Disbelief strained Kella’s eyes wide as she realized the import of his words. Surely Alyn hadn’t left one of Alba’s greatest treasures in a barn!
“But I’ll be close, so don’t be wandering off again,” Daniel warned in a louder voice. “Next time, we’ll not be as understandin’,” he added as he strode purposefully toward the fire and a barrel of beer that had been put out for the servants.
Kella breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing Daniel only meant to fetch his mug there and not the tavern. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out a cozy spot piled high with straw, nestled between the horses. Alyn’s goods were stacked at its head against a plank bulkhead that ran the length of the structure, dividing the space in two. Daniel had also moved her smaller Galloway pony next to his and Alyn’s.
Feeling safe for the first time since leaving Stone Castle, Kella curled up in the generous length of her plain brown traveling cloak and wriggled until the hay conformed to her body. It was dusty and prickly, but not as bad as she’d imagined … once she’d moved the sword Daniel had hidden beneath it.
Closing her eyes, Kella conjured the vision of Lorne’s laughing face, those sparkling pale-blue eyes and his mane of white-blond hair. Sitting atop his prancing bay stallion, he’d blown her a kiss as he rode off for Strighlagh.
She clasped her hand to her constricting heart. Oh, Lorne, you cannot be dead. Not while my heart still yearns so strongly for you.
“I will do what it takes to find you, beloved.” She clasped the fine brooch that Lorne had given her, now hidden beneath her tunic. “I promise.”
Chapter Seven
Alyn awoke well before dawn, soaked in perspiration. Above the snoring of his fellow guests, the faint voices of the women preparing the morning breakfast met his thundering ears. A dream had stolen rest from his slumber. Kella had married in Strighlagh, but she’d been most reluctant. And he’d been equally unenthused to conduct the ceremony for the faceless groom.
Pure nonsense, he told himself as he carefully took Fatin from his cage. The morning fog nearly hid the barn from view as Alyn closed the inn door behind him and shivered in the cold mist surrounding him. Hoisting the monkey onto his shoulder, he strode past a huge stack of firewood and some storage sheds. Near the barn, the early mist thinned enough for Alyn to see a familiar figure in the red and green plaid of the Gowrys, sitting by an inviting fire.
The permanent stone ring about it had been laid for the servants in the barn to warm themselves upon rising. Already the rough-hewn board set near it contained platters of bread and cheese, while porridge warmed on a trammel over the coals.
When Daniel lifted his head and waved, Alyn nearly stumbled. The highlander’s black hair was combed and freshly braided. And he’d shaved the beard that had started upon his leaving Glenarden the week before.
Alyn sat down next to him, allowing Fatin to leap from his shoulder and scamper up a hazel sapling. The monkey was prone to mischief but not to venturing too far from familiar faces.
“Well now.” Alyn leaned over and sniffed the neat folds of the highlander’s dress cloak. “Aren’t we looking and smelling lovely?”
Daniel grinned sheepishly. “Hard to say, given the deed was done in the dark last night.”
“Looks more like a knife fight.” Alyn eyed numerous nicks where the blade had come too close.
Self-conscious, Daniel rubbed his fingers over his jaw. “Aye, and it feels like the other man won. But I was beginnin’ to offend myself, and my mam raised me better than to keep mixed company in such a state.”
Alyn grimaced. “Too bad. Part of me wants to make this as uncomfortable as possible for the rebellious little twit.” He glanced over toward the shelter where Kella still slept.
“She did have a bit of a scare,” Daniel informed him. “One of the groomsmen had more drink than he could manage and wandered into our niche while I was shaving. Before I could even get there, he came out like he’d run into a wildcat, all three of his eyes bugged out of his skull.”
“Three?” Alyn challenged.
Daniel shrugged. “Some kind of tattoo or dark patch on his forehead. I don’t think he meant any harm, but Kella emerged with her dagger brandished and snarling in bad humor.”
The image Daniel painted made Alyn laugh, though it didn’t take the edge off his irritation over her reckless scheme to go with them. “Good. Maybe it’ll scare some sense into her.”
