Chapter 39
“The barber surgeon declared it shall not be much longer,” Aonghus heard Callum assure him while he paced outside the tent in the late morning.
SHITE! SHITE! SHITE!
In the span of less than a day he had nearly lost her twice!
Callum asked in tone meant for his ears alone, “Why the hell did fate not reverse?”
“Keirah has insisted fate does not always shine her favor for a reverse.” He spat the words with rage. “Only when seen fit.”
The tent flap opened and Aonghus leapt forward. “How…?”
“Sir Aonghus” – the barber surgeon raised his hand to silence him – “Lady Keirah’s wound has been washed with wine belonging to our lord king’s own stock.
” The elder’s gaze darted toward Alexander’s tent, set a distance away.
“I have stitched the arrow wound; it grazed her flesh. The arrowhead struck more upon her skirt layers than her flesh. I have applied honey onto her wound, same as your cuts, then wrapped with a fresh linen. Forthwith, rest is paramount.”
“Aye,” he replied rapidly.
“I will be by later to check upon her ladyship once more,” he stated efficiently, then scurried off.
Callum gave him a nod as Aonghus charged for the tent flap.
The rain had slowed so the pattering moisture echoed on the linen roof as he found her settled upon a straw-filled pallet.
His guts twisted; she looked pale and tired.
The days past had taken a fierce strain; he guessed he didn’t offer a dashing portrait for her at spying his salt-caked hair on his eye’s periphery.
It seemed this didn’t matter when her face lit up at the sight of him.
She eagerly greeted him while leaning up onto her elbows. “Aonghus!” If his love for this lass could shine bright as her smile, the whole Highlands would be blinded by the sight.
Leaning down in navigating the low roof, he rushed toward her. Dropping onto his knees, he pulled her close; the unique scent that was her mixed with the ocean flooded his senses. Safe. She was safe within his embrace once again. Aye, thank all above.
He closed his eyes; the moment he saw the arrow catch on her skirts, her lovely features twisted by pain with fear, flashed again. The sound of her cry when it struck echoed in his ears. His lashes snapped open. SHITE! Why hadn’t it struck him? Why had fate seen to have her suffer further?
More salt graced his face, but not from the ocean. He pressed his cheek close to hers.
“Aonghus,” she whispered, her breath brushing his lobe, “do not weep, I am well. ’Tis only a scratch; I believe the sight of the arrow caught me more in terror than any other matter.”
“Cluaran,” he murmured, his mouth caressing away the tears from her emotions trailing her cheeks, “I cannot lose you. The mere consideration causes a darkness within my soul to tear free.”
“You did not lose me, my knight,” she promised. “However, I am certain the time shall come this eve for us to part upon your raiding the bark ship’s final supplies.”
He leaned back, meeting her gaze. “You heard my thoughts shared with Callum regarding the supply ship?”
“Aye,” she peeped, then declared, “The plan is brilliant, even if the means merits you having to take your leave with Sir Brayden.” He opened his mouth to counter.
“Nae, my knight, he will need you along with those deemed up to the task.” Her eyes lowered in what appeared almost shame while staring at her injured calf peeking out from her raised hem wrapped in linen.
“Seems I shall only slow your efforts given my wounded leg.”
“Your efforts have brought us here, my lady,” he challenged; her gaze rose meeting his. “At a threshold nae other Scot has seen us to for centuries – even kings themselves have perished in this quest. Never do I wish nor want to see disappointment marking your expression again, agreed?”
The heat from her lips pressed his as soon as the last word left his lips.
The salt from their tears flavored the kiss.
If the taste of her could cause his soul to shine, a star would have ignited in this very tent.
Her hands began roaming over his torso and lower; a desperation began taking root at their movements born from a different instinct.
A growl rumbled in his throat when she found his bare torso under his tunic; he leaned her back against the pallet…
“Sir Aonghus!” A formidable summons vibrated the air.
Aonghus broke off the kiss begrudgingly; he discovered the surgeon scowling at him near the tent opening.
“Her ladyship was to remain calm!” The barber surgeon’s liver spots appeared darker on his face at the scolding.
“If you cannot command restraint, I will demand you keep a distance till she has had time to rest, understood?” Could he have halted if the surgeon hadn’t appeared?
His fingers tightened on Keirah; it didn’t seem possible.
The surgeon took a bold step forward. “Our lord king, whom I just paid call to in apprising him of Lady Keirah’s wounds, has summoned you. The Northmen are still holding onto our shores after your escape. There is a need to plan with his advisors. Directly, Sir Aonghus.”
