Contemplating the lass’s secrets, he waited for Lianae to re-emerge from the thicket, resting easier when he spied her pale hair beneath the moonlight, and then he gathered up the materials for his fletching and put them all away. He watched her climb into his bed, and something deep in his gut thrilled at the sight. Once she was abed, he checked on his men one more time before making his own way to his pallet and climbing within. Lianae was already asleep. Lying beside her, he dared to pull her into his arms, embracing her protectively. “Who are ye, maid of Moray?” he whispered at her back.
She didn’t answer, and Keane unexpectedly found his lips pressed against the back of her head. He gave her a chaste kiss, but her only response was her smooth, even breath.
Chapter 14
His question made Lianae’s heart ache.
But not more than his kiss.
Every time he offered his lips, it stirred some new part of her; and this time, it was her heart. He reached out, drawing Lianae firmly against his chest and then lowered his arm so that it encircled her waist and she held her breath, afraid that he might discover she was wide awake. For a long, long moment, her heart refused to calm, and Lianae feared the pounding would betray her. After a moment, he buried his face into the back of her hair. Inhaling deeply of her scent, he then exhaled with a throaty sigh that made goose bumps arise upon her flesh. It was a lover’s embrace—unlike anything Lianae had ever known.
No man had ever held her so tenderly.
She had the most overwhelming desire to turn in his arms, to kiss him once more... But fear kept her still. After another moment, she heard Keane’s smooth easy breathing, and knew he slept.
Ach, it was time to go!
Whatever had she been thinking when she’d come along? Men like Keane had little to give, and she was in no position to take. She was a woman without a home, nor even a country, and he was a king’s sworn man.
His is your enemy, she tried to convince herself, but it didn’t’ feel right. And yet, her plan to seduce him seemed suddenly all the more preposterous. Soon they would depart for Keppenach, and Lianae could not join them for Keppenach was the last place she should go—especially with the king in residence. Never in her life had she felt so confused.
Stay, go, she was lost either way she turned.
And what did she even know of Keane, in truth?
He was more a mystery than she. He wore the king’s livery, yet she sensed he had no interest in the king’s politiks. He tested her at every turn, and then he showed her kindness. He called her a liar with his tone and then he kissed her sweetly upon the head. Who was this man who dressed himself in wolves’ clothing, but appeared to be as gentle as a sheep?
Shivering, she burrowed deeper beneath the covers, acknowledging that there was little about his looks that reminded her of soft wooly sheep. For all she knew, he might be her executioner! Now, before it was too late, she must find a way to leave…
Tonight.
Acutely aware of the comings and goings of the men—all suffering the same malady—Lianae tossed and turned, waiting for her chance to steal away. She was not ill as they were, and she had no idea what had befallen them, but she had used their excuse to steal away time and again, some part of her instinct urging her to get away.
Now, more than ever, she must find her brothers.
At first light, Keane immediately came aware of two things: One, it was snowing yet again, and two, Lianae was gone. At first, he supposed she must have gone down to the burn, as she had once or twice during the night.
He’d slept heavily—far more so than he had expected to and lifted his head, raking a hand through the back of his scalp, squinting against the rude mist. There was no wind this morning, but the snow was falling so thickly that it was difficult to see aught past his own pallet. Were it not for the ash bough overhead, he might have been covered in snow. His heavy cloak lay atop the blankets, abandoned.
Accustomed to winters in the Mounth, Keane was no stranger to sleeping in the snow. Back in the vale, at least once every sennight—spring, summer, fall and winter—he’d taken a watch on the hill. They all did so, and even Aidan would now and again, although his brother endured them far less often now that he had Lìli in his bed.
Rising from the pallet and making his rounds, he nudged a few of his men awake while waiting for Lianae to return, ready to be on their way. And then he realized the king’s messengers were gone as well—not a one remained. Keane took another look about.
Neither were Cameron or Murdoch in their beds.
How long since Lianae had been gone?
His heart clenching with sudden fear, he bolted toward the burn.
For his cousin Broc’s sake, Cameron had intended to take Lianae to David himself.
He waited for her down by the burn.
Too oft in his life he’d made the wrong decision, but never again would he place his kinsmen at risk—not for Keane, who was, by far, his closest friend. And not for Cailin, whose affections were as fickle as the weather. One day she kissed him as though the morrow might ne’er come, the next, she scarce could bear to look at him.
Lovely, infuriating lass.
Some day, he hoped to make her his wife.
But not today.
Today, he was following three men whose intentions were becoming perfectly clear.
All three together had ambushed Lianae down by the burn. As Cameron had meant to do himself, they followed her down, and took her per force. From there, it was easy to steal away without rousing the camp. Covering her mouth, they’d bound her arms, arresting her like a prisoner of war.
And well she might be.
There was nothing he could say without giving himself away. These men were not brigands. They were the king’s men, sworn to David as Cameron was. If he raised arms against them, and Lianae were, in fact, a spy, he’d mark them all as traitors—particularly now that Keane had publicly admitted to helping her search for her missing brothers.
