The Scottish Selkie Read Free

Kenneth pointed his head to the dark-haired Pict who stood before him. Her features were set in a tight scowl.
    “Yes, the assassin.” Malcolm gazed into fiery green eyes which sparkled with hatred. He handed her bow to Kenneth.
    “Ah, so this is the weapon.” There was a thin smile on the king’s face as he turned the bow over in his hands. “Charming.”
    Bethoc spit at him.
    Guards rushed forward, but Kenneth gestured them to move back. “She cannot slay me with her spittle. As much as she may want to.” He let out a scornful laugh. 
    Bethoc's face turned red from the taunt. Malcolm knew she was stronger than she looked and barmy as well. Kenneth was mad to rile the lass. 
    The king noticed Malcolm's expression and pierced him with a trust-me-I-know-what-I am-doing glare. Kenneth leaned forward and in a hushed voice asked him, “What think you of the lady?” 
    Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. “With rumors of mac Alpin's treason branding you a bloodthirsty tyrant, you cannot give proof to the lies by executing a lass mad with grief.” 
    “I ask not what you say of this matter. What do you think of her? She is a bonny lass, is she not?” 
    Malcolm was shocked. Had his cousin taken an interest in this whelp? “Kenneth.” He cleared his throat. “The lass tried to kill you. You cannot mean to bed her?” 
    “I was thinking along those lines, but not for myself.” The king flashed a wry grin. 
    “What say you, Kenneth?” Malcolm reached out one arm, “Kill her?” Then the other, to indicate a second choice, “Pardon her?” He leaned close to Kenneth's face. “But do not hold her here. She is mad.” 
    “It is not wise to kill her.” Kenneth leaned back. “Yet, I cannot free her least she make another attempt on my life. I need someone I trust to guard her night and day.” 
    “You mean to keep her in the dungeon until she dies?”
     “No.” The king leaned forward in his oaken throne. “I mean to give you a worthy reward, a bestowal, a beautiful Pict noblewoman for your wife.” 
    “You jest?” Malcolm looked hard at Kenneth's face. “A wife? No.” He belonged to the sea, he had no use for a wife. And this one was wild and crazy. “Are you daft?”
    Kenneth lowered his tone almost to a whisper yet kept its intensity and edge. “She means to murder me. If not beheaded, she needs to be guarded by the one person I can count on.” 
    “God's teeth, but you are given to moon-mad musings. Do not do this.” 
    “She will try to kill me, again.” Kenneth turned his head toward Bethoc. “I can see it in her eyes and so can you.” 
    “I will not have it.” He could not hold back the furry from his tone and the king jerked his head back toward him again. “Do this and I find my pelt and depart this eve. Do not doubt me, cousin.” 
    “So be it, I can do naught but execute her.” 
    “If you would spare her life by wedding her to me,” Malcolm reached out his arm, “then do the same by betrothing her to someone other than me.” He flicked his hand toward his other cousin. “Bequeath her to Donald.” 
    “He cannot tame this one.” The king’s shoulder length hair fluttered as he shook his head. “He has no way with women. You know this.”
    Donald shook his head in agreement, surely not wanting the wild wench foisted upon him. 
    “I will not have it.” Malcolm stressed each word, emphasizing this was his final say on the matter. He took a step back.
    “Very well.” Kenneth tilted his head toward Bethoc and held his piercing gaze on her. “You will die for your attempt on my life.” 
    “I shall kill you first.” Her breathing came hard, her mouth was set in a fierce scowl.
    Malcolm could tell she was frightened. “She is a woman.” 
    Kenneth pointed his head toward Malcolm. “Take her outside, sever her head, and hang it on the gate as the Picts did to my sire and to yours.” 
    “I fight for you, I do not murder for you. Choose another