Page 56 of Highland Storm

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.