“She made a hasty decision, same as you or me would, if we were in her position.” Daniel’s defense of Kella set Alyn back on his heels. “In fact,” the Gowrys prince reflected, “we are in a like situation. Woe to the man who’d try to keep us from Strighlagh. Egan’s like a da to us both.”
“We are not women riding without proper escort,” Alyn reminded him. “We didn’t disobey the queen.”
“Aye, and we’re not with child, either,” Daniel added, the gravity of his remark thinning his lips.
Alyn shot a look of disbelief at his companion. “What did you say?” They’d been speaking lowly. Surely he’d misheard.
“She talks in her sleep,” Daniel explained. “So either the lady is with child, or she dreamed about it. But the way she huddled up to me last night—”
Alyn put his hands over his ears. He didn’t want to hear it or envision Kella in any man’s arms. She was his little …
She was a woman he cared for … deeply. One he’d not see hurt for the world. If this Lorne of Errol had seduced Kella, much less gotten her with child—
“A dream.” Alyn seized on the idea. “That must be it.”
“Like as not.” Daniel leaned back from the fire as the smoke shifted toward him. “And it was a cold night out here.” He went on with his tongue-in-cheek tone. “Though she’s more than bonnie to any man’s eye …”
Daniel’s probing struck a nerve.
“Like yours?” Alyn tried to shake the inexplicable prick of betrayal, but he couldn’t. “You did bathe and shave, cold and dark as the night was.” Alyn trusted Daniel, of all the men he knew, like a brother. “Faith, a plaintive roll of those hazel eyes, and you’ve turned a preening peacock.”
Daniel’s gaze steeled above the set of his smile. “I was being polite,” he replied as crisply as the air misting his breath. “Kella’s too full of high ideas to my liking. Like you, she’ll be book-blind and quill-cramped before her youth runs out.” Without warning, he heaved himself to his feet and stepped away. “I’d move, if I were you.”
Alyn followed his friend’s gaze to the limb overhead, where Fatin let loose with a stream of urine. “That cursed beast—” Alyn scrambled away in the nick of time, while the monkey babbled in delight at the resulting sizzle on the hot stones that had been at their feet.
Equally amused, Daniel clapped Alyn on the shoulder. “Seems Fatin has learned a trick or two since riding with the Dux Bellorum’s warband. Methinks he needs a sword to complete his attire.”
Alyn ignored him. “Get down here, you poor use of good breath!”
Well aware of what Alyn wanted, the incorrigible Fatin clapped his small hands over his ears and looked anywhere but at his master.
“You’ve a way with beasts.” Alyn turned to Daniel. “Do me the kindness of taking him for a jaunt down by the river. He’ll not come to me when I’m riled at him.”
Perhaps the imp would take a dive into the spring runoff of snow-chilled waters.
“But leash him,” Alyn added on guilt-ridden second thought. “He’s liable to test the waters and freeze his tiny”—years of priestly training edited his thought—“bottom.”
“I’ve need enough for a private jaunt,” Daniel agreed. He held up thick arms banded with tattooed knotwork, almost reaching the limb where the monkey eyed him suspiciously. “Come along, laddie. I’ll show ye what a real man can do.”
Intrigued by the leather-bound braids that hung to either side of the man’s head, Fatin jumped into Daniel’s waiting embrace, but his large dark eyes followed Alyn’s
hand as he gave Daniel the leash from his belt. In a heartbeat, Daniel had fastened it to Fatin’s collar. Not the least disturbed, the monkey held a braid in one hand and pointed to the large tree limbs overhead, chattering away with Daniel mimicking him—perfecting yet another animal call.
His thoughts and feelings simmering like the porridge before him, Alyn squatted on a length of log placed near the fire for warmth.
With child.
The notion refused to set right in his head. Granted, strapping warriors had turned Kella’s head when she first returned from her aunt’s convent in Erin. Alyn had warned her of such things time and again, much to her vexation. But Kella seemed much more mature now than then. Smart enough to become the queen’s trusted scribe instead of marrying for muscle and money.
