Forbidden Realm Read online

  Though over a year had passed, he’d recognize Katherine anywhere. Pride filled him as he thought of their time onboard the Templar cog. And when attacking her castle to reclaim it, she’d proven over and again that she was a woman who, when determined, could accomplish all she set out to achieve. To find a lass of such integrity, oh, were he to be so fortunate…

  Stunned, he smothered the thought. Nay, he sought naught but the life of a warrior. That his friends had found women to love was a fate he didn’t seek.

  The soft murmur of another woman’s voice had him glancing over, but with his limited view, he couldn’t see farther into the room. Nor did it matter. Rónán glanced back at Stephan.

  Down the corridor, a smile curved his friend’s mouth as he leaned against the hewn stone wall and folded his arms across his chest.

  Turning, Rónán focused on Katherine’s back. With a plan in mind, he crept around the statue and started to lay his hands over her eyes. “Guess wh—”

  In a blur of movement, blond hair slapped his face as a woman he’d never seen before whirled to confront him. He caught a brief glimpse of smooth features and glittering eyes a second before her leg swept out and hooked his knees.

  Off balance, Rónán caught her shoulders to steady himself.

  She jerked back.

  Air rushed down his throat as they started to fall. Blast it! He shifted his body, taking the brunt of the impact as they landed.

  Sprawled atop him, gray eyes narrowed with fury, she unsheathed her dagger.

  God’s truth! Rónán caught her wrist. “Lass—”

  “Release me!” she warned.

  Her rich, lyrical brogue had him hesitating. With the Bruce’s first parliament soon to be held within these walls, he’d expected to find travelers from Ireland. So why did her body pressed to his, combined with the wild flash in her eyes, make him hesitate? “With pleasure.” He caught her blade with his free hand, jerked it away, then let her go.

  Her breath coming fast, she scrambled up.

  Considering the speed and accuracy with which the woman had withdrawn her sgian dubh and aimed it at his throat, she must be trained in combat. Nor was he surprised by this discovery. ’Twas naught uncommon for women in Ireland to hold rank, be educated, and trained for war.

  “My mistake for surprising you,” Rónán said, pushing himself to his feet. He extended her weapon to her handle first.

  Eyes wary, she snatched her dagger.

  “Sir Rónán?”

  He glanced right to find Lady Katherine stepping toward him, her eyes warm with surprised welcome, the reaction he’d anticipated a moment before.

  “Whoever this stranger is,” the lass snapped, “he has the manners of a lout.”

  “Lady Lathir,” Lady Katherine said with a chuckle, her voice growing fond. She walked over and rested her hand upon his arm. “May I introduce you to Sir Rónán, a friend and a man I would trust with my life.”

  The lady took an almost insulting length of time securing her blade, then gave him a cool nod. “Sir Rónán.”

  “Sir Rónán,” Katherine continued, “I am pleased to introduce to you Lady Lathir. Though you two have just met, I believe that you will get along well.”

  With the daggers shooting from the other woman’s eyes, that Rónán doubted. Intrigued now that their scuffle was over, he studied her. Wary gray eyes, ones he noted had a hint of lavender, held his without apology. She was fair, even-featured, with lush lips. A beauty by all standards. And she’d felt very soft and womanly in those brief moments she’d lay upon him on the floor.

  Most women would have jumped or screamed at his unexpected presence, but like a trained knight, she’d gone on the attack. A mystery. Nor did this incident hold importance in the scheme of things. Once he’d spoken with the king and was given his mission, he would depart and, thankfully, he and the lass would never see the other again.

  But he did owe her an explanation. “My lady, I regret startling you. Lady Katherine and I have a history of playing pranks upon each other. As you have a similar appearance and height, and I heard her voice, I believed you were she.” He offered her a warm smile that had charmed many a lass. “I had meant to surprise her.”

  “I see,” she said, her words clipped.

  From her cool manner, he suspected otherwise. He shifted his gaze to Katherine. “’Tis wonderful to see you, my lady.”

  “And I you.” Katherine smiled. “I wasna informed you would be here.”

