The Tower of Ravens (44 page)

“Indeed, I can see it would be hard to resist ye,” Lord Malvern said. “But why must ye go to the Theurgia? Surely a lovely young lady like yourself must wish to be married?”

“To whom?” Edithe asked, raising her eyebrows. “There is none with whom I would wish to jump the fire.”

“But surely ye must be inundated with suitors?” Lord Malvern said.

“None my father considers suitable,” Edithe said, wrinkling her nose.

“Too auld or too young?” Lord Malvern asked with a smile.

“Too poor,” Edithe answered.

Lord Malvern laughed. “Och, well, that is a problem for any father. I pity him. Ye say ye have three sisters? No wonder he has permitted ye to go to the Theurgia. To spend eight years so close to court, it’ll be a wonder if ye do no‘ meet some handsome young laird who will sweep ye off your feet.”

“One can only hope,” Edithe replied.

Lord Malvern laughed again, causing both Lady Evaline and her drab companion to look up at the table at him. “Och, if I was just forty years younger, I’d be wooing ye myself.”

Edithe replied sweetly, “And if ye were forty years younger, I’m sure I’d be most flattered, my laird. Tell me, do ye no‘ have a son or nephew as charming as ye, that ye could introduce me to?”

“I have no son,” he answered harshly. “And though I had a nephew once, he died afore ye were born, my lady.”

“I’m sorry,” Edithe said, looking down at her plate.

The smile returned to his face. “Och, no matter. Ye will have to make do with me, as ancient and creaking as I am.”

“Ye’re no‘ ancient!” Edithe responded with an arch smile.

“Compared to your young loveliness, I’m auld indeed, though I do no‘ feel it, basking in the warmth o’ your smile. Indeed, it is a shame ye must ride on as soon as the road is cleared. If ye and your friends were to bide a wee, I swear I would shed years each day ye were here.”

“That would be lovely,” Edithe said with a giggle, “but I am afraid we must go. We have a wedding to attend!”

“Och, aye, the wedding o‘ the young prionnsa,” Lord Malvern said. “To his cousin, the deposed Banrìgh. That is a canny political liaison. I canna be the only one in Eileanan that remembers she was named heir to the throne when her father died.”

“She ruled for only six hours,” Iven interjected angrily. “And she was only a newborn babe at the time.”

“But the only offspring o‘ the Rìgh,” Lord Malvern reminded him. “I have never heard that youth was a reason for disinheriting the rightful heir to the throne. Eleanore the Noble was only eight when her father died and she inherited the Crown and the Lodestar, if I remember correctly. Her mother ruled as Regent till she was twenty-four. And Jaspar himself was only fifteen when he inherited the throne. Why should his daughter be disinherited just because she was a babe-in-arms?”

“We needed a strong man to rule,” Iven said quickly. “We were at war on every front, a land divided.”

“True,” Lord Malvern answered, “but why could the Banrìgh’s uncle no‘ act as Regent and rule in her name until she reached her majority? Which I believe she has done just recently. No wonder her uncle wishes to marry her off to his son.”

Iven half-rose. “She is the Ensorcellor’s daughter!” he roared.

“And Jaspar’s,” Lord Malvern pointed out. “If the fact that she is the Dowager Banrìgh’s daughter sticks in his craw so much that he will no‘ allow her to rule, why is Lachlan the Winged marrying his son to her?”

Iven said nothing, though his blue eyes blazed with anger. Nina laid her hand on his arm.

“Besides,” Lord Malvern continued, unperturbed, “when has it ever mattered what evil acts one’s parents have been accused o‘, as long as one’s right to the throne is legal? Donncan the Black was no’ disinherited simply because his father Feargus was accused o‘ terrible crimes.”

“Ye seem to ken your history well,” Iven said coldly.

“We were taught well when I was a lad,” Lord Malvern answered. “It was thought that if we kent history, we could try to avoid the mistakes o‘ the past. That is obviously no’ what is believed now.” There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“Come now,” Lady Evaline said in her sweet voice. “
I
was taught it is rude to discuss politics at the dinner table. Tell me, my lady, how are your sick bairns? Has Dedrie been o‘ use to ye?”

“Aye, indeed,” Nina answered, her cheeks rather flushed. “As ye can see, the boys are both well enough to join us here for dinner, and Edithe is only limping slightly. Dedrie seems to ken her craft well.”

Lady Evaline sighed. “Aye. I do no‘ ken what we would have done without her all these years.”

