Page 20 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

“Aye, so ye would tell me, would ye not, if ye had heard of some plan to try and disrupt our travels?” The Queen’s voice was sweet, a twinge of a French accent softening the heaviness of her Gaelic.

“Aye, Yer Majesty. Unfortunately, I’ve heard nothing of the sort.”

“I see, and ye never made any sort of arrangement to communicate our location to yer clan?”

Kenna raised her hand to her mouth and released a few fake coughs, providing herself with a moment to think about the implications of the Queen’s question. Communicate with her clan? How would she have done that while under constant supervision from one person or another?

“No, Yer Majesty. I have not been in contact with any of my former clansmen since we left Inverness. Nor do I have plans to do so until the Earl of Huntly and Clan Gordon is loyal to yer crown once more.”

“Kenna, ye ken that I will not tolerate a lie.”

“I imagine not, Yer Majesty. So ‘tis a good thing I haven’t told one.”

“I see.” The Queen gave a solemn sigh, her brown eyes roaming Kenna’s face. “Guards?”

Two men were immediately upon Kenna, pulling her from the chair while a third came out of nowhere to throw a fist into her stomach. Kenna collapsed to the ground with a loud gasp, all of the air in her lungs suddenly returned to the world.

“Kenna, I ask again. Tell me what ye ken.”

“I… I swear… it… I ken nothing… of an attack,” Kenna said through choking sputters as she tried, in vain, to breathe.

“Stop lying!” The queen hissed, bending so close to Kenna’s face that it was showered with a bit of spittle. “We are attacked so close to the Earl of Huntly’s lands, the laird of yer clan, and ye expect me to believe that he is not responsible?”

“The laird of my clan,” Kenna said with renewed strength, daring to look the Queen in the eye, “is the Laird Lovat, Laird of Clan Fraser and my new father-in-law, by Yer Majesty’s own choice.”

“Well, are ye not just as plucky as they say.” Queen Mary sneered, holding up a hand to keep one of the guards from injuring her further. “Tell me, Kenna, if ye are such a loyal subject, why light that fire?”

“A fire?” Kenna replied, a laugh cracking through without her consent. “Well, Yer Majesty, I am not sure if ye ken, but we light fires to stay warm on cool fall nights such as this.”

This time, the Queen did not stop the guard from kicking Kenna, and she was set to a new fit of gasps, her lungs burning as the air she had battled to retrieve was once more forced from her. Advisors started to swarm around them, hissing their surety of her betrayal in the Queen’s ears while Kenna gagged and wretched, seeing a bit of blood intermingled with the vomit.

With a flick of her wrist, the advisors were silenced and fell back a few paces, returning to their perfectly arranged positions, giving the Queen room to bend closer to Kenna.

“I think it was more. I think it was a signal to yer Gordon clansmen that it was the time to strike.”

“But,” Kenna whispered, using all the breath she had left, “it wasn’t. I… I swear it.”

“I do not place my trust in oaths when they slip from traitorous lips. They tend to reveal themselves as false when under pressure.”

The Queen’s men moved like her little marionette dolls, the wordless hands that did her bidding without her even needing to utter the vaguest of orders. Kenna, whose eyes were still transfixed on the Queen, searching for any hidden secret that would reveal just what she needed to say or do or promise in exchange for a safe exit from the pavilion, was grasped around the legs by a guard who had a grip as firm as iron. He began to drag her across the pavilion.

“Let me go!” Kenna shouted, trying to kick and thrash as she dug her nails into the dirt, feeling the skin on her elbows scraped into raw, bloody patches.

When the first man dropped her, a second man took up his charge. With a swift pull that pained her already throbbing arms, Kenna was brought to a sitting position as a third began to bind her hands to one of the posts of the pavilion. Hot tears ran down her face, surely leaving unattractive streaks in their wake. She could feel the dull heat of a fire, a bloody fire of all things, behind her. One of the men must have been messing with it because all Kenna could hear was a song composed of fresh cracking, spitting, and the stirring of embers.

“We do not travel with torture devices, ye ken,” the Queen said as she wandered closer, no advisor or noble companion daring to stay on her heels this time. “We must use our resources wisely if we are to travel as light as possible.”

“Aye, must leave room fer fine dresses and pavilions the size of a town church.” Kenna hissed under her breath.

The sharp pain of the boot to her back was the cost of her boldness.

“Thankfully, one of the men decided to rob yer castle of a bit of its wealth. An iron fire poker with a golden handle. Seems oddly fitting fer yer clan. So proud of yer wealth yet, when it comes down to what matters, ye are just as simple as all of the rest.” The Queen gave a small smile as her glance flicked from Kenna to the guard behind her.

When Kenna followed her gaze, the tears began to stream all the harder. In the guard’s hand was that very iron poker the Queen had described. The guard had pulled it from where it had been baking in the hot coals.

“Since ye are so fond of little fires, this seemed oddly fitting as a punishment fer yer lies.”

“My Queen, I did not lie!” Kenna shouted, hoping that someone, anyone, would stand up and confirm it before that flaming rod descended.