Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (36 page)

Opening the book to a chapter on his birthplace, Magnus began to read. It was an old book. The copyright inside was from 1903. The pages were edged in gold, and were so thin they were translucent. The type was tiny. It took him a moment, then he saw it. The paper that held the body to the exterior binding was new. He pulled at one edge and lifted it away from the hard leather shell. Inside he found a small earbud. He activated it and put it in his left ear. The voice-activated microphone, no larger than the diameter of a pencil eraser and so thin it would never be noticed, came next. He wet the backside and stuck that behind his ear. The adhesive was so strong, he figured he had at least five days and twenty or so showers before it came off on its own.

The voice in his ear surprised him.

The contents hidden in the front of his sporran surprised him even more.

Magnus closed his eyes and waited for dinner, armed now and more than a little dangerous.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Daisy entered the room to hushed gasps, and Magnus immediately knew why. As she entered, an invisible baseball bat hit him in the solar plexus and took away his breath.

The bodice of her dress displayed her elevated breasts to the edge of her areolae. It didn’t dip, it plunged, past her breastbone and exposed skin to her midriff, just above her navel. A thin strip of Alexander tartan wrapped her hip bones and terminated in a “V” just above her pubic bone. Mere inches of fabric covered her before leading to the deepest slit he’d ever seen on a dress worn in public, and he’d had the dubious pleasure of sitting third-row center, right next to his grandfather, for Cher’s last tour.

Daisy turned and Magnus saw that what material there was holding the front of the dress to the back hid nothing. Fine netting, completely see-through, accentuated her lovely backside instead of covering it. Daisy was a private person, not prone to displays of flesh. Hell, he’d only seen her in a bikini once. That thought didn’t calm him. Neither did the realization that this display had to be killing her. You couldn’t tell by her demeanor, though—she held her head high, shoulders back, as close to haughty as he’d ever seen her.

The Arm-Righ’s Second gave her a smarmy smile as his gaze lingered at her breasts. Magnus lowered his untouched single-malt whisky to a passing tray as anonymous masked servers, wearing almost as little as Daisy, wove their way in and out of the gathered members of the Court. His hands fisted at his sides. The vein throbbing in his neck strained against his perfectly tied black bow tie. He’d never fought in full dress—Charlie jacket, kilt, hose and ghillies—but he was more than willing to try.

Daisy’s small chin went up and she managed to show her disdain by hooding her eyes. The Arm-Righ’s Second was a relatively small man, but he was taller than Daisy. Still, she managed to look down on him. He stiffened and his gaze turned a deadly kind of cold. He was a man accustomed to dishing out cruelty with alacrity; he was not used to being openly cut socially. The look he shot Daisy said she’d pay for the slight. And he’d take perverse pleasure in every excruciating second of her pain.

Bile rose at the back of Magnus’ throat. Fear for Daisy’s safety left him shaking inside before it turned into cold calculating rage.

The King’s Second led Daisy up the dais, to the King’s table. The King had yet to enter. When he did, the music hushed and everyone turned toward the center, bowing slightly as the Arm-Righ walked to his seat at the high table. He paused when he reached Daisy and raised a brow when she waited a hair’s breadth too long before bowing exactly the minimum thirty degrees.

The Arm-Righ laughed, brought Daisy’s hand to his lips, kissed it, then twirled her around so everyone got a look through the sheer netting that revealed her backside before he sat her at his side. He never let go of her gloved hand. “It seems Ceannard MacBain’s Second has backbone.” His voice lowered, yet carried throughout the hall as the rest of the guests took their seats. “A very alluring backbone, indeed.”

Then he dropped her hand and motioned the servers. “First we eat. Then we will discuss what brought you here.”

Lauren MacBain took his place at the high table, not once looking at Daisy. Why that bothered Magnus, he couldn’t say, but it did. Douglas MacDonald, MacBain’s ally, sat to the left of MacBain, right next to Gerry Butler. Magnus was seated at the farthest table away from the head table. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye a millisecond before Rowan MacDonald took a seat to his left. A server tried to motion him to the King’s table. Rowan stayed put.

