Free Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] by The Sword Maiden

and other boys, including Lachlann, in swordplay, and now she understood the extent of his willingness to teach her. "I will not act out this legend for you," she said firmly.
    "We will discuss this later," he said. He plucked two fat pink roses from another bush as he spoke. The thorns did not seem to bother him. "For now, you have enough to think about. Here, take these to Mairi MacKerron. She will like them, even if they come from the old ferryman."
    He led her the short way to his boat, and Eva sat clutching the flowers while he rowed her across the dawn-bright water. Her thoughts tumbled and sparked, but she stayed silent, finally stepping out of the boat onto the white beach.
    "We will continue to practice on Innisfarna's soil," Alpin told her. "The isle gives you strength and will. Come to the loch at dawn tomorrow, and I will show you how to use a longsword. It is time you fought with steel, not wood."
    She regarded him in silence, unsure of her feelings.
    "Girl," Alpin said, "you do not feel the urge to fight now, but you will. When Colin tries to take your isle, it will spark in you like fire. I know you, Aeife. You will not hold back your courage when that day comes. You will do what must be done. And I intend to prepare you for it." He pulled at the oars and moved out into the loch.
    As she walked up the long bank toward the smith's house, she knew that Alpin was right. She must defend Innisfarna somehow, and so it was fitting that she learn to be a warrior like the valiant and proud Aeife. Though she lacked faery magic and a warrior's heart, someday she might have to fulfill a legend.
    And she must find some way to see it through.

 
     
     
    Chapter 6

     
    The night sky sparkled under a full moon, and a crisp, cool wind lifted his cloak as he rode home. Through the trees, he saw the glittering dark surface of a loch and recognized the surroundings: Loch Fhionn, at last.
    He guided his sturdy garron along a well-worn, well-remembered path. The animal, purchased in Perth, was a capable horse for the westward journey into Argyll. After a full day's ride, Lachlann was deeply tired, but glad to be out in the hills again, after months of living in town.
    He had spent the past week pacing in the king's castle, waiting for a royal audience and the official message that he was to carry to the MacArthurs. Bearing the king's letter and forewarned of possible danger in the area from rebels, he wore his steel cuirass—breastplate and backpiece—and carried weapons ready for use. He watched the hills and forest carefully as he rode.
    Following the loch's banks, he headed toward the tiny village of Balnagovan, which consisted of a hillside chapel and a few farms. The lands here had been inhabited by MacArthurs, but the clan's proscription would have evicted and exiled most, if not all, of them. He was not surprised to see deserted homes with boarded windows and empty byres.
    Further down the length of the loch, he could see the familiar shape of Innisfarna, isle and stout castle rising upward, dark against dark. Light twinkled in the windows, and he wondered if Eva was there now, with her Campbell husband. His heart seemed to turn at the thought.
    Soon he approached the smith's house and the smithy. His property was called Balnagovan as well—"village of the smith" in Gaelic. The smithy itself, with its nearby stable, perched on a hill above the loch. Across a wide meadow was the house. Home at last, Lachlann thought with enormous relief, and nudged the horse forward.
    The drystone building, long and low with a thatched roof, presented two shuttered windows flanking a stout oak door. A stone-and-wattle byre protruded at the back beside a privy and a large garden. Though all was dark, pale smoke drifted from the central chimney. Lachlann heard a hound begin to bark inside the house.
    Solas, he thought, smiling. His foster mother, Mairi MacKerron—Muime, as he always thought of her—would no doubt be awakened by the alarm,