Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
7
“What did you say to her?” Sorcha asked as they rode side by side. “To make her tell us about the curse?”
“Ah, yes, that,” Malcolm snickered. “I told her the true name of a woman she bitterly despises.”
She tilted her head, bewildered. “True name?”
“In the circles she travels in, true names are powerful things and rarely given freely,” he explained. “Once a person’s true name is revealed, others may use it to curse or control them. Davina’s true name is not Davina, any more than her mother’s true name was Elspeth. Perhaps all that sounds silly to someone like you.”
“It does, a bit, yes,” she admitted with a small laugh. “So am I to assume, then, that Malcolm Haldane is not your true name?”
“Not quite. But it suits me well enough, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Would you tell me your true name?”
The question surprised Malcolm so much that he pulled up on the reins and his horse stopped short, nearly throwing him forward. Sorcha pulled up sharply next to him.
He recovered quickly, giving her that damnably endearing smile of his and tossing her a wink as well. “Someday, perhaps, if we continue to get along so well.”
She wanted to believe him, but somehow, she doubted that he meant it. She suspected he had simply said it to throw her off guard and distract her.
“For now, though,” he went on, coaxing his horse forward once more, “perhaps we should speak of Davina’s prophecy. Do you mean to take it seriously?”
He was doing his best to sound casual, but Sorcha detected an inquisitive edge to his tone.
“I suppose I must,” she mused. “I have no particular interest in marrying, but I imagine it would have become a consideration eventually. A warrior and a wolf-killer...well, that certainly seems easy enough since many men are warriors and any of them might kill a wolf if they please, wouldn’t you say? And my family would have expected me to wed a nobleman no matter what, but a king? That seems altogether impossible, does it not? Scotland has had no king for quite some time, and it’s hardly likely I would marry the king of some other country! Can you picture me as queen of Spain, perhaps? Or France?”
Sorcha was amusing herself tremendously with such comments, but when she turned to look at Malcolm, she saw that his face was oddly inscrutable. His mouth was shut tight, as though he were afraid that if he opened it, he might betray some dreadful secret.
“What is it?” she asked. “Is something the matter?”
He took a deep breath as though steeling himself against some unpleasant task. When he spoke, his tone was oddly stiff. “Quite the contrary, I think, my lady. I believe I know one who would fulfill the prophecy…one whose clan would benefit greatly from a union with your own, just as yours would.”
“Oh?” Her curiosity was piqued. “And who might that be?”
“Laird Nathan Fraser,” Malcolm replied quietly. “He has always been known as a fierce warrior, ever since he rode into battle at his father’s behest. He earned the nickname of Wolfbane when he slew a wolf as a young boy.”
“Yes, but surely he is not a king?” she ventured.
“It has been said that his branch of nobility extends from the royal bloodline.” Malcolm seemed visibly uncomfortable, but he pressed on. “It isn’t much, perhaps…”
“...but it’s as close as I shall probably find myself to fulfilling the prophecy,” Sorcha finished. “And here you are, come from nowhere and so suddenly, telling me of this. Which makes it all the more likely that it applies to this situation. Everything seems to come together so perfectly, doesn’t it?” She gave a weary and halfhearted laugh.
“You could say that, my lady, yes,” he acknowledged as the castle came into view. The faintest pink and blue streaks were appearing in the east; they had made it back just in time.
As they returned their horses to the stables, Malcolm asked, “Shall I bring you to Laird Nathan, then, and make an introduction?” He sounded uncertain, as though he was afraid to hear the answer.
“Allow me to take the day and consider it,” Sorcha answered. “And will you permit me to speak with the captain of the guard and tell him that you will be indisposed today so that you may get some well-deserved rest?”
He favored her with a tired grin. “No need for that, my lady. I am quite accustomed to going without sleep, and I can assure you that last night’s adventure will not hinder my duties today in the slightest.”
“I am gratified to hear it,” she said, smiling back at him. “I, for one, feel far safer when I know you are walking the ramparts. Only do try not to nod off and fall from the walls?”
“You have my solemn word,” he chuckled.
Malcolm did not succumb to his exhaustion during his guard duties; however, he did find himself greatly distracted, wondering whether he had done the right thing in telling her about Nathan.
“Laird” Nathan, he corrected himself sourly. Do not forget how very far he’s come since last you saw each other.
He had tried not to let his resentment fester within him all these years.
He had not always succeeded in this endeavor.
Now, for the first time since he could remember, he found himself entranced by a woman, captivated, utterly bewitched. And not only could he not pursue her himself, but he was also prepared to lead her directly into the arms of Nathan, of all people.
How can I truly be contemplating such a thing?he asked himself, reporting to the armory for his crossbow, quiver, and protective garb.
But as he yawned, rubbed his eyes, and took up his post on the outer wall, Malcolm knew full well why he was doing it: Because he had seen so many strange mysteries in his travels that he dared not ignore what Davina had said about how the curse might be broken.
And he did not want Sorcha to lose her home and clan to McKenna, even if it meant that he would never know the sweetness of her touch.
Not that I ever would have to begin with, he reminded himself. She is a noblewoman, after all, and I am merely a wandering scoundrel.
