The Inscription (27 page)

“It will be as you wish.” Angus scratched his beard. “Your brother was saddened by the loss of MacDougal.”

Lachlan reached for an empty tankard. “Gavin openly mourned Una as though she’d been his mother.”

Indeed, his brother and Una had shared that type of bond. He had forgotten that in MacDougal’s death Gavin had also lost his best friend. Until now, Lachlan had never considered the animal to be anything more than protection. Perhaps he could never replace MacDougal in Gavin’s heart, but Lachlan could provide another friend. He put the tankard down.

“Come with me, Angus. There is something we must do.”

The courtyard was filled with clear morning light Amber sat beside Gavin and listened to him read aloud. He had greatly improved and even boasted that he was now reading for pleasure. She smiled, remembering how her brother compared reading to going to the dentist’s office.

She heard a puppy yelp and looked up. Lachlan appeared before them, holding a black ball of fur.

“I need to find a home for this mangy animal.”

Gavin shot off the bench and ran over to his brother. “Where did she come from? May I take care of her?”

Lachlan knelt down and handed the squirming puppy to Gavin. “She is from Lily MacKintosh’s litter.”

Amber’s breath caught in her throat. There was a subtle change in Lachlan. For the first time he had referred to one of the wolfhounds as “she” instead of “it.”

Gavin glanced over at Amber, giggling as he tried to avoid the puppy’s licking tongue. “She likes me.”

Amber smiled. Gavin had been melancholy all morning. She looked at the three of them close together. The puppy was alternating between licking Gavin’s face and nibbling on Lachlan’s hand. The atmosphere was charged with love.

Lachlan glanced at her and winked. “What do you think we should name this beast who is determined to chew clear through to the bones in my fingers?”

Gavin interrupted. “Amber should be the one to name her.”

“Aye. But more important, the name should represent wisdom-and understanding.”

Amber’s heart filled with hope as they included her in their circle. “Do you like the name Dora?” She knew the dear woman would like the idea.

The two brothers bent their heads together and whispered as though they were making a decision of die gravest importance. Lachlan nodded and motioned for Gavin to render their verdict.

“Lachlan and I feel Dora is a good strong name, worthy of the wolfhound she will become. But she should have a last name as well. We would like to use your name, MacPhee.“

“Dora MacPhee.” Amber laughed. “It’s perfect.”

With the puppy in his arms, Gavin stood and headed toward the cookroom. “Dora is hungry. I had better find something for her to eat.”

Amber closed the book Gavin had left behind. “That was a very nice thing you did.”

He shrugged. “Wolfhounds are fierce protectors of the castle, and this one was in need of a home.”

“I just realized something.” She grinned. “You are a fraud, Lachlan MacAlpin.”

He arched his eyebrow and sat down beside her. “And why is it that you call me such?”

“You didn’t give Gavin a puppy because you wanted another watchdog. You gave her to him because you knew he missed MacDougal.” She smiled. “I think there’s hope for you yet.”

“There is indeed hope.”

A soft warm breeze swirled the dust around her feet and in the distance she could hear Gavin playing with Dora. She felt better today than she had in a while. She’d done a lot of thinking since her conversation with Marcail.

“And, maybe, there’s a chance for us.”

He kissed her lightly on the nose. “Aye, those words are true. We are fated to be together, Amber MacPhee. One day you will believe it as well.”

She leaned toward him until their arms touched. The contact warmed her. “Tell me.”

He traced the outline of her neck with gentle fingers and his voice was a husky whisper. “I am empty without you.”

The words soothed her aching heart. They should have been enough. She turned away. It would be so easy to love him. Easy to live moment to moment, and not think of the tomorrows. Through the dear, warm morning air Amber saw O’Donnell and Marcail walking hand in hand toward the Loch. They had made their peace. She should be able to do the same, but something held her back.

Amber tucked the book under her arm and pushed open the door to Marcail’s room. The chamber was bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Marcail, a needle in one hand, was sewing on a white linen gown.

“I saw you and O’Donnell in the courtyard earlier today.” Amber smiled. “Looks as though you’ve decided to give him a second chance.”

