Knight Everlasting (29 page)
Read Knight Everlasting Online
Authors: Jackie Ivie
That one was now assigned to Alpin.
From her side vision, Juliana noted the bottom of Aidan's platform as Muir passed in front of it, the carved wood meeting him at the waist, while it was nearly to her throat. She stumbled slightly, swallowed around a huge obstruction in her throat, and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she failed. Tears obliterated the rushes before her, turning the path into a wash of darkened straw atop slate flooring. Heck must have known of it, for the moment she faltered, his other hand went atop hers, helping hold her up. Juliana bowed her head farther, watched the drops peppering her bodice with such self-disgust and loathing she didn't know how she didn't perish of it.
They'd arrived, and Juliana was forever grateful for Heck's presence, as Muir MacGorrick just let her go and walked up and onto the platform. Heck put his right arm about her and lifted her with him the three steps to the dais and then he walked along the back of it, making certain she reached her assigned seat without falling into a sobbing heap on the floor. She didn't know how to thank him, and was afraid to look up to even try.
“Juliana?”
She'd known she was seated next to Alpin. The thin legs that were jittering beneath his plaid could belong to none other.
“It is na' that onerous to be wed to me,” he informed her.
Juliana smiled slightly and took another shuddering breath. It wasn't onerous at all. And given time, he might even match his brother in bulk and might. As well as in other areas . . . and other pursuits.
She gulped around the obstruction in her throat, pulled in another shuddering breath. Eased it out. And then nodded. “I know that,” she replied finally.
“Than act it. I'm getting dark looks from just about everyone.”
“May I have a cloth . . . Alpin?” she asked.
“Here.” He pulled a white linen square from his belt and handed it to her. “And I want it back.”
Juliana swiveled and leaned away from him, past where Muir sat, trying to make it look a shy gesture while she wiped quickly at her eyes and then her face. She'd forgotten this side to Aidan's little brother. She felt like kissing him as his words dried tears better than anything she could have devised.
“Just because I'm wedding you, does na' mean anything. You ken?”
She nodded.
“I'm na' changing.”
“Changing?” she asked, turning back forward in her chair.
“You're still too auld. And doona' take this poorly. But you're . . . large.”
Juliana sucked in on her cheeks, turned her head, and looked up at him.
Large?
Large?
“You probably even . . . sag.” He dropped his eyes to her bodice, leaving her no excuse to misinterpret what he said.
“How old are you, Alpin?” she asked.
“Eighteen.”
“Well, I'm seventeen. You're the one that probably sags.” Juliana dropped her eyes to his groin so he'd know what she referred to.
“Why, youâ”
“Haven't you heard of Elinor of Aquitaine? The greatest heiress of the ages? Seriously, Alpin . . . your education is lacking. She was thirty-one when she wed England's King Henry. And he was your age.”
“Thirty-one?” He was aghast. His voice even rose.
“Yes. Thirty-one. To his eighteen. And they had a long . . . and fruitful marriage.”
“Fruitful?”
“They had four sons, Alpin. Four.”
“Speaking of . . . sons. And sagging. And such . . .”
Juliana had the cloth in her lap and was looking at it and then she was twisting it. She didn't know why she hadn't kept her mouth closed. Then again, she no longer felt any inclination to cry.
“I'm na' fond of red hair. Jesu'. My sons will probably have it.”
“Alpinâ” she began, only to get interrupted.
“Will you arrange it so your hair is hidden tonight? I mean . . . after the ceremony? For our consummation?”
“Why . . . Alpin . . . I'll try,” she replied, using a soft, hesitant, virginal voice.
“Good. Then . . . perhaps . . . with the lights dimmed enough. That might work.”
With the lights dimmed?
“You probably doona' ken what I speak of, but trust me. It's na' going to be easy,” he informed her.
“What will you need from me, Alpin . . . dear?” she asked, stressing the last word into a breathless tone. She watched him jump slightly.
