Bedding the Enemy (7 page)

More X-chairs were neatly lined up against the far wall facing the king's, but no one sat in them without permission. Such was an honor, and James was in no mood to grant that tonight. Everyone lowered themselves and remained with bent knees while their monarch surveyed them. James Stuart took his time, his displeasure clear.

“Enough. Rise.”

The room was so silent, Helena heard the servants moving behind them to light the candles. Large iron candelabra stood in all four corners of the room. They each held five candles in an X formation. The room brightened as the servants touched the wicks with flame.

“What's yer reason for leaving one of my queen's maids of honor looking like that, Edmund Knyvett?”

Her brother shrugged. His lips curved into a satisfied smile that shocked her in spite of how many times she had seen him behave selfishly. No hint of remorse or pity entered his eyes. Quite the opposite, her brother looked very pleased.

“Passion isn't very often soft. Some like it rougher than others.” He cast a look down the length of his nose at Raelin.

Raelin tightened her grip but made no other sign of her distress. Helena felt her own stomach twisting with nausea. Her brother had all but called Raelin a whore. James wasn't amused. His hand curled around one of the ornately carved arms of the chair.

“I heard a scream that didna sound like passion.”

Edmund flicked his fingers toward her. “My sister is easily shocked. My parents sheltered her to preserve her virtue. Helena doesn't understand the games that the other ladies at court like to play.”

“Ye're a liar.” The Scot was furious but his voice was so controlled it made him seem deadly. The king held up his hand, but the man didn't instantly back down. He sent another look at Edmund that clearly said he wasn't afraid of his position. Helena bit her lip to keep from gasping. Never once had she witnessed anyone, save her father, standing up to Edmund. This man only controlled himself for the king, but he shook with anger, clenching his hands into fists.

“Lady Helena.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” She snapped her gaze back to the king, heat brushing her cheeks. She had to break this habit of staring at the Scot. Immediately.

“Was it passion and your naiveté, or something else?”

Tension gripped her so tightly, time froze. She became aware of each heartbeat and the time between them. Edmund looked down his nose at her, so supremely confident of her obedience to his will. She hated him for that. For the first time in her life she became aware of what it felt like to actually hate. She hated the callousness she saw on his face. It was ugly and horrible in a way that threatened to make her sick. The Scot watched her, his eyes burning once more, but this time he seemed to be hoping that she would not disappoint him by lying. She actually felt the weight of his opinion and she discovered that it mattered to her what he thought of her.

“It was not passion and I was shocked by my brother's behavior. It was none of Raelin's doing.”

The king leaned forward. “Ye were together?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Edmund's eyes bulged. Promise of retribution burned in them, but Helena did not lower her head. She stared at him, proud of herself. She had spoken the truth. The shame was her brother's to bear.

The king sat back, his expression pensive.

“It was much more than that, Yer Majesty! He struck her.” The Scot was still enraged. The tone of his voice sent a shiver down Helena's back. She was suddenly very grateful that she had spoken truthfully. This was not a man to cross.

“Ridiculous. I am a gentleman. A descendant of one of the oldest noble houses.” Edmund sneered at the Scot.

“Is that a fact? I noticed ye didna simply say ye didna strike her. If ye're innocent, speak it plainly.”

“Enough!” James Stuart's voice cracked like a whip. He pointed at the Scot. “I'll question you when I'm ready. Hold yer silence.” He pointed at the captain of his guard.

“Captain, ye will escort my queen's maid of honor back to the queen's chamber. And I mean every step of the way.”

There was a click of polished boot heels against each other, and a moment later Raelin was being ushered toward the doors. She didn't release Helena's hand but tried to pull her along.

“Lady Knyvett will remain.”

The king's guard didn't allow them any time to question the will of the king. Raelin was taken away without another word. The king glared at her brother.