More likely, after a long, hard day, she’d been like Alyn, too weary to sleep. And when she had, bizarre dreams assailed her that made no more sense than his had. Alyn rubbed his head, sore from the tossing-and-turning thoughts. But if Kella O’Toole slept anywhere between here and Strighlagh, it would be within his sight from now on. He owed that much to Egan.
He shoved to his feet. Best he speak now with the High King about their uninvited guest. It wouldn’t behoove either of them to make Arthur look the fool. His reputation for fierceness on the battlefield was exceeded only by that of his pride.
Movement inside the tavern was brisk now that its patrons had been stirred from their slumber by the smell of freshly baked breads and mulled cider. Arthur sat on benches with Angus of Strighlagh and the archbishop near the warming fire in the middle of the room. The rest of the men were gathered in private clusters about the few boards that had been set up along the walls, though they were not so loud as they’d been the night before.
Ever gracious to the O’Byrnes, Arthur motioned Alyn into their tight circle the minute it was clear that he wanted an audience. Besides Alyn’s maternal relationship to the queen, his late father, Tarlach, had been one of Arthur’s most decorated captains, while his brother, Caden O’Byrne, had saved the High King’s life on the Byrneich and Bernician border.
With more and more men readying to leave, Alyn cut to the problem at hand. Arthur would know soon enough that a lady had traveled with his warband unbeknownst to him. He advised the High King now rather than allow him to be embarrassed later.
“She did not expect special treatment for fear of slowing the Dux Bellorum’s progress,” Alyn continued. “Which she has not.”
“Or …,” Cassian countered, “she did not want Arthur to leave her behind as he would have done.”
And rightly so. That is exactly what Arthur would have done and why Kella chose her disguise.
“To allow her to proceed is to reward her deceit, Your Highness.” The archbishop cocked his head to the side at Alyn as if in challenge.
“Or to show consideration of her immense distress at not knowing if her father and the man she hopes to marry are alive,” Alyn countered. “Every man among us is anxious to find out if those who are reported missing have returned hence.”
“She disobeyed your queen,” Cassian insisted. “Had a man disobeyed, milord, you would have him punished.”
“But she is not a man. She is a grief-stricken woman,” Alyn argued.
“Yet she struts about Carmelide with the queen, both of the notion that they are the equals of men.” Cassian’s chest swelled with righteous indignation. “If she wants equal consideration, she should have equal punishment.”
“Her grief-stricken decision was ill-made, milord, but it was not betrayal.” Alyn wondered what women had done that had generated such anger in the archbishop. Was it all women? Or only Kella and Gwenhyfar?
“Betrayal?” Arthur bellowed. The sudden change in his humor silenced the room. “Were it betrayal, woman or man would suffer the worse.” The attention he drew withered as his fiery gaze circled the room, wandering from face to face. “A terrible example would be made,” he promised. “Do you hear me? Terrible!”
His vehemence robbed Alyn of speech. That one word had flushed the High King’s battle-scarred visage with white rage. But surely Arthur didn’t think Kella …
Modred.
Alyn let out his breath, relieved only slightly. Of course Modred’s absence at court bore heavily on Arthur’s mind, although Alyn prayed a brief bout with wounded pride was at the bottom of it and that it had naught to do with this same Arthur slaying Modred’s father for treachery years before.
“I suggest no terrible example, my lord king,” Cassian said warily, steering the king’s attention back to the present matter. “Nor do we speak of betrayal.”
Arthur’s nostrils flared as he drew long breaths to cool the fire so inadvertently lit.
“I suggest simply a matter of justice suited to Lady Kella’s small transgression. As your counselor,” the archbishop said, encouraged by the effort, “I recommend you send a detail of your men back to Carmelide with her and allow your wife to punish her as she sees fit.” The archbishop crossed his arms as if the matter were settled, but the tension on his face evidenced that he, too, had clearly been taken aback by Arthur’s outburst.
“You know my cousin Gwenhyfar well, milord. She would understand Kella’s heart, which she knows to be loyal and filled with love for her family, the queen among them.” At least Alyn prayed for Kella’s sake that Gwenhyfar would forgive. As for Arthur, at the moment Alyn didn’t know what to think of the warlord’s state of mind, except that it was severely tested.
