Page 22 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

Sutherland looked stumped. Kenna could see it on his face; he knew of her innocence, but he was in too deep to save them both now, and it was too much for her to think that he would save her over himself.

“Aye, she certainly could. Is the iron hot again?” the Queen asked again quickly, glancing at Kenna in a plea for her to answer the unasked question.

“No! Yer Majesty, I ken not if it was Gordon or another, but I can continue to swear to ye that I had no hand—”

Hot. She had never known the feeling with such force. The poker seared into her skin again, burning away at the sleeve of her dress and sinking deeper and deeper. The pain was so fierce that it overshadowed the tearing at the back of her throat as she screamed.

Then it was gone. The poker pulled away, a bit of skin stuck to it. She gasped and closed her eyes as a moment of relief spread through her like a cool mist, relishing the feeling before her body discovered the injury and overloaded her nerves with pain. There were hands on her now, moving to her wrists to unbind them, a pale face now close to her own, the whiteness of his cheeks juxtaposed against the dulling red of blood dripping from his nose.

Murtagh?

“Yer Majesty, ye ken our loyalty.” It was Rob’s father, his voice rushed with anxiety. “We took up yer calls against the Gordons without a second thought and will continue to fight fer the honor of ye and yer crown. We have watched this lass day and night since she came into our custody and I can assure ye, as the Laird of Clan Fraser, that she has done nothing.”

“Then what of her fire? The one that signaled the attack?” the Lockhart questioned. “Why did she light one fer herself instead of sharing yers as she has done all of the past nights?”

“We got into an argument, Yer Majesty. Any witnesses ye call upon will assure ye that it was my fault. She left to make a fire of her own to get distance from me, though she was not without a guard keeping an eye on her.” It was Rob now, his voice like a bit of sunshine after the rain.

Murtagh shifted, giving Kenna her first view of the Fraser lairds. They were each on their knees, heads bowed in submission before the angry royal.

“Yer Majesty,” the Lockhart cried in exasperation, “it could be that the fight was arranged. A ploy of the Gordon girl to give her reason to set the fire, signaling fer the Gordons to attack.”

“Ach, Yer Majesty, ‘tis incredibly unlikely. Why would the lass have stayed close to the fire if she knew it was summoning an arrow? I’m acquitted with some of the best archers in Scotland, and I wouldn’t trust their aim from such a distance. Do ye think it likely that she would?”

“Seems possible to me,” the advisor replied.

“Sir, what do ye suppose the chance is that the Earl of Huntly would risk such an operation?” The Earl of Sutherland stepped forward once more, his boldness encouraged by the slow shifting of the tides. “Indeed, if she is a spy, then why would Huntly risk losing her? All it would have taken was a bit of wind, and his spy would be lost in exchange for what? The death of only one of Yer Majesty’s guards, and not even a high ranking one at that?”

The Queen finally faltered, a bit of confusion and fear piercing that stony exterior. The arguments were working. Kenna’s innocence was slowly but surely being proven, or at least given a fair presentation.

Rob spoke again. “My Queen, forgive my boldness, but Clan Fraser has shown ye nothing but loyalty and subservience. We have fought fer ye, died fer ye, and have remained prepared to do so again and again while asking fer naught in return but yer trust and faith in us. Though Lady Kenna’s background, her family, can never be forgotten, she is now a Lady of Clan Fraser. Should ye rebuke her, ye rebuke our clan as well. If ‘tis deserved, then, by all means, press upon her as ye will. I simply ask fer ye to show us yer faith by taking our word fer truth.”

It wasn’t a threat. There was nothing about it that was a threat. But Kenna could still feel the notes of warning in Rob’s words. A reminder to the Queen that the Frasers were her swords. Swords she couldn’t afford to lose at a time like this.

“Stand,” the queen commanded with a hiss, and the Frasers came to their feet, ashen-faced as they waited for the result of the warning.

The Queen inched closer to Rob, leaning toward his ear as if to whisper but speaking loud enough for all to hear, “I gave her to ye with the expectation that you would do right by yer queen and country, not let a snake slither in our ranks uncontrolled. Give me another reason to suspect her, and yer fealty will not be enough to save her. Get her out of my sight.”

Not waiting for her to change her mind, Murtagh helped Kenna to her feet just as Rob descended upon her, scooping her up and rushing her from the tent as the Queen began to bellow orders for another search of the forest.

The sun was so close to rising, the sky purple in anticipation for a new day. Kenna embraced the cool morning air as if it was the first time, feeling particularly grateful for the chill as it tempered the pain in her arm.

“Murtagh, go see someone about that nose. And try and find something fer the burns,” Rob said, once they had finally put a few tents between themselves and the pavilion.

Kenna understood people were staring. Some at her, with an angry look of distrust behind their sleepy eyes. Others were directed at Murtagh, who looked like an outright mess with a slow stream of fresh blood layering itself over a heavy layer of old.

Once Murtagh was out of sight, Kenna felt compelled to look at Rob, at the calm expression betrayed by wild eyes.

“Rob, I—”

“Hush,” he said with a note of angry finality that made Kenna wince.

Did he not believe her either? Had all of his words to the Queen been only an obligation?

A few of the Fraser men were at their area of camp when the pair returned, almost all of them asleep where they sat. None paid them any mind as Rob ducked into his and Kenna’s tent and dropped her back onto her feet.

Kenna wrapped her good arm around her bad. Without Rob close, the tent was freezing. How could she be both so inflamed and yet so cold? Rob handed her a cloth soaked in the water from the basin and Kenna pressed it thankfully against the burns, two parallel lines across her upper arm, each deep and likely to leave terrible scars. A vicious reminder that she was, and always would be, a Gordon traitor.

“Take off yer dress.”