“Edmund Knyvett, ye may be the only son of the Earl of Kenton but I'll no have ye placing rough hands on maidens.” The king never raised his voice but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone. “Ye shall be in the great hall when I summon ye and yer sister will be in my queen's chambers on the morrow. Dinnae make my chamberlain call yer name twice.”

“Your Majesty…”

“Begone.” James Stuart's voice cracked like a whip. The guards standing next to him were lowering their pikes. Helena curtsied and backed toward the door. Her brother hesitated, earning him a scowl from the king.

“Do not test me, sir. Your name protects you thus far but ye dinnae have any more grace to impose upon. Best ye get out of me sight afore I recall some frozen country that needs an ambassador.”

Edmund offered the briefest of reverences before quitting the room. Helena followed him. His strides were long and fueled by a hot temper. There was no missing the fuming glance he raked her with when he passed her.

Oddly enough, she wasn't frightened. A strange manner of contentment settled over her. She'd spoken truly even though so many around her used deception to maintain their family position. Deep in her heart, she realized that true friendship was a gift Raelin would not be granting to anyone who didn't treat her with respect in return.

Her cheeks heated, and it had nothing to do with the pace she was forced to keep. Her conscience pricked her because defending her friend had not been her only motivation. Simply put, she hadn't been willing to disappoint the Scot. He was a man of honor. He didn't care for her brother's impending inheritance or the political advantage that might have been his had he looked the other way. He was the first man that she had met at court who held his honor above his hunger for power and position.

 

James Stuart fingered his chin. Keir didn't move. He'd expected his meeting with the king to be a tense one. But he was distracted by the knowledge of who his mystery lady was. He'd spent too many hours attempting to discover her identity. Not being able to reach her in time to beat her brother off her and Raelin McKorey had his temper white-hot. But his interest was even hotter, because she had stood up to her brother and spoken the truth. Now that was a woman he wanted to get to know better. The kind he might bring home to Red Stone and truthfully hear her called mistress by his clansmen. She was worthy of it.

But he would have to do what he came to London to do first: swear his fealty and restore his clan to good standing. He could nay offer for her before his name was worthy of her. Keir aimed his attention at the king. James Stuart studied him long and hard.

“Ye're McQuade's youngest son?”

“Aye, Yer Majesty, I am.”

The guards standing on either side of the king moved slightly closer, their fingers tightening on their short pikes. His father had been run through with one of the weapons when he tried to drive a dagger through Raelin McKorey during a fight with Brodick McJames. His two older brothers had launched an attack on the royal guard in defense of their father and ended up dead along with his sire. All of it had been done within inches of the king and queen. The name McQuade had been tarnished ever since. He kept very still, with his hands at his sides. It wouldn't take much to see the guards using their deadly pikes on him. He could see the distrust in their eyes.

“How long have ye been at court?”

“A few days.”

The king lowered his hand and gripped the arm of his chair. “Why have ye come, McQuade? I didna send for ye.”

Keir felt his jaw tighten. He did not care for the tone of the king's voice, but he'd expected nothing less. Still, the disdain was hard to listen to.

“To swear my fealty to you. As tradition dictates.”

The king sat up straighter, his face drawing into an expression of consideration.

“Is that a fact?”

“It is, sire, and my duty.”

The king nodded. “Aye, so it is, but I'm a bit surprised to see ye attending to the matter so promptly.”

Keir shot the king's hard gaze right back at him. “Honor is no' something ye put off to another time. It's time the McQuades had a laird who set a correct example. That is why I'm in London.”

“Well now, I'll not be arguing with that.” The king waved his hand. “And what of this business with Raelin McKorey?”

Keir felt tension tighten across his body. “That whelp needs a good lesson. He tore her gown like a rabid animal. Ye saw the trails of her nails on his cheek. 'Twas the result of a desperate attempt to free herself. I couldna get across the hall fast enough.”

“My guards are very diligent.” James stroked his chin again. “Edmund Knyvett is a powerful man and will soon become even more so. I dinnae think many men would have interfered.”

