Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (28 page)

Deirdre thought of Alistair, lying in his prison. Did
Finn somehow sense that his master was to die tomorrow? She had heard of such
things before.

"I know," she said, kneeling. "There's
nothing you can do, Finn. Nothing anyone can do. Just lie down now, that's a
good dog, and go to sleep."

But Finn was having none of it. After a time, Deirdre
stood and pulled the bolt, then opened the door a crack. "Go on,
then," she said as Finn slipped through and ran down the stairs. "Go
find him. Mayhap he'll be glad to see
you
."

She shut the door and leaned against it, hot tears
slipping down her cheeks. She had tried and tried to see Alistair earlier, only
to be turned away. Jemmy had been no help to her. He was in the chapel, holding
a private vigil for his father, and could not be disturbed. Alyson was
unavailable, as well.

"If Sir Alistair wants ye, lady, he will
send," the guard had said bluntly on Deirdre's third attempt. But Alistair
had not sent.

If only she could hear from his own lips exactly how
it had happened, perhaps she could believe he'd really done it. Yet he must
have done. The evidence had been there before them all and Alistair had not
even denied it.

It must have happened suddenly, she thought. He surely
had not planned it. But Master Kerian said Brodie was dead two hours before noon.
What had Alistair been doing all that time? Had he just sat there, waiting, too
stunned to attempt escape? Oh, if only she could see him once, if only she
could hear his explanation. But he did not want to see her.

She remembered the way he'd looked at her when she
rode up. There had been more than shock and sorrow in his eyes. There had been
blame. And she knew that she had earned it.

It is my fault, she thought, groping her way blindly
back to the bed. Whatever I touch, I spoil. If only she had not shown her fear
so plainly, Alistair would never have been driven to such desperate measures to
protect her. Now he was to pay for her weakness. Because of her, he had lost
all claim to honor. Tomorrow he would lose his life.

If he hated her for that, it was no more than she did
herself.

T
here was a sort of desperate calm that came after all
the tears were shed. Deirdre bathed her aching eyes and plaited her hair,
dressed and walked down the stairway just in time to see the first light
seeping over the trees. The courtyard was empty, the manor dark behind her. The
light grew and still she stood, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, simply
waiting for this wretched day to begin so she could move through each moment
until it ended.

She heard the morning come, the clatter of the bucket
going down into the well, the creak and groan of the rope as it was lifted. A
cock crowed. The portcullis was raised with a rattle of loose chain. The
servants spoke to one another in sleepy voices as they began the morning's work.

Just another day at Ravenspur. When it was done the
sun would set and tomorrow it would rise again on the same scene. But the next
time the sun rose, Alistair would be dead, hanged by the neck as any murderer
must be.

"Mistress?"

Deirdre turned slowly toward a bent old man who smiled
and touched his cap. "I am looking for Sir Alistair Kirallen."

"Then it is well you came today," Deirdre
answered, hearing her own voice coming from a great distance. "Tomorrow
would have been too late."

The man looked at her strangely, then nodded. "Aye,
well, then I'd best be off."

"He cannot see you," she said. "Not
today."

"Oh."  The man frowned and scratched his
nose. "Well. Perhaps then I'd best see the laird."

"He is in the chapel," Deirdre said.

"I wouldna want to interrupt his prayers,"
the man said, frowning.

"You won't do that. He's dead."

The man stepped back, looking at her warily. Deirdre
didn't blame him. She supposed she did sound mad.

"What is your business with Sir Alistair?"
she asked. "Perhaps I can direct you."

"He ordered this," the man said cautiously. "I
promised I'd see to it at once."

Deirdre stared at the bit of silver in the man's
weathered palm, her eyes filling as she saw the sapphire set in the twisted
band.

"A ring with a blue stone," she whispered.

"Aye, that's just what he said he wanted, blue to
match a lady's eyes."

"'Tis mine."

He stepped back a pace, his fist closing over the ring.
"And who might you be?"

"Deirdre Maxwell."

"Oh! Aye, 'twas the name he said. Here, then,
lady..."

She slipped the ring on her finger and stared at it. "He
remembered. When did he speak for this?"

"Yesterday. Said he was in a hurry for it, so I—"

"Yesterday?" she interrupted. "What
time yesterday?"

"'Twas fairly early when he come in," he
said. "He took his time about the business and left a bit ere noon. Said
he had an appointment he could not miss."

