by Jackie Ivie
“I hope you don’t refer to our wedding night, Rhoenne Ramhurst, because that was fain perfect. I have often envisioned it...” Her voice took on a husky timbre. She lowered her eyelashes. “At night. Alone. In this big bed...that once belonged to you.”
She flashed a glance toward him. Shied away. She felt a definite stir in the lap she sat atop. A blush slowly suffused her face and throat, sending warmth clear to her hairline.
He touched a kiss to her nose. “So beloved. So beauteous. And so desirable.”
“You still find me desirable?”
He slid her against his groin. Back and forth. Lifted his brows. “You need ask?”
Her lips parted. He groaned slightly. Trembled. His arms tightened for a moment.
“Oh, love. You are so perfect. So totally...perfect. You make me forget all else.”
“Good.”
He shifted her in his arms, held her against his belly again, scooted to the mattress edge, and stood. He cradled her in his arms, looking down at her with a smile. “I thought you said you were large. Cumbersome.”
“I am,” she replied.
“You are a slip of a thing. Beautiful beyond belief. Beloved past all reason. And I will na’ allow you to stay a moment longer in this small tower.”
“But...I like it.”
“You say the chieftain’s chambers have been cleared? Prepared. And blessed? Well. I am the laird of the Ramhurst clan. Earl of Tyneburgh. Chieftain. I’ve run from my responsibilities long enough. Time to take my rightful place. With my lady at my side. Emin!”
He smacked the door with a boot. Emin opened it, and stepped back for them pass him. He was grinning, and looked flushed. But that could be because Nessa wasn’t the only FitzHugh lass keeping him company on the landing.
She’d been joined by a flirtatious Maysie.
Chapter Thirty-One
The main door to the chieftain room opened. The one above the great hall.
Emin stepped out first, put his fingers to his lips and gave a whistle. A solitary drum started up. The beat was thunderous. Loud. And necessary. Almost deserted earlier, the great hall had grown crowded in the interim. Rhoenne gave a quick glance below. A row of guardsmen hovered at the bottom of the steps, preventing access. Grant and the rest of Rhoenne’s Honor Guard stood atop the dais, facing the crowd. They hadn’t drawn their swords, but they were definitely in an aggressive stance. Rhoenne could just make out the top of Aileen’s white caplet as if she cowered behind them.
Bagpipers started up next, sending a blaring sequence of notes throughout the room. The sound reverberated as it died away. Everyone looked up. Gawain MacDuff had been the clan bladier as long as Rhoenne could remember. The man stood two steps down from the landing. He had a massive voice, demonstrating why he held the position.
“Ramhurst clan! Listen, one and all! Just as you have heard! Our laird has returned and—!”
“Oh, Lord! I can na’ believe it!”
A female voice interrupted, and then she punctuated her words with a squeal. A din of noise burst out. Voices yelled cheers, drums thumped. More than one piper put a long-winded whine into the mix. MacDuff yelled more than once for quiet. It took some time before the crowd complied. Rhoenne stood beside Emin in the shadow of the open doorway. Watching. Waiting. The circular landing he was about to enter had been designed with this type of presentation in mind. Despite it being mid-afternoon and a day filled with low-hanging snow-cast clouds, weak daylight managed to stream through two high windows, creating a spotlight on the landing. The chandelier above glowed brightly with candle-filled lanterns. Lit torches on either side of the door added to the effect. Rhoenne turned his head and winked at Cassandra.
She wore a burgundy dress atop a light-gray kirtle. A silver collar spanned her shoulders. A matching headpiece covered the crown of her head. Both pieces had been rushed from the Ramhurst treasury. She looked radiant. Cool and elegant. Refined. Rhoenne pursed his lips. Beneath lurked a woman of immense passion and ardor...and he couldn’t wait to appreciate it. The cold water bath he’d taken in the cistern hadn’t been just for cleansing.
As if she knew his thoughts, she lifted her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss. Rhoenne’s knees wobbled, some of his weaponry rattled. And then MacDuff started orating again. Rhoenne lowered his chin, and gave Cassandra a look that made her gaze shy away. If he wasn’t mistaken, she blushed. And then he turned back and listened for his cue.
