The Winds of Change #2
“True enough,” the earl granted, chuckling. “But I thought to find ye either in the company of some fair maid or running from her father like a hound from hell.”
Taran snorted.
At the bottom step, Alec graced his brother with a weak grin.
The earl gave a mock groan and laughed, and then clasping his brother’s shoulder, entered the common room.
The place was dark, rather dingy, and crowded, a teeming hive of travel-worn merchants and more than a few half-drunken clansmen.
The innkeeper—a freckled, square-jawed man in his fifties—waved at them from the bar stacked with kegs of ale and pointed.
Following the line of his finger, they spied an empty table in the corner near the crackling fire, and as they shouldered their way into the bustle, a small group of rowdy clansmen broke into song.
From somewhere, pipes began to play, rendering further conversation impossible.
Reaching the table, Alec lifted his long leg over a bench and dropped into his seat, scanning the room out of habit.
Two red plaids caught his gaze. Cunninghams. The two men lounged near the door, their hands resting lightly upon the hilts of their dirks.
Instinct made him do the same. Their eyes met and held.
As the pipes faded and the song finished, a voice cackled by Alec’s ear, “Such a fool ye are, lad.”
Alec started, and turning, glanced up into the face of an ancient, shawled woman hovering by the table. Countless wrinkles creased her leathery skin, and the hands folded on the top of her cane were knobby and misshapen.
Robert scowled from across the table, expelling an exasperated breath. “Be gone, cailleach,” he grated, waving a dismissive hand.
The old hag sneered, her lip twisting in scorn. “Aye, and the muckle fool ye are, ye over-pompous gomeral,” she spat at him. “Betrayal. ‘Tis all ye have left afore ye, and ye can blame the arrogance in your soul for it, aye, ye can.”
The earl slammed an angry hand on the table.
At his side, Taran shifted and folded his arms, his dark, handsome face inscrutable.
Alec swallowed a smile of amusement. It had always been this way between the three of them.
Robert, the hot-headed, angry one. Taran, cold, uncaring, and deadly.
And lastly, himself: the peacemaker, playing the part of the silver-tongued, lighthearted fool in order to ease the tensions that invariably occurred whenever the three were together.
Rising swiftly to his feet, Alec dug into his sporran for a coin and tossed it onto the table. “And a fine evening to ye, good mother,” he said, smoothly capturing the old woman’s wrinkled hand between his own. “A penny for my fortune, aye?”
The old woman’s rheumy eyes narrowed as he brought her palsied hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss across her skin.
A spark crackled between them, and he drew back, disconcerted.
“And ‘tis as I thought,” the old woman croaked. Yanking her fingers from his grasp, she snatched the penny from the table with a surprising quickness. It disappeared into the folds of her shawl even quicker. And as her cold bony fingers closed around his wrist, digging into his flesh like claws, her eyes took on an almost uncanny glow. “’Tis a cursed fate ye carry on your broad shoulders,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Nigh on a hundred years past, ye died with the name of the wrong lass upon your lips. Aye, and because of it, your own true love is now your enemy, lad, an enemy ye can only save if ye leave all ye possess, all ye desire, afore the flames devour her. Ye’ll meet her soon, wearing one of those red plaids ye dinna fancy. ”
Again, Robert pounded the table with his fist. “Be gone, auld fool,” he roared. Waving to the innkeeper, he shouted over the din, “Ale and food! At once! And take this hag away now!”
Taran arched a cool brow, but if it was at the woman or his cousin, the earl, Alec couldn’t truly discern.
The withered crone appeared to have eyes in the back of her head.
Turning sharply to Taran, she took exception and hissed, “Aye, that stone heart of yours ‘twill turn tae water soon, ye clot-heid. But ye’ll journey to find her. A Sassenach, that’s who she is.
And she’ll break ye afore ye melt.” Her eyes focused in the distance as her lips split into a wide grin, revealing stained, broken teeth.
The highlander raked her with a stony gaze but remained silent.
Alec sat down, a prickle of unease creeping up the back of his neck.
The old woman was unusual, to be certain, and as she turned back his way, he quickly interjected, “But it seems I’ve strangely lost the desire to hear more, good mother.
