Knight Everlasting by Jackie Ivie

Author:Jackie Ivie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2011-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

They came upon the Killoran crofts toward dusk. Juliana didn’t have to be told. There wasn’t a hint of rain in the heavy cloud hanging about the deepest darkest section of this glen. Her nose was alerted well before they’d got beneath the overhang of cloud carrying the faintly sour smell of dredge mixed with a bare whiff of rising bread odor, and that was blending with wood smoke from their kilns. It was easily recognizable and unmistakable for the ale brewing industry it was.

As were the fields they’d traversed through since midmorn.

As chatelaine of Fyfen Castle, she’d overseen the brewing of ales, including the perfect dredge to mix with water. And perfect dredge required barley wheat . . . fields and fields of it. The size and scope of this particular glen was jaw-dropping. If Juliana hadn’t been watching Aidan’s back and feeling the most unsettling knot of worry start an ache at the base of her belly, she’d have probably had the jaw-dropping affliction as they passed from field after field of ripening wheat interspersed with fallow fields.

All of it belonging to the laird of MacKetryck.

Arran was a font of information during their midday stop, settling amid one of the tilled fields that wouldn’t be harvested until late in the season. Juliana hadn’t asked, but it hadn’t stopped his mouth.

Killoran ale was the finest in Scotland, and the barley grown the best, as well as the oats that were added to make wort. As vassal and clansmen to Laird MacKetryck, the Killoran owed Aidan a portion of every hogshead brewed and sold. As well as supplying any number of oaken kegs the castle needed. And a household the size of Clan MacKetryck required a lot of ale. But she’d soon see for herself. They’d be at the castle about midmorn. They could continue over the next two drums, and arrive during the night, but Aidan had already given the orders. He wanted the time to regroup, bathe properly, and dress for the ceremony of arrival at his castle. And he also had to import the sad tale of their only son, Beathan Killoran’s demise at the hands of the English dogs.

That was going to be difficult. Killoran had more than eight daughters to his credit, but Beathan had been the lone son. Arran didn’t know how the old man would take the news. He didn’t envy Aidan the telling of it, but as liege, it was his responsibility and his bane.

All this information affected her more than she wanted to admit. A man owning all the land and lakes and forests they’d been in since she and Aidan had fallen from the horse was a very rich man. Powerful, too. Frighteningly so.

Arran’s tales added to the knot of worry until it pressed against her backbone as well. No wonder Aidan acted so arrogantly and assertively. As if he owned the world. The sound of a lone pipe filtered through the low-hanging fingers of fog, giving an eerie feel to everything.

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