Once done, he glared at Keirah, his mouth baring a half smirk with twisted smile – no aftereffects. “Fate-seer?” the taster mocked.
“Nae,” she whispered to herself, “’tis not possible.”
A few chuckles echoed while an onlooker in the back hollered, “Put MacThistlen in the stocks!”
Aonghus’s grasp tightened on her arm while she looked desperately up at him. He discovered her eyes took a snap in them the same as when one finds a riddle’s answer.
“My lord king,” Sir James began in full pomp, “allow me to see to removing this…”
“Your cuff,” her voice interjected over the knight’s proposal.
She tried stepping forward to address the king, but both Scotsmen held onto her, for very different reasons.
“Cuff?” Alexander repeated, leaning to engage her.
“Aye, my lord king,” she relayed, earnestly. “In the shadow-glance, directly before he handed you the goblet, he brushed the cusp on the inside of his thick upper cuff where the rag is tied, there.” She pointed at the taster’s left arm. “My approach when fate reversed was before this moment, thus the poison had not yet been seeded onto the rim.”
Aonghus saw the taster’s face blanch. Those around him noticed the change as well, and a few clansmen approached another step toward King Alexander’s throne protectively. The king turned his full attention toward the taster.
“The fate-seer deems it, your king commands it,” Alexander said, forcibly.
The taster began to lift his sleeve with the cuff, slowly.
They stood close enough to almost have the taster with curled lips breathe upon them when he yelled, “Long live the true king of the isles, my lord king Håkonsson!”
A mass of Scottish force closed in on the traitor, who made a last effort to charge at the king. It was over in seconds when Lord Constable Sir Roger De Quincy sprung into motion and seated his sword into the taster’s thigh, halting his advance but enabling questioning on who else might aid his cause within the castle walls.
The taster was dragged away, wailing in pain and rage, by Sir Sean, while King Alexander’s gaze and every other in the hall turned toward Keirah.
Chapter 15
How is it going on in there?Aonghus’s eyes strayed down the empty passageway again from where he stood, hands still bound, beside the silent Sir Sean. Keirah had been escorted at once by Sir James at the king’s summons behind the solar’s closed door while all the clans remained waiting in the throne hall anxiously.
Unable to be at her side, he shuffled his feet anxiously; he trusted King Alexander with all he was, but Sir James, not once. He hadn’t been separated from Keirah’s sight since the inn. Had he ever grown so worried before? No – his original plan having raged his mind a thousand times was now gone. He couldn’t…no,wouldn’tleave her behind once all was sorted out. Was there a future with her as a husband who was forbidden to consummate with his wife but would be a protector always? It was quickly becoming a forefront consideration, even if her mere touch awoke every speck of desire in him.
Was she frightened in there? A tiny wobble had shown in her hand which had brushed his jaw before she was led away by Sir James, but so much like her, there was a stern determination in those thistle-colored eyes as well, as if she had her own plan.
The door opened; there stood a plum-faced Sir James. “MacCade!” The knight stepped forth, dagger in hand. “Approach at once.”
Leaving Sir Sean, he came face to face with the high-ranking knight in the passage. “Keirah willnotspeak to the king without you present.”There was the fierce plan she had.
She made him feel more alive than anything. Lover never but protector ever? Aye!
Sir James vowed while spinning the blade’s hilt in his fingers threateningly, “If you or the traitor called a fate-seer threaten King Alexander in this solar, I will gut you both with my dagger.”Just try it, prick.“Now move.” A knight flanked him on each hip as if he were a prisoner of war.
***
Not possible.
She would never speak without MacCade present. He was the sole reason she had gotten here, and to leave him in the passageway like an outcast caused a fevered rage to fire her blood when Sir James declared it after she had been whisked away toward the private solar.
Wringing her hands hidden beneath her cloak, while sequestered, her eyes darted over the king’s assembly, including Lord Constable Sir Roger De Quincy, gray, liver spotted, and fierce. That had to be William Wishart the Lord Chancellor of the Clergy, a bishop, clad in his robes, almost two scores old, stern, and looking upon her as if she were a bad omen. Lastly, by the hearth stood squatty Lord Chamberlain, William Earl of Mar, who judged crimes in the burghs and held his hands on the royal purse strings; aye, he had a tight look to his features a man of frugality would convey, or else he was trying to refrain from airing flatulence. Where was her Highland bull?
There! At the sight of her mercenary entering, she gave a small incline of her brow his way. She owed MacCade her freedom; his deed was going to be rewarded even if it took herfinal breath. His eyes locked on hers with such an intensity. Did it ever fail to draw a fiercer beat within her heart? Nae, he had an effect unlike any on her.
“My lord king,” she began while looking toward King Alexander, “permission to speak?”
“Granted.”
