Authors: Jackie Ivie

Knight Everlasting (20 page)

BOOK: Knight Everlasting

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“Which does bring me all the way back round to the problem of this particular woman, Ewan Blaine. Does na' it?” Kerr asked, each word distinct and clear.

Aidan looked across at both of them, ignored the spurt still happening in his chest, and smiled slightly. “I still have na' located my sporran, lads. I'm thinking a team of two might have a much better chance at finding it.”

“Right.”

Ewan was the first on his feet. Kerr put his tankard down first.

“We've a
faile breacan
to prepare, doona' we, Ewan?” Kerr asked.

“Oh. Aye. For the laird. He canna' arrive in less than the best.”

“You ken that, do you? Perhaps you should ken other things a lot quicker as well. Then I would na' have to keep jawing until we reach trouble.”

“Trouble follows you everywhere, Kerr MacGorrick.”

They were still trading insults when they faded from the light.

“Aidan?”

Aidan raised his hand for Tavish's silence. Then he stood and very carefully smoothed his kilt band across his chest, checked for his skeans, and stomped a bit to bring feeling back to his feet.

“I could see the woman back for you,” Tavish offered.

“She's mine,” Aidan replied.

“Oh. Aye,” Tavish replied. “I'll go back to being drunk and prostrate, then.”

Chapter 16

Arran hadn't been telling faery tales.

Juliana had gotten glimpses of gray rock between the low-hanging mists throughout the morn. The match of sky to castle was so close, it didn't look entirely real. Perhaps if the day had been filled with sun and blue sky, or anything other than overcast and wet, she'd have experienced the awe sooner. But by midday, there was no stopping the jaw-dropping effect every time a cloud parted enough to frame what her eyes wanted to deny but couldn't. Castle Ketryck kept growing and spreading until it looked to span the horizon, leaving little delineation between rock and castle and water and sky.

The entourage about them had grown apace with the castle's size, beginning with a lad from a nearly hidden croft. After that, the crowd just kept growing, as clansman after clansman walked from fields or trees and around buildings until the width and depth and noise about her threatened to overwhelm any individual thought. A lone piper joined them at the beginning of a field of heather that stretched from either side as far as the eye could see. He was soon joined by more of them. Juliana hadn't much experience of it, but she decided MacKetryck pipers were probably known for their melodic tone and volume as the sound swelled to join all the others about her.

Juliana heard calls and greetings being flung about the men behind her, as well as questions and some heartrending cries of names that had only been shadows before. She recognized a few: Iain. Filib. Rory. Her thigh muscles twitched from atop the dead Rory's horse as that name got called out with a question and answered with silence.

Aidan didn't turn his head, or move from the grim stance he'd assumed that morn when she'd first seen him. He was nothing like the wild, intense man who'd kidnapped her, and sent her into the heaven of pleasure just last night. Juliana ducked her head for a moment, to gather that thought before it showed on her face, then turned again to watch Aidan's stiff back, one horse in front of hers.

He was fully arrayed in what Arran told her was the MacKetryck black and red chieftain plaid. Aidan had his hair neatly combed and tied back, making a queue that reached midback, where it grazed the plaid band atop his sleeveless shirt. That garment had come from his trunk. She already knew how well the woven flax skimmed the skin. It had been large on her, hiding the fact that they'd been sewn exactly to his proportions, or maybe when he'd been a tad bit smaller, since the seams looked near to splitting every time he moved. He'd put on carved silver armbands, one on each upper arm. He had a long claymore with an elaborate jeweled hilt strapped to his right side, where it hung perpendicular to the horse's side.

He looked like a laird capable of controlling and commanding a clan the size of the MacKetryck one. He projected power. Leadership. Authority. The kind of man one looked up to. She could understand Arran's hero worship. Easily. If this presentation was the reason they'd stopped at the Killoran compound, it was effective.

The clouds decided to part just then, putting a ray of sunshine directly atop Aidan, lighting him, making him sparkle, and sending evil-looking glints from the claymore's unsheathed blade with every move of his stallion. The sight stopped every bit of the crowd noise with the awe. Juliana had to admit it was breathtaking, because it took hers away. And then, the light spread farther, putting not only light but warmth atop her head as well as those farther down the line.

