Knight Everlasting

by Jackie Ivie

“Alpin—” she began, only to get interrupted.

  “Will you arrange it so your hair is hidden tonight? I mean . . . after the ceremony? For our consummation?”

  “Why . . . Alpin . . . I’ll try,” she replied, using a soft, hesitant, virginal voice.

  “Good. Then . . . perhaps . . . with the lights dimmed enough. That might work.”

  With the lights dimmed?

  “You probably doona’ ken what I speak of, but trust me. It’s na’ going to be easy,” he informed her.

  “What will you need from me, Alpin . . . dear?” she asked, stressing the last word into a breathless tone. She watched him jump slightly.

  “Na’ that. You’ll have to keep silent.”

  “Silent. Very well. Anything else?” She asked with a sweet tone.

  “Nae. Except—nae.” He finished.

  “Except . . . what?”

  “Are you any good . . . with your mouth?”

  Juliana’s eyes went wide and it matched her slack jaw. He couldn’t possibly mean . . . and she wasn’t possibly doing it!

  “That’s it! I’d rather wed Arran!” She flung the linen at him and shoved her chair back to stand, glaring down at him. Muir was right with her, doing the exact same stand, as if to block that side.

  “Arran? He’s na’ even a man yet!”

  “Well . . . that can be cured, and there’s one thing he definitely is,” Juliana informed him.

  “What?”

  “Mannered.”

  “I have manners.”

  He’d stood now, too, and towered over her, effectively blocking that escape as well. He was definitely Aidan MacKetryck’s brother. The lowered chin, slit eyes, and angered look were every bit his brother. Juliana ignored it.

  “It’s a shame you don’t show them, then,” she replied.

  “I doona’ want to wed you,” he told her.

  “Then why are you?”

  “Because my brother commands it. Why else?”

  “Well, he can’t command the consummation, Alpin.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  His voice had lowered and he’d put his shoulders forward a bit, too. All reminiscent of Aidan. Juliana blinked at the solid menace he was presenting, gulped on the slightest taste of fear, and blinked again. Then she had to find her voice. It didn’t come out as aggressive as she’d planned either.

  “I’m not so certain I’m going to be willing, Alpin. That’s what I’m saying.”

  He sucked in air several times, enlarging what looked to be a developing frame that would rival his brother, given enough time and work. And then he exhaled it. And then he glared at her.

  “You ken something, Juliana? I believe that just might work.”

  She gasped. And fell back into her chair.

  Chapter 24

  He couldn’t take much more of this.

  Aidan blinked on dry eyes that had felt sand-filled since before they’d pulled him off the list and tossed him into the loch. It was being added to by the ache in his head, until it owned and punished him with every pulse beat. Then she arrived and it actually got worse. Pain thudded through his head with every pulse beat, and it just got harder and more intense and more difficult to endure.

  And then Kerr and Ewan started up.

  “It appears Alpin MacKetryck received Dugald’s household today, with the apartments and portion to maintain it . . . and he does na’ seem to be in charge of much of it. What say you, Ewan?”

  “The laird kens what he’s doing, Kerr. You just try and get me in more trouble. This is why you ask.”

  “Oh look. She argues with him. And wins. Alpin MacKetryck is getting more lass than he can handle. This is what’s happening.”

  “And I still tell you, our laird has a plan. This is part of it. I doona’ fathom what it is, but the man would na’ give the lass who holds his heart to his brother for nae reason. Especially that brother.”

  “Oh. It looks like she’s going to hit him. Nae. My brother Muir prevents that. He is assisting.”

  “We truly should find something better to watch than Alpin’s household at this banquet. The laird still hasn’t found his sporran and Loch Erind is a good distance.”

  “Well said, Ewan. I forget.”

  “Look! It appears Alpin may hit her!”

  Aidan swung his head in his brother’s direction and wished he hadn’t. Kerr and Ewan were right. Alpin was having issues with his soon-to-be lawfully wedded wife. He was standing up to her, though. And then Aidan watched as Juliana appeared to back down from whatever the threat was. Aidan didn’t realize he was half out of his chair until Tavish shoved at his shoulder from his left side, startling him back to a sit.

