Could he lay the blame at the king’s feet?
Should he?
Nay, she was too important to feed excuses. He would simply lay his heart in her hands and let her do what she would.
A cup of wildflowers caught his eye, and his heart lurched at the memory of Kenna flying off Queenie’s back, into the destrier’s path, and landing in a thick bed of flowers. Laughing and unharmed. That was the moment, the very moment, he knew he wanted to take her into his arms and never, ever let her go.
Would he be given that chance? Would Malcolm insist she wed Tearloch if she objected?
Laughing and unharmed. If he was denied her hand, he at least wanted that for her.Please, God, let her be unharmed!
Duncan joined him and immediately noted his tortured face and the tunic clenched in his hand, over his heart. Now conscious of the gesture, Tearloch considered letting go, but realized it felt better to hold his heart while it ached.
Would that the organ could survive the day.
Duncan forced a smile. “She is a brave, canny woman, and she will have survived this as she survives everything else. Have faith in that.”
“What if she is not on the ship? What if he’s killed her? I cannae live without her, Duncan. I swear it. Death would be kinder than to spend one more hour missing her.”
“Stop that blether. I’ll not listen. Ye mean to torture yerself, and I’ll be no party to it?—”
The hall doors flew wide and Malcolm strode directly to Tearloch, who was grateful his king did not dally. But did he want to hear what his brother had to say?
“She was on the ship. She is safe. You will not see her, though, until she has had time to bathe and be tended to?—”
“Tended to? What has he done to her?” He shouldn’t shake the king before so many witnesses, but he could not stop himself. “How badly is she hurt?”
“Easy, easy. Like Duncan, she has been deprived of far too much sleep and is in no condition for a grand inquiry.”
Tearloch always knew when Malcolm was lying. He unhanded the man but stayed in his face. “And what else?”
“She has a wound. Not serious. On her shoulder. She insists there is nothing more.”
“Ye spoke to her? Ye told her?—”
“Her kingtold her only that he was relieved to have her under his care, that she has nothing more to fear. That is all.” Malcolm blinked back tears. “She is just how I imagined, if she had lived to be a woman grown.”
Tearloch took pity on him. He might be king, but he was also a boy who’d been told that his younger sister had sickened and died. The young sister he’d been forced to abandon and promised he could have back one day.
And that day had arrived.
Tearloch clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye’ve been mourning each other long enough, Yer Majesty. Tell her. Ye’ve had time to celebrate. It is time she celebrated as well. I will bide my turn as long as needed.”
Malcolm snorted. “Worried?”
“Terrified.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Malcolm shooed both of them away. “Now listen, the pair of you. You are to eat and get some rest as well. It may be tomorrow before she is recovered enough to speak with us. Until then, do as ye promised and bide yer time. Do ye understand?”
Tearloch nodded mutely. When he fell on his bed minutes later, he was sleeping before his body stopped bouncing.
Kenna was escortedoff the ship by as many of the king’s guards as could fit in the small narrow boat. Three others like it waited nearby. The crew was being detained around the forecastle, but there was no sign of the charmless grey captain.
The soldiers were silent but gracious, and she was grateful she wore trews when she climbed down the rope ladder. It seemed like hours later when she was lifted onto the dock, where a handsome gentleman with startling eyes waited to speak with her. His clothes were fine and he wore a mantle of fur over hisshoulders. Perhaps he suffered from delicate health and could not risk a chill.
“Lady Kenna,” he said, and inclined his head.
