The Inscription (13 page)

The clouds parted revealing the moon in its first quarter. Nearly two weeks had passed since he had pulled Amber from Loch Ness. Words of the legend whispered to him…
But the waters will reclaim her once again, if, after the passage of one full moon, the immortal she was sent to heal accepts not the power of eternal love
. The legend was a reality. He could no longer deny it On his return to Urquhart he must discover the mystery behind the stolen vial and the purpose behind its disappearance. He must also decide if he had the courage to let Amber into his heart.

He paused when he reached the camp. One man lay on the ground in a pool of blood, the other, as yet unaware of Lachlan’s presence, stood near die fire. He recognized Bartholomew in the firelight. The schoolmaster bent down and started searching through a traveler’s pack.

Lachlan edged closer. He would not underestimate Bartholomew. The tutor lacked honor to have behaved as he had, and men, such as he, were not bound by the same code. The sword belonging to the man on the ground was still in its scabbard. If there had been a fight, the blade would have been drawn. Further, the sound of metal striking metal would have carried on the wind. He felt certain the man had been attacked in his sleep. Lachlan clenched his fist. He had given the schoolmaster more chances than he had given any man. This would be the last.

He stepped out into the clearing. “Have you added murder and thievery to your list of offenses?”

Bartholomew swung around. He dropped the bag of coins and drew his sword. “Ah, so you have come to fetch me. The trip is wasted. As for that,” Bartholomew nodded toward the man on the ground, “he attacked me. I defended myself.”

“The lies come easily. ‘Tis clear he never drew his sword. And now you steal from him as well.”

Bartholomew shrugged insolently. “A dead man has no need of coin.”

Lachlan noted the change in his demeanor. This man was different from the one who had sought the position as Gavin’s tutor. He was aware that he was seeing the man’s true character.

“ ‘Tis a poor choice Molly made in you.” Lachlan circled around him.

“I shall wager the MacAlpin skill with a blade is like the Highland mist, no substance for all its reputation.” He lunged at Lachlan. “I’ll not return to Inverness.”

Lachlan stepped back, drew his sword smoothly, and blocked Bartholomew’s attack. “Aye, that you will.”

The moonlight glittered off forged steel as blade made contact with claymore The ring of metal echoed over the hills. Lachlan forced himself to remember his purpose. It would be an easy task to drive his blade through Bartholomew’s heart, but he had vowed to return the tutor to Molly. Lachlan drove Bartholomew toward the mare with a series of controlled parries. The horse, alarmed by the sound and movement, pulled on her tether and sidestepped out of the way.

Lachlan saw fear in the schoolmaster’s eyes and beads of perspiration form on his brow. Now was the moment to strike. The force of his attack knocked Bartholomew’s sword out of his hand. It clattered to the ground.

“I care not the condition you be in when we return to Urquhart, but for Molly’s sake I will bring you back alive. She carries your child.”

Bartholomew’s voice faltered. “I’ll not be tied to a woman’s skirts, my bones rotting on Scottish soil. As for the child, I care not. And take warning, I have friends who will not look favorably on my ill-treatment”

Lachlan sheathed his sword. “Talk with you is wasted. Your threats hold little substance.” He doubled his fist and hit Bartholomew in the jaw. A bone cracked and blood spurted from the tutor’s mouth. He stumbled against the mare and grabbed at her mane before crumbling to the ground.

Lachlan checked that the tutor still lived. Better Molly be alone than take Bartholomew as husband. He had promised to bring the father of her child back to Urquhart and then he would be tried for his crimes.

Stars filtered through the clouds and the moon cast a white glow over the Highlands. Lachlan stepped over Bartholomew to look at the man on the ground. The man rested on his elbow and stared back at him.

A cough racked the man and he doubled over and winced, putting his hand on his stomach. His shirt was soaked with blood. “The name is O'Donnell.”

Lachlan leaned over and helped the man to his feet. There could be only one explanation why the man was still alive, after spilling enough blood to drain Angus himself. He would have more than the legend to discuss with Marcail, on his return.

