Lady of the Stones
Shoving Sorcha behind him, Alec unsheathed his sword and faced Hugh.
“I dinna know by what fate ye came here, Hugh,” he said in a dangerously quiet voice. “But I’m grateful for the chance to kill ye.”
Hugh tilted his head, and his thin nostrils flared. “Ye’ll not succeed, Montgomery,” he warned, his smile dripping with scorn. “My men have ye surrounded.” He levelled his sword at Alec, coils of mist eddying around his boots.
Alec shrugged and advanced, undaunted. “Your men canna help ye now, Cunningham,” he grated, his keen eyes narrow and sharp. “Soon, ye’ll be dancing for the devil in hell.” He was close to the man, almost within striking distance.
“’Tis ye and your witch-whore who will be dancing there,” Hugh shot back.
The gaunt man lunged then, prematurely arcing his sword in a rage-filled swing.
It was easy enough for Alec to pivot away.
With a lightning-quick response, he delivered a deep cut across Hugh’s thigh.
The man had been a fool to begin this fight.
At the next unwieldy stroke, it was clear to them both that Alec was by far the better swordsman.
Fear flew across Hugh’s face. Taking a faltering step back, he gave a shrill whistle. “Attack, Cunninghams! Attack now!”
It was an obvious attempt at distraction.
“If ye had men, they’d have attacked by now,” Alec snorted, driving Hugh back farther. “’Tis clear ye stand no chance against me, ye fool.”
Hugh whirled away and called again, “Attack!”
But there was no answer.
A scathing smile curled Alec’s lip. “Mayhap they dinna care to come to your aid, Cunningham. ’Tis just ye and me,” he said, lashing out again. He followed it quickly with a powerful kick that sent Hugh sprawling to the ground.
Panicking, the man rolled as Alec’s sword came down again, but the move only prolonged his death. By narrowly evading the blow that would have ended it sooner for him, Hugh received a deep slice across the shoulder instead. Blood erupted from a severed artery, a mortal wound.
Terror suffused Hugh’s face. Gasping, he dropped his weapon, and staggering to his feet, managed to stand there a moment before his knees buckled. He fell back then, landing against the largest stone in the circle and sliding to the ground.
It would very soon be over for the man.
Slowly, Alec approached and dropped the tip of his sword, pressing it against the base of his neck.
Hugh panted. The blood from his wounds staining his clothing crimson and flowing over his hand and down his fingertips stood out unnaturally as it dripped onto the frozen, mossy ground underneath him.
“Make your peace with death,” Alec commanded, standing over him.
Hugh’s lips spread into a grotesque smile, a thin film of blood covering his teeth. “Ye must take me to the king for justice—”
“Nay, ye’re already dead,” Alec interrupted with a harsh laugh. “For ye, I am the hand of justice. And at long last, I’ve avenged the deaths of my kin and the lives of the innocent ye accused of witchcraft.”
Hugh’s lip twitched. “Then I curse your soul,” he spat.
“Ye have no power to curse any,” Alec retorted in disgust. “But I’ll grant ye the courtesy of a quick death now, even though my hatred of ye runs strong and deep. I’d not see my soul turn as black as yours.”
True fear lit Hugh’s narrow face. “Mercy,” he whispered, panting in a broken whisper.
“’Tis too late to beg forgiveness now,” Alec countered with a snarl, standing over the man with his legs spread wide apart.
Raising his weapon, he continued in a deep, thunderous voice, “For the blood of those ye slayed, may they rest now in peace. For Robert, Andrew, David, Aonghas, Eadan, Niall, Sean, and for Gellie.”
With that, he lifted his weapon and drove it deep.
Hugh gave a wet gurgling scream, his arms convulsing as he choked on his own blood—and then there was silence.
Closing his eyes, Alec stood over the body a moment. Finally, it was done. Finally, his brothers could rest in peace. With his sword still in his hand, he turned then, seeking Sorcha in the surrounding mists to find the lass running towards him.
“It’s truly over now, Alec,” she gasped, rushing into his arms. Her face crumpled as deep shudders racked her slender shoulders.
He pulled her close with his free arm, crushing her against his heart. “Aye, ‘tis,” he breathed against her hair.
The sound of feet crashing through the underbrush made him spin around, alert and ready, but it was only Taran, running into the clearing, tendrils of mist swirling around his raised sword.
The highlander’s blue searing gaze filled with outright relief the moment he saw them, taking in Hugh’s dead body and the scene spread out before him in a single glance. Expelling a loud breath, he shoved his blade back into its sheath.