All the chess pieces were now in play.

Or so he thought.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Dinner would have been delicious if she’d had an appetite. Fresh raw oysters, mackerel, buttered skate, carrots, tiny peas, herbed potatoes, prawn cocktail, baby lettuces, and the requisite side of haggis. Even the grapes and assorted French cheeses for dessert tasted like cardboard to her. Whatever was going to happen couldn’t be worse than anticipating what it might be.

Gleipnir’s case was deposited on the table in front of her within seconds of her plates being cleared.

“So, my dear, do you fight in stilettos?”

Apparently she was wrong about the anticipation thing.

She slipped out of her heels—no hardship there—but stayed seated and tried to breathe.

“What’s this about, Arm-Righ?” MacBain asked, his voice edged with the faintest bit of menace.

“Just a harmless bit of entertainment, Ceannard. It is the prerogative of the King to have Seconds match blades to end disputes.”

“My Second has no dispute with yours.” He didn’t add the title this time, and the room had grown quiet. Everyone waited to be entertained.

The King leaned forward with nothing but malice in his smile. “Ah, but I have a dispute with you, Ceannard. As a member of the High Council, the heir apparent if you will, you committed a faux pas worthy of blades crossing. You married Ms. Peacock.”

MacBain sat back in his chair, idly spinning his wine glass. “I was not aware that my marital status was any of the Court’s business.” His tone was light. His stance laid back. His amber eyes took in every exit, who was a threat and who could easily be dealt with.

“It is the Court’s business when one of the highest-ranking Ceannards marries a Druid. Not just any Druid, mind you, but the head of her order for the United Kingdom.” The Arm-Righ paused, his tone turned almost dismissive, as if he were discussing Lauren’s choice of satin vs. silk for his tie. “You don’t look surprised by the news, Ceannard. Yet our rules clearly state that the Council must vote and approve any such merger when one of the parties is a high-ranking Druid.”

“My wife has no interest in your Court politics. We married. We didn’t merge.”

“Your wife has managed to keep the Druid’s Scroll from my grasp. And yours.”

The King was bluffing, he had to be, but one look at Magnus and Daisy knew. Merry did know something about the Scroll. So did he. And they’d kept that knowledge to themselves, away from Lauren and away from her.

“The Court is interested in that. Marriage is always a merger of assets and of strength. An alliance, if you will, and Druid alliances are never above Court politics. As you, Ceannard MacBain, know better than most.”

“Then call me out, Arm-Righ. I’ll defend my own honor,” Lauren said. His tone turned lethally cold and cut through the dining hall like a katana through silk. “My wife’s honor is above reproach and requires no defense.”

“But you see, Lauren, I will get much more entertainment watching your Second bleed than I will from clashing steel with you. It’ll give me enormous pleasure to watch a Bennett do something on her own without her family to come save her.” He smiled and it made Daisy want to throw up. There was more going on there than she understood. The rivalry between her mentor and the Arm-Righ was deeper and more dangerous than she realized before she walked into the room. “As to your wife’s honor…I’m sure we shall hear more on that issue.”

Daisy bristled at the insult to her, but held her tongue. The less-than-veiled insult to Merry had her gasping inside. Lauren would never let that insult go, no matter how seemingly innocuous the phrasing. The King’s intent was clear. He’d insulted Lauren’s wife’s integrity before the entire Court. Not good. Not good at all. Things were degenerating quickly.

Daisy spared a quick glance for the King’s Second, standing behind the King, a gleeful, almost manic sheen lit his eyes. He was a dangerous man who got off on intimidation, pain and the subjugation of others. Bad guy. She hadn’t had much practice with Gleipnir, but she’d trained with a boken since she was two and with a katana since she was twelve. She knew blades and she had the scars to prove it. Blades were dangerous. Every time. She’d never fought blade against blade without getting cut. Not once. So bleed she would, if it came to crossing swords with the bloodthirsty jackal standing behind the King. 

