A Knight and White Satin

by Jackie Ivie

  Redmond was still remonstrating the silent clansman as he pulled the door shut behind them. Dallis only knew that from the loss of his voice and the light from the torch-lit hall. And then there was just her and Payton, and the strength of her heartbeat against his.

  From a berth in his arms, she heard it easily, and snuggled even farther into the space below his chin.

  “Dallis?” he asked. The name rumbled through her nose at his throat.

  “Hmm?” She moved slightly, willing to look at him while he spoke, but deciding it was too heavenly to stay where she was, encapsulated within his arms, where it was safe, warm, and vastly blissful.

  “This fame…of mine. ’Twill na’ always be so.”

  “I ken as much.”

  She hadn’t asked to be in his arms. He hadn’t given her time. The moment they reached the lower hall just outside the great room, leaving through the minstrel gallery as was their usual, he’d swooped her up. She didn’t bother questioning it. She knew. He wasn’t willing to alter the pace to her smaller steps. Redmond had approved the move, too, and received Payton’s curse for his effort.

  “You do?” Payton asked.

  Dallis wasn’t given the choice of staying against his neck, since he pulled back, and lowered his head in order to see her.

  “Nae man can grasp such fame forever. There will come a champion to best you. One with more brawn, and more skill…or more youth. And after that, there will be another. And after that, another.”

  “More brawn?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

  “Did I say that?” Dallis teased, lifting her hand to brush a stray black lock of hair from blocking her view of him. “I must be crazed.”

  “And was there a claim of more skill, as well?”

  “Falsehoods. All of them,” she replied.

  “Falsehoods?”

  “I find all manner of weakness takes my tongue…and makes me say…words I dinna’ think through first. ’Tis na’ my fault, though.”

  She was lifting toward him, using the arm she had looped about his neck to bring his head down, as well as her legs against his forearms to shift up, and then she put her tongue out, touched a scratchy bit of chin, and licked her way to his lower lip, stopping there as the man holding her trembled in place.

  “Nae?” he asked, punishing her with the breath of air from his lips to hers.

  “I canna’ think when I’m with you, Dunn-Fadden. I nae longer have a will or wits.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly…I—”

  She almost slipped and said it. I love you. Dallis stopped, finding her wits somewhere in her body to keep from damning herself with her own tongue. Then she was shuddering with the ice-cold feeling that seemed to invade everywhere.

  “I…?” he prompted.

  “I…recollect that you said…you had something for me.” The words limped out, sounding trite and stupid, and awkward.

  Payton didn’t seem to note any of that, as he failed to move his mouth the entire time she’d been speaking, and instead, started plying her lips apart with his own.

  “Aye, love. I do have something…for you.”

  It was said between kisses that drained her will further and scattered more of her wits. Dallis let them go easily, blending her moan of hunger with what had to be his. She was startled to be set on the floor, attempting to find stability with legs that felt as strong as the blood pudding had looked to be, and finding it truly chilled in the chamber when she wasn’t locked in his arms.

  She crossed her arms about herself, and rocked in place, and fought the tingle of tears that stung at her eyes.

  “Ah…Dallis, love. Doona’ look to me that way. I will na’ be able to find it.”

  He was fishing about in his sporran with a hand, without looking. He hadn’t relinquished her gaze, and didn’t appear to want to, until he was forced to peer down at what he was doing.

  “There!”

  He stepped closer, sending waves of warmth radiating from the nearness, and he was holding something out to her. Something small. Sparkly. Round.

  She moved her eyes back to his.

  “’Tis the smallest one I own. A ruby. I had it made smaller. For you.”

  Dallis was shaking, and the hand she held out to him showed every bit of it. Payton suffered the same, as the way he fumbled with her new ring indicated.

  “Doona’ take this one off.”

  “I will na’,” she said.

  “Na’ even to wash.”

  She nodded.

  “I want the world to ken that you belong to me. Only me. Ever-more.”

