Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Lianae froze where she stood, impaled by her husband’s hard, glittering gaze as surely as though it were a killing blade.
They must have told him everything by now and he might loathe her for the rest of her days.
But at least she trusted him not to harm her—which hardly relieved her terrible sense of guilt.
What a choice to be made?
Impugn an innocent man, or suffer like her sister Elspeth?
That was no choice at all.
He was titled now, landed—something for which he might be grateful, but there was nothing of the look of gratitude in his posture or in his gaze. If she were flammable, the fire in his eyes would have easily set her ablaze.
Uncomfortable with her husband’s scrutiny, Lianae turned to examine the grandiose bed.
It was overlarge—more befitting a king, with elaborate gold curtains that hung like festoons from a rich dark frame.
The bedding itself was made of golden velvet.
She made her way over to the gilded monstrosity, and ran her fingers across the soft blanket, marveling over how well King David’s earls seemed to live.
To the contrary, she and her family had lived simply.
Images flashed before her eyes—of Elspeth on her wedding night—her final moments of life. The look of dread on her sister’s face as she’d taken her vows and then later, as she lay so still upon her marriage bed, the bruises ringing her neck… the sheets stained with her blood…
Lianae swallowed convulsively, her throat thickening uncomfortably as she waited for Keane to make his move.
Now that they were here, she didn’t know what to do.
In contrast to the cacophony down below, the room was unbearably silent.
And when finally, it seemed he would never speak, Lianae turned to face him and asked breathlessly, “Shall I undress for you, my laird?”
“Nay!” He eyed her distastefully and poured a bit more wine, quaffing it down in a single gulp.
Lianae was confused. “But… the bedding. Will they not expect—”
One dark brow arched malevolently. “Blood?”
Lianae nodded, and he smiled thinly, slamming down his cup upon the small table. “Dinna fash yourself,” he said. “I have a solution for that.” And he marched toward her, reaching into his belt for an ornate dirk he had sheathed there.
Lianae gasped, and seeing the flash of his blade, she took a frightened step backward.
He came only as far as the heel of the bed and ripped away the blankets, exposing the white bedding beneath, and then he held out his hand, palm side up.
Was he asking her to join to him now?
How could he expect her to come to him so easily when he was looking at her so furiously?
His green eyes glinted as sharply as did the steel of his blade.
He stared for a moment, his mouth twisting ruefully and then he sliced the blade across his hand, cutting a fine, deep gash across the pad beneath this thumb.
Lianae cried out in horror as blood spilled from his wound, into the palm of his hand.
He turned it then, and let the blood trickle down over the white sheets.
“If blood is what they want,” he said. “Blood is what they’ll get. But we both ken verra well that ye’ll no’ be bleedin’ for me tonight, Maid of Moray.”
Constance found herself standing near the entrance of the cave, screaming at the top of her lungs. Ash filled her throat and nose, making it difficult to breathe. The mountain rumbled all about her and she stumbled to her knees. “Help,” she cried, frozen with fear where she knelt. “Help me!”
Lachlann was the first to arrive. His post was the closest on the mountain, but Aidan’s captain could barely hear the girl wailing over the rumble and din of a mountain collapsing.
Una remained somewhere below. It was impossible to imagine how anyone could escape such a catastrophe from deep in the belly of the ben. The caves were decimated, the entrance barred with enormous, immovable boulders that were three times the size of a man.
“The light,” Constance sobbed. “I saw light! Now I see naught,” she cried, bursting into tears. She covered her face with trembling hands. “I canna see,” she said over and over again. “I canna see!” Until the words became a litany.
“I canna see!”
Grief stricken, Kellen escorted his disconsolate wife to his old chamber in the crannóg, where she would be safe. All able-bodied men gathered on the hill, moving stones as best they could, tugging relentlessly and in vain at others that refused to budge.
There was scarce more than a crack large enough to send a fly into.
And for all that he was the laird of his clan, Aidan worked hardest of all, with tears burning his eyes, unashamed to weep.
All about, there was nary a pair of eyes that were not veined with red and no cheek to be found that was not salted by tears.
It should have been impossible to escape the shower of stone—impossible, and yet, somehow Constance had managed to do so.
Until Aidan discovered how, he refused to stop searching for Una.
