“He had two blades,” Keenan said

by Editor

Perhaps the farce about controlling his brother’s army was not that far off from the truth.

  ****

  The pretty kitchen maid smiled at Serena as she turned in a circle.

  “Milady, you do look lovely in that gown. You’ll fit right in with the court at Frampton Manor, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Serena smiled reassuringly. “I owe it to you, Winifred. And you certainly know how to weave hair.” Serena peered into the small glass mirror above the dressing table in the cramped room above stairs at the inn. Winifred had coiled and woven her hair with ribbon to match the emerald court gown Keenan had commissioned upon arriving in town.

  Ewan had ridden down to Leicester with bolts of the silk mockado velvet tied tightly to the back of his horse. It had taken three seamstresses two full days to cut, pin and stitch it together in record time. They had just finished in time for Serena and Keenan’s audience with King George that evening followed by a small reception feast and dancing.

  Winifred stopped in front of Serena, hands on hips, and stared at Serena’s bare neckline. “Hmm, I hope you aren’t chilled this eve, Milady. The neckline is quite low.”

  Serena looked down at the tops of her round breasts held up by the tight stays.

  “I should wear a handkerchief to cover the neckline.”

  Winifred shook her head. “Not in the evening at court. All the ladies wear their costume without covering up. It seems they would likely fall out if they bend down.” The maid smiled at Serena’s concerned look. She patted her sleeve. “Don’t fret, you’ll do just fine.”

  Winifred’s kind eyes eased Serena.

  “Just in case, Milady, you should stay as upright as possible,” she added and demonstrated a curtsey while staying in a vertical position.

  Serena mimicked her moves. If she didn’t stay down too long, she could hold the pose. “Lovely, Milady. You’ll do just fine.”

  Serena wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t have a choice. She was on a mission to find the murderers to clear William’s name. How she would do that, she hadn’t a clue. Even if she found the man and woman, why would anyone believe her? Serena took two more deep breaths. On the last one she looked down at her breasts. No deep breathing either, she thought, as the flesh seemed to swell dangerously over the velvet edging.

  A sharp rap trembled the thin wood door. Winifred opened it timidly and then threw it wide to let Keenan and Brodick enter. “Isn’t she a lovely sight?” she said with sincere enthusiasm.

  Serena turned around to face the two sour faced men. She took a deep breath without thinking. Brodick’s eyes dropped to her ample display, and then his face turned several shades of red. No deep breathing. Keenan’s eyes rested on her chest as well, but instead of looking embarrassed, he looked irritated, even angry.

  “They say it’s the latest fashion,” Serena offered.

  Brodick cleared his throat and tugged on his beard. “Ye look very courtly, Milady.”

  “Call me Serena, Brodick.”

  “Not at court,” Keenan said briskly. “At court ye are Milady.”

  Serena nodded. He still hadn’t said anything about how she looked. She held arms out to her sides and turned in a circle. “The fabric is beautiful. Thank you for bringing it down with us. I had no idea Ewan carried it all this way. I’ll have to thank him.”

  “I’ll tell Ewan. Doona ye bother him about it,” Keenan said briskly.

  Keenan continued to stare, his eyes traveling up and down until she too began to blush. He looked stern, serious, as if ready for battle. Did he expect battle this eve? Serena reminded herself not to breathe deeply. She would just have to let her heart race.

  “Do ye have a cloak?” Keenan asked abruptly. Winifred brought a soft lamb’s wool coat from the bed. “Good,” he said and turned.

  Whisked through the inn at a breathless speed, Serena’s heart beat rapidly as she stepped up into a hired carriage. The door clicked shut behind Keenan as he followed. He settled himself across from Serena in the tight cabin. Thomas rode above with the driver. Ewan and Brodick rode their horses alongside. The carriage bumped and pitched along the pitted road. Serena concentrated on keeping her seat else she would end up in a pile of velvet and fluff on the gritty floor.

  Keenan watched out the window. The moon reflected against his face, accentuating the scar and his rugged masculinity. He wore English court clothes, perfectly cut to show off his strong body in elegant style. Every part of his grooming, down to his neatly queued hair, made him look the courtly gentleman, proud and serious. Serena sighed quietly. She preferred her Scottish warrior, who smelled of pine and highland wind. She preferred the man that used to trust her.

