Page 2 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
He and the King had worked closely for years. If His Majesty no longer trusted him, then Drum couldn’t be left alive.
Ye should run.
He scoffed, this timegulpingthe whisky and ignoring the burn. Run? Run where? Besides,whywould he run? He’d lost everything once before, built it back into a reputation he was proud of.
If he ran, he’d be no better than Rebecca.
Well, shite. If we’ve reached the stage of drinking where ye’re thinking ofher, then yemustbe drunk.
She was the reason he’d almost lost his good name once before, and he’d be damned afore he allowed it to happen again. If the King had lost trust with him, then Drum would face the consequences with his chin held high.
And if that meant an execution, aye, he’d face that. If that meant an assassin in the night with a knife for his heart, then… Well, he wasn’t going to facethatquietly, not without knowing ‘twas His Majesty’s command.
Oh God, his stomach was roiling. Mayhap ‘twas because of the wholeheavy drinking on an empty stomach. He should find food.
But where was safe?
Och, ye’re becoming paranoid.
He needed to speak to the King, but the King had refused to meet with him for the last sennight. Proof Drum was no longer trusted—as if he needed further confirmation.
“Fook it,” he muttered. Sitting here alone, drinking, wasn’t going to solve anything.
He planted his hands on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. The room spun onlyslightly, which was good news. He could likely manage to drag himself to the kitchens in one piece.
Just as he’d made the decision, the door swung open. He cursed, fumbling for his sword, but before he could manage to draw it—Damn his hide for being drunk!—he recognized the backside coming through the door.
His own arse plopped back into the chair. “Brigit?”
She gave the door a push with one hip as she navigated a half-turn.
“Hello lover.”
As always, the sight of her impish grin made his chest warm.
“I brought ye supper.”
Sure enough, she was holding a tray on which she balanced a bowl of something steaming and fragrant, as well as a jug of something. Drum’s attention, however, seemed stuck on the way her bodice was laced just a little too tight, pushing her breasts halfway to her chin.
“Are ye hungry?” she asked, edging around the desk to plop the tray in front of him.
“No’ anymore,” he mumbled, reaching for her and burying his face in her tits.
The little maid giggled and batted at the back of his head. “None of that, Drummond. Ye’ve been in here moping, aye?”
His response was muffled. “Nay.”
She only chuckled harder. “Yehavebeen. I ken ye, and the whole place smells of whisky. Come now, my lad, ye need to eat.”
Sighing in defeat, Drum acknowledged she was right. He straightened. “Iamhungry. Is that whisky?”
For a moment, something like sorrow flashed across her freckled visage and he hated the thought his misfortune was so well-known even the palace maids were pitying him. But her smile was back quickly enough, and she reached for a cup and the jug.
“This is cool, clean water, love, exactly what ye need.” She plonked it in front of him. “And this is a chicken stew. I snuck an extra loaf of bread for ye.” Nudging the tray with her hip, Brigit drew his attention to the food again.
And Drum had to admit, the stew and thick breadwaswhat he needed.
She was still holding out the water so he sighed again and took it. “Thank ye.”
