Highland Storm (16 page)

T
he babe’s
jet-black hair was slick and shiny against his tiny head. Like the fire in the brazier, he sputtered a bit and gave a throaty wail. Sorcha held him high in her hands, lifting the child with awe. “We have a boy!” she announced.

Exhausted, her sister by law laid down her sweat-dampened head, smiling at the sound of her newborn son. Judging by the bawl he made, his lungs were good.

It was the first child Sorcha had ever helped bring into the world, and the feeling was stupendous. At last—at long last—Aidan had himself a boy—a son—an heir of his own blood to carry on the guardian’s way. Although Kellen was a splendid young man, he did not bear the blood of the Guardians in his veins. But this child did!

“What will be his name?”

“Alasdair,” Lìli said, her voice barely above a whisper, now that her labor was done.

Sorcha smiled. “Defender of men… a verra good choice,” she agreed and gave Lìli a wink. “Now shall we deliver his father from torment?”

“No need,” Aidan said, stepping in through the bedroom door, with a grin bigger than any Sorcha had ever seen before. “I warrant everyone heard that wail unto Edinburgh itself!”

Indeed, who had not, with a howl like his? By now, even Una and Constance should have heard the delightful sound as they hurried down the mount. Lìli simply couldn’t wait, though she tried. The child had been overly insistent about making his entrance into the world, and Sorcha had been there to see it through.

“A son!” Lìli exclaimed, weary though she was.

The look on her husband’s face was one of surprise as he met his wife’s violet eyes. He had said he would be pleased with another girl, but if the look on his face was any indication, her brother was overjoyed. “Truly?” Sorcha thought he sounded like he might actually weep.

Her face flushed with her exhaustion, Lìli nodded happily.

“Come see,” Sorcha bade her brother. She had the babe in her arms and she laid him down beside his mother, pulling the blankets atop them both and tucking them in to keep them warm. His tiny little fists opened and closed and his arms punched at the air like a wee warrior, ready to conquer the world.

In a few short strides, Aidan was at his wife’s side, falling to his knees at their bedside and Sorcha stepped out of the way to allow his brother to comfort his wife and to adore his new babe.

But Lìli held her hand, keeping Sorcha close. Her smile was so full of love. “You did well,” she said, lifting her hand to Sorcha’s arm.

Sorcha wiped her bloody hands on her skirts. “No thanks to Una,” she quipped, though she laughed. “Although now I may tell her she’s outgrown her usefulness.” She winked and laughed good-naturedly, despite that she worried now. “I wonder what is keeping her,” she said aloud, thinking about their conversation the day before. Una had been odd, giving away precious items. Nor had she come down to sup the night before, nor even to greet Aidan upon his return.

Lìli smiled, as though reading her thoughts. “I dinna put it past her to have lingered simply to show you your worth. Dinna underestimate your part in this, dear friend. Your nephew is as stubborn as his Da and for awhile he dinna wish to come.”

Aidan peered down at his wife, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “Why would he?” He grinned a lecherous grin. “Would that I could spend all my days in your flower as well.”

Lìli’s face flushed, the color heightening in her cheeks, and Sorcha laughed, accustomed by now to her brother’s passions where his lovely wife was concerned. Aidan was like a drunkard, in truth. That he’d taken time to ride south to the aid of the MacKinnons had been a complete surprise to all, considering that he’d had to leave his wife. And yet Sorcha noticed, by the by, that he’d returned the instant he could. And after all, Una was right, he’d brought back another mouth to feed, and it took him all night long, but Lìli did indeed go into labor upon her husband’s return.

“Thank you, Sorcha. ’Tis a good thing you were up to the task,” Aidan said, peering over his shoulder at her. “Una’s auld legs seem to fail her more and more. It takes her a sennight to make her way down the—”

All at once, there was a terrible rumble. It began slowly, building to a crescendo. And then without warning the sound was deafening enough to make Alasdair scream. It was a noise unlike any they had ever heard in the vale. The crannóg shook fiercely. Outside, snow slid from the rooftop, dumping into the loch, the sound like a terrible explosion. The floor shook beneath them.