The first light of dawn began to edge over the horizon in the still morning. Amber rubbed her eyes and sank down beside the shore of the River Ness. She dipped her hand in the water and splashed it over her face, then lay back on the damp grass. She’d never been this tired before. A twig snapped. Whoever was coming would have to walk over her because she wasn’t moving. She felt, rather than saw, someone kneel down beside her and opened her eyes. It was Lachlan.

“ ‘Tis a heavy burden you bear this day.” Even in the gray morning light she saw the sadness in the lines on his face. So he knew about Molly. Her voice trembled. “There was nothing I could do. They just died. I should have been able to do something.”

“Marcail has performed the duties of midwife and said if the mother lacked the will to live, she would not survive childbirth. Molly had given up long before she took the herbs that would rid her body of the child.”

She felt the burning tears in her throat. “Why?” He lay beside her and cradled her against his chest. His voice was little more than a whisper in her ear. “The father of her babe would not recognize his responsibilities. Raising a wee lass or laddie without the blessing of marriage would have condemned the child to a lifetime of ridicule and shame. She took the only course she felt was left open to her.“

The warmth of his arms quieted her trembling, but not her tears. “I saw the baby, Lachlan. He was so small.”

Lachlan turned her face toward him. His fingers were gentle as he wiped tears from her eyes. “I should have been there with you, instead of looking for Bartholomew.”

Amber touched the side of his face. It hurt him to see others in pain, although he ignored his own. She tried to keep die tears out of her voice. “What you did was more important.”

“Your act of kindness required courage.”

She shook her head slowly. “What I did wasn’t courageous. It was something I had to do. I’ve spent my life running away from becoming too involved in other people’s lives, or getting too close. I can’t run away anymore. I don’t want to.”

“You judge yourself harshly. It takes time to know ourselves and determine the type of person we wish to become.”

The crisp notes of a fiddle broke through the quiet dawn. It came from the direction of the house where Molly and her baby had died. Amber sat up.

He brushed her hair away from her forehead. “Molly’s family and friends have come to watch over her and the child until the burial. There will be dancing, weeping, and singing until the sun goes down over the Highlands.” He stood, reached for her hand, and kissed her fingertips. “Come, it is time we returned to Urquhart. There are clothes Elaenor purchased for you at the tavern if you wish to be rid of the gown.”

She looked down at her stained dress. Her hands shook. The blood of Molly and her baby were a deep red against the fabric. The reality of their death threatened to smother her.

“My dress… their blood is on my dress. It’s… ruined. Ifs all ruined.” Tears spilled down her face and sobs racked her body.

“I shall have a dozen gowns ordered to replace this one.”

His body was warm and comforting and his words meant to soothe her, but he didn’t understand.

“I don’t care about the dress. It can be replaced. But not Molly, not her baby.” She looked at him and searched for a sign that he understood what she was feeling. Amber saw concern in his eyes, and perhaps love, but he didn’t understand her sense of loss. The realization hit her as if it were a physical blow.

Lachlan’s clansmen were riding a short distance behind them as they approached the entrance to Urquhart. Together they rode through the massive wooden gate. He’d not spoken to Amber on their journey from Inverness. For the first time she realized what her aunt had meant when she’d said conversation was not important, it was what was left unsaid that held the substance.

Urquhart, shrouded in a mist, had a surreal white glow. It was as though all the ghosts of the past had merged together and blanketed the castle. The image of Molly as she lay dying and her stillborn baby had occupied Amber’s thoughts on the journey from Inverness. She prayed that the young girl and her child had found peace.

Amber was startled by a sudden crashing noise.

Near the main entrance a half-dozen wagons stood, overflowing with furniture, rolled tapestries, and leather-bound chests. What looked to be the frame of a bed lay in a pile of twisted wood on the ground. Servants dressed in short tunics and pants in shades of greens and browns crowded around the broken pieces. A slender man stood before them. He was wearing light-colored hose, gold ruffled pants that only reached the tops of his thighs and a wide-shouldered royal blue satin short jacket with lace at the collar and sleeves. To Amber he resembled a peacock in a covey of mud hens.

Lachlan turned in his saddle to face her. “Theseus has arrived. I fear he has brought the entire contents of his castle and all his servants as well.”

“Who’s Theseus?”

“A guest.”