“Ramhurst clan! Behold! Just as you have heard! The Earl of Tyneburgh has returned! I present Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst! Our rightful laird and chieftain!”
“Oh my.”
Rhoenne heard Cassandra’s awed words a moment before the cheers started up again. He stepped out three steps, entering the light, and stood looking over the gathering. He straightened even more. His throat closed off. His eyes stung. His heart filled. It was more than pride. It was honor and respect.
He pulled the ceremonial claymore from its scabbard at his back and lifted his arm. The blade was old, heavy, had been used in battle more than once. The sound of cheers swelled to a roar, especially with the addition of drums and bagpipes. Rhoenne’s arm was trembling before sheathed his blade. The room quieted. He turned and held his hand out for Cassandra. Nodded at MacDuff.
“And I present to you our countess, the princess Cassandra!”
She stepped out, gliding toward him. And then every man pulled the tam from his head, put sword tips to the wooden floor, and went down onto a knee, while the women joined them. He lifted Cassandra’s fingers to his lips, and pulled her to his side. Rhoenne took a breath.
“Rise, Ramhurst clan!”
His voice rang out, as loud as, yet even deeper then the bladier. The response was immediate and loud. Rhoenne didn’t wait. He motioned MacDuff to precede them down the steps. Rhoenne kept Cassandra at his side, nearest the wall. She couldn’t possibly see what was happening. Her head barely reached his shoulder. Her fingers trembled within his. Her glances were filled with something massive; Love, trust...and pride. His throat closed off. His heart pounded. He blinked back the wayward emotion.
And his chest was definitely puffed out.
The guards made a corridor for them. Rhoenne moved Cassandra to his left side and strode firmly to the dais, his boots thumping with each step. The bladier, MacDuff was on Rhoenne’s right side, making quick steps. Cassandra somehow kept pace effortlessly, as if she knew his intent. Rhoenne had a crowd to impress. He may be their laird by birth, but he was a leader on his own merit. He’d earned it. He was undefeated list champion. He’d been the largest back then. He was even bigger now. Save for Emin two steps behind at his back, few men neared him in height, and none had the same brawn.
At their approach, his four Honor Guardsmen moved as a unit to stand side-by-side at the front of the platform, swords held before them, hilts at their chests, tips down. They hadn’t had an opportunity to bathe or change. It actually added to their impact. They looked more than impressive. They looked battle-honed, and ready. He could barely see the bottom of Aileen’s skirt behind their legs.
The woman needed protection? Here, in the great hall of Tyne Castle? From Ramhurst clan?
That was interesting.
Rhoenne pondered it as he escorted Cassandra up the steps. He walked with her to his chair at the center. All the chairs were large, but the chieftain’s was especially massive. Aileen stood beside it, giving mute challenge with her stance. She had her head flung back. Two spots of color stained her cheeks. Her lips were tongue-moistened. She wasn’t much taller than Cassandra.
“Step to your place,” Rhoenne told her.
“Good eve to you, too, Rhoenne.”
Her voice was a sultry sound. Rhoenne felt Cassandra stiffen slightly.
“You are na’ countess, Aileen,” he informed her.
“Well. I would be, save that you are such a...poor lover,” she lowered her voice on the last two words, using a huskier tone, alluding something illicit. Forbidden.
Secretive. And shared.
He knew her intent. He recognized it. She didn’t speak for his benefit. Nor was it directed to the Honor Guardsmen. The words were meant for Cassandra. Aileen was watching for any reaction from his wife. Cassandra must not be responding the way she was supposed to for a slight frown marred Aileen’s forehead as Rhoenne narrowed his eyes and lowered his chin.
“It will na’ work on me anymore, sister.” Rhoenne couldn’t prevent the sneer as he spoke her title. “I never touched you. That time, or any other. You know it. As do I.” He lowered his voice to a throb of sound.
“You...disclaim it now, do you?”
“You wish to hear it from Grant, do you?”
She paled. He tried not to let the flush of success show, but it colored his voice. “Thanks to him, I now ken exactly what you did to me. And to my father. Exactly.”
Something resembling fear flashed across her eyes, but it was instantly gone, replaced by a sheen of glass-like opacity. He realized Henry had been right all those year earlier. Aileen was definitely a serpent. He should have guessed what next she’d say.