Mayhap fate is better left shrouded, aye? I bid ye farewell and a safe journey.”
But the old crone wasn’t finished with him yet. “This lass of yours.” She wagged a crooked finger in his face. “’Twill be your last chance to find love, true love. But ‘twill cost ye dearly. Ye’ve tears to shed. A river of tears and blood—”
“Hold your tongue, Bertha,” the innkeeper’s voice boomed from behind them. “Dinna foster mischief now.” Barreling his way through the crowd while balancing a pork pie in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, the man arrived at their table with a scowl for the old woman knotting his brow.
Bertha spat in disgust. “Fools, the lot of ye,” she grumbled, shuffling back a little. “The auld ways shouldna be forgotten.”
The innkeeper’s scowl deepened as he plopped the evening meal down on the table. “Pay nae heed to Auld Bertha’s blethering,” he grunted at the earl. “She’s a mad one, that’s what! Eat and I’ll bring ye another bottle of wine.”
Robert frowned. “Simply remove her from my sight,” he ordered curtly.
The innkeeper nodded, and as he moved towards the woman, Alec felt a twinge of sympathy for the old creature.
Once again, he found himself standing. “Ach, ‘tis no matter,” he assured them all, feigning a lighthearted smile as he gallantly stepped up to her side. “I’ll see her gone myself. Please eat.”
His brother grunted approval and reached for the wine as under Taran’s dark scrutiny, Alec gently took the old woman by the arm and drew her away.
Auld Bertha’s gait was slow and wavering, and as they moved to the door, Alec scanned the crowd once again.
The Cunninghams had gone. Grimacing, he felt his pulse quicken.
He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noted their departure—an unwise move on his part.
At his side, Auld Bertha was mumbling again.
He didn’t really give her his attention until they stood outside the door and she reached over to pat his hand.
“Ye’ve a kind heart, lad.” The old hag’s face creased into a multitude of wrinkles. “Ye’ll be a wise earl, ye will, and with your bonny lass by your side, ye’ll see your lands prosper. Aye, ye’ll end more than a hundred years of hatred, ye will.”
Aye. The old crone was as mad as a hare. With a somewhat patronizing smile, he bowed. “Not likely, good mother—”
Once again, her bony fingers burrowed into his flesh, and her eyes took on an unholy look. “Ye’ll sit on the ancient seat of your clan afore winter falls, and as the last of your line,” she said harshly. “Have a care in Lainshaw, lad. ‘Tis there the river of blood ‘twill begin.”
Alec frowned. Shaking himself free, he responded with a harshness of his own, “Aye, Robert’s right. Be gone, ye cailleach! I was a muckle fool to give ye an ear! I’ve naught to fear from ye. Your words are as empty as air.”
She merely cackled in response, and chuckling to herself and leaning heavily on her cane, hobbled away at a snail’s pace, down the very center of the village lane.
He watched her go, unsettled and more than a little irritated.
A troublesome, meddlesome, bothersome hag, and nothing but a mad fool.
Lainshaw? Aye, a river flowed there, the Annock, but ‘twasn’t likely he’d find himself in Lainshaw nor near its riverbanks.
Lainshaw was only one of Robert’s many minor estates, and even though it was fairly close to Eglinton Castle, he rarely visited the place.
In fact, neither Alec nor his older brother had been there in years, and there was little reason to go there now.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his face with his hands.
The day had been a long one. He took a deep breath and moved to join Robert and Taran, but glanced back over his shoulder one last time.
He paused.
There was no sign of the old crone.
His brows arched in surprise. He’d only turned away for a second, and she’d been moving so slowly. It was as if she’d vanished into the breeze.
He stared for several moments before shrugging the entire matter away and ducking through the entrance of the ivy-clothed inn. Both Taran and Robert dipped their chins in greeting as he settled onto the bench and reached for a piece of the pork-currant pie.
He was entirely ill-prepared for his brother’s next words.
“Aye then, I’ve spoken to Taran and we’ve decided,” the earl announced after he’d drained his glass of wine. “I’ve an errand for ye in Stirling, and then the lot of ye’ll meet me in Lainshaw in three weeks’ time.”