Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
After a wash and a full meal, Duncan rejoined his commander and his king in the king’s private chambers and reluctantly told them what he had seen at Carlisle Folly.
Tearloch was speechless, no doubt imagining what Balloch might be doing to Kenna.
The king was horrified that he’d actually rewarded such a bastard and given him the freedom to reign terror on the Carlisles. He’d only wanted Agatha to pay for her great sins against him and his sister. “Where are the women now?”
“I promised they would be safe at Lochahearn.”
“Good. I have sent three ships to intercept The Temptress when she reaches the harbor. We take no chances. If my sister is still aboard—and I refuse to believe otherwise—we will get her away from Balloch. We will inform him we’ve sent a royal escort, given his new station.
And before we spring our trap, we will discover where he is keeping this Peter fellow.
” To Tearloch he said, “Go and pray for her, brother.”
Peter did indeed go to inform Kenna that the Crown of Scotland was in sight.
He found her dressed in men’s trews. A large linen leine was tied at the waist and the excess billowed up around her middle, giving the impression of a fat man with extremely skinny legs.
An inar, or jacket helped to camouflage her breasts only a bit, but that was the best she could do.
She had pulled her hair up beneath a bonnet that sagged to one side with the weight.
He showed her how to hunch her shoulders forward to hide her pretty neck. He also insisted she don a pair of boots that had been coated with grease for waterproofing. The straps that crossed her legs kept the too-large boots from falling off when she walked.
“I told the captain I was to stay behind to help Laird Balloch and his bride disembark. He told me good riddance.”
They paced the captain’s quarters, waiting for the vessel to halt and weigh anchor.
They would wait while the ship emptied. A mere handful of men would be left behind to guard the ship, but they could be bribed.
Balloch had left behind a heavy pouch of coins and a fine set of clothes for court, which Peter donned.
As his wife, Kenna was free to do with them what she willed.
The minutes wore on. Her sin seemed to grow with every passing minute, spreading through her body, filling every available space.
Murderer!
Finally, the ship slowed and the anchor chain rattled against the hull as it was dragged out. A chorus of muffled shouts and heavy footsteps went on unceasingly, then abruptly, it all fell silent but for a few clipped footsteps.
Kenna looked at Peter to see if he were as curious as she. Surely he would know if this was usual.
Peter made a face and shrugged.
Low voices rumbled above them. Shouts from other ships could be heard through the walls and Peter and his oddly dressed companion moved to the door to listen.
A rush of thundering footfalls fairly rocked the ship.
“Do ye think someone’s trying to steal the ship?” Kenna whispered.
“Raiders? Mayhap we should swim fer it, Milady. Do ye ken how?”
Kenna’s brow shot up. She would never willingly relive the nightmare of the night before. Even if there were no water and a ladder to climb down to dry ground, she would not willingly go near those windows again. If she did, her heart would stop.
She shook her head vigorously. Peter pressed her no further.
A rush of feet sounded in the hallway and the door crashed inward. Uniformed soldiers poured into the chamber and Peter placed himself between them and Kenna. Sir Leland’s precious face appeared over the soldier’s heads, and she burst into tears.
Tearloch was beside himself. Were he king, he would have come to the same conclusion, that he was far too emotional to be trusted. But it killed him to stay behind while Leland and the MacCurrachs were allowed to join the soldiers boarding Balloch’s ship.
He wanted to be the first to comfort Kenna, but his state of mind, and Balloch’s recognition, would put her at risk. He had trained most of the soldiers they’d sent, so he had to sit back and trust them.
Sitting, of course, was beyond him. Rather, he tried enthusiastically to wear a path into the stones before the great hearth.
Kenna would soon know the truth about him, and he would learn if she could forgive him for his deceit.
Would she see him in a kinder light than Agatha Carlisle, since he had kept the same secrets from her, and more?
Could she see him as an innocent lad and not the reincarnation of his father?
Could he lay the blame at the king’s feet?
Should he?
Nay, she was too important to feed excuses. He would simply lay his heart in her hands and let her do what she would.
A cup of wildflowers caught his eye, and his heart lurched at the memory of Kenna flying off Queenie’s back, into the destrier’s path, and landing in a thick bed of flowers.
Laughing and unharmed. That was the moment, the very moment, he knew he wanted to take her into his arms and never, ever let her go.
Would he be given that chance? Would Malcolm insist she wed Tearloch if she objected?
Laughing and unharmed. If he was denied her hand, he at least wanted that for her. Please, God, let her be unharmed!
Duncan joined him and immediately noted his tortured face and the tunic clenched in his hand, over his heart. Now conscious of the gesture, Tearloch considered letting go, but realized it felt better to hold his heart while it ached.
Would that the organ could survive the day.
Duncan forced a smile. “She is a brave, canny woman, and she will have survived this as she survives everything else. Have faith in that.”
“What if she is not on the ship? What if he’s killed her? I cannae live without her, Duncan. I swear it. Death would be kinder than to spend one more hour missing her.”
“Stop that blether. I’ll not listen. Ye mean to torture yerself, and I’ll be no party to it—”
The hall doors flew wide and Malcolm strode directly to Tearloch, who was grateful his king did not dally. But did he want to hear what his brother had to say?
“She was on the ship. She is safe. You will not see her, though, until she has had time to bathe and be tended to—”
“Tended to? What has he done to her?” He shouldn’t shake the king before so many witnesses, but he could not stop himself. “How badly is she hurt?”
“Easy, easy. Like Duncan, she has been deprived of far too much sleep and is in no condition for a grand inquiry.”
Tearloch always knew when Malcolm was lying. He unhanded the man but stayed in his face. “And what else?”
“She has a wound. Not serious. On her shoulder. She insists there is nothing more.”
“Ye spoke to her? Ye told her—”
“Her king told her only that he was relieved to have her under his care, that she has nothing more to fear. That is all.” Malcolm blinked back tears. “She is just how I imagined, if she had lived to be a woman grown.”
Tearloch took pity on him. He might be king, but he was also a boy who’d been told that his younger sister had sickened and died. The young sister he’d been forced to abandon and promised he could have back one day.
And that day had arrived.
Tearloch clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye’ve been mourning each other long enough, Yer Majesty. Tell her. Ye’ve had time to celebrate. It is time she celebrated as well. I will bide my turn as long as needed.”
Malcolm snorted. “Worried?”
“Terrified.”