Oath-breaker #2
The man watched him like a hawk, his concern apparent.
Alec grimaced, his gut twisting with the knowledge that he was walking upon a precipice of unprecedented bloodshed. One misstep, and he himself would release a river of blood even worse than Auld Bertha had foretold.
“Then we declare this matter settled atwixt ye and have brought ye both peace,” the king was announcing, raising his hands for applause. He waited until it subsided before adding, “And naught shall open the old wounds atween ye.”
All eyes turned upon Alec.
He obliged them with a terse “aye”, finding even that short word nigh impossible to utter in a civil tone. He couldn’t summon even the barest of smiles.
The king droned on, but again, he didn’t listen. However, neither did anyone else.
Still kneeling contritely at the king’s feet, Hugh looked Alec’s way for the very first time to offer a thinly veiled smirk.
That smirk soothed Alec’s rage in a way nothing else could have.
A quick glance at Taran revealed the highlander had noticed as well.
Aye, Hugh had subscribed to the king’s charade of a truce even less than himself. He’d be attacking, and soon, giving Alec an opportunity to exact justice, once and for all.
The king clapped his hands.
“Rise, Hugh,” he ordered, clearly pleased with himself. “’Tis time ye and Alec shared bread atween ye, as brothers.”
Alec stared at the man, wondering if all kings were as mad.
Hugh rose to his feet, bowing humbly again as servants flooded the chamber, carrying long, white spiral-twisted candlesticks, Venetian goblets of spiced wine, and silver platters filled with tarts decorated with orange rinds.
“Come, let us toast to the never-ending peace we wrought this day,” the king boasted with a laugh.
Someone thrust a goblet into Alec’s fingers as voices rose in the chamber. He joined them with a hollow, sarcastic laugh, muttering the required, “God save the king!”
“And justice to ye, lad,” the elderly Cunningham’s voice rasped in Alec’s ear.
Woodenly, Alec faced the man.
“’Tis in your hands, Montgomery,” the old man warned, low and harsh.
“The king’s absolved him of his crimes of the past. Ye canna act upon them.
” The look in his eye gave meaning to the words he stressed.
Clearly, the old man knew Hugh hadn’t stopped his murderous ways.
He confirmed it by adding, “Step carefully, lad, and remember, I’m not a man to stand in the way of justice, aye? ”
Any other listening to the exchange would have thought the words a warning, but Alec understood the burden they both bore as leaders of their clans. Silently, he watched the man return to the table.
“We’ve seen the doings of the devil in Denmark,” the king’s voice rose above the buzz in the chamber. “’Twas a witch. A woman, named Anna Koldings. She cast a spell on the seas, causing stormy waters to rise up against my queen, forcing the royal ships ashore at Norway.”
The voices in the room died and all eyes turned to the king.
“The witch met her death at the stake,” the king informed them, enjoying their rapt attention. “But we believe there is more than one witch.”
Someone gasped.
“Aye,” the king nodded, pleased with his own intellect.
“The same tempestuous winds dogged our return to this fair land.
They unfairly buffeted the ship that carried ourselves and our bride.
Aye, and they nearly sank our newly crafted vessels into the abysmal depths of the sea.
‘Twas a singular circumstance noted by all.”
“Mayhap the witch mischief lives in our lands,” someone proposed.
Alec snorted in disgust.
“Or mayhap ‘twas the fact he pinched on the funding in the building of his own ships,” Taran growled softly in Alec’s ear.
Recalling the shipwrights they’d met in Hawick, Alec nodded in agreement.
“The Danes are cleansing their lands,” the king was saying. “And there’s only the one way to purify the evilness they find. ‘Tis a burning at the stake.”
“Witchcraft,” Hugh Cunningham said, mouthing the word slowly.
As the conversation buzzed through the chamber, Alec turned away in disgust, his patience stretched thin. “I canna abide this company a moment longer, Taran,” he murmured to the highlander at his side. “I’ll not stand by as these fools find witches to court the king’s fancy.”
“Aye,” his cousin replied, clearly agreeing with both statements.
They ducked, unnoticed by the king, out of the chamber then and retraced their steps down the length of the ensuing passageway when a voice hailed Alec from behind.
Turning, he spied Hugh striding after him. He paused, waiting warily as Taran retired into the nearby shadows.
As Hugh joined him, Alec saw Cunningham clansmen filing behind him. He cocked a brow. Did they truly think to slay him in the king’s own house?
Hugh smiled, a slithering, perfidious sort of smile, and cocked his head to one side.
“Dinna think ye’ll receive one letter of my titles in this travesty of justice,” he warned without preamble in a barely audible tone.
“And for every Cunningham ye Montgomerys have slain, I’ll see ye pay a death tenfold. ”
Alec responded with a chilling smile of his own and, leaning forward, murmured just as softly, “I’ll be receiving all of your lands, new and old, along with your head which will adorn the battlements of Elginton afore spring.
And atween then and now, if ye lay one hand on me or any in my clan, I’ll see your death is a slow and painful one. ”
He didn’t wait for Hugh’s reply.
Spinning on his heel, Alec strode away, exposing his back to the man in a bold statement that he didn’t fear him nor his venomous threats.
In a foul mood, he kicked back the door of the chamber they’d been assigned and stalked inside as it bounced off the wall from the force of his booted foot. Tiredly, Alec sat down at a table, a bitter taste in his mouth.
So, this was the king’s form of justice. The naivety of the man astounded him. Could he not see his actions had only placed Alec upon a more treacherous path?
Ach, his head ached.
He pounded the table as Taran appeared at his side, placing a bottle of whiskey within reach, but Alec only shoved it aside, impatiently. Were he to start, he would pay for it on the morrow, and on the morrow, he planned to rise before dawn and ride to North Berwick.
Aye, he needed to see Sorcha.
Now that the Montgomerys had rallied under him, ‘twas high time he brought her to the safety of Eglinton.
But most importantly, it had been far too long since he’d held her in his arms.