“Prepare?” Callum questioned right before the chaos crashed down.
He saw her gaze pop open. “NAE! MY LORD KING!” Keirah’s scream rang through the hall before she bolted directly into the wide-open center toward the monarch.
Shite!
Aonghus charged past Sir Brayden, whose hand whooshed by his shoulder. Sir James was reaching for his sword after spying her charge! His feet pounded the granite the same as his heart when Sir Sean appeared with a sword’s hilt snapped into his palm at the ready and pain promised in his gaze if Keirah continued charging at them.
A few hands shot out to grab the racing lass, who suddenly appeared to be part sparrow in flight as her feet almost flew over the aisleway’s terrain, which had been cleared for each clan to be presented.
“Catch her!” Aonghus heard a panicked voice on his left from one clansmen’s cluster.
Another thundered, “Seize the traitor!”
“DO NOT touch the goblet, Lord King!” She screamed again as Aonghus closed in on her after another warrior who stepped from line trying to capture her missed and fell onto the ground at the force he had lunged.
She cried, frightfully: “DO NOT let your lips touch the goblet – ’tis tainted with poison!”
Aonghus’s eyes widened at the sight of Sir James advancing up the column toward her, sword drawn.No!
The clans closest to the king closed ranks behind Sir James, protecting the king, while Sir James bolted right at her.
“NAE!” he yelled at the knight.
She tripped on a pile of rushes bunched up on the floor, which paused her run. He leapt forward. His bound wrists raised, looped over her skull, and grasped her about the waist. In swift move he ripped her close to him and spun her about so the knight’s blade would impale his back and not her if Sir James made good on the threat etched upon his face. He heard her breath puff from her lungs at the impact of the violent halt.
Her skirts slapped his legs, and she began to drag a heavy inhale while trying to say. “Do not allow your lips to grace the goblet, my lord king!” but her tone was more a croak than voice to the throne hall gone dead silent with exception of the pigeons cooing in the rafters.
“Sir James,” King Alexander bellowed, sounding enraged. “HALT!”
Aonghus glimpsed over his shoulder, spying the crimson face belonging to the knight, who ceased his stride to attack after the king’s command. Keirah was still struggling wildly to ensure Alexander’s safety.
“Cluaran, hold steady,” he soothed, seeing the monarch over the crowd’s skulls. King Alexander was standing, no goblet in hand. Sir Sean gripped the server’s arm, restraining him. “The king is well; you stayed it. You stayed the fate.”
“Bring the lass forward,” King Alexander demanded.
He said for her ears alone, “Remain behind me till we march past Sir James.”
She panted the whisper, “Aye.”
He lifted his wrists over her head, freeing her from his grip while ignoring the carnal demand to keep her close. She trailed behind him carefully. Her fingers grasping his tunic’s tail tightened while they walked past the knight, then the ominousexpressions belonging to the clansmen who had bolted to the front in protection of King Alexander.
Once a path opened for them, she settled before Aonghus, steps from the throne, her curtsey elegant as the tapestries gracing the walls, but he saw the slight wobble when she went to stand – from nerves or spent tension still pumping her veins, he wasn’t certain. He grasped her elbow, holding her steady. At least propriety allowed him to touch her here, for when she was not near her his soul seemed void of life.
“My lord king.” Her voice was roughened from screaming. “’Tis an honor.”
The king paused to study her a long moment. “Keirah MacThistlen.”
“My lord king, I would wish for a private audience, but alas” – she looked about frantically – “it seems fate has seen fit for the element in my grasp to be shown before all. I have been blessed with the talent of second sight; I am a fate-seer.” She added, swiftly, “Your cup, ’tis tainted with poison.”
The dark brows raised, intrigued. “Truly?”
“I would never speak words of a false manner before you, my lord king.”
“Then perhaps a demonstration on behalf of the taster shall be needed to quelch your fears.” The king lifted his arm to motion Sir Sean to bring the server closer and hand him the goblet.
Aonghus observed that, even in a room filled with hundreds of Highlanders and Lowlanders, one could even hear the fire crackle in the hearth at the sweeping silence. The younger lad, who was slim as an eel, became free from Sir Sean’s grasp, while Sir James, to Aonghus’s ire, took hold of Keirah’sother elbow in a condemning action. The eel grasped the goblet, which caught a few flickers in gleam from the wall torches on either side behind the throne. In a grand gesture, complete with smirk, he raised the wine to toast the hall.
“May you all hold a victory in the battles to come.” He heard Keirah give a tiny gasp when the lad, not even a score, took his tongue and in vulgar display licked the entire rim before a long solid swig.
