Highland Storm (15 page)

Clearly, there would not be a rope here if it was dangerous. What a ninny she was being. For the good of her marriage, for the betterment of her relationship with Kellen’s mother, she climbed down into the darkness below.

“Una?”

Still, there was no response, though now she heard something odd—a strange rumbling, like the sound of a hungry belly. Shining through the darkness, she spied a bit of virescent light coming through a crack in the wall, a fissure through which she might squeeze through. Making her way quickly over, she pushed her way through to the other side.

There, in a cavernous room, lit by a strange pale light, the old woman lay upon the ground, next to an altar bearing a very large stone. Horrified because Una looked as though she might be dead, Constance ran to her. Her skin was a little blue, and her white hair stood straight on end as though she’d rubbed a palm across the entirety of her head and made the strands rise up. Her lips were blue as well—darker yet—and the one eye that was not covered by a patch, remained closed.

“Una?” she called softly, shaking the old woman gently by the shoulder. Her body was still warm, as though she were merely sleeping.

Despite the mist that had coalesced outside the room and up into Una’s grotto, inside this chamber the air was perfectly clear and still, filled with a strange energy that seemed to hum. It made Constance feel as though bugs were loose and crawling across her scalp and that her teeth were rattling in her skull.

Blinking with confusion, she peered up at the dark smooth rock upon the altar. There were holes on the sides where handles must have once been, but clearly, this wasn’t an object meant to tote about. On one side, it bore a plaque, and sensing it was an important discovery, the babe was forgotten for an instant as Constance reached out to touch the stone, brushing her fingers over the worn, etched letters. Her brother Cameron had taught her to read and so she knew precisely what it said. She spoke the words aloud:

U
nless the fates
be faulty grown

And prophet’s voice be vain

Where’er is found this sacred stone

The blood of Alba reigns.

T
he old woman
screeched like a banshee, opening her eyes, and bounding up from the floor. Constance screamed.

With a terrible cacophonous shout, Una raised her staff high and brought it crashing down on the chamber floor. There was a boom and a crack and the room erupted with blinding, white light.

D
irty ocher light
filled the chamber, fueled by fat tallow candles and a short, husky brazier smoldering beside the king’s chair.

But no sooner were the words out of Lianae’s mouth when she regretted them at once. If possible, they made her feel dirtier yet than the hateful gown she still wore—even dirtier than the warm, stale smoke that thickened about her nostrils.

May God forgive her; she would
never
return to the Earl.

The mood in the room grew more somber yet. All five men present stared at her across the table, none with any measure of charity, despite the atrocity she’d only just confessed.

With narrowed eyes, King David sat in his chair, tapping his fingers on the wooden arm, considering her allegation. “And you have proof?” His expression was sober, his long, lean face stern and his complexion nearly as rufous as his beard.

Until now, they had fed her, and mostly treated her well, but Lianae was wise enough to know that despite these small courtesies, her fate would be decided here today with a flick of that long finger the king was using to abuse his chair. He could very easily send her back to the Earl—and why should he care what happened to her from there? Why should he give a damn that her sister had died at William fitz Duncan’s hands?
His ally, in truth.
And yet, there was something in the depths of the king’s gaze that gave Lianae hope—some inkling of compassion.

“Lianae… have you proof?” the king persisted.

It just so happened she did. The bruises William gave her had been so dark and injurious that they had left her with twin bands of his rage. That he did not finish what he’d started had been a mere matter of minutes and her brother’s infuriating sense of diplomacy—for this alone she could thank him for, no more.

And yet, she was not implicating the Earl here today.

If she were defiled, fitz Duncan would never take her back. His pride was too great to allow it, whether or not she was a princess of Moray.

She had been horribly afraid the king would consider it the right of a betrothed to taste what would be his. Theirs was a precarious alliance betwixt two men who would both be king, and she feared David would need a better reason to keep her from William fitz Duncan’s bed, and what better way to do so than to claim she was defiled by another man?

And it
should
have been true.

She had shared Keane’s bed every night since finding him at Lilidbrugh. It should have been easy enough for anyone to believe—that a man like Keane—so big, so strong—could take it upon himself to plant his seed inside her.

But Lianae had been so desperate to escape her own fate that she had never stopped to suppose what it would mean for Keane. Guiltily, she met Cameron’s gaze. He would know her claims weren’t entirely true, though unless she meant to prove herself a liar, her words could not be undone. For better or worse, she must press her case.

