Knight Everlasting

by Jackie Ivie

  Barbarians. Heathens. Savages.

  She’d known. She’d feared. She’d tried to escape. Now, she was here . . . and caught. And there was nobody to blame but her.

  The spilled drink was gone and there was a general clapping and laughing and slapping of shoulders about the floor below Dugald’s table. The girl who’d spilled it was laughing, too. It coarsened her, altering the beauty she’d had moments before. Juliana’s lips thinned. The girl would have need of her beauty. It was obvious to a trained eye that Dugald’s favor was a fickle one. Any lass catching his eye had a finite and short reign. He obviously replaced them the moment they had some age to them.

  “Juliana?”

  The voice at her left ear sent a whisper of air over her shoulder and onto flesh she should have covered. Juliana felt the ripple of reaction at her throat and then the shiver that followed it, racing along her skin to center right at her nipples, giving him every sign she wanted his attention . . . if he looked.

  Juliana turned her head slightly and glanced up. He definitely looked. And then he moved the dark ale color of his eyes to hers. Juliana’s heart sank. She lost her disgust, dismay . . . everything. She gained pure intensity and potency and awareness in their place. A buzz affected one ear and she tilted it slightly. His features softened into a smile and she returned it. Instantly and immediately. Why had no one warned her of the power this love emotion wielded?

  “You doona’ eat any more?” He gestured toward the trencher plates. Juliana followed his hand before returning to his gaze.

  “I’m . . . not hungry.”

  He cleared his throat, grimaced slightly, and tilted his head back to look toward the ceiling before lowering it back to her. “Then, come. We’ve finished.”

  Come? With him? Now? With everyone watching?

  “Wait!”

  She stopped him midmovement. She could tell by the tension all along him from where he’d risen from the chair and the rapt attention he gave her.

  “For what?”

  “You . . . didn’t eat.”

  Juliana waited with a baited breath before he relaxed and lowered back into a sit. Then he reached out, plucked up a piece of something, and popped it into his mouth, chewed maliciously, and swallowed. Then he turned back to her.

  “Verra well.” He nodded. “I ate.”

  He was on his feet and pulling her without giving her any time to assimilate anything else. He had her gripped against his right side next, with an arm looped around her torso, making it easy to lift her from the ground and start walking toward the end of his dais.

  His men were rising to their feet, one by one, before Aidan reached them, assisting their ladies either to their feet, or shoving them closer to the table, making a pathway for Aidan to walk through.

  It was perfectly orchestrated and carried out, as if planned. Then Aidan was on the common floor, lifting her even more securely against his side, and Juliana buried her face into his shoulder. If he had to make it apparent to all what she was to him and where he took her, she didn’t have to see it.

  Crowd noise swelled about them, due more to her new awareness of it than interest in their exit. Shouts and cries and lyre music and swells of laughter were still occurring all around her when Aidan forwent any appearance of escorting her in a genteel fashion. Juliana gasped as he swung her up and into his arms without one hint of warning. That position put her level with the clansmen all about, since Aidan was so much taller. Juliana turned her face fully into his upper chest.

  He’d reached an exit and shoved past anyone standing in his way, and then he was walking by any spiral stairs that would lead to his chambers. Juliana turned her head slightly and peeked. She didn’t see much. They were still on the lower level where no window slits or other weaknesses had been constructed into the structure. There were torches lining the walkway, but they weren’t sufficient to overcome the gloom.

  He jogged up three steps into another corridor, and then turned right. Juliana moved her head farther. Men were following him, but there were more than three steps, if the way their heads bobbed was any indication. Aidan must have taken two at a time. Or more.

  “Where . . . are you taking me?”

  She moved her eyes up, caught Aidan’s instant glance before he looked ahead again. He had his jaw locked if the taut look of it was any indication. He didn’t answer but she knew he’d heard her. They entered a room, long and high, with a ceiling of wood supported by arches, and Juliana’s eyes went wide as she looked up at them.

  “Where . . . are we?” she asked.

  He glanced sidelong at her before looking over her head again. “My household,” he replied, before going to another jog of motion, crossing the room with footsteps that echoed.