“Na' that. You'll have to keep silent.”
“Silent. Very well. Anything else?” She asked with a sweet tone.
“Nae. Exceptânae.” He finished.
“Except . . . what?”
“Are you any good . . . with your mouth?”
Juliana's eyes went wide and it matched her slack jaw. He couldn't possibly mean . . . and she wasn't possibly doing it!
“That's it! I'd rather wed Arran!” She flung the linen at him and shoved her chair back to stand, glaring down at him. Muir was right with her, doing the exact same stand, as if to block that side.
“Arran? He's na' even a man yet!”
“Well . . . that can be cured, and there's one thing he definitely is,” Juliana informed him.
“What?”
“Mannered.”
“I have manners.”
He'd stood now, too, and towered over her, effectively blocking that escape as well. He was definitely Aidan MacKetryck's brother. The lowered chin, slit eyes, and angered look were every bit his brother. Juliana ignored it.
“It's a shame you don't show them, then,” she replied.
“I doona' want to wed you,” he told her.
“Then why are you?”
“Because my brother commands it. Why else?”
“Well, he can't command the consummation, Alpin.”
“Are you threatening me?”
His voice had lowered and he'd put his shoulders forward a bit, too. All reminiscent of Aidan. Juliana blinked at the solid menace he was presenting, gulped on the slightest taste of fear, and blinked again. Then she had to find her voice. It didn't come out as aggressive as she'd planned either.
“I'm not so certain I'm going to be willing, Alpin. That's what I'm saying.”
He sucked in air several times, enlarging what looked to be a developing frame that would rival his brother, given enough time and work. And then he exhaled it. And then he glared at her.
“You ken something, Juliana? I believe that just might work.”
She gasped. And fell back into her chair.
Chapter 24
He couldn't take much more of this.
Aidan blinked on dry eyes that had felt sand-filled since before they'd pulled him off the list and tossed him into the loch. It was being added to by the ache in his head, until it owned and punished him with every pulse beat. Then she arrived and it actually got worse. Pain thudded through his head with every pulse beat, and it just got harder and more intense and more difficult to endure.
And then Kerr and Ewan started up.
“It appears Alpin MacKetryck received Dugald's household today, with the apartments and portion to maintain it . . . and he does na' seem to be in charge of much of it. What say you, Ewan?”
“The laird kens what he's doing, Kerr. You just try and get me in more trouble. This is why you ask.”
“Oh look. She argues with him. And wins. Alpin MacKetryck is getting more lass than he can handle. This is what's happening.”
“And I still tell you, our laird has a plan. This is part of it. I doona' fathom what it is, but the man would na' give the lass who holds his heart to his brother for nae reason. Especially that brother.”
“Oh. It looks like she's going to hit him. Nae. My brother Muir prevents that. He is assisting.”
“We truly should find something better to watch than Alpin's household at this banquet. The laird still hasn't found his sporran and Loch Erind is a good distance.”
“Well said, Ewan. I forget.”
“Look! It appears Alpin may hit her!”
Aidan swung his head in his brother's direction and wished he hadn't. Kerr and Ewan were right. Alpin was having issues with his soon-to-be lawfully wedded wife. He was standing up to her, though. And then Aidan watched as Juliana appeared to back down from whatever the threat was. Aidan didn't realize he was half out of his chair until Tavish shoved at his shoulder from his left side, startling him back to a sit.
“Your brother will na' tolerate interference, Aidan. Na' with that one.”
Aidan lowered his chin and glared at him. Tavish grinned.
“He's right,” Heck replied from Aidan's other side. “The lass needs to ken her master. Nae man wants a shrew to wife.”
Aidan turned to his senior man and glared at him as well.
“'Tis what happens when one weds. The woman becomes his property. She obeys. Or she's beaten.”
“Nae man can alter that. 'Tis a lawful wedded husband's place to chastise his wife. Right, Tavish?”
“Right.”