What the hell was the man thinking?
Keane had never been a greedy man, and it had never occurred to Cameron that he might desire aught more than he already had. In this way, he’d done Keane a disfavor by assuming he would stand aside and allow Cameron command of their men. The dún Scoti lived simply, traveled with little, and seemed uninterested in aught of value—insomuch as Cameron could tell. With Jaime’s support, Keane’s sister had attempted to raise him where she could, but Keane would sooner gut a bear to wear its hide as dress himself with Sassenach gold.
And now he suddenly wished to lead?
Because of her.
But as much as it had galled him, he well understood the inclination, for he suffered the same malady of the heart, and Keane had as much right to lead as Cameron did.
But despite his own thwarted plans to take Lianae to the king, Cameron was loyal to Keane. They had been friends now too long to play the man false. He simply hadn’t been willing to put his cousin at risk by allowing Keane to harbor the girl at Dunloppe, nor did he believe Keane was thinking all that clearly. He would save the fool from himself.
Conflicted although he was, Cameron persevered through the worsening weather, tracking the messengers along their journey south.
At least this way he wouldn’t be forced to make a difficult decision.
It was snowing thickly enough now that their hoof prints would be buried beneath a goodly amount of snow. The further they traveled south, the more he realized he couldn’t turn back, despite that he wanted to warn his good friend.
Trusting Keane to go to Keppenach first, he continued to follow. No matter what his original intentions, Dunloppe was no longer an option, although he didn’t like to think what Keane would feel once he awoke to find Lianae gone. And worse, soon thereafter, he would realize Cameron had left as well and he worried Keane would believe he’d been betrayed. He sorely regretted now not having taken him aside to tell him what he knew…
Lianae of Moray was a daughter of Óengus.
To make matters worse, Cameron also discovered a small vial of dwale in Murdoch’s satchel, which might well be responsible for all their aching bellies. The poison had been used once by MacBeth’s soldiers to fell an entire army, and in the wake of King Henry’s death, it could be a wide-reaching plot to remove those who would oppose Stephen’s rule. Of course, Cameron had no proof, but he knew in his gut Murdoch was up to no good. He’d been a rat once himself, so he could easily smell one. To test his theory, he gave Murdoch a small portion with his meal, and within moments, the man had gone sprinting into the woods. The only question now, was why the dwale?
Had he meant to poison the entire crew? If Murdoch should happen to murder the entire company, and had men at the ready to trade clothes, he might easily gain entrance to Dunràth under the king’s banner to free Óengus’s sons.
Was Lianae a spy as well?
Was Keane?
In his heart, Cameron prayed it wasn’t so, though if not, it was a rather unfortunate coincidence that Lianae had happened upon Lilidbrugh when she did and that Keane had been so hell bent upon seeing the pile of rubbish for himself. And then, there was this: Keane took to the lass rather quickly. All in all, the entire ordeal left Cameron with a bad feeling in his gut that he’d rather not explore. He only prayed Keane would prove innocent of any wrongdoing, although the truth would soon be known…
Keppenach’s walls rose up before him like an immense gray specter, looming up from the snow. With little wind, the king’s lion rampant banners hung limply from staffs on the ramparts, the bright golds and reds scarcely visible through a thick flurry of white.
Ahead of him, one of the messengers called to the watchman on wall, and after a moment the heavy portcullis rose. The gates groaned with their burden as they opened and Cameron sat mounted in his saddle, wondering where to go from here…
Follow inside?
Or go back to warn Keane?
He had only seconds left to decide.
If he went in, he might plead their case to the king, though if he did… Keane would unknowingly walk into treachery. And if Keane were guilty? Where did that leave Cameron?
Either way, they were at the king’s mercy.
With a creak and a groan, the chains began to tighten…
South had never been the dún Scoti’s favored direction to ride.
Trudging through thick drifts of snow, Keane’s mood remained sour. His men spoke not a word, but every last one had accompanied him, save for Murdoch. For all he knew, Murdoch might well be with Cameron.
Sullen bastard.
Despite Cameron’s obvious dissent, this was the last thing Keane would ever have expected from him. A smack to the jaw, perhaps, or a brawl in the snow, but to steal Lianae away? He realized the king’s men had been suspicious of her, and he could well comprehend their actions. If he’d been in a different position himself, Keane might have done precisely the same thing. But the one thing that spurred his ire more than aught else, and made his temper blacker than he could e’er recall, was the simple fact that Cameron had forsaken him. Some part of him understood why, but it galled him just the same.
Only briefly had he contemplated riding north. He didn’t believe Lianae would return that way. Deep in his gut, he sensed she was running—not searching for her missing brothers, despite what she’d claimed. There was no mistaking the bruises on her face and on her legs. She was running, or she would never have left so unprepared. And were she inclined to go back, she would have done so whilst they’d remained at Lilidbrugh, where she clearly knew the way home.
If there was a single bright note to the occasion, it was this: His men followed him without question, despite that they too must sense what was to come.
It wasn’t long before they reached their destination.
