The Inscription (14 page)

She nodded in the direction they had carried the man on the stretcher. “Lachlan, where are they taking him?”

“There is life in him still. I shall have Marcail see to him. Two days and he will be fully recovered.”

Amber watched the torches being lit on the inner walls of the castle. The flames tried feebly to burn through the mist-encased courtyard. “He appears more dead than alive. You think it will take him only two days to recover?”

“Aye.”

Conversation with Lachlan was at times very frustrating. She had the feeling that he only told her what he wanted her to know. Nothing more, nothing less. And what she wanted to know was how he could predict exactly how long it would take for a critically injured man to recover.

He motioned abruptly to Angus and the men surrounding Bartholomew. “Take him away. I shall see to him later.”

The schoolmaster struggled against those who began to drag him forward. As he passed where she stood in shocked silence, a look of unmasked hatred was evident in his eyes.

Lachlan’s voice was low and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. “Enjoy well the freedom in the cell you share with the rats. It will be the last comfort you shall have. After you are judged, you will deal with me.”

The fight drained away from Bartholomew as he was dragged to the dungeon by two of Lachlan’s men.

Gavin provided a welcome interruption. “Lachlan.” The boy raced into the courtyard, yanked on his brother’s tartan and whispered something in his ear.

“Aye, I will go to our mother at once.” Lachlan turned toward Amber. “Lady Diedra requests that I speak with her. There are arrangements to be made for the Council members who have arrived in my absence. Angus shall escort you to your rooms.”

He covered the distance to the Great Hall with long hurried strides, leaving Amber in the midst of shouting men, barking dogs, restless horses, and dozens of strangers. Everyone appeared to have somewhere to go, or some duty to perform. Except for her.
Well
, she could at least check on the man named O’Donnell. It would give her a focus. She needed something to keep her mind from dwelling on Molly and her baby.

Angus appeared at her side, waiting patiently to fulfill his duty to Lachlan. She’d known dogs that weren’t this loyal. Clearly, there was no way she could take a step without the big man on her heels, but then, she doubted he would mind if she wanted to volunteer to help an injured man.

“I’d like to see what I could do to help O’Donnell.”

Angus frowned slightly. “Nay, lass, ‘tis not a task the laird would wish you to perform.”

“And why not? Didn’t Lachlan say I should be given as much freedom as Marcail or Elaenor? We’re betrothed after all, and I think I should be allowed to check on an injured man if I want to.”

A hint of a smile crossed Angus’ mouth. She knew she was no more betrothed to Lachlan than Angus was, but the entire population of the castle had bought the story. If she were a betting person, she’d wager than Angus was only going along with the fairy tale because of Lachlan.

“Well then, lass, since you are intent on this course, be warned, it will not be a pleasant sight.” Angus pointed in the direction Lachlan’s men had taken the stretcher.

Amber reached up, kissed him on the cheek, gathered her skirts, and headed in the direction Angus indicated. She could hear him tsk, tsking behind her. Okay, so maybe she should have just said thank you, and left it at that. She’d have to remember next time that this century was so formal it made Jane Austen’s era look like Sodom and Gomorrah.

Lady Diedra ordered candles to be kept lit both day and night and their light spilled into the hallway as Lachlan entered. These surroundings were all too familiar. The walls and bedcoverings were draped in red silk. A framed portrait of his mother and shields of varying sizes and shapes glimmered over the mantel. His mother stood across the room from the crackling fire by the window that looked out onto the sunlit waters of the loch.

Her hair, gray as the clouds over the Highlands before a heavy rain, hung past her waist. She wore a white velvet tunic over a linen shift. Celtic symbols and letters were sewn on the hem and sleeves with gold thread. In the six years since her husband and children’s death at the hands of Subedei, this was the only style of garment she would wear.

He remembered her words the day she had first shown it to him. “
I
wore this very gown when I was wed to your father and drank the Elixir of Life. It will be what I wear when I die.”

Lachlan felt as if his legs were somehow rooted to die floor, like an ancient tree, free only to observe, but never to take part in the events that swirled around him. He was helpless to change what he knew was happening. His mother longed for death to take her.

It was the custom of his race, once the Council of Seven granted approval for a couple to marry, that they would drink the elixir that reversed their immortality. Within two to three years the sterility was reversed. It was expected that seven children would be born in remembrance of the seven original families who had escaped after their island home was destroyed. Some felt the loss of their immortality was too high a price to pay for the gift of being able to have children. It had not been so for his parents. At least, there was a time he believed this to be true. They would begin to age, but, it was at a slower rate than mortals. It was not unusual to be able to live another one hundred to one hundred and fifty years after taking the elixir.

However, after the deaths in his family his mother had aged more rapidly. Her stare held the vacant air of one who had already left this world for another. He felt the old anger rise to the surface. Lachlan had not been there to protect them. He closed his eyes to try and quiet the self-accusations.