“Ach, I heard the sounds of battle,” he said, running his hand through his dark hair. “But I couldna find ye, cousin. ‘Tis these strange infernal mists. They’re like a live thing, blocking me wherever I go and—”
He paused in midsentence, his lips parting in shock as his gaze focused over Alec’s shoulder.
Alec whirled and froze.
A woman stood behind him, next to the largest stone in the circle.
Tall and willowy, she possessed an unearthly beauty, and her flawless, creamy skin appeared to glow.
Her dark, green gown of shimmering satin and the net strewn with pearls capping her wealth of raven hair bespoke of immense wealth, but to find a lady of such means in the middle of a forest was strange indeed.
She stood, staring at Hugh’s body lying at her feet and then slowly, ever so slowly, raised her eyes to meet Alec’s.
A shiver rippled through him. Her lavender-ringed eyes were identical to Sorcha’s.
“Well done, Alec Montgomery, you have a brave soul and at long last, you are avenged,” she said in an alto voice that slipped through the misty glade like a wraith. “Protect my sister well.”
Alec caught his breath. “My … lady?” he managed to ask.
At his side, he could feel Sorcha tense and her back turn ramrod straight.
The lady ignored him to turn towards Taran, and as she did so, a freezing gust of wind swept through the glade, bringing with it thicker, white rolling clouds of mist.
“You have the arm of a warrior, Taran Alexander Mackenzie,” she said. “But you will need your heart for the path ahead of you. Protect my sister well. When you come again, bring Ravenscraig with you.”
Taran cocked a brow, his hand dropping instinctively to rest upon the hilt of his sword. “Lady?” he growled, his voice rough and low.
A smile crossed the lady’s face and then she raised her hands. In a voice as mysterious as a moonlit night, she whispered, “Come, my children.”
She’d scarcely spoken the last syllable before another gust of wind blew through the glade, drawing the mists from all directions to the stones.
The temperature dropped into a bitter, crackling cold that bit Alec’s skin.
Strands of mist descended from the sky and curled up from the ground to obscure his vision with fog so thick, he could only just see his own hand stretched out before him.
Then it was over.
A shaft of sunlight fell upon his face and in minutes, the fog had entirely melted away, revealing a bright blue wintry sky.
There was no sign of the lady.
“Where did she go?” Taran asked gruffly.
Alec glanced over to see his cousin still standing with his hand upon his sword, his face even more inscrutable than ever.
“I dinna know, cousin,” he answered uneasily.
At his side, Sorcha drew a sharp breath and covered her mouth with her hands. Tense, Alec lifted his sword again, but relaxed upon seeing a middle-aged woman standing a few yards away, a woman with the same, odd lavender-ringed eyes.
“Christine!” Sorcha choked.
Christine held out her arms, stepping into the band of sunlight. “Welcome home, my sweet child,” she said, a smile creasing her ageless face. “Come, let me hug ye at last.”
Sorcha hesitated, her feet still rooted to the ground. “I canna come,” she said, tears heavy in her voice. “Ye said I canna come back.”
“And ye dinna come here on your own now,” Christine replied with a light-hearted laugh. “’Twas the lady who called Alec here, to avenge many wrongs. Aye, at long last, the blood in the stones have found the justice they seek.”
Sorcha didn’t need any more urging. With a heartrending sob, she rushed at the woman and threw her arms around her neck.
Uniting his brows into a puzzled frown, Alec tilted his head to one side as Taran joined him, eyeing the stones with a wary glance. Neither man felt inclined to speak.
“I thought the dreams canna be changed,” Sorcha said, her face still buried against Christine’s neck.
The woman withdrew from the embrace and held her at arm’s length. “’Tis over, love,” she said, dropping a gaze over Sorcha’s many bruises and cuts. She clucked her tongue. “And ‘tis true the dreams canna be changed, but yet they can, do ye see?”
“Nay,” Sorcha answered, shaking her head.
The woman smiled and nodded at Alec. “If ye hadna left the day I told ye, lass, then ye would never have met that braw lad standing by your side. He would have died with his brothers in the Annock. And the priest in your dream would have led ye to your death, not to your freedom. Dinna fear the dreams, my love. Oft they are not truly what they seem.”
Taran stirred at Alec’s side. “Ye have uncanny knowledge, good mother,” he said guardedly.
Christine turned her gaze to him and smiled. “The Lady of the Stones comes but rarely, lad,” she told him softly. “Ye were blessed to speak with her.”
“In faith, I dinna understand how she came by my name,” the highlander replied, a scowl darkening his face. “Nor Ravenscraig’s. Nor do I know of any sister to such a woman. I would fain speak with her again. Tell me, where did she go?”
