Chapter 8
“Good eve, Aonghus MacCade.” Keirah observed a lass about her height, but this was where the similarities ended. She was prettier and curvier and cleaner. Why the sudden urge to hide beneath the table?
“Fiona,” he replied, tightly.
The buxom lass set the bowls before each.
Keirah’s stomach sounded off another loud grrr in acknowledgment of the tantalizing steam from roast venison which caressed her nose.
Fiona gave a smirk on her flawless mouth before looking Keirah over with sharp gray eyes rife with judgement.
The tavern lass then took her sweet time wiping her hands upon the apron before leaning over and settling her elbows on the table – plop – the action causing her ample breasts to almost spill out between the two bowls.
“You are lookin’ well, Aonghus.” Her words were smooth as ice.
Fiona was certainly as bonny as the sun was hot.
Keirah cast her eyes down to the pea in her pottage – aye, tiny and smeared with goo, yep, that was her.
This bonny must be what drew his fancy. Her shoulders dropped to her ankles.
Obviously, he had lain with Fiona. Why did this trouble her so?
Only a second before she was ready to skin him for claiming to be her husband.
“If you require any other needs, lad,” Fiona offered, her voice thick as the gravy in the pottage, “you need only ask.” The meaning was clear; it wasn’t about the food.
With a puff of dismissal at her from Fiona’s pouty lips, sounding the same as a queen consort at court, the perfectly shaped arse took its leave toward a rowdy gathering of four wealthy-looking lords sitting on benches over, who bellowed a greeting to receive her.
The words stumbled from her mouth awkwardly. “Aonghus…if…you…wish…” The remainder fell in a haste to see them done: “I shall wait here while you seek…”
“Nae, Keirah,” he halted her off at the quick.
Why had he rushed his reply? The steam from the pottage beckoned her; giving a humble nod, she took her pewter spoon to scoop the very pea she had been looking at into her mouth.
The warm tiny pop unleashed on her tongue.
Oh, it was heaven upon a spoon. She took the next heaping spoonful before closing her eyes with a hhmmm, the richness erupting into her taste buds. When did pottage become so savory?
Her dining companion wondered, “Cluaran, what does the taste call to?”
Her lashes opened to find him observing her intently with his fingers oddly blanched while gripping his spoon’s handle.
Despite their turbulent juncture, she couldn’t stop the sigh of bliss in one word: “Freedom.” She took another heaping helping to stuff her face eagerly, wiping her chin at the dribble. Absolutely delicious!
He grinned back at her comment before diving into his own. Two bowls each and four more glares from Fiona later, Keirah sat satisfied as a cat in the sun. Ahhh.
Clank! Fiona clapped the pitcher down, announcing her presence formally before re-filling the honeyed mead, which Aonghus appeared to be enjoying.
It was divine – maybe Iain brewed his own?
The honey had a unique spice taste; however, as Fiona went to re-fill her tankard with a glare, the server appeared to be casting an unspoken hundred-year curse on her.
The words Keirah heard surprised her. “You may halt the looks in threat at my wife, Fiona,” he said, warning.
“Simply trying to determine where you found the lass – perhaps the pig’s trough?” the brunette hissed. “Or was it the rat’s gutter?”
Maybe it was the entire eve or full tummy or spicy mead. She inwardly waved her hand – let Fiona have the moment; she was drunk on freedom and happiness and peace.
The bench creaked under her, and Fiona’s breasts bounced up when they both jumped as Aonghus smacked his hand on the table with a clap, sounding of thunder, and turned the common room silent.
“Fiona.” He cut the words between his teeth at her. “Do not speak to her in this manner, ever!”
A long stretch filled by tense silence held supreme while Fiona’s eyes grew big as her chest before she gave a mocking curtsy at him then took her leave toward the common room’s rear. The conversations reconvened around them in a steady buzz like bees.
“Much appreciated, MacCade,” Keirah whispered, leaning forward to counter. “Fiona is hurt. Nae matter wed or not, you lay with a lass, she gives a bit of herself.”
Aonghus’s eyes turned dark. “I never ‘laid’ with the lass.”
She lowered her gaze to hide the shock; it seemed it wasn’t quick enough.
“The only feature with a grander size than her breasts is the opinion of herself.” He grumbled the words.
“Pits one lad against another. I do not care for this trait; a true adder snake. Never trust another, Keirah MacThistlen; it will lay you onto a path toward ruin.”