  “Not . . . your chamber?” she asked in a little voice.

  He stopped, right beneath an archway at the far end. He pulled in a huge sigh of breath, making her rise with it. He had everything scrunched on his face and his arms so tight about her, Juliana was having trouble breathing. Then, he started shuddering, making her shake with it. He opened his eyes when he released his breath and met hers with a wary look that elevated her pulse to a nearly unbearable speed.

  “Is . . . that what you want?” he asked.

  Juliana’s entire body lurched against him. Yes. No. Yes!

  No...

  He smirked, sending a huff of breath about her forehead, then he did that slight head duck he made before moving again. They entered another tower, containing more spiraled stairs, with halls leading from them at intervals. Aidan didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate. He went clear to the top floor and turned into that hall. There were scattered torches in the cavernous hall, making a darkness that engulfed them as he walked. The clansmen accompanying him were still climbing the stairs. They could be heard but not seen yet as Aidan approached a large, iron-studded door and kicked at it.

  “Come in, my laird.”

  Juliana’s eyes were wide not only at the ancient-sounding voice, but the surety behind it as to who would be calling.

  “Dame Lileth.”

  Aidan said the greeting as he walked to the center of a large room lit mainly from the fire in her fireplace. There were myriad scattered candles all about shelves and niches, putting a cloyingly sweet haze into the air. Then Aidan was tilting to put Juliana’s feet toward the floor. He waited for a few moments while she found her balance before opening his arms. He released her fully and started backing from her toward the door. Juliana turned to watch him.

  “You brought the lass to me?” the old woman asked.

  “’Tis the lone place she’ll be safe.”

  The old woman laughed heartily, but it had a jarring sound not unlike that of broken pottery. “’Tis ever safe with you, Aidan Niall MacKetryck,” she replied.

  “Na’ from me,” he replied.

  “Where is your Campbell clan missive?”

  “Stuck to the ceiling of my great hall,” Aidan replied.

  “’Twill be hard to answer from there.”

  Her laughter got even louder. Aidan stepped back farther, leaving a vast chasm of chill between them. Juliana rubbed her arms together at the loss of his warmth.

  “True,” Aidan said finally.

  “Go then. I’ll keep your Sassenach lass . . . safe,” Dame Lileth announced.

  Juliana heard Aidan’s grunt of surprise from the door. It covered over her own gasp, but nothing stopped the shocked look they exchanged.

  “Sassenach?” Aidan finally asked.

  “She has the look of one . . . and the bearing. She probably speaks the Frankish tongue. Doona’ tell me you dinna’ note it yourself, sweet laird.”

  “Juliana?” He didn’t say it warmly. It was said with every bit of how he must have felt about being deceived and tricked. Juliana swiveled toward him.

  “Y-Yes?” she asked with just a hint of warble to it.

  “Is this true?”

  “Yes,” she replied, ignoring the unpleasant shivers runn
ing all over her arms.

  Aidan looked to the ceiling while taking huge gulps of air. His men had caught up to him. They appeared to be shadowing the torch-lit area behind him with even more man-shaped darkness.

  “MacDonal clan took the castle and the villages . . . but they left some of you alive? Perhaps those that had a use, or surrendered . . . or hid?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “So . . . this last massacre . . . the English killed their own? Including the woodcutter?”

  She nodded.

  “This is why you fought your rescue.”

  She didn’t answer. It wasn’t really a question.

  He grunted. He pulled himself to his full height and crossed his arms about his chest. In the spliced area of shadow and light he stood in, he looked massive, immovable, and frightening. Juliana’s shoulders ducked slightly despite the hold she was exerting on her entire frame.

  “I must ask you something, Juliana. Afore I decide what is best.”

  “That does na’ sound rash and reckless.” Dame Lileth spoke up from the fireplace.

  Aidan put up his hand toward the woman. “Juliana, when I ask this, you must be truthful. Fully. You ken?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He sucked in another breath, making his chest enlarge and moving his locked arms up with it. “Could you cleave unto a Highlander, forsaking your own kind?”

