Chapter 47 #2
“I could tell Yer Majesty that Gair Balloch is at the bottom of the sea, but I had hoped sharks would leave nothing behind.” After a deep breath, she took a side step away from Tearloch and said simply, “I murdered Gair Balloch.”
Tearloch reached for her, but she took another step away and in the doing, rent her heart in twain. She could not stop the tears now, though she was surprised she had any left.
“Please sire,” she whispered, “can they take me away now?”
“No!” was shouted in unison by too many men to count.
“Silence.” Malcolm did not need to raise his voice to be obeyed. “Surely, ye’re aware, Lady Kenna, that a knight can fight on your behalf to prove your innocence. And no doubt every one of them in this room would be willing, myself included.” He laughed at the look on everyone’s faces.
“Pray, dinna mock me, Yer Majesty. I am not innocent.” She held up her hands.
“You see no blood here, but I do. I murdered a man and I confess it. My soul will see Hell and I am eager to get there.” Her lung squeezed and tears spilled fresh tracks down her face.
“For most of my life I dreamed of killing a man. A different man, but the same sin. Now that I have done the deed, I find I cannot live with it. I am only grateful that it was not The MacPherson I pushed out that window.”
“Enough!” For the first time, Malcolm raised his voice and Kenna flinched. “You will answer my questions, do you understand?”
Kenna was too stunned to nod.
“This man had just bitten you, like a rabid animal, had he not? I saw your wound. That was no simple bite. Anyone confined with such an animal would have every right to fight back in whatever way possible.” He shook his head vigorously.
“I am the King of Scotland, Kenna. Ordained by God. If I declare you are innocent, you and everyone on this earth is forbidden to believe otherwise. Do you understand?”
She nodded, not daring to do otherwise.
“Besides,” he went on, “I had already ordered his execution. You merely sent him to a different executioner, one with more teeth.”
“You ordered—”
“Yes, you see, he had kidnapped a member of the royal family. So, I daresay your executioners were far more appropriate for the likes of him.”
“The royal family…”
“I thank God that my sister is safe now, though I do not know how long her recovery may take. She seems overcome.” His eyes were wet. “Perhaps now she would sit?” He waved a hand and Duncan hurried to bring her a chair.
“Your sister?” Images flashed in her head. The royal carriage, the white bed, the purple gown… Then the image of Sander, standing on a galloping horse, winning their silly little race yet again. Of Angus calling him his little prince…
She vaguely felt two large hands on her, gently pressing her into the chair. Bemused, she watched the king come to her, fall before her on his knees, and take her hands in his.
More images…
Leith MacPherson taking Sander away. To Lochahearn? Of course, where he would have played toy soldiers with his son…
She turned to Tearloch. She had to know. “Why…why did your father tell us he was dead?”
“He didnae, love. We received a missive that claimed Sander’s sister, Kenna, had died of a fever. We should have questioned it. Forgive us, we did not.”
King Malcolm grinned. “Would you like to hear a story, Kenna?”
A blanket of warm tingles fell on her shoulders and filled her, restarting her heart. “I have missed my brother’s stories.” She put her hands to the sides of his face. “Sander. Oh, Sander, can it really be you?”
The blonde was gone from his hair, but she vaguely remembered her father had the same dark golden brown the king now wore.
“Sander, you are the King of Scotland!” She laughed. “You were always dominating. I should have known then.”
“Hush, now.” He took one of her hands and kissed her palm. “Once there was a wonderful king named Duncan.”
“Father was the king? I remember him pretending to be, to make us laugh. We were small then.”
“Aye. Duncan had three children. When Duncan was murdered by Macbeth, our mother took her youngest, Donalbane, and went to England with our uncle Siward. Since I was Duncan’s heir, I could no’ be leavin’ Scottish soil, so I was taken in by one of my father’s loyal men to be hidden from Macbeth.
I was told never to reveal my full name, or the name of our father.
My sister and I were very close, so she was allowed to stay with me. ”
“Very close,” Kenna said sleepily. She shook herself and took a deep breath to keep alert, but she was failing. Tearloch’s arms came to rest on her shoulders. His voice rumbled through her bones when he spoke.
“Go on, Yer Majesty.”
“When I turned twelve, according to my mother’s wishes, I was taken by Leith MacPherson, the Kingmaker, to train as a warrior. I was given no choice.”
Tearloch spoke again. “How did ye learn I was The MacPherson?”
“Balloch told me.”
Sander cleared his throat. “It was Gair Balloch who told us about a beauty with red hair named Kenna Carlisle who still lived with Agatha as of ten years ago. We knew then we’d been lied to.
I sent my best man to fetch you, but I should have gone after you myself. I would have known you in an instant.”
“If you still had your blond hair, I would have known you on the dock.” A thought struck. “Oh, my!”
“What is it? I can deal with anything. I am the king.”
“I realize I have a great deal of apologizing to do.”
“To whom?”
“To God. You see, I could never forgive Him for letting you die.”
“Yes, well. I cannae help after all.” He kissed her hand and got to his feet. “It is your wedding day, sister. We should all sleep for a few hours. So you can rest easy, I will keep Tearloch here with me.”
The men lined up against the wall were heartily amused, and their laughter drew Kenna’s attention. She put her hands on her hips as she moved toward the door.
“Duncan? Jamie? Leland?”
“Aye, Princess?”
“Why did ye not simply tell me? I never would have run—”
Four arms shot into the air—including Tearloch’s—their fingers pointing at their king.