  “Which is what I explained to Rónán when I saw him,” Stephan said as he entered the solar. He crossed to his wife, then nodded to Lady Lathir. “My lady, ’tis good to see you again. I regret the confusion. These two can be like scrapping siblings trying to outdo the other.”

  “Lord Dunsmore,” she said, her tone warming to a sincere welcome. “The knight’s action is inconsequential, and as he explained, ’twas a mistake.” She took a step toward the door, a tight smile on her lips. “Nay doubt you wish to reminisce with your friend.”

  Worry filtered into Katherine’s gaze. “Please stay. Once Sir Rónán learns that—”

  “An explanation that is unnecessary. Enjoy your reunion. We will talk later.” She nodded. “If you will excuse me.”

  With exquisite grace, she exited the solar, her blue robe swirling around her slender curves with a royal flare. Without a glance toward him, Rónán noted, though he found himself watching her departure. As the last tantalizing wisp of the lass disappeared from view, he grimaced. “She is a bit skittish.”

  “Nay, anxious,” Stephan said. “En route, her party was attacked a league outside St Andrews. During the fray, two men rushed Lady Lathir.”

  “God’s truth,” Rónán hissed, “they tried to kill her?”

  “We believe the warriors meant to abduct her for ransom,” Stephan said, “or to use her to force her father to withdraw support for King Robert.”

  “But,” Katherine said with pride, “she killed them both.”

  Given her skill with her blade, that he believed. “Serves the scoundrels right, and explains her reaction when I snuck up on her.”

  “It does,” Stephan said.

  Katherine poured a cup of wine, held it out to him. “She is just now beginning to relax.”

  “I wish I had known.”

  “You couldna,” Stephan said, “but during your stay at St Andrews, you can speak with her again.”

  “I will make a point to make amends before I depart.” A point he hadna counted on including in his schedule, but ’twas proper. “Were Comyn’s men behind the attack?”

  “King Robert believes ’twas some of John of MacDougall of Argyll’s men, still hidden about and seeking retribution after their stinging defeat at the Pass of Brander,” Stephan said. “That they somehow discovered Lord Sionn was traveling from Ireland to meet with the Bruce and were determined to stop him.”

  “Lord Sionn?” Rónán repeated, a sinking feeling in his gut as he recalled her brogue. “What has Lady Lathir to do with the earl?”

  Katherine laced her fingers together. “She is Lady Lathir McConaghy, his daughter.”

  Bloody hell. If the powerful Irish noble learned of the incident, Rónán hoped he found it amusing. As for King Robert, he surely would find hilarity in the misstep.

  Katherine walked to a table by a grand stone hearth. A banner displaying a red lion rampant sporting blue claws and tongue, woven on a yellow background, hung centered above. Beeswax candles seated in skillfully crafted holders flickered a soft golden glow on either side. She poured three goblets of wine, then returned.

  Rónán thought of when they’d first met, her fiery demeanor one he’d admired, more so when, in the end, she’d fallen in love and married his close friend. So much had changed since, except that their love had prevailed, and now they had a son.

  He accepted a cup, w
aited until she’d handed her husband his, then lifted his forged vessel. “A toast to your son. I wish Colbán God’s blessings.”

  Pride filled their eyes as Stephan and Katherine raised their goblets and drank.

  She lowered her cup, her countenance glowing with a mother’s love. “Colbán is a handsome lad, with his father’s good looks and—” Laughter shimmered in her eyes. “—also his stubbornness.”

  Stephan grunted. “The willfulness, my lady wife, comes from you.”

  At their teasing, the last of Rónán’s tension eased. He’d missed his friends, and would enjoy the time with them until he departed.

  A soft knock sounded at the entry.

  “Enter,” Stephan said.

  The king’s runner stepped inside. “My lord, my lady.” His gaze shifted to Rónán. “King Robert requests your presence.”

  * * * *

  Rónán entered the throne room. Through an arched window, inky swaths of the oncoming night marred the fading shimmers of orange-gold painting the sky. The warm spill of golden light, along with the torches placed inside sconces positioned upon the wall, illuminated the chamber. In a massive stone hearth sparks popped from the fire and swirled within a plume of smoke before disappearing up the chimney.

