Chapter 24
Keirah listened to Lady Maise, who stood beside her under the keep’s quiet archway while she awaited her Aonghus’s return from morning sword training with the knights.
She had never even gotten a chance to reveal her worries before Lady Maise had charged to find her first thing.
The newfound friend’s eyes were wide about the boldness with which Sir Sean had approached with inquisition-type questions at her bedchamber’s door.
Lady Maise took a hand in hers. “Lady Keirah.” Lady Maise sounded more mouse than Scotswoman by the tiny squeak in tone for discretion. “Sir Sean seeks an advantage to tarnish you in King Alexander’s eyes; be watchful. I have not revealed a word about what we have spoken of in our times together.”
So, this was what a friend looked like. Someone whom you trusted and sought advice from and giggled on certain topics only a lady could appreciate. How completely wonderful. Had she ever had this before? No.
“Thank you.” Keirah kept her voice low as the lady in waiting when the Lord Chamberlain strode by. “I will proceed with the utmost care.”
Lady Maise smiled as if she had seen the sun for the first time in months.
“Excellent! I am pleased in a way that Sir Sean sought me this mornin’, as I announced my full attention would be declared for Sir Brayden.
” Lady Maise giggled. “A more dashing possible betrothal for me there will never be found. A missive shall be sent at once to my sire before I return to Edinburgh upon the morrow to the queen consort’s side.
Sir Brayden is the first to look upon me for me, not my station with the queen consort in means toward gaining favors.
Only me.” Lady Maise became stern in a blink and paused while meeting her expression.
“Do you know what I refer to, Lady Keirah?”
She declared silently, Every time MacCade looks at me, he steals my breath, heart, and soul, in the most delicious way, till all I wish is to grab hold and never let him leave. “Aye, a wee bit.”
Before Lady Maise could reply, a squatty and stained-toothed knight fresh to the keep grinned at them in greeting.
“Good morrow, Lady Maise. Sir Brayden has sent me to summon you for a moment. Forthwith, he is awaiting your presence in the gardens.” He turned toward Keirah.
“Sir Aonghus will be returning in haste after training with the knights. He sought to have me remain by your side and see you unto his presence in the stables where they are all about to gather.”
Lady Maise turned, flushed, then whispered, the words strung together with a fevered anticipation: “’Tis the moment, Lady Keirah!
I will make my sentiments known to Sir Brayden.
” With a whoosh from wimple’s veil, she vanished.
Lady Maise’s joy was infectious; a smile took Keirah’s lips as she followed the knight toward the stables.
Stepping into the stables, her smile faded.
What else was it about this messenger which bothered her right at the start?
It was more than simply that he was a knight she did not know – there were many who fell into this category, particularly with new knights arriving each day to defend the kingdom.
Her breath gasped, but before a scream could leave her lips, a pair of hands stole her from behind.
Raging hell! The taste of grit covered her lips at the captor, who forced his palm over her mouth and gruffly shoved her backside up against his full front.
If panic could claw her heart like a wildcat, it happened when four more warriors emerged from the shadows in the very hiding spot she and Aonghus had made use of the night before.
The lead Scotsman’s face looked perhaps two score in age, but who did he remind her of? His nose pressed up slightly like a boar, same as…no! He had to be…Sturan’s brother, either Seumas or Sorley. He edged his way down the aisle as if he were an executioner taking a traitor to the gallows – her.
Neigh! Even the horses sensed the tension as they began to thrash and paw and kick against the boards lining their pens.
“You saw my brother unto the dungeons, torture, and death’s door, Lady Keirah.
” He spewed the words at her. “Sturan called me rash, ordered me to stay away if he were ever taken. Ack! I would not dare to take another path till seeking a balance upon the scales set in blood. Nae one slays my brother then lives,” the executioner said, growing closer revealing stained teeth and soul.
“You may speak, but if you scream, I promise you will not care for the consequence.” The one who held her lowered his filth-laden palm.
“Your brother helped murder nine of our countrymen whom he swore sanctuary to if they surrendered their weapons at Rothesay Castle. I believe ’twas the gates belonging to hell and not death’s door which greeted him,” she declared – there went her rage getting the best of her.
A crash echoed the walls. Hell! Had she laid a beehive against her cheek?
Blinking the blurry stars from her eyes, she saw the executioner’s palm had struck her jaw.
“You are sharp in words, Lady Keirah; I will see to that tongue once your knight seeks to join us,” the traitor’s kin promised. “Summon him, in a steady tone, now.”
After the tears cleared, she growled, “You believe one slap will force me to your whim? Years I was under the torment from Northmen who would geld a Scot such as yourself. You are a geldin’ who does not even offer his name.” She spat blood into his face. Take that!
He raised his palm again. She stiffened inwardly, cursing the one who held her so tight she could scarcely breathe, much less retrieve the two daggers, because her wrists were pinned onto her waist’s front.
The foul breath blew her face alongside the threatening words while he held his palm at the ready.
“You prefer I retrieve Lady Maise to join the proceedings? I may fetch her searching the gardens alone for Sir Brayden, who is not there. Or will your tongue succumb to my bidding? The choice is yours, Lady Keirah.”
His vow cut her more than the dagger could which he raised in his palm at her throat. Five against her knight. The odds were dire, but Aonghus would be armed. Maise was delicate; the choice was obvious by the cauldron of terror which burned in her stomach. And where was her shadow-glance?!
