Alex frowned. “Nay, Sire.”
“Did ye nae just grunt yer agreement?” the king asked, looking between Alex and Iain.
Iain’s nod of confirmation shocked Alex. Devil take it, he’d not meant to make a sound. Lena MacLeod had gotten into his head this night, and he needed to get her out before he caused himself a grave amount of trouble. “I had something stuck in my throat,” he grumbled, aware of how untrue it sounded. Both men gazed at him, the king’s eyes questioning and Iain’s searching, but neither of them seemed intent on pressing further.
“As I was saying,” King David continued, much to Alex’s relief, “yer sister may choose her husband, but she must marry.” The last part of the sentence was said in such a way that any argument Iain might still raise would be done so at the peril of their friendship. When Iain gave a tight nod, David exhaled a long breath, and his face visibly relaxed. He’d been concerned, Alex realized with a start. “I’ve thought upon it, Iain,” the king said, “and I’ll suggest John de Lisle, John Danielston, or Archibald Douglas to yer sister. I expect ye to encourage her to acquiesce.”
The king’s eyes had strayed from Iain to Alex. David stared intently at him, as if waiting for him to speak. Alex frowned. Did he want him to voice his agreement? Likely so, but the words of concurrence he knew he should utter were lodged in his throat. He ground his teeth in irritation with himself. The king had listed fine men. John de Lisle was the keeper of Edinburgh Castle, and Alex had known him since boyhood. It was the same with John Danielston, who was the keeper of Dumbarton Castle. And Archibald Douglas was cousin to the Earl of Douglas. Lena could not ask for a more honorable husband and a formidable warrior in him, as well. Yet the idea of Lena marrying any of them made him feel ill.
“What have ye to say about these men?” the king suddenly asked.
Alex glanced at Iain, expecting him to answer, only to realize both men were studying him. “They are all good men,” he choked out.
The king’s mouth twitched upward, almost as if he was going to smile, but then he nodded and said to Iain, “The course of action is decided, aye?”
“Aye,” Iain agreed, his gaze lingering on Alex for a moment before he pulled it to the king. “All is decided. I’ll fetch Lena.”
“Aye,” David agreed. “Darius will accompany ye.”
“I dunnae need one of yer guards to accompany me to fetch my sister,” Iain growled.
The king’s face grew flinty. “Considering that yer sister disappeared rather suddenly the last time I commanded ye to return her to her husband, I’d say ye do need my guard with ye.”
A tic commenced at the right side of Iain’s jaw, which was the only indication of the anger the man was restraining. He jerked his head in a nod and strode toward the door.
Alex fought against his own desire to rush past Iain, locate Lena, and warn her, or even help her flee to hiding again, but there was no hope for that with the king present. Shocked at the intensity of his feelings, he looked to the now-closing door and then back to the king. He had to leave before Lena arrived. If he remained, he feared he’d be unable to stop himself from voicing his objections. “Sire, why did ye wish to speak to me?”
“I need ye to gain the trust of my nephew in order to loosen his tongue regarding the names of the two lairds who secretly support the resolution against me.”
“Ye wish me to go to yer nephew’s home to do this?” Alex asked. He tried to keep his tone flat, though the mere notion of returning to the Steward’s castle brought such black thoughts to his head that a sour taste filled his mouth and rage heated him. He had apprenticed there as a young lad with the Steward’s abusive, bastard brother, Gillis Stewart, and it was not a time he wished to relive. It didn’t matter that the man had been dead for fifteen summers. The devil haunted him from beyond the grave.
“I do. I kenned ye had a virulent dislike of my nephew Gillis, but I have long suspected ye also detested my other nephew, the Steward, for trying to overthrow me.”
Alex flinched at the mention out loud of Gillis Stewart.
The king surveyed Alex for a long moment. “I dunnae believe I ever kenned precisely why ye despised Gillis, nor why ye hate his brother so.”
There were many reasons Alex felt the way he did about Gillis and the Steward, but he only ever uttered one answer. “Gillis enjoyed tormenting me,” Alex said carefully. It was part of the truth, at least. “And I have little doubt that the Steward kenned his brother’s inclinations and chose to overlook it rather than put a stop to Gillis’s treatment of his apprentices. I kinnae abide any man who dunnae take a stand against evil.”
The king nodded. “Help me to recollect, Alex… Ye were there the day Gillis was killed, aye?”
Alex had to force himself to unclench his teeth. “Aye,” he bit out.
“And why did that lad kill him? The redheaded Fraser boy. What was his name?”
“Thomas,” Alex replied, though his throat felt as if it were closing. At the time, Thomas had only been seven summers to Alex’s twelve. Thomas’s scrawny frame and silly, smiling face flashed in Alex’s mind. And then another memory came: Thomas broken and sobbing.
Rage rushed through Alex’s veins, same as it had done when he had walked into the stables and seen Thomas and Gillis, but Alex felt no remorse for what came after. The memory awoke him sometimes in a cold sweat with a fear that he was not a good person, but then he had but to recall the past and he set his fear away for the day he met his maker.
Alex swallowed hard while carefully picking words to give the partial truth he’d long told. “Thomas stabbed Gillis in the gut for beating him.” He could hear the cold dispassion in his voice, and he knew the king could, too, by the way his left eyebrow rose slightly. Yet, the king nodded his acceptance, which was a good thing. Whether his king or not, there was nothing and no one who could ever compel him to reveal the whole of what had happened in the days before Gillis had been killed.
“Ye are the right man to do what I ask,” the king said almost smugly, making Alex’s fingers twitch with the desire to curl into fists. But he held his fingers straight and unmoving, and with a will carved out of sheer suffering, he forced thoughts of Gillis far away in favor of concentrating on the present. David’s lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Ye will nae betray me with the Steward. Ye’d sooner cut off yer right hand than raise yer sword to fight beside him.”
That was true enough, but Alex offered only a nod.
“Once ye discover the two lairds who have secretly joined my nephew’s cause, ye will go to them and convince them to once more pledge their fealty to me. Give them land or titles or both, but ye must regain their support.”
“How do ye suggest I gain the Steward’s confidence to get these names, given he kens I’m faithful to ye?”