  She nodded again. And lost out to the tears that had hovered at her lower lids before tipping out without her blink to assist them. The ring fit snugly and perfectly, and had a dark red stone in the center of it that reflected back at her.

  “You vow it?” he asked, stepping close enough he blocked the light.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “Then…say it,” he commanded.

  Dallis looked up at him, caught the wonder before she burst with it, and blinked more tears into existence.

  “I…love you, Payton Dunn-Fadden,” she replied.

  His yell was heard clear out into the hall. Then they had to deal with Seth, carrying a trencher of food, and behind him Redmond, as the door shoved open so hard, it rebounded from the wall. Dallis hadn’t had time to gasp. She was hugged against Payton with one arm, getting shoved toward the back of him, while his other had already unsheathed his sword.

  “You might consider bolting your door,” Redmond informed them. And then he sighed hugely, turned, and pulled Seth back out into the hall with him.

  Chapter 20

  They entered the Royal Mile two days later. Dallis nodded and waved from a seat atop a white horse, the shade replicating the white cloak she was wearing, covering over the green and black bliant that showed her clan allegiance. Payton was right in front of her, mounted on Orion, who’d been brushed and plucked and groomed with braids in his mane and tail, and seemed to know that it was all for this show, because he walked with a head held high and large head nods to the crowd as well.

  And there was Payton.

  As the heir to the Dunn-Fadden clan, he was dressed in full Dunn-Fadden chieftain attire in a feile-breacan of green, black, and white plaid, which were awe inspiring by themselves. But, as King’s Champion, he also wore the solid silver champion belt, and silver or gold adorned everything else they could put metal to. Payton sparkled and shone every time he waved, or stood in the stirrups or turned about to check her. And the crowd lining the streets, tossing ribbons, and leaning from balconies or rooftops appreciated every bit of it.

  Dallis wasn’t worried. Canongate Castle had been filling with Dunn-Fadden clan over the two days, and the Dunrobin earl had seen to it that they were mounted and rode with more than a fifty of his own clan, all mounted and accompanying them, riding four abreast on either side of Payton and his Honor Guard, while a vast retinue of them led the way, parting the throngs with their horses, if the bagpipes, drums, and warnings weren’t sufficient.

  It was stunning and meant to be so. It was also time consuming. Walking a horse a distance one sixth of a league should have been done without any forethought and no need to sustenance. This trek, with Payton stopping often to speak with a grouping at the side, or slowing to wave at the lasses who were pouring from balconies, and from their blouses, which she still wasn’t used to, took more than three hours to accomplish. Dallis was beginning to think she should have brought one of the breakfast breads from Dunrobin’s table with her. Or she could always ask one of the men beside her to pass in one of the muffins, rolls, or hard biscuits that were being held out to them as they passed the bake shops.

  Through it all, the shape of Edinburgh Castle, looming high atop the mountain overshadowed and clouded, and darkened. Always muted. Always there. As if overseeing and controlling everything beneath it.

  The ground changed, beginning the ascent. T
he massive, black shadow quality of the castle started such a deep unease within her, that it chilled her. Dallis gathered her fur-lined cloak closer, and frowned a bit at the pieces of misted freeze hanging about in the air as if opaque fingers had to be pushed aside to get through.

  She knew it was fanciful, shook herself mentally, lowered her chin and focused on Payton’s back while they climbed. The tree cover thinned, and they went beneath a gate. A higher climb, and then another gate. And then a third. Each with a portcullis lifted, bagpipers playing, and men-at-arms standing at attention. They still fit, nine across, although there was no need. Payton’s followers had dropped away. They either couldn’t take time from their chores, or weren’t allowed inside the castle itself. Dallis didn’t know which and had no one to ask. So she surmised.

  They were halted somewhere in the front of them, in the shadow of walls so high, they blocked what morning light was available. Dallis looked up, gazing with awe at the might and strength, and impregnability of Scotland’s majesty, and shivered worse.

