Corisande’s thoughts moved from the knight with the piercing eyes to the quivering form of humanity in front of her.Concerned, she took a step towards the man and lifted her hand to touch his face to see if he had a fever, but the moment he saw her hand heading in his direction, he lashed out and smacked it away.
“Dunna touch me, Wench,” he hissed. “I’ll no’ have…”
He was cut off when a massive hand suddenly grabbed him by the neck. Startled, Corisande looked up to see Cole as his grip on the man’s neck lifted him straight out of the chair. The man began to kick and gasp, and she instinctively put her hand on Cole’s forearm in an attempt to defuse the situation.
“Please release him,” she said steadily. “I am quite unharmed, truly. He is simply ill and unsteady.”
Cole’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the man, but he did as she asked. He put him back in his chair.
“Strike her again or touch her in any fashion and I will break your arms,” he growled. “Do you understand me, Canmore?”
The man sat there and rubbed his neck, breathing heavily. But he refused to answer and Corisande was a little more assertive about putting herself between the man and that gigantic, and evidently volatile, knight.
She could feel the tension in the air.
“Here, now,” she said gently, reaching out again to touch his face. This time, he didn’t push her away. “No one is going to hurt you. I am here to help you. What is your name?”
He was exhausted and ill, eyeing her with a baleful glare. “Canmore,” he rasped. “’Tis all I’ll tell ye, so dunna ask for more.”
Corisande was fairly accustomed to being around sick people because it was so much of what she did at Castle Keld and the surrounding village. She had a great deal of compassion and a genuine ability to be gentle and kind. It was simply in her nature.
But she also realized that Canmore was here for some unhappy purpose.
She could feel it.
“Canmore,” she said, kneeling in front of the man so that she was looking up at him. “As you have heard, my name is Corisande. I am the chatelaine here at The Keld and part of my duties are to tend to the health and well-being of our visitors. Now, I do not know why you are here, or what your business is with my father, but that is of no matter to me. Clearly, you are ill or injured, and I would like to help you if I can. Will you allow me to?”
Her words were kind and reassuring, throwing Alpin off guard in the slightest. He kept eyeing her, as if unsure what to say, and then his gaze would move over her head, clearly looking at the men standing behind her.
He was as nervous as a cat.
“I… I’m just weary,” he finally said. “Nothing is wrong with me that a meal and drink willna cure. I’m no’ sick.”
Corisande wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she didn’t dispute him. She rose from her knees. “Then I shall make sure food is brought to you,” she said. She turned around to look at the rest of the visitors. “In fact, I shall make sure a meal is prepared for all of you. Would you like to rest before you continue your business with my father? Surely it can wait a few hours.”
Her father opened his mouth to reply, but the door to the solar slammed back on its hinges and Corisande’s two older brothers appeared.
Ares and Atlas de Bourne were men of remarkable courage, talent, and command ability, but they were also bold, aggressive, and lacked sheer human empathy at times. They were quite involved in the politics of the north because Ares was the Sheriff of Westmorland and Atlas assisted him in his duties, leaving Anteaus and their father to command the vast empire of The Keld. The sheriff appointment, in fact, had been from the kingbecause Ares had been heroic in a battle against the Scots a few years earlier. Having proven himself, the king gave him the title and responsibility of keeping law in the north.
But that meant Ares had a sharper temperament than most, dealing with the worst society had to offer sometimes, but he also had a reputation for fairness. No one had ever said Ares de Bourne was unfair or corrupt. His sense of justice and morality were always intact.
But so was his hatred for the Scots. As he stormed into the solar, his attention went immediately to the man in the chair.
“Is that him?” he demanded, pointing to the Scotsman.
Having left his daughter, Alastor put himself between his enraged son and the Scots prisoner. “It is,” he said evenly. “If you wish to remain while we speak to him, then you may do so. But you will let me do the talking, Ares. Do you understand?”
Ares tore his gaze away from the Scotsman long enough to glare at his father. “He is the one threatening us with a Scots vendetta and I am not allowed to question him?”
Alastor shook his head. “I will do the speaking,” he repeated. “Will you respect my wishes?”
Ares rolled his eyes and turned away, pulling off his helm and ripping off his gloves as Atlas followed suit. He may have been unhappy, but he did as his father asked. He kept his mouth shut. As he and Atlas began putting their things on a table near the door, Alastor returned to his daughter.
“You are no longer required,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
Corisande had been watching everything very closely. There was something strange going on– three big, unfamiliar knights had brought a beaten Scotsman to The Keld, a man who had her older brothers furious for some reason. Anteaus was the calm one of the bunch and even he didn’t look too pleased.
That had Corisande concerned.