The gates of Keppenach opened at once. Keane hesitated but a moment before spurring his mount through the gates. The very instant they entered the courtyard, the gates were closed at once. And despite that his brother by law was laird of this keep, the king’s men at arms spilled into the courtyard, marching toward Keane and his company of men. He spied his sister’s countenance in a tower window, and he knew the situation was dire. Even from this distance, he could see the worry in her face.
They were surrounded.
“Stand down,” he commanded his men, for despite the livery they wore, not all were loyal to David. He knew that as well as anyone. Raising his hands in the air, Keane slid out of his saddle and his men all followed suit.
The laird of Keppenach appeared on the doorstep of the keep, arms crossed his expression foreboding. He was followed by David mac Mhaoil Chaluim.
“Keane dún Scoti!” the marshal announced, the very instant Keane’s feet touched the ground. “By command of David mac Maíl Choluim, Prince of the Cumbrians, Earl of Northhampton and Huntingdon, the Righ Art, the High King of the Scots and Chief of Chiefs, forebear of Kenneth MacAilpín, we must place you under arrest. Lay down your arms!”
Keane’s eyes met Jaime’s, and Jaime gave him a nod, as he plucked his sword from his scabbard, and tossed it down on the ground. He pulled the dirk from his boot as well and cast it down. And then the knife at his belt followed. He flung it before him. It clattered noisily across the stone courtyard.
“I am disarmed,” he announced, and all at once, the king’s men rushed forward. Binding his arms behind his back, they dragged Keane out of the courtyard.
Chapter 15
Lael blew into the gaols like a wrathful wind, her long, pale blue skirts sweeping the length of the crude dirt floor. “Keane! What ha’e ye done?”
Despite that he had not seen her now in more than a year, her face was unchanged. At thirty-two, after having borne four children—one nine, one eight and two wee ones under the age of four—Lael still looked like a lassie herself. The last time he saw her she was still pregnant with bairn number four, and he had yet to meet the youngest of her brood.
He leaned back against the prison wall. “I thought for sure my return to Keppenach would see me cozied in your new keep, with a brazier burning at my bedside. Instead, you toss me into your brig.” He smiled wryly, though his sister didn’t appear the least amused.
Her hands seized the prison bars. “Would that you had ne’er laid eyes upon this scabrous piece of my home,” she lamented. “Ach, Keane! I ha’e no love for these gaols.”
Keane shrugged, uncertain what to say.
“At least ye are no’ in chains,” his sister said, pointing at the wall beside him, where a pair of ancient, rusted irons with sharp-edged cuffs were bolted into the stone wall. By the looks of them, they would rot a man’s arm off. “Broc was held here once.”
There were few who’d not heard that tale. Troubadours sang of it still. Ten years past, his sister Lael had ridden out from Dubhtolargg, beside Broc Ceannfhionn, intending to take Keppenach. Instead, they’d found their heads in a noose. At the very last moment, the Demon Butcher rode through Keppenach’s gates, like a devil in black. Jaime cut her down from the gibbet, then promptly wed her. Unfortunately, Cameron’s cousin hadn’t had quite the same reception, despite his good fortune in the end. “Here, in this cell?”
Lael nodded. “Aye,” she said, and then she turned to face him with tears glistening in her stark green eyes. “Tell me what happened, Keane.”
“Haven’t they already said?”
Despite her glittering eyes, Lael tilted him an impatient look—that same impertinence he knew and loved so well. “Ach, now, would I be down here
askin’ if I knew? Nay, Keane. They’ve ensconced themselves in Jamie’s solar to discuss the matter—away from prying ears.”
“Yours included?”
“You are my brother, after all.”
Keane attempted to laugh, but the sound came out bitter. “A lot of sway that won me at your gates.”
Lael’s face fell. She gripped the bars with both hands. “Dinna make light of this, Keane. This is a serious matter, and ye dinna catch the king in a forgiving mood.”
“Is he ever?”
Lael gave him another impatient look, clearly in a less jovial mood than even Keane—which was saying quite a lot. “Aye,” she said quickly. “I have come to know the man and he is not the villain I once feared.”
“So says the woman who once cuffed him in the face?”
His sister’s cheeks blossomed with color. But she was being sincere, he realized, and she was defending the man whom she’d once sworn to kill—the very man who’d stolen their sister Catrìona from her bed in the middle of the night and then carried her south to barter in marriage to a fat, greasy-haired English earl. “So now ye tell me ye’ve a fondness for the eejit?”
“Shhhh!” Lael demanded, turning her head to be certain the guards did not overhear. “Dinna say such things! ’Tis no time for jests, brother.”
“Apparently not. It appears to me ye lost your good humor, right along with your desire for vengeance.”
“Aye, well, at least I do not wear his livery and then break his faith with every other word!”
Leave it to his sister not to mince words. Keane said naught in response, for it was the truth she spoke, and despite that he was innocent of whatever charges he had been accused of, he was indeed being a hypocrite, for he’d accepted a post he was loyal to in action, but not in spirit. He served a king he did not believe in.
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