Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
It was the first of January, and the Mother of Winter had not yet come to stay. Unseasonably warm for the ides of winter, it was easy to take to the bed, in particular for those who would not be alone.
Later that same evening, Jaime and Lael lay down their arms… and their gowns and shoes and trews and gambesons, and left them all upon the floor.
Outside, on the hill, the din continued—raised drunken voices, ribald jests and laughter—but in the room the lovers shared, there were only heartfelt whispers.
Jaime laced his fingers into his wife’s hair. “Promise me you will take care, my love?”
“Dinna worry, Jaime. My people have traversed these northlands long before the Scots arrived. I ken how to take care of myself as you well know,” Lael reassured her husband.
But still he was not appeased. Gently, he brushed the hair from Lael’s face. “I will not be there beside you to be certain others realize your worth to me, and you would sentence me to a lifetime of vengeance were I to lose you. I bid you take good care, my lovely wife.”
It was difficult to remain angry with the man, when he gazed at her just so.
“Dinna fear. I will come back to you, if only you promise me the same: You will come back to me.” It was only now that it was sinking in: After five long years of heightened tensions across their nation, her husband would again go to war, as men were ever want to do.
“I tell you true, if women ruled this world, there would be so little bloodshed.”
Jaime lifted a brow, as though he did not believe her. “Would you pull each other’s braids until the enemy surrendered?”
Laughing despite her irritation, Lael warned him, “I will pull your braid!” And she reached beneath the covers.
Jaime moved out of his wife’s immediate reach. “Why do you think I wear no braids, wife. In any case, ye canna say such things, when you’re as fierce as any. You have shed your share of blood in all your thirty-two years.”
“Only when I am forced to,” Lael argued sweetly.
“And how many times have you been forced to?”
Cast her head back upon the pillow, Lael rolled her eyes.
When other men might concern themselves more about whether their wives bedded other men—or how many—her husband only cared about how many she might have killed.
She peered up at the ceiling, watching the shadow-play of the firelight as she tried to form a truthful answer.
On the day her father died, she might have killed at least one, though she was only ten.
There were a few men who’d thought to infiltrate their vale, and she’d wielded her swords against them, but Aidan was the one who dealt those killing blows.
There were two she’d killed up on the ridge the night Rogan MacLean thought to steal her brother’s wife away.
So that was three. And then three more on the day they took her, bound and gagged, from the gaols beneath Keppenach.
But then, of course, there were all those men she’d faced in battle on the day before they’d put her on the gallows.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “And you?”
Jaime lay there, staring at the ceiling, his hands behind his back. “I don’t know,” he admitted readily. “I stopped counting too long ago.” He sighed wearily. “What say we try not to shed anymore?”
Lael rolled over and lay her head upon her husband’s chest. “That is not a promise either of us can swear to keep. You will go to wrest Northumbria from king Stephen, and I will ride to Dunràth soon.”
Either direction, north or south, there was unrest. In the north, the Earl of Moray kept the king’s peace, but should he ever decide to cast away his oath… well, he was a rightful claimant to the throne, and in the end, it was the mightiest who would rule these lands.
Lael was devastated to have lost Una, but the loss of the Stone itself could be no more fortuitous right now, for while David held the sword of kings, if it were ever to be known he took his crown while seated on a false stone…
It was for that very reason they’d kept Constance away from the guests, so she couldn’t inadvertently betray the Guardians’ secret.
But Lael didn’t wish to think about such things at the moment, not when there was a sweeter victory to be won right here in her bed. Smiling, she climbed atop her husband, naked and proud to be his lover. Jaime’s blue eyes pierced her, like an arrow to the heart.
She bent to kiss him lovingly, taking not a single moment for granted; tomorrow was never promised. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth as his hands reached for the moons of her breasts.
“I love you,” he returned, and they melted into each other’s embrace, joining their bodies as one.
The past two days had been a dream Lianae did not wish to see end.
With mere hours remaining before the king’s men were set to depart the vale, she waited impatiently for Keane to return to the cottage. Again, at sunrise, his brother had roused him from his bed, and Lianae had scarce had a moment to speak to him ere he left.