  “Keenan. I’d like the chance to explain about Drakkina and the cave.”

  Keenan turned to her. “What else is there to ken,” he said nonchalantly. “A spirit woman told ye to kiss me and that it was meant to be for the greater good.” He stared.

  The moon flashed through the trees to flicker across her eyes, making it difficult to see his expression. Serena’s chest clenched. The man was impossibly stubborn. How would she ever be able to convince him that his perceptions were skewed? “I didn’t kiss you because she told me to,” she said, silently adding “you big oaf.” “I kissed you because I’ve wanted to since you caught me at the fair.”

  Keenan didn’t move. Serena caught sight of the lights of Frampton Manor sparkling against the darkness outside his window.

  “When you kissed me on the moors,” she hesitated thankful for the dark interior, “I…I wanted more.” His black eyes watched. Oh, she wanted to look away, to hide the embarrassment her admittance brought, but she didn’t. He had to see it in her eyes. “But then we were at Kylkern and you,” she took a deep breath. “You gave me up, up to the prophecy, up to Lachlan. It was as if you had just begun to see me and then you shut the door.”

  He didn’t say anything, just continued his silent stare.

  “Drakkina had only just told me that you were my soul mate before you woke me in the cave. At first I thought she had been a dream.” She paused. “And then when I began to think that maybe she was more real than dream, it was, well I,” she turned her head away. “I had decided, Drakkina or not, I wanted to kiss you again. And I thought that it might be my only chance.”

  Still he said nothing. “I seem to remember,” she continued, as anger began to well back inside, “that you, too, felt you had no time to tell me something you should have.”

  Keenan peered through the darkness, his blank stare seemed to weigh her words. Shouts beyond the windows heralded the gates of Frampton Manor.

  She folded her arms and leaned back into the seat.

  “In battle,” his muted voice filled the small cabin, “I must trust each of my warriors completely.” His mellow tone couldn’t conceal the stark undercurrent. “They disclose everything, and I use all their information to best calculate my strategy so we all can survive.”

  “I speak of my heart and you lecture me on the tactics of war?”

  “Life is war, Serena.”

  They passed through the lit gates into the bailey of the fortified manor house. “And I’m one of your warriors,” she mocked quietly.

  “The prophecy declares ye as such.”

  Serena snorted softly. “You trust that bloody prophecy more than you trust your own instincts, Keenan.” Torchlight flashed across his face as they jarred to a halt.

  Keenan spoke softly.

  “There is danger here this eve, Serena. I need ye to be a warrior.”

  “I know the plan. You’ve gone over and over it.”

  “Aye, but can I trust ye?”

  Serena leaned forward. “I’ve bared my soul to you, and I have absolutely no idea what you think about what I said or about me. I think the better question is, can I trust you, Keenan?”

  Brodick clicked the latch up on the outside and whipped the door open.

  Keenan escorted Serena up the many steps to the entrance of Frampton Manor. As
they entered, he spoke to one of the pages over the quartet playing in a small ballroom. “Keenan Maclean of Kylkern, and my cousin Serena Mackay of York. We have come to announce the death of a friend to His Majesty.” Keenan pulled out the summons that he had received upon his request. The page took the letter and Serena’s cloak, revealing her deeply dipping neckline.

  Keenan almost demanded the cloak back, but etiquette and performance were as essential to court as water to human life. Another glance assured him that the rose hued areolas encircling her nipples were still trapped within the clinging fabric.

  Keenan took a deep breath and forced his eyes to roam the landscape of the gilded rooms. What was wrong with him? He had never been so distracted on a mission before, and distractions could be lethal.

  The servant ushered them into the dazzling lit cage of decadence and etiquette. Several familiar lords and ladies stood about the room in whispering groups. It was a veritable wolves’ den of powdered wigs and pompously stuffed costumes. The aroma of stale lamp oil mixed with fragrance to hide body odor filled his nose. He hated the court. Why indeed would he purposely lower himself into this belly of sweet smiling assassins and proper looking miscreants? Duty, honor, all the same reasons that propelled him from his pallet each morning.

