by Wacht, Peter
“Yes, if he survives.”
“True.” Thomas had worn a target on his back for a decade, ever since the fall of the Crag. With him being proclaimed the Highland Lord officially, that target had only grown larger. Gregory was certain that the High King’s desire to remove the new Highland Lord had only increased after yesterday’s humiliation. “Perhaps there is something we could do about that.”
Sarelle grinned mischievously. “I do love intrigue, Gregory.” She pulled the King of Fal Carrach against her, her words spoken softly and close to his ear. “We should talk about what you have in mind later when our discussion would benefit from some needed privacy.”
Gregory flushed at Sarelle’s words and was glad that she couldn’t see his reaction. Just as there was something about Thomas that intrigued Kaylie, there was something about Sarelle that piqued Gregory’s interest. He didn’t know what it was, but he meant to find out.
After several dances in which Gregory and Sarelle didn’t feel the need to speak, they both decided it was time to exit the floor. Gregory reluctantly released his hold of her, something that Sarelle noticed, which sent a delightful quiver through her.
“You dance wonderfully, Gregory. You should do it more often.”
“Perhaps I will. If I can find the right partner.”
Gregory stepped back and bowed, kissing her hand.
Sarelle stared at him, somewhat surprised, not only by his action but also by what he had said. She didn’t think his comment referred solely to dancing. Sarelle was used to being the predator in her relationship with Gregory, but at the moment she felt like the prey. And she liked it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Marcher Mettle
Rodric’s already foul mood worsened as the feast continued. Every attempt to embarrass this upstart Highland Lord had failed miserably. How could a boy purportedly raised in a forest learn a dance reserved for royalty? Who could have taught him?
Because of this boy, this whelp who didn’t know when he should just lay down and die, his plans for the Highlands – a ten-year design – were in ruins. Yet no matter what he tried, he could not gain the upper hand. Another scheme began to form after he scanned the crowd, and he felt the need to try one more time, to show all those who had gathered here in his citadel that these Highlanders were no better than rabble and didn’t deserve a chair at the Council of the Kingdoms.
If he couldn’t embarrass the boy directly, maybe he could humiliate the new Highland Lord in another way. His eyes had settled on the Marchers sitting at a table at the back of the room. Perhaps he could use the boy’s soldiers instead to make his point. As the music died, he walked toward the Highlanders, stopping in front of the Highland Swordmaster.
“Your lord has done well on the dance floor this evening,” acknowledged Rodric, speaking loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “But I haven’t seen any of you out there with him, helping to uphold the honor of the Highlands.”
Coban stared daggers at the High King, knowing his goal. None of the Highlanders knew the dances of the nobility. Why would they?
“We would be honored, Rodric,” replied Thomas, who had come up behind him on silent feet.
The High King jumped at the voice. Rodric had the unsettling thought that if the boy had wanted to slip a dagger between his ribs, he could do so before Rodric even realized that he was a dead man. The Highland Lord smiled arrogantly at him, which only served to irritate the High King more.
Pulling Oso and Aric aside, Thomas spoke to them briefly. They nodded and hurried out of the chamber. He then motioned for the Highlanders to follow him to the dance floor. They did so reluctantly, almost dragging their feet, knowing the High King’s intention and realizing that there was little they could do to avoid the likely embarrassment that was to come next.
“Thomas, we can’t dance like this,” whispered Coban. “We’ll make fools of ourselves. That’s what Rodric wants.”
“Don’t worry, Coban. Just do what I do. Rodric suggested that we dance. He didn’t suggest how we should dance.”
A space opened up on the dance floor as Thomas and the Highlanders approached, everyone in the ballroom watching them expectantly. With a sharp movement of his hand, Thomas gave the command to form a battle line. The Marchers instinctively obeyed. The musicians raised their instruments, about to begin playing, but they hesitated when Thomas turned toward them.
“My friends, you and your fellows have played wonderfully all evening. I think you deserve a rest. If you would allow us, we would like to provide the music for the next few minutes.”