Aidan lowered his forehead on the surface of his table and hit it into the wood several times. It didn't do much, except make the pounding between his ears even louder. More painful. More inescapable. He lifted his head a little and sighed. Long and hard. And then he swiveled his head to face the man on his left.
“How do you feel about the Campbell clan, Tavish?” he asked.
Tavish straightened. As did Stefan beyond him. And Gregor past that. And the three more clansmen beyond that.
“Campbell clan? Hmm . . . They're a large clan. Bloodthirsty. Far-flung. They cover a goodly section of the Highlands. Good allies to have.”
“What kind of foe would they be?”
Tavish grinned. Widely. “Worthy,” he replied.
“Heck?” Aidan swung his head to the other side and looked upward at his senior man.
“What is the question?” Heck asked, although it was obvious he'd heard it from the smile on his face, and on Arran's and Kerr's and Ewan's faces beyond as well.
“Campbell clan? How do you feel about them?”
“Begging your pardon, but I have na' had much interaction with them. I understand they're a fighting clan. Tough. Strong,” Heck replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking of starting a war with them. What do you say now?”
“Well, I've tired of taking on unworthy foes. The Sassenach? Pah. The MacDonals? Pah. We're wasted on wars with their ilk.”
“Those shields on yon wall do seem to be missing a Campbell one,” Kerr inserted.
“Well then. Let's go get one.” Aidan sat up fully. Put his arms above his head and stretched. Pulled in air that felt like it was racing through his veins, filling him with energy and resolve and thrill.
“It's a-a-about time!” Arran announced, sounding young and high-voiced amid the others.
Aidan stood. The men all about him stood as well, and then they turned to the right without a word of direction being said. He watched as Alpin's table noted it, and then the floor below him started noticing as well as movement and chatter and drinking and song slowly halted until a hush was falling over the entire gathering.
Then his men started moving, pulling claymores as they went, until they were assembled on the floor in front of Alpin's table.
“Alpin MacKetryck!” Aidan was bellowing it before he reached the floor, and gritting his teeth as the jump sent more ache flashing through his head.
“Aye?”
Alpin was on his feet. His men all were as well. The lone one ignoring him was Juliana. She was looking at her hands in her lap. Or something.
“Give over the lass!”
“W-W-What?” Alpin stuttered.
“The lass, Juliana! I claim her! Now!”
Alpin looked confused. And then relieved. And then his man said something to him, for he puffed out his chest and yelled back, “By what right?”
“Right of conquest. And victory! And title!”
His man spoke with him again. Juliana had lifted her head and was looking at him with huge blue-green eyes in a very white face. Aidan hoped she didn't faint.
“What do you offer?” Alpin asked.
“Hand over the lass, Alpin. Or I'll take her.”
Aidan walked right up to the table, bent his knees until he was level with Juliana, and then met her gaze. And was lost. Completely. Perfectly. He winked, and watched her jerk. And before she'd stopped the motion, he'd leapt onto the edge of the partition, reached across the table, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled, bringing her back with him and onto his shoulder, with his backward drop to the floor. And then he was running for the opposite door amid a massive amount of cheering, and hooting, and tankards getting thumped onto tables.
Her belly was getting the worst of it. Aidan took a series of steps in plateaus of three at a time, with a resultant jog of her body against his. Her hair was falling all about her and bouncing with every move, and where he'd captured it beneath her, the pearls were bruising and annoying. Juliana lifted her head and watched the men trying to keep up with him. Everyone was grinning. Chattering. Pointing. Creating more confusion and havoc in her mind as they hurried after Aidan.
This couldn't be happening, but every bit of her body knew it was. Her heart sent complete happiness and giddiness into every portion of her with every single beat. Then he was running along corridor after corridor, lit with torches and not much else.
“Where . . . are we going? Aidan?”
