not see the magic in that blade?" she asked.

He frowned, and she sensed his natural guard sliding into place like a gate. "Whatever makes this sword special does not come from me, but from its first owner."

"You are a MacKerron smith, and you have talent and knowledge. There is something extraordinary about that sword. And your knack is in it. What if faery magic does exist?"

"If you want a sword of light, there is one in the loch. Surely you have some family secret for calling that thing out of the water when you need it."

She felt the sting of his words. "That is not helpful, and you know it. I need a special blade, and you can make one for me."

He narrowed his eyes as he rubbed the leather over the blade. "There is no real magic in my smithing, Eva."

"But Colin believes there is. He might release Simon and give up the isle without protest if he knew I had such a sword."

"He is no fool when he is sober. We will rescue Simon through stealth and force—not through a girl with a sword. Iain Og and the rest of us are planning it now. Have patience."

"I cannot ignore the legend, Lachlann. Do you not believe in faery magic at all?"

"Some," he murmured, watching her. "But not in this."

She frowned. "But you do know the methods."

"There are secrets passed among MacKerron smiths, ways to imbue a blade with uncommon power. Or so they say."

"What methods?" she asked. Then, suddenly, she knew. "Ah. Blood in the steel. White sand gathered under a new moon. Iron from a sky stone... Is it so?"

He looked at her evenly, but she saw a glimmer in his eyes. "Charcoal made from trees taken from faery hills," he said. "Fire made from need-fire. Water from a faery source—"

"From Loch Fhionn, which holds the Sword of Light," she said, as excitement bloomed in her. "You used the old methods in making this sword—and never told me!"

"Smiths like their secrets." He turned the blade in his hand. "But you figured out most of it, quick wit that you are. Air, earth, fire, water—all those elements went into this blade, for what it may be worth." He shrugged.

"There is one more element, more powerful than faery lore," she said. "Love forged this blade. You and I together."

He smiled then, crooked and warm, and the light in his eyes revealed his agreement. Her heart surged within her, and she gathered the courage to speak her thoughts. "You could lend that blade to me," she said, "for one day's use."

He began to polish the steel again, and did not answer for a few moments. "I am proud that you are so skilled with swording," he said. "But I cannot put a sword in your hand myself, and watch you go into battle. I have seen that before, and I do not want to see it again."

She understood immediately. "Jehanne was a true sword maiden. I would be too, just for one day, one cause."

"Eva, can you not understand? I cannot lose you." His voice was gruff with intensity.

She moved toward him. "I ask only for a ceremonial sword. I will not place myself in danger. Colin would not hurt me, but my appearance as Aeife's descendant armed with a sword of light—a faery blade—might convince him to release my brother and give up his cause."

"Listen to me." He took her by the shoulders, his grip vehement. "I will say it again. I will not risk losing you."

She searched his gaze. "I am not like Jehanne."

"More than you know, my friend." He gathered her into his arms. "More than you could know."

"If I share anything with her, it is love for you, my friend," she whispered. "And you are the only one who can help me now. The sword is finished. Lend it to me, if you will."

He sighed into her hair, and she heard his surrender and his agreement. "It is not finished yet," he said. "There is one final step. Gather your plaid and come with me."

* * *

In the stillness of the hour before dawn, Lachlann woke and looked around. The hillside where they lay was close to the rocky gorge, and he heard the steady rush of the waterfall. He lay wrapped and comfortable in a thick plaid with Eva, who slept soft and quiet in his arms. Last night, they had climbed the long hillside behind Balnagovan to sleep, fasting and chaste, with the sword sheathed between them.

He woke her with a hand to her shoulder. In silence she sat up beside him, and he kissed her. Then he rose, bringing her to her feet, and took up the sword while she took up the plaid. They walked to the nearby burn and washed their faces, refreshed themselves, and Eva turned.

"Now?" she whispered.

"Nearly," he answered, and took her hand to climb to the top of the peak. Once there, he slid the sword from its leather scabbard and turned toward the east, with Eva by his side.

He held the sword upright, blade tip high, and began to breathe deeply, as Finlay and Leod had told him, as his father would have taught him had he lived. He breathed in the cool mountain air, the air of silence and purity and peace, seven times. Then he turned the hilt of the sword and breathed into it and over it, filling the sword with his own life force..

The sun began to crest the mountains far across the loch, far across the world. He held the sword in front of him, point upward, hands joined on the hilt, and waited. Eva stood beside him, patient and silent.

Dawn bloomed golden, spinning out the first strand of light. The sword blade captured it, mirrored it, and sent it outward in a blaze of gold and bronze and silver, intangible, ethereal fire.