“What are you doing, Thomas?” hissed Coban, his face flushing as he felt the eyes of everyone in the chamber on him and not wanting to be the center of attention.
“Trust me, Coban. Rodric wants to see us dance, and we shall. But we will dance to the music that we know.”
It was then that Oso and Aric ran back into the chamber, Aric carrying a small drum and Oso the set of pipes that Anara had carved for him. They settled themselves on the musicians’ platform behind the line of Marchers. Thomas nodded to Oso, and he and Aric began to play an old song about a Highlander in love with a woman who rejects his multiple requests to marry, often in hilarious fashion.
The rhythm of the song was designed to get the blood flowing, and it certainly worked with the Marchers. Knowing the tune, and smiling with delight, they allowed their instincts to take over. Their feet pounded on the dance floor, serving as an additional instrument to the pipes and drums played by their two compatriots. As the music increased in pace, so did the Marchers, beginning to weave among themselves in an intricate pattern. Everyone in the chamber watched in rapt fascination, never having seen the like. Many in the audience began to clap in time with the music, their feet tapping as well.
For several minutes the Highlanders cast their spell on those watching them. Then in a flash Thomas shot forward, his hand outstretched. Too late, Kaylie saw that Thomas was coming directly toward her. A bolt of fear shot through her as she realized that he was going to pull her into the dance. But then she observed Corelia trying to get in front of her and in Thomas’ path.
A quick spark of anger burned away her fright. Kaylie stepped forward, blocking Corelia’s advance. Grasping her hand, Thomas pulled Kaylie out on to the dance floor, the Marchers dancing around them in a circle that constantly changed direction and size. Caught up in the moment, the pace and excitement of the Marchers energized her. She loved every minute of the dance, allowing herself to be lost within the rhythm and flow.
The clapping of the crowd grew in intensity, many whooping and hollering as the tempo of the dance quickened. Gregory was one of them, tapping his foot, clapping his hands, and cheering his daughter on. He didn’t notice Sarelle as she slipped up beside him.
“This young Highland Lord certainly is intriguing. So full of surprises. What do you see?”
Gregory waited a moment before answering, watching the dance come to an end and yelling his approval with the rest of the audience.
“I see his grandfather.”
Sarelle nodded. “So do I.”
“And I see something more,” said Gregory. “It seems like Thomas is carrying more than just the weight of the Highlands on his shoulders. Danger, perhaps? An added strength? Maybe both. I’m not entirely sure.”
Gregory looked down at Sarelle, noting the slightly worried expression on her face, as if she hadn’t yet reached her own conclusion.
“Whatever it is, though, I like it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
All Smiles
After several more Highland dances, many of the participants began to exit the chamber, making for their beds or other pleasures that could be experienced in the privacy of their rooms. Thomas escorted Kaylie back to her father, her hand still tightly held in his.
“Thank you for allowing me to dance with Kaylie, King Gregory. It was truly a pleasure and made what could have been a rather dull event much more exciting.”
“You’re q
uite welcome, Thomas. I hope we will be speaking again soon. There is much our two Kingdoms need to work out.” The intent of Gregory’s words left no doubt of what would be discussed.
“We will. I just need to clean up a few things in the Highlands first. Then we can address some of the larger issues plaguing the Kingdoms.”
Thomas was certain that Gregory knew what he meant. Turning to Kaylie, he inclined his head and brought his lips to the back of her hand.
“Princess, thank you. Tonight wouldn’t have succeeded without you.”
Kaylie’s eyes narrowed as she sensed Thomas using the Talent. She looked down as an object slowly took shape in Thomas’ palm. In just a few seconds Thomas held a red rose in his hand, which he gave to Kaylie.
“Thank you for indulging me this evening.”
As Thomas turned and walked away, Kaylie called after him.
“Will I be seeing you again, Thomas?” A note of worry had snuck into her voice.