  “C-C-C-Could . . . I?” she asked. She was stammering worse than anything Arran managed. Her eyes went huge as an emotion so close to glee filled her, she felt surrounded by the brightness of it. Blinded by it. Juliana suspected she glowed with it. She clasped both hands together and shoved them to her breast in an effort to contain it. A lump was completely blocking her throat and pounding huge beats from there to fill her with what had to be absolute joy. There was no way to contain it.

  “Could you cleave unto a Highlander of the MacKetryck clan? Putting nae other man afore him?”

  “Oh . . . Aidan.” The words didn’t make much sense, since they were shoved past the obstruction in her throat and filled with the shake of tears. Juliana couldn’t believe what he was asking. For him, she’d forsake heaven.

  He looked stern. Unforgiving. As if he detested everything about this . . . and about her. As if he hated asking what he was asking. Juliana had to drop her eyes.

  “Juliana. I ask again. And be clear. Could you cleave until a MacKetryck Highlander, putting nae . . . other man afore him?”

  His voice was choked-sounding and raw. She couldn’t tell what that meant, and she wasn’t looking. She was too afraid.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “You would forsake being English, and become Scot?”

  “Yes,” Juliana whispered again.

  “You vow it?”

  “Yes.” How many times did she have to tell him yes? Yes, Aidan, Yes. I love you! I’d give up heaven for you!

  Juliana looked up then and wished she hadn’t. His eyes looked like black stones, with the sheen of moisture atop them. His mouth was set and hard into a look of hatred. Everything about him looked filled with hatred. And he’d aged in the light cast from the woman’s fire and tapers as well. Then he moved his gaze to the old woman behind her, and spoke words to her. Words that sent ice right through Juliana.

  “I’ll get word to Alpin to prepare.”

  Alpin?

  “Aidan . . . no!” Juliana’s cry was barely audible, although she screeched it around and through the block in her throat. “No!”

  He was turning away, shoving through the honor guard at his flank. He didn’t see her sink to the floor. Only the woman behind her did.

  Dame Lileth’s floor was cold and hard. It had been swept recently. Juliana turned into a quivering shaking ball with her legs tucked up beneath her, and her arms wrapped as tightly as she could about her torso, while her forehead hovered just above the surface of the floor. There were deep cracks in the wood. Her tears disappeared the moment they touched.

  “Doona’ hold it against him so.” The old woman dropped something atop her. Juliana recognized it as a blanket made of the MacKetryck plaid. She shoved it off.

  “You disavow your own promise already?” The woman was cackling from over beside her fire.

  “Wh-at promise?” Juliana whispered.

  “To cleave to a Highlander. You vowed it.”

  Fresh tears filled her eyes and dripped onto the floor, sinking into it as if they’d never been.

  “He has nae other choice. You ken?”

  “Everyone . . . has choices.” Juliana tried to sound disgusted. She didn’t. Her nose sent moisture into the words, and no matter how she sniffed and struggled against it, more just kept coming.

  “Name them.”

  “Marriage . . . to me,” she replied.

  “The man will na’ answer his missive. And the Campbell clan awaits that verra thing. Clan honor. Ah, lass, there is nae honor above that of clan laird. He near died earning it. You believe he’d toss it all over for you?”

  No. That truth hurt. Just about everything did, though, to one degree or another. Juliana shuddered and absorbed the pain, and watched as more tears fell onto the wood and disappeared.

  “Aidan Niall would rather slit his own throat than disavow his honor.”

  “Then . . . he can have me as his . . . mistress.”

  “A born lady like you?”

  Juliana’s eyes went wide on the floor. She stiffened. “You don’t know—”

  “Lady Juliana D’Aubenville would never stoop to being a man’s plaything,” Dame Lileth said.

  “Yes . . . she would,” Juliana whispered finally.

  “Well, the bairn took that choice away, too.”

  Juliana caught a sobbed breath and looked at the floor in front of her nose as a tear dropped off it. The old woman was crazed. It had been mere days since she’d given herself to Aidan. Days!

  “You ken the truth, lass. Just as he knows it.”

  “You told Aidan this . . . lie?” Juliana wiped at her eyes.

