To Kiss a Kilted Warrior by Keats Rowan

Author:Keats, Rowan [Keats, Rowan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Warriors, highlander, Love Story, Romance, Scottish Highland, Medieval Scotland, Scottish Highlands, Scottish Highlander, Highland Warriors, Warrior, Medieval, Scots, Regency Scotland, medieval romance, Historical Romance, Highlands, Scotland, Highlanders, Scotland Highlands, Historical, Scotland Highland, Scottish Medieval Romance, Scot, Scottish, highland, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 0451470869
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2014-12-02T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Dunkeld strode down the corridor, his gold cape flapping behind him. MacCurran had not recognized him. There had been nothing in his eyes to suggest hatred or bitterness. But the man had seen him clearly the night the queen’s necklace was stolen; he was certain of it.

What kind of devilry was at play?

He had thought the throne room was empty when he entered, but as he approached the carved wooden chair with its lion feet and its seat above the squared Stone of Scone, Dunkeld spied a man standing beneath the fan of halberds hanging on the wall.

A brown-haired man with a cup of wine in hand.

“Your Grace,” Dunkeld said, offering a bow.

His brother waved at the side table. “I am indulging in a glass of fine French wine,” he said. “Join me.”

Dunkeld poured himself a glass. “I thought you were headed for Kinghorn.”

Alexander nodded. “I had hoped to depart today, but my council is insisting on a review of the succession plan. The earls descend upon Edinburgh as we speak.”

“Are matters not settled?” Dunkeld took his cup across the room and ran a hand over the arm of the throne. “Have they not already agreed that young Princess Margaret is your heir?”

“They have,” the king acknowledged. “But with Yolande quick with child, they are eager to name a new heir. One who is already on Scottish soil and not the offspring of a hated Norse raider.”

“What is there to discuss?” Dunkeld asked. “If a child is born to Yolande, you will have a new heir.”

Alexander nodded. “They fight over who would guide that heir during the minority should I pass prematurely, as my father did.”

Our father, Dunkeld was tempted to snap. But he held his tongue, as he’d done for so many years. Because the best reward would be seeing the look on his brother’s face when he realized all his offspring were in the grave, and he was at Dunkeld’s mercy.

“Fear not,” Dunkeld said. “I am, as always, willing to serve Alba.”

Alexander’s smile faltered. “We’ve discussed this, William. I cannot name you a guardian of Scotland. The earls are reluctant to see a chance-bairn of my father gain influence over the throne. Had he acknowledged you, it would be different. But he did not.”

Hot rage seared through Dunkeld’s veins, and his fingers clenched around the arm of the throne. He was the eldest son. It should be he who sat upon the Stone of Destiny, not Alexander. His mother was no serving girl; she was the daughter of an earl. A Comyn. He had been born to her after the childless Queen Joan had passed and before his father’s marriage to Marie de Coucy. She and his father had never been wed, but the pope would have granted legitimacy to him and his sister Marjorie had MacCurran not interfered.

Dunkeld forced himself to release the arm of the throne and turn slowly to face his brother.

“You could sway them, if you chose.”

“There is no need,” Alexander said. “You already hold a privileged position in my retinue.

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