She took as deep a breath as the confines allowed. “MacCade,” she called clear into the air mixed with sunshine beyond the archway, which only offered a view of the curtain wall.
Silence met her summons.
A louse-ridden Scot the size of a vast pine, with grizzled white bark for flesh on his face, checked from the vantage farther down the aisle. “Nae, Seumas.”
So, this was Seumas. She tried to see the faces belonging to the others, but she was bound against the rotted-cabbage-breathed captor who held her.
Seumas gave a dark look at his warrior, most likely for revealing his name. “Once more,” Seumas demanded. “Your knight needs to hear you over the clash of sword training at the far reaches of the bailey.”
“MacCade,” she said, an echo filling the barn stronger.
Seumas strode toward the tree-sized warrior and both walked out the entryway, appearing agitated, after another long pause when her knight didn’t appear.
Once reaching the very edge of the sunlight, which sparkled with the particles from dust, a whizz from an arrow grazed Seumas on the shoulder.
Thump. The tree-like warrior was chopped down!
Falling backward, the enemy had an axe situated in his torso’s center at the hands of…
Aonghus! Her knight stormed into the stables with a Gaelic battle cry.
Aonghus ripped the sword from his scabbard while charging at Seumas. Cabbage breath, who held her, loosened his grip from the shocking turn of events. Get the dagger! Raising her knee, she tore the dagger from her calf.
“Swine!” she shouted, then thrust the blade into her captor’s thigh.
Her steel met flesh and bone. Odd. It was like she had plunged the blade into a shallow river before hitting rock, but he howled in pain then released her with a shove, causing her to crash onto the floor with a smack. Go for the second blade! She flopped in a tangle mess. Impossible skirts!
She spun about onto her back. Sir Brayden shed another arrow from his bow into the stables toward the warrior who wore her blade in his thigh.
The arrow’s razor point landed in the man’s rear skull and emerged through his forehead with a spray of blood before he collapsed dead at her feet.
It was Aonghus and Brayden present, alongside Callum, who clashed his steel with the fourth near the entry.
Seumas scrambled to retrieve the sword from the warrior killed with the axe, then he spun before engaging Aonghus.
“Nae!” Sir Brayden yelled at someone behind her while nocking his next arrow and charging forward.
She snapped her head around, trying to flip the infernal skirts up. Where was her second dagger?! The enemy appeared, wild eyed, fresh arrow from Brayden in his shoulder, but he kept racing down the aisle of stallions right at her! Raging hell!
She gasped when Laoch let out a great wail which shook the walls; both shod hind hooves kicked backward – violently. The wild-eyed Scot who was headed for her took the brunt of the impact on his spine, then flew clear into the air to crash onto the far wall.
Crack! The enemy closed his eyes when his skull collided against a saddle peg. His body gave an unnatural twist while landing upon the floor – aye, he was dead.
“Take her from here!” Aonghus ordered Sir Brayden before a crash of steel closed the conversation near the entryway, with the two MacCade brothers engaging their enemies.
Sir Brayden grasped her arms, raising her, pulling her from the aisle toward the entrance, but it was blocked by the two dueling MacCade brothers against their foes. In a newfound roar, Aonghus drove back Seumas with a deflect and spin and lunge.
“Now, Brayden!” her knight commanded and proceeded to make a window for them to flee. The two ready to bolt froze.
NO! Sparks like droplets from hell flew off the steel in Callum’s duel directly toward the hay tossed across the floor. FIRE! The hay ignited with a pop, twisting like a fiery snake through the brittle forage.
“Nae!” she yelled and ripped her skirts up, stomping onto the licking flames. “Sir Brayden, the trough. Fetch the trough!” she pleaded while trying to stomp out the next flame attempting a flair. Hot! Hot! Hell. It was raging hell!
Sir Brayden released her arm to grab the leather buckets filled with water the stable marshal had set at the ready earlier, which were lined up against the opposite wall from the pens. At the scents from hay turning into burnt grasses, the stallions began trampling with fear.
Sizzle! The water spewing across the flames became an instant miniature tidal wave. There was another flicker! She dashed across the aisle.
Her fingers grabbed a bucket, with the stitching from the leather-wrapped handle coursing roughly over her palm before she gushed the water toward the flames.
One more – there! Another bucket from Sir Brayden doused the surroundings, with both of them panting like racing horses.
Safe. The steeds were safe, but they were trapped once more as the battles blocked the entry.
Callum caught a cut across his forearm from his opponent. No! The elder MacCade grunted with rage then lunged forward to land his sword directly center in the enemy’s chest. As he slashed the enemy down, a vermillion river canvassed through the water-covered floor.
Seumas seemed to get a look at the grave surroundings from his warriors’ demise.
Aonghus must have seen Callum ready to approach in aid to his younger brother, who ordered instead: “Callum, step away! I see the blood on Keirah’s chin.
” It was then she noticed the warm ooze on her lip and wiped her palm across her lips – aye, ’twas blood.
Aonghus continued, enraged, “The traitor is mine!”
Seumas laughed as if he had taken leave of his senses.
“There are nearly twenty thousand Northmen circling your shores. Your precious King Alexander is doomed to fail even before the first sword is raised. See you in hell, Sir Aonghus.” She gasped when Seumas tugged his body deliberately right toward Aonghus’s blade, piercing his heart.