Once he was gone, she was afraid in her heart that she might never see him again, for Stephen would never cede the border lands so easily.
Some part of her prayed that Aidan dún Scoti would talk him out of it—or command him not to go—despite that she realized it wasn’t possible.
Keane had sworn his oath to David. And even if he should wish forfeit Dunràth and Lilidbrugh, Lianae was part of that bargain.
He would have to forfeit her as well. And then he would be tried for treason, for he was David’s sworn man.
Pacing the small one-room cottage, she ran her hand over the furniture curiously, considering her hosts.
The house itself was finely kept, with nary a speck of dust to be found and the ashes in the pit were freshly swept.
In one of the coffers, she’d found stacks of gowns folded neatly, and another smaller coffer held clothing belonging to a man.
By all accounts, whoever lived here valued their abode, and yet they’d so graciously abandoned it for guests.
As a thank you, perhaps Lianae might leave them one of her stones?
Despite the sorrowful occasion, they had welcomed her with open arms.
Waiting for Keane to return from his counsel with his brother, Lianae unfastened the silk purse from her girdle and brought it to the table.
She sat in one of the chairs to work the knot and once the knot was freed, she widened the cinch and emptied the contents on the table. Five charm stones remained.
Were they worth anything at all without the entire set of twelve? Lianae hadn’t any clue. And yet, it was all she had to give…
Each of the stones bore a similar mark—two moons, with a lightning rod betwixt.
She turned them over, one by one, fingering each of the deeply etched marks.
The instrument of such artwork was unclear, since it would have taken a needle finer than the one she’d used to sew Aveline’s dresses, and yet they would have had to have been razor sharp to cut the quartz stones like butter.
Marveling over the fine craftsmanship, she studied the stones all laid out upon the table, thinking that come spring, she would ask Keane to take her back to Lilidbrugh for the rest. Even if she could not use Uhtreda’s charm stones to buy news of her brothers, they could sell them to resupply the hallhouse.
After so long without a thane or a chatelaine, Dunràth would be in sore need of provisions—
There was a rap at the door. Startled, Lianae swept the stones back into her purse, cinching the bag. “Come in,” she said.
“Pardon,” a young girl said. She was barely more than a child.
Discomposed, Lianae hid the purse in her lap. “May I help you?”
The girl’s face fell. “Have I come to the wrong house?”
“I-I don’t know,” Lianae said, and only then did she realize the girl’s eyes had yet to focus on her face.
Because she couldn’t see. Further proof came when she produced a crude stick from behind the door and began to tap it on the floor in front of her.
“I beg pardon,” the girl said brokenly, and the words came out as though on the verge of tears. “I came for a change of clothes.”
Lianae bolted from her chair, discarding the purse upon the table. “Let me help you,” she said, rushing to the girl’s aide. “You ought not be alone!” Lianae chided, but it was the wrong thing to say, for the sweet lass folded to her knees and began to weep there upon the floor.
“I wanted to be a good wife,” she cried, and Lianae stooped beside her.
She rubbed a hand on the girl’s back, trying in vain to soothe her. “Now, now,” she crooned. “’Twill be alright…”
Her name was Constance. But Lianae hadn’t time to consider the fantastic story she had told, for no sooner had she returned the child bride to her husband, freshly dressed in a new gown, and calmer for the talk they’d shared, when Keane came to bid Lianae good-bye.
He kissed her sweetly and with an aching heart, Lianae followed him to the hillside where five hundred mounted warriors waited for the king’s command to go.
Already, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim had placed himself at the head of the cavalcade, his gold and red banners the only splash of color against a bleak and grey sky. Silver mail and long swords winked along the hillside as a few men scrambled to gather their belongings and ready mounts.
Desperate to prolong the final moments, Lianae clung to Keane even after he was mounted, loathe to see him go.
She was terrified she would never see him again.
There was so much she wished to say, but with so many ears around to overhear, she held her tongue.
Resting her cheek against her husband’s thigh, he reached down to lift Lianae’s face by the chin.
“Dinna worry. Lael will see you safely home, and I will join anon.”
“Promise me!” Lianae begged.