Chapter 14 #2
Aonghus glimpsed over his shoulder, spying the crimson face belonging to the knight, who ceased his stride to attack after the king’s command. Keirah was still struggling wildly to ensure Alexander’s safety.
“Cluaran, hold steady,” he soothed, seeing the monarch over the crowd’s skulls. King Alexander was standing, no goblet in hand. Sir Sean gripped the server’s arm, restraining him. “The king is well; you stayed it. You stayed the fate.”
“Bring the lass forward,” King Alexander demanded.
He said for her ears alone, “Remain behind me till we march past Sir James.”
She panted the whisper, “Aye.”
He lifted his wrists over her head, freeing her from his grip while ignoring the carnal demand to keep her close.
She trailed behind him carefully. Her fingers grasping his tunic’s tail tightened while they walked past the knight, then the ominous expressions belonging to the clansmen who had bolted to the front in protection of King Alexander.
Once a path opened for them, she settled before Aonghus, steps from the throne, her curtsey elegant as the tapestries gracing the walls, but he saw the slight wobble when she went to stand – from nerves or spent tension still pumping her veins, he wasn’t certain.
He grasped her elbow, holding her steady.
At least propriety allowed him to touch her here, for when she was not near her his soul seemed void of life.
“My lord king.” Her voice was roughened from screaming. “’Tis an honor.”
The king paused to study her a long moment. “Keirah MacThistlen.”
“My lord king, I would wish for a private audience, but alas” – she looked about frantically – “it seems fate has seen fit for the element in my grasp to be shown before all. I have been blessed with the talent of second sight; I am a fate-seer.” She added, swiftly, “Your cup, ’tis tainted with poison. ”
The dark brows raised, intrigued. “Truly?”
“I would never speak words of a false manner before you, my lord king.”
“Then perhaps a demonstration on behalf of the taster shall be needed to quelch your fears.” The king lifted his arm to motion Sir Sean to bring the server closer and hand him the goblet.
Aonghus observed that, even in a room filled with hundreds of Highlanders and Lowlanders, one could even hear the fire crackle in the hearth at the sweeping silence.
The younger lad, who was slim as an eel, became free from Sir Sean’s grasp, while Sir James, to Aonghus’s ire, took hold of Keirah’s other elbow in a condemning action.
The eel grasped the goblet, which caught a few flickers in gleam from the wall torches on either side behind the throne.
In a grand gesture, complete with smirk, he raised the wine to toast the hall.
“May you all hold a victory in the battles to come.” He heard Keirah give a tiny gasp when the lad, not even a score, took his tongue and in vulgar display licked the entire rim before a long solid swig.
Once done, he glared at Keirah, his mouth baring a half smirk with twisted smile – no aftereffects. “Fate-seer?” the taster mocked.
“Nae,” she whispered to herself, “’tis not possible.”
A few chuckles echoed while an onlooker in the back hollered, “Put MacThistlen in the stocks!”
Aonghus’s grasp tightened on her arm while she looked desperately up at him. He discovered her eyes took a snap in them the same as when one finds a riddle’s answer.
“My lord king,” Sir James began in full pomp, “allow me to see to removing this…”
“Your cuff,” her voice interjected over the knight’s proposal.
She tried stepping forward to address the king, but both Scotsmen held onto her, for very different reasons.
“Cuff?” Alexander repeated, leaning to engage her.
“Aye, my lord king,” she relayed, earnestly.
“In the shadow-glance, directly before he handed you the goblet, he brushed the cusp on the inside of his thick upper cuff where the rag is tied, there.” She pointed at the taster’s left arm.
“My approach when fate reversed was before this moment, thus the poison had not yet been seeded onto the rim.”
Aonghus saw the taster’s face blanch. Those around him noticed the change as well, and a few clansmen approached another step toward King Alexander’s throne protectively. The king turned his full attention toward the taster.
“The fate-seer deems it, your king commands it,” Alexander said, forcibly.
The taster began to lift his sleeve with the cuff, slowly.
They stood close enough to almost have the taster with curled lips breathe upon them when he yelled, “Long live the true king of the isles, my lord king H?konsson!”
A mass of Scottish force closed in on the traitor, who made a last effort to charge at the king.
It was over in seconds when Lord Constable Sir Roger De Quincy sprung into motion and seated his sword into the taster’s thigh, halting his advance but enabling questioning on who else might aid his cause within the castle walls.
The taster was dragged away, wailing in pain and rage, by Sir Sean, while King Alexander’s gaze and every other in the hall turned toward Keirah.