Chapter 19
Stunning! Half asleep with Keirah’s weight in curves draped over him – if only he could remain this way forever.
He had sworn to Torsten he would hunt Lord Kollungr, but at the expense of abandoning Keirah?
Particularly after seeing the fear marked clear upon her expression when she recounted the event which took her into the devil’s grasp?
No. He would remain at her side; her tender request to have him remain close had taken him aback at how much he longed for the same.
The time would come to extract his vengeance for all she had suffered.
Suffered. The wistful look in her eyes at never being with child tortured him.
Those who marveled at her instinct in senses at Alexander’s court never considered the burden which came with the element.
It seemed there was more than one ‘cost of measure’, like her scream of pain when she had whipped off the bed the same as a doe falling off a cliff.
Had this cry given him the strength to somehow dive forward with both arms to catch her mid-air?
Aye. For a breath he feared he still would not reach her in time.
No – Remain by her side. Kollungr would keep his head on his shoulders – a short moment more.
BANG! BANG! Who the hell was that?
“SIR AONGHUS!” Sir James bellowed outside the door.
Keirah dashed up, her hair a swirling mass about her bare shoulders. What the devil would cause Sir James to summon him so harshly? Something was wrong. He tucked Keirah gently toward the side and she quickly tugged the sheet, covering herself, while he bolted off the bed.
“He sounds fearful,” she said, her tone still rough from sleep.
He looked over his shoulder – good, she was covered. She may think Sir James was only wanting to win her hand for the challenge of it, but he had seen the look in his rival’s eyes. The captain of the royal guard desired her right from the first moment he groped her in the bailey.
The pounding started up again, sounding like a herd of stags on the wood frame.
“Aonghus.” She looked at his lower half. “Attire. We are to seem consummated toward any prying eyes.”
He nodded. “Aye.”
Her lips formed a big O and her eyes grew round as the table when he stripped off all his final garments while facing her. Bare-arsed, he charged for the door. Crash! He threw back the board, which thundered onto the ground, then ripped open the entryway.
Sir James’s eyes bulged slightly at the lack of attire by the gatekeeper. “Is King Alexander well?” Aonghus asked, instantly.
“Aye,” Sir James replied with a mere click of his lips into a smirk. “I am present to gather you for Sir Brayden to commence training, Sir Aonghus.” Aonghus noted the bitter tip on his new title.
A huffing breath sounded before the owner, who was Sir Brayden, appeared around the torchlit corner, obviously attempting to keep up with Sir James.
“Sir James” – the robust knight gasped for breath – “why? Why did you bolt ahead of…” His words trailed off when Aonghus came into sight.
“Oh…good to see you, my friend. I am assuming this is not the chosen attire for the day to come. Why are you looking like a well-hung bull canvasing the fields?”
Aonghus’s eyes narrowed on Sir James. That pompous leech was taking glee in the post of being a disruptor.
Sir James explained, “Sir Brayden, with the wedding feast complete and marriage consummated, I am tasked to see Keirah to the great hall at our lord king’s request. Keirah is to remain by King Alexander’s side this day while he hears complaints, then the plans regarding the siege to come upon the horizon will be discussed with his council later.
I am simply making certain my announcement was heard by her husband.
” He finished with a snap of his fingers, sounding the same as an axe landing on an executioner’s block.
“Sir James,” Sir Brayden gushed, “that was you hammerin’ upon their door? What were you considering?”
Aonghus tightened his fingers on the timber doorframe when he turned his attention from Sir Brayden back to Sir James. The highest-ranking knight didn’t answer his friend because Sir James’s eyes had strayed to the fetching sight upon the bed. What a voyeur pile of swine shite.
Taking a step, Aonghus purposely blocked the view of Keirah.
Hell! He should have closed the drapes on the bed.
At the foe trying to sneak a look over his shoulder, Aonghus crossed his arms. Don’t take his teeth with a fist. Sir James lowered his eyes then narrowed them on him, but not before Aonghus saw the flash of desire for his wife written there.
Aye, there it was again – the captain of the royal guard wanted Keirah.
His knuckles cracked when his fist tightened.