Aidan and Lìli shared a horrified glance and then her brother bounded up from her bedside and flew out of the room, out of the crannóg, and onto the long pier, where Ria and the rest of the household had congregated to watch.

Ash, not snow, rained down from the sky. A plume of smoke rose up from the mount, creating an enormous cloud like a mushroom. Sorcha’s first thought was for Una, but immediately thereafter for the young lass who’d gone up to fetch her.

“Constance!” Kellen bellowed, and then her nephew bolted down the pier, shouting frantically after his wife.

* * *

T
hey came
to retrieve Keane after long hours down in the cells.

The smell of damp earth and images of Aveline’s rotting corpse had begun to fray his nerves. The sun was already making its descent, the castle’s crenellations casting shadow teeth upon the courtyard.

Lael swatted the dirt from her brother’s cloak, fretting as she tried to keep the pace. “Dinna lose your temper, Keane,” she demanded of him. “And dinna be rude. Remember, he is
not
the same man who once stole our Cat.”

“He is precisely the same man,” Keane argued, unwilling to wipe the king’s sins from existence merely because he’d managed to rally most of Scotia to his side.

Lael swiped something from his back, smacking him hard, and if he didn’t know better, he might think she was smacking him for his argument. “Ach! Ye sound like Aidan! David has proven to be a fair and wise mon, and indeed, were he no’, he’d never ha’e managed to win over so many hearts.”

“Clearly, he has won yours?” Keane lifted a brow, casting his sister a dubious glance without breaking his stride. If they meant to hang him, he refused to crawl.

Lael had the good sense to hesitate before speaking. “Aye, well… now I see him through my husband’s eyes. And, aye, he
is
the king of Scotia, by right or by might—and ye must trust him as I do.”

Ignoring the men who kept pace along side them, and the grunts of displeasure when he stopped to take his sister by the hand, he folded Lael’s long fingers into his own. No longer were they so callused from practicing her blades. The feel of her hand was far different than it was the last time Keane held it. She had been the bigger one then, his eldest sister leaving a lanky youth to ride for Keppenach, defying their laird brother to do what she felt she must. He pressed his lips to her knuckles, loving her for her fierce, loyal spirit, but the years had softened her overmuch. Tears glistened in her eyes.

“I am nae longer a child, Lael. If I should lose my temper, I will accept the consequences, but dinna fash yourself’ o’er it. I’ve nae death wish, I assure ye.”

His words were meager consolation, if the worried look in her eyes was any indication. But she did not press Keane again. She nodded, accepting what he’d said.

The guards tugged him by the sleeve, once again leading him through the courtyard, but they did so respectfully for his sister’s sake. This was her demesne, after all, by right of her laird husband. Still Lael cast them all a warning glance and Keane couldn’t help but hide a smile. His sister was a force of nature. He envied Jaime not at all. If the truth be known, Lael was the very reason he’d never pursued a wife, for if they were all as stubborn, independent and willful as she was, he would die of stress before his time.

They entered the great hall, much changed from the days when Rogan MacLaren had served here as laird—much changed from merely a year ago. Now, the keep was larger, and far more modest. Additionally, they’d built a second keep to accommodate the influx of castle folk. Like his father before him, Jaime Steorling was a renowned warrior, with skills the nobles all coveted for their sons. These days, he accepted many young charges, and his sister had adapted well to her role of chatelaine, giving every man and woman she passed a welcoming smile. But today, Keane could tell that each smile was a bit of a trial. She was worried, he knew.

All along the walls, her hall was filled with tapestries—none of them quite to Keane’s taste. They were far too pious in nature, and he wondered if that were more for David rather than for Jaime or Lael. Scotia’s king spent a fair amount of time at Keppenach, which was probably one of the reasons Keane naturally stayed away.

