Chapter Six

Maisie felt numb in body and mind from Brody’s relentless pace as they rode to reach King James’s Court. But as she entered the king’s receiving room beside her brother and sister, with Aidan and their priest, Father Ollie, the numbness gave way to concern. There were more people in the room than she’d anticipated, and by her brother’s faltering steps, he too was surprised by the six people with the king. She had not expected a private audience, given the king always had a guard and an advisor with him, but neither had she thought four others would be in attendance.

The king sat in his chair, and before him stood a line of three men and a woman, whose backs were turned to Maisie and her party. The tallest man had brown hair shorn short, and the man beside him possessed hair dark as night that just grazed his shoulders. The lass beside the dark-haired man had fiery red hair that fell nearly to her bottom, and beside her, she had her arm linked with another giant of a man with jet-black hair. Maisie didn’t know for certain who they were but given the king’s demands for peace between her clan and the Stewarts, she suspected it was Laird Stewart, his newly returned brother, and mayhap their sister and the man she’d chosen to marry over Brody.

The lot of them didn’t look as travel worn as Maisie knew she and her party did. Their clothes were not rumpled and covered with the dust of the road, and the woman’s red hair was not in the knotted messy state of Maisie’s and Eliza’s hair. Self-consciousness consumed Maisie, and her hand fluttered to her hair in hopes it wasn’t as much of a disaster as she suspected, but her fingers grazed knots and frizz, making her cheeks burn.

“Laird Campbell,” the king called. “It took ye long enough to get here. Laird Stewart and his family have been here for two days.”

“I beg pardon, my lord. We met with some rain and had a bit of trouble with one of the horses.”

As they passed the line of Stewarts to make their way to greet the king, Maisie stole a look from under her lashes and nearly tripped when she saw the man who stared back, scars running down both sides of his face. She knew that brown-haired green-eyed thieving man from the abbey! She frowned. What was he doing here?

His hard gaze met hers, and his lips turned down in cold displeasure, which made a chill run down Maisie’s spine. She inhaled a sharp breath as she stared.

“Lady Campbell, do ye see something that commands yer attention more than yer king?”

She swung toward the sharp words, realizing she had completely stopped progressing toward the king to openly gape at the scarred man. When her gaze met the king’s, the open displeasure in his expression sent a warning trickle down her spine. “Sire,” she said, dropping to a curtsy. “A thousand apologies. I was surprised to see this man here,” she said, pointing to the scarred stranger.

“Ye’ve met Graeme Stewart?” the king asked, his tone revealing his shock.

Before she could get out the word aye , Brody said nay , but it was drowned under Graeme Stewart’s confirming they had indeed met. The king’s frown deepened. “Explain,” he demanded.

Maisie wasn’t certain if he was talking to her or Graeme Stewart.

“Do ye nae comprehend the word explain , Lady Campbell?” The king’s tone was short and irritated.

She glanced at her brother. He looked perfectly relaxed and gave her a nod to do as the king had bidden. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she said, “I traveled to St. Benedict’s Abbey in Inverie three months ago to deliver a missive to Bernard Campbell from my brother. Whilst I was there, I saw this man and a woman being dragged to the abbey. A guard told me they were thieves who’d been captured, and when it seemed they might be killed, I intervened. For that kind deed, the woman hit me on the head, and they left me there to die.” She narrowed her eyes at Graeme Stewart to let him know his displeasure didn’t bother her.

“What was the missive, Laird Campbell?” the king demanded of her brother in a tone of ice.

Maisie’s heart flipped in her chest. The king had not even acknowledged the wrong done to her but, instead, focused on the contents of Brody’s missive. That was not only rude but worrisome.

“My lord,” her brother said, his tone still one of ease, “as ye may recall, my da placed a guard, Bernard, at the abbey years afore to keep the monks safe from thieves, given it houses and guards the Campbell gold cross that my granda had gifted them years afore.” Her brother paused, and the king nodded. “I had recently received a missive from the abbot, Father Atholl, asking for another guard to be appointed, as Bernard was apparently slipping in his duties. I sent my sister with a response to Atholl that I would personally accompany the new guard there as soon as my service to ye was completed. If ye recall, two months prior, ye had me attend ye here when the English king came through.”

Maisie frowned. Her brother had misspoken. The missive had been to Bernard. Brody had told her specifically to give it personally to him, not Atholl. She stole a glance at him from under her eyelashes. He didn’t look concerned, but mayhap he was, and it had flustered his mind.

The king nodded once more at Brody’s words.

“My sister returned having been accosted by thieves—”

“Eppie and I are nae thieves,” Graeme Stewart bit out. He stepped forward, bowed to the king, then faced Brody. “We were prisoners on that island for eighteen years, placed there by yer treacherous da!”

Maisie rocked back on her heels, the claim making her nauseated, and beside her, Eliza cried out. Brody’s color went ashen. “My liege, I dunnae have knowledge of this and Bernard did nae ever make mention of it. I’ll go there immediately and bring Bernard to ye so he can be tried for his crimes against this man and the woman—”

“Eppie,” Graeme supplied, his voice like steel. “Her name is Eppie Stewart, and she was the head cook in our home before yer da and the Lord of the Isles attacked it, killed our parents, and forced my da to send my siblings and me to three corners of the Highlands to keep us safe!”

