“The third traitor,” Nella answered, abandoning all protocol in meeting the sovereign’s eyes while she spoke. She could not pry her gaze from the timber filled with knots same as her stomach. Even if Saint Andrew appeared before her, she wouldn’t have looked away. Perhaps she had been too hasty in wishing to remain, watching her knight vanish into the folds of danger at every turn.
“YOU WILL NOT TAKE ME, SIR CALLUM!”
The words by Sir Nathrach slapped her attention back into the present before the sound by steel began raging outside.
“Callum,” she whimpered, her feet charging for the door blindly before a thick arm snared her waist from behind.
“My lady,” Alec whispered in her ear even as steel battling through the passage tore her heart into pieces, “he would nothave vanished out that door if he knew he would never see you once again. My brother is strong with the blade.”
Tears streamed her cheeks. “Alec, he is, but his want to protect is stronger and I fear it shall be his demise.”
“Sir Lesly,” Callum roared, “summon the remainder in guards! Sir Sean, secure the king’s chambers!”
Nella tilted her skull, sharpening her prowess. “You think you can best me, Captain?” Sir Nathrach taunted in a voice only Callum and she could hear. “I am the finest in this castle with the blade. The passageway is narrow; only one spar at a time. Once I cut you down, Captain, your simpering Sir Sean be next, then the Northern lord. You shall all fall. The king awaits, as does that Lady Fawnella who must have revealed our plan.”
Crack!
The steel clashed as Callum gave a Gaelic battle cry. The clapping by blades echoing same as a ship’s sails snapping in a tempest rumbled outside.
“Nella,” Callum summoned in a raspy whisper, “I have not waited all this time to have fate cast us asunder.” She stared at the door as the wood turned into a greater blur when a sob clutched her throat. “This traitor will not steal our second chance.”
Thwack!Knuckles hitting bone.
Crash!Pottery smashing onto the granite floor.
Focus with all you are. She closed her eyes – hard.
Thump. Thump. That was the sound signature from the muscled weight which was her Callum’s feet stepping on the floor outside.
Whoosh. No, what was the noise?Slice. Swords. The blades were slicing through the air; one had to be trying to strike another down as the other dodged away.
Huff, huff – had to be both fighters panting for air from exertion.
Shuffle, shuffle. No, that was not Callum’s sound signature in a step, but the shuffler was moving briskly away from her knight. It had to be the sound signature from the traitor’s feet. Sir Nathrach was retreating, and quick!
FINISH HIM, CALLUM!
“AYE, NELLA!” her knight roared.
Wait, had she shouted her demand out loud?
“You have him, Scotsman!” Holger hollered before a gurgle defended the silence for her.
If eternity had turned into the span of a mere moment, this was it. Her breath held. Callum?
“Nella… ’tis safe to release the door.” The reason to breathe spoke once more.
Chapter 47
The sounds by the feast echoed Callum’s ears hours later while he stood in a concealed shadowed corner within the great hall. Sir Brayden had offered to stand watch so he may eat a few bites more. He had shook his head; he was not wishing for any pigeon pie or herbed salmon or roasted pheasant. His nerves were taut as the bow string slung across his back.
Lord Kolson was not of the same mind. Every time he swung his gaze over the Northman had a page refilling his goblet while he stared intently at Nella who labored as hard as he did here. Later when they were alone, he would have to give his lady a gentle caress on her neck. She would be most sore at the effort exerted all evening. He was the watcher of the hall, she the listener. Making certain no other traitors lingered nearby.
All the while Lady Dagny kept staring longingly at Sir Sean, who seemed to be returning the attention while holding his post at the other far corner. Kameron charged about helping the other squires serve while in his freshly fitted tunic befitting his new station. The Northern clergy of Chancellor Askatinus with Andreas, the son of Nicholas, Baron, had been a surprise arrival. They visited with Abbot and Abbess of Thistle Glen Abbey, who had come here for the feast before all sought the monastery for the treaty signing tomorrow.
As if sensing his gaze locked on her, Nella looked his way. Across a crowded venue filled in, tables and benches and bodies and pewter plates clanking and laughter and rotund buzz by discussions, he wondered out loud, “All is well, my Nella?”
She inclined her brow, and he whispered again in a private conversation only for the two of them. “Have I mentioned you are radiant in that deep blue gown with the tiny gold embroidery which captures the light in your eyes, my lady?” Her cheeks blushed as she looked down, embarrassed.