"He was with you?" she whispered. "All
the morning?"

"Aye, he was."

"You must see Lord Jemmy," she cried. "You
must tell him! Do you understand me?"

"Aye, lady," he said, backing away. "I'll
do that."

"No, wait," she said, following him. "It
is important. You cannot know how important—never mind, there's no time to
explain it now, I will come with you."

"Dee!"

Deirdre looked around, startled, at the sound of
Ronan's voice, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll see him," the silversmith assured her
as he hurried off. "Nay, lady," he added over his shoulder,
"there's no need to trouble yourself."

"But—"

"Dee!"

She whirled sharply and there was Ronan, just outside
the gate, gesturing frantically. "Hurry!"

"Not now, Ronan," she said, keeping one eye
on the silversmith. "I must go—"

"Nay, Dee, you will not help him that way. 'Tis
too late."

"Too late for
what
?"

"Sir Alistair. He's gone—they took him out an hour
ago, Sir Calder and another man. I think he was dead, Dee, but I'm not sure—"

"Dead? What are you talking about?"  For the
first time she looked at Ronan. His clothes were rumpled, his hair a wild
tangle of leaves and stems, and dried blood masked one side of his face.

"What happened to you?"

"I'll explain on the way. Hurry, Dee, get two
horses and meet me out here. I daren't go inside. Later," he said
urgently, cutting off her questions. "Do you want to find him or not? 
They've taken him, do you understand me? Hurry—bring horses—"

She turned and ran without another word.

"H
ere," Calder said. "'Tis as good a place as
any."

He jerked his horse to a halt beside the ruins of an
ancient fortress and turned to the man beside him. "Is he dead?" he
asked impatiently.

"I dinna think so," Kinnon Maxwell answered,
glancing at the horse he led. Calder reached out and seized a handful of
white-gold hair, jerking Alistair's head up.

"He looks it."

"Aye, but he moaned a bit before—"

"Then we'd best make sure."

Kinnon turned his face away as Calder raised his
dagger. 'Twas a pity, he thought, that it had to come to this. He'd always
rather liked Alistair. Then he shrugged philosophically. A bargain was a
bargain, after all, and this one was worth the price. He was just thinking he'd
have masses said for Alistair when his horse startled, nearly throwing him.

"What the—" Calder cried, holding up one arm
to shield his eyes from a dark winged shape fluttering before his face.

Alistair's horse reared as another of the birds flew
almost beneath its hooves, throwing its burden down the stony hillside. As
Kinnon tried to get his own mount under control, he saw Alistair roll down the slope
and come to rest in a ditch.

"God's blood, what is this?  Get off me—" he
shouted, flailing wildly as one of the dark-winged shapes dove straight for his
eyes. Then there was no more time for words, for his horse, and Calder's and
Alistair's as well, all bolted headlong down the road.

It was some time before Calder and Kinnon controlled
their panicked mounts and found the spot again. Alistair lay just as they had
left him, his gray tunic almost invisible among the bracken.

"We'll just make sure," Calder said,
dismounting and starting down the hillside. "Come on, man," he called
and reluctantly Kinnon followed, looking about him nervously.

He didn't like this. There was something strange about
those corbies. Carrion birds, filthy, disgusting creatures they were even at
the best of times, but these two had some madness in them. Kinnon had never
heard of corbies attacking men and horses before—not living ones, at any rate.

As they reached the bottom of the hill, an enormous
hound leaped up and came at them, hackles raised and teeth bared in a snarl.

"Get away," Calder said, lashing out a
booted foot and catching the dog full in the ribs. It yelped, sprawling
awkwardly upon its back.

Kinnon cried out in disgust. The corbies were there
before them, one perched on Alistair's chest, the other with its dark claws dug
into his hair. Even as Kinnon watched in horrified fascination, one tore a
bright strand loose.

"Leave him," he said to Calder. "Let's
begone."

"Nay. We must be sure."

As Calder strode forward, the hound leaped at him,
growling, and the birds flew at his face. He flung up an arm, stepped back and
tripped, measuring his length upon the bracken.

"Forget him, then," he cried, scrambling to
his feet. "We'll go. Come on, Kinnon—"

The two men fled up the hillside, mounted and galloped
off.

"A
listair. Alistair, wake up."

"Go away," Alistair mumbled.

The voice went on, urgent, insistent. "Come on,
man, get up."

"Oh, God, Ian, let me sleep."