Daisy ran through all the rules of the Court that she could remember, ticking them off one at a time from her mental list, starting with what she thought was the most relevant. A server came and pulled out her chair at the same time Merry Peacock MacBain was announced.

Merry entered the room with a regal air that Daisy hadn’t seen her use before. It was like she was a different person; a queen, perhaps. Daisy was used to seeing Merry dressed in flour-spotted tie-dye, not the immaculate fur-trimmed royal blue robe she was
wearing now. Merry bowed slightly, as did the Arm-Righ, as she crossed the threshold into the room. The King stood as he bowed. In fact, everyone in the room stood as Merry walked in.

“The Druid’s Scroll is safe enough, Arm-Righ. Rest assured that Magnus Alexander and I have assured that it is so. That does not mean that what it says about life and healing is hidden with it. Some of the philosophy it contains is now in the public domain for all to benefit who care enough to look. I’ve even released some portions of it on my website. The knowledge has been shared—a portion of it, anyway. If your interest in the Scroll is scholarly or spiritual you can read about it online.”

The King’s jaw muscles pulsed with repeated grating of his teeth. His body went rigid as he ignored Merry’s comments about the Scroll and focused on what he could control and what would allow blood to be drawn.

“Did Ceannard MacBain know your status before you married?”

“We did not discuss it.”

“When did he learn about your status, Druid?”

Merry’s gaze shot to Lauren then back to the Arm-Righ. “I imagine he knows now. It wasn’t my intent to exercise my right to sit on the Council, Arm-Righ. It may never have become an issue worthy of discussion, until I found out about your interest in acquiring Gleipnir.” Merry looked at Daisy for a heartbeat. “And Daisy.”

“You know the rules requiring approval by the Council for any marriage involving a Ceannard and a Druid.”

“I am not bound by your rules.”

“MacBain is.”

“Ah…that is true, Arm-Righ. And it would be problematic for him and the Council if he’d broken any of your rules. However, I believe you just elicited a statement from my husband declaring his belief that I have no influence on Court politics. He did indicate that very thing, just moments ago, did he not your majesty?”

Wow, Merry was good. She’d used the deferential, and rarely uttered,
your majesty
and slammed Lauren’s words down the King’s throat with her question, while not actually denying that Lauren knew exactly who and what she was when he married her. Smooth. Dangerously so.

Rowan was right. Daisy had no experience with this kind of potentially lethal manipulation. When it came right down to it, she was more of an in-your-face-say-what-you-mean kind of woman. Her cheeks flushed. At least, she wanted to believe that was the case with the rest of her life that didn’t include Magnus. An ever-shrinking world, that.

The King sat back in his chair. Daisy didn’t like the faint, entirely false smile on his face as he stroked his chin between his index finger and thumb. He did not play the perplexed lord of the manor trying to figure it all out very well.

“And yet here you are, Mrs. MacBain. In your capacity as Druid High Priestess, Court spiritual advisor, law-giver, and healer, is that not so?”

Merry inclined her head. “It is.”

Why did that sound like an admission of guilt, Daisy wondered, trying to take in every nuance as she continued to scan the rule list in her head.

“Am I correct in assuming your Second is in attendance?” the King asked, sounding just jovial enough to send a cold shiver down Daisy’s spine.

“You know that he is.”

“Stand and be recognized, Druid, Second to your High Priestess, Counselor to Court, Keeper of the Laws.”

Some heads scanned the room, curious. Some seemed to hone in on the back of the room. No one said a word. A chair scraped the stone floor as it was pushed back. The sound echoed in the sudden silence of the hall.

To her absolute horror, Magnus Shamrock Alexander, her husband and the love of her life, stood. Her heart seized in her chest as her gaze flew from Magnus’ resolute stance to the cruelly pleased smirk on the Arm-Righ’s face.