  “Your brother will na’ tolerate interference, Aidan. Na’ with that one.”

  Aidan lowered his chin and glared at him. Tavish grinned.

  “He’s right,” Heck replied from Aidan’s other side. “The lass needs to ken her master. Nae man wants a shrew to wife.”

  Aidan turned to his senior man and glared at him as well.

  “’Tis what happens when one weds. The woman becomes his property. She obeys. Or she’s beaten.”

  “Nae man can alter that. ’Tis a lawful wedded husband’s place to chastise his wife. Right, Tavish?”

  “Right.”

  Aidan lowered his forehead on the surface of his table and hit it into the wood several times. It didn’t do much, except make the pounding between his ears even louder. More painful. More inescapable. He lifted his head a little and sighed. Long and hard. And then he swiveled his head to face the man on his left.

  “How do you feel about the Campbell clan, Tavish?” he asked.

  Tavish straightened. As did Stefan beyond him. And Gregor past that. And the three more clansmen beyond that.

  “Campbell clan? Hmm . . . They’re a large clan. Bloodthirsty. Far-flung. They cover a goodly section of the Highlands. Good allies to have.”

  “What kind of foe would they be?”

  Tavish grinned. Widely. “Worthy,” he replied.

  “Heck?” Aidan swung his head to the other side and looked upward at his senior man.

  “What is the question?” Heck asked, although it was obvious he’d heard it from the smile on his face, and on Arran’s and Kerr’s and Ewan’s faces beyond as well.

  “Campbell clan? How do you feel about them?”

  “Begging your pardon, but I have na’ had much interaction with them. I understand they’re a fighting clan. Tough. Strong,” Heck replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was thinking of starting a war with them. What do you say now?”

  “Well, I’ve tired of taking on unworthy foes. The Sassenach? Pah. The MacDonals? Pah. We’re wasted on wars with their ilk.”

  “Those shields on yon wall do seem to be missing a Campbell one,” Kerr inserted.

  “Well then. Let’s go get one.” Aidan sat up fully. Put his arms above his head and stretched. Pulled in air that felt like it was racing through his veins, filling him with energy and resolve and thrill.

  “It’s a-a-about time!” Arran announced, sounding young and high-voiced amid the others.

  Aidan stood. The men all about him stood as well, and then they turned to the right without a word of direction being said. He watched as Alpin’s table noted it, and then the floor below him started noticing as well as movement and chatter and drinking and song slowly halted until a hush was falling over the entire gathering.

  Then his men started moving, pulling claymores as they went, until they were assembled on the floor in front of Alpin’s table.

  “Alpin MacKetryck!” Aidan was bellowing it before he reached the floor, and gritting his teeth as the jump sent more ache flashing through his head.

  “Aye?”

  Alpin was on his feet. His men all were as well. The lone one ignoring him was Juliana. She was looking at her hands in her lap. Or something.

  “Give over the lass!”

  “W-W-What?” Alpin stutte
red.

  “The lass, Juliana! I claim her! Now!”

  Alpin looked confused. And then relieved. And then his man said something to him, for he puffed out his chest and yelled back, “By what right?”

  “Right of conquest. And victory! And title!”

  His man spoke with him again. Juliana had lifted her head and was looking at him with huge blue-green eyes in a very white face. Aidan hoped she didn’t faint.

  “What do you offer?” Alpin asked.

  “Hand over the lass, Alpin. Or I’ll take her.”

  Aidan walked right up to the table, bent his knees until he was level with Juliana, and then met her gaze. And was lost. Completely. Perfectly. He winked, and watched her jerk. And before she’d stopped the motion, he’d leapt onto the edge of the partition, reached across the table, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled, bringing her back with him and onto his shoulder, with his backward drop to the floor. And then he was running for the opposite door amid a massive amount of cheering, and hooting, and tankards getting thumped onto tables.

