Chapter 12 #2
How?! How was it possible in all the Highlands she had somehow managed to step into the very bailey with the knight who had been present in Bj?rgvin when the Scottish assembly had sought out King H?konsson in the negotiations for the Isles?
Even at his size and skill, it was an entire bailey’s guards against her lone mercenary. Aonghus would meet a doomed fate. Wait for the shadow-glance to present, then bolt away before Sir James emerges. Wait…wait for the shadow-glance to present.
Aonghus ducked down swiftly while she heard the blade from the sword whizz by his skull.
The shadow-glance was not going to present!
If only she knew how, but this was one of those rare moments fate was cast in bronze and there wasn’t going to be a shadow-glance.
A fresh sweat broke out on her palms; she bounded around the clashing pair to offer up her wrists before Sir James, who stood toward the side, drawing his own blade, preparing to engage her mercenary.
“Halt, them, Sir James!” she demanded, briskly, “I surrender to your decree.” Her wrists raised higher, almost bumping the knight’s chin. “I surrender – halt them!”
“Keirah, nae!” Aonghus stalled his efforts when the guard with sword stopped at his superior’s command.
“Stand down,” Sir James ordered. The guard stepped back to flick the sheen off his brow with his free palm. Sir James’s gray, cool gaze tore at Aonghus. “Stand down, MacCade; drop your sword and dagger.”
The brawl had ceased, but what was the strange sound from above? Glancing up, her eyes popped wide at finding that, on the curtain wall, each turret was fortified with archers, pulling the strings nocking the yew bows, and the arrows all aimed right at – Aonghus. Oh hell!
“MacCade.” Her whisper was thick with fear. “’Tis as it should be; another way will present. Please, Aonghus, stand down, please.” At the use of his forename, his eyes locked with hers.
His anger was clear as the sun upon them, but his fists unclenched at the logic. Thud, he threw down his sword and dagger. She took a deep breath.
“Sir James,” Aonghus said, vehemently. “Your judgement is lacking as always in times of grave importance.” True.
Sir James paid the threat no mind before binding her wrists. She bit her lip concealing a gasp when he yanked the rope – tight. “Your second dagger, MacCade,” was the reply from the knight whom Aonghus had first punched.
“’Tis here,” she explained solemnly, “Sir James, upon my side under the cloak.”
A cruel glint flashed in Sir James’s eyes while his hand reached hidden beneath her cloak.
Reveal nothing or Aonghus will charge and be hurt.
Sir James’s palm lingered longer than needed under the curve of her breast, giving a squeeze while he completed the deed, retrieving the dagger from the leather pouch tied to the cloak’s lining.
“Keirah,” he leaned forward to murmur gruffly into her ear, “lovely and traitorous, you should have stayed by King H?konsson’s side.” He squeezed once more. Where was the honor? Where was the duty to the knight’s oath? Where? What a wretched worm!
She broke her gaze from Aonghus to match Sir James’s glare. “You will rue this decision, even more than your previous choice, Sir James,” she threatened, drawing out his name angrily.
He gave a lopsided grin. “See them below unto the tunnel,” he ordered his guards as she stepped past him.
Ouff. She looked over her shoulder when the sound of a grunt caught her ears.
Even having his hands bound before him hadn’t halted Aonghus from landing a final punch onto Sir James’s chainmail-covered ribs to declare enraged, “Keirah did not seek your touch; stay your hands to yourself, you pile of hog shite!” he warned. “The Lord Constable will hear of this!”
The guard dragged him away from Sir James, who was clutching his gut, half bent, and gulping for air with a coughing fit like he had been kicked by a Highland bull.
***
The life-giving sunshine tarnished into black almost as if night had come to pass in seconds when she stepped beside Aonghus into the ‘tunnel’ – an endless arched granite walkway with shadows from torches.
She covered her nose at the fumes from rotted flesh and heard the squeals from long-tailed creatures canvassing the grave surroundings.
Steel-barred doors lined the passageway; at the sight of her a chorus of whistles from those not lying half in the grave called out in greeting.
“Guard.” She tried diplomacy first to the split-lipped guard. “I must speak with our lord king.”
“You seekin’ King Alexander or treasonous H?konsson there, lassie?” he judged and shoved her forward slightly.
Don’t land on that rat eating another! Aonghus grabbed her elbow to stay her tripping and threatened, “Sir Sean, you touch Keirah again, your balls will be matching your fukin’ lip.”
“MacCade?” Sir Brayden approached, looking wide-eyed as Sturan, who was now in his cell.
“Sir Brayden” – she heard the trust in her mercenary’s voice at the friend – “seek the Lord Constable, even the Lord King; the Scotswoman needs to be heard on a matter of immense importance.”
Their two guards gave a joint dismissive chuckle. Sir Brayden replied with a riddle: “’Tis red sky upon the horizon, MacCade.”
What did this mean? Aonghus appeared to catch a purpose between the lines. The pair of guards opened a cell next to Sturan then shoved her into a piss-scented oasis, across from her mercenary, who was stowed away behind the barred door with a creak and hollow slam.