“Go ahead, Jamie,” Monroe said. “Ask why she didn’t have one for ye!”
The world fellin on Kenna that afternoon while she was down on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor behind a worktable in the kitchens. In her eagerness to keep busy in the kitchens during the meals, she had spilled a jug of milk and had returned to clean the area for a second time, anxious that there be no traces of her clumsiness.
The two women that entered did not notice or hear her for she was stretching her weary back.
“We should decorate the hall with flowers the moment the king is on his way. There is a patch of white heather at the far end of the loch. It will add a fine touch to the Laird’s weddin’.”
Kenna’s heart stopped to allow her ears to hear what they could. Had Tearloch finally decided to marry her? Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise.
“I can nary believe he’s agreed to marry,” the second woman said. It was the cook Una, by the sound of her crusty voice.
“Sir Leland told Janet in confidence that the woman is a royal. Does that mean we shall be a royal household?”
Royalty? Kenna’s heart waited for orders to continue its beating, but she gave it no such direction.
“Mind yer tongue. The laird’s lass cannae hear tell of a weddin’. She is often in the kitchens, so ye’d best haud yerwheesht. And dinnae be speakin’ out yer head about royalty. We ken nothing until we’re told by the laird himself.”
The voices trailed off as the two women headed for the hall, discussing menus and estimating the size of the king’s household, whom they would be feeding soon.
Kenna found that her lungs had emptied and had no intention of filling themselves with air again. The memory that might truly finish her off was of the night before, when Tearloch had walked her to her room, holding her hand. He’d lifted their hands together, with their fingers entwined, and confessed, “When yer hand is wrapped around mine, I feel as if I shall never be alone again.”
A sentiment that earned him a fine, long kiss goodnight. He’d turned and stumbled away like a drunkard, just to make her giggle.
She was none too happy that her traitorous heart and lungs took up their work again, the pain was that brutal. Then came the shame.
He must have been relishing his last bit of time with her. But if she could no longer enjoy a moment, knowing it was coming to an end, she would be damned if he’d enjoy it either.
She took a deep breath and began to mentally berate herself for even thinking that Tearloch might grow to love her, might wish to wed her. When he said he felt like he would never be alone again, he already knew his bride was on her way. He must have been thinking of her.
The betrayal sent painful, cold chills pouring from the back of her head down over her shoulders and made her shiver. She never wanted to face him again!
She imagined what his royal bride would look like, even tried to hate the woman, but could only summon envy. And if Kenna had been the one lucky enough to marry him, she certainlywould not tolerate another unwed maid in her household who panted after her husband.
She would have to leave as soon as the royal wedding party arrived. Perhaps, now that she’d earned some trust, she could leave sooner. Escaping Lochahearn should be easier than escaping the king…
She raised herself from the floor, put away the cleaning bucket and brush, and began to plot.
That evening Mary informed Tearloch that Lady Kenna was having a woman’s time and would not be leaving her chambers. He ordered a double sentry outside her chamber door and another two men beneath her window in the chance she might be up to something. She’d avoided eye contact all afternoon, and he hadn’t the time to ask why. Now he feared she was plotting something.
His company of knights milled around the tables after the meal, enjoying smooth ale and the fact that their leader was not otherwise engaged in wooing, as he had done all week. A few men, who had no families to go home to and usually haunted around the hall, were conspicuously missing, but reported to be on kerchief duty. At the present rate, he would have no single men in his company of knights by summer’s end.
He was enjoying a jest at Duncan’s expense over the mystical kerchief he’d been gifted with when a messenger was announced. The men shifted away from Tearloch and Duncan to give them privacy but stayed in the hall in case the two deigned to share their news. After all, the king was overdue.
A nervous and weary man presented Tearloch a letter sealed with the king’s personal mark. Tearloch smiled in anticipation as he broke the familiar button of wax, then frowned at the length of the letter inside. It was not a simple announcement that the king was on his merry way.
As he read on, Tearloch shot to his feet, unable to sit still while he scoured the familiar script of the king’s own hand.
Duncan jumped to his feet as well. “What is amiss?”
Tearloch looked over at his friend. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shook his head and continued to read. When he finished, he stared off in the distance for a moment, then his face flushed and he tossed the letter in Duncan’s general direction while racing for the stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sentries took one look at Tearloch’s countenance and scurried out of his way. He slowed not at all before putting a boot to the door and sending it crashing.
On a chair sat a sack half-packed with clothes. To his surprise, the woman was a huddled mass on the bed, clutching her stomach and moaning into a pillow. She lifted her face only enough to shout, “Get out!”
He shuffled his feet, not knowing whether to go to her or retreat, not knowing yet if he wished to strangle her or comfort her. But for either of those, he would have to draw near. When he sat down on the bed, she moaned like he had increased her pain.