It seemed she wasn’t the only one with trust issues. A clear look of disgust was written in his eyes.
“MacCade, you speak with such conviction in your tone; may I be so bold as to inquire why?” She tilted her head slightly to the side.
“Earlier, in the training with the blade, you brought forth a consideration there are those ‘lassies’ who seek only a lad with title or land or fortune. A resentment claimed your tone. I have been in a high-born lord’s company for more years than I care to declare.
Titled and lands and fortunes abound directly to his rotted core.
” She raised her goblet toward the Scotsman, whose lashes turned wider at her words.
“These matter not to me – ’tis the soul I look at.
Yours is a grand sort, worth more than any stated glories just mentioned.
So, I say once more, why would a mercenary who is honorable be banished by his clan?
The reason is a noble one, this I am certain; care to share the history seen to your past? ”
His expression changed from anger to guarded; the muscle on his neck twitched as he clenched his jaw.
Huh, he appeared to be considering a gravely important matter.
Taking a long hard swig on his mead, the Adam’s apple bobbed several times, before he wiped the back of his palm across the froth beads upon the stubble under his chin to begin.
“You are certain?” he questioned, deliberately.
She nodded.
“This consideration paramount, what do you believe may force brothers apart?”
She heard his tense voice. “A lassie?” she guessed.
He nodded. “My wee brother Alec fell in love with a Deirdre McMaley,” he began, setting the tankard down, “a daughter to a favorable clan our sire was keen to set an alliance with. I was betrothed to Deirdre at five winters old; the lass was younger than I. We grew up together, Deirdre, Alec, and I. The years passing, it became clear Deirdre was not the lass for me – she always was more wee sister than lover – but Alec, three years younger than I, adored the lassie, as she did him. When my sire passed, our eldest brother Callum became chief. As time grew short for the betrothal to step forth, I made it known to Callum I would not be fulfilling this one duty as a future clan chieftain; I was ten and six years old. The result from Callum was more volatile than Alec or I imagined. Callum called me a traitor to my clansmen and cast me out.” He paused to take one more gulp from the tankard.
“I set off for Stirling seeking the post of a mercenary to the king’s men-at-arms in any wretched task they sought – the more ravenous in danger, the more I leapt at the opportunity.
” He leaned back and threw his hand in the air purposefully like he was throwing a gate open between them.
“See, Keirah, in the moment when my brother shunned me, a raw feeling blanketed over. Since that night, four years agone, only when I am charging into danger do I feel any speck regarding emotion.”
Seeing his state, she asked cautiously, “What became of Alec and Deirdre?”
He smiled; she leaned closer. “Alec is now a chieftain; he married Deirdre and his last words to me were he would forever be in my debt. But our elder brother still will not bend. Stubborn to his core.”
“Fool.” The single word left her lips; his eyes grew.
“I know to break a betrothal late opens a chance for clan warfare, but, aye, a fool to his core.” She pressed her palms firmly onto the table.
“Again, I beheld a Northman who commands all in his palm; never have I seen a crueler soul. ’Tis more honor, pure honor in what you have told in care for your wee brother than any tale I have ever heard.
” She spoke with admiration, but then arched an eyebrow at his bitter laugh.
“Ohhh, Keirah, courtiers would think your sentiment that of a fool. They would never hear such rantings regarding honor, particularly a certain lady in waiting for the queen consort.” It was what she thought at the cavern – a lass. The lass must have rubbed salt in the wound opened by his brother.
“A year past, I discovered a Lady Morag had become with child, unwed. I saw the fear she harbored, so I offered to give her my name in wedlock.” He paused; she tilted her head more to catch every word as his voice became lower in a shameful tone.
“The lady…well…the lady spat in my face, called me nae more than a bastard at being banished by my clan.” Lady?
No, what a vile creature! “Lady Morag vowed she would never lower herself and took up with a lord from the Lowlands who I am considering does not know the ‘pre-mature bairn’ is not his heir.”
“Oh, Aonghus,” she said aghast. “The lady was mistaken in her manner, not you,” she advised sternly.
At the doubt-filled expression he wore, she went to press her point harder, but before she could, a grizzled-looking Scot whose beard seemed to blend into the furs, making him appear a colossal bear, approached the table.
Her guardian seemed to know him on sight.
“Good eve, Clyde.” Aonghus gathered himself to stand, acknowledging the new guest.