“I will not leave her unguarded.” Aonghus’s words fell as heavy as granite.
“Wee brother.” Callum popped his head through the tent flap. “I will keep watch over her till your return if you deem it.”
Her hand under his tunic raised to brush his jaw; he met her eyes. “It cannot be all for naught. Go, Callum will keep me safe,” she assured. “Then we shall rest a wee bit before your leave.”
He gave the surgeon a hard look; the elder scoffed but stepped back outside while Callum gave a nod before vanishing.
She whispered, “The Northmen are still scattered into the winds; thus they did not pursue us up those dunes. Your plan is deemed needed, to raid the bark ship once darkness falls.” Her confidence at his plan caused his heart to swell.
“Take this before our lord king and his advisors; I shall be here upon your return.”
Just one more strong brush of her lips by his. Hell, he must stand, or he would never leave this tent. Giving an inward growl, he set onto his feet then sought the king.
They had injured his Cluaran. Time to take the fight to them – once and for all. Northmen, are you ready to meet Vengeance?
***
“You seek to gather a wee cluster of Scots and raid the bark supply ship once the moon has set if the evening is clear?” The Lord Constable recounted the plan laid forth.
Aonghus gazed upon the full council standing about the seated king like a castle’s curtain wall within the massive tent lit by candlelight.
“Aye, ’tis as our lord king declared – starve them from our shores,” Aonghus replied.
“The time was not grand enough for us to finish the deed earlier on all provisions aboard the ship.” And finish them we shall.
The Lord Chamberlain chimed in with his usual greedy tone. “Perhaps fresh terms should be sought with renewed fervor,” he stated, his fingertips tapping in a rhythm before his torso as if he were counting coin within his mind.
Aonghus clenched his fist by his side. Dammit.
How dare this pompous lord throw down such an idea before the king!
“Lord Chamberlain.” Aonghus tried to keep the resentment from his tone; he failed.
“They are scattered upon our shores, weakened – how do you determine this to be a better direction in course? My clansmen’s blood spills into Loch Lomond!
We must finish this, not return to ‘terms’. ”
The Lord Chamberlain narrowed his eyes. “Sir Aonghus, you have been cast out from your clan; your words ring a false consideration,” he scoffed.
Before Aonghus answered, another charged the exchange. “His elder brother is here among us and sees to guarding Lady Keirah as we stand,” the Lord Constable interjected. “Your words carry nae merit.”
A booming voice belonging to Alexander Stewart, commander of the forces, interjected. “I have not gathered then trained forces for the Scottish crown only to disband and race the Highlands with tails between our legs such as a cur.”
Whoever said the chainmail didn’t make a lad never met this one. The blacksmith who wove that chainmail tunic covering Stewart’s colossal frame should have been knighted. Stewart. Look at him – aye, he was every aspect of a leader. Aye, Stewart, lead on – all ready to go from over here!
Stewart’s lips tightened as he stepped forward toward the Lord Chamberlain, his hand on the sword’s hilt strapped to his waist – the entire time. “You seek coin, greedy to your core.”
The Lord Chamberlain puffed his chest trying to appear taller. “You seek blood,” he hissed back, “grave to your core.”
“You favored Sir James,” Stewart barked. “Your judgement in character sides with the shite in a pig’s trough!” Well put.
The two fresh allies stepped before the Lord Chamberlain.
Aonghus diverted the attention back toward the topic.
“Given the declaration by the Northmen, Loch Lomond has been raided, and my clan is giving the price with their blood. This bark ship will carry an even greater importance to starve them from our shores.” He glared at the treasurer before meeting the king’s gaze.
He continued, “If our lord king deems the plan true to raid the bark ship, it shall be done.”
The king settled back in his throne for a long moment, the only sound the patter from rain upon the roof. Aonghus’s eyes darted toward the canvas tapping like baby rabbits thumped their wee feet outside on the cloth. What an odd contrast – a peaceful setting for such a violent discussion.
King Alexander grasped the arms on the throne till his knuckles blanched. From all the years in his service, he knew this meant he had reached his decision; it was as if the king’s hands grasped the will to see the command finished.
“Stewart, you choose a cluster of warriors to accompany Sir Aonghus along with Sir Brayden. They shall raid the ship after the moon has set this eve. Once done” – he looked toward Stewart – “have your forces prepared with the Earl of Marschal. Stand watch from afar, aid only if needed.”
Aonghus bowed, preparing for his leave. “It shall be done, Lord King,” he vowed.