The Raven's Wish by Susan King Read Free Book Online Page A

on your fine horse and be gone from here—before you meet your own doom!"
    Stepping around the bench, she walked to the door. Duncan and her kinsmen were left staring, mouths slightly open in surprise, and then they looked at one another.
    Alasdair cleared his throat. "I do not think she will marry this Ruari MacDonald."

 
     
     
    Chapter 4

     
    So slowly, slowly she came up
    And slowly she came nye him
    And all she sayd, when there she came
    'Young man, I think y'are dying.'
    ~Barbara Allen's Cruelty
     
    Elspeth steadily climbed the curving staircase past the bedchamber levels until she reached the roof. Pulling open the door, she burst outside and moved along the wall walk, skimming her hand over the stone, welcoming the wind in her hair. The tumult of emotion within began to lessen. She sighed, looking up, where the stars were like diamond slivers on black velvet.
    Down in the great hall, the queen's lawyer sat with her kinsmen. He should have withheld his opinion on her marriage, but his directness had gone beyond the polite veneer of new acquaintance. A hot blush stained her cheeks and the rhythm of her heart quickened as she remembered the way he looked at her, as if he knew her well.
    Tall and broad-shouldered even beside the brawny Fraser cousins, he was a handsome man indeed, more mature than her cousins, with lean, precise features and a firm, clean jaw. Dark hair brushed his shoulders, and his eyes were an intense blue, as piercing in firelight as in they had been in daylight. But behind his eyes she sensed a shadow, a depth of feeling and private hurt. In that, he reminded her of her cousin Magnus.
    She leaned against gritty stone, feeling the inexplicable yearning that had been with her earlier—an urge to see this Macrae again, to hear his voice, feel his hand on hers. And though she was still annoyed that he had spoken up about her marriage to Ruari, she had never known such a pull to anyone. His presence in the hall below pulled at her.
    But he should be nothing to her, she reminded herself.
    She tried to convince herself that the Sight, for the first time in her life, was wrong. How could she cause anyone to come to the heading block? Such deaths were often political.
    Shivering in the chill, she went back down into the castle, her footsteps quick and sure on the stairs, echoing her new decision. Once all was quiet for the night, she would warn Duncan Macrae to leave the Highlands. If he knew he was in danger, he would listen.
    No wise person ever ignored the warning of a taibhsear .
    * * *
    Strong drink and travel fatigue plunged Duncan into a dreamless sleep. The soft sound that woke him brought him to a groggy, sudden awareness. Blinking in the dark, propping an elbow on the feather mattress, he pulled aside the bedcurtain.
    Thick stone walls and the solid oak door muffled outside noises, and so he heard only the crackle of the peat fire in the hearth. Otherwise, this tiny bedchamber that was his for the nonce was silent. Perhaps the room was infested with mice or ghosts. What else, he wondered, would be about at this late hour. His eyes scanned the shadows, seeing nothing worrisome.
    Letting out a slow breath, he relaxed against the pillows, and rolled to his side to welcome a quick slide back into warm sleep.
    A light touch brushed his head and bare shoulder. The gentle caress drifted away.
    "Who's there?" he whispered, opening his eyes to darkness.
    One of the shadows moved, and Duncan saw a glint of golden red. He sat up and reached for the dirk he had placed beneath the pillow earlier—but it was not there. He slid his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the curtain, focusing his eyes in the darkness.
    "I have your dirk," a soft voice said in Gaelic. "Stay where you are."
    "God's bones," he muttered, relieved. "I thought you were some awful haunt."
    He saw the outline of her body swathed in plaid; noted the golden curve of her face, the glint of her bright hair. She waved his own dirk; he