They escorted him past the hall, past the dais where he knew Jaime entertained his tribunals. They marched him up the tower steps, to more private quarters—into Jaime’s solar, where Keane had been many a time before—but never escorted by guards. The guards all fell away before the door, and only Lael remained by his side as the solar door opened.

Inside, David mac Maíl Chaluim was seated in a chair near the brazier, half turned away from the table. With a long face, Jaime stood to greet him, smiling rather tightly. He came about the table, though he did not clap Keane on the back as usual. He took his wife by the arm and escorted her out of the room whilst David bade Keane to sit.

For a moment, Keane stood, unmoving, pride interfering with his common sense. The fire in the brazier trembled with the draft from the open door. It was a good long moment before he finally bothered to acknowledge Cameron, who was seated at the table, and then when he did so, it was with a nod, his jaw taut and teeth clenched.

Aside from the three men, no one else was present in the solar, but there were a number of half-empty tankards abandoned before vacant chairs, which led Keane to believe there had previously been people seated there, clearly discussing Keane’s fate. The simple fact that they’d not even allowed the maids to enter to clear away the dishes spoke volumes in itself. Behind him, Jaime closed the door on his wife and Keane watched his brother by law edge his way back around the table and seat himself in his chair.

“Sit down,” David said, more firmly now.

Despite the sober expressions, it was a casual setting. Keane hoped that meant something. And yet, something grave was amiss here, or he’d never have found himself trapped behind bars. Following Lael’s advice, Keane held his tongue, as much as it pained him.

“Today we have heard serious allegations against you, Keane dún Scoti.”

Keane’s teeth grated at hearing the bastardization of his name. He turned a baleful look toward Cameron, surmising that whatever allegations the king had heard, they must have come from him. But instead of looking away, Cameron held his gaze.

“Tell me how you plea,” asked the king.

Keane’s tone was full of contempt although he tried to mask it. “It would help to know what I am charged with.”

Something in the king’s expression softened. “And ye dinna ken?”

Keane felt himself growing impatient. “If I did, I am quite sure I would not have asked,
Your Grace
.”

The king hid a smirk. “I always liked you as a lad, Keane dún Scoti. You are more like your sister than your brother,” he said. “Fair enough.”

Keane refrained from any response at all, because he could not return the compliment. He didn’t suffer liars well—nor did he appreciate the king’s continued use of the dún Scoti name.

David waved a hand dismissively. “Let us dispense with the trivialities,” he said.

Keane blinked, uncowed.

“You have been accused of defiling a princess of Moray.”

It was the last thing Keane expected to hear. “Lianae?”

“Indeed….
Lianae
.”

“And does this accusation come from
Lianae’s
own two lips—” He turned to Cameron. “Or is this the word of ambitious climbers?”

“It was Lianae,” Jaime interjected soberly, sensing Keane’s unspoken accusation of Cameron MacKinnon. “Cameron stood by you with every word he uttered, Keane. He is not your enemy here today.”

Only now did Cameron look away, his expression clearly wounded.

“Who is my enemy?”

“Not I,” Jaime said.

The king merely smiled and Keane inhaled a breath. He shook his head, trying to comprehend. “It was Lianae who said this?”

“Indeed,” the king said, and continued to tap his long, lean fingers on the arm of his chair. “Of course, none of us were inclined to believe it, and after some time she did rescind her claim. And yet,” the king continued, his gaze studying Keane. “She did also confess the two of you lay together willingly and this poses a problem.”

For a moment, Keane remained dumbstruck, uncertain what to say. Close on the heels of a sense of relief that he might not face the gibbet, after all, was the simple realization that Lianae had lied. He’d never once touched any part of her save her lips, and her hands and feet, and aside from the kiss itself, none of it had afforded him much pleasure. He had merely meant to help, and instead, he stood here, facing an inquiry from the king…