The woman laughed. “She doesna come at your beck and call, lad,” she said with good humor.
“I’ve spoken with her myself only twelve times since I was a wee lassie.
She doesna age. Ever has she looked the same to my mother and her mother as well.
And never does she explain herself nor tell us whence she came. ”
Taran cocked a querying brow. “Then where does she reside?” he insisted, stubbornly.
Christine turned and pointed to the largest stone in the circle.
The highlander’s brows knit a deeper disbelieving line. “Nay,” he murmured. “I dinna know where she came from or whither she went, and I admit, she was fair strange, but she was a lady, good mother, not some fairy creature.”
“It matters not what ye strive to believe, lad,” Christine said with a chuckle. “Dinna doubt ye’ll meet a sister of the stones soon enough. Ye’ll know I speak the truth when ye see her eyes. They’ll be three-ringed and of different colors.” She waved at her own and at Sorcha’s as well.
Taran simply stared, clearly sceptical.
She didn’t appear to mind. Turning to Alec she said, “I’ve prepared ye a meal. I knew ye would come this day and I had faith that ye’d win, Alec. Come, Heather House isna far.”
“The horses—” Alec began, a little unnerved.
“Are behind ye, lad,” the woman finished for him, pointing over his shoulder.
He turned with Taran to see she spoke the truth.
“Strange,” Taran muttered under his breath. “I would swear to it that I tied them, cousin.”
“’Tis peculiar, this place,” Alec granted, glancing around. “But I feel as if I know it.”
“Not I,” Taran grumbled as they caught the reins.
Christine led them to the stone circle, and for a moment, Alec paused over Hugh’s still body, lying lifeless against the largest stone.
The blood had turned almost black, seeping into the lichen and moss covering its ancient, weathered surface.
Somehow, it felt right. And suddenly, he felt an immense burden lift from his shoulders, a burden he hadn’t been aware he’d even carried.
“We’ll take his body when we ride to the highlands, cousin,” Taran said at his side, glancing over his shoulder apprehensively. “I would leave this place and at once.”
“Not I,” Alec replied without thinking.
Taran arched a dark brow.
“Aye,” Alec said with a growing conviction, looking over to where Sorcha and Christine waited at the edge of the circle. “I’ll be staying here with Sorcha for a time.”
“Are ye certain, cousin?” Taran probed with a curt unease.
“I’m an outlaw now, aye?” he replied with a light-hearted chuckle and an ever-growing sense of conviction.
“Mayhap I’ll live here as a cottar for the remainder of my days.
I dinna know what fate has in store for me, but aye, I’ll be staying here.
” He paused and looked at Sorcha’s pale face.
“At least until Sorcha is healed, hale and hearty.”
Taran nodded, clearly reluctant. “Aye,” he said, but his tone promised further discussion.
“Come.” Christine waved them forward. “’Tis time for a warm meal and rest.”
She led them past the stones and the ancient willow to a woodland path winding through the eaves of an ancient forest. ‘Twas strangely peaceful, and to Alec, familiar.
Rounding a bend in the path, he spied an old lichen-covered bridge, and in the clearing beyond, a charming, homey, weathered-stoned cottage.
A column of smoke rose from its chimney in welcome.
“Heather House,” Christine said with a smile. “Here, ye’ll find peace and rest. For a time.”
As they stepped into the clearing, Alec couldn’t shake the sense of recognition. “I swear I’ve been here afore, good mother,” he murmured.
Christine’s eyes crinkled in warmth. “And mayhap ye have, lad,” she surprised him with the reply. “I dinna know the tale of the Montgomery pin, do ye now?”
He looked at her, taken aback, recalling the pin that had brought Sorcha to him. “Nay, but ‘twas an old one,” he said. “And I dinna know where it ‘tis now.” He glanced over at Sorcha, tired and exhausted, swaying on her feet. “But I bless the day I saw it.”
The smile that lit her lips filled his heart.
“We’ll never know,” Christine said, moving forward. “But it doesna matter now.”
She turned away, but Alec caught her by the arm. “Do ye, by chance, know Auld Bertha?” he asked, suddenly.
“Auld Bertha?” Taran groused by his side.
Christine seemed to find his attitude amusing as she replied, “Auld Bertha? Aye, she comes to rest here and there whenever the winds call her. She’s a sister of the stones, lad.”
A sister of the stones. Alec cocked a brow and surveyed the two women. “Then, ye are truly …” he began.
“Witches?” Christine supplied, a smile playing on her lips.
“Nay,” he answered quickly. “I would say gifted.”
“Name it what ye will, lad,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “Come. ‘Tis time to rest.”