Highland Steel (Guardians of the Stone Book 2) by Tanya Anne Crosby Page A

understand.
    Outside the tower window, snow gathered on the sill, barred entrance to the room by Roman-styled glass—a rare luxury in any demesne, but certainly unlike anything Jaime had ever seen outside of the King’s chambers in London… or apart from the ancient Roman monasteries. The glass was certainly unexpected this far north and in such a mean demesne no less. For an instant, he tried to remember whether the other windows were adorned in such a way.
    “Come,” David bade him. “Sit and drink a spell.” He motioned toward the empty chair at the table and gave a discreet little cough, not so deep as before.
    Pre-occupied with the girl, Jaime nevertheless wandered over and sat down and David pushed an empty tankard toward him, then filled it with what Jaime presumed was ale.
    “I gave the cretin sacks full of gold,” David disclosed. “And this is how he put it to use.” He waved a hand about the expanse of the room, clearly disgusted by the prospect. “The rest of the keep is as unkempt as a donkey’s arse,” he grumbled. “’Tis clear enough the man cared not a whit for anyone but himself.”
    A tiny smile played at the corners of Jaime’s lips. “At least he had his priorities,” he said.
    “Greedy bastard,” David replied, and then he downed his cup and poured himself another. “His grandfather deserved what you gave him, never doubt it.”
    Jaime winced, staring down at his cup.
    “In much the same vein, I hope Lael’s brother skewered Rogan through and left him to rot.”
    Lael.
    He knew her name, Jaime noted, but David had not been present when she’d revealed it to him. “I take it ye know her well?”
    David peered up at him then, lifting one dark brow. “Drink up,” he commanded, avoiding the question.
    Hardly in the mood for libations, Jaime nevertheless reached for his cup, realizing David had something difficult to say. Foremost in his thoughts was that he’d somehow managed to save the lass’s neck from the noose only to bloody his sword with her head. Then again… why should he care what happened to the changeling? The vixen was none of his concern.
    “I trust ye,” David announced. “More than most—certainly more than Montgomerie, the bloody turncoat!”
    Jaime nodded soberly. Piers de Montgomerie was one of the first barons David sent north to hold Scot’s land. It was yet unclear where the man’s loyalties lay. Apparently he’d gone and wed some Brodie lass, and then he’d stood against David, siding with her brothers. Alas, that was a chance David must take whenever he sent a strong leader north; no man could hold these lands who did not put his people first.
    “It pleases me greatly to see you get your due,” the king said after a time.
    Jaime lifted his tankard. “For that I thank you, Your Grace.”
    David waved a hand, dismissing his gratitude. “No need for formalities betwixt us here,” he insisted. “Out there, perhaps, but in here my farts are no less pongy,” he said, and placed a hand to his belly. “Particularly after a bit of bad haggis.”
    Jaime laughed, remembering Lael’s words. “A toast to the blowing of wind,” he offered, lifting up his tankard.
    He took a hearty swig, choking unexpectedly on the fire that ignited in the back of his throat. Cursing roundly, he spat the rancid liquid back into the cup.
    David guffawed. “Yegods!” he exclaimed. “I ha’ seen ye wipe blood and guts from your lips with scarce a grimace and ye canna down a dram.” He snorted with laughter, then rattled out a few discreet coughs.
    It was on the tip of Jaime’s tongue to ask what ailed the man, though he was entirely distracted by the liquid within his cup. Now he could see it fuming beneath his nose. “What the hell is it? Witch’s brew?”
    The King smiled. “ Uisge beatha —the water of life. An auld woman south of Dundee said it would root out my ague, but ye’re as much a Scot as me, Jaime. Dinna ye recall the potation?”
    Jaime was