  “Payton Alexander Dunn-Fadden! Heir to Clan Dunn-Fadden and current champion of the list. Granted such title through valiant service to the crown! Dismount and show yourself! At the king’s command!”

  The entire greeting was repeated all along the walkway above them, interlacing and overriding the telling as it went. And coming from throats that must have been chosen for their projecting ability.

  Payton was dismounting, making a clank from all the metallic objects in his accouterment, and he walked the short distance over to her to assist her to the ground. His smile was secure and comforting. As was the kiss he pressed to her forehead, when she was on the ground and pulled into him with a hand behind her head.

  “Doona’ fear, Dallis, love,” he whispered.

  “I canna’ help it.”

  “’Tis our destiny we go to meet. I’ll na’ let some wizened, stunted, cock-nibbed, son-of-a-banshee steal it from us. You ken?”

  “You canna’ say such things of the king!” She was horrified. It sounded in her voice.

  Payton stood straight, and let her free. She watched as he adjusted the diamond-bedecked brooch holding his kilt band, his heavy championship belt, rearranged the dirks inserted throughout it, and ended with settling his sporran in front of his groin. Then he looked over at her and grinned.

  “I refer to Kilchurning. Jesu’.” He held out his hand. “Come. You worry for nae reason. The king is a fair man. Usually.”

  She followed him as he joined a mass of clansmen and king’s men, their boots echoing from long halls of floors and lofty ceilings in the halls, until she lost all sense of direction. And distance. And then they were stopped again.

  “The king commands the champion attend to him! In private. He may bring four clansmen with him. And his wife!”

  The men outside shouting orders and edicts must have earned that duty because they lacked the acoustic quality of the man blocking their further movement. As she got close, Dallis saw he was standing on a three-step block, giving him room to better project his voice above any crowd. He must have massive respect for Payton, she decided, since he backed to the edge of his block as Dunn-Fadden walked through the opening the others about them had made, and nearly tumbled off the back of it.

  “Redmond. Seth. Martin. Dugan.”

  He listed the clansmen when he got there, but it looked unnecessary. Those were the exact men and in the exact placement that were at his heels.

  The man on the block must have thought that Payton’s words insufficient, since he lifted his chin and repeated them. Standing directly in front of him, she could tell that while he did have a massive voice, his shouting upward reached the echoing capacity in the room, as well. Dallis smirked slightly. It looked an excellent way to keep one’s livelihood.

  “What mood, MacIlroy?” Payton leaned a bit toward their announcer to whisper it.

  The man gulped. “Nae good,” he answered.

  “Current mistress?” Payton continued.

  “Nae. Bad spirits last night.”

  “Hung-over, is he?”

  The announcer looked uncomfortable and then tipped his chin again. Dallis saw the reason as a thud sounded and then two men-at-arms pushed the doors outward, sending light from the old throne room into the antechamber. Then MacIlroy was announcing Payton, Dallis as a Caruth Dunn-Fadden, and then the accompanying clansmen.

  Then there was a yell coming from Payton, followed by everyone pulling swords and claymores and skeans, and Dallis felt the pressure as Payton shoved a dirk into her hand.

  “Kilchurning!”

  The quintet of men facing them, from an area to the left of the king, were also drawing swords and claymores, making such a sound of grunting and metal, nobody heard her gasp.

  They were halted by a shrill bagpipe blast, and then yet another fellow with a great set of lungs was shouting.

  “Cease! You are in the presence of His Majesty, King James! You are to cease this or face imprisonment!”

  “Only if he’s na’ dead!” Payton replied.

  “Silence!”

  “My Laird…Dunn-Fadden. Here. Finally. My…champion.”

  The voice was coming from the throne, but it wasn’t possible to see him through the bodies that had stepped in front of her and blocked her.

  “He holds my castle. I want his blood,” Payton replied.

  “Not true. According to Laird Kilchurning here, your sire Alexander Dunn-Fadden holds the castle. At the moment. Now, sheath your blades. All of you. And act like the civilized men we are.”