“She’s a skilled healer, ye are lucky. So many remote villages and towns are still without properly trained healers, even so long after the witch-burnings. Indeed, it was an evil thing, the killing o‘ so many harmless skeelies and cunning men. Most o’ them had done no more wrong than do their best to help the poor and auld and sick.” Nina’s eyes sparkled with anger. It was clear the lord’s comment had cut her on the raw too.

Another uncomfortable silence fell. All of the castle folk stared at their plates, and Lord Malvern’s thick, dark brows were drawn down angrily. He laid down his knife and leant forward, as if about to speak.

Lady Evaline spoke first, hurriedly. “But ye have no‘ yet told me what ye do, travelling through Fetterness Valley? We are so pleased to have guests, it has been a dreadfully long time since anyone has come to visit us. Ye say ye are travelling to Lucescere, for the wedding? Why come this way? Most people seem to prefer travelling down the far side o’ the Findhorn, where the roads are so much better and where there are no ghosts.”

Lord Malvern’s frown deepened and once again he made to speak.

Iven cut across him. “Indeed, we would normally have chosen to go the other way too, my lady, since it is difficult travelling with caravans on rough roads. However, we have news we were most anxious to take to His Highness, and so we decided to come this way, since it is so much shorter. Or, so at least we hoped. We have had nothing but bad luck and foul weather since we chose this road.”

“What news may that be?” Lord Malvern demanded.

Iven turned to him politely. “One o‘ the Rìgh’s Blue Guards was found murdered in the highlands, my laird. He was one of His Highness’s most trusted lieutenants and both Nina and I kent him well. His sister is the head of the healers’ guild and is a dear friend o’ ours. We wished to take the news to her, and to His Highness, as quickly as we could.”

“Oh, I see,” Lord Malvern replied, his frown relaxing.

“How very sad,” Lady Evaline said and the other castle inhabitants murmured also.

“How did he die?” the harper’s son asked.

“He was shot,” Iven replied.

“And ye kent him well?” the drab lady asked.

Nina nodded. “I’ve kent him since he was just a lad. He was one o‘ the League o’ the Healing Hand. Have ye heard the tales about them? They were a band o‘ beggar children that joined the rebellion in Lucescere, och, many years ago, and did many brave deeds to help Lachlan the Winged win the throne.”

“The League o‘ the Healing Hand?” the harper asked with great interest. “What a strange name.”

“One o‘ the lads, Tòmas, had the power to heal with the laying on o’ hands. He was only a wee laddie, six or seven, perhaps. Connor, the Yeoman whose body we found in the highlands, was just his age and his best friend. They formed the League to help and protect Tòmas.”

“And where is this lad now? He must be a man grown?” Lord Malvern asked with sudden interest.

“He died at the Battle o‘ Bonnyblair,” Iven said. “It was a great tragedy. He died saving the Rìgh’s life.”

Lord Malvern turned his attention back to his lobster. “Very sad,” he said.

“It was his second death,” Iven said, noticing the eager interest in the eyes of the harper and his son, who were naturally stirred by such a story. “There is a beautiful song about him, written by the Rìgh’s minstrel, who is now the Earl o‘ Caerlaverock. I will sing it for ye later, if ye like.”

“I would like that,” the harper’s son said eagerly. “We hear so few new songs here.”

“What do ye mean, it was his second death?” the harper asked, his grey eyes alight with curiosity.

“Tòmas died earlier, during an ambush by the Bright Soldiers. He had used all o‘ his powers to save the Rìgh, who was sorely wounded. Lewen should tell this story, it was his mother Lilanthe who saved him. She had been given a flower o’ the Summer Tree by one o‘ the Celestines. The flowers have immense power in them, it is what gives the Celestines their magical ability to heal by the laying on o’ hands, an ability that Tòmas had inherited. Lilanthe roused Tòmas enough so that he could eat the flower, and it brought him back to life and made his miraculous powers even greater. He saved the lives o‘ thousands o’ soldiers during the Bright Wars, so many I think it is fair to say we could never have prevailed without him.”

Lord Malvern had looked up from his plate again. “So those
uile-bheistean
—the faeries ye call Celestines—they can bring people back to life?”

Nina and Iven both stiffened at his use of the word. Nina in particular looked outraged, her cheeks flushing red, her black eyes shooting out dangerous sparks.

“We do no‘ call those o’ faery blood
uile-bheistean
anymore,” she said coldly.

Lord Malvern waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. Ye were saying they can bring people back to life?” His gaze was fixed with disconcerting intentness upon Nina’s face.

