“It matters not. My wife will not leave my sight. Are we understood?”
The soldier frowned. “The king will hear of this.”
“I expect he ll . You may also tell him that my lady wife is with child, and that she has journeyed a long way for this farce of a hearing. I am not pleased to have taken her from our home in a time she should be cared for.”
“I will of course bear your message to His Majesty,” the soldier returned stiffly.
He turned and motioned for several women who stood on the perimeter awaiting orders.
“See that Laird McCabe and his men are shown to their quarters and have refreshment after their travel.”
Ewan aided Mairin up the winding steps to the section that housed chambers reserved for guests. Alaric, Caelen, and Ewan’s commanders were directed to an open common room with an array of cots for sleeping. Ewan and Mairin were directed into a larger chamber at the corridor’s end.
Ewan pulled her into his arms and eased her down onto the bed. “Rest, sweeting. We must be at our best during our sojourn here.”
“What will we do, Ewan?” she asked against his neck. “I have no wish to mingle at court. I have no finery in which to attend the dinners. I cannot pretend indifference when the very idea of sharing a meal at the same table as Duncan Cameron makes me ill.”
“We must act as if we are in the right. If we hide, people will say we have something to hide. If we avoid Duncan Cameron, people will say I fear him.”
He stroked Mairin’s cheek and gazed down into her eyes. “We must be on our guard and allow no one to think even for a moment that the claims Cameron launched are anything but false. If I can gain an audience with the king soon, I have faith that this will all be cleared up and we can be on our way home.”
“I understand,” she said quietly. She snuggled tighter into his embrace and yawned broadly. He kissed her brow and urged her to sleep. The travel had taken its toll along with her stress and unease. She would need her strength for what was to come.
A knock sounded at the chamber door, rousing Ewan from sleep. Mairin was still soundly asleep, her face tucked into his neck. Gently he pried himself away from her and rose, pulling on his tunic.
When he opened the door, a servant bowed and extended a jeweled plate with a scroll on top. Ewan took the scroll and nodded at the servant.
He carried the missive inside the chamber and sat at the small desk where a half-gone candle flickered, casting shadows on the wall. He unrolled the scroll and read the summons. He was to attend the evening meal at the king’s table in the great hall.
He glanced over at Mairin, who had succumbed to her exhaustion. He didn’t want her to endure the strain of a meal where Cameron would likely be in attendance, but it was also important to maintain the public appearance of having done no wrong. Mairin was his wife. His beloved wife. She carried his child. The king and his advisors needed to see firsthand the absurdity of the charges against Ewan.
With a sigh he went to wake her. He had no jewels to adorn her with, but d sat eauty shone all the more brightly, undistracted by the glitter of riches. Her dress was a simple confection that the ladies had hastily sewn when they’d learned of the impending journey to court.
A castle maid fashioned Mairin’s hair, braiding and then coiling the heavy braid atop her head. The maid would have left off, but Mairin caught her hand. “ ’Tis unseemly for a married woman to show her hair at court, and I am married to Laird McCabe. Please fashion the wimple around my hair.”
Ewan felt a surge of pride at how steady and composed his wife sounded even though he knew how afraid she was. When the maid was finished, Mairin stood and turned to her husband.
“Are you ready to escort me to dinner, Laird?”
“Aye, wife.”
He took her hand, tucked it under his arm, and covered it with his other hand as he guided her from the chamber. His brothers waited just down the hall with Gannon, Cormac, and Diormid flanking them. They made an impressive sight, moving down the halls of the castle toward the great hall. Indeed, when they entered the hall, conversation quieted as everyone turned to see Ewan’s entrance.
As Ewan escorted his wife toward the high table on the dais, murmurs rose and raced from table to table. Mairin went rigid against him and her chin jutted upward. Her eyes narrowed and a deep calm worked over her features. As on her wedding day when she’d entered the hall with all the airs of a princess, she now walked beside Ewan as he guided her toward their seats.
Another buzz of murmurs rose, this time louder, and Ewan turned to see Duncan Cameron striding toward them, wild relief on his face. Ewan tucked Mairin behind him and Ewan’s brothers stepped forward, but Cameron stopped and dropped to his knees at Mairin’s feet.
“My lady wife, finally. After so many months, I despaired of ever seeing you again.”
Mairin stepped back, distancing herself from Cameron and clutching Ewan’s hand even tighter. Ewan saw the speculation—and the sympathy—that Mairin’s rejection inspired in the crowded hall. Cameron was playing the victim to the hilt, and he’d obviously gained the support of many by humbling himself at Mairin’s feet.
Cameron rose, grief engraved in the lines of his face. The man was a consummate actor; he even managed a gray pallor as he retreated, seemingly in defeat, to take his seat on the other side of the table.
Ewan had no sooner seated Mairin and himself when the trumpet sounded, signaling the king’s arrival. Everyone stood and turned their attention to the door, but it wasn’t King David who entered. It was a bevy of his closest advisors, including the king’s cousin, Archibald, who’d issued the summons for Ewan to appear.
Archibald nodded pompously and took the seat usually reserved for the king. He first eyed Duncan Cameron and then turned his gaze on Ewan before letting it slide to Mairin on Ewan’s right.
“I trust your journey was not too taxing, Lady Mairin. We have only just heard of your beig with child.”
She bowed demurely. “I thank you for your regard, my lord. My husband has taken great care with me.”
“Where is the king?” Ewan asked bluntly.
Archibald had no liking for the question. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Ewan. “The king has other matters to attend to this night.”
He turned to survey the many people seated at the tables in the hall. “Let us eat,” he announced.
The servants lining the wall burst into activity, filling goblets with wine and setting out the trenchers of food. The aroma was tantalizing and the tables overflowing with bounty.
“Eat,” Ewan whispered to Mairin. “You must keep your strength up.”