The warmth of the chamber was suffocating. He shifted his weight and waited for his mother to acknowledge his presence as memories drifted back to him. Although she had been vibrant and full of energy when he was a lad, and had followed his father on the battlefield wielding her own sword, his childhood was little different from Gavin’s. His parents, like many others of his race, left their children to raise themselves.

He joined her at the narrow window. It was believed that the only way a child learned was from the harsh methods used by tutors such as Bartholomew. He thought of Amber reading aloud to Gavin, and of her befriending Elaenor. She used a gentle touch and Gavin had blossomed under her care. Elaenor, too, had emerged from the shadows that held her in the grip of sadness. Amber had shown him that, indeed, change was possible.

His mother turned and stared at him, as -though realizing for the first time that he was beside her. Her eyes were lifeless and her voice did not hold the strength he had remembered as a lad.

“Do not give up your birthright.”

It was the same thing she had said to him during each visit. She regretted the loss of her immortality in order to marry and bear children. He wondered if that was how it had to be with his kind. Would they regret it so much that they ceased to live long before their hearts stopped beating? Was it the reason Angus had not asked to relinquish his immortality? Lachlan knew he loved Myra, but perhaps not enough.

He put his arm around his mother’s waist and helped her to the bed. Each day she was thinner. He glanced over at a tray of food. It looked untouched. What Una had told him appeared to be true. His mother was slowly starving herself to death.

She sat down and smoothed the material of her gown. “You have an interest in the Lady Amber?”

Lachlan remembered the night he found his mother outside Amber’s chamber. He crossed to the window, picked up a chair and brought it over to the bed Lachlan wanted to delay the onslaught of questions he knew to be forthcoming and wagered she knew more about the lives in the castle man he did. The knowledge did not sit well. He was not prepared to speak of his feelings for Amber. In truth, he did not know how she might fit into his life.

He sat down and decided to evade the direct question. “We have often provided a safe haven for those in need.”

She reached for a book that lay on the table and opened it with care. The pages were framed in gold, blue and red intertwining flowers. Her eyes seemed to hold a depth of compassion he had rarely seen and he wondered at the cause. Then as suddenly as the emotion had crossed her face, it vanished. She closed the book and set it down.

“I can no longer see to read the words, but my mind has not dulled so much that I am unable to tell when my son avoids my question. I ask it only because I would warn you.”

He leaned back. His mother rarely took an interest in the events in his life. “Do not be afraid to speak the questions you wish to ask.”

She laced her fingers together in her lap and stared at them. “Your father was direct as well. It was what first drew me to him.” A smile crossed her face. “That, and his strength of will.”

A sudden gust of wind blew against the window and rattled the leaded glass panes. The sound was so loud in his ears he could barely hear her next words.

“I loved your father and enjoyed our time together.” She paused and glanced toward the hearth where flames curled around the wood, and smoke drifted upward through the chimney.

She only remembered the times before his father was taken by the madness. She turned back to him.

“Although the children I bore with him will ensure our race continues, there are times when I regret the impulsiveness to end my immortality.“

“Mother, you have lived the span of twenty lifetimes. Surely that is enough, even for us.”

Her eyes opened wider and there was anger in their depths. “Should twenty be enough, if thirty were possible? I would return to the time before I drank die elixir and refuse your father.”

A cloud blocked the light of the sun, transforming the room into shades of blood red. He looked at the wasted figure on the bed. She spoke of her children as obligations she had been required to produce. He wondered if others of his race shared her view. She seemed to take the love she professed for his father as little consequence when compared with her immortality. He hoped that the regret he heard in her voice was a result of the madness holding her prisoner and did not reflect her true feelings.

“Gavin told me you wished to speak with me.”

“I am told Subedei marches once again toward Urquhart. Has he not taken enough from us?”

Lachlan stared at the flames in the hearth. “I should have had him executed for his crime, instead of allowing your wishes to be fulfilled.”

Her voice became shrill and frantic. “He raped your sister, Beatrice, tore her heart from her body, and left her in the streets of Naples. I demanded my rights as mother to my eldest daughter. I called on the justice of the ancients, and a judgment was passed down that would assure he remembered what he had done to my child for the rest of his immortal life.”

“We had him castrated, but Subedei is not one to retreat into the woods, whimpering like a wounded animal. He is a man who will seek vengeance. We must prepare for battle, as he comes for all who presided over his judgment.“

She nodded weakly and sank back on the pillows, her eyes once more vacant and lifeless. “There is a greater battle you have not spoken of, my son. One for which there is no defense. I blame myself, for I saw the beginnings of the insanity that is the curse of our people before I wed your father. I had thought I could both change him and prevent the madness from occurring in our children. But where I have failed, this woman may succeed. I know why Amber has come to you.”

He was startled at her swift change in subject. At first he was unclear as to her meaning, and then he recalled the missing vial. He had not thought to ask his mother if she possessed knowledge of what had happened. Although she was lost in her own grief, there was still much he could learn from her.

The candles flickered and cast shadows in the chamber. Someone had opened a door. Marcail appeared dressed in a gown as black as the depths of Loch Ness.