“They can heal,” Nina said stiffly. “Particularly those o‘ Stargazer blood. The Stargazers are those who have eaten o’ the flower o‘ the Summer Tree. They are like the royal family o’ the Celestines.”

“I see,” the lord said thoughtfully. “But they can heal even those so sorely wounded they are close to death?”

Nina nodded. “If they are powerful enough.”

“What a fascinating story,” he said, beginning to eat again. “We must certainly hear the song after dinner. Some music would be a most pleasant diversion. And perhaps the young ladies would like to dance? My piper and my harper would be glad to play a few reels.”

Felice clapped her hands in delight. “That would be wonderful!”

“I’m sure my ankle will be able to stand a few turns,” Edithe said.

“Then it’s arranged. In the grand drawing room after dinner, Borden!”

“As ye wish, my laird,” the old harper said, bowing slightly.

Once the meal was cleared away, Lady Evaline and her companion rose and left the room, Nina and the three girls following her. They sat in one of the drawing rooms and drank tea, and made stilted conversation. As soon as the seneschal had indicated the footmen could remove the tray and had left the room himself, shutting the door behind him, Lady Evaline leant forward.

“My dear madam, please will ye no‘ tell me, ye did have a boy with ye, dinna ye? A laddie with red hair?”

“My lady,” the drab companion protested weakly.

Lady Evaline kept her eyes on Nina’s face. The journey witch pressed her lips together and reluctantly nodded. “My son, Roden,” she answered.

Lady Evaline clapped her hands. “I thought he was no‘ a ghost! Och, I am glad. I had begun to think I must really be going mad.”

“Evaline, my dear,” her companion said anxiously.

Lady Evaline waved a hand at her. “I just wanted to be sure, Prunella. Tell me, did he no‘ come down to dinner because they warned ye to keep him away from me?”

Nina nodded, looking very uncomfortable.

“I knew it!” Lady Evaline cried. “They do worry about me. But ye must no‘ worry, my dear. I would never hurt your son.”

“I hope no‘,” Nina said steadily, a spark igniting in her black eyes. “For I am a sorceress, ye ken, and one should never enrage a sorceress.”

Lady Evaline nodded wisely, though her companion looked scandalised. Edithe and Felice exchanged glances, trying not to giggle.

“Believe me, I ken how to protect my son,” Nina went on, her colour high.

“More tea?” Miss Prunella asked, lifting the teapot. She had a soft downy moustache above her lip, which quivered.

“Nay, thank ye,” Nina answered, putting down her cup. “I think I have had quite enough.”

“I thought I could protect my son too,” Lady Evaline said. “I thought the strength o‘ these walls and the strength o’ my husband’s arm, and my own love would be enough to keep him safe, but I was wrong.”

“Evaline,” Miss Prunella quavered. Nina and Lady Evaline both ignored her.

“I’m sorry for that,” Nina said gently. “I ken how much ye must grieve for him.”

“They try and make it up to me, but there’s naught they can do,” Lady Evaline said in her soft, plaintive voice. “A mother kens her own son, dead or alive.”

Edithe rolled her eyes and made a little corkscrewing gesture beside her ear that almost made Felice giggle out loud. Nina shot them a fierce look. “O‘ course,” she said.

The door opened and Lord Malvern came in, smiling.

“That was quick,” Lady Evaline said. “Would ye like some tea?”

“None o‘ my guests were smoking men,” he answered equably, scanning them all with his fierce black eyes set under bristling grey brows. “Do we feel like some dancing? Shall I send for my harper and piper?”

Edithe and Felice squealed and clapped their hands. Lord Malvern rang the bell and Irving came, bowing, to smoothly arrange the removal of various chairs and tables from the large drawing room.

“We have a ballroom, but that is too large for only a few couples,” Lord Malvern said. “For a friendly little dance, this is more comfortable, I think.”

Then the harper and his son came, carrying various instruments, and an old man with a set of bagpipes, and for the next hour, the time passed merrily enough, with no more talk of ghosts or dead boys. Rhiannon was the only one of the girls not to enjoy herself thoroughly, for she could not dance. Also, she could not rid herself of the weird feeling that all this talk and laughter and music was a sham, and that under the smiling faces and lively chatter, other darker thoughts hid, like a snake in the grass. She felt like she was being watched all the time. Refusing every exhortation to join the dancing, she sat against the wall, listening and observing. The candlelight wavered in her tired eyes, and she thought for a moment she saw a little boy standing forlornly in the shadows. She started and blinked, and the mirage was gone, but she could not shake the nervous tension that kept her muscles all in a knot.