“Aonghus.” Clyde grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Good to see you are well.” He took a seat next to the mercenary, who did the same.
The inquisitive brown eyes studied her before his face broke into a newfound smile. “You were seekin’ Sturan and his brothers but return with a bonny who appears to have enjoyed a roll in the mud with you. Well done, but our lord king will not be pleased,” he said with hushed tones.
Aonghus lowered his voice. “Your direction in Sturan’s plans led me to the traitor, but a wee bit of turn came to be.”
She nodded toward Clyde. “I would be the ‘turn’. Keirah MacTh…MacCade,” she introduced herself, almost slipping about their ruse; however, once said, it rolled off her tongue – huh. Aye, Lady Morag was cruel and mistaken to turn away such a gem as he. “Freshly handfasted.” She smiled.
“Clyde O’Tunnle.” He stood to bow her direction before sitting and slapping Aonghus on the back to holler, “You grand hound, look at you!”
“Clyde has always bestowed a giving hand to me many times past about the general direction of those I sought in the more remote Highlands,” her new ‘husband’ said, explaining the relaxed atmosphere.
Cheeks rosy and plump as raspberries, hands wringing before her, the innkeeper’s wife joined the assembly.
“Mistress MacCade,” she greeted her, her teeth white as the hair tucked in a knot peeking out from under her wimple at her neck.
“I have your chamber prepared; the bath is a-steamin’ if you care to follow me? ”
Keirah opened and closed her mouth a few times; she probably looked like a fish from a loch. Gathering her bearings, she stood, pulling the mud-crusted cloak about her with as much dignity as she could muster. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said toward Clyde, departing.
Smoothing his hand formally over his wiry copper hair, Clyde said, “You as well. Good luck taming this lad.” He chuckled at the last point.
“Keirah,” Aonghus called and stood to take his place beside her. “Clyde, I shall return in a moment.” He means to see me safely above. Her step fell easily into stride next to his.
“Aye.” Clyde surrendered at once, eagerly gripping and gulping the remaining mead which had belonged to Aonghus.
The pair followed the brown skirts belonging to the innkeeper’s wife up the stairs. She held a candle lighting their destination past the doorways on an oak hall, the boards giving a creak at Aonghus’s girth, before they all paused outside the last room on the left.
The guide released the door onto a cozy chamber. Keirah took a brisk inventory: beamed ceiling, roaring fire, small shuttered window, half a cask to complete a standing bath – oh aye, its water was steaming, lovely – and…one bed. Wait, one lone bed! Her hands tightened on the woolen cloak.
“Here you are, Mistress MacCade,” the wife said, efficiently. Keirah’s eyes stayed locked on the bed. “I shall return to check upon you.”
When words failed, Keirah gave an ahem.
Aonghus took the lead at smoothing the awkward moment. “Much obliged,” he said, then gave his own ahem.
Her eyes strayed toward Aonghus, hearing the innkeeper’s wife’s retreating steps somewhere through the befuddled haze. “MacCade, what are you considering shall be takin’ place in this chamber laid before us?”
He didn’t answer at first but strode into the room to pull his dagger. His movements deliberate, he looked behind the raised pallet and into all darkened corners. He is searching for any unseen threats.
The task complete, he approached while stating, “Cluaran, you take three steps over this threshold, bolt the door behind your shadow, and savor a good long wash till you are all wrinkly and the water turns Baltic.” He offered the words gently.
“Then, I will return to knock and watch over you while you rest those spent eyes.”
Her gaze left the bed while her hand rested a moment upon his forearm between them.
“Thank you.” Her fingers gave a squeeze on the blanket of muscle covering his arm.
“Thank you, MacCade, for all the effort and gallant nature that has lacked for so long, my mind did not recall how such a gesture felt once bestowed.” He looked a hard moment at her hand before he pulled away, giving a nod.
“You drop this board in place, Keirah. Release it to nae other than my voice hailing you from the other side upon my return,” he warned. “Nae one, not even the innkeeper’s wife if she returns before me, agreed?”
“Aye.”
He paused in the hall facing her. He is waiting for me to secure myself inside.
At the action, she wrung her palms together lest she answer the need deep in her heart to feel his warmth again.
It was her cheeks which turned warm instead at the realization she yearned for his touch.
As she shut the door and dropped the board, then, his steps thumped away back toward the stairs.
The tease from water’s steam called; her garments hit the floor at the ready. Time to shed this dirt!