“My lord,” Alyn pleaded, “surely compassion is the only justice suited to a poor soul so overwhelmed with shock and grief that she is not thinking clearly. You recall that it was Christ Himself, a King of Kings, who said from the cross, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ Clearly, Kella does not know what she has done in her grief.”
“If Christ had the armies of Albion to unite, He’d find Himself on a cross once again,” Arthur grumbled to no one in particular. He closed sad eyes, shoulders sinking as if the weight of Albion rested upon them.
The irreverence—and the High King’s temporary blindness—set off a rash of making the sign of the cross among the clergy. Alyn had no need, for the burn on his chest, branded by the crucifix he’d worn on the day of the accident, stirred of its own accord. It was an affirmation. He’d thought much the same during the confrontation at the court. Albion needed miracles.
“Glorify Me.”
As sure as Alyn drew breath, he knew that Arthur needed the Word to bring him back from wherever his worried soul had taken him.
Overwhelmed by the urge to seek that troubled soul, Alyn placed his hand on the king’s brow and prayed, “As I ask for your compassion and understanding for the Lady Kella, milord …” This was madness. Alyn was surrounded by holy men of greater rank than he. Men who were not failures. “I ask of our Lord Jesus the same in the days ahead for you, Arthur, Grail-chosen High King. ‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love’ … love, my lord,” he reiterated, “‘and of a sound mind.’”
Second Timothy hadn’t been on Alyn’s mind, but those were the words that rolled off his tongue.
Second thought bombarded him. Would the suggestion of fear enrage Arthur?
Had God put it Alyn’s mind? Of late, someone had been inserting unbidden direction in there.
Or was he losing his mind because of the accident?
A disdainful harrumph from the archbishop suggested Alyn had overstepped his bounds. Arthur’s eyelids fluttered, but he seemed still engaged elsewhere, in a battle of the mind. Alyn felt his brow crease and flinch with the blows suffered from within.
One particularly significant jerk of Arthur’s sword arm sent a startled Archbishop Cassian almost hopping a distance away from the High King and Alyn.
As though they were equally possessed.
Chapter Eight
Perhaps Arthur was possessed. Men in the room drew away, yet were unable to keep from watching. Even the pag
ans fingered their talismans.
Alyn sensed the suffering Dux Bellorum was surrounded by enemies, at least in his mind. But he was also surrounded by priests of God.
Placing a hand on either side of Arthur’s temple, though he was well aware the king’s sword hung within easy reach, Alyn looked past the suffering man and mouthed the word pray. The gesture thawed the robed flock from their shock, but none drew near Arthur. Instead they fell to their knees at a distance, signing the cross.
“Father God …” Alyn’s plea faltered. Were his feet not riveted to the spot, he might have run. Scriptural words of comfort he’d memorized stampeded his brain, but coherence eluded him.
Then a surge of warmth from the scar on his chest powered through his arms, so hot that he nearly withdrew his hands. “In the name of Jesus,” he said, “I pray against the enemy who torments your mind and fills you with dread, Arthur of Dalraida, for you are not alone in this battle.”
The Word came, short but powerful. “For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Alyn’s “amen” cut off the spiritual tide like the tap on a wine barrel. His hands fell away from Arthur, and he stumbled backward as though released from a powerful magnetic force. About him, an intense tension—and fear—infected everyone in the room. In the silence, Alyn could hear his own pulse beating in his ears.
Arthur sat, eyes closed, as if an effigy of stone.
Having put forth every effort at his disposal, Alyn knelt before the High King and spoke his heart. “Give into my care the Lady Kella, as Jesus Christ in His hour of torment gave His grief-stricken mother to John. Kella will remain disguised as my servant so that her presence will cause no stir among the men.…”
Arthur’s eyes flew open so suddenly that one among the priests gasped. Crystal-blue and penetrating, his gaze dropped to Alyn’s. “There are dark places in a man’s mind,” he said, so low that only those closest heard. “Places where even God does not go. Yet …” Puzzlement grazed his golden brow. He reached forward and fingered Alyn’s belt. “You did, Merlin.”
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