Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Duncan and Jamie did indeed return the next day, bearded and wild-eyed. He was just handing over his reigns to the stable master when Lady Kenna emerged from the keep doors and hurried to greet them with a curtsy.
“Sir Duncan, Sir Jamie, welcome home. I must ask your forgiveness for vexing you to the point you had to flee.”
A crowd of soldiers had gathered, smiling at Duncan as if they knew what was coming.
“Forgiven, my lady. But ye will no’ bow and scrape to the likes of me,” he said quietly. He was still eyeing the crowd when Kenna flung her arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace.
“Thank ye, Sir Duncan. Thank ye.”
Jamie was eager to forgive her and collect his embrace as well. When she let him go, she returned to take Duncans hands in hers. “I worried ye would never come back.”
“Our place is here, my lady.” Then he leaned forward to whisper, “I missed ye, too.” His slightly wizened eyes smiled into hers and she laughed.
“I have a gift for ye.” She reached into a deep apron pocket and pulled out a clean white cloth with fancy edging which she pressed into his hand. “Just ask the lads and they’ll be happy to instruct you on how to catch a lady with it.” And with that, she turned and hurried back into the keep.
Duncan stared at the kerchief and then at the ‘lads’ eagerly awaiting their chance to instruct him.
“Go ahead, Jamie,” Monroe said. “Ask why she didn’t have one for ye!”
The world fell in on Kenna that afternoon while she was down on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor behind a worktable in the kitchens.
In her eagerness to keep busy in the kitchens during the meals, she had spilled a jug of milk and had returned to clean the area for a second time, anxious that there be no traces of her clumsiness.
The two women that entered did not notice or hear her for she was stretching her weary back.
“We should decorate the hall with flowers the moment the king is on his way. There is a patch of white heather at the far end of the loch. It will add a fine touch to the Laird’s weddin’.”
Kenna’s heart stopped to allow her ears to hear what they could. Had Tearloch finally decided to marry her? Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise.
“I can nary believe he’s agreed to marry,” the second woman said. It was the cook Una, by the sound of her crusty voice.
“Sir Leland told Janet in confidence that the woman is a royal. Does that mean we shall be a royal household?”
Royalty? Kenna’s heart waited for orders to continue its beating, but she gave it no such direction.
“Mind yer tongue. The laird’s lass cannae hear tell of a weddin’. She is often in the kitchens, so ye’d best haud yer wheesht. And dinnae be speakin’ out yer head about royalty. We ken nothing until we’re told by the laird himself.”
The voices trailed off as the two women headed for the hall, discussing menus and estimating the size of the king’s household, whom they would be feeding soon.
Kenna found that her lungs had emptied and had no intention of filling themselves with air again.
The memory that might truly finish her off was of the night before, when Tearloch had walked her to her room, holding her hand.
He’d lifted their hands together, with their fingers entwined, and confessed, “When yer hand is wrapped around mine, I feel as if I shall never be alone again.”
A sentiment that earned him a fine, long kiss goodnight. He’d turned and stumbled away like a drunkard, just to make her giggle.
She was none too happy that her traitorous heart and lungs took up their work again, the pain was that brutal. Then came the shame.
He must have been relishing his last bit of time with her. But if she could no longer enjoy a moment, knowing it was coming to an end, she would be damned if he’d enjoy it either.
She took a deep breath and began to mentally berate herself for even thinking that Tearloch might grow to love her, might wish to wed her. When he said he felt like he would never be alone again, he already knew his bride was on her way. He must have been thinking of her.
The betrayal sent painful, cold chills pouring from the back of her head down over her shoulders and made her shiver. She never wanted to face him again!
She imagined what his royal bride would look like, even tried to hate the woman, but could only summon envy. And if Kenna had been the one lucky enough to marry him, she certainly would not tolerate another unwed maid in her household who panted after her husband.
She would have to leave as soon as the royal wedding party arrived. Perhaps, now that she’d earned some trust, she could leave sooner. Escaping Lochahearn should be easier than escaping the king…
She raised herself from the floor, put away the cleaning bucket and brush, and began to plot.
That evening Mary informed Tearloch that Lady Kenna was having a woman’s time and would not be leaving her chambers.
He ordered a double sentry outside her chamber door and another two men beneath her window in the chance she might be up to something.
She’d avoided eye contact all afternoon, and he hadn’t the time to ask why.
Now he feared she was plotting something.
His company of knights milled around the tables after the meal, enjoying smooth ale and the fact that their leader was not otherwise engaged in wooing, as he had done all week.
A few men, who had no families to go home to and usually haunted around the hall, were conspicuously missing, but reported to be on kerchief duty.
At the present rate, he would have no single men in his company of knights by summer’s end.
He was enjoying a jest at Duncan’s expense over the mystical kerchief he’d been gifted with when a messenger was announced. The men shifted away from Tearloch and Duncan to give them privacy but stayed in the hall in case the two deigned to share their news. After all, the king was overdue.
A nervous and weary man presented Tearloch a letter sealed with the king’s personal mark. Tearloch smiled in anticipation as he broke the familiar button of wax, then frowned at the length of the letter inside. It was not a simple announcement that the king was on his merry way.
As he read on, Tearloch shot to his feet, unable to sit still while he scoured the familiar script of the king’s own hand.
Duncan jumped to his feet as well. “What is amiss?”
Tearloch looked over at his friend. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head and continued to read. When he finished, he stared off in the distance for a moment, then his face flushed and he tossed the letter in Duncan’s general direction while racing for the stairs.