Thomas looked at her quite seriously for a moment, then grinned.
“I expect you will, Princess. Perhaps more than you would like.” Bowing to her deeply, he walked out of the chamber.
Kaylie smiled at Thomas’ last comment, but it turned into a grimace when she saw the grin on her father’s face.
“Why are you smiling, father?”
“No reason,” he replied, trying to control his good humor. “No reason at all.”
Unfortunately his attempts to hide his mood failed. As he escorted his daughter back to their rooms, she fixed him with a hard glare that only made him grin that much more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Black Widow
After taking his leave of Gregory and Kaylie, Thomas paid his respects to Sarelle, who seemed intent on continuing her conversation with Gregory, Rendael and the other rulers friendly to the Highlands, before heading down to the stables. Coban, Oso and the other Marchers should already be there, preparing to depart. Though the Council of the Kingdoms was put forward as a time of peace, no Marcher wanted to spend the night behind the walls of Eamhain Mhacha and within easy reach of the High King.
The evening had been an exercise in many things for Thomas. Patience. Perseverance. Self-control. It was also an opportunity to begin confirming who among the Kingdoms’ monarchs he could trust, who he could trust to stab him in the back, and who would side with Rodric when the High King attacked the Highlands. And the High King would attack. Thomas had no doubt of that. It was simply a question of what excuse Rodric would concoct to do so.
As Thomas walked silently down the halls, he mused at how nice it would be if he were to run into Killeran right then. Quiet and dark within the keep, much could happen with no one the wiser. A sense of danger that sent a spark of warning up his spine forced his thoughts back to the present and stopped him in his tracks, his hand automatically grasping the hilt of his dagger. He sensed someone in front of him, his sharp eyes catching the shape of a person hidden in one of the many dark alcoves that dotted the hallway.
“Show yourself,” said Thomas sternly.
The figure hesitated just a moment before emerging from the gloom into the dim light. The torches set into the wall sconces were few and far between, casting irregular and distracting shadows across the stone. Thomas’ hand stayed on his dagger. He remained wary, remembering the darkness he had sensed earlier in the day in Eamhain Mhacha that he had not been able to identify. As the shape walked into the trembling light, he knew who it was by the sway of its hips.
“So forceful,” said the woman in a silky voice, stepping close to Thomas to reveal her luxurious gown and long, blonde tresses, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. “You need not be afraid of me.”
“I don’t know, Corelia. For their own safety, most men likely should fear you.”
The High King’s daughter let loose a rich, throaty laugh. Looking at her, he could believe the stories he had heard. How she gained whatever she wanted, no matter the cost, and no matter at whose expense. Judging by her calculating gaze, obviously she was trying to determine how he fit into her world. How she could use him to attain her goals. The question was, what were her plans for him and was she acting alone?
“You are a remarkable person, Thomas,” she said, circling him slowly, taking in everything about him. “From accused murderer to vanquisher of the Makreen to Lord of the Highlands in just a matter of months. And you walk these halls unafraid, even though you nearly killed my brother in a duel, unconcerned that perhaps the High King would view this as an opportunity to take his vengeance on you.”
“I have no doubt that your father will seek to take his revenge,” said Thomas. “In fact, I hope he does. Your father and I have unfinished business. And your brother got what he deserved. Some would say he is lucky to still be drawing breath.”
Thomas’ words set Corelia’s eyes blazing, but not in anger. Rather his certainty and lack of fear only stirred her excitement and her interest in him. Was Thomas an obstacle or an opportunity? She couldn’t decide which. Perhaps he was both.
“True. Very true. I cannot disagree.” The Princess of Armagh continued to circle. “You have much to offer a woman, Thomas. Smart, handsome, an excellent fighter. You know I, too, have talents.”
She stopped right in front of him, stepping close again. He felt her breath on his cheek as she leaned into him, her voice smoky. If he leaned forward just a tiny bit, their lips would touch. No matter how much he may have desired it, he understood the danger of that happening.
