Page 5 of Promise of a Knight
Chapter Two
Alaric walked the perimeter of the grounds at Fast Castle where the caravan had stopped to make camp for the night. Tents had been set up by the dozens, white flaps blowing in the wind revealing where the Scottish and English members of the new court would reside for the night. On the morrow, they’d continue on to Dalkeith Castle where Princess Margaret would soon meet her new husband.
Her ladies-in-waiting, both English and Scottish, had been housed at nearby Coldingham Abbey, save for one to help her to bed that evening.
Already the princess was within the Great Hall where a grand feast had been prepared in celebration of her arrival, hosted by the Earl and Countess of Home. The noble Scottish couple had taken great pride in their position as host to their future queen. The best wines had been uncorked for those in the Great Hall and great barrels had been rolled out to those who remained outdoors. The place was filled with the scent of the bonfire and delicious food. And rife with the sounds of celebration. Alaric gave it two hours before some sort of debauchery ensued.
As he walked the grounds, speaking with his own men and conferring with King James’ and the Home’s guards, he couldn’t stop thinking about the Scottish wench he’d leapt from his horse to keep her pretty head from hitting the ground. What had made him react so quickly? Aye, she was a beauty, and her gaze on his had been both intrigued and forlorn at the same time. And there was also the fact that he spoke the truth to her, that no lady should have to fall. He was able-bodied and quick enough to keep it from happening. Not that the bastard savage behind her had cared a fig for her safety.
Anger burned anew in his veins. How could his king expect the Scots to keep up their end of the treaty when they treated their own so badly? And he was well aware that one instance did not name the lot of them cruel, but it certainly did put the first twists of doubt in his mind.
Another flash of enchanting eyes came to his mind.
Alaric had not caught her name, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was as wild and savage as the land, as fiery and untamed as her eyes.
Lord help him, why was he being so damned poetic about her?
Alaric gazed up at the wall, counting the number of men who walked the battlements.
She was nothing more than a mere woman. AScottishwoman to be precise. A harridan. A nuisance, and as soon as he saw Princess Margaret secured in her new household, he was that much closer to returning to England and to Castle De Garde in Northumbria, the seat of his ancestors and his older brother, Darius.
He’d not been home in many months and King Henry had agreed that on his return from his duties, he could return to his home and see about his own personal duties.
A break from court.
A break from battle.
A break from all the drama and angst that both entailed.
Darius could most likely use help training his men.
The sun was beginning to set over the vast lands and Alaric shuddered. Soon darkness would reign. Many years had passed since he’d last spent a night on Scottish soil and the last time—not including his stay with his brother at Faodail Tower—provided no pleasant memories. Just being here now, raised the flesh on his arms, and at any moment he expected to ward off an enemy.
The treaty of peace was in place theoretically, but was ittrulyin place?
What would happen if one of the men interpreted an action of another’s in a way that was offensive? Would a brawl break out and then a fray and then a bloody battle?
“Stay calm, no matter what,” Alaric warned his men when he returned to the tent just near the Earl and Countess of Surrey’s, where the English garrison was making camp outside the walls. “The air is filled with strain.”
His men nodded and mouthed their agreement.
“All is secure, my lord?” one knight asked.
“Aye. I am going in to the feast to keep an eye on Princess Margaret.”
Alaric trudged over the ground, the grass slippery and displaced from the large gathering. Inside the walls, the bailey teamed with tension as both Scots and English knights eyed each other from opposite sides. Torches were jammed into the ground lighting up the courtyard. Alaric nodded to his men and continued up the stairs of the keep and into the Great Hall. Candelabras had been set up in clusters every dozen paces. It was nearly brighter inside than it had been when the sun was out. Minstrels played music in the corner and the scents of roasted meat, stewed vegetables, fresh baked bread, savory pies and sugared fruit tarts were an enticing combination.
Scanning the hall, he found his mistress seated at the dais beside the Earl and Countess of Home, a smile of joy on her face as she watched a cluster of ladies dancing. A wine glass in one hand, she held an apricot in her other and appeared to be much more at ease than Alaric was, for certain.
The wooden floor was covered in tapestries and fresh flowers adorned every corner and ran the length of the tables, keeping the scent closer to that of the blooms than the crush of sweating bodies.
Princess Margaret caught his eye and beckoned him forward.
Alaric nodded and headed toward his king’s daughter, only to watch as the very woman he couldn’t get out of his mind took a seat beside his princess.
She wore the same gown from earlier, though she looked as though she’d refreshed herself. Creamy skin, pinkened cheeks, pretty, red lips. Flawless. There was no need for her to cake on powder and rouge. Her fiery hair was tugged neatly into a twist with just a few curls framing her face. He’d not ever seen a shade of hair like hers. Ready to catch flame.
Catching himself staring, Alaric quickly bowed before the dais.