"Later. Now ye must get up. Come on, Alistair, on
your feet now."

Alistair stumbled to his feet and stood swaying
dizzily. Every muscle in his body ached and his head pounded. He squinted his
eyes open and groaned aloud.

"What were we doing last night?" he said
thickly. "I canna remember."

"Aye, I know, but now ye must come with me. Come
on
,
Alistair."

"All right, all
right
. What's your hurry?"

"We have to get back to Ravenspur. Come on,
that's right, one step and then another. They're waiting for Jemmy in the
chapel."

"Who?" Alistair tried to focus on Ian, but
the effort brought such sharp pain that he had to close his eyes again.
"The tinkers?"

"Aye, that's it, the tinkers are waiting for him.
Let's go now, Alistair. Ye can do it."

Alistair staggered like a drunken man up the slope. "Where
am I? What's happening? Ian, wait."

Ian stopped. The breeze ruffled the dark hair back
from his brow and his eyes were very bright. "We have to get back to
Ravenspur," he repeated. Alistair took another step, then dropped to his
knees.

"Must rest a bit," he mumbled, wiping his
stinging eyes. When he lowered his hand he saw that it was wet with blood.

"No! Get up! Ye lazy, useless bastard, what do ye
think you're about here? Get on your feet, man!"

"Aye, all right, I hear ye, Ian. Stop shouting at
me."

"That's better," Ian snapped, and though he
sounded angry, his face was wrenched with pain. "Now walk."

Each step sent a bolt of white-hot agony through
Alistair's entire body. "Ian," he said at last. "I thought—I
dreamed—that ye were—"

"Don't worry about that now," Ian said
quickly. "It doesn't matter. Just come along."

One step and then another. That was the way. After an
eternity Alistair glanced up and saw Ravenspur spinning crazily in the distance.
He caught his toe in a tuft of dried grass and went down. A soft rain began to fall,
and he welcomed its coolnesss on his hot face, hardly aware that he was shivering
convulsively.

"I ken you're weary," Ian said. "But ye
canna lie here. Get up, now, that's an order!"

Alistair managed to open one eye, but he was incapable
of speech. Ian stood looking down at him, and it seemed to Alistair that the
rain fell all around him, but his hair and clothing were still dry. He raised
his head and whistled sharply and two dark birds alighted on his shoulders. He
spoke to them and they took off again.

"Y
ou killed them?" Deirdre asked in disbelief.
"Both of them?"

Ronan, who was kneeling on the moor as he searched for
tracks, cast her a quick look over his shoulder. "I don't know.  I might
have done. Sure, I didn't stay to inquire after their health
!
I was in a wee bit of a hurry at the time."

"But why were they chasing you in the first
place? What—"

"Damnation," Ronan swore, straightening to
peer across the empty moor, "we've lost them."

Deirdre lifted herself in the stirrups. "Alistair!"
she cried. "Alistair, where are you? Can you hear me?"

The only answer was the wind whispering along the moor.

"Which way, Ronan?"

"How should I know?"

"You used to say that you could see things,"
she said bitterly. "Was it all a lie?"

"No, but—"

"How do you do it?" she shouted. "What
do you need?"

"I don't know! It comes when it will, I cannot
summon it—I don't know how—"

"Figure it out," she snapped.

"All right, Dee," he said. "I'll try. Do
you have something that belongs to him? Even something he handled—"

"Yes." She wrenched the ring from her finger
and gave it to him. "Ronan, hurry—"

He closed his hand about the bit of silver. "He
was thinking of you when he held it," Ronan said. His eyes were wide and
the wind blew dark strands of hair about his face. "He was
remembering...something you had said about a ring...and thinking you would smile
when he gave it to you... He loves you," Ronan said, surprised. "He
was thinking that in spite of everything, he would ask you to marry
him..."

He sighed and relaxed his hand. "There's nothing
else."

"There must be," Deirdre said. "There
has to be. Try again. I don't care—oh, no," she whispered, a thrill of
fear racing down her neck. "No."

"What is it?"

"Look," she said, her voice high and thin
with terror. "Up there. Do you see? Oh, sweet St. Brighid, it's them, the
corbies—do you see them?"

"Of course I see them. But—"

"We're too late—I know it—" she called over
her shoulder, already racing after the birds.

She found Alistair lying on his back, one hand
outstretched, the rain falling on his upturned face. Finn lay beside him,
whimpering. Deirdre fell to her knees and touched his brow.