Marcail shook the finger she’d pricked with the needle. “Yes, but I am already regretting it. I hate to sew.”

Amber laughed. “So do I.” She examined the dress. It was a fitted linen gown. Celtic lettering, in gold silk thread, was sewn on the bodice and long sleeves. The gown was breathtaking in its simplicity, but not the type of dress Marcail usually wore.

“It’s beautiful. If you’re having trouble, why don’t you ask someone to help you?”

Marcail-wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Tradition dictates that I perform the task myself. It is the gown I shall be married in, if ever I complete the sewing of it.”

Yesterday they had discussed the fact that O’Donnell did not deserve to be forgiven; today Marcail was planning to marry him. Amber pulled up a chair opposite Marcail and sat down. She decided Marcail had two rates at which she traveled: turtle slow or speed of light. Amber preferred somewhere in between.

“So, when will the wedding take place?” Marcail looked out the window. “At the winter solstice we shall enter into the joining ceremony and drink from the cup that contains the Elixir of Life. A year from that date we shall enter into another ceremony that will unite us in marriage.” She glanced at Amber. “If the gods bless our union, I shall bear a child ten months after the second ceremony. You made me understand that if you love someone, the choice is simple.”

Cobwebs blocked Amber’s path and clung in her hair. She brushed her face, staying in the shadows as she followed silently down the narrow corridor behind Marcail. In the pre-dawn light Amber had decided two things. First, if they were to have any future together she must be honest with Lachlan and tell him she was from the twentieth century and second, that she wanted to learn more about his people.

She’d overheard Angus and Marcail mention a council meeting at the evening meal and had made the decision to see it for herself.

Amber blew out her candle, to avoid being detected, and inched forward by feeling her way along the damp walls. She could see the light from Marcail’s candle flickering along the ceiling. She was past thinking this was a dumb idea and had moved on to considering herself certifiably insane. What did she hope to discover? It was freezing in the underground tunnels and the cold air seeped through the many layers of clothes she wore. She shivered, gritting her teem to keep them from chattering.

The light from Marcail’s candle disappeared. Amber felt as though she’d been plunged into a black void so dark her eyes couldn’t make the adjustment. Her heart thundered in her ears. She forced down the panic and increased her pace. The sharp edges from the stone walls cut into the palm of her hand. As she turned a corner she saw a light. Amber hurried forward in time to see Marcail step through a doorway.

Cautiously she inched her way forward and peered inside. Torches lined the walls exposing a vestibule-type room and then a larger one beyond. It was the larger of the two that Marcail headed toward. Amber entered the smaller chamber. A latticework stone wall stood on either side of the entrance to the larger room, dividing the two chambers. The designs looked Celtic. She hugged the wall and peered into the room that Marcail had entered. Candles covered a long table that shone like ebony. She could hear whispered conversations.

There appeared to be about twenty men and women. They were all talking so low Amber couldn’t make out the words and the accents were as varied as their clothes. She recognized Angus and the twins, Artemis and Theseus.

A door creaked open. Lachlan entered with four men who walked behind him. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole tension-charged atmosphere must be building toward a dark purpose. Three men and three women took their places behind a long table. Lachlan did the same.

She heard a scuffling sound. Two tartan-clad men dragged a third forward from the shadows. An old woman, her clothes resembling layers of tattered rags and her hair in wild disorder, danced and cackled around a tall slender man. He was dressed in the loose-fitting clothes of a Russian Cossack and was being held prisoner. Amber gripped the latticework and leaned closer.

Lachlan and the six people sat down and talked quietly among themselves. Amber could almost hear the sound of ticking as time crept forward. Then the old woman laughed. The shrill noise echoed through the room. Lachlan stood, his face and expression hidden from Amber in the shadows cast by the torchlight. He walked around the table to stand in front of the man accused.

“Morag, the charges against you are grave and the facts undisputed.” He motioned for Angus. “It has been proven that you willingly had agreed to enter into a marriage contract with this woman, Thia, in the year 1411. Do you deny these charges?”