“I did nae ken any of this,” Brody said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Had I kenned it,” he said, pausing and pushing his hand through his hair, “I would have turned my da in as a traitor myself.”

“So ye say,” Graeme spat.

“My brother is a man of honor, unlike ye!” Maisie cried out.

“Enough!” the king thundered. “This is why ye are here. I will nae tolerate any more warring. I’ve my own wars to fight, and I need yer clans focused on Scotland’s fight and nae each other! Campbell, yer da was a traitor. ’Tis a fact.”

The king’s words flooded Maisie with shame, and Brody’s flinch showed he felt the same. “I will take ye at yer word—for now—that ye did nae ken what yer da was about, but if any proof should arise, mark my words, Campbell, I’ll have yer head on a trencher.”

“My lord, I will fetch Bernard and bring him to ye to—”

“Bernard is gone,” the dark-haired man beside Graeme said.

“Gone, ye say, Laird Stewart?” Brody asked, sounding baffled.

“Aye,” he answered, his gaze hard and unwavering. “I travelled to the abbey with some of my warriors shortly after my brother and Eppie found their way home. As ye can imagine, I want to question Bernard, the monk Atholl, and any other monk who might ken anything, but the abbey was burned to the ground, and no one was there. ’Tis almost as if someone ordered them to flee or mayhap killed them and disposed of the bodies.”

Maisie gasped, and Brody turned red. “What are ye accusing me of, Laird Stewart?”

“I should think it obvious,” the man said, his tone cold and exact.

“I am nae a murderer, nor did I give any order for those men to flee the abbey,” Brody bit out. “Mayhap, if the abbey burned down, they simply left because they did nae have shelter anymore.”

“Then why did yer man nae return to ye?” Laird Stewart demanded.

Maisie bit her lip at that question. Bernard should have come straight to them, as was his duty.

“I unfortunately do nae have the ability to ken someone’s else’s thoughts, Laird Stewart,” Brody replied, his voice mocking. “But I can assure ye, I will send men at once to search for Bernard, Father Atholl, and the other monks and deliver them to ye personally to answer any questions ye wish to put to them.”

“Ye lie with ease,” Graeme Stewart bit out. “But I suppose ye learned it from yer da.”

Brody charged Graeme with a roar, and Maisie yelped in surprise as her brother barreled into Graeme. They went flying back, and she stood stunned while chaos erupted around her. Laird Stewart tried to grab Brody, but Aidan stopped him by grasping his arm. Eliza wailed, Graeme rolled Brody off him, then scrambled on top of him to deliver a resounding punch to Brody’s nose. When blood spurted out, Maisie started into the fray only to find her arm in a viselike grip by the woman who could only be Sorcha Stewart, given her looks matched the description Brody had given when he’d told Maisie and Eliza about her.

Before Maisie could demand the woman unhand her, the king slammed his fist down on the table beside his chair so hard that the table rattled. “Guards, cease them!”

In a flash, the king’s guards were upon Graeme and Brody, pulling them apart and dragging them both to their feet. Each man was clutched on either side by two guards as they were dragged in front of the king. Blood flowed from Brody’s injured nose, and Maisie yearned to find something to stop the flow, but she doubted the king would allow it, and she did not wish to make matters worse.

The redheaded woman released her and stepped back to the side of the only man who had not moved a muscle, who was surely the woman’s husband. He did, however, have his gaze trained on Brody, and the look he gave her brother was not friendly. Eliza, crying softly, plastered herself to Maisie’s side, and Maisie slid her arm around her sister’s waist and squeezed her.

“The next person to strike at the other will answer to me after a long spell in my dungeon, do ye ken me?” the king asked.

The men all nodded. “Campbell, I can understand why the Stewarts would suspect ye of wrongdoing, but given ye have nae shown me anything but loyalty, I will have faith in ye, unless I’m shown proof otherwise. I did hear testament from the woman Eppie yesterday that she saw ye standing in the Stewart courtyard the night yer da and the Lord of the Isles attacked the Stewart stronghold, and she and Graeme were taken away, but I take yer word over that of an old woman who was likely hysterical.”

Maisie clenched her teeth to hide her distaste of the king being so dismissive of a woman’s words, but Sorcha Stewart’s displeasure showed vividly on her face. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together in a hard line, and when she glanced down to her slippers, Maisie suspected it was to hide her face.

“My lord, I was at that battle years afore, as my da bade me to ride with him, but I vow to ye, all I kenned was that my da and the Lord of the Isles said Laird Stewart was treasonous, so I did fight to take the castle. I have nae hidden this truth.”

“Nay,” the king agreed, “ye have nae. I will ask ye once: Did ye ken of Graeme Stewart’s captivity at the abbey?”

