Chapter 17 #2
For a moment, Keane stood, unmoving, pride interfering with his common sense.
The fire in the brazier trembled with the draft from the open door.
It was a good long moment before he finally bothered to acknowledge Cameron, who was seated at the table, and then when he did so, it was with a nod, his jaw taut and teeth clenched.
Aside from the three men, no one else was present in the solar, but there were a number of half-empty tankards abandoned before vacant chairs, which led Keane to believe there had previously been people seated there, clearly discussing Keane’s fate.
The simple fact that they’d not even allowed the maids to enter to clear away the dishes spoke volumes in itself.
Behind him, Jaime closed the door on his wife and Keane watched his brother by law edge his way back around the table and seat himself in his chair.
“Sit down,” David said, more firmly now.
Despite the sober expressions, it was a casual setting. Keane hoped that meant something. And yet, something grave was amiss here, or he’d never have found himself trapped behind bars. Following Lael’s advice, Keane held his tongue, as much as it pained him.
“Today we have heard serious allegations against you, Keane dún Scoti.”
Keane’s teeth grated at hearing the bastardization of his name. He turned a baleful look toward Cameron, surmising that whatever allegations the king had heard, they must have come from him. But instead of looking away, Cameron held his gaze.
“Tell me how you plea,” asked the king.
Keane’s tone was full of contempt although he tried to mask it. “It would help to know what I am charged with.”
Something in the king’s expression softened. “And ye dinna ken?”
Keane felt himself growing impatient. “If I did, I am quite sure I would not have asked, Your Grace.”
The king hid a smirk. “I always liked you as a lad, Keane dún Scoti. You are more like your sister than your brother,” he said. “Fair enough.”
Keane refrained from any response at all, because he could not return the compliment. He didn’t suffer liars well—nor did he appreciate the king’s continued use of the dún Scoti name.
David waved a hand dismissively. “Let us dispense with the trivialities,” he said.
Keane blinked, uncowed.
“You have been accused of defiling a princess of Moray.”
It was the last thing Keane expected to hear. “Lianae?”
“Indeed…. Lianae.”
“And does this accusation come from Lianae’s own two lips—” He turned to Cameron. “Or is this the word of ambitious climbers?”
“It was Lianae,” Jaime interjected soberly, sensing Keane’s unspoken accusation of Cameron MacKinnon. “Cameron stood by you with every word he uttered, Keane. He is not your enemy here today.”
Only now did Cameron look away, his expression clearly wounded.
“Who is my enemy?”
“Not I,” Jaime said.
The king merely smiled and Keane inhaled a breath. He shook his head, trying to comprehend. “It was Lianae who said this?”
“Indeed,” the king said, and continued to tap his long, lean fingers on the arm of his chair.
“Of course, none of us were inclined to believe it, and after some time she did rescind her claim. And yet,” the king continued, his gaze studying Keane.
“She did also confess the two of you lay together willingly and this poses a problem.”
For a moment, Keane remained dumbstruck, uncertain what to say.
Close on the heels of a sense of relief that he might not face the gibbet, after all, was the simple realization that Lianae had lied.
He’d never once touched any part of her save her lips, and her hands and feet, and aside from the kiss itself, none of it had afforded him much pleasure.
He had merely meant to help, and instead, he stood here, facing an inquiry from the king…
“The problem, you see, is that she was promised to de Moray.”
I am but a simple maid of Moray, she had said.
Keane felt the truth impact him like a blow to his gut. Although Lianae clearly hadn’t been lying about that, damn her to hell for choosing her words so carefully Keane never suspected her relation to the man.
And yet… why hadn’t he, dressed as she was?
All the signs had been there, and yet he had chosen to believe she was a woman still within his reach. He had kissed her as though she could be his. He clenched and unclenched the fist he held at his side.
“And then… there is the matter of those bruises…”
Clearly, David wished to see what Keane would say about that, and when he said nothing at all, the man continued.
“I fear I know how she received the marks, and despite that I dinna wish to anger the man—for the sake of peace, ye ken, not because I fear him as a rival—I canna in good faith return the lass to Moray.”
It was another moment before Keane opened his mouth to speak, but the king held up a hand to silence him.
“You did lay with her, after all.”
It wasn’t a question.
Neither Jaime nor Cameron spoke to defend him, and Keane realized they all believed it—that he had bedded the lass, in front of gods and men alike. The notion infuriated him, and yet he held his tongue.
“You have a choice now,” the king said.
Keane’s jaw tightened with his anger. “What choice is that?”
“Wed the lass.”
Silence fell upon the room. Keane shot Jaime a beleaguered glance. “You would see me wed a liar?” he asked.
“Now that you have bed her, is she no longer pleasing to you?” David interjected, clearly annoyed.
Pleasing? Pleasing! That was not in question here. Even now, seated in Jaime’s solar, faced with a scourge upon his honor, his cock stirred at the memory of their kiss… the scent of her hair. But whether she pleased him was not the point!