Claiming Her

“Where is Bertrand, the fool?” she snapped.

Ludthorpe bowed swiftly. “He was coming, Your Majesty, he…” He froze as he saw Aodh. His jaw dropped.

She waved to one of her men. “Escort them out the back, and call for Cecil. I have a matter to discuss with him.” The servant flew off.

“Your Majesty,” called a voice from the end of the corridor. Bertrand could be seen hurrying forward. “I was unavoidably delayed, but am—”

He stopped short as he saw Aodh and Katar

ina behind the queen. He made a high-pitched sound of shock and distress. His forehead and brow were green and black and blue from where Aodh had smashed him on the head.

“I—why— Your Majesty! You cannot… Why are they… How did they…” He whirled to her. “You cannot give him my lands!”

The queen turned sharply. “Your lands?”

“I meant Rardove—”

“You, who cannot take a place even when it has been handed to you?”

“But, I could have— I thought—” He licked his bottom lip.

“Yes, I know what you thought.” The queen swept down the corridor, dragging everyone after her. At the end of the corridor, guards aligned themselves along the walls, ready to announce her presence. “But I have thought of a better plan, Bertrand. I have a castle in the Scottish borderlands that needs tending.”

Bertrand’s jaw fell as he hurried at her heels.

“Of course,” she went on, “the Scottish are currently holding it. You would need to take it from them. Think you are up for the task? And what of that English clerk you took from Rardove?” the queen went on. “The untrustworthy one you wished to toss over a cliff, Ludthorpe? What was his name?”

“Walter,” he replied with alacrity.

“That’s the one. Well, he should go with you, Bertrand. He’s experienced in the matter of savages, one would assume. He might come in quite useful.”

Bertrand’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

The queen made an impatient sound. “Well, you shall need to earn an income somehow, Bridge,” she said briskly, “for I am taking back the income from the playing cards.” He stumbled. “Think it over,” the queen said. “Swiftly. I believe Scotland will serve you well.” Her voice grew dim as they reached the end of the corridor. “It will keep you far, far away from my wrath.”

Bertrand began to protest, and in his agitation, took a step toward the queen. She waved her hand. Guards materialized from the shadows, grabbed him by the elbows, and carted him off. Ludthorpe stared in silence, his jaw dropped, then looked over his shoulder at Aodh and Katarina, who were standing, likewise stunned.

Just before the entourage turned the corner, the queen lifted her hand and held it in the air a moment. Then she swept away.

Katarina and Aodh stood in the ensuing silence.

“Are we…?” Katarina looked up at Aodh. “Did she…. Can we now…?” She was too incredulous to finish even the simplest of sentences.

“Aye,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Aye, to all of it.”

She looked up into those steel-blue eyes that did not seem at all icy now, but filled with love and hope. She touched his face. “So we may go home?”

“Let’s go home,” he agreed softly.

He turned for the back stairway, where two Yeomen of the Guard stood, waiting silently, for the queen’s instructions and intentions had been perfectly clear—these two were privileged.

“This way, sir,” said one of them, preceding them down the stairway. The other brought up the rear. Katarina’s head was spinning, so she barely noticed the circuitous route she was being taken on, only barely aware of a murmured conversation between Aodh and the guard behind her.

“…Court not be the same without you, sir…”

“…richer for you…”

“…a temporary break in my luck…”