“You are the Lord of the Highlands,” continued Corelia. She brushed her fingers lightly across his arm, outlining the corded muscle in his forearm. “I am the Princess of Armagh. Together we could be so much more.”
Thomas stood there as still as stone, looking Corelia in the eye. He noticed the way her hair curled at her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, how her gown hugged her body. A truly beautiful woman, yet also extremely dangerous. She was smart, cunning and could seduce a man easily with her charms. Then when she gained what she desired, leave him in the street with a knife in the gut.
“I will think on it, Princess.”
Thomas gently freed his arm and began walking down the hallway, eager to reach the stables and his friends, and more than a little uneasy by his reaction to Corelia. Despite his worries, he couldn’t help but feel the light touch of attraction.
“By all means, Thomas. Remember, though, that my father wants you dead and the Highlands for his own. If we work together, I’m sure we could eliminate that threat. We both could gain what we want.”
Thomas stopped and turned to look back at her. Corelia stood there calm and collected, but the image she presented didn’t match her words, which had taken him by surprise. He understood what she implied but had never thought she would take such a risk.
“I will think on it, Princess.”
Corelia stared after Thomas, even after the darkness consumed him. She was getting closer, she thought, pleased with herself. Convincing Thomas to trust her would take time. And then she could do what she did best.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Shocking Surprise
Thomas strode briskly down the dimly lit hallway, remembering that he had a few more turns to make before he reached the stables and his Marchers. He wanted to leave Eamhain Mhacha as soon as possible. After all that had happened during the evening, and his unsettling experience with Corelia Tessaril, he needed to get outside the stone and into the cool night so that he could think about how to handle the challenges ahead for him and the Highlands.
As he approached the courtyard that led to the stables, he found it odd that no one was about, especially on an evening such as this one with so many revelers in the citadel. Yet the only sound he heard were his boots striking the stone of the walkway. It reminded him of what it was like in the forest when quiet descended, the songs of the birds and the skittering of the smaller animals coming to a stop. Silence in a forest meant only one thing. A predator was on the hunt.
Stepping into the courtyard, Thomas touched the hilt of his dagger, taking some comfort in the action. It was the only weapon he had brought into the keep with him because of the Council restrictions. But knowing that he had at least that blade at hand helped to settle his nerves somewhat. Maybe it was his recent encounter with the Princess of Armagh that made him feel as he did now. He was on edge, his sense of awareness heightened as he took in everything around him, his eyes peering into the darkness. The feeling that something was off continued to nag at him. It would certainly make sense. The Princess of Armagh had a way about her that could make even the strongest, most confident man uncomfortable. She had clearly done so to him with barely a touch. Speaking with Corelia rarely was direct. Instead, interactions with her tended to involve insinuations and suggestions, allowing the other person’s mind to wander onto whatever path she placed before them. Obviously, she enjoyed the game she played. But Thomas did not. He didn’t have the patience for her games. He likely acquired that preference from his grandfather, Rynlin, who had little tolerance for anyone not willing to say what was on their mind.
“A word, my young Highland Lord.”
Thomas halted in the middle of the courtyard, his hand ready to pull the dagger from its sheath. His unease grew. He had used the Talent to sense all that was around him as he made his way to the stables, yet he had not identified the figure who approached him now from a shady alcove. Something wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t know what it could be. He allowed his hand to drop from his dagger’s hilt as the woman stepped into the moonlight.
Sarelle Makarin, Queen of Benewyn, stood before him. Her dark green dress accentuated her green eyes and set off her auburn hair. A beautiful woman, but also a ruthless negotiator. She had to be as her Kingdom relied on trade for its independence and economic success.
“Queen Sarelle,” said Thomas, offering a slight nod of his head, somewhat perplexed. He had left the throne room well before her and at the time she had been engaged in a discussion with Gregory and several others. How had she gotten to the courtyard before him? “I didn’t expect you here. Last I saw, you were talking with King Gregory.”