His mother turned and her fingers trembled as she pointed toward Marcail. The effort drained the last shreds of her strength and she closed her eyes.

Marcail fingered the pearls at her throat. “Your mother, how does she fare?”

“It is as it always has been.”

“Angus has told me that we have another visitor and asks that I administer to him.”

Lachlan barely heard Marcail as the words his mother had spoken, and her accusation, brought into sharp focus the answer he had sought. The woman standing before him was responsible for Amber’s appearance in Loch Ness. But eager as he was for a confirmation, a more pressing matter awaited.

“O’Donnell is one of us.” He awaited her reaction.

“You are sure he is of our kind? Perhaps Bartholomew did not injure him as severely as you thought. I have known men with extraordinary ability to heal.”

“Bartholomew was not satisfied with a single wound to the heart. No mortal could survive die damage mat he inflicted on O'Donnell.”

Marcail hesitated as though she weighed her decision. When finally she raised her eyes to his, they were cloaked in her familiar emotionless stare. “I shall see to him.”

A fire crackled cheerfully in the Great Hall and warmed the chill in the night air. The sound was drowned out by the clanking of metal plates and utensils. The bright colors of the clothes worn by the noblemen mixed with the muted tones of the clansmen. Lachlan drained the contents of ale from his goblet and set it down. His kind had come for the meeting of the Council of Seven and mingled with the Highlanders. Lachlan searched the faces in the crowd, but could not find the woman he sought. He pushed the goblet away and adjusted his plaid over his shoulder.

Before Amber had arrived, his path was clear; defeat all those who opposed him and protect his lands and people. Of late he found himself wondering what it would be like to allow a woman into his heart. Was there truth in what Angus said? Had the thirst for battle taken precedence over all else?

Marcail motioned for him to join her. The flames in the hearth licked and curled over the wood logs like angry waves over a rock strewn shore. He stood. It was time for him to attend to his duties.

He wove his way around the long trestle tables of men bent over their evening meal. A few lifted their heads as he passed and nodded before resuming the business of eating and drinking. Their conversations buzzed like bees in a hive. He paused. Marcail was talking to the twins, Artemis and Theseus. They were wearing the garb of Spanish nobles and stood with Marcail near the window at the far end of the Great Hall. Although they were in a corner, it seemed as though the light of the torches that lined the walls focused on them.

Marcail put her hand on his arm. “Our friends have just returned from the New World. For a time they were with Cortez.”

Theseus shook his head. Fine powder from his wig floated to the floor.

“The riches we have tasted with Cortez are beyond belief. We found the people, called Aztecs, both gentle and fierce. They also possess the knowledge to turn dry, desolate land into a lush and fertile paradise with irrigation methods that call to mind the accomplishments of the ancient Egyptians.” He frowned. “The Aztecs are doomed, of course.”

Theseus seemed to shake away the shadows that had crossed his expression. He held up a small canvas sack. “But all the riches from the New World do not glitter. This strange substance is called ‘chocolate.’ My good friend Montezuma drank a dark, bittersweet liquid made from these beans. He drained a golden goblet full of it each night before he went into his harem. Imagine, the man had the ability to satisfy over one hundred women.”

Theseus spoke loudly enough for the closest of die men to overhead his statement and their laughter rang out. This was followed by more merriment, as the tale was repeated. The men cheered. The volume of the noise increased with each tankard of ale drunk. Those assembled were in good spirits. If one of Theseus’ stories had been the cause, he meant to encourage more.

He knew his friend, however, and watched him pull on the ties of the bag he held. It appeared that something caused the Spaniard to tell this type of story. Usually he was only interested in proven facts. But in time Theseus would come to his purpose.

When the room had quieted enough for Lachlan to make himself heard once more, he pressed Theseus to continue. “You say Montezuma satisfied one hundred women in one night? A difficult tale to believe.”

Theseus straightened his wig. “I had hoped with age you would develop a sense of romance. As always, you require matters of the heart to be examined as you would analyze strategies for conquest.”

Lachlan could hear muffled laughter in the background. His men would not risk his anger if they believed he had taken offense. In truth, he had not. He put his hand over his heart.

“You wound me deeply, but a man cannot change that which he has become.”

The twin called Artemis jabbed Lachlan in the ribs. “On the contrary, friend, we have heard that you have changed a great deal. The arrangement you have with a Lady Amber and the rather unusual way she came into your life is a subject of constant discussion. Una has also informed us that you have ordered a gown made to replace one that was ruined. You have more romance in your soul than you will admit.”

He lowered his voice so no one other than the four of them would hear. “But that is your affair, as long as it goes no further than a pretense of a promise of marriage. We can ill afford to lose you as head of the Council.”

Artemis waved a lace handkerchief. “But as for my brother’s outburst, ignore the fellow. He has high hopes for this chocolate concoction that was named ‘food for the gods.’ Theseus has given some of the stuff to Una to prepare.” He laughed. “You have no need of it, but I think it will take more than one goblet full to improve my brother’s luck with the women at court.”