He would speak about this to Sir Brayden later in private, but it held obvious – Sir James was only seeking to create chaos for them in retaliation at not being chosen by the fair lass he could see in his peripheral vision currently pulling the sheet tighter about herself when shuffling off the bed.
Aonghus stepped up, becoming nose to nose with his rival, who held an air of heavy wine on his breath at the early hour.
“In the times which lay forthwith, I do not care much for what you refer to me as, but I will not have you address my wife in any other title than the one now bestowed,” he gritted out between his clenched teeth.
“You address her as Lady Keirah or I will take the weight of each lack of propriety from your hide, understood, Sir James?”
The adversary’s eyes narrowed to the point lines appeared where his lashes ended.
“Aye. Lady Keirah shall be at my side in service to our lord king, all day.” He paused.
“The traitor Sturan MacNaller’s head is mounted at the castle gate; traitors are given such a warm reception here at the king’s court.
” James is now threatening Keirah after he knows he can’t have her as his own wife. Not on this one’s watch.
Aonghus cracked his knuckles while forming a second fist with his other hand.
Sir Brayden took quick lead at the escalating tension to grip the door and plop himself between the pair.
“There is not a moment to spare! We will venture toward the great hall, awaiting your arrival there,” he gushed, nervously, then tugged the door heavily, seemingly looking to place a physical barrier between the two.
“Much obliged, Sir Brayden, for your delicate hand with the proceedings,” the lady of the group called out before the door slammed by Sir Brayden’s determination.
***
“If you are in need of anything, you seek me at once; do not hesitate.” The words Aonghus had departed with hours past rang in her mind.
Ohhh, if only his offer could apply to doing away with the thought which remained locked in her mind.
Each time she closed her eyes, the picture of Aonghus ripping off those braies before opening the door appeared.
Had his glory beneath the garments crushed any other thought from entering her mind? Aye.
Never had she craved a lad’s touch. Now?
Her hands smoothed down her gown’s waist where her skin still burned from his beard; no, it was more than only his beard’s shadow on her flesh – her body burned with an ache in ways as if awakened from a thousand-year slumber by his mere touch.
The sight of him naked with his manhood matching the rest of his colossal build was astonishing, and how…
Stop this, right now – focus and stay the course.
Cough. A nearby loud clansman clearing his throat snapped her back into the proceedings.
She rubbed her temple, still throbbing from the odd night-glance.
It had already been a trying morning since Sir James crashed his fist onto their doorway, beginning with sitting on a chair too quickly, her clumsy nature cropping up.
One of the chair legs gave way – yep, onto her arse she landed!
At the sound, the king and many surrounding clansmen darted their eyes her direction as she scrambled back onto her feet, after which she simply smiled.
The bloom heating her cheeks had turned to flame from mortification when Sir James whispered something into Sir Sean’s ear.
Sir James chuckled at her expense, leading to a flurry of whispers sounding like leaves rustling through the wind sweeping the air.
“Enough!” the king had bellowed, order proceeded, and the initial complaint was heard.
Clans pledging their oaths in the battle to come commenced, alongside hearing about squabbles already taking the bailey and beyond. It was a natural progression one could expect when you suddenly gathered Scotsmen who had been sworn enemies together for a common cause.
She leaned forward in her chair, staring at the king from her spot tucked at the side near Lord Constable Sir Roger de Quincy.
Alexander’s style of ruling held an iron will.
If only she could offer more to help him regarding the Northmen’s ships from her night-glance.
She had spoken to the sovereign about them before they had taken into the throne room.
Her chair creaked when she leaned forward a bit more.
Patience. She had seen the king’s patience earlier after speaking about her shortcomings on the enemy ships’ locations.
It was this patience the king had to have called upon many times as a sovereign over the proud clashing clans while he also balanced his English ties through his queen consort.
King H?konsson has met his match. H?konsson was a formidable ruler in his own right despite her emotions toward Kollungr, but the coin pressing the strip of cloth she had tied about her thigh, ensuring it remained with her, would be Kollungr’s undoing.
A smile eased onto her lips at the bright spot among the proceedings, Lady Maise, currently occupying the chair next to her.