She knew he heard her, because he started laughing, before moving even faster than before. They passed beneath an archway, and then another, and finally he slowed, his footsteps echoing all through the large room they were in. Hard wooden benches lined the walls, showing exactly what it was. Aidan came to a stop in the center of the room, and stood, breathing heavily, raising her with each of them, and then he leaned forward and brought her over his shoulder and onto the floor. He didn't let her go, though. He stood, holding her within an enclosure created by his arms and breathing all over her.
“Where . . . are we?” she whispered.
He looked down, and smiled. “My chapel,” he replied.
“Your . . .” Juliana started, but his grin widened, silencing her.
“Chapel.”
“Aidan . . . Iâ” she began.
“Am wedding with me. Right here. And right now, Juliana.”
Her mouth dropped. Her heart was right behind it. “What . . . of . . . the Campbell . . . heiress?”
“What of her?”
“Aidanâ”
“I'm past arguing it, Juliana,” he replied.
He was still grinning down at her, and then he tightened his arms about her, turning her entire existence into heated, shuddering, sweaty arms, and a chest to match. Juliana was close to melting. His honor guard was starting to arrive, holding on to the vestibule doors while they recovered from their run, some even bending double. And then Arran crossed through them, and behind him were Alpin and his men. And then more of them, filling the area behind Aidan. Juliana ducked back behind Aidan's arm and placed her nose at the center of his chest. Breathing with him, glorying in him, feeling perfect peace for the first time in her life.
“You ready?” he asked against the caplet, which had somehow managed to stay affixed to her head.
She nodded.
He swiveled her, putting her back to him, and then moved her slightly to the side of him, and started walking. And then he moved farther from her, leaving her his arm to hold on to, while everything else on her was pulsating and vibrating to the nearness of him. And then they reached such a candlelit area just below the altar that it looked near midday.
There was a healthy-sized clergyman rushing from somewhere behind the altar, still fastening the ties on his robes while a page ran alongside, holding the heavy headpiece atop his head.
“Father!” Aidan hollered, sounding incredibly loud with the reverberation throughout the chamber.
“My laird! This isâyou're early! I expected youâan hour! I've na' even finished my meal, and I . . . My laird?” The man was out of breath and stumbling through the words by the time he'd reached the altar and peered down at them. The headpiece wasn't attached properly either, and was slightly off-center. Juliana had to look down before she giggled.
“Aye?” Aidan replied.
“Where is the groom?”
“I am the groom, Father!” Aidan yelled that reply as well and in that chamber it echoed. The crowd noise behind them swelled accordingly to a near deafening level.
The priest had to wave his arm to get enough quiet to speak. “This is highlyâaye. Well and good. The laird is wedding.
Wedding!
Without proper ceremony . . . and no banns! And no notice. And Iâwell!”
Wedding!
Without proper ceremony . . . and no banns! And no notice. And Iâwell!”
The man was opening a very large manuscript atop the altar, bound with leather straps. The booming sound of the front binder falling was nearly as loud as Aidan's voice had been. And nearly as indefatigable. And inescapable. And resolute. And unyielding. It was everything Juliana's heart surged for, and everything her mind disputed. She should protest. There would be fighting. Clansmen would die. She should protect them . . . him. She tipped her head toward him.
“Aidan? I shouldn't wed . . . with you.” Juliana whispered the words. She needn't have bothered. The altar had great acoustics and the words went up and out and projected. There was a rumble of sound following it. An angry sound. Coming from the amount of clansmen filling everywhere behind them, crowding into the available space in the narrow nave.
“Oh aye. You should. And you will. Begin the service, Father.”
“Aidanâ”
He grabbed her to him and planted his mouth atop hers, stopping not only the words but her breath and her heart. And then he moved his head slowly from her, keeping his eyes full on hers, and canceled every desire to say them as well. And then he looked over her shoulder and up at the altar again.
“The words, Father? And say them short. I'm in nae mood for patience.”
“But . . . Aidan!” Juliana tried once more. That was projected up and out for the listening ears as well.
“I already told you, Juliana, I'll na' argue it. Father? Begin!”
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