  Stepping onto the plum carpet, he strode toward King Robert, seated upon his throne. Behind him stood intricately carved columns, and stone lions stood positioned discreetly on either side of the platform.

  A powerful setting for a formidable monarch, a man who’d gained his loyalty and respect, and, as a fellow Knight Templar, one he would die to protect.

  Over a year had passed since Rónán had been part of Stephan’s crew that had sailed to the monarch’s stronghold, Urquhart Castle, and learned the Bruce was part of the Brotherhood. A tie that had proven critical.

  King Edward I had gone to great lengths to ensure Scotland was excommunicated. But the religious exclusion secured by the English monarch, and the Scottish clergy’s refusal to acknowledge it, had allowed King Robert to offer all Knights Templar entry into his realm with impunity. A move that had strengthened King Robert’s efforts in reclaiming Scotland’s freedom.

  Before the dais, Rónán halted. That the Bruce had made time to see him during the harried preparations for his first parliament revealed the grave nature of the mission.

  He bowed, then met his king’s gaze. “I am here as you commanded, Your Grace.”

  Shrewd eyes held his. “How fared the contingent you led to aid Sir Cailin?”

  “We arrived in time and aided him in overthrowing his uncle and seizing Tiran Castle.” Pride filled him. “And to discover his father, the rightful Earl of Dalkirk, was locked within the dungeon.”

  The formidable ruler’s eyes widened. “God in heaven, ’tis a miracle.”

  “’Tis.” He handed the king the writ from Cailin. “’Twill explain the events.”

  “I thank you.”

  “I have more news you may find of interest,” Rónán added, “Sir Cailin has wed Elspet, the stepdaughter of one of your loyal confidants, Sir Angus McReynolds.”

  The king’s eyes widened with satisfied delight. “A fine match, one I would have encouraged had I the time.”

  Aware of the king’s penchant for matchmaking, and confident the ruler had indeed played a hand in his friend’s marriage, Rónán only nodded. “Though,” he continued, damning the news he was next to impart, “I regret to inform you that both Sir Angus and Elspet’s mother were murdered during these events.”

  Anger whipped across the monarch’s face. “Is the bastard who killed them dead?”

  “Aye, Your Grace.” He gave a brief explanation of what had occurred.

  King Robert blew out a rough exhale and took a moment of silence for their sacrifice. “I will be happy when Lord Comyn accepts me as Scotland’s king and English ambitions to seize our country end. The latter,” he said, his voice dry, “given the young king is far from concerned with issues of war, but a matter of time.”

  The Bruce stood, strode to a table, and lifted an elegant glass carafe. Dark amber liquid sloshed inside. Mouth grim, he filled a pair of goblets inlaid with a Celtic weave, a ruby centered between the breaks in the complex design.

  The king handed him a cup. “The Earl of Sionn has arrived at St Andrews. Unknown to most, he is a trusted Templar supporter and has a large cache of Templar weapons hidden in his realm. Arms I need to force the English from Scotland and quell Lord Comyn’s attempts to seize the throne.”

  Which explained the powerful Irish lord’s presence. Rónán took a sip and recognized the potent slide of uisge beatha, the spirit distilled by the monks of the Border Abbeys.

  “With your expertise in strategy, battlefield experience, and Templar background, you will accompany the earl to his home in Ireland and oversee the transport of the Templar cache to my castle in Aberdeen.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.” Blast it, the last thing he’d ever intended was to return to Ireland. There was naught in his homeland he wished to ever see again. Even the nightmares that had haunted him as a child were long since gone. He would find comfort in that his time in Ireland would be short. Nor did he miss the pride in the king’s voice at the mention of the recently captured northern stronghold, boasting an easily accessible seaport to the north. “When do we leave?”

  “At first light.” The monarch took a sip from his goblet, then shot him a hard look. “The earl’s party was attacked about a league from St Andrews by a band of John MacDougall of Argyll’s men.”