  Her belly was getting the worst of it. Aidan took a series of steps in plateaus of three at a time, with a resultant jog of her body against his. Her hair was falling all about her and bouncing with every move, and where he’d captured it beneath her, the pearls were bruising and annoying. Juliana lifted her head and watched the men trying to keep up with him. Everyone was grinning. Chattering. Pointing. Creating more confusion and havoc in her mind as they hurried after Aidan.

  This couldn’t be happening, but every bit of her body knew it was. Her heart sent complete happiness and giddiness into every portion of her with every single beat. Then he was running along corridor after corridor, lit with torches and not much else.

  “Where . . . are we going? Aidan?”

  She knew he heard her, because he started laughing, before moving even faster than before. They passed beneath an archway, and then another, and finally he slowed, his footsteps echoing all through the large room they were in. Hard wooden benches lined the walls, showing exactly what it was. Aidan came to a stop in the center of the room, and stood, breathing heavily, raising her with each of them, and then he leaned forward and brought her over his shoulder and onto the floor. He didn’t let her go, though. He stood, holding her within an enclosure created by his arms and breathing all over her.

  “Where . . . are we?” she whispered.

  He looked down, and smiled. “My chapel,” he replied.

  “Your . . .” Juliana started, but his grin widened, silencing her.

  “Chapel.”

  “Aidan . . . I—” she began.

  “Am wedding with me. Right here. And right now, Juliana.”

  Her mouth dropped. Her heart was right behind it. “What . . . of . . . the Campbell . . . heiress?”

  “What of her?”

  “Aidan—”

  “I’m past arguing it, Juliana,” he replied.

  He was still grinning down at her, and then he tightened his arms about her, turning her entire existence into heated, shuddering, sweaty arms, and a chest to match. Juliana was close to melting. His honor guard was starting to arrive, holding on to the vestibule doors while they recovered from their run, some even bending double. And then Arran crossed through them, and behind him were Alpin and his men. And then more of them, filling the area behind Aidan. Juliana ducked back behind Aidan’s arm and placed her nose at the center of his chest. Breathing with him, glorying in him, feeling perfect peace for the first time in her life.

  “You ready?” he asked against the caplet, which had somehow managed to stay affixed to her head.

  She nodded.

  He swiveled her, putting her back to him, and then moved her slightly to the side of him, and started walking. And then he moved farther from her, leaving her his arm to hold on to, while everything else on her was pulsating and vibrating to the nearness of him. And then they reached such a candlelit area just below the altar that it looked near midday.

  There was a healthy-sized clergyman rushing from somewhere behind the altar, still fastening the ties on his robes while a page ran alongside, holding the heavy headpiece atop his head.

  “Father!” Aidan hollered, sounding incredibly loud with the reverberation throughout the chamber.

  “My laird! This is—you’re early! I expected you—an hour! I’ve na’ even finished my meal, and I . . . My laird?” The man was out of breath and stumbling through the words by the time he’d reached the altar and peered down at them. The headpiece wasn’t attached properly either, and was slightly off-center. Juliana had to look down before she giggled.

  “Aye?” Aidan replied.

  “Where is the groom?”

  “I am the groom, Father!” Aidan yelled that reply as well and in that chamber it echoed. The crowd noise behind them swelled accordingly to a near deafening level.

  The priest had to wave his arm to get enough quiet to speak. “This is highly—aye. Well and good. The laird is wedding. Wedding! Without proper ceremony . . . and no banns! And no notice. And I—well!”

  The man was opening a very large manuscript atop the altar, bound with leather straps. The booming sound of the front binder falling was nearly as loud as Aidan’s voice had been. And nearly as indefatigable. And inescapable. And resolute. And unyielding. It was everything Juliana’s heart surged for, and everything her mind disputed. She should protest. There would be fighting. Clansmen would die. She should protect them . . . him. She tipped her head toward him.

  “Aidan? I shouldn’t wed . . . with you.” Juliana whispered the words. She needn’t have bothered. The altar had great acoustics and the words went up and out and projected. There was a rumble of sound following it. An angry sound. Coming from the amount of clansmen filling everywhere behind them, crowding into the available space in the narrow nave.