Lovely nature and sweet voice and the longest eyelashes Keirah had ever seen – she could see why Sir Brayden was smitten.
Her own eyes narrowed some when observing that Sir Sean also seemed taken with Lady Maise, from the numerous glances toward the lady of noble birth from a well-appointed Lowlander clan. This wouldn’t do at all.
“Sir Sean believes a few sweet words shall lure me into a dark corner of his choosing,” Lady Maise whispered to her new confidante while two Highlanders brought forth before the king a complaint on smiths not being paid.
“I beg to differ upon this accord. I am pleased to see Sir Aonghus declared by his fist a most fitting offering, ensuring Sir Sean’s exterior features now match his dark intent.
” Ohh, the earnest Sir Brayden is perfect for her!
“Is there perchance another you fancy?” she inquired, carefully. Please say Sir Brayden, please!
An easy smile appeared. “There is a true knight. I have seen his merit in acts shown by his kindness when I ventured into Stirling with the queen consort before she became with child,” she answered eagerly; then the smile faded.
“However, when I seek his attentions he shuffles away in haste – ’tis rather odd. ”
“Does the ‘true knight’ carry a name you wish to offer?”
“Sir Brayden.”
In the middle of battles and chaos and bloodshed, was it possible she could sow a tiny bloom of love?
A tiny bloom nurtured by her hand to grow defiantly in the winds born by war.
Absolutely! She would raise all in her grasp to see it so.
It meant hope, and hope there should be.
Her eyes looked toward Lady Maise once more.
If not, what was all this battling and suffering and pain for?
First up in sowing the hopeful garden: conquering Sir Brayden’s shyness.
With the proceedings breaking for midday and her lesson in archery about to begin, it was perfect timing.
Her attention snared back toward the final Scot, who was rotund, bald, and nervous, his feet shuffling like he was in dire need of a chamber pot. What was this all about?
The king’s full attention was on the reluctant messenger. “What loyalties are bestowed by Ewan MacDougall?” he asked, intensely.
The shuffling turned into almost a hop. “Well, my lord king, he has yet to declare his oath to King H?konsson; however, he surrendered his isles to him,” he murmured as if the quieter tone would spare him the wrath to follow. Ewan MacDougall, huh, sounded familiar. Where had she heard this before?
The hall rushed anew with whispers in intrigue on what would befall the messenger. The king’s features had become flushed by anger.
The night-glance: this was where, aye, on the voyage to Bute. Tell the king! “My lord king, may I offer a humble consideration in the times yet to be as seen by the fates?” she asked, delicately.
All eyes flashed toward her – Oh my. If not for all the years in King H?konsson’s court she would have crawled under her chair to hide.
King Alexander tilted his torso slightly her direction to command, “You may, Lady Keirah.”
“The fates revealed one spark to come before my marriage severed the tie.” She began with the ruse to any curious ears which might be present.
She saw the acknowledgement in Alexander’s eyes at the gesture.
“I have had revealed to me that, although Ewan MacDougall’s messenger may dance as if he were standing upon a blazing cooking pot” – a few dark chuckles took at her words – “when the ‘flames’ settle he will seek to be bound only to you, my lord king, in his oath.”
It was a hint belonging to code between them: she referred to the ‘flames’ being the battles to come, and once it showed they turned in Alexander’s favor, Ewan would return to his true king.
The king’s narrow face grew wider with a slight smile at her give, and the messenger let out a long sigh, making his gut appear more a plump tomato than clansman.
She heard an ahem echo through the filled hall, which had grown silent, and turned to find a tall Scottish guardsman to the king, probably a fresh knight for the crown. New arrivals were appearing each moment at the king’s summons for the battle to come.
Huh – this one, standing by the far rear entry arch, was smartly clad in full mail and an impeccable surcoat bearing the king’s crest; he was cleanly shaved and had shorn onyx hair.
The knight was tall, very…very tall, and looked familiar…
Wait! Her eyes doubled in size. Aonghus!
The mercenary’s cocoon had completely shed; before her stood a high-born knight.
The face, no longer half hidden by a beard, was – oh my – handsome beyond measure.
His lips broke into a grin at her. She choked on her own spittle.