Slap! Her hand sailed crisply across his face; this had to be a better fate than what Aonghus had planned while reaching for his dagger. Sturan’s mouth began bleeding again; he spat on the ground, almost hitting her clean gown’s hem.
“You believe Lord Kollungr was to gift you a vessel in addition to what King Håkonsson already promised your clan allies? The very same allies who are loyal to the Northern territories and want to have the Isle of Bute returned to them – a demand once denied by King Alexander.” She leaned forward, angrily puffing the words toward his face. “Lord Kollungr is one of the highest advisors to King Håkonsson, cunning to his bones; there was nae vessel. He lied to you – fool of the Isles!”
A strained silence was heard, with the exception of a screeching owl seeking a squeaking meal. It appeared curiosity got the better of Sturan when he inquired with a low voice: “How are you so certain?”
“Because I lived beside the Northman for years! King Håkonsson’s court is a pit of snakes seeking the king’s favor, and Lord Kollungr, who I would call Fálki…”
“Falcon,” Aonghus translated the Northman’s word for the bird of prey.
“Aye.” She nodded at her Scot before narrowing her gaze on the traitor. “Fálki held the innate ability to swoop down” – she made a grand downward gesture with her arm like a bird seeking a kill – “and pluck any snake unto his liking, twisting them to his whim with false promises and threats.”
The prisoner gave a snort, then called, “MacCade?” Aonghus remained silent. “You are a warrior of fortune.” Greed lined Sturan’s features and tone. “If you take me to Lord Kollungr with your prize, he may still offer a handsome reward for your efforts to set this right.”Sturan actually had been unaware when Aonghus hauled him over his shoulder leaving the inn, not seeing Torsten’s state.
Aonghus responded by taking his heel and slamming it upon the back of Sturan’s knee, causing the prisoner to collapse onto both, before finishing by placing his blade at the man’s throat.
“Setting right?” Rage towered Aonghus’s words. “The lass wastakenfrom our shores and forced to the northern leech’s whims for years in servitude.” She saw her mercenary’s free hand grip, then tighten within Sturan’s greasy hair to ground out in the enemy’s face, “You would be well served to keep silent the remainder of the journey. King Alexander declared he sought you before him, but he did not give any preference if your tongue needed to be present.”
Shoving the boar back onto his feet, he re-sheathed the blade before taking her hand with a silent show of solidarity. Was she beginning to see at every turn why fate chose this warrior for all to come? Aye!
She squeezed Aonghus’s palm affectionately and he met her eyes. “Cluaran, if you care to practice on your dagger throwing within this grove it would offer some keen targets,” he said, gently. Just like that, he had gone from being a threatener to a protector. Was it disconcerting or comforting? The latter – comforting till his flesh touched her, then it simply became an instinctual want humming through her flesh on her part.
Ahem. “Aonghus,” she replied, for his ears alone, “I failed in my efforts the stretch back with trying to stab Hamysh. Since the wretched showing I had considered perhaps I may be a lost cause in defensive tactics of this nature.”
The determination filled his voice like steel. “I donot.”
The pure confidence he had in her was unlike any ever before. It was as addictive as a bloom to a bee. Her hand released his, seeking her own blade. A grin took his lips.
“Keirah,” he challenged her fortitude, “first trunk on the right, lass, you spy it ahead?”
“Aye.”Thump. Ugh, it missed!
“HA!” Sturan gave a nasty half-chuckle at her failure by the blade lying dead on the pine needles.
At Sturan’s jest, she blinked, then saw the nine lads’ desperate faces slain at the traitor’s hand. Before Aonghus went to retrieve the blade for her, she bolted, tripped on a root but retrieved the weapon, and spun about.Aim right there!A Gaelic roar tore from her lips, as she threw the weapon. Sturan gasped at her boldness when the blade struck, right at the edge of his step, stabbing the ground, halting his progression.
The traitor eyed her. “You missed.”
She raised her chin. “Nae, I didnot, you treacherous leech.” Sturan’s eye popped wide. “Be thankful I did not aim foryour groin after you saw nine lads to the grave at using me for your deceitful plan!”
She met Aonghus’s expression, which reflected an air of approval. “Brillant, lass. Again, aim at the fresh grove.”
Chapter 12
Stirling
What a sight!Keirah’s eyes narrowed, blocking the sunrays peeping with a tease over the volcanic ridges beyond Stirling after they finished crossing the long timber bridge above the River Forth. The castle! Her weight fell onto to her heels as she stumbled a step backward while she stared skyward. It looked like Gaelic gods set the granite curtain wall atop the stone cliff as if offering a challenge to any who dared besiege Scotland’s kingdom. A relief filled her soul; King Alexander would soon hear her out. She stared over where they had just come. Her breath faltered when an eerie chill took her; huh, she was suddenly being scrubbed by snow underneath her skin. Why?
Her right foot paused on the bridge’s final board. “Keirah?” Aonghus grabbed Sturan’s elbow, halting him. “What troubles you?” he questioned, thoughtful.
The auburn brows drew together when she looked over the dark churning waters. “I have seen this bridge before,” she whispered, then rubbed her arms as the chill grew stronger.
“You declared you had never set foot in Stirling,” Sturan barked.
“Aye,” she agreed, before meeting Aonghus’s gaze. “’Twas a night-glance, once, years past when my senses began to take hold. The glance re-surfaced just this very moment.” Her periphery saw Sturan stiffen in his captor’s grasp. “A battle yet to come, led by those unseen by the shadows of times to be revealed years from now. The Scotsmen shall be raising arms to call one name in their alliance: Wallace, William Wallace. He will be victor here on this same bridge we now stand.”
Before either male could reply, a sharp howl on the ridge took all their attention.
“Halt! Who goes there?” a guard posted atop the gatehouse pillar demanded.Those archers between the arrow slits are nocking the bows!