Still, the melancholy prospect of it made his heart ache fiercely as he went about his patrols.
For her part, Sorcha bid the servants not to disturb her until the afternoon, giving herself time for a good long nap so that she might recover from the previous night’s endeavors. But her sleep was fitful as the old woman’s words rang in her ears.
Would she be able to marry this “Nathan”? And even if she did, would that ensure that the curse would be lifted, or was she silly to think that such superstitions might prove true?
What if I agree to wed him, and the plague retreats on its own during the course of our engagement?she lamented inwardly. What if he turns out to be ugly and hateful, and it is too late for me to break our contract of marriage without provoking a war with his clan? What if…
No, go ahead and admit what you truly fear, Sorcha: What if you marry him needlessly, only to discover your true love later on? You will find yourself a prisoner of a union you agreed to in a moment of wild desperation, based on witchery and nonsense!
Try as she might, though, she could not shake off the notion that she was meant to go with Malcolm in search of the curse’s undoing.
She decided that she needed to hear the opinion of someone she trusted.
When she rose from her rest, she went to the stables, selecting the same mare she had taken out the previous night. The horse seemed happy to see her again, and Sorcha felt a peculiar sense of time folding in on itself as she saddled it just as she had hours before. She assumed it was simply because she had been deprived of a good night’s sleep and resolved to get to bed all the earlier that night to make up for it.
First, though, she rode to a humble farm on a hillside within the borders of the Campbell lands.
As she dismounted in front of the main house, the door opened, and Dand stepped out. His wife Maisie emerged after him, holding their infant daughter in her arms. Both of them smiled and called out, waving to her happily.
However, she could not help but notice that both of them came no closer and that there was a wary stiffness to their postures, as though they were afraid she might approach them.
“Sister, it is so wonderful to see you,” Dand began. “I wish I could embrace you as I would like, truly. But with the plague which has been spreading in the village and the castle…”
“We cannot risk the health of our child, my dear Sorcha,” Maisie said sadly. “I hope you understand.”
Sorcha nodded, feeling mildly ashamed of herself for not having considered such things prior to her visit. “You are correct in your caution, of course. I would not risk your lives, or that or your child, for anything in the world. May we speak if I remain here?”
“Certainly,” Maisie replied, visibly relieved. “And may I say, at least you look untouched by that dreadful sickness!”
“I seem to be thus far, yes,” Sorcha confirmed. “I thank heaven for it, though I wonder why I am so fortunate when so many others are not. In truth, that is part of why I have come to visit this day. I have a difficult decision to make, and I require your counsel.”
She related the entire tale to them, and they listened carefully. When she had finished, Dand and Maisie exchanged a worried glance.
“That…is quite a difficult situation,” Maisie confirmed. “I would hate to see you throw away your future chance at true love in the name of some old woman’s frail wits and unsubstantiated rumors of royal blood.”
“You make a good point,” Dand said grimly, “but I know only too well what strange and awful responsibilities come with leadership over a clan. She must do what is best for her people, even if it is not what is best for herself. And if she can bring stability to the Campbells by marrying this laird…”
“Presuming that this course of action does bring stability,” Sorcha pointed out. “What if the curse is not real?”
“Then you will have allied yourself with a clan that can send additional healers and supplies,” Dand pointed out. “One whose ranks of warriors will strengthen your own if conflict should occur. A useful thing indeed, when so many of your kinsmen will have died from this plague. More swords and shields at the ready. More crops to supplement your own when your farmers are fewer.”
“You feel I should proceed with this, then?” Sorcha said.
“I feel you should go and meet with this Laird Nathan,” he affirmed. “If he is an ogre, then you can return having done your best. If he is a viable groom, then…”
“I see. Thank you, Brother. Your input has aided me immensely.”
He smiled. “I’m glad. And do not despair, sweet sister. No matter what course of action you decide on, you will still have our unconditional and everlasting love and support.”
Sorcha nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Brother. And you as well, my darling sister-in-law. Hopefully, the next time we see each other, I will be able to hold that child in my arms.”
“At the rate he is growing,” Maisie said, “he will be able to hold you in his arms next time!”
Sorcha rode back to the castle, considering Dand’s words carefully. She knew that he believed in her ability to lead the clan; he simply did not believe in the clan’s ability to follow, given how unenlightened they were when it came to women leading them.
Not that Great-Grandmother Flora made things especially easy for the women who came after her, Sorcha thought with bitter amusement.
When she stabled her horse and walked the rest of the way to the castle, she found Edmund waiting for her at the front gates. His expression was deeply troubled. “I regret to inform you, my lady,” he said with a grimace, “that Ryan McKenna seeks an audience with you once more, as do the ever-present barnacles who cling to his sides so stubbornly.”
“I do not suppose that he would politely remove himself from my home if I were to tell him I did not grant such an audience?” Sorcha guessed.
“I cannot say,” Edmund replied, “but given his demeanor, I would not recommend testing such a theory. Better to hear him out and have it over with, even if it’s the same load of condescending, vaguely-threatening ballyhoo that he’s spouted several times before.”