Men and women worked tirelessly into the evening, by the light of pitch torches, and every so oft, a man broke down and fell despondent to his knees, sobbing without constraint.
The Stone of Destiny was buried half a league down beneath the cold, hard ground.
But far more importantly, so was their beloved Una—for Aidan and his brethren, the only mother they had ever known.
The old woman birthed their babes, as well as nearly every single man and woman present.
She had tended their wounds. Loved their aged.
She’d guided Aidan and his father and his father before him.
She’d cursed their enemies, taught their children, loved their bairns.
She was more a part of the dún Scoti clan than any living being.
But the love they bore her couldn’t save her.
She never emerged from the cave—not that night, or the next morning, and it soon became apparent Una was lost.
And still, every kinsman available moved stone after stone, stubbornly seeking a way in and cursing amongst themselves every time they reached a dead end.
In the snow and freezing rain, they tried everything—attempted to breach the cavern through a crevice they’d sealed some years past, but that too was unbreachable now.
No matter where they attempted to dig, they made little progress, reaching solid granite at the end of their spades.
Two long days they labored without rest, until their hopes began to dim.
Tired and hungry, and soaked to the bone from ice-cold rain, they crowded together in the crannóg’s long hall, taking turns by the pit to warm their frozen bones.
Filthy from a hard day’s work, Aidan emptied the cabinets of uisge and set the jugs out for anyone to have.
The mood in the hall was doleful and there was little appetite for food, but the mind-numbing uisge would be welcomed.
“Cha bhithidh a leithid ami riamh,” Lachlann offered after a moment of silence, raising a cup to Una. Her equal will never be among us again.
Aidan was not yet ready to let her go, and yet he drank a toast with the rest of his kin, his throat too thick to utter a single word.
Sorcha sat at the table, her head cradled within her arms, weeping softly. With red-rimmed eyes, Cailin patted her youngest sister on the shoulder. Lìli sat beside them, cradling the newborn babe—a child Una would never know.
With skinned legs and bloodied fingers, Kellen had retreated to his chamber to console his poor wife, who had yet to recover her sight.
No one could quite make out Constance’s story, but as best as they could decipher, she had gone down into the tunnel below Una’s grotto, after finding the door ajar.
She found Una lying prayerfully upon the ground, next to the altar bearing the Stone from Scone.
She read aloud from the plaque, she’d said—a scripture Aidan knew by rote.
Unless the fates be faulty grown
And prophet’s voice be vain
Where’er is found this sacred stone
The blood of Alba reigns.
And then light exploded, blinding the girl, shattering the caverns like glass. Like their beloved kinswoman, the stone called clach-na-cinneamhain was now lost. It was once the destiny of his people, but now they would be guardians nevermore.
Swallowing the contents of his tankard whole, Aidan slammed his cup down on the table, and poured himself another, tears stinging his smoke-red eyes. “Lael, Cat and Keane must be told,” he said to no one in particular.
“And Cameron,” Cailin added. “He may not realize his sister has wed our brother.”
Another moment of excruciating silence.
“We’ll send a messenger to Keppenach,” Lìli suggested. “The winter has been mild enough. The road is not yet unpassable.”
“I’ll go,” Lachlann offered.
“As will I,” Auld Fergus said.
“Just the two of you,” Aidan agreed, his throat scarce allowing words to pass. “We will need every pair of hands to continue the search.”
Lìli gave him a look filled with sorrow and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Aidan… we have heard not a sound from the caverns below. The tunnels are sealed, my love.”
Sorcha said softly, raising her head, “She canna live without…” She swallowed the rest of her words.
Auld Fergus stood and raised another toast. “What’s that she oft said?”
May those who mùirn us mùirn us;
And those who dinna mùirn us,
May the Cailleach turn their hearts:
And if She wadna turn their hearts
May she turn their ankles,
Sae we’ll know ’em by their gimp.
“Here’s to us,” toasted Lachlann, with a throaty voice that sounded full of gravel.
“Wha’s like us?” added Sorcha sadly, in the absence of her youngest brother, who would often say the words.
And Aidan, with glassy eyes and a gruff voice, finished the toast for the rest, “Damned few,” he said. “And they’re all dead.”
Auld Fergus sighed wearily. “Guess she weren’t no Cailleach, after all.”