Page 9 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
“Aye, Yer Majesty,” she managed. “We’ll take down Drummond Kennedy. We’ll keep the King safe.”
Chapter 2
Drummond’s swordslammed against the other man’s, and when his opponent fell back, he pressed his advantage. Sweat streamed from his temple, but he was used to being unable to swipe at it, thanks to the heavy helm he wore.
His sparring partner—one of the palace guards—stumbled, and in a wild thrust, swept his sword at Drummond’s knees. Expecting the blow, Drum leapt, kicking at the man’s wrist. The panting guard dropped his sword, holding up both palms in a symbol of defeat.
“Well done, Hunter,” he huffed, then dropped his hands to his knees as he bent over, sucking in air like a bellows. “I dinnae ken how ye can manage to fight in that helmet. I can barely manage to stay upright!”
Rather than pulling off the constricting steel, Drummond slid his sword back into his scabbard and stooped to pick up his opponent’s weapon. “Lots of practice, lad,” he said, offering the blade. “Ye show potential. If ye’re ever interested in joining the Hunters, come see—I mean, ye ought to visit the head man. He always has use for strong fighters like yerself.”
Chuckling faintly, the other man slid his own sword away as he straightened. “The head of the Hunters isnae the King’s favorite man right now. If it’s all the same to ye, I’ll wait to see if thereareany King’s Hunters next month, afore I commit.”
As the watchers chuckled and began to speculate on guilt, Drummond forced himself to nod and slapthe other man on the back as if he wasn’t bothered by such talk.
As ifhewasn’t the man in question.
This is why ye left on the helm, remember?
He’d needed this sparring practice to work out some of the anger and fear which had settled in his chest, and he’d known he’d not find a worthy opponent if his identity was known. So he’d kept on the helm, and it had worked.
The scowling visage on the piece of armor worked to keep away all but the bravest as he stalked back toward his small office. Beneath its shadow, he could beanyof the King’s Hunters; the helms were identical except for the bearer’s crest or initials carved inside.
When Drum reached the familiar corridor, he glanced right and left, assuring himself he was alone. Then he reached up and pulled off the damnable thing and stared down at it.
The helms had been his idea all those years ago when he’d helped found the King’s Hunters. Over a decade, now. He’d reasoned, and His Majesty had agreed, that the Hunters would become a sort of faceless force of peace throughout Scotland. They were acting in the King’s stead, essentially, working for truth, justice, and Mam’s haggis pie.
If each Hunter wore his own colors and fought under his own name, then all the people would remember would be “that Kennedy warrior” or “that McIlvain warrior”. By dressing them in the King’s colors and cloaking them in the anonymity of the helmet, they became extensions of His Majesty, capable of carrying out his orders without opposition.
These days, that anonymity was keeping Drummond safe. Apparently everyone in the palace knew he was under suspicion, and by wearing the helm when he was sparring with the guards, he’d let them believe he was just a nameless, low-level Hunter.
He’d hated it, but ‘twas for the best.
If only ye could clear yer name!
Aye, the recent assassination attempt was no secret, but because Drummond had lost the trust of the King—and thus his advisors—he had no information to investigate. He’d heard all the rumors about the tripwire and the crossbow bolt in the corridor, and knew why ‘twas damning.
There were few others in the palace who knew the King’s routines and had access to those places.
But how could he defend himself if he had no place tobegininvestigating?
And would His Majesty believe him if he did?
Deep in his thoughts, Drummond wasn’t thinking when he pushed open the door to his office.
He only had a moment to register the second person in the small room, but he swung the helmet out from under his arm and sprang, ready to defend himself.
It was Brigit.
He was already checking his attack when she flipped her forearm into position to block, catching his helmet and swiping it out of the way as she spun about. If he hadn’t pulled back, she might not have had the strength for such a move, but she’d surprised him.
Where had a palace maid learned such a trick? Or had she been lucky?
“What are ye doing here?” he barked to cover his confusion.
Brigit’s easy smile slid back into place and she cocked her hip saucily, one hand caressing her curves. “I’m happy to see ye too, love. I thought ye might use some cheering up.”
Despite his sour mood, his cock stirred beneath his kilt and Drummond shook his head. Aye, he needed her particular brand of distraction, but…
