guard. “Allow McQuade to bid his wife good-bye.”
The captain removed his hat and bowed before turning toward Keir. His gut tightened but he forced his body to bend in deference to his monarch.
“I bid ye good luck in yer search for young Raelin McKorey.”
The king’s eyebrow rose. Keir straightened and stared at James Stuart.
“That’s correct. I have no fear of the lass being found alive. But I think ye should find her a husband soon. That lass seems to attract trouble here at court.”
He turned and left, unable to maintain his poise any longer. Each step took tremendous amounts of discipline to force his feet to move. Every instinct made him want to smash his fist into the guard nearest him and escape.
But he was laird and the McQuades could not suffer another disgrace. He would go to the Tower and hope against hope that Raelin McKorey proved as strong as her Scottish blood, and was found alive.
If she wasn’t, he might be joining her in death very shortly.
Helena wrung her hands. She didn’t seem to have enough poise or control to remain in one place. She paced back and forth in an alcove outside the king’s receiving room. Something was wrong. She could feel it permeating the air. Even in the dead of night the palace felt devoid of joy. Death’s icy claw was creeping through the hallways. She saw it on the faces of the few people who passed. That gray cast to their skin and the way they looked at the ground the moment they recognized her. Keir’s retainers stood nearby, their faces growing tighter and more tense with every turn she made.
She suddenly stopped. Footfalls echoed on the stone tile. They were extremely loud, echoing in the silence. She turned to face the most horrible sight she had ever beheld—her husband flanked by the royal guard. There could only be one reason for such a thing. The air grew even colder around her. She was certain that the cries of other unfortunates echoed from years past—such as Queen Catherine Howard, who had run screaming through the hallways to beg Henry the Eighth to spare her life.
He hadn’t.
She suppressed a horrified whimper, forcing it down her throat lest she disgrace her husband in front of his retainers and the royal guard. She was a noblewoman. Her mother’s lecturing voice grew louder than the icy screams of the condemned ghosts of the past.
Keir came to her, grasping her hands in a grip that hurt. The overuse of strength confirmed what she already knew.
“I’m sent to the Tower.”
“Why?” Her voice was a mere whisper. All eyes were on them but she couldn’t waste the opportunity to touch him. Even so simple a touch as palm against palm was too sweet to forgo. His men glanced at one another, their bodies becoming tenser. The guards gripped their sword pommels and the tension grew even thicker.
“Yer brother was murdered.”
“Sweet mercy.”
The air rushed out of her lungs so fast, spots danced before her eyes. The only thing that kept her alert was the near-crushing grip in which her husband held her hands. Pain shot down her fingers but she did not wiggle them.
“A letter with my signature and a piece of McQuade plaid was found near his body.”
Her horror doubled, the screams of condemned ghosts growing louder in her head. She clamped her hands tightly around his, trying to hold onto him.
“Lies! English lies!” Farrell snarled.
“Be still.” Keir shot the two words toward his men in a tone that she had never heard before. It was solid steel and sharp with authority.
“My time is brief so I must be blunt.” His eyes swept his men before he returned his dark gaze to her; it was filled with the need to fight. She witnessed the battle he waged to conduct himself with noble bearing, thinking of his people instead of his own needs.
“I understand.”
“Yer friend, young Raelin McKorey, was swept away by the river. A piece of her gown was found in yer brother’s grasp. Let us hope she is found alive and makes it here to the king, still able to testify as to the truth of the matter.”
Or he would stand accused of murdering a peer…
Helena fought back her emotions. She had to be as strong as he was. He looked past her shoulder at his men.
“I charge ye with keeping my bride safe. Even if she deems it unnecessary.”
There was no leniency in his gaze when he looked back at