Wanting to weep now, Lianae slowly pushed her chair away from the table and stood. Her tears were real. She didn’t have to pretend. Her grief was genuine and the taste on her lips was bitter—a sour blend of guilt for the honor of a man she had just impugned as much as for the memory of what she had endured at the Earl’s hands. Fear left a fouler taste in her mouth and an even uglier taint upon her heart.

Reminding herself that a woman must do what she could to survive, she cast a glance at the other occupants of the room, her gaze returning to the king’s. She bent to pull up the hem of her gown, showing the king the bruises that encircled her ankles, angry dark rings that were still visible even days later.

“Keane did this?” the laird of Keppenach asked. His gaze snapped to meet Luc’s and then to Cameron MacKinnon. His tone was clearly disbelieving, leaving Lianae to wonder how well Keane knew this man. Aside from the king and Luc and Cameron, she had little inkling who any of these people were. But she felt a sudden rush of fear, for the look in Jaime Steorling’s eyes was none too pleased, and his ire seemed directed at Lianae. Still, she nodded, quite certain that it was her only choice.

If she did not mistake the sound, the King growled. Startled, Lianae took a step backward and an instant of true fear squeezed at her heart.

If the king would not believe she was defiled, he might send her back to Fitz Duncan. “I-I am… late,” she hurried to say.

Another lie.

They were piling up now faster than Lianae could remember them. And still she pressed her case. For emphasis, she moved a hand to her belly, watching the king’s eyes as they fell upon her once more, also moving to her belly. Neither did the laird of Keppenach miss her gesture and he shared a look with his king, arching his devil’s brow.

The king turned now to Cameron MacKinnon now, asking for his counsel, rather than the laird of Keppenach’s or Lianae’s. “You have spent the past five years in close quarters with the man, the past few months without fail. Is Keane dún Scoti capable of such a thing?”

Lianae could see the muscles in Cameron’s jaw working. There was no telling what he would say. She knew the two men were at odds, but she also sensed his disapproval of her claims.

“The mon I know would ne’er abuse a woman,” Cameron said, his expression sober. He shook his head, belying Lianae’s claims. And he shot Lianae another look of contempt.

Lianae nearly cowed over the hateful glance. Confused, disheartened, she wanted nothing more than to throw herself over the table and beg for forgiveness—for lying about his friend most of all—but if she didn’t do this, she might well find herself dead. Like her sister Elspeth.

The king’s gaze reverted to Lianae. He gave her a pointed glance. “I have him down in the gaols,” he apprised her, his dark eyes piercing.

Panic rose up in Lianae’s breast.

Keane?

He was here?

Now?

“I could have his head for this,” the king continued.

“Ach, nay!” Lianae exclaimed. She shook her head desperately. “Please, nay!” she begged. “It was not his fault, Your Grace!” And she fell at once to her knees.

David slapped his palm down upon the table, making a terrible clatter. “
Not his fault
?” he roared. “How can ye say such a thing in the very same breath ye would impugn him?”

Hot tears pricked at Lianae’s eyes.
By the gods, this was going terribly, terribly awry.
She’d never meant to bring Keane to harm.

“He followed to be certain you would be safe,” the laird of Keppenach said. “That hardly seems the actions of a man who would do as you would have us believe.”

Lianae shook her head, her throat too thick to speak. Tears welled in her eyes.

“He now awaits the king’s justice.”

Justice?

There was no justice in this world! Else her father would still be alive. She had to force the words past the knot in her throat. “He treated me with kindness, Your Grace,” she confessed.

“And yet he forced himself upon ye?”

Lianae shook her head yet again.

The king turned his dark, uncanny gaze on Cameron now. “Did they share the same pallet as she claims?”

Cameron nodded, but reluctantly.

“And yet ye dinna believe he abused her?”

Cameron shook his head with far more certainty, and Lianae was both relieved and horrified at once. Keane was innocent, but it proved her a liar.

“Rise now, lass,” the king commanded, his voice like thunder.

Wide eyed and fearful, Lianae immediately did as she was bade, rising from her knees.

The laird of Keppenach spoke again. “Do you ken what I would to to a man who forced himself upon my wife?”

Swallowing with some difficulty, Lianae shook her head yet again.

The laird of Keppenach’s fury was apparent in every muscle in his body, including those now twitching at his neck. “I would take his head, sever it cleanly from his body, and then shove his cock between his lips. Then I would place his head upon a pike, as a feast for the crows.”

