by Jackie Ivie
Then Payton was walking, crossing the length of the field toward the king’s dais. The crowd roar was blistering to the ears at the intensity of it. For the entire time the walk took.
He hadn’t a mark on him.
“Laird Dunn-Fadden.”
Payton was stopped short of the dais by more guards than he could count. He was forced to wait for the noise to abate, looking up at where the king reclined the entire time.
“You do seem to have failed, Dunn-Fadden,” King James remarked.
The announcement was trumpeted over and over all along the walls.
Payton turned around, held his sword up, and listened as the noise swelled even louder than it had been. He brought the sword back down, and turned back to the king. And waited to be heard.
“Leave them out there long enough. They’ll die,” he replied.
His words were also trumpeted around the walls, the criers talking over each other as it went. The crowd got a bit unsettled sounding, and disgruntled.
“Or…let them live!”
Payton put his sword in the air again as the criers circulated his words. The swell of approval was enormous again. Payton lowered his sword.
“’Twas a battle to the death, Dunn-Fadden,” the king replied.
That was met with a gathering hush as the king’s remarks went about the field. Payton could tell his sovereign wasn’t appreciative. He wasn’t as well liked as he wished to admit. No king wearing fancy European court dress would be. Payton watched as the king frowned. Payton raised his sword again.
“’Tis clear I won!”
Once again the crowd noise showed how much they appreciated Payton’s remarks. He lowered his sword and the noise seemed to dissipate with his movement.
King James wasn’t frowning anymore. His face hadn’t one expression on it.
“You dare change the rules?” he asked.
The criers started yelling the words about the walls. There was a strange hush happening as any cheers or approval was withdrawn, and angry calls were heard. The enormous volume of humanity felt like a cloak about the courtyard, stifling the very air.
“Grant them clemency, my king! I beseech you!”
Payton’s words were announced, and the crowd approval was so loud after the silence of a moment before that Payton wasn’t just imagining the movements of some of the courtiers, to leave the podium, sliding from the back, where King James couldn’t see them.
“Verra well, Dunn-Fadden,” the king remarked when Payton had lowered his sword and the crowd seemed to be waiting. “You win. They have clemency.”
As the king’s words were announced, the crowd went absolutely wild, and began spilling from behind the rails onto the field. They were running with abandon at the fallen warriors, and toward the king’s podium. King James wasn’t waiting. His guards were surrounding him and moving him off the stage. Payton vaulted over it and was moving amidst all the finery and colors and fabrics of the courtiers, without thought to how different he looked.
It wasn’t until he was solidly inside the walls of the castle again, that he realized what he’d just done, and what he’d lost. The king wouldn’t hold to a bargain when Payton hadn’t stayed true to it. He’d failed.
In everything.
The summons came late into the morning. After a night spent sleepless and staring at nothing other than the rock above his head. The cavern he was in was hewn from the rock, with uneven walls and an even more jagged ceiling. What shadows he could see depending on the vagaries of the torch and its flares.
She’d called him Davey.
The reaction made him tremble atop his stone berth, shivers rippling unpleasantly through him as the fiery lump of heart reminded him with every beat, that the pain was still there. Undead, and waiting.
The turnkey brought the news, moving silently in the same large-framed, hunched fashion Payton was familiar with. The man probably didn’t walk straight because he’d been down here too long, absorbing the place, and the sheer defeat it harbored.
“They sent guards for you. As an escort.” The man grinned, showing yellow teeth. “Now, that has never happened. An armed escort from my lodgings.” He was chortling, but had to end it with a cough.
“To where?”
“Nae telling. A-fore you go, I need to thank you. I do.”
“For what? Being a model…guest?” Payton’s lips twitched.
“Nae. For the silver you brought me. From my bet. From the fight.”
“I dinna’ win,” Payton replied.
“I bet you’d live. And you’d let them both live. Down here, you tell a man’s character a bit quicker, if you ken my meaning.”