“My brother would nae ever condemn an innocent child to captivity for life, let alone keep him there after it came to light that his father was innocent!” Maisie blurted.

The king’s unforgiving dark gaze penetrated her, she wished wholeheartedly that she’d kept her mouth shut. For a long moment, silence stretched. She imagined everyone was shocked by her outburst. She knew she was. Her heart pounded, her stomach turned, and sweat dampened her scalp, her palms, and under her arms. The king stared at her for so long she started squirming, until he finally offered the slightest of smiles. “Ye remind me of my eldest daughter—brave, clearly dedicated to family, but impetuously foolish.”

“Aye, Sire, I am sorry,” she said.

He nodded. “Dunnae let it happen again. I will nae be so forgiving a second time.”

“I’ll will nae, my lord,” she said, her pulse roaring in her ears.

“Campbell?”

“I did nae ken of Graeme Stewart’s captivity, my lord. I vow it.”

“I will have yer vow on yer sister’s life.”

Maisie gasped at that.

“That one there,” the king said, motioning to her, “who blurts her thoughts.”

“That is my eldest sister, Maisie,” Brody answered immediately. “I vow it on her life, as it is true.”

Maisie didn’t doubt him; still, apprehension fluttered through her. She stole a glance at Graeme Stewart, and he scowled back at her. She didn’t doubt for a moment that the Stewarts would continue to try to prove Brody a treasonous liar, and she prayed they did not succeed.

“Verra well then,” King James said with a clap of his hands that made Maisie jump. “I take yer word for it. Now, on to why I called ye all here. The warring will stop between yer clans, and as the main cause of it is due to the broken betrothal between Sorcha Stewart and ye—” the king waved a hand toward Brody “—and ye lost lands, I am joining yer clans in handfasting.”

Maisie’s heart dropped to her feet, and Eliza trembled beside her.

“Handfasting, my lord?” Brody asked.

Maisie was confused as to why handfasting and not marriage, though she didn’t wish for either her or Eliza to be wed to Graeme Stewart, and certainly it would be him, as Laird Stewart was wed.

“Aye. As a consideration for all the Stewarts have endured because of what yer father and the Lord of the Isles did to them, I have decided to allow Graeme Stewart to choose one of yer sisters to handfast with for the traditional year and a day.”

As Eliza gasped loudly, Maisie gritted her teeth to keep her own response silent, though her gaze did find its way to Graeme Stewart. She caught him exchanging a satisfied look with his brother. No doubt, the Stewarts had bent the king’s ear and swayed him to their cause.

“Why handfasting, my lord, instead of marriage?” Brody asked.

“Because Graeme Stewart does nae wish to wed one of yer sisters, and I’m certain ye kinnae blame him, considering what he has suffered at yer da’s hand.” Maisie’s entire face burned with embarrassment, and she could see Brody’s jaw twitching with anger. “However, I want peace between yer clans, so this will be the beginning of it. When the handfasting is over, if Graeme still does nae wish to wed whichever sister he chooses to handfast with this day, then there will be a tournament of two.”

“Two?” Brody asked.

The king nodded. “Aye. Yerself and Graeme. If ye win, ye will receive the lands ye would have acquired if ye had wed Sorcha Stewart, now MacLachlan. If ye lose, the land will remain with the Stewarts. If Graeme choses to wed yer sister after a year and a day, he will do so without her dowry coming to him, but with the alliance of yer clans. I will nae ask if ye object because I dunnae care. This is how it will be. It is fair, and it will bring peace, and if it does nae, I will have the title and the lands of whichever laird does nae keep the peace I demand. Does everyone ken me?” King James bellowed.

Maisie nodded, though she felt ill, and the others nodded as well.

“Excellent,” the king said and reclined in his chair. He picked up the goblet of wine that had been sitting in front of him and downed the contents in one gulp. “Come forward, Graeme, and pick yer mayhap wife.”

“My king,” Aidan said, stepping forward. “Maisie Stewart is spoken for as I have already asked for her hand in marriage and negotiated a union pact that is beneficial both to her brother and myself.”

Maisie smiled warmly at Aidan when he caught her eye and gave her a reassuring look. Though, in truth, she had not technically accepted, but she’d already decided she would. After sleeping on it for several nights on the journey here, and thinking upon his kiss, she believed she must have felt the simmering of passion, and given that, great passion would come. And what better man to take as husband than an honorable, handsome one who was her brother’s closest friend and ally?

The look of displeasure the king bestowed upon Aidan made her heart tumble to the floor. “She is nae wed to ye currently; therefore, she is nae yers, unless ye have taken her innocence?”

She waited a breath for Aidan to answer, but when she caught his hopeful look, she knew he intended to lie, and she could not let him risk himself that way. What if the king demanded an examination here and now? Aidan could be hanged for lying to the king, so she blurted, “My innocence is intact, Sire, but I do wish to wed Aidan.”

“I dunnae care what ye wish, Lady Campbell,” the king replied in a dismissive tone. “Ye will do as I bid. Now—” the king looked to Graeme Stewart “—with whom do ye choose to handfast?”