“Yes,” bellowed the baron. “Kill him now.”
“Kill him, King Alexander,” Ivarsson repeated. “Kill him and make an example of anyone who wishes to go against your reign. Kill him now to guarantee your win.” He would not back down.
Celestina stared at the two men who held her future in their hands, unable to believe the cruelty and unveiled hatred bouncing between them. How could they condone the death of an innocent man? Brodie Grant had stood up for her honor, and the two men who should honor her most wanted him dead. This was all so wrong!
“Nay, please nay.” She turned to King Alexander. “Please do not do it, my king. He was only trying to protect me.” She had to sway his mind.
Ivarsson barked, “Celestina, close your mouth. A woman’s opinion is of no value. We do not wish to hear your thoughts.”
Her betrothed’s insult neither surprised nor hurt her. He was only speaking to her in the manner her own father had done for years.
“Kill him,” her father screamed, his voice so loud in the contained hallway that she had to cover her ears. “He is an insult to all of the Scottish. I say kill him.”
“Stop, stop, all of you, please stop.” Celestina moved in front of Brodie, as if to protect him. “Please do not do this. He does not deserve to die because of me.”
“When will you learn your place, girl?” The baron reached for her but he pulled his hand back when he saw the look on the king’s face.
Her betrothed grabbed her around the waist, yanking her away from Brodie. “Get away, you foolish beasom. You have caused enough trouble, and this is not your affair. Leave immediately as this is no place for a female.” He twisted her arm.
The king said, “Ivarsson, control yourself.” Her betrothed, obviously shocked to have been so corrected, jerked toward the king.
The swishing sound of cold steel filled the air as the pointed end of a sword fell against Ivarsson’s neck. Laird Alexander Grant had just joined the ruckus.
The Grant pressed his weapon forward just enough to prevent the man from moving. “And I say take your hands off the lady.”
Her betrothed dropped his grip on her and turned a sad shade of green. “King, kindly call off this ruffian.”
“Your Grace, if anyone moves but you or the lady, Ivarsson is a dead man. Believe me, naught would please me more than to spear this spineless waste of a human on the end of my sword.”
As Celestina backed away, Brodie’s face broke into a grin, even with three swords at his throat. “Took you long enough, brother.”
“I was enjoying my oxtail soup.” A sly grin caught the corner of his mouth.
“Alexander Grant, always the showman,” the king chuckled. “Release the man.”
“I would be happy to do so just as soon as your guards release my brother.”
“What right does he have to give you orders, King? He should be whipped for his impudence!” The baron’s face had turned an even deeper shade of red.
Celestina gaped at the sight in front of her—Brodie Grant with three swords still at him while The Grant’s giant blade was just inches away from Ivarsson’s throat. She feared for Brodie’s life, yet he stood tall. Her betrothed, by contrast, looked as if he was about to lose the contents of his stomach or his bowels. The brashness and vehemence in his countenance had disappeared as soon as the sword had appeared in front of him. How differentthe two men were, and how she wished their roles in her life could be switched.
The king glared at Laird Grant. “I am requesting you to release him, Grant.”
“With all due respect, your guards have my brother at the end of their swords, and from what I have heard, he has done naught but stand tall for a lass’s honor. That is what we do in the Highlands. His actions would make my father proud, just as they have made me proud. His king should be proud as well. The lass does not deserve such treatment doled out to her by her sire or her betrothed. ‘Tis no’ our duty to protect the innocents, Your Grace?”
“Release him and we will discuss this.”
Her father’s spittle ran down his chin. “What hold could he possibly have on you, my king? Why are you hesitating?”
Laird Grant stared into the king’s eyes. “Five hundred warriors. Five hundred warriors to protect his life and my brother to protect his castle. I hardly think he wants one of the Highland’s best warriors to be skewered in front of him.”
The King of the Scots turned slowly to face his baron. “Your insolence and that of your Norse comrade are about to gain you both a stay in my dungeon. Mayhap a day or two below stairs will remind you who is in charge. I will not tolerate your rudeness any longer.” He waited until the baron calmed before pivoting to Alex.
Alex smiled, “Your Grace?”
The king’s eyebrows rose as a small smile crept across his face. “Five hundred? Very nice. You have been holding out on me. How have you managed to build such a force, Grant?”
“I treat my men well and they reward me with hard work. I have pulled many from the MacDonalds and the Commings among others.”
