His eyes snapped toward Keirah when she gave a sound halfway between a wail and a sob. “MacCade, nae!” She dropped the bow onto the ground then bolted like a frightened doe for the keep’s entry.
Shite!
“Come back, Lady Keirah, I need the stallion for my stables!” Svørn hollered, taunting, behind them as Aonghus fetched the bow then charged after the swirl in dark-blue gown.Shite, she is quick.
Catching up to her under the entryway arch, he stole her arm in his grasp before spinning her about into a secluded alcove.
“Ugh!” she exclaimed, trying to wrench her arm free while tapping her fist on his other arm frantically. “Release me! Release me at once!”
He hadn’t seen her this frantic since the cavern. “Cluaran, steady,” he soothed.
“Do not order me to steady my resolve!” she cried, then looked up at him. “You press too much, MacCade! ’Tis too much! Did you not behold the eight efforts which branded me a raging fool? Eight!”
“Aye.” He loosened his grasp slightly to say, “This means the ninthwillstrike true.”
She ceased her struggling at his words. “MacCade, do not take this wager,” she begged. Looking away from him, she mewled, “I cannot make the distance.”
He met her wide eyes when they raised again; everything and everyone around him vanished at the tears reflecting her gaze. No. No, he…he had made her cry. No! He asked softly, “Why? Why will you not try?”
She raised her hand toward the target where Callum, Alec, and Sir Brayden held silent. “You know why,” she huffed, defeated. “’Tis too far, I do not have the strength to meet…”
“Keirah, my Scottish Cluaran,” he whispered, strongly. “You see the three leaning upon the cart?”
“Aye.”
“Take another gander,” he propositioned.
She paused to regard the Northmen in the distance behind him while he spoke. A little wayward hair brushing over her temple, having escaped the tight wimple, billowed from his breath while he addressed her passionately. “Youare stronger than the whole lot of them, this I know in my soul. Years you were under their thumbs; you are a survivor, and a very powerful one at that. You truly believe Lord Karlson Kollungr or the two pieces of northern shite flanking him could endure all youhave? Taken captive as a wee lass, thrust into a strange land, and broken free of the bastards the first chance you could grab hold. You are stronger than any who stand in this bailey, evenme.” Her eyes snapped at him, shocked. “Aye, Cluaran.” Weight from truth hung his words. “The fate-seer in you. All the grizzled portraits you have born witness to, yet you stay your course to keep those from harm. Youarestrong. ’Tis your focus, my lass, which has strayed. You must place them from your mind. Kick them to the fukin’ moat in your thoughts. Harness the power I see in you at every shadow or night-glance, and you can make the shot at over twenty paces. I believe in you, always.”
He observed her narrow shoulders straighten – good. A long pause; she searched his face. Her fingers reached forward, snatching the bow from his grasp. Aye! There she was, his fierce Scotswoman! Chin held high, she strode back over toward the target area. Her eyes remained on Aonghus the entire walk.
“Sir Brayden,” she called over her shoulder, “I will need a fresh arrow, and walk the target back five more paces!”
Aonghus’s eyes stayed locked on hers. “Lord Kollungr,” he bellowed over his shoulder, “you have a wager!”
An excitement began building within the keep at the loud exchange, with possible promise of games betting coin. Keirah took the arrow from Sir Brayden, who claimed his post beside Callum and Alec near the curtain wall where Aonghus spotted the guards on the watchtower’s top. They were all staring before, some whispering. No doubt other bets were being exchanged. Those sprinkled about the bailey took a heavy curiosity, leaning closer, trying to catch every moment, as did the kitchen servants crowding the entry in ever-increasing numbers.
“I wager two eggs the lady is flawless against your…” he heard a kitchen lass murmur on the wind before the gustchanged direction. Even Sir James, beside the Lord Constable, beside the Lord Chancellor, all of whom had emerged from under the great hall’s entry archway, were watching.Let them look – she is stronger than any present.
He spied her fingers tugging again nervously at the wimple pulling at her chin. “First, Cluaran, we set you free from this shite,” he explained, meeting her gaze. “To hell with propriety.”
Lifting his fingers, he unbound the choking linen layers from her scalp and neck. For the entirety, his eyes held on hers alone, with almost a magical whisper from a breeze which swirled about them – huh – almost like it was binding them. He tucked the wimple into his scabbard with her glorious waves cascading about her shoulders and back like a war banner billowing in the wind.Ready, Northmen?
“Magnificent,” he approved, then declared, “Claim your stance, Cluaran.”
She nodded before turning away from him. She set her sights onto the target, ground her heels into the gritted stones, and he stepped up behind her.
“You cannot lay your hands upon the lady or the wager is nullified,” Torsten barked.
“’Tis too late for that!” Svørn lined his words with a grotesque chuckle.
Keirah was fully focused on the target.Shut them up.He looked over his shoulder at the pair. The glare given after years of warfare must have served him well; the comments ceased like he was the devil searching to claim fresh souls.
Leaning forward, he brushed her brilliantly shown tresses from her neck to lay them gently over one shoulder. She gavea shudder.Worry still plagues her; her breath is shallow. He couldn’t touch her – not with his hands, anyway. One more step back; he leaned closer, then more forward.Lower…there. His lips almost touched her lobe and neck.
He said, huskily. “You feel my breath with my words upon your flesh?” Mmmm, she smelled good enough to feast upon.
“Aye,” she whimpered.
