Aileana nodded acknowledgement, and the women scurried away. She hardly noticed their condemning looks for the swell of excitement that bloomed in her breast as she pushed open the door to the cool, dark storage chamber. Rows of little earthen pots lined the shelves—a veritable treasure trove of them. The floor was full as well, the rest of the chamber scattered with several barrels and a few large crates that rested in a random pattern atop soft cushions of hay.
Stepping over them, she examined some of the pots on the shelf. But as she lifted lids to examine the ancient remnants of their contents, her gaze kept straying to the crates. They were large and finely built. Not the kind of boxes she would have expected to find in such a place.
Finally, she could resist her curiosity no longer. Picking her way back to them, she knelt beside the largest of the crates and pulled at its lid. To her surprise, it slid off easily. It was clear that someone had opened it recently, and it looked as though that person had taken great care with it.
She shifted to let the light from the door come in, feeling a thrill of surprise at what she saw. Yards of glossy satin lay coiled inside the box; spun of deep green, it shimmered even in the dim light, and she reached out to touch the buttery-soft material with reverence. But as her fingers brushed over the silk, she felt something hard. Something buried beneath the folds of fabric. Gently, Aileana moved the soft material to see what lay beneath.
A gasp of wonder escaped her. There, in perfect condition, rested a harp of exquisite workmanship and beauty. Its lines were long and elegant, and it was formed of wood that had been polished many times by loving hands. Wood that glowed mellow against the detailed golden comb and tuning pins that held the strings in place. As fine an instrument as this must be worth a small fortune, she thought absently. She let her fingers drift along the massive, carved circle that formed its base, then up along the beautiful, sloping neck, and to the strings. At her touch, a delicate vibration filled the chamber with the richness of angel-song. She was so lost in the melodious sound that she almost didn’t notice the shadow edging closer to the doorway. But then it shifted, plunging the room into darkness.
Weak-kneed, Aileana scrambled to her feet. Her efforts to replace the cover on the box failed; her clumsy hands only succeeded in knocking the lid to the earthen floor with a thump.
“Don’t be frightened, lass. I’ve not come to harm you.”
Turning to face the speaker, Aileana shielded her eyes with her hand. The man appeared in silhouette, bright morning sun streaming in behind him.
“It’s me, Kinnon. I saw the door ajar and thought to see who disturbed Duncan’s storage chamber with him not about the castle.” He stepped farther inside, coming into clear focus. His golden hair waved soft to his shoulders, and Aileana was struck again by the brilliant blue of his eyes. As ever, he had a kind look about him, though he was clearly wondering at her presence here.
Her gaze drifted to the bandages wrapped in thick layers round his leg from knee to ankle. “What happened to you?” she asked.
“I split my leg in the exercises yester morn.” He shrugged. “It’s a hindrance to be sure, but nothing that won’t heal in time.”
“Is that why you’re here instead of raiding the MacLeods with Duncan?”
He nodded and smiled. “Aye. That’s my reason for being here. But you still haven’t explained yours.”
She felt herself flushing, even though she reminded herself that there was no need to feel guilty. She had permission to be here, after all. “I needed some pots for my herbs, and Bridgid had two of the women bring me here to look.” She gestured to the shelves. “There seem to be a good many to choose from, and I should have no trouble finding what I want.”
“And yet you were not looking on the shelves but in that crate. I don’t suppose you found any pots for your plants in there, now, did you?”
This time guilt gripped her more firmly, deserved, she knew, for the snooping she’d been doing. “In truth, my curiosity got the better of me,” she admitted. “I seem to have an affinity for hidden places and mysteries.”
To her surprise, Kinnon grinned. “A woman after my own heart.” He limped over to the harp. “It’s quite a find you’ve made here. An old friend from long ago, this is.” He stroked his hand up the curved neck of the instrument, a wistful smile on his lips. But as he looked up his expression turned serious. “I wouldn’t let Duncan see you touching it, though, or any of these things.” He gestured to the other large crates in the chamber. “It’s better to let them lie for now.”
