The Raven's Wish Read Online Free Page B
Author: Susan King
about the nearly constant presence of the Highland winds.
"No surprise to find some of them fishin' here, but the MacShimi is not among them," Alasdair remarked. "Fishing the Fraser way—knock the fishie on the head," he went on proudly. "We are known for it, right enough. But these lads are up to something else, I think. The riders across the stream wear red rowan in their bonnets."
Duncan swore softly. "MacDonalds."
"Your own clan's greatest enemy," Alasdair said. "Did the Privy Council realize that when they sent you north?"
"Aye, and so they sent me to caution Frasers rather than MacDonalds," Duncan replied. "No one would send a Macrae to bring a bond of caution to Clan MacDonald. There would be blood instead of signatures."
Alasdair huffed at that, and guided his horse down the tufted, rocky slope. Duncan followed. They reined in their horses a few yards from the stream.
"Hail and good day to you, cousins," Alasdair called out in fluent, airy Gaelic. "Callum, Magnus! A fine catch, there. Ewan, Kenneth! Failte , lads. Greetings!"
Hearing the names reeled off, Duncan could not, at first, sort one lad from another. They all resembled each other, and all were hearty lads wearing blue and green plaids. Only their heads were different, gold and russet, copper and chestnut.
Two stepped forward, one tall and broad with hair like lamb's wool. The other had long dark hair in several plaits.
"Well met, cousin," the burly woolly-haired young man said to Alasdair, then turned to Duncan to introduce himself as Callum Fraser, laird of Glenran.
"What goes on here, lads?" Alasdair asked.
The one with the dark braids pointed to the far bank. "MacDonalds, as you see."
"Aye, Kenneth, but what do they want?"
"Only trouble," the young man answered with a shrug.
A commotion was going on near the water, Duncan noticed. The MacDonalds were shouting across the stream to the Fraser boy who stood in the water. The lad was obscured from Duncan's view by the brawny Frasers who stood on the bank.
While he could not hear all the words being exchanged, the angry tones were clear enough. He watched with interest: here were some of the very trouble-stirrers he had come to reprimand. But he frowned, realizing something.
"Alasdair," he muttered low in English. "These lads, and the laird, too, are rather young."
"They are," Alasdair agreed softly. "Many of the Fraser males are but lads. Because of the losses at Blar-na-Léine nineteen years ago, the surviving Fraser men are young, either adolescents or young adults, with few over the age of majority. Do you not recall the legend?"
"Sweet Christ," Duncan murmured with sudden comprehension. "Of course. The legend. All those male babes born to Fraser widows. If so, they would all be eighteen, nineteen by now."
"If it is true? You have been in the south too long! A Highland man friendly to Frasers could never doubt it. Duncan," Alasdair said, watching the stream. "That legend—did you know that only one of the bairns born after the battle was a lass?"
Duncan frowned. "I had not heard that."
"It is so. And there, in the water, stands one of the wildest Frasers. Her name is Elspeth."
Duncan saw then that the lad in the stream was no lad after all. Standing with her back turned toward the bank, Elspeth Fraser shouted again in Gaelic. The words were lost on a breeze, but the reactions of the MacDonalds on the opposite side attested to the insult she delivered.
The thick plait of fair hair, sheened like Celtic red-gold, was untidy. The plaid, worn over a linen shirt, was thick and enveloping, and revealed no clue to age or gender. But her bare legs, long and smooth and tautly muscled, planted firmly in the water, had the gracefulness and strength of a woman grown.
Kenneth spoke to her and she glanced around, the turn of her head a motion of simple grace. Sunlight danced over her head and her finely shaped face. Light reflected from the stream touched her eyes. Duncan thought their color was
"No surprise to find some of them fishin' here, but the MacShimi is not among them," Alasdair remarked. "Fishing the Fraser way—knock the fishie on the head," he went on proudly. "We are known for it, right enough. But these lads are up to something else, I think. The riders across the stream wear red rowan in their bonnets."
Duncan swore softly. "MacDonalds."
"Your own clan's greatest enemy," Alasdair said. "Did the Privy Council realize that when they sent you north?"
"Aye, and so they sent me to caution Frasers rather than MacDonalds," Duncan replied. "No one would send a Macrae to bring a bond of caution to Clan MacDonald. There would be blood instead of signatures."
Alasdair huffed at that, and guided his horse down the tufted, rocky slope. Duncan followed. They reined in their horses a few yards from the stream.
"Hail and good day to you, cousins," Alasdair called out in fluent, airy Gaelic. "Callum, Magnus! A fine catch, there. Ewan, Kenneth! Failte , lads. Greetings!"
Hearing the names reeled off, Duncan could not, at first, sort one lad from another. They all resembled each other, and all were hearty lads wearing blue and green plaids. Only their heads were different, gold and russet, copper and chestnut.
Two stepped forward, one tall and broad with hair like lamb's wool. The other had long dark hair in several plaits.
"Well met, cousin," the burly woolly-haired young man said to Alasdair, then turned to Duncan to introduce himself as Callum Fraser, laird of Glenran.
"What goes on here, lads?" Alasdair asked.
The one with the dark braids pointed to the far bank. "MacDonalds, as you see."
"Aye, Kenneth, but what do they want?"
"Only trouble," the young man answered with a shrug.
A commotion was going on near the water, Duncan noticed. The MacDonalds were shouting across the stream to the Fraser boy who stood in the water. The lad was obscured from Duncan's view by the brawny Frasers who stood on the bank.
While he could not hear all the words being exchanged, the angry tones were clear enough. He watched with interest: here were some of the very trouble-stirrers he had come to reprimand. But he frowned, realizing something.
"Alasdair," he muttered low in English. "These lads, and the laird, too, are rather young."
"They are," Alasdair agreed softly. "Many of the Fraser males are but lads. Because of the losses at Blar-na-Léine nineteen years ago, the surviving Fraser men are young, either adolescents or young adults, with few over the age of majority. Do you not recall the legend?"
"Sweet Christ," Duncan murmured with sudden comprehension. "Of course. The legend. All those male babes born to Fraser widows. If so, they would all be eighteen, nineteen by now."
"If it is true? You have been in the south too long! A Highland man friendly to Frasers could never doubt it. Duncan," Alasdair said, watching the stream. "That legend—did you know that only one of the bairns born after the battle was a lass?"
Duncan frowned. "I had not heard that."
"It is so. And there, in the water, stands one of the wildest Frasers. Her name is Elspeth."
Duncan saw then that the lad in the stream was no lad after all. Standing with her back turned toward the bank, Elspeth Fraser shouted again in Gaelic. The words were lost on a breeze, but the reactions of the MacDonalds on the opposite side attested to the insult she delivered.
The thick plait of fair hair, sheened like Celtic red-gold, was untidy. The plaid, worn over a linen shirt, was thick and enveloping, and revealed no clue to age or gender. But her bare legs, long and smooth and tautly muscled, planted firmly in the water, had the gracefulness and strength of a woman grown.
Kenneth spoke to her and she glanced around, the turn of her head a motion of simple grace. Sunlight danced over her head and her finely shaped face. Light reflected from the stream touched her eyes. Duncan thought their color was
Readers choose
Jean Barrett
Thomas Ligotti
Len Levinson
Burt Neuborne
Dakota Flint
Carol Higgins Clark
Hideo Furukawa
Cindi Myers
JENNIFER ALLISON
Maureen Jennings