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Laird of the Mist

Page 54

by Elizabeth English

"Yes! Let's leave right now, today—"

"I cannot. Not yet." He ran one hand through his hair, until the fine bright strands broke free of their braid and shimmered like molten gold in the sunlight. "I will not walk away and leave Malcolm unprotected. He is Ian's son, it is his right to rule—what Ian would have wanted—"

"Alistair," she said with swift urgency, "you must stop thinking about what Ian would have wanted. You must. Don't you see it doesn't matter now? He's dead and you're here and this is your choice, not his. What do you think?"

"Do you really want to know what I think? I think you're wrong, Deirdre. This has everything to do with Ian. Don't you see? I told you he wanted something of me still. This is it, and it's my one chance—my last chance—to put right what went wrong when he died."

"No, I don't see—"

"It was my place to protect him and I wasn't even there. I failed him and he's dead. And now—" he looked up at her, his eyes stricken. "There isn't much time left to me. If I canna make things right, I'll have failed him again and then I will be damned forever—"

"No!" She dropped to her knees beside him and took him by the shoulders. "Alistair, that is mad—"

He shrugged away. "I knew you wouldn't understand—"

"But I do! I do understand! Ian trusted you, they all say that, he relied on you—Alistair, listen to me. If Ian was alive and faced with such a decision, what would he have done?"

"That's what I've been—"

"No!" she cried. "Listen! The first—the very first thing Ian would have done was ask you! Wouldn't he?"

"Aye," he said at last. "He would have."

"Because he knew you would think it through for him. Isn't that how it always was between you?"

"Aye."

"Then start using the mind he valued so much and stop letting your guilt get in the way of doing what you have to do."

Without a word he pulled her close and laid his head against her shoulder. She put her arms around him, one hand stroking the fine soft hair, and felt him draw a long shuddering breath.

"You see things so clearly," he said, his voice muffled. "It sounds so simple when you say it, but it isna simple, not any more. And I'm so tired, Deirdre. I canna seem to think." He lifted his head sharply and looked up. "D'ye hear them? They're with me all the time now—"

"Whisht," she said, pulling his head back down on her shoulder. "I don't see anything, there's nothing there, nothing."

But she had seen them, sitting motionless among the green leaves and bright red fruit of the cherry tree above them. Two dark winged shapes, hideous, terrifying, implacable as death itself. She tightened her arms around Alistair, as though somehow she could protect him, and a sharp stab of fear shot through her as she prayed the prayer of every living being confronted with the reality of death.

Not yet, she pleaded silently. Don't take him now. It isn't fair, it isn't right. Oh, please, just a little longer—

He lifted his head and wiped a tear from her cheek with one callused thumb. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have gone on like that. I must be more tired than I thought. Please don't cry, Deirdre, it will be all right."

But how could it be right? she wondered as she tried to summon a smile. How could anything ever be right again?

"We all must die one day," he said. "'Tis naught to fear. But what I do fear—the only thing I fear now—is that I'll die without a chance to put things right."

"You'll find the way," Deirdre said. "I know you will."

He smiled, then leaned forward and kissed her lightly. "So long as one of us believes that, I suppose it will have to be enough."

He sighed and touched her cheek. "And then there's you. What's to be done about ye, Deirdre?"

Before she could answer he slung an arm around her shoulder and sat down, his back against the bench. "No, forget I asked that. Can ye do that? Do ye mind very much if we don't talk about it yet?"

"I—well, no," she answered, feeling suddenly a little breathless.

"Let's talk of something else. Something different. Tell me what ye liked to do when ye were a child," he suggested. "What was your favorite game?"

Completely disconcerted by this abrupt change of subject, Deirdre felt herself begin to blush.