"Alistair?  Alistair, wake up, love, open your
eyes—"

Alistair's lids fluttered open. His eyes were dazed,
but they fastened on Deirdre's face with desperate hunger. "Dee. Are ye
real?"

She bent close to catch his words and her hair brushed
his face. He caught the scent of it and wished he had the strength to raise his
arms.

"Aye, I'm here. No," she ordered sharply as
he stirred. "Lie back. I'll send for help."

"Nay. You help me."

She slipped an arm beneath his neck, catching him as
he fell back. "Please, Alistair, lie still."

"Aye. I canna do it. I'm sorry, Ian," he
mumbled, and Deirdre and Ronan exchanged frightened glances.

"Ye must." Ian stood behind the two kneeling
forms, arms crossed across his chest. "Get up, Alistair. Ye can and ye
will. She needs ye now, as does your bairn."

"I have no bairn..."

"Nor will ye if ye do not shift yourself right
now. She will die," he said, nodding toward Deirdre. "Today. And your
child with her."

Alistair raised his head and stared past Deirdre. "Is
it true?"

"Aye. Now get up and get back to Ravenspur."

Deirdre put her hands on Alistair's shoulders as he
tried to lift himself. "Stop!" she cried. "You mustn't move—"

"Aye, I must. Get me on the horse."  He
forced his aching eyes toward Ronan. "You do it, Fitzgerald—and we'll call
it quits between us."

Ronan nodded. "I'll do it."

"Ronan, you cannot! He's raving, don't you see?
Get back and bring a litter—"

"Quiet, Dee," Ronan ordered. "Do as he
says."

"Deirdre," Alistair said. "Help me. Please."

The desperation in Alistair's last word decided her.
"It will be the death of you," she said, but even as she spoke she
was putting one shoulder beneath his. He clamped his teeth into his lips as she
and Ronan half carried him to the horse.

"He cannot ride," Deirdre protested.

"I can."

She watched through a blur of tears as he slowly
climbed into the saddle. "Get up behind me," he said carefully. "Don't
let me fall." 

The ride to Ravenspur passed like a dark dream as
Alistair swam in and out of consciousness. When he opened his eyes he saw Ian
walking beside the horse. The corbies fluttered behind his head.

"Damned birds," Alistair muttered. "Waiting
for their meal."

"What birds?" Ronan asked.

"Don't ask," Deirdre said grimly. "You
don't want to know."

Ian grinned. "They aren't going to eat you. That
was just for show."

He held up his hands and the birds flew over to him. As
they landed, their wings shimmered, changed, and Ian was holding two white
doves.

"I meant them for the best," Ian said,
sounding faintly apologetic. "But ye would not see it. Ye kept believing
they were a portent of your death."

"Twa corbies. Ye ken the song."

Ronan cocked his head. "The Twa Corbies?  Aye, I
know it, but I don't often play it. Too grisly. Though it does have a rather
striking melody...and that passage at the end—quite haunting, if you can catch
the sound of wind blowing over bones..."

"I'd never listened to every word of the damned
song, had I?" Ian said defensively. "God's teeth, Alistair, d'ye
always have to take everything so literally?"

"Me?" Alistair laughter was a harsh whisper
of a sound. "Oh, 'tis my fault now!"

"Alistair, are you all right?" Deirdre
asked, concerned.

"Aye," he said, leaning back against her,
feeling the warmth of her through his sodden tunic. "Just hold me."

"The corbies were for your own good," Ian
said. "That tower in your vision, Alistair—that was a real place, as ye
should know. 'Twas where ye had been living since Darnley struck me down. I
sent the corbies to watch over you, to guide you..."

"Where?" Alistair mumbled.

"To Deirdre! When ye met her in the forest, they
were there, weren't they?  And ye decided to go with her, did ye no'? And why?
Because ye saw that life is all too short to waste. You needed to see that,
Alistair, and I couldna rest until ye did. How do ye think I felt, watching ye
pine and suffer for a thing that was my fault, not yours. I had to do
something
!"

Alistair simply looked at him.

"'Twas a good plan," Ian said defensively. "As
far as it went. But I'm afraid those damned corbies caused all sorts of trouble.
They set your mind in a certain pattern—I haven't the words to explain
properly, but once you got it in your head you were about to die, everything
shifted a bit—not only you but all around ye. Thoughts are verra real," he
added. "I didna ken how powerful they can be."