Page 8 of Luthias

Chapter Three

Deep in the dark, narrow shafts that sprawled in every direction beneath his land, Laird Callum Carack walked with his master sage Reothadh, who discreetly guided him with a hand on the back of his arm. They passed blurs he knew to be bare-chested miners chipping away at the recesses, the sound of their tools striking the stone growing louder as they were noticed. Callum had never cared for the smell of the men’s sweat mixed with damp rock and dirt, but for this brief visit he could tolerate the stink. When they arrived at their destination, a newly-found vein of gold, Reothadh’s grip on his arm tightened, and he halted.

The vague shape of the surveyor waiting for him lowered. “My lord, ’tis an honor you’ve come–”

“Leave us.” Callum waited until the man hurried off before he said to the sage, “Show me.”

“Aye, my lord.” Reothadh lit a candle and used a polished round of silver to reflect the light onto the stone wall of the shaft.

The sudden flare of light restored Callum’s vision, and showed him a vein of gold as wide as a man’s arm and three times as long. Above and below the gleaming deposit colorful streaks of dark blue crystal sparkled. As the sage moved the candle closer, the crystal glittered with flecks of every color of the rainbow; something only a Carack born could see.

“’Tis dreamstone,” Callum confirmed for the sage.

“Thank you for settling that, my lord,” the sage said. “The deposit here, ’twill make enough elixir to put to sleep an entire town for three days and nights, if added to their ale barrels.”

“You hope,” Callum said, only too well aware that the sages would have to prepare the concoction perfectly to fulfill his claim. He reached out to touch the gold, which felt cold and damp against his fingertips. This he could depend upon; gold kept the clan’s coffers filled to overflowing. Yet as he moved his hand to the glassy streaks of multi-colored crystal, he thought of the hastily-written scroll he had found in his bed chamber.

Forgive me for fleeing. What I’ve done for my lord shames me, yet my love needs me now. I must go to him.

That scroll was the only proof he had of Athdara Martin’s betrayal, but she had not named her secret lover. Until he confirmed his suspicions, he could not move against the bastart who had seduced and ruined her. Yet Callum knew of only one other man who had something other than wealth and power to tempt the jewel-setter.

You shall never look as handsome as Luthias MacRoss, my laird, Athdara had once said to him as she trailed her fingers over his features. Nor shall he ever grow quite as rich as you.

“What desire you that the sages do with the dreamstone, my lord?” Reothadh asked, dragging him free of the ugly snarl of his thoughts.

“Have it mined and collected for the enclave, but dinnae make the elixir just yet,” he told the sage. “Now take me out of here.”

Reothadh kept silent as he guided him back through the tunnels and up the ladder to the surface, where Callum could finally see and take a deep breath. He hated feeling the chilly sweat trickling down his spine, and the rapid pounding of his heart pulsing in his throat and temples. He was no callow lad to fear the mines, but his complete inability to see in darkness always filled him with dread. One day he feared he would wake and open his eyes only to discover his blindness complete and permanent.

“What more can be done to find that runaway wench?” he asked as the master sage accompanied him along the mountain path to Dun Deigh, the Carack stronghold.

“I reckon we must look beyond the highlands, my lord.” Reothadh hesitated before he added, “I’ve questioned every vassal who worked with her, and sent searchers to every croft, town and village within ten leagues. She’s no’ been seen by anyone.”

Callum stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Beyond our lands, to where would she flee?”

“If Mistress Martin borrowed or stole a mount, ’tis likely she rode south to Perth or Scone. ’Twould be an arduous journey, but friends or distant kin along the way could provide respite for her.” Reothadh’s gaze dropped to the sapphire brooch pinned to Callum’s blue, white and green tartan, which Athdara had fashioned for his Naming Day celebration. “Her skill with gem-setting, ’tis well-known among the noble families. Once at court she could easily find work among the king’s goldsmiths and jewelers.”

“Bid our allies in the south to look for her. Assure they ken she’s to be well-treated and brought to me at once. Offer a sizeable reward to encourage them––a purse of gold and two of silver should do.” Callum stopped outside the gatehouse and glanced to the west. “You’ve brethren at Dun Lasair?”

The master sage sighed. “Never shall I call them brothers, but their master sage owes me a bartering debt. Do you reckon Mistress Martin’s put herself at the mercy of the MacRoss?”

“She proved desperate enough to steal a chest of my coin before she fled the keepe.” He made an impatient gesture. “Learn if she’s used the gold to purchase refuge among those scabby eejits.”

Inside Dun Deigh the clan’s war master met him as soon as he entered the great hall. As pale as the laird was dark, Struan Carack seemed carved wholly from ice, and wore his hip-length silver-blond hair in a heavy braid bound with silver chain. Although they regularly clashed, over time Callum had learned to respect his younger brother’s uncanny ability to plot and carry out the schemes of greatest benefit to their clan.

The fact that Struan had always begrudged Callum being chosen as laird after their sire died ever simmered between them, a kettle of deep resentment that never boiled over or went cold.

“I’m told you went down into the shafts, my lord,” Struan said in a voice so melodic it had drawn countless household females to his bed. His eyes, of a blue so dark they sometimes looked black, glittered with annoyance. “We’ve others to attend to the miners and the yield, you ken.”

“Aye.” That the war master used the truth to prod him over his one weakness reminded Callum that even in his own stronghold he could never lower his guard. “If I desire your counsel, you cold bastart, I’ll ask.”

“Mayhap you’ll wish to hear what I’ve to report, then,” a sly voice said.

Struan made a disgusted sound and departed, while Callum regarded the smiling face of the clan’s finest hunter, Fyn Carack. The slender man held up a brace of large brown hares as if wishing praise.

“Begone with you,” Callum said. “I’ve no belly for your eejit blethering now.”

“I shallnae sport with you this day, my lord.” The hunter turned and bellowed for a scullery lad, and handed off his game to the one who came running from the kitchens. “While tracking my prey I happened to stray near MacRoss land. As soon as I saw the patrols’ tartans I hid myself in a spruce, and listened to them speak as they broke their fast. They’ve a new lass arrived this morn at their stronghold.”