Page 54 of Highland Storm

Needing succor, Keane sought his sister’s gaze. In Lael’s familiar eyes, filled with equal measures of hope and regret, he found what he needed to see, love without condition and freely given. Until he spied that in his wife’s eyes, he would harden his heart. A kiss might have sealed his fate, but it would never rob him of his hope.

For all that they were much too pious, Jaime was pleased with the tapestries Lael ordered for the great hall. The thick material easily muffled the sound of idle chatter and the deep reds and golds, coupled with the new chandeliers, managed to give the room warmth and cheer, neither of which the wedded couple managed to exude.

Somehow, his wife had managed to rouse the entire household to prepare a feast fit for a king. She’d served Jaime’s favorite—a dessert called blancmanger that she’d introduced to him at their own wedding. And along with the blancmanger, she’d served currant cakes, pheasant, brawn en peuerade, a delicious pork in wine sauce, connynges in grauey—rabbit in broth—and dauce egre, a wonderful fish cooked in a sweet and sour onion sauce. There was plenty of warm bread, sweet cheese, mead and ale. The only one thing there wasn’t enough of was laughter. The evening was entirely too sober. Despite twinkling candles, music and a smattering of uisge, the great hall had all the good cheer of a funeral. In fact, he’d attended hangings that were far more joyful than this. The entire affair reminded him all-too-much of another wedding some years past—his own.

Lianae stood dutifully beside her new husband, her expression sullen and full of—in Jaime’s estimation—what appeared to be regret.

For Keane’s part, he looked like a man who’d been led to the gibbet rather than to an altar. His smiles were few and far between, and most were directed at Lael, in order to reassure her. Betimes he envied their close-knit sibling relationship. Even all these years later, he and Kenna scarcely knew each other, despite that she lived beneath his very roof. In fact, she was closer to Lael than she was to him.

All day long Kenna had been brooding, and now it appeared she had eschewed the celebration entirely. He was searching the crowd to see if he could find her, when his wife came tugging at his sleeve. She looped her arm about Jaime’s, drawing him close. “Do you think they will be alright?” she asked.

He followed her gaze to the dais, noting the couple’s general discord. “I do not know. In truth, have never seen him quite so…”

Wooden. Stoic. Quietly seething.

“Unyielding?”

Over the past five years, Jaime had come to know the man well. Thanks to Keane, Jaime had been able to join the battle at Stracathro in Forfarshire with some more peace of mind whilst he’d remained here at Keppenach along with Lael. He knew it had cost Keane his brother’s affections, and the two rarely spoke anymore. For that alone, he felt an obligation to see to his wellbeing.

Lael sighed loudly, her fingers tightening about his forearm. “I would be furious, in truth, had I not spent a few moments with the girl when I took her the gown. She was reticent, and yet every other word was, ‘will Keane like this?’ ‘Will Keane like that?’ To my way of thought ’tis a lot of fretting over a man she’d only meant to impugn.”

Jaime considered that a moment, remembering the wild look in the girl’s eyes in the solar. “’Tis my opinion she was merely trying to save herself.”

“Save herself?” Lael peered up at him, her lovely brows lifting. “From what, perchance?”

“Aye, well, that would be the question.” He stared down at his wife, knowing the answer to the question he would ask, despite his need to hear a little white lie, “Did you carry on that way before our nuptials?”

“Like Lianae?” Lael laughed and then shot him sideways glance. “Nay, husband!”

“So, then, ye dinna wish to please me, not at all?”

His wife tilted him a coy smile. “I dinna care to remind ye, husband. I would have greatly preferred to pluck out your eyes.”

Jaime’s shoulders shook a bit with laughter, realizing that she likely spoke the truth. That night so long ago, there had been naught between them but lust, and mostly on his part. His beautiful wife would have preferred to gut him from head to toe—and she might well have, given her skill with the blades. Even after all these years, she far surpassed most of his men and had shown little desire to put away her sharp little toys. Even now, despite that she was far more adept at concealing them, he knew she secreted one beneath her dress, strapped to her ankle in a soft pocket of fine silk—a gift from Jaime on their fifth year together, the day he’d left her to do battle in the north. Alas, his eldest daughter had taken up her torch. God help any man who dared to cross the Steorling women.

“Where are the children?” he asked.

“Here and there,” Lael replied, waving a hand dismissively, no doubt as much an accomplice to their foolery as were his errant daughters.

They had four—four clever little sirens, who would all someday lure hapless men to their doom—as surely as their lady mother had done to him. But be damned if he didn’t love his life. His gaze returned to the newly wedded couple, considering what his wife had said.

He had a good feeling about Óengus’s last living daughter, and it was a good thing, because elsewise, given Keane’s demeanor, Jaime doubted he could have supported the king in his decision to force them into matrimony—which by the by, confused him a bit…

William fitz Duncan was a clear and present rival for Scotia’s throne. By the letter of the law, he would have had a greater claim than even David. That David mac Maíl Chaluim would have given Óengus’s daughter to fitz Duncan in the first place was a risk to be sure and Keane had spoken the truth. As much unrest as there remained in Moray, fitz Duncan could easily claim the greater right to the throne by virtue of his own birthright, strengthened by the royal blood of his Moray bride. The one thing David had in his favor was that the people did not like fitz Duncan. But, on the other hand, they adored the sons and daughters of MacBeth. So give Lianae a man of might—like Keane—someone people were naturally drawn to follow. Give her someone who also brought to the union the blood of much revered kings—again, Keane, despite that the dún Scoti abstained from Scotia’s politiks. Add to this the fact that Keane was also Pecht—no matter that his kinsmen no longer referred to themselves this way. He, together with Lianae, could wage a battle for the North… and win. And given that they held a man within their dungeon at Dunràth a man who might see it done… well, he did not understand what David was up to… and yet he knew his king well enough to know that he did not take chances. Whatever was unfolding was well within David’s command. Alas, Jaime was sworn to keep this secret from his lovely wife, and God’s truth, these were the moments when he most loathed his position. But his brooding thoughts went unnoticed by his wife.

Up on the dais, Lianae seldom took her eyes off Keane. Whatever he did, she did. When he smiled, so too did she, despite that Keane seemed completely oblivious to this effort. Jaime cast a knowing glance at his wife. “Would that you were always so biddable as she.”

Lael returned his smile, her brilliant green gaze twinkling by the candlelight, and the gleam in her eyes made him wish they were alone. “Ye wadna like me verra much, I think.”

They shared a meaningful look, and a private smile. “Quite right, love.”

Husband and wife returned their gazes to the newly wedded couple, watching Lianae as she watched her husband brood.

“Those are not the actions of a woman who holds a man in contempt, wouldn’t ye say?”

“And yet… she spoke such terrible lies about my brother. It will bode them ill. Keane hasn’t a mean bone in his body, though he does not have a particularly open, or forgiving way once he has been crossed.”

“Aye, well, I’ve a good feeling, nonetheless,” Jaime confessed.