Chapter 26
Royal Castle
Mouth of River Ayr
Ayr, Scotland
They’d made it this far!
King Alexander had presented the first olive branch by sending barefoot friars on the initial assembly to King H?konsson, but not to be outdone, Norway’s king sent his own delegation to meet the King of Scots at his royal castle where Keirah now found herself.
The sprinkle from salty sea air tickled her nose at twilight as they rode into the castle’s bailey.
It really was a castle fit for a king; the outer curtain wall’s height was complemented by the goliath-sized keep directly in the center.
The King of Scots, determined not to appear weak before King H?konsson by having a shade cast over him from his own subjects threatening his life three days ago, gave the command the attack was never to be acknowledged.
Three days. Was it really only three days? Hell! It felt more like a fortnight. Tension. Tension was to blame; it had been as heavy as the scent from those pines in the forest as guards to tasters were tripled around the king.
Don’t forget Sir James. She rubbed her eyes.
Ugh! The forever hater had unleashed a steady stream of complementary anguish on her knight, all under the guise Aonghus’s talents were stellar.
They were, of course, but that vindictive rooster-tailed arse!
He had demanded her Aonghus stand guard on the treacherous all-night watch for the whole journey in pouring rains.
Two nights, no sleep. She glanced up when Aonghus handed Laoch’s reins into a stable lad’s care.
A trace of plum beneath his cobalt eyes – aye, he looked tired.
Hell, she most likely appeared no better.
Her waking hours had consisted of staying by the king’s side at all times in case any unseen threats tore free on the journey here.
Quest accomplished – all arrived safely!
Her fingers yanked slightly on the linen covering over her fading bruised jaw from Seumas as they entered the keep.
At least the ugly wound was hidden beneath her wimple while she stood, finishing the introductions toward the mass of Scotsmen clad in furs and grins beside their ladies in embroidered surcoats and smiles who were the gracious Clan Stewart.
Once done, would she be released to her chambers for a rest prior to the feast and meeting the delegation yet to arrive from King H?konsson as promised?
Hopefully. But rest? Never-ever. Her gaze flickered skyward: Saints please forgive!
Two nights and one whole day traveling, there was a single thought: MacCade.
Time alone with MacCade…and kisses and touches and needs to be savored!
Where had her knight in full chainmail tunic disappeared to?
The High Steward of Scotland called Dundonald, also rumored to be the chosen one to lead the royal forces, vanished with the king down the north passageway, most likely toward the solar, but Aonghus had gone down the other passageway with a servant.
A warm drip hit her knuckle. She looked skyward at the towering ceiling in the enormous great hall where the feast would be held later.
Wax from one of those candles, it must have been.
Had she ever seen such a colossal iron chandelier with candles glimmering the same as sunlight on loch’s surface?
No. This castle was fit for a king’s presence.
A tiny tug pulled at her gown’s back skirt. She glimpsed over her shoulder – huh, empty. Her gaze dropped lower. Oh my, look at the wee greeter! A shy expression covered the wee lassie’s face as much as the freckles she wore. Absolutely adorable.
“Would you be the Lady Keirah?”
Eye level. She must be eye to eye with this tiny treasure. She dropped onto a knee, meeting the blue gaze surrounded by the longest lashes she had ever seen on one so little. “Aye, and who might you be?”
A blush deepened under the freckles. Oh, she is captivating. “Edina Stewart,” a voice peeped. “You truly saved the king in his hall, my lady?” Word had traveled in haste regarding the treasonous taster.
“Aye, Edina.” A grin missing a front tooth met her; so did a hand bearing a full-bloomed primrose. “Such a grand find surely cannot be for me.”
“’Tis, my lady.” The chubby fingers thrust the flower into Keirah’s hand, before she plopped forward slightly to kiss Keirah’s cheek, then bolted, resembling more a fairy in flight than a girl, to vanish about the corner with a fit of giggles.
She looked down at the flower for a long moment while remaining on her knee.
This…this would never be her. She would never feel her own daughter bestowing such a loving gesture.
If only the emptiness filling her spirit at knowing she would never possibly have a child of her own would halt.
Her free hand rubbed her eyes again when her vision turned blurry.
