Given the sun had crested over the portcullis archway, they were easily spied in the distance below. Aonghus took lead with the answer to shout out at the suspicious guard, “Aonghus MacCade; I have brought the traitor Sturan MacNaller of Clan MacNaller on the lord king’s orders to face judgement.”
The ominous archers on the highest turrets lowered their bows. “Approach,” a guard consented. Her breathing came naturally once again.
Brisk strides took them up the unforgiving incline. Puffing, they reached the curtain wall, where she heard a grinding metal echoing as the gate raised for their arrival.
***
Each detail came into view from the lance-armed warriors they passed, who eyeballed her in a mixture belonging to curiosity and suspicion and lust. A breeze brushed her collarbone’s flesh, and her hands quickly secured the cloak higher about her neckline.Wretched low bodice. Fiona’s ample breasts left an ocean-sized gap causing the fabric to droop low, too low!
Aonghus must have noted the carnal greeting as well, as his other hand not directing Sturan took a possessive grasp upon her arm. She leaned closer when the final guard felt the sudden need to scratch his groin.Charming.
Gracious.The bailey was grand, cobbled, bustling with activity at the early hour. Multitudes of stone and timber interior buildings flew into sight accompanied by chimneys puffing the same as a dragon’s nostrils at the kitchen’s far-off stone structure. A deep breath – hmm, freshly baking bread tickled her nose before she side-stepped a steaming dung pile compliments of a stallion being led by an archer pulling at the reins. Her eyes lingered longingly on the bow strapped at his back; the younger bowman must have thought she was watching him intently as a sly smile crossed his laddish features. Aonghus’s fingers became snugger.
Sturan kicked a chicken who didn’t move fast enough to his liking while they strode farther into the interior, before the guard who had hailed them emerged from the gatehouse’s stairs. She pulled upon the hood more, covering her face slightly, when the archer turned around in an effort to keep watching her.
A grin graced her mercenary’s face toward the portcullis guard. “Good morrow, Sir Brayden.”
The stout guard, with a blaze of red hair and plump cheeks, grinned, making the flesh appear fuller than an overstuffed basket. “MacCade!” Sir Brayden’s greeting was one only a friend would give. “Thought that was you upon the path. Good to see you have returned with the treasure sought.” His gaze shifted from Sturan toward her; he oddly appeared to have grown a knot on his tongue, suddenly unable to speak, and gave a nervous twitching nod to acknowledge her.
“Keirah.” She smiled toward the tongue-tied knight.
The guard’s attention turned back to the prisoner’s keeper, then he found his voice –Huh, interesting.“I have summoned the Lord Constable upon your hail, but it takes the very elder man a wee bit longer to ease his way down the passageways here,” Sir Brayden supplied alongside a slight grin.
“Elder?” Her curiosity was piqued.
Sir Brayden’s nervous twitch came back. “Lord Roger De Quincy is sixty and eight in years,” the knight answered, strangely looking at the horse dung and not her. Why?
At least there was a strong constitution for the Lord Constable; it was good to have such a powerful hand arranging the king’s fighting force. They were going to need every last strength to survive all coming.
Another Scotsman about Aonghus’s age approached. He was sinewy with flaxen hair, a rich chainmail tunic, and a sour glare like he gnawed a rotted berry. Aonghus’s fingers tightened on her arm – not a good omen. She pulled the hood higher. The sour glare’s owner came closer. Two guards flanked his hips like swords; both guards wore shiny chainmail and sharp expressions. Her stomach hit the puddle underfoot. No, no, no! This couldn’t be Sir James leading the guardsmen!
“MacCade,” Sir James said roughly, “the Lord Constable is attending a king’s council assembly. I have been sent to relieve you of the prisoner I originally ordered you to retrieve. Sir Brayden, see the traitor unto the dungeon directly. He shall be summoned for an audience before our lord king later.”
She lowered her gaze farther to a crack between the cobblestones; if only she could vanish there for a moment. She yanked the hood higher as Sir James’s feet shuffled a step closer.Oh no.
“Lassie, why are you peekin’ out from under the hood like it is a dark cave?” the knight questioned, suspiciously. Sweat trickled down her spine.
Sir James commanded, “Lower your hood, lassie.”Doomed!
***
After Aonghus relinquished Sturan to his good friend Sir Brayden and both had vanished toward the dungeon’s general direction, westward from the bailey’s entrance, the tension radiated off Keirah’s forearm under his palm. Something was gravely wrong. Sir James eyed him a long moment.Superior post and inferior manner, as always!If they were stags the horns would forever be clashing.
Aonghus took a step slightly before her like an iron gate. “You do not take a commanding tone toward my lass, Sir James,” he warned, staying with their ruse.
“Do not be shy, lassie,” Sir James sneered, ignoring him, “unless MacCade has seen fit to bring an uncomely maid given his meager standing, in calling to almost a bastard’s station.”
Keirah lowered her hood, giving a glare at Sir James. Angry. She was enraged at the knight’s nasty remark toward him. If a spark could ignite his heart at her giving gesture, he would have burst into flames.
Sunlight gleamed off her delicate features that were anything but uncomely, as Sir James had challenged. The knight remained oddly quiet while his jaw hit the cobblestones. Did her bonny nature cause Sir James to be shocked silent?
Aonghus’s attention snapped back to her at her words: “Seems fate has seen a cause to cross our paths once again, Sir James MacLearin. Please do not be too vexed at my presence,”she said gently, then growled the final, “butneverinsult MacCade in mine again.”
“Keirah MacThistlen.” Aonghus heard the knight’s stunned murmur before Sir James stepped forward.The captain of the royal guard knows her!Aonghus took another stride before her, blocking the knight’s advance. The gray eyes locked on him as he hissed: “You bring two traitors to roost. Well done, warrior of fortune.”
Traitor? No, she was not!
Aonghus’s feet moved into motion to shield her completely when Sir James thundered for the whole bailey to hear: “SEIZE THIS TRAITOR, Keirah MacThistlen!”
