Cassian (The Immortal Highland Centurions #2) - Jayne Castel Page 0,32
the king’s table, a harpist set himself up near the hearth. He then began to play a melancholy tune. It wasn’t one that Cassian recognized, but it was pretty nonetheless: a haunting English melody.
Cassian’s attention went to where two burly servants carried a great platter—a huge roast swan, burnished gold with butter—up onto the dais and set it down before the king.
Edward flashed De Keith a wolf’s smile. “To celebrate new allies.”
Even though he wasn’t seated next to him, Cassian felt the laird’s tension. He really was useless at keeping his emotions hidden—a poor diplomat indeed. Cassian felt for the pugio at his hip out of habit, tensing when he discovered the dagger wasn’t there.
He’d forgotten already that he’d agreed to come to the banquet unarmed.
Cassian didn’t like being in here without a weapon to hand, or without any of his men at his back. Now that they were in Stirling, the rest of the De Keith escort were lying low. They wouldn’t be needed again until the laird departed.
“Wine?” Edward asked, motioning to a passing servant.
“Aye.” De Keith held up his garnet-studded silver goblet to be filled.
Cassian’s heart sank. Once De Keith started drinking, he didn’t know when to stop.
Edward smiled once more. “I think you’ll enjoy this … it comes from my favorite vineyard in France.”
The servants filled up everyone’s goblets, Cassian’s included. He took a sip of the rich red wine and was immediately transported back to his homeland, to the spicy red wines of Brigantium. He hadn’t tasted wine like this in many long years. The lairds and chieftains he’d served over the years occasionally imported wine from the continent, but he rarely got to drink any of it.
“So, De Keith,” Edward spoke once more as he watched a servant slice up the swan. He then held out his platter to be filled. “How are things farther north?”
It was a loaded question, and deliberately so. Cassian cut a quick glance to his laird, noticing the way De Keith pinched his lips together.
Lady Gavina cleared her throat. “Things are peaceful in the North, Your Highness,” she said in fluent French, “and we wish for them to remain so.”
David cut his wife an irritated look, yet she ignored him.
King Edward’s gaze shifted for the first time to Lady Gavina. He watched her for a moment—it was a penetrating gaze, yet there wasn’t any lechery in it. He merely looked taken aback. Meanwhile, David De Keith’s cheeks flushed.
“I don’t wish to fight the Highland clans, Lady Gavina,” Edward replied, his expression hooding. “If they pledge fealty to me, they shall find I’m a fair and just ruler.”
De Keith snorted, causing the king’s attention to swivel to him. “De Keith?”
“The clan-chiefs of the North are a stubborn lot, Longshanks,” the laird pointed out coolly. “They aren’t as reasonable as me. Good luck getting any of them to kneel to ye.”
The table went silent. Some of the king’s retainers seated nearest exchanged scowls.
Cassian sucked in a deep breath. Great … we’ve only just arrived, and the idiot is going to get himself thrown in Stirling dungeon for insulting the English king.
Next to De Keith, Edward picked up his goblet and took a measured sip. “Longshanks … now that’s a name few men have the balls to say to my face,” he replied after a long pause. His voice was low, but it carried across the quiet hall.
De Keith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his bearded jaw tightening.
“However, I do have another name,” Edward continued smoothly. “One that’s become very popular over the border.” The English king held up his goblet then to De Keith, a smile gracing his lips. “Malleus Scotorum: the Hammer of the Scots.”
XIV
THE HAMMER OF THE SCOTS
THE HAMMER OF the Scots.
Edward’s voice echoed over and over in Cassian’s head.
The banquet had finally ended, and the Great Hall emptied out. He was accompanying De Keith, his wife, and sister-by-marriage back to their apartments inside the keep. Outdoors, a slender crescent moon had appeared in the darkening sky. The air against their skin was fresh after the smoky interior of the Great Hall.
But Cassian found it difficult to concentrate on anything except that name.
It’s not Irvine’s ‘Battle Hammer’. Certainty barreled into Cassian. The Hammer that will strike the fort upon the Shelving Slope is Edward. He’s going to attack Dunnottar.
Cassian’s pulse accelerated, sweat beading on his skin.
An aggressive neighbor was one thing, but the King of England with his massive army was another.