Page 86 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"There it is—the palace where kings have decided the fate of Scotland fer centuries," Ruaridh said quietly, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Iona's hands trembled as she gripped the reins, watching the royal palace at Stirling rise from the Scottish landscape like a testament to power itself. "It's larger than I imagined," she managed, though her voice came out barely above a whisper.

Its ancient stones weathered by centuries of political storms seemed to loom larger with each hoofbeat, and she couldn't shake the feeling that that day might determine whether she would leave that place as Lady MacDuff or as a condemned traitor.

"Easy, lass," Ruaridh murmured beside her, though she could hear the tension threading through his own voice. "We're here tae tell the truth. Naething more."

Behind them, their escort of MacDuff warriors maintained formation, their presence both comforting and ominous. These good men had ridden hard for two days to bring them here, not knowing if they were protecting their future lady or escorting her to her doom.

The palace courtyard bustled with activity—nobles arriving for the Council, servants hurrying about their duties, guards in royal livery maintaining watchful positions. But Iona felt every eye upon her, imagining whispered conversations about the MacNeill woman who'd brought scandal to the MacDuff clan.

"Stay with the horses," Ruaridh commanded their men as they dismounted. "Be ready fer anything, but dinnae interfere unless I give word."

Duncan nodded grimly. "Aye, sir. We'll be here."

Inside the palace, the weight of history pressed down like a physical force. Tapestries depicting royal victories lined corridors that had seen countless political intrigues, and Iona's footsteps seemed to echo with the ghosts of other petitioners who'd walked those halls seeking royal justice.

A steward in rich velvet appeared, his manner formal but not unkind. "Laird MacDuff? Her Majesty's privy council awaits ye in the audience chamber."

The audience chamber was smaller than Iona had expected but far more intimidating. High windows let in streams of light that illuminated a long table where five men sat in judgment. At their head sat the king himself—James Stewart, a man of perhaps fifty years whose iron-grey beard framed a face marked by the weight of ruling a fractious nation.

His dark eyes held the kind of intelligence that missed nothing, and even seated, his broad shoulders and erect posture commanded the room. When he gestured with his palm, it was with the controlled precision of someone accustomed to having his slightest gesture carry the force of law."

"Approach," a man in royal livery commanded.

Iona's legs felt unsteady as they walked forward, but Ruaridh's presence beside her provided an anchor of strength. They stopped at the prescribed distance and bowed, the formal courtesies feeling surreal given the accusations hanging over them.

A herald in the same royal livery as the one that asked them to approach, stepped forward, unrolling a parchment with ceremonial precision. "Hear ye the charges brought before His Majesty's court," he announced, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. "Ruaridh MacDuff, heir to Clan MacDuff, stands accused of knowingly harboring a traitor tae the crown, one Iona MacNeill, and of marriage contracted tae protect said traitor from royal justice."

The Lord Chancellor, a thin man with calculating eyes and silver hair, leaned forward from his position beside the king. "The accused woman, Iona MacNeill now MacDuff, stands charged with stealing clan secrets and selling them tae England's agents." His voice carried the weight of formal legal authority. "How daes the accused answer tae these charges?"

"They are lies, Yer Grace," Ruaridh replied, his voice steady despite the tremor Iona could see in his clenched hands. "Complete fabrications created by Murray MacNab tae cover his own treasonous dealings."

The Lord Chancellor's eyebrows rose. "Strong words against a man who has served Scotland faithfully fer years. Ye have proof of these counteraccusations?"

"Peace, Chancellor," King James interrupted, his penetrating gaze fixed on Ruaridh. "I would hear this matter directly. The accusations touch upon treason—there are few crimes more serious against the crown."

Iona watched as the Chancellor bowed respectfully and stepped back. The king's tone was neutral, but Iona caught the warning in it when he asked, "Ye have proof of these counteraccusations?"

"Aye, Yer Majesty. Me wife can speak tae the truth of Murray's character and actions."

The king's gaze shifted to Iona, and she felt stripped bare under that royal scrutiny. "So this is the lady in question. Iona MacNeill, now MacDuff, accused of stealing clan secrets and selling them tae England's agents."

"I never—" she began, then caught herself and curtsied deeply. "Yer Majesty, the accusations against me are false. I have never betrayed Scotland or any Highland clan."

"Yet ye did flee yer betrothal tae Murray MacNab under circumstances that suggest scandal," one of the privy councilors interjected. "Why should we believe yer protestations of innocence?"

Iona's throat felt tight, but she forced herself to speak clearly. "Because Murray MacNab attempted tae force himself upon me, Yer Majesty. When I refused his advances, he spread lies about me tae protect his own reputation."

Murmurs rippled through the councilors. The Chancellor held up a hand for silence. "That is a serious accusation, Lady MacDuff. Assault is a grave charge."

"Attempted assault, Yer Majesty. I fought him off." The words came out strong, just as she felt them. "But in doing so, I discovered something else. Something that proves Murray MacNab is the real traitor tae the crown."

"What did ye discover?" the king asked, his interest clearly piqued.

Iona glanced at Ruaridh, seeing encouragement in his green eyes. "I found correspondence in his study, Yer Majesty. A letter that proves he has been blackmailing Highland lairds and dealing with English contacts."