Chapter 25 #2
“You!” Lael said to Lianae’s steward. The elder man looked terrified all at once. “Take care of your lady,” she demanded from her saddle, and the old man nodded quickly.
Smiling to herself, Lianae crossed her arms, battling yet another wave of nausea.
Forsooth, it must be exactly what Cailin said.
A child. The very thought made Lianae’s heart hurt.
A child, but what if his father never returned?
She had not seen Keane now for weeks, but she had the king’s writ, she reminded herself. And she had Balloch, the old steward.
But she would not think this way. There was much to be done before her husband’s return: take stock of their supplies, and find out how much remained before the spring planting.
She must wash the hallhouse from top to bottom, give it the love of a home.
There were grievances to hear, and bread to bake.
She had heads to count and animals to see to.
And most of all, she had a nursery to shape.
The old steward would help her, but out of everyone, she believed he would be most pleased to see the dún Scoti sisters go. For all that the man appeared to be her greatest ally at Dunràth, he was as timid as a church mouse.
Of course, goodbyes were never easily said, and Lianae had voiced them now more oft than she would have liked, but, of course, it was only meet that they should leave. Lael had her daughters to return to, and Cailin and Sorcha were expected in the vale.
“Godspeed, my sisters. May Cailleach be merciful and put the wind at your backs.”
“And you, Lianae… have a care,” Lael said, eyeing each of her guards, and once again the steward with a sharp, cutting glance. For emphasis, Lael placed a hand to her sword and gave each man a terrifying nod.
Lianae tried not to laugh at the looks the guards passed to one another. They might be afraid of the sisters, but Lianae herself was not afeared.
She had more than fifty men, with loyalties to her alone by writ of the king.
So long as she remained vigilant, they would be more than enough to defend the hallhouse.
As a daughter of óengus, she knew every last villager would raise arms to defend her, even the smallest child.
But soon after the sisters’ departure, they had a chance to test her theory.
An envoy arrived, with riders bearing fitz Duncan’s blue and silver banner.
Lianae was eyeballs deep in the ledgers, for she could read, and she would have them settled before her husband’s return.
Her father had never managed their accounts.
It was her mother who’d kept the books. The old steward appeared in Lianae’s solar, standing there with wide, round eyes.
“The lady Uhtreda bids an audience w’ ye m’lady. ”
At hearing the name, Lianae’s shoulders tightened. “The lady Uhtreda?”
Had she come to retrieve her stones?
The steward nodded, as though he’d read her thoughts. But nay, he could not know she had them… nobody but Keane knew she had the charm stones. Lianae furrowed her brow. “Does she come alone?”
“Nay, m’lady. She comes with six of fitz Duncan’s guards.”
“But not fitz Duncan himself?”
“Nay, m’lady.”
Relaxing a bit, Lianae put her quill down upon the table and pushed the ledgers away, reminding herself that she had fifty men—plus a houseful of servants who were loyal to the old Moray thane.
Not even fitz Duncan would dare defy a king’s writ.
She was lady of the manor now, and she refused to be cowed by fitz Duncan in her own home.
At any rate, Lianae no longer had the majority of the stones, nor did it behoove her to confess herself before a woman who’d raised a monster such as William fitz Duncan. “Let her in,’ Lianae allowed.
“Art certain, m’lady?”
Lianae sat straighter in her chair. “Dinna worry, Balloch. If she dares to challenge me, it will be the same as challenging her sworn king. Show the lady Uhtreda into my hall.”
“Very well, m’lady,” Balloch agreed, though reluctantly, but then he stood, his lips parting as though he meant to speak again. It was a look she was coming to know well, for the man always seemed to be on the verge of telling Lianae something more. But he shut his mouth again and turned to go.
Lianae let him leave, and once he was gone, she went to change her dress.
Despite that she was far more accustomed to wool than silk, it was a message she meant to send to the lady Uhtreda.
She was the lady of Dunràth now, and as such, Lianae would look the part to face her accuser.
For a moment, she considered leaving the small silk purse behind, but as they went with her everywhere now, she did not wish to leave the charm stones unguarded, not even in her own house.
Fastening the purse to her girdle, she made her way toward the great hall.
The Lady Uhtreda herself had once been the consort of a king. Her father Gospatric was Earl of Northumbria, but Lianae was a daughter of Moray—the true Moray heir.
Dressed in one of Aveline of Teviotdale’s mended gowns—a pale rose samite surcoat, with a white tunic beneath and a gilded girdle—she arrived in the great hall to find the long-faced woman seated calmly at her table, without her guards.
Having left them outside, she sat alone, blinking innocently at the sight of Lianae.
To the contrary, there were at least four of Lianae’s guards present—two at the hall doors, one each at opposite ends of Lianae’s long table. Intrigued that the lady would come without her hateful son, Lianae approached the table and sat down, facing the older woman.
“What brings you to Dunràth, Lady Uhtreda?”
Lianae couldn’t quite give the woman the deference her title commanded. It made her stomach even more ill than the haggis she’d consumed this morn—and she longed for a bit of her husband’s whitebeam tea.
Uhtreda smiled cannily, with hooded eyes.
For an older woman, Lianae must admit she was still lovely, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, though her face was marked with even more wrinkles than Lianae remembered.
She wore her hair in braids, much as a young maid would, laced with golden ribbons.
Her dress, as well, was finely sewn, woven with tiny threads of gold.
“I had a visit from an auld crone a few days past… she wore a patch over one eye,” she said at last.
“What has some auld woman to do with me?” Lianae asked her. The stones at her belt seem to weigh a little heavier.
Uthreda’s eyes twinkled with a certain knowing. “Ah, well, she was passing through on her way to the Isle of Skye,” she said.
“And?”
“She assured me I could retrieve the remainder of my stones… from you.”
Lianae’s breath caught over the blatant challenge, and the two women assessed one another across the table. Lianae felt the edge of her dirk cut into her thigh, but Uhtreda did not lose her temper, nor was there any true imputation in her tone.
After a moment, the woman reached for a small purse attached to the girdle at her waist—a purse not unlike Lianae’s—and Lianae heard the hiss of steel leaving a scabbard as she reached for the pouch.
Lianae lifted a hand to stay her guard as Uhtreda lifted the purse from its clasp. Calmly, unconcerned about the guards, Uhtreda opened the small purse and dumped the contents upon Lianae’s table.
Lianae stared, aghast.
There were seven stones laid before her; some landed on their backs, displaying two moons, side by side, with a lightning rod betwixt.
It was the very same symbol on the stones Lianae had lost. Slowly, after meeting Lianae’s gaze, the woman turned her charm stones over, one by one, until all were displaying the finely etched moons on their backs.
They were the same stones.
Even the rare white quartz was precisely the same color.
But it was not possible, for Lianae had lost the other seven charm stones in the brambles at Lilidbrugh—beneath a mountain of snow.
It was near twilight now, and Lianae had yet to light the candles in the hall. Uhtreda’s charm stones appeared to glow with the same strange pale light she recalled from the ruins at Lilidbrugh—ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
As though they grew in weight yet again, she felt the heaviness of the five stones attached to her belt… as though they longed to be reunited with the stones laid out upon the table. Self consciously, Lianae put a hand to the purse attached to her belt, lifting her face.
Both women locked gazes.