“Speak not another word, witch!” The man rushed him with surprising speed and gripped him tightly at the elbow. The druid resisted, but the priest overpowered him with brazen rage. “I have you now, and you will be very sorry, indeed.”
Chapter twenty-five
The Consort
The Vaich’s room was bathed in shadow. He lay sprawled amongst the fur and velvet until the drag of the curtains spilled daylight across the stone. Skyre winced, raising a hand to shield his face.
“It is late and still you sleep,” came Medhin’s voice. “You are the son of Sun, not evening!”
He groaned, flopping onto his back. “Let me rest, woman. I’m run ragged.”
“You have appointments to keep. The official declaration must be made.”
“Official declaration?”
“Thewedding.”She huffed. “Or have you forgotten?”
“I didn’t…” He sighed, rolling to clutch his pillow. “With the Reaffirmation approaching. I have a lot on my mind…”
“It is perfectly reasonable to expect a man to be able to hold more than one thought in his head.”
That was the problem. He didn’twantto think about it.
For days now, the castle had been busy with talk. Word had spread of the druid’s success at Loch Luin and it brought only more frustration.
Skyre had done everything in his power to avoid accepting the truth. Unfortunately for him, he had a lot of power. He’d buried the idea of marriage so deep in his mind that he’d all but convinced himself it was a farce. The druid made him itch, as if he’d grown on him like a festering wound. He couldn’t get away, yet kept fighting for some desperate distance.
The Sun Matron tugged at his blankets, following with a swift smack to his ankle. “Get up! The Líaig has come.”
Skyre sat up, dragging a hand down his face. “What?”
“My laird.” The form of a haggard-looking man hobbled through the doorway. He bowed deeply, his knobby legs knocking together between the folds of his robes.
Skyre grimaced.
“I have examined the Queen at your behest.”
“Queento-be,” Skyre grumbled.
“And?” said Medhin. “Is he fit for purpose?”
Ridiculous. Skyre was sure the druid had never been bed. Even if he had, he couldn’t see why it mattered. Yet, his eyes trained on the medicine man, annoyed by his delay.
“Well?” Skyre snapped.
“The Queen is, indeed, unspoiled.”
His shoulders relaxed and immediately his brows knit.It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. If the druid had lain with a hundred men, it wouldn’t have changed anything. The marriage was arranged by gods.
The king chewed his tongue.
“However,” the Líaig continued, and at once the Vaich was tense again. “There were some… curious findings.”
“What sort of findings?” Medhin asked.
“The Queen’s blood… it is… peculiar. You see, often the blood will gather. Thicken, rather—it is the way of things. The Queen’s blood, however, remains fresh. And its scent is most sweet.”
“What does any of that mean?” Skyre said. “Suppose he carries some disease?”