“I suppose you’ll next claim you did na’ run from a charge of murdering your younger brother five years past?”
The four guardsmen stiffened. Someone gave a gasp. Cassandra’s fingers tightened within his, but she didn’t give any outward sign that Aileen had said anything shocking. Rhoenne kept his gaze on Aileen as he lifted Cassandra’s hand to his lips. He gave her fingers a lingering kiss before letting go. And then he vaulted up to stand on the seat of the chieftain chair. He swiveled toward the crowd and pulled in a large breath.
“Ramhurst clan!” he bellowed.
There was an instant pause throughout the great hall. Rhoenne filled it with more yelled words. “I stand before you now. The fifth Earl of Tyneburgh! Chieftain by birth – but afore you accept me, I must tell you something that may change your minds!”
Silence greeted his words. Rhoenne continued.
“I left you five years back...na’ because I wished to, but for a reason! A grave tragedy. This is about the death of my bairn brother, Bhaltair...and my part in it. I need to explain. Speak of things long buried. You see, ’twas a day like any other. Spent hunting. Fishing. What happened is—!”
A loud blast from more than one piper drowned out his words. The sound emanated from the entry and continued on unabated as if he hadn’t been addressing his clan. Rhoenne wasn’t the only one glaring as KilCreggar clansmen in black and gray plaide poured into the chamber. They spanned outward until they numbered several score. They had swords bared and spears lifted, looking exactly like a clan on unfriendly terms.
And then they hoisted his friend and mentor, Henry FitzHugh onto a table.
“Apologies, my laird! They would na’ have been allowed through the gates, save for the man with them. ’Tis clansman...Henry FitzHugh!” MacDuff announced nonsensically.
Henry pointed across the room right at Rhoenne. “Greetings, Laird Ramhurst!” Then he swept his arms outward to include the room. “And may I extend greetings to all the members of Clan Ramhurst assembled herewith! I have brought KilCreggar clan to also...greet you! We’ve ridden non-stop to make it!”
“Why bring them here? You ken the consequences!”
“They told me a grand tale, Ramhurst. While they were sheltering me and the wife.”
“Wife?” Rhoenne’s outburst was joined by several voices simultaneously.
“Do na’ be so shocked. Rhoenne Ramhurst is na’ the lone man to return from the east with a wife. I have also just wed. Her name is Ida. Someday you may all meet her! But that is na’ the reason I am here, nor why I have brought the KilCreggar clan laird with me! Laird Dughall, show yourself!”
A balding, red-bearded man stepped up onto the table beside Henry. The man was in fine shape for his age but had a definite paunch. He had his sword drawn, and planted the tip into the wood at his feet. Rhoenne regarded the duo for long moments.
“This is a surprise Laird Dughall KilCreggar! But I do na’ ken the need for arms. We have na’ been at actual war for years.”
“We soon might be,” Henry responded.
That comment got a lot of reaction. Several voices shouted for quiet. It wasn’t until the pipers started up again that the room settled down enough to hear.
“What have you done, FitzHugh?” Rhoenne asked loudly.
“This is na’ about me, Ramhurst! You ken exactly what it’s about and why I have come.”
Rhoenne’s blood went icy. His heart dropped. “Nae, Henry. No. I forbid it. If you say one word—.”
“You will banish me,” Henry interrupted loudly, finishing the threat. “After you flay me. I ken. You made it verra clear. Well. I accept the terms. And have provided for them! Should any of that happen, I have taken a new laird....and a new clan.” Henry opened his Ramhurst plaid cloak and dropped it, revealing he wore KilCreggar sett beneath it.
His announcement was swallowed up by an outpouring of angered voices that continued unabated until the pipers drowned them out again.
“You can na’ change clan allegiance, Cousin!” Angus spoke when words could again be heard.
“Of course, I can. Any man can. ’Tis a free land!”
Rhoenne took a deep breath. Tried for calmness. A voice of reason. “Henry. Do na’ do this.”
“What choice have I got?” Henry replied.
“Damn you, FitzHugh! On the memory of my father, I beg it of you!”
“And you already ken...that is just why I must speak!” Henry’s voice broke.
