Blaine pushed open the portal and stepped inside, taking in the couple sitting before the fire. He glanced at the bed, but it was still made except for the pillows now in front of the hearth. He pushed the door closed and approached Thor and Greer.
Thor kept his voice low as he filled Blaine in. “I ken we’ve already been up here too long, and I dinna want to explain everything to ye and nae have Rose with us. But when we get belowstairs, we will say we handfasted before we came here. We’ve argued aboot when to tell people. And Greer is with child. That’s why we married by consent today since we feared a handfast wouldnae be enough.”
Blaine nodded along with what Thor said until the part about Greer being pregnant. His eyes darted to her belly before he scowled at Thor.
“Dinna look at Thor that way. It was ma idea to say it. I’m nae, so we need ye and Rose to keep anyone from insisting Una examine me. Or we need her to lie.”
“We can protect ye, Greer. Ye dinna have to claim ye married Thor, and we can agree the marriage by consent was an attempt to keep ye here.”
Greer stepped in front of Thor, as protective as he had been in the Great Hall. “Blaine, there is plenty we need to explain to ye and Rose. But ye need to ken the one thing we arenae pretending aboot is wanting to be married. We’ve wanted it for eight years, but life has been cruel.”
Thor slid his arm around Greer’s waist as he stepped forward to press his body against hers. “Did ye catch Samuel said Greer and I handfasted in the past? It’s true. We married when we were five-and-ten. She was ma wife, and she is again.”
“Ye’re right. We need to wait for Rose before ye explain all this. She’s still in our chamber.”
“I want Greer to go back in there, and I want guards posted outside and at the stairs. I dinna want her anywhere near someone who can snatch her.” Thor tightened his hold around Greer before releasing her and slipping his hand into hers. Noise in the passageway made them all turn toward the door. Blaine hurried forward and yanked open the door.
“Stand aside,” a nasal English voice commanded. Blaine took a menacing step forward.
“Ye dinna command me in ma home. I warned ye once. I willna warn ye again. I have enough men to bury ye and yers, and nay one would ever be the wiser. Move.”
The man not only didn’t comply, he signaled for other men to rush forward. They tried to push their way past Blaine and into the chamber. Blaine and the Sinclair guards still at the door formed a barrier. The Sinclairs knew they had to step aside for the king’s man, but it now trapped him between Blaine and them. They scuffled with the other three Englishmen who tried to help their leader. When Thor and Greer entered the chamber earlier, he’d immediately noticed someone placed his sword to rest against the bedside table. He assumed Blaine did it while he was in Greer’s chamber.
“Get into the far corner.” Thor turned Greer toward it, then rushed forward to grab his sword. The Keiths hadn’t forced the English king’s men to surrender their weapons at the gate like most visitors—like the Gunns had. Blaine unsheathed his as Thor did the same. Working together and with the Sinclair guards, they pushed the English guards away from the door. “Lock and bar it, Greer.”
The moment they were far enough from the door that she didn’t fear someone reaching in, she bolted across the chamber. She slammed the door shut, locked it, barred it, and inched the bedside table against it. She looked around and followed that by adding both chairs to the blockade. She only had one dirk, so she withdrew it from her skirt’s pocket before she huddled in the corner where Thor ordered her to go.
Her hands shook as she drew her knees up to her chest. Then she thought better of it. That position wouldn’t allow her to rise to her feet with ease and fight back if she needed. She moved to crouch in the corner; her knife clutched in her hand the way Thor had taught her. That memory surged forward, and it allowed her mind to escape her current situation. Recalling how he taught her to defend herself calmed her racing heart. She strained to hear anything coming from belowstairs, but she was on the third floor. Anything she could have heard would have been soft and muffled. Nothing floated up to her. No matter how many times she’d been cuffed to her bed or locked in her chamber, nothing had seemed longer than the infernal wait she endured now.
Thor shoved one of the Englishmen hard enough that he stumbled backward and would have gone over the third-floor landing’s railing if he hadn’t grabbed the man’s doublet and yanked him back only to drive his fist into the man’s throat. He almost crushed his opponent’s windpipe, but he made certain the force behind his punch wasn’t that significant. It made the delegate crumple to the ground, gasping and clutching his throat.
“Dinna come near ma wife, and I willna hurt ye.” Thor roared his statement, and every man in the scuffle knew he spoke to each Englishman. Blaine and the others corralled the king’s representatives toward the stairs and away from Greer. None of the Highlanders cared if the other men tumbled to their death, but the men King Edward III sent survived. Just barely.
“Ye didna have ma permission to come abovestairs.” Blaine crossed his arms and glowered at the leader.
“We represent King Edward. We do not need your permission to enter anywhere. You will hand over the woman.”
“Nay.” Blaine and Thor answered at once. Blaine wished to turn his scowl on Thor, but he wouldn’t make them look like anything less than a united front, even if Blaine wished to remind the new arrivals that he was laird while his father was away.
“You have no say. Your father is a traitor to the crown. You are lucky we don’t seize your keep and your lands before throwing you in the oubliette.” The forgotten. A pit with no way out unless someone tossed down a rope or ladder. It had no windows and no door, except for a hatch eight to ten feet above. Once inside, most prisoners never left.
“Ye represent the usurper. He may wear a crown in England, but he isnae the King of Scotland. Ye’re lucky ye made it this far into the Highlands with yer heads still attached.” The Keiths lived even farther north than the Sinclairs, occupying the most northern tip of Scotland. There was nothing but the North Sea beyond their land. If these men rode from King Edward’s court, they’d likely ridden the entire length of Britannia, from London to Ackergill. None of the Highlanders recognized the English King Edward as the rightful head of their country. Their sovereign, Robert the Bruce’s son David, was their king, even in exile.
Thor listened as Blaine articulated what everyone present thought. It made no sense to him why the English king’s men arrived at Ackergill. What concern did they have with Greer and her supposed betrothal to the laird of a MacDonnell branch? Not even a large branch at that. Sharing progenitors closely tied the MacDonnells to the MacDonalds. The MacDonalds were fiercely loyal to Robert the Bruce and would never join sides with the English. It was simply impossible. It would not—could not—happen. Yet, here stood these men.
Thor shifted his gaze to the Gunns, settling into the Sinclair Stance. For all their foul choices and their baseless claims against the Sinclairs, Sutherlands, and Mackays, they’d been loyal to the Bruce too. Why would they invite the English to meddle? He recognized smugness on several faces, but just as many of the Gunn representatives appeared shocked.
Thor recalled the English leader merely told Blaine to stand aside and to hand over the woman. He hadn’t said why, and he said nothing about giving her to the Gunns or the MacDonnells. Could they be there for another reason? What interest could they have in Greer?
“What are ye called besides a piece of shite under ma boot?” Blaine demanded.
“Sir Richard Fitz-Simon, member of Our Majesty’s Order of the Garter.”
“Never heard of ye or that. Another one of that bastard’s pretentious brotherhoods.”
“The Order of the Garter is the king’s finest knights—”
“Who prance around in yer noisy metal buckets. We ken all aboot ye knights. Would ye like to ken how we kill ye? Besides letting ye sweat to death in those death suits.”