  The shuffle of boots and clang of weapons showed that his command was being followed.

  “Now. Show me the wife.”

  “Why?” Payton asked.

  “Because I say so,” the voice from the throne said.

  Payton sighed, lifting his back in front of her. Then, he was turning sideways and giving her his hand for an escort.

  “Without you, Dunn-Fadden.”

  Payton’s jaw looked locked. He had his lids lowered and his chin as well. Dallis was grateful she wasn’t getting the look he was sending toward the throne.

  “Now.” The monarch repeated.

  Her husband moved back, to allow her to step through the opening. Dallis listened to the satin as it slid along her legs, and forced the chill feeling of the slick material from her. When she was within a circle shape, splied with carved wood into the floor beneath her, she curtsied, going nearly to the ground in deference. Then she rose and lifted her head.

  “My Lady.”

  The man stepping down from the throne was wearing more jewels than necessary, including a huge cross about his neck and massive crown atop his head. He wasn’t exactly handsome, although he was definitely a presence, as the shivers careening over her shoulders warned her. His beard was red-tipped, he had a purplish red birthmark scoring one side of his face, a narrow nose, and very high pointed heels on his shoes. Even with that, he was her exact height.

  Dallis caught the giggle before she made it, and immediately forced her back to bend, slouching to lose height. Then she added a bend in her knees, that he wouldn’t spot through the skirts and cloaking. She knew it was the correct move when he reached her, lifted her hand, and then stepped back slightly, looking her up and down, evaluating the exquisite attire she wore and probably the cost, as well as the fact she was shorter than he by a hand-span in height.

  “Charming. She’s truly…charming.”

  “She’s wed,” Payton replied from his side of the room. King James looked over at him, releasing her from his scrutiny.

  “Please, my Laird Dunn-Fadden. Grant me a moment. I ken very well that she’s wed. To you. And I already have a favorite.” He turned back to Dallis. “Come, Lady Dunn-Fadden. Sit with me. We need to be apart from men and their lusts for power. ’Tis too taxing so early in the day. You agree?”

  She was fortunate he led the way, because she lost her knee scrunch and back slouch. If he’d turned he would have seen i
t. Dallis didn’t know what he’d do then.

  She hurriedly slid into a seat at his right side, lower than his, and not as elaborate as the one on the other side of him. She closed her eyes in silent thanksgiving that he hadn’t put her in the queen’s throne. Her heart wasn’t ready for that test of how rapidly it could beat.

  “Now. We can discuss at length why I have brought you here.”

  “Me?” Dallis asked.

  He lifted her hand to his lips. She kept it loose and flexible by a sheer act of will. It didn’t sound like Payton was having the same reaction, if the sounds coming from that side of the room were accurate.

  The king waved with his other hand, and metal sounds grew. Dallis forced herself to concentrate on the man beside her and nothing else, but it started sweat beads all along her hairline.

  “I could have had you brought before me in chains, Laird Dunn-Fadden.” King James’s threat was worse since there wasn’t any sound of a warning to the words. Dallis gulped away the moisture in her mouth and smiled shakily. He released her hand and swiveled back to look over the two clans assembled before them.

  Payton had two men on either side of him, each with a lance spearing the space in front of him, the blades facing each other and crossed for more effect.

  “Now…we can talk,” the Stewart announced.

  Nobody answered. He flipped at the lace on one sleeve and looked out at the men again.

  “My Laird Kilchurning sent a messenger to me a sennight past. With an odd tale. Of battle and siege, and murder. You all know I frown on that.”

  He encompassed the room with his look. Dallis relaxed slightly as he didn’t direct all of that warning toward Payton.

  “It was a surprise. I had already decreed that the Caruth Castle and the heiress and all the holdings were yours, Laird Dunn-Fadden. It makes me very angered to find that in dispute.”

  Dallis watched as the Kilchurning clan appeared to be frowning as they shifted about, fidgeting with their weaponry.