Six
Forced to endure the attentions of the warriors who openly hated King David, the midday festivities were a special kind of torture for Ada. No man was here for her. They did not even truly see her. She would wager they had not even noticed what color her eyes were, that she had a spattering of unattractive freckles across her nose, or that her cheeks had odd little dents in them when she smiled. Of course they could not. They did not know her! The afternoon was for Brothwell to determine who he wished to allow to continue in the tournament.
She had her noonday meal among men who laughed openly about how they would take glee in killing King David, and it took all her will to sit there calmly. She wanted to flee, but that was not a choice. The truth of her situation sickened her. How was she supposed to shackle herself to one of these men for life?
As conversations flowed around her, her thoughts drifted to the warrior William. She had immediately cast him as horrid when he’d agreed to hunt down Thomas Fraser, but she could not dismiss the memory of the disdain she’d seen on his face. Perhaps William had as little choice in what he must do as she had? Still, what sort of man could bring another to be tortured? She did not know, but if he returned, she needed to find out—and quickly. Mayhap he was her greatest hope if he was here under a ruse, or mayhap she was a wishful fool, making up things that were not true at all.
“I’m nae sure King David needs to be killed,” said Darrington, the man who sat immediately to Ada’s left. She looked up from her trencher of food, where she’d purposely kept her gaze, and turned to Darrington in time to see Brothwell direct a murderous glare at the man that sent chills across Ada’s skin.
She swallowed, fear rising in her for Darrington, who had dared to voice compassion for the king that stood in the way of all Brothwell wanted. Her stepbrother’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile that did not reach his eyes, and a hush fell over the group of men sitting at the table.
“I applaud yer compassion, Darrington,” Brothwell said. “’Tis always good to have men who think of other ways to deal with problems. Tell me, as ye drink from my special stock of wine, what would ye have us do with King David once he is nae king any longer?”
Darrington grinned like a fool as a serving girl rushed forward with a fresh goblet for him and poured him wine from a jug Ada had never seen. Uneasiness stirred in her stomach, especially when she caught Marjorie’s eye and the woman looked as tense as Ada felt.
“We could use him to bring all the clans who support him under our control immediately,” Darrington suggested and then took a big gulp of his newly poured wine.
Brothwell raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, do ye nae think the men who support King David would still try to do so if we keep him alive?”
As Darrington made his case and Brothwell and some of the other men debated with him, Ada watched the man consume three more glasses of wine. His color slowly changed to a deep red, and by the time the meal was nearing its end, Darrington was sweating profusely and had begun to shake.
“I dunnae feel well,” he slurred, reaching for the goblet of wine in front of him but knocking it over instead.
Ada’s gaze flew to Brothwell. He did not look the least bit concerned. He motioned calmly for the serving wenches to aid Darrington as the men around him grew quiet. “Take him to one of the guest chambers to rest,” Brothwell ordered two guards. He turned to Ada suddenly and patted her hand. “I’m so sorry, Sister. Darrington appeared to have especially captured yer attention.”
She bit her lip. She had to be more careful around Brothwell. He was ever watchful. “Nay. Just listening to the conversation.”
“Well, I’m afraid I kinnae allow a man who imbibes so much wine but kinnae tolerate the effects to compete for yer hand.”
“Here, here!” came a chorus of agreement from the men at the table.
Ada shifted restlessly, and Hella licked Ada’s right foot from where the hound lay beside her under the table. Not a moment later, Freya nuzzled her left leg. Her heart clenched with love. In her darkest hours, her hounds were always there for her.
The late afternoon drew on in the same fashion as the earlier part of the day. The men went through exercises in the rings, and Ada was ordered to walk with Brothwell to watch them. Any warrior who showed the slightest hint that he would be less than ruthless with King David, or not utterly loyal to the Steward and Brothwell, met with some sort of regrettable injury during the course of the waning sunlight hours that left him unable to compete in the tournament.
By the time the sun was setting and the sky held an orange glow, only fifteen of the twenty-five warriors who’d been called to compete remained able. Brothwell turned to the group of men who were gathered in the courtyard. “Who would like to participate in a friendly competition to have the chance to sit by Ada for supper tonight?”
Ada nearly groaned. She could only imagine what sort of competition Brothwell had concocted, and she doubted there was anything friendly about it.
“Grinnald, bring out the boy,” Brothwell called loudly.
Ada’s heart stuttered in her chest as she glanced around the torchlit courtyard for Maximilian. When Grinnald stepped out from the garden pathway with Maximilian in his clutches in front of him, Ada surged forward with a cry, but Brothwell’s hand shot out and grasped her. When he did, Freya and Hella began to growl, and Hella snapped at Brothwell.
“Ada,” he warned, backing away from her hounds.
God, how she wished she could allow them to do what they clearly wanted to do. Swallowing the desire, she said, “Down, girls,” and both dogs immediately complied.
“Ada here,” Brothwell said, squeezing her arm, “is most fond of this ragged boy who feeds her hounds. I’m certain she’ll want to take him with her to her future husband’s home. Will ye nae, Ada?”
“Aye,” she answered, trying to ignore the throbbing of her arm where Brothwell was clutching her.
“The boy will need to be made into a warrior; therefore, he needs his first lesson in courage. Dunnae ye all agree?”
“Aye!” came the hearty replies.
Ada glared at the cowardly men surrounding her. She did not even want to contemplate what a future with them would look like.
Brothwell, who always enjoyed torturing others, chuckled. “Let’s see how braw he is while each of ye take a turn shooting at an apple upon his head. The first man to split the apple in half wins the pleasure of sitting by Ada at supper. But ye all must line up at the other side of the courtyard to shoot.”