Amber smiled to herself. Well, so much for asking a direct question and receiving the bare minimum in return. She took a closer look, remembering that the tour guide at Leeds Castle had mentioned that King Henry the VUL along with others of the nobility, might often bring furniture with them when they traveled. She hadn’t taken the guide literally, thinking that history, in the retelling, had been exaggerated. Judging by the confusion in the courtyard, the guide had been right.

Lachlan reined in his horse, dismounted and motioned for the others in their party to do the same. At his command, men ran to hold their mounts and Angus joined him in whispered conversation.

MacDougal barked excitedly at the newcomers. From Amber’s vantage point on her horse, she saw the wolfhound race for the back entrance of the kitchen followed closely by Gavin and Elaenor. She stretched her tired muscles and watched the two young people disappear into the castle. She looked over at Lachlan and Angus. They were engrossed in a discussion that involved a lot of grunting and head nodding. From the serious expressions on their faces, she was just as glad she couldn’t hear what was being said.

The shouts of the attending men competed with the sound of squawking chickens in the yard as, one by one, the horses were led to the stable. The sound of a voice filled with terror caused her to look over her shoulder. Bartholomew. A chill ran through her. His hands were tied behind his back, and he stood next to Angus. Beside the schoolmaster was a body slumped over a black horse. She shuddered. More death. A gray cloud, on its path across the sun, darkened the sky. Amber’s hands trembled and she grabbed the saddle horn to still them.

“The ground at Urquhart is harder than the sweet grass near Inverness. Let me assist you, lest you fall again.” Lachlan was standing next to her horse with his arms outstretched. His voice was low.

Amber reached out and let him help her down. She held onto his arm and realized she didn’t want to let go.

“I’d forgotten about Bartholomew. What are you going to do with him?”

Lachlan looked over at the schoolmaster. “The man will be tried for his crimes.”

Amber followed his gaze. Two of Lachlan’s men carried a body on a makeshift stretcher. She shuddered. She’d been so tired when they had started their journey from Inverness she hadn’t paid any attention to who was riding with them. “Who killed that man? Was it Bartholomew?”

“O’Donnell still lives, although Bartholomew did attempt to murder and then rob him in his sleep.” Lachlan put his hand over hers and his eyes darkened. “The schoolmaster will have much to answer for when he is tried.”

Remembering Molly, she felt a tightness in her throat. The woman had loved Bartholomew. She’d said so with her dying breath. Her feelings for the schoolmaster had been so intense and absorbing that Molly hadn’t seen, or had not wanted to see, that he’d never keep the promises he made. Blinded by his education and his station, the young woman had not been able to tell reality from fantasy. Amber didn’t want the kind of blinding love that only allowed you to see the outer shell of the person, instead of what was in their heart.

Pushing the troubling thoughts from her mind, she played the hours she spent with Molly through her head like the fast-forward button on her VCR. There must have been something she could have done to save her. Grizel had said she’d suspected the girl had taken pennyroyal to abort the child. Amber admitted she knew next to nothing about childbirth, but Molly was almost to term. The baby should have had a chance. She remembered Grizel being a little surprised that the child was born dead. The pennyroyal may well have been laced with poison. MacDougal, the wolfhound, barked, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

Lachlan tightened his grip on her hand. “What troubles you lass? Your thoughts are far away.”

“I was just thinking about Molly. What will you do with Bartholomew?”

The muscles in Lachlan’s face tightened. “He will be held in the dungeon until the judgment. I have decided the trial will be long in coming. Bartholomew needs time to realize the weight of what he has done.“

Amber remembered holding the lifeless baby in her arms and the look of despair in Molly’s face before she died. This was one time when she was not going to interfere. She watched the limp figure of O’Donnell being carried to the entrance of the Great Hall. Bloodstains covered his shirt and contrasted vividly with the almost blue white of his skin. Her legs did not feel as though they had the strength to hold her upright. The violence of this century was one thing the historians had depicted very accurately. Bartholomew may not have killed O’Donnell outright, but she doubted he’d survive long. She didn’t remember seeing any bandages to stop the bleeding. What the man needed was the emergency ward at a hospital, but he’d probably get leeches. She had failed Molly. Could she do any better with O’Donnell?