All about her she heard the reaction, with words of omens and signs, said with a dialect and thick speech that made it difficult to understand. Juliana kept her head dipped slightly and her smile hidden. The entire lot of them sounded superstitious. And foolish. It wasn't a sign of anything more than the rain might be breaking.

The clouds lightened more the closer they got to Castle Ketryck, making it impossible to avoid the structure and what it stood for. Power. Might. Strength. Rule. Arran hadn't told her enough . . . or he needed better words. The castle was stout, massive, impregnable, and invincible. Juliana felt a knot of apprehension settle at the base of her spine, worrying her with every roll of her horse.

Before they reached the river-sized moat at the base of the wall, and the large swath of ledge meant to support a drawbridge, she turned her head surreptitiously from the right to the left and back again, eyeing and evaluating that mass of rock barbican, and trying to find a way to ignore the lump of worry at the same time. The curtain wall looked longer than seven hundred steps, and it appeared that Arran had misrepresented the thickness of it as well. It easily looked more than three times Aidan's height. The wall was crenellated all about the walkway at the top of the five stories of wall, and each merlon opening had a clansman at it. Some of them appeared to have more than one. The gatehouse surpassed all of it. Juliana had to guess at a width of rock that would accommodate a group as large as the one standing at the center of the gatehouse wall, looking eight to ten heads deep.

There were also drummers somewhere inside that structure, for a thrumming of noise was accompanying pipers from inside to join the sound outside, making a swell of sound that was impossible to ignore, in the event anyone missed the laird of Clan MacKetryck's arrival.

It was better to watch Aidan.

Juliana dropped her eyes from the massive fortress facing her to the man claiming lordship over all of it. And felt humble and small and insignificant and dowdy . . . especially in the used, cast-off shift and with her hair in an unkempt braid she wouldn't have washed in that tub last night even if they'd begged her to. It was just as well that the braid was tucked beneath the plaid they'd given her to wear, while she sat on the end of it. Juliana had never felt so alone. Isolated. Desolate. Despondent.

What was the love of a lone woman to the man who commanded this? Especially a woman he'd tagged a lady from the MacDonal clan? He'd given her respectability with such a title . . . but the cost was more than she could absorb. She had no choice but to shove it away. Ignore it. Until later . . . much later when she was ensconced in a room in this keep. All by herself. Alone. Bereft. Cut off from any of them. She guessed a lady of the MacDonal clan wouldn't be allowed near unaccompanied males. She might never get near him again once inside this monstrosity.

The knot of emotion spread, going to a stone in her belly and pounding a reminder with every beat of her heart. She had to look aside and away from Aidan and swallow ceaselessly while her hands went to fists on the horse's mane. She was afraid . . . so afraid, especially of the sensation reaching her heart.

And she'd been wrong. It was better to look at his castle.

Juliana moved her vision from their laird and tipped her head back to fully see Castle Ketryck as an Englishman might . . . who'd just come to besiege it. She smirked, but it was a shaky expression. King Edward hadn't come this far north, or he'd have brought more men.

The gatehouse looked closer to seven stories in height. Juliana would never believe Arran's descriptions again. Since it was early afternoon and the sun was partial with its light, there wasn't a sign of shadow being thrown by the gatehouse. There was a huge sound of grinding and creaking and whining and a trembling sound coming from the mass of rock, which must have heralded a drawbridge getting lowered . . . a large drawbridge, capable of spanning a moat this size. Juliana eyed it again. The moat was a large span of water, glistening with a blue-green color when the sun speckled it, showing the depth of it as well. It must have been fed from the loch behind Castle Ketryck.

Her father, Giles D'Aubenville, had been a wealthy English baron, but he'd never seen anything like this. Castle Ketryck looked to match or exceed anything the king had built in Wales, too, but Juliana had only rumor and drawings for those. Here she was faced with solid stone.

They lowered the drawbridge in chunks of space at Aidan's approach. He was in place, patiently waiting on the rock ledge of this side when the bridge slammed the final span of space to the ground. Juliana covered her mouth and nose at the air that puffed up from the ground at the impact. Aidan's horse reared back, but he had it controlled instantly and completely, and perfectly. Then he was leading them onto a span of wood that echoed and thumped with each hoof being marched across it, Juliana's mount included.