Wasn’t this the reason she had fought so hard to be here?
To secure Scotland’s future? Her fingers drew heavier on the flower’s stem.
Mother or fate-seer. An impossible choice.
A warm hand grasped her arm. She looked up. Aonghus. He stood with a solemn expression, worn most likely at seeing the exchange with Edina. What could they say? The circumstance was cast at her own fate needing to remain without hope of a child.
The flower tucked safely in one hand, she offered him her other palm before he gently raised her up. Holding her fingers, he pulled her toward the spiral granite stairway.
The impatience with which he moved while they charged up the steep steps spoke silently; he had felt the want to be alone strumming between them the same as she had.
This is what she could have, and have it she would!
Maybe…“Um, MacCade,” she whispered, breathless, when they took a second turn down a fresh passageway, “’tis rather unseemly to have bolted before the king returned. ”
“Two whole nights, my Cluaran, and days of rain with nae privacy for us! The keep’s steward has showed me our chamber.
” That was who he had vanished with. “It will remain a place for a few moments as our own while I savor a taste from your lips.” At his demand, her step quickened beside him down the deserted torchlit passage. Let’s go!
***
Keirah’s pace was swift. Aonghus gave an inward sigh from relief. Hopefully he had taken her mind from the pain he had seen in her eyes once the wee lassie had left. She would be a natural mother. It tore his gut in two at seeing her suffer.
They reached the chamber’s entry. As he encircled her waist with a growl, she leaned into him; her lips brushed his cheek.
He grabbed her bonny curved arse, lifted her against him, kicked the damn threshold open they would be staying in, then dragged her inside.
Facing the murky room, using his heel, he slammed the door shut.
Inspect the bedchamber. Keep her safe, then kiss her soundly then find a path beneath her gown then…
His peripheral vision scanning the room for threats halted.
The hairs upon the back of his neck prickled.
What the hell was the shadow within the farthest corner from the lit peat bricks in the hearth opposite their canopy bed?
They were not alone.
With a lone swift movement, he tore Keirah behind him, shielding her, and ripped the sword from the scabbard. “Show yourself!” he bellowed into the darkness.
His grip tightened onto the hilt when the shadow sprang to life and emerged from the inky abyss.
A warrior half a score older than him stepped forth.
Broad as a longship, his shoulder length hair the same color gold as a polished coin matched a lengthy beard, face of a sadist, and eyes cold as a frozen loch.
The stranger with paunchy jowls wore a massive bear pelt almost as a trophy to make his frame appear the largest man in the castle.
Keirah’s description of the North captor was precise. She gasped from behind, “Lord Kollungr.”
Kollungr’s thin lips turned up in a cruel grin at her for a second – Aye, a shite sadist – before the grin vanished when he looked at…
“The Scotsman, Sir Aonghus MacCade.” Kollungr’s voice was thick with a northern accent and contempt.
“The mercenary who was freshly knighted.” The Northman then returned his attention to eyeing the one he was shielding behind him.
“Keirah, my lovely, it seems you have strayed from where you belong.”
The words had barely left the adversary’s lips when Aonghus’s wrath ignited.
Kill! His sword would be best, but to grip Kollungr’s trunk-like throat would be so much sweeter!
His knuckles gave a crack when he warmed up his free fist. Keirah lunged in front of him to place both her palms firmly upon his torso, halting him. No, Cluaran, he must die – right now.
She pleaded, meeting his gaze: “MacCade, remember your vow.” Oh hell.
His eyes strayed to gauge the width of the Northman’s grin; aye, he could stuff that damn smirk right off the sadist’s face when the time came – good. He gave her a tiny nod, then saw the strain upon her features soften.
Her hands tightened on his mantle as she leaned up before pressing her lips over his shaven cheek to whisper into his ear: “Thank you, my knight.” Her lips brushed his lobe, and his breath caught.
A grin found his face at her desire-filled gesture.
He called out toward Kollungr but kept his gaze locked on Keirah.
“Seems you are to be the one who has strayed, Lord Kollungr. ’Tis Scottish soil you now stand upon, or had the detail escaped your attention, Northman?
” he asked as Keirah stood beside him. Both faced the opponent, becoming a unified Scottish front.