  Keenan glanced at the statuesque Serena as they approached the makeshift throne where George sat expectantly. Elizabeth Darlington, the king’s latest mistress, sat in a high backed chair next to him. After his wife Catherine died years before, George swore that he would never marry another. He would only take mistresses from then on.

  Serena dipped low into a formal curtsey displaying her cleavage before the monarch’s keen eye. Aye, Keenan thought dismally, he should be here, but he shouldn’t have brought Serena. It was too dangerous. It didn’t feel right. He bowed low.

  “Your Majesty,” the page said formally to their right. “I present Keenan Maclean of Kylkern and his cousin Serena Mackay of York.”

  “Rise, rise,” George said smiling like a cat about to indulge in fresh cream. He all but licked his puffed up royal lips. Keenan helped Serena rise and placed her hand on his arm. “Come forward, fair lady. I don’t believe we have met before.” Without looking at Keenan, “I’ve met your sword-throwing cousin, but didn’t know he had kin so fair.”

  “Hello, Keenan,” Elizabeth said coyly from her seat. “We didn’t know you had relations in England.”

  Keenan ignored the subtle invitation he read in Elizabeth’s voice. A chill of suspicion tore along Keenan’s muscles, the weight of his dirks ready to be unleashed. Something wasn’t as it seemed. Was Serena sensing anything apart from Elizabeth’s sexually explicit thoughts? Keenan had danced with Elizabeth at a party in London last year. It was before her entanglement with George and he had flirted with her, but nothing had come of it.

  “Serena is a distant cousin on my mother’s side,” he said stiffly.

  George rose and walked down the two steps. He took Serena’s other hand in his. “What a pleasure to have a new face at our little court.” He indicated the room. Serena had her gloves on, but Keenan knew she could still touch the king’s thoughts and emotions. Hell, Keenan could sense them.

  Benjamin Frampton stepped out from a tall double door and nearly trotted to their side so as not to be left out of the introductions. He was a little man, full of overstuffed pride and self-glory. He blended well with the usual courtiers. Frampton’s sly eyes slid along Serena’s neckline. Keenan’s jaw began to ache.

  Frampton turned to him. “So Keenan Maclean, what brings you onto English soil?”

  Time to enact the plan. “I’ve come to bring news of foul play.”

  “Eh?” Frampton said. George barely took his eyes off Serena to glance at Keenan.

  “I regret to inform Yer Majesty that yer friend, Gerard Grant was murdered near Leeds a little over a fortnight ago.”

  Silence. George tucked Serena’s hand into the crook of his arm. Had he touched her skin? Keenan wasn’t sure. Frampton was saying something again, probably important.

  “What was that, Frampton?” Keenan said steering his mind back to the plan, the mission.

  “I said, it’s a shame.” Frampton tsked loudly. “I heard a Romany man stabbed him for his money.”

  “So ye’ve heard?”

  “Yes, we had news several days ago,” King George said. “Terrible tragedy.”

  Keenan caught sight of Thomas and Brodick near the door. When his gaze turned back to Serena, she looked flushed, almost dazed. Keenan watched as George’s hand ran up the side of her neck near her ear. Fury roiled up within Keenan, and he took a step toward them before reining himself in physically. Think, think. This was no battlefield where he could lay his enemy open with his blade. This was the court and the enemy was the King of England and nearly all of Britain.

  “Miss Mackay and I also bring happy tidings of our own,” Keenan heard himself saying. George looked at him, one puffy eyebrow slightly raised in question. Good, his hand had lowered upon Keenan’s words. “Miss Mackay willna go by her maiden name much longer. We have wed in the Highland tradition by handfasting.”

  Serena’s glassy eyes blinked several times as she stared back into his own. Handfasting?

  Keenan walked over and pulled her into his side as George casually disentangled himself from her. “Aye lass, that is what we call it,” he smiled and kissed her forehead before turning back to George and Frampton. “We will make it official with the kirk as soon as we return to Kylkern.”

  Frampton laughed. “I thought you had sworn off the bonds of marriage Maclean. Something terribly romantic, about a dark curse or other.”

  Keenan laughed back. “I suppose I was cursed until I found my dear cousin.”