She'd been right. The width of stone was more than three of Aidan. It was a solid matching of blocks that fitted without leaving enough space between the stones for a sword blade. Her shoulders drooped slightly and she moved one hand to put it atop the sensation at the pit of her belly before they'd cleared the dark tunnel beneath the gatehouse and appeared on the other side.

Aidan didn't stop. He proceeded across a span of grass that looked to house an entire village of structures as well as the populace of one, and then he neared another curtain wall, this one without a gatehouse. Arran hadn't said a word about baileys, nor how many Castle Ketryck had. Not a word. Juliana nearly twisted around to give him a glare that would leave no misunderstanding over how much his lack had affected her, but settled with frowning at the hand she had wrapped about horse hair.

This wall had another archway they passed beneath. It didn't look to be three of Aidan either, although it was a closer match to that description. It was crafted from the same gray rock. It was as if the builders had leveled a mountain and then used the rock to construct another mountain of castle in its place. But that was impossible. Unbelievable. It would have taken an army of men and centuries of time. But what did she know of it anyway? Juliana knew life only as the protected and pampered daughter of an English baron. What Juliana experienced now was fit for a king.

They reached the inner bailey. This one had another courtyard of sod, peopled with more clan. Aidan's progress was slowing as they neared a stone building that appeared to interconnect with more of them before joining another wall. It might have been the outer curtain wall, overlooking the loch . . . or it might have led to yet another bailey. Juliana couldn't tell, and she wasn't asking.

If this was a keep, it was impressive as well. It looked four stories in height, although the two structures abutting it were taller. There were towers at the far ends, with the same battlement running all about the top, although it dropped at the keep rooftop before slanting back up for either taller building. Crenellations were only allowed for a king or with the permission of a king. Juliana was beginning to think Highland lairds might be in the same category as kings . . . or fancied themselves as such.

Having crenellation on a building this far inside its walls seemed overstated and boastful and of little use. It was useful only in the event a rival clan managed the impossible and broke through both walls. Juliana narrowed her eyes in thought. She decided these three buildings must have been part of the original structure, constructed centuries earlier by the Vikings. That could explain the defensive fixtures.

Aidan stopped and raised his hand, halting the line. The sounds of drums and pipes ceased as well as the crowd noise. A shiver went along Juliana's arms and across her back at how eerie and odd it seemed. None of the sun percolated into the area they'd stopped in. It would need to be late morning for that to happen, she surmised.

Aidan dismounted and everyone watched as he patted his horse and gave the rein to a squire. Then he turned about and walked the one horse length back to her and stopped. Just . . . stopped.

“Come, Juliana.”

He held both hands out for her, as if he knew the correct way to assist a lady in dismounting. Swallowing every bit of unease, Juliana complied. It was a mistake. The moment they touched, her palms sparked, and she jerked them back.

Juliana's eyes flew to his before dropping. The lump shifted and she tightened her belly on it, trembled in place, and there was nothing she could do. No one she could turn to. No way to run. No place to hide. No one she could trust. She had too many secrets. Love for him was just one of them. And if she had to fail at hiding it, why did it have to be in front of God, and Aidan, and the amount of MacKetryck clan gathered all about her in a hushed silence that made everything so much worse?

“You will na' appreciate it if I pull you off the horse, Juliana.”

He hadn't moved. Not a muscle. She had to do it. Or . . . try. Juliana commanded her own hands to reconnect to where he was standing and starting to look annoyed. The hands she held out shook visibly. She didn't know what expression might be on his face. She didn't dare look.

Aidan MacKetryck had been trained in the art of romance and chivalry after all. Not only did he know how to assist her, but he was well versed in supporting her weight as she slipped to the ground, and once there, on how to provide an escort. He released her to stand on legs that wobbled beneath her shift where no one else knew anything of it, but he didn't allow her to stay that way. He had his shoulder tipped down just slightly and his arm crooked and held out for her to hold on to. And he just stood there, with one eyebrow raised quizzically while a slight smile played about on his lips.

“Welcome to Castle Ketryck,” he said, and gestured with his head to the mass of stone all about them.

She opened her mouth to say something amusing and biting at the same time, and had to close it again as nothing came out.

BOOK: Knight Everlasting

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