  “Oh aye. You should. And you will. Begin the service, Father.”

  “Aidan—”

  He grabbed her to him and planted his mouth atop hers, stopping not only the words but her breath and her heart. And then he moved his head slowly from her, keeping his eyes full on hers, and canceled every desire to say them as well. And then he looked over her shoulder and up at the altar again.

  “The words, Father? And say them short. I’m in nae mood for patience.”

  “But . . . Aidan!” Juliana tried once more. That was projected up and out for the listening ears as well.

  “I already told you, Juliana, I’ll na’ argue it. Father? Begin!”

  Latin words started getting murmured behind her. Juliana didn’t even hear them.

  “But—the Campbell clan!”

  The priest stopped. Everyone stopped. Aidan started chuckling and then he looked down at her and grinned.

  “I am ever rash . . . Juliana. Ever. As well as reckless. But there is victorious in my birth curse as well. And never more so than now. Right now.” He looked back at the priest. “Father? Continue the ceremony and doona’ cease! And that’s an order.”

  Latin words started up again.

  “But . . . Aidan!”

  He pulled her up at the same moment he lowered his head, and this time when he kissed her, he made certain to steal her breath and her senses and send flames in their place. And they were in the house of worship! From somewhere she heard the priest intoning words that filled the space above her, his voice a drone of irrevocability and finality . . . and eternity.

  Aidan pulled back from his kiss so slowly it pulled her lip flesh with it. His mouth was still in a pout as he added to it, imprinting fire all over her with the intensity of his look. Wild. Raw. Primal. Silence enveloped them, filled with the increasing beats of her heart in her ears. She pressed her nose into his chest, tipping her forehead so she could feel each beat as his heart gave it. She didn’t see him turn back to the altar. She felt it.

  “I gave an order, Father. And here you are silent. What? Oh. Surname. Nae. She has none.”

  Yes I do! D’Aubenville! She opened
her mouth to say it, but he filled the space with more words.

  “She’ll soon be the bride of the MacKetryck. And it will be moot. So finish,” Aidan continued. “Oh. ’Tis Juliana. J-u-l-i-a-n-a.” He spelled it out. “And of course she says aye! Move on with it.”

  “Oh . . . Aidan.” The emotion in those two words easily rose to the rafters and from there filled the room.

  “I said move on, Father!”

  The Latin words continued unabated. Juliana blinked around the surprise. Dame Lileth hadn’t lied. He truly would wed her without her consent. She went back to thrilling with the immense heartbeat at her forehead, the heavy feel of his breaths against her head, and the total comfort and security of his arms about her. Avoiding it. Accepting it. Adoring it.

  The priest went over a name that started with Aidan Niall MacKetryck, lord baron of Ketryck, earl of Tryck-Crannog, laird of Clan MacKetryck, and then he continued with more titles and claims to more lands than she’d known existed, including islands of land that were just vague drawings on maps from her past.

  “Aye. I agree. I do. And aye. From this day forward. And further. Aye. ’Til death. What’s next?”

  The priest started up again, saying Latin phrases that she’d have to concentrate to understand. She didn’t want to concentrate. She didn’t want to do anything other than exist. Sense. Feel. The words stopped again. Juliana wasn’t listening so she didn’t know why.

  “Nae. I have nae such thing. I dinna’ think of it. She can have one of her choosing. From my treasury. She can have them all. Would you just finish?”

  A token. They’d been speaking of a token, such as a charm, or a trinket, or a ring like the signet ring her father had once worn. That was what Aidan hadn’t brought.

  “Get on with it, Father, or I’ll be for consummating my marriage in your church aisle. I doubt the Lord will appreciate that, although I will have definite witnesses to the event.”

  Juliana shut her eyes tightly to the reaction at that statement. She only wished she could block her ears to the laughter and hollering and clapping and stomping. The priest had to wait for the room to calm again before he could continue. The entire time, Juliana stayed exactly where she was, experiencing it exactly as it happened. Memorizing. Enjoying. Giggling.