Page 31

"Oh, so ye know about giants, do ye?" Alistair said.

"Finn Mac Coul," Maeve said with a sleepy smile.

"Well, I'm sorry to say I've never met him in particular," Alistair said, "though one time, way up in the hills on a fine spring morning, with the sun shining bright and the birds all singing and the sky the same blue as your bonny eyes..."

As his voice grew lower and finally died to silence, Deirdre laid her sleeping daughter on the ground and covered her again. Alistair added some more wood to the fire and drew his sword and whetstone.

"You're very good with her," Deirdre said, sitting down beside him and holding her hands out to the blaze.

"I like bairns." He shrugged, running the stone against the blade and testing it with his thumb. "And ye ken I've had my share of nightmares."

Deirdre nodded. Not a night had passed that Alistair didn't start at least once from his sleep, waking her from the fitful doze that was all she usually could manage.

"Do you dream of monsters, as well?" she asked lightly.

"No." For a moment it seemed he would say no more, then he sighed and added, "I dream of Ian. I thought I was finished with all that, but these past days the dream has started up again. It always begins the same way..."

He told her of the day when he and Ian had found young Jemmy tied to a tree, the way he and Ian had fought the tinker lads, and how Ian ran off after them.

"Up until then, it's all just how it happened," he said, "Once Ian was gone I saw to Jemmy as he bade me, but in the dream, every time, when Ian runs off, I know that he's heading straight for Darnley's ambush. I chase him, but I never reach him in time.

"Sometimes I end up at back at Ravenspur. And the laird—he's there and he looks at Ian and then at me and I know what he's thinking, why are you alive when he is dead? It all comes back then, knowing how I failed him, failed Ian, failed my men...and then the laird gives a great cry and falls down senseless, just as he really did that day.

"But usually I come out of the forest and I'm on the moor and there they are—my men—lying in the bloody snow with Darnley riding off. And then I stay with Ian while he dies again—and again—" He stared into the dark forest, his face strained and pale. "If only I could catch him," he whispered. "If only I could reach him in time..."

"Then what?" Deirdre asked gently. "What could you do if you reached him? He's dead and gone."

"He may be dead, but I think—at times I wonder if he is truly gone."

Deirdre shot an uneasy glance about the clearing, then gave herself a shake. "Of course he is gone," she said briskly. "'Tis yourself you should be worrying for now."

He ran a hand across his face and shot her a wry smile. "Thank you, lady," he said. "You are quite right, of course."

He bent to his sword again, his expression chill and shut. Deirdre watched the competent movements of his hands, sensing he was sorry for confiding in her. She could hardly blame him. She had handled it badly, she knew that, but while tales of spirits might be fine around a winter's fire in a crowded hall, out here in the dark forest it was a bit unnerving.

"Don't you miss Ravenspur?" she asked, breaking the awkward silence. "Are you not wanting to be home again?"

"No," he said flatly. "Oh, I miss Malcolm, even the laird, at times, but Ravenspur is—" he broke off, frowning. "There's too much hatred there, too many old wounds that will never heal. 'Tis a bad place these days, at least for me. I don't belong there anymore." He stopped, looking faintly surprised. "It's taken me a long time to see that."

"Then what will you do next?"

"Who knows?" He glanced up into the trees. "I'm just marking time, Deirdre. One road's much the same as any other these days."

She glanced up, as well, and it seemed an icy finger was laid upon her neck as she heard the faintest flutter of dark wings above.

"So you mean to wander rootless through the world until you die?" she burst out, fear sharpening her words. "Is that it? Just go from here to there as the wind blows you?"

"The wind blew me into your path, lady," he reminded her. "But for that, you would be back at Cranston Keep."

"But what about when I am gone? What then, Alistair?"

He shrugged. "I'll see what happens next."

She had the sudden desire to slap him hard, just to see if she could rouse him from the dark dream he wandered in.

"You'll see what happens next?" she repeated derisively. "Sure and that is the most pathetic, cowardly thing I have ever heard!"

He looked at her, his eyes kindling with anger. "I dinna recall asking your opinion on the matter."