“Ye have my sympathies on the condition of yer court.”

The king chuckled. He covered it quickly, looking surprised by his own response. “Ye're no' very much like yer father, or ye're doing a grand job of disguising yer nature.”

“My father liked to tell me how much like my mother I was. He had no tender feelings toward me beyond the fact that I was born a son instead of a daughter.”

The king nodded absently. “Aye, yer father held no affection toward yer sister Bronwyn.”

“I do.”

“And what of Raelin McKorey? Yer father put that scar on her face.”

Keir did not answer. He stared at the king, allowing his actions to speak for him. He'd never been a man of prattling conversations and he was not going to begin now.

The king grunted. “I suppose that was nae a necessary question, considering ye just threatened one of my English nobles on her account.”

“He grabbed her like a drunken sailor on the waterfront.” Keir spoke through clenched teeth. “Ye should have let me give him a few lessons in manners.”

Telling the king what to do might not have been the wisest thing, but his temper was still hot. It was taking a great deal of effort to remain in place while the English whelp left with his sister in tow. It was a sure thing that she would not be having an easy time of it now that she'd refused to lie for her kin. It was something he understood, and that was for certain. His father had always detested him for his resolve to retain his honor. “What of his sister? She's a good lass.”

James stiffened. “Ye're a keen one, all right. Things will nae go well for her tonight. 'Tis a curse, but I must handle these English nobles carefully. The lass impressed me with her courage.”

“Aye. She's nae a coward.”

The king lifted one eyebrow. “I dinnae think her brother will be taking very kindly to yer tone, considering ye just threatened to beat him.”

Keir smiled. He couldn't help it. “I'm here to swear my oath to ye, nae dabble in schemes that involve ripping the dresses off maidens.” Disgust edged his words, but he didn't care.

“Most men wouldna let me hear that tone. They would not dare use such in the presence of their king.”

“I've just traveled to London to kneel before ye when I know a few of my neighbors havena made the effort and wear their lairdship proudly. I am nae a dishonest man. My father often berated me for it. But if what ye prefer is men that coddle yer ego, best we get on with my duty so that I can ride out of yer sight.”

The king chuckled. It was an honest sound that drew surprised glances from his normally frozen guards. The men recovered quickly but their eyes strayed to him, surveying him. James laughed harder until the room was full of the sound.

“Coddle my ego?” He slapped the arm of his throne. “I believe I may like ye, Keir McQuade. A rather pleasant surprise. Join my court for a few weeks. I've a mind to get to know ye a bit better afore I hear yer oath.”

Keir lowered himself. James raised an eyebrow.

“What? Nae objection to remaining among the English?”

Keir straightened. “There're one or two things that draw my interest here. The idea of making sure the name McQuade is restored to a standing of honor is a good enough reason to remain. Ye may have more objections from your English lords to me than I have to them.”

James sobered. “Being king does have advantages. Ye're here at my invitation. They will keep their grumbles low. Stay.” Something crossed James Stuart's face. “Stay and court the girl. I believe it will be interesting to see what her brother makes of that.”

 

He should have been satisfied, but he was not. Keir ground his teeth all the way back to his hovel of a residence. He'd done what he set out to do, or at least he'd made a good beginning of it.

But he was itching to find her.

Helena.

He had a name to go with her face, but he was more frustrated than before. He sighed. Laying his kilt aside, he propped his sword next to his bed. The thing was too short and narrow for his frame. At least thinking about Helena gave his mind something to dwell on besides how much he longed for Red Stone and his own bed.

Court the girl…

Well now, it appeared that he had something to accomplish before he rode back to Scotland. Helena's face came to mind. She had courage, all right—maybe too much—because it was soliciting a response from him that was rather out of line, considering she was a maiden. He grinned and pinched out the candle beside his bed. His cock was hard and he could hear the carousing from the inn on the corner: music and women laughing while they sold their favors.