He let her think on that image a moment, horrifying as it was. Lianae couldn’t bear it. Sweat pooled between her breasts, despite the time of year. Inside this room, she felt stifled and suffocated.

After a moment, the king interjected. “Isn’t this what you might expect, Lianae?”

Half nodding, half shaking her head, Lianae was terrified by the fate both she and Keane might now face—all her fault. Either way, it was a travesty. If the king sent her back to William, it would be her end. If he believed her, then Keane would hang—or worse. She thought about his head upon a pike and… and it made her physically ill. She covered her mouth and tried not to gag.

The king fixed her with a narrow eyed glare. “Lianae of Moray, what would
you
have me do with Keane dún Scoti?”

She did not hear, at first, the name he’d called him. It completely escaped her in her moment of terror.

Accord him honors.

Reward him with riches.

Keane did not deserve his head on a pike!

Tears slipped down Lianae’s cheeks. Her face grew hot. “Your Grace, ’tis the truth, he dinna force me,” she confessed. “I laid with him willingly.”

At least it was partially true.

She had shared his pallet, after all—come to him willingly.

King David eyed the laird of Keppenach once more and then returned his gaze to Lianae. “If I should send in my physician to…
tend
ye… he would agree that you are no longer… a virgin?”

Lianae’s cheeks heated, but she managed a nod—despite the lie.

“And you say you lay with him willingly?”

She felt as though she would swoon. “Aye, Your Grace.”

The king turned to Cameron. “And what of this, MacKinnon. Is this true?”

“That she carries Keane’s babe? How am I to know this, Your Grace?”

Lianae’s heart tripped painfully as she inspected her thumb—raw now after two days of nervous picking—unable to face the contempt in Cameron’s gaze. He was bound to loathe her by now, and he, above all the rest, would know her for what she was—a liar.

For a long while, Cameron seemed reluctant to reply, but then he did, and he nodded at last. “Aye, they slept together, but I never saw them do aught more than kiss.”

Lianae’s gaze snapped to meet his, surprised by the admission.

More tears brimmed in her eyes at the memory of the sweet kisses she had shared with Keane—tender moments that she would never trade for aught in the world. And Cameron had clearly witnessed at least one of them.
The one they’d shared in the pallet on the first morning she’d awoken beside him? Or the one down by the burn when she’d very nearly offered him her virginity? The chaste kiss on the back of her head where he stole her heart?
They were all proof of Keane’s good character and will, for despite that she had placed herself boldly in his arms, every time he had pushed her away…

Keane was the first man she had ever known who’d made her heart trip—who treated her so familiarly and yet so gently, without a trace of lechery.

Is this how she should repay him?

The silence in the room was deafening. The king’s fingers returned to abusing the wooden arm of his chair. The sound of his fingers beating the wood grew in intensity until it matched the quickening beat of Lianae’s heart.

Would they hang a man for such as she’d claimed?

Just to be clear, and just to be certain they would not harm Keane, Lianae cleared her throat and said, “I
wanted
to lie with him.”

And this much was wholly true.

With every fiber of her being.

“What of your intended?” David asked, feeling the need to remind her. “William fitz Duncan.”

Lianae’s heart squeezed painfully at the mention of the Earl’s name. Fear paralyzed her tongue. Her eyes alone must have spoken loudly enough, because the king sighed and swept a hand across the table in disgust. “Very well.” He nodded to the guard who’d brought her into the room. “Escort the Lady Lianae to her chambers.”

Lianae wasn’t a
lady
; she was a princess, but she didn’t feel like one at the moment. She felt lower than low—a scourge on the face of the earth.
A liar.
A coward.

It had merely been her intent to render herself unmarriageable and in the process, she had impugned a good man’s character.

She desperately wanted to make amends, but self-preservation held her tongue as the servant escorted her out from the solar. In the hall, Lianae shrugged free of the man’s grasp and peered back into the room indecisively.

Speak now or forever hold your tongue, Lianae.

Keane is innocent!
She wanted to shout.

But she did no such thing. She merely stood, as unbidden, an image accosted her—of Keane down in the gaols, awaiting his end. In her mind, she saw him marched out from his cell, taken to the gibbet and then hanged, and everything would be her fault.

She opened her mouth to speak the truth—no matter what may come—but the solar door slammed shut, and before she could speak another word, the guard dragged Lianae away.