  Elizabeth sauntered over and placed her hand on George’s arm. “What happy news.”

  Keenan felt Serena’s weight increase on his arm. He looked over and her pale face seemed to flicker shut a second before she slumped under the heavy weight of her gown.

  “Good Lord, I think she’s fainting,” Elizabeth said.

  Keenan picked up Serena as the twittering crowd drew closer. Frampton’s wife, Olivia rushed over issuing orders for a guest room to be readied. Keenan glimpsed Brodick and Thomas flanking them slightly behind. Through twists and turns and up stairs, Keenan only watched Serena’s face, her dark lashes against her milk white skin. She was perfectly chiseled from marble, so cold, so deathlike.

  As they entered a room, Keenan laid Serena on a large bed surrounded by heavy curtains. Thomas moved quickly to the hearth to encourage a fire while Brodick shooed the servant out of the room.

  “Lass,” Keenan whispered near Serena’s ear. “Lass, are ye in there?” Had she taken in too much venom surrounded by vipers? Had she peered into too much darkness and lost herself? “Brodick, get over here,” Keenan roared.

  Brodick stepped up to the bed, his eyes worried.

  “Think of the happiest time of yer life.”

  “Like when I slaughtered that MacCallum from Inverness?”

  “Aye, I mean nay,” Keenan said, his eyes still searching Serena’s face. “Something happy like that, but nothing bloody, only happy. Like when yer nephew was born and yer sister was happy and healthy.”

  “Fine, aye, I’m thinking of it.”

  “Now touch her skin.”

  “Her skin?” he asked and ran his large hand over his beard.

  “Aye, think the happy thought and touch her,” Keenan pulled off Serena’s glove so Brodick could take her hand. “And mind ye, if ye slip and start thinking evil or foul thoughts,” Keenan looked Brodick in the eye with deadly seriousness. “I think ye could kill her.” And I will kill you. He thought the words because they hummed through his body like his pulse. But he wouldn’t say them. He didn’t have to.

  “Aye, happy thoughts.” Brodick swallowed hard, and then breathed slowly. A grin came across his face, and Keenan put Serena’s hand in his large paw.

  Keenan bent back down t
o her ear. “Open up to Brodick’s happiness, Serena. Let it in.”

  Serena’s eyes moved behind the delicate veil of her lids. Her lashes flickered against the creaminess of her skin as she opened her eyes. “That’s it lass,” Keenan said and motioned to Brodick to break contact.

  “Did my thoughts wake her?” he asked curiously.

  “Yes, they helped,” Serena said and tried to sit up.

  Keenan pulled her into a sitting position and sat down. She leaned into him and looked up at Brodick. “What a beautiful little boy your sister has.”

  Brodick smiled proudly. “He’s na’ so wee anymore. He’s going on ten now.”

  “I will have to meet him when we return to Kylkern.”

  “That ye will, I promise,” Brodick said, his smile genuine.

  Keenan watched the intimate exchange and frowned. He had always considered it a strange advantage that Serena couldn’t read his thoughts and feelings. However, the same advantage also refused him a connection to her, a connection that every other man could form with her. Keenan’s hands balled into fists at his side.

  “Brodick, see if we were followed,” Keenan indicated the door. “And send word that my wife is fine but needs to rest. I will return soon.”

  “Yer wife?” Gavin asked, his bushy eyebrows raising over wide eyes.

  “Dinna ye hear Keenan in the hall,” Brodick said walking to the door. “Clever too, to keep those royal English claws off her. Probably what knocked her out.” Brodick opened the heavy door and inclined his head to a guard a bit down the corridor.

  Serena pushed upright against the soft tick of goose down. “Keenan,” she gasped her eyes wide. “I need to tell you.” She grabbed his fist with both her hands. The concern in the contact warmed through his gut. “King George, he knows that Gerard was a Jacobite. He knows that he stole the letter. Keenan, George hired the two I saw to kill Gerard.” She moved his hand back and forth in her excitement. Gavin came over to the bed. Serena looked between them both and squeezed Keenan’s hand. “He’s setting you up to fall into a trap so he can arrest you, Keenan.”

  Keenan’s mind chewed on the information as he stroked her grip with his loose hand.