That one word brought Jennet such a sense of hope she nearly cried out. She was winning them over to her side!
Balreaves’s actions confirmed her opinion. After one hate-filled and fearful glance her way, he used the fact that all eyes were fixed upon her to slip out of the hall. He clearly did not want to be within reach if she was able to build upon this victory and continue to cut away at the net of lies he had built. She ached to stop him but knew it was not yet the time to fling her own accusations. It would also serve her better if he was not around to keep arguing her every statement.
“The battle of Mytton? Do you know much of that one?” the king asked.
“Aye, for I was there. ’Twas a ragged force of English peasants and monks that faced us. At the first bellow and shaking of fists from our men, they ran for their lives. There were many of your soldiers who didnae take part in the slaughter that followed,” she felt compelled to say.
“My liege?” Sir Niall spoke, causing Jennet to stare at him in surprise.
“You wish to speak, Sir Niall? From all I have heard, you are no friend of Sir Gillard’s.”
“Nay, I am not, but neither am I his enemy. I didnae take part in the slaughter at Mytton either. The English ran with their tails between their legs, tossing aside their weapons. The fear of God was in them. I felt it was enough.
“As to Sir Gillard’s bravery and skill,” Sir Niall continued, “they are without question. So too his loyalty. I may not like the mon, but I wouldnae hesitate to fight at his side or have him guard my back. He is one of your finest knights.”
“Ye have taken a long time to speak in his support.”
“The charge against him is treason, my liege. I had no wish to chance that taint. Howbeit, as his time of death draws near, I realize he would be a grievous loss to your cause. Sir Gillard’s only fault is that he willnae raise his sword against those who arenae fighting him equally armed and ready to die.”
“Which many would not see as a fault,” murmured the king. “What of Ireland?”
When Sir Niall looked to Jennet for an answer, she quickly explained, “He was guilty only of being very lucky. ’Twas no enemy soldiers who cut down Hacon and his mon, but hired murderers. They confessed as much when they thought my husband was past saving. Howbeit, a man of God chanced upon him and his mon, Dugald. Once healed of the wounds, which no Irishmon had inflicted upon them, they made their way home. Coin aided that journey, and only coin.”
She noticed that the king’s eyes had narrowed at her accusation of treachery, but he did not ask about her claim. “I fear the only witnesses to all of that are my accused husband, his mon Dugald, and that godly Irishmon. They are the only ones who can truly say what happened that day.”
“You have most eloquently dulled the keen edge of each charge, Lady Jennet. How is it you can make what tasted of treason seem so innocent?”
“Mayhaps, my liege, one should ask how someone could make such innocent acts sound like treason—and why.”
After briefly glancing toward Balreaves’s empty seat, the king looked back at Jennet. “It appears your husband’s accuser has left us.”
“Aye,” agreed the Douglas. “I saw him slink out of the doors earlier.”
“Yet ye said nothing?” The king frowned at his friend.
“I believed it more important that Lady Gillard be allowed to speak uninterrupted. By leaving, Balreaves may weel have said more than enough.”
“Quite true,” murmured the Bruce, and ordered several guards to go and find Balreaves. “We will wait.”
Hacon slumped against the wall, his gaze fixed upon Jennet, as it had been since she had entered the great hall. At first he had felt compelled to look his fill of her beauty, certain that it would be his last sight of her. Then, as the trial began to turn his way, he had watched her with a pride that swelled his chest and straightened his weary, battered body.
She cleverly used her beauty and her pregnancy, but mostly it was her words that held him transfixed. Somehow, unseen by him, she had come to understand the man he was. The respect he had ached for lay behind her every word. Her continued scorn of war and battle had ceased to be directed at him personally. He had taken her angry words to heart even when she had no longer aimed them at him.
That she would risk so much to come and plead for him now also told him a lot. She loved him. Her actions cried it to the world. Jennet loved him enough to put her own life in danger, perhaps even their child’s. It infuriated him that she would do so even while he exulted over what it told him about the state of her heart.
He ached to go to her, but made no move. Although the trial appeared to be turning in his favor, he had not yet been openly exonerated. Until he was, his wisest choice was to stand silent unless directly questioned.
Jennet kept glancing at Hacon as they waited. He looked weary, but she could read no other emotion in his steady gaze. They were too far apart, and she could not go to him. Neither could she get close enough to the dais to hear what the men there were saying. She had to simply sit and wait, and she hated it.
Sir Niall was just serving her a goblet of wine when some of the men the Bruce had sent after Balreaves returned. She tensed, briefly thinking that waiting had felt a little better than the taut fear that gripped her now. She knew Hacon’s fate could well depend on what action Balreaves had taken.
“Where is Sir Balreaves?” the king demanded.
“He and his men have fled,” responded the guard. “We came upon them just beyond the castle gates. When we told him you wished to speak with him, he fought us, killing two of our men and badly wounding three more.”
For a moment there was complete silence in the great hall. The king stared down at the papers on the table before him. The only outward sign of anger he made was to pick up those papers, slowly crumble them into a ball in one white-knuckled fist and, with his back turned to the room, throw them against the wall. While still turned away, he took several deep breaths. By the time he swiveled back, his face was calm. Two small slashes of color high on his cheeks were the only hint that his feelings were still running high.
Looking at Jennet, the king drawled, “It would appear that your husband’s accuser does not wish to stand behind these grave charges.” He looked at Hacon. “Mayhaps, Sir Gillard, ’tis time you stepped forward and spoke.”