Payton stared.
The man nodded and smiled. And led the way.
It was the four clansmen from his Honor Guard. Redmond, Martin, Seth-the-Silent, and Dugan. Payton nodded to each in turn and waited.
“The king has sent us for you,” Redmond informed him.
Payton nodded, ignoring the twist in his lower belly at the same time. For the first time, he’d failed in gaining a win for the king. He didn’t know what the consequences were. All he knew was they weren’t getting smaller with the wait.
They didn’t speak as they marched through lengths of halls and up series of steps that lightened the farther you walked them, whether due to reality or atmosphere. Payton didn’t know for sure, and he’d ceased letting it bother him the second day. It seemed to bother more than one of his men. He noted it as the pace quickened without conscious volition.
He was taken to the throne room. King James was already there, surrounded by guards. His men marched with him to the circular area, marked with the placement of the wood on the floor. In front of, and below the raised throne. Payton stiffened everywhere. He bowed his head.
“Payton Dunn-Fadden! King’s Champion!” MacIlroy had followed them in, which was odd, and he yelled it from the door.
Payton lifted his head and looked across at the king, noted that the birthmark on his face looked more florid than normal, and waited.
“Payton Dunn-Fadden.”
The king was stewed. Payton’s eyes narrowed on him as the words slurred, the man warbled, and then he slid down the chair slightly.
“I find myself in an odd position.”
There were some smiles all about the king’s own guards. Payton kept his face stone still.
“I should be designing your torture and imprisonment. Someone, get me a tankard!”
He turned and spoke to one of his guards. The tension relaxed as a brew was brought. Payton’s body started doing the same thing.
“I find myself the receiver of all kinds of good will. Thanks to my magnanimity toward you and your challengers yesterday, I have had nothing but tankards lifted in my name, cheers called to me throughout my castle…and my town, and even the French ambassador has been in to see me, about a possible alliance with their royal house and my first-born daughter once I have one.”
He stopped, put the tankard to his mouth and drank a long draught while everyone waited. He was smacking his lips when he’d finished.
“And then, there’s the matter of the bets.”
Payton’s shoulders both went taut, his right hand tightened on his sword, while the left felt it was warping the hilt of a skean tucked into his belt. He forced his shoulders to rest, set his mind to relaxing his fists, and his breath to continue in the same modulated, calm motion.
The king slammed the tankard to one arm of his chair, sloshing a bit of ale.
“Do you ken how much gold you have made me? Good God, Payton! I am amazed! And it just keeps adding up!”
The surprise flooded him, overtaking the taut pressure he was exerting on everything to keep the reaction hidden. Payton stood a bit taller, remained silent, but couldn’t halt the frown.
“Not that it wouldn’t be much, much more, if you were na’ so damned famous. And accurate. And deadly. And acrobatic. Did you all see that move into the air? I vow, my court near collap
sed with the awe. Oh! And I must not forget, that you are a wonderful warrior, as well. My troubadours are penning songs to you for my fest this eve. The Lord of my Bedchamber tells me ’tis almost readied and quite lovely.” He hiccuped. “And melod—melod—mel…it has a grand sound to it.”
“I doona’ understand,” Payton said.
The king snorted. And then he was standing. “Well. When the mayor brought me his proclamation this morn, and included taxation monies…advance taxation monies, well! I was already four sheets to the wind over my great mag—mag—kingly ability. Better make that five sheets. I was drunk. And then the man wanted to drink to my health as well. My health.”
He lifted his tankard, took another long drink, and then lowered it before looking back out at Payton.
“I really need to keep on task. This audience is taking bloody ever, and I need my rest. What was next…? Ahyes. The decision. ’Tis my decision, I’m told. It is being yelled out all about that my decision is that anyone betting on the challengers has forfeited their wager. ’Tis most obvious that the challengers dinna’ win. ’Twas obvious…was na’ it?”