Lachlan’s voice was clear and his words seemed to bounce off the walls, but she must have heard the date wrong. She figured she had traveled back to the year 1566, so Lachlan must have said or meant 1511, not 1411. She looked at the man Lachlan had called Morag and then over at Thia. Morag was a man in his thirties, but the woman was bent over with age. Morag must have agreed to marry Thia when she was young and beautiful and changed his mind when she started to age. Amber felt her hands tremble against the harsh stone.

Metal clanked against the floor as Morag’s chains were released. He sank down to his knees and bent forward. Lachlan placed his hand on the man’s head and Amber saw the muscles in Lachlan’s jaw tighten.

“Thia, believing in your word and under the supervision of the Council, performed the ceremony that prepared her for the joining. When it was your turn to drink from the cup containing the Elixir of Life, you ran. Although many offered to take your place, Thia refused them, and demanded what was her right.“

A suffocating silence encased the room. Amber held her breath. If what she understood was correct, not only did this elixir reverse the effects of sterility, it also started the aging process. According to her calculations, Thia had sacrificed her immortality over one hundred and fifty years ago. These immortals might age, but it was still at a slower pace than mortals.

Lachlan moved aside as Theseus mumbled a few words. He poured liquid from a glass decanter over the bent head of Morag.

“It is a credit to you, Morag, that you accept your fate. Your brothers and sisters will learn of your courage.” He motioned to Angus who drew his sword and raised it over Morag’s head.

Amber pulled back from the barrier, stunned. Her heart was beating so fast her chest ached. The expressions on the faces of those in the room were as emotionless as the stone walls.

Lachlan raised his hand. “The laws of our race are dear. By refusing to join with Thia, after she had fulfilled the ceremony, you robbed her not only of her life, but* of the opportunity to bear children. The penalty is your death.”

Silent screams rose in Amber’s throat. She backed away until her fingers made contact with the stone wall of the entrance. In horror she watched as Lachlan gave the signal to Angus. The man whom Amber had thought of as a gentle bear of a man slashed the sword down toward the prisoner. The blade cut through the air and severed Morag’s head.

She heard the crack of metal against bone, saw the head separating from the body and the dark blood spilling onto the stones. Her stomach lurched into her throat, the taste bitter against her tongue. She covered her mouth with her hands and ran into the darkness, feeling her way through the passageway toward the safety of her room.

The stench of blood hung heavy in the dimly lit chamber. Lachlan watched the council members back away from Morag’s body. The twins straightened the sleeves of their purple velvet coats and averted their gaze. Marcail turned to face him. She had a lace handkerchief pressed lightly against her face and her eyes were rimmed with tears. They had both known Morag, a storyteller, a poet. A man who felt intensely for a woman or a cause one moment and indifference the next. Lachlan felt it difficult to breathe.

Thia’s shrill laugh broke through the stillness. All turned toward the woman who was the only one in the chamber to rejoice in Morag’s execution. She danced and muttered incoherently around the stone-faced council. Marcail touched Artemis on the arm. He walked over to the woman, leading her gently from the room. Thia’s intrusion into their shared grief awakened all to action. Two men, wearing the MacAlpin plaid, picked up Morag’s body. A third placed the man’s head in a woven basket and walked out the door. Those who remained nodded their heads respectfully toward Lachlan then filed out of the chamber.

A blackness crept over Lachlan. He denied the emotions that attempted to overwhelm him. The laws that ruled his kind had protected them and kept them safe over a history that spanned thousands of years. It was indeed essential that they be upheld. That was the gossamer thread of duty to which he was bound. For his next task he would need a clear mind.

He looked at Angus. His friend was immobilized by grief and stood where he had brought down Morag. Angus had followed the command to execute, the man, not allowing emotions to engulf him until the order was completed.

Lachlan crossed to him. Times beyond counting he had questioned the fates that made him Angus’ overlord. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and watched him slowly raise his head. The same look of despair had been in Marcail’s eyes. Lachlan squeezed Angus’ shoulder.

“There was no choice left to us.”

“”Tis true, but my thoughts were also with the woman. Poor creature. For a brief moment I thought she would ask me to end her life. ‘Twas unfortunate it took so long to find Morag.“ A dark cloud of fear passed over his face. ”My sword was ready.“