Aileana shook her head. “Keeping such a fine thing locked away…it seems sinful. If he’s not going to use the harp, then why not trade it for gold or cattle—something to aid the clan’s prosperity?”
Kinnon shook his head and folded the satin around the instrument again before replacing the lid. “Because it’s a part of Duncan as much as his eyes or his heart. He will never allow it to be sold or taken.” Straightening again, he turned and looked at Aileana as if he sought something hidden beneath the surface of skin and bone. She began to feel uneasy, as if he was somehow capable of seeing into her very soul. Finally he spoke, his voice softer than before.
“This harp was Duncan’s own pride and joy, lass. It was near as precious to him as possession of theEalachwas to our clan these hundred years. Mairi gifted him with it—or her family did, as a betrothal offering—but it mattered not. He thought of the harp as being from Mairi, and he loved it as he did her.”
Heat filled Aileana’s cheeks, and a strange, sinking sensation spread through her. She resisted the urge to fidget. Mairi—the woman she’d been told was the love of Duncan’s life…his bride, killed in Morgana’s attack on the MacRaes so long ago.
“Duncan loved this harp better than he loved some of his kin,” Kinnon added, breaking into her thoughts. Smiling, he shook his head. “He was just coming into his own in those days, Duncan was, a golden lad with a future as laird of our clan ahead of him. Before your sister’s attack, he kept the harp near him much of the time, and, by God, he could wring the soul right out of you with the music that he made. Aye, those were happy days, with him and Mairi.”
Staring down at the crate, Kinnon paused, and his expression darkened. “I managed to carry it off and hide it once we learned that Morgana had sold him to the English. But I couldn’t help what happened after that. Even in the filthy hell of the Tower, he was so damned stubborn. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to touch the harp since coming home last year.”
Aileana waited, breathless, for Kinnon to explain further, but he brooded in silence. She knew she shouldn’t care—knew she shouldn’t feel so defensive in response to his memories of Mairi and Duncan—but she couldn’t help it. Worse, perhaps, was that a strange urgency to hear the rest of his tale consumed her. More than anything she wanted to know something more about Duncan and the woman who had won his heart, even though it felt like salt on a wound to think of it. Finally, working up her courage, she asked, “What…what happened to make him hate his music so much, then, that he chooses to secret his harp in here?”
As if shaken from a dream, Kinnon looked up. She saw the nightmare seep out of his eyes, leaving nothing behind but the hard, bitter truth. His jaw tightened. “Duncan doesn’t hate his music, lass; the English just made sure he could never have it again. Of all the tortures they put him through, it was one of the worst they could have conceived for a man of Duncan’s gift; they broke every bone in his hand. It healed, but the scars took away his ability to play.”
Horror emptied a pit in Aileana’s stomach. “The gauntlets…?” she whispered.
“Aye,” Kinnon nodded. “He wears them to hide the ruin they made. In truth, he’s fortunate to still possess the ability of grasping his sword.” Walking to the darkest corner of the room, Kinnon began to unwrap a large, bulky object that leaned against the wall. “Duncan refused to bend to his keepers in the Tower, and because of it, they looked on him as a challenge.” His voice grated. “The bastards used the whole of thirteen long years to try out different ways of breaking him.”
Aileana shuddered. She knew little of what happened to those unfortunates captured by enemies, but she could imagine enough to make her want to forget that such places as the London Tower even existed.
Kinnon finished unwrapping the object and stood back. “This went the way of the old times too, thanks to the English. Once we returned home, he had it removed from his chamber and closeted here. Like his harp, he hasn’t used one since, as far as I know.”
Aileana stepped closer to get a better view. As with her first sight of the extraordinary instrument, this new discovery startled a gasp from her. The looking glass Kinnon had uncovered was of impressive size—almost as tall and twice as wide as she was. Stepping closer, she reached out and touched the costly object. Its surface felt cool and smooth against her fingertips. Though the elaborate silver frame looked tarnished from years of disuse, such a mirror was an unimaginable luxury.