He encompassed the room, and the guards about him nodded and chuckled. They looked nothing like men called to lynch a traitor, which is what Payton had been preparing for.
“These funds will all be used toward the common good of Scotland…and they will be! But—because I so…mag—magnamaneously and graciously, and with great skill and kingly forethought…allowed those men to live, then anyone betting on your win forfeits that. Because you obviously dinna’ win, either. They’ll get their wagers back. Of course. That is good sportsmanship. So, all wages on you are getting returned. I have accountants working through it right now. And ’tis more of my great fortune that you had lousy odds. So, the bets are na’ much more than a piddle in the wind.”
The king took another swallow of his brew, brought the tankard down, swayed a bit, and then collapsed back into his chair. Payton watched as one of his guardsmen covered his lap with a fur wrap. Then, King James was adjusting the crown back atop his head and looking over at Payton.
“Which does bring me back…to the problem…of what to do. With you.”
Chapter 27
“Quick, My Lady! He’s coming!”
Dallis shifted her head on the pillow, looked out as it appeared to be Bess, and lifted her hand. “Assist…me,” she replied.
She probably shouldn’t have asked them to put her in white satin atop the swathing of linens about her to ward off a chill that no summer day should have. But she wanted the pristine white. It had always been her favorite. And it gave her a sense of invulnerability and purity.
She clucked her tongue at the wrinkled appearance, once she was on her feet, waiting for her legs to hold her there, as well as the dancing dots before her eyes to cease being abrasive and annoying, and disappear altogether. There appeared to be a dark tone along one portion of her skirt, and Dallis frowned a bit at it, while she fussed and shuffled it about, hoping the marks of over-heating with an iron weren’t noticeable. And then she stopped, smiled at herself and raised her head.
Foolish worry. It probably wouldn’t stay white long, anyway.
She had a silver girdle about her hips, made of meshed wire, rather than solid metal. That had been Lady Dunrobin’s choice for Dallis’s attire today. They all knew she couldn’t support the weight of a solid silver or gold girdle. She was feeling shaky and weak just from the work of standing up.
Dallis moved to the chamber mirror, near an armoire, looking to all observers there like she was checking her appearance, frowning a bit at how washed-out and ghostly she looked, bending to tuck a stray hair beneath her pearl-encrusted caplet, adjusting her belt to sit with more security at her hips, fussing at the back of it, where the long drape of her veiled hair hid any movements.
That way no one would see how all of it was put in play for securing the small handled skean she’d had secreted beneath the mattress, into the back of her belt. All of it was orchestrated and accompanied by the greatest whooshing sound in her ear that she pegged as fear, because otherwise she’d have to admit to herself that it was the sound of her heart breaking.
The door opened and Dallis moved to the oriel window of her chambers. Facing outward, she looked over the high wall that had been her view for almost as long as she’d known Payton. There wasn’t much to see. There never was.
She turned, composed herself, and watched as Redmond entered the room first, followed by more of the clansmen, and then there was Payton.
She couldn’t bear it. Dallis spun, kept herself from falling by gripping the rock opening to her alcove, and cursed the cry that came from her own throat.
“Payton Dunn-Fadden. King’s Champion.”
It was Redmond stating it, and something in his voice spoke just for her. Dallis waited to hear more, listening for any sound in the room behind her that might penetrate the odd whoosh of thrumming noise through her ears that matched her pulse. Nothing. She heard nothing. She straightened, blinked around the dots that were hampering her vision, and turned.
If she could have died the moment the cold of his blue eyes touched hers, she would have. Gladly. Instantly. With joy. Because then she wouldn’t have to continue holding his gaze, despite every ripple of shiver that coursed over her body unpleasantly, and the tremble of her knees as they knocked together, and the tightening of her hand on the wall to keep from falling.
That’s when her Caruth heritage returned, reminding her. Dallis pulled in a large breath, lifted her shoulders and chin, and gave him the exact same look he was giving her, despite how it made the air-sound in her ears even louder. She had to concentrate to hear, and that made it all a bit easier.