  “The Earl of Dunsmore explained the details of the assault, Sire. With John MacDougall of Argyll’s forces severely cut, and his begging the young English king for supplies, ’twas a brazen move.”

  “’Twas. I have ordered a contingent to accompany your party to ensure you reach their ship. My guard will remain in port until you have sailed. Once at sea, keep watch for English ships intent on severing my attempt to gain Irish support. If they see Lord Sionn’s cog departing Scotland, they will attack.”

  Rónán nodded. “Aye, Your Grace.”

  His face relaxed, and he sat back. Mischief sparkled in the king’s eyes as he swirled the amber liquid in his cup. “Did Lord Dunsmore also mention that Lord Sionn has a beautiful daughter?”

  At the king’s measuring look, Rónán stilled. Was he the subject of the king’s next matchmaking ploy? No, he was being oversensitive. His thoughts shifted to Stephan’s amusement at Rónán’s thwarted attempt to surprise Katherine.

  “Aye, we have met,” Rónán said with reluctance.

  The Bruce set down his goblet. “How so?”

  In brief, he shared the chaos of his and Lathir’s encounter.

  With a smile, the king laughed. “An intriguing way to meet a lass. She is a strong and intelligent woman.” He took a deep drink. “One who needs a man of caliber at her side.”

  Rónán cleared his throat. “With the dreadful impression I made, Sire, I assure you, I have far from earned her favor.” Her sgian dubh pointed at him was, he recalled grimly, proof.

  “Mayhap a feisty lass is exactly what you need.”

  In midsip, Rónán almost choked on the powerful spirit. “I am here to serve you, Your Grace, not seek a wife.” God’s truth, he needed to change the subject before his sovereign became enamored with the idea of pairing him with Lady Lathir.

  With the monarch’s power of persuasion, ability to bestow upon him a title, and Lord Sionn’s Templar ties, ’twould take little to convince the Irish noble to agree to such a union. The disappointment of having to leave in the morning and not spend more time with Stephan and Katherine faded against thoughts of escaping before the king decided he and the earl’s daughter should wed.

  * * * *

  A thin mist clung to the air as Lathir dismounted. The strong scent of fish, decaying seaweed, and salt filled the air as the first ra
ys of sunlight struggled through the dense overcast.

  She glanced around, thankful to arrive safely at their ship, anxious to be out to sea. After their party’s attack days before, only when the shore faded from sight would she relax.

  “I will take your mount, my lady,” her personal guard said.

  “I thank you, Gearalt.” The soft thud of hooves on dirt and the guards’ voices rumbled around them as she joined the tall, stocky man who’d raised her.

  Blond hair secured behind his neck in a leather strip framed his intimidating features, and his face settled into a harsh frown as he strode toward the ship. Eyes sharp with intelligence shifted toward her. “You were quiet during the trip.”

  “I am anxious to be home.” The truth.

  “The attack still troubles you.”

  She grimaced and said with equal candor, “I doubt that I will ever forget taking a life, regardless whether ’tis an enemy and deserved.”

  He grunted, leaving her to her silence. Nor would she reveal that what disturbed her as well were her dreams the previous night of Sir Rónán. Something about him had left her unsettled. Several times she’d woken with images of him filling her mind.

  To be fair, their first meeting had been something, well, unusual. In those few heated moments, how could she not notice his well-muscled form, confident air, or grayish green eyes that pierced her with such intensity ’twas as if he could see to her soul. His every move proclaimed him a warrior, a man who did naught without purpose, and one who, with his smooth words and manner, no doubt drew many a woman’s eye.

  Since her betrothed, Domhnall Ruadh mac Cormaic, had died in battle against the English more than two years before, never had another man earned more than her passing interest. That this Irish knight had the audacity to invade her dreams was unacceptable.

  Though they hadn’t spoken since they’d departed St Andrews, she was aware that he rode with their soldiers.

  Unwittingly, she glanced around and found him. The knight was talking with the leader of the contingent King Robert had provided as protection for their journey to their cog.