Rhoenne pulled his sword over his shoulder again and held it aloft. “I challenge you to a battle. Right now. Afore you say one word!”
“Verra well! I accept! But not until after I have spoken!”
“I will na’ let you do this!”
He had to reach Henry. Pull him off the table. And throttle him.
Rhoenne leapt down, hit the floor of the dais, preparatory to launching toward Henry and the laird of KilCreggar. He didn’t even see Grant’s arm. The blow hit Rhoenne’s midsection, and sent him reeling into a smaller chair. His sword fell with a clatter. The chair rocked backward precariously. And no one even noticed because Grant jumped up onto the chieftain seat and started his own spate of yelling.
“Wait! All of you! Wait! Afore we go to bloodshed, let me speak!”
“Speaking now is Grant Ramhurst, cousin of the earl!” MacDuff orated.
“I am Viscount Tyneburgh now! His Majesty awarded me the title na’ three days past. Henry FitzHugh kens this. He was there.”
Most of the crowd looked at Henry. He nodded.
Rhoenne was desperate. Almost panicked. He had to do something before the Ramhurst name and legacy was shamed forever. Yet the moment he thought it, Cassandra was there. She perched at the edge of the adjacent chair, reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. Rhoenne lifted his gaze to hers and everything altered. His heartbeat. His pulse. His hearing. Even time.
Her eyes widened suddenly and she gave a slight gasp. He watched her place her free hand atop their babies. The beatific smile she gave him instantly pacified. Everything felt right. And warm. And completely peaceful. Despite the words that would soon be spoken. And what might ensue. Rhoenne blinked several times with the surprise.
“Verra well. Ramhurst clan! I present to you Grant Ramhurst, Viscount Tyneburgh!”
MacDuff said it loudly in his official voice. Nobody cheered, making Grant’s words easily heard.
“I want to hear what Henry FitzHugh has to say. I need to ken what this is about. As should we all!”
There was a chorus of ‘ayes’ throughout the great hall. The sound echoed through the room as it quieted again.
“Well, Henry. We await your words. Speak them!”
Grant ordered it. Rhoenne closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and forced each breath to follow the next in a calm, modulated fashion.
Betraying nothing.
“I want you to
ken afore I start...that this is the most difficult thing I have ever done. I swore a vow of secrecy over this and I have always been a man of my word.”
Rhoenne bit back an acidic retort about the keeping of vows. And how a man’s word was his bond. Never to be broken. But then realization hit him worse than Grant’s blow. He was guilty of the same. He’d violated a vow when he’d wed Cassandra.
As if to punctuate things, a stifled chortle sounded from Aileen. Rhoenne swallowed. He didn’t turn to where she still hovered, on the other side of Grant. He didn’t care what expression she’d have.
“Your banishment will depend on what you tell us. And if Rhoenne retains leadership of the clan once we hear,” Grant said solemnly.
“Oh. He will.”
“What makes you so certain?” Grant asked.
“Because I was there the day Bhaltair Ramhurst died. I ken what happened. I just did na’ ken all of it until recent.”
Silence descended on the hall. Rhoenne noted absently that Aileen was no longer chuckling.
“Go on,” Grant prompted.
“Your laird was about to speak on how Bhaltair died. And what caused his death.”
There was a collective gasp. Rhoenne’s shoulders flinched.
“Rhoenne said it was a day of hunting and fishing. ’Tis true enough. He was successful, too. I was on watch. He had just killed a red deer and was dressing it out with a skean. That’s when I saw Bhaltair. The lad was less than ten paces behind his brother. Ten paces! You ken how close that is! The lad had his bow pulled...with an arrow at the ready.”
Cassandra’s fingers clenched on his. Rhoenne slid his thumb pad along her finger.
“I was too far away to change anything. I shouted a warning. Too late. As I raced toward them I watched Bhaltair shoot his brother – right in the back. Rhoenne heard or mayhap he sensed something, for he moved. That is why the arrow did na’ spear his heart. It went in about here. And it was sticking out...right here.”
Henry pointed to the spots on his ribs, back and then front. There was another collective gasp from the crowd, several cries, and more than one woman sounded like she wept. Rhoenne didn’t react. He knew where the scars were. So did Cassandra.