“She is well enough to attend me below,” Payton said.
“The king granted this. True. But she is na’ well enough to be moved. Even in a litter!” It was Redmond answering.
Dallis sneered. “I’m well enough to meet with him…anywhere, Redmond MacCloud. As you can…plainly see.”
She’d chosen well. The rock at her hand didn’t give away her weakness as a wood support might have. Dallis pulled from inner strength, locked her knees, and remained standing, through the narrowed eyes, lowered chin, that was his warrior look. None would guess if she was too weak or not.
Exactly as she wanted it.
Payton nodded. “Then, step down from there, and meet with me,” he said.
Step away? She’d fall. Dallis shook her head and returned his regard.
“You disobey? Why?”
“I want…this…day. This sun-filled…day. Out there.” She gestured to the view behind her. “I want that to be…the last thing I see,” she replied.
Lady Evelyn’s cry rent through the chamber, starting a prick of sensation to Dallis’s eyes before she stanched it and sent it away. Her aunt had the same blood as her niece, but the backbone was missing. Still. Dallis straightened even farther, feeling the strain along her back at standing so long for the first time since Davey’s birth, and locked it away as her secret. That way, she returned the steady regard of her husband, with exactly the same lack of emotion.
“Dunn-Fadden is allowed a word with you, My Lady,” Redmond informed her. His lack of words said more, and she knew it.
Dallis endured the swelling of the noise through her ears as it reflected the quick surge of her heartbeat. She didn’t have another choice. As usual.
“Allowed?” she asked.
Redmond nodded. Dallis watched the movement coming from Payton’s side. Payton didn’t move his eyes. Consequently, she didn’t move hers. She smirked slightly. He’d let the men live. That had angered the king. And that meant she lived.
“What else is he…allowed?” she asked.
She could tell her word choice bothered him, by the way he clenched his jaw, sending a nerve bulging out the side. It showed the control he was exercising, as well as how much that must affect him. If she hadn’t had her gaze firmly affixed to his face, sh
e wouldn’t have seen it.
“What would you have of him?”
Redmond’s word greatly angered Payton despite the rigid control he had on himself. Dallis watched as a red flush stained the exposed flesh of his chest before it flooded his chin and cheeks. She lowered her chin and smiled, showing she understood. The king had granted her the power. That was the punishment Payton had reaped.
How it must bother him!
She watched how much his increased breaths moved his chest. He probably should’ve changed from the attire it looked like he’d worn to the battle, if Redmond’s description had been accurate. Payton should’ve shaved what looked to be a day’s growth of beard, narrowing his cheeks. He should have pulled his hair back. And done a thousand things different than angering his monarch.
“Leave us,” Dallis said.
The eruption was immediate and vociferous. And loud. Almost loud enough to over-ride the noise she’d gotten used to listening around. That made it easier to ignore all of them, Redmond, Lady Evelyn, Martin, Dugan, big-eyed Alan, Lady Dunrobin, Bess and Mary. Dallis even had to listen to Seth-the-Silent as he grunted and pounded at his chest, although Redmond was the loudest. And he was last.
Dallis had her hand up for silence, and then had to drop it. She hadn’t realized how heavy a hand could be, nor how shaky. It was too easy to spot.
“My Lady! I must protest!”
“Why?” she asked, when they quieted finally.
Payton wasn’t reacting at all, although he’d narrowed his eyes even further, and was looking at her with such enmity, she could feel it. Everything on her sensed it, and hammered at her with it, and frightened her with it. Dallis worked at dampening the fear enough it wouldn’t interfere, and watched as the knowledge reached him, and brought the shadow of a smile to his lips. She didn’t have another choice. She wasn’t moving her eyes, and neither was he.
“Payton…means you harm.”
Dallis tilted her head on one side, lifting her chin at the same time. That had an odd benefit of sending the whoosh noise to the lower side. She hadn’t guessed that.