“If he is so concerned with how I am leading this clan,” she grumbled, following him to the great hall, “perhaps he should be granting me adequate opportunity to do so, rather than needlessly wasting my time with his posturing and bloviating.”
“So!” Ryan McKenna said briskly when she entered the hall. “More errands involving your dashing new guard, eh? Ones which require the privacy of moonlight?”
“You seem to have quite a surprising degree of knowledge regarding the comings and goings of this place,” Edmund remarked. “Almost as if you had people in the castle spying on your behalf.”
McKenna smirked. “I have walked the corridors and courtyards of this place since before you arrived here, interloper; indeed, since long before this wee girl was born. The very stones whisper their secrets to me.”
“Well, despite what you may have heard by pressing your ear to a bunch of stones like some sort of bloody lunatic,” Sorcha informed him, “the nocturnal errand you speak of was in service to the clan.”
“Oh?” McKenna spread his arms invitingly. “Do tell.”
“If you are so learned in the affairs of my home,” she said, “then you might have heard about the old woman who presented herself in Aodh’s chamber a short while ago.”
“Aye, I heard about that right enough,” he conceded, narrowing his eyes.
“She told me that her name was Davina, daughter of Elspeth, and she accused me of bringing this plague upon our people,” Sorcha went on. “She said it was a curse, one that originated four centuries ago when Dunscaith Castle was lost under the leadership of my ancestor Lady Flora.”
“A most tragic turn of events, to be sure,” Carr spoke up, “and proof indeed that members of the fairer sex ought not lead our clan.”
The comment stung, but Sorcha let it pass. “My guard, Malcolm Haldane—who, as you pointed out, is new to my service—had knowledge of where the old woman might be found. He took me to her so that I might learn how this curse can be broken and the sickness dispelled.”
“Oh?” McKenna raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “And what did she say?”
“She agrees with you that a lady must not lead the Campbell clan. She has told me of a prophecy by which I can return us all to our former health and prosperity: I must marry at once, and the groom in question must be, in her words, a warrior, a wolf-killer, and a king.”
“What a lot of rubbish!” Currie scoffed. “There are warriors and wolf-killers in these lands by the bushel, and many among them have noble blood in their veins. But a king? No such thing exists anymore!”
“Not in the most literal terms, perhaps,” she continued, “but I have heard from Haldane that there is a laird not far from here who is rumored to be descended from the last king: Laird Nathan Fraser.”
Carr burst out laughing. “Preposterous! You believe a betrothal will cure this clan’s ills and that it ought to be based upon a bunch of prophecy and gibberish? This is what happens when a little girl and her flights of fancy are trusted with the running of a noble house!”
“Be silent, Carr,” McKenna growled, his eyes narrowing.
Sorcha did not care for the expression upon his wide face one bit. Whatever scheme he was concocting, she highly doubted she would be pleased with it.
“I do not pretend to put stock in fairy fables and fantasies,” he began slowly. “However, one thing that you have said makes a great deal of sense to me indeed: If you were to marry and the affairs of the clan were thus run by your husband instead of yourself, then it might be possible for our clan to be pulled from this predicament. Women are not fit to lead and never have been. Lady Flora was ample proof of that.”
“If you have a point, sir,” Sorcha interjected icily, “I suggest you make it.”
“My point, girl, is this: You ought to marry me.”
“What?” Edmund blurted out incredulously. “Surely you cannot be serious!”
“Oh, but I am,” McKenna said silkily. “I know the affairs of this clan better than any man alive, and I am best equipped to see to them. I have the ear of the people, and I can quell their frustrations once they see that new leadership is at hand.”
“Hardly the most romantic of proposals, is it?” Edmund muttered darkly.
For her part, Sorcha was still in a state of shock from his words. When she had composed herself, she said, “I offer this proposal in return: Allow me to go and meet this Laird Nathan at once. If I do not choose to wed him, or he rejects my offer of marriage, then I shall return and marry you instead.”
McKenna tilted his head. “Why should I agree to such a thing? I am a man, I am here, and I am clearly best suited for the position.”
“Because I feel I should entertain the option of uniting the Campbells with another powerful and respected clan, thus adding their resources to our own,” Sorcha countered. “And more than that, because I happen to find you detestable.”
He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Well, I suppose I shall not have to concern myself with whether you are hiding the truth of your thoughts and feelings from me, at least! So be it, then. Make your journey. But I would urge you to make the utmost haste if you wish to have a castle or clan to return to.”
And on that menacing note, McKenna took his leave, followed by Carr and Currie as always.
“Do we think that his comment was in reference to how quickly the plague is spreading,” Sorcha asked, “or a threat of further turning my clan against me in my absence?”
“Both, my lady,” Edmund replied. “With rather an emphasis, I think, on the latter. I must confess, I was most surprised to hear you suggest that you would consent to marry that dreadful man.”
“I surprised myself with it as well,” she admitted. “However, I needed time to go and acquaint myself with this Laird Nathan, and this seemed like the best way to get McKenna to loosen his grasp on me in the short term.” She sighed, frustrated. “Now I can only hope that I find the laird of the Fraser clan to be a decent enough sort, for, in truth, I’d marry the devil himself before I gave my hand to that pompous toad.”