  The woman huffed out an amused sound. “He has to protect his bairn. That’s why he’ll wed you to Alpin. You ken? To give his bairn a name. And legitimacy.”

  “I won’t do it. I won’t say the words.”

  “As a member of Clan MacKetryck, you canna’ go against the laird. You ken?”

  “I’m not a member of Clan MacKetryck.”

  “You will be. You just vowed to it.”

  “I vowed to cleave to a Highlander named MacKetryck. I can pick any I want.”

  “Lass . . . Aidan will say the words for you. You need to believe it. He is the law. He’ll wed you to his brother.”

  “Give me something to stop it, then! You can do that. All seers have that ability. Perhaps some tansy? In the smallest portion?”

  “Nae.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Tis the perfect vengeance, lass. Perfect. Fulfilling. Special.”

  “Against . . . Aidan?”

  “All of them! His father. His uncle. The men who dinna’ trust me! You ken what a year in Ketryck Castle dungeon does to a body, lass?”

  Juliana shook her head.

  “How about fire? You wonder what being tied and set afire does?”

  Juliana shook her head again. She reached for the blanket and pulled it over her shoulders. She was cold. Tired. Her belly and back hurt, and where her heart had been was a solid block of pain.

  “If it hadn’t been for Dugald’s defeat, I’d have perished. Lady Reina at my side.”

  “So . . . Aidan saved you?”

  “In a way. He gained his position back and halted the punishment the Black MacKetryck devised and ordered.”

  “He . . . saved you. And this is your repayment?”

  “Nae. This is.”

  Dame Lileth went to her chamber door, opened it, and started whispering. As if someone was there. Juliana lifted her head from the floor, looked through the swirls of smoke the door had put into motion. She squinted
her eyes, but still couldn’t see who the slender, shadowed figure was. Then she heard the name . . . Lachlan. And then Alpin’s name. And then hers. Fear invaded her entire frame, as insidious as any viper, chilling her as it pumped with every beat of her heart.

  She was on her feet with the plaid wrapped fully about her, and still couldn’t stop the shivering as Dame Lileth shut the door and came back through the haze of smoke toward her.

  “What have you done?” Juliana asked, trying for an aggressive tone.

  “Paid him back.” The old woman went past her toward the fire.

  “I’ll wed . . . Alpin,” Juliana said.

  “Now . . . why would you do that?” The woman was clattering and clinking with items over by her fire.

  “Call Lachlan back,” Juliana insisted. “I’ll do it. I’ll wed Alpin.”

  “And I ask again, my lady. Why would you do that?”

  “Don’t hurt Aidan. Please?” Juliana’s eyes were swimming with more tears.

  “You love him that much?”

  The woman had turned from her fire, and the glow behind her outlined her easily. Juliana nodded. Dame Lileth grunted an answer and went back to fussing with racks and things.

  “Stupid man.”

  “Please?” Juliana whispered.

  “I canna’ hurt the man more than he does himself. He really does need to learn the value of reflection. Truly. He does.”

  “Please?” Juliana tried again.

  Dame Lileth pretended not to hear. “I’m just setting about making a nice hot drink. I’ll make enough for you, my dear. Doona’ fret. ’Tis safe. I’d na’ do anything to harm the bairn.”

  Juliana watched through the swirls of smoke as the old woman put deed to word over by her fire. And she was humming to herself.

  Humming.

  Chapter 22

  As the sun pierced through the cloud cover atop Buchyn Loch, Aidan watched with eyes that scratched and burned and attempted to tear up occasionally in defense. The light spread fully before him until it reached his panoramic windows. Then it glinted off his scabbard, lying atop the table at his elbow, as well as the pile of dirks he’d assembled next to it, making that hurtful to look at as well. Aidan tilted his sporran flask and dribbled the last of the whiskey into his mouth, but missed. He swiped at his cheek and chin with a desultory move, and then flipped the flask away. There was a dull thud of sound as it landed and then the sound of it rolling until it was stopped by one of his bedposts. Watching it forced him to look at the chieftain bed, still perfectly made with heavily embroidered linens and blankets of finely woven MacKetryck sett. Readied. For him. To sleep within. Or play with the perfect lass.