The Scottish Selkie Read Free Page A

man.” 
    The two men stared at each other, unblinking, till Kenneth broke the silence. “Donald, take care of this. Sever her head and hang it up for all to see we will have no assassins here. Women or men.”
    “As you say, my king.” Donald grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to the door.

 
    Chapter Two
     
     
     “Halt.” He yelled at Donald then wheeled back to Kenneth. “Do not kill the lass. I will wed her.” Once she was no longer a risk to his cousin and the kingdom of Alba was safe, Malcolm could return to his real life. His real world. “Kenneth, I accept Bethoc for my wife, but only under the bond of hand fasting. When it is time for me to go my own way then I shall.” 
    The king paused and his brow crinkled in thought then he nodded to Malcolm. “It shall be done.” 
    Bethoc's eyes widened. Her face went pale. “No. I will have no Scot for my husband.” 
    “It is not your decision. Malcolm, will make sure you do not kill anyone.” Kenneth leaned back against the oaken throne. 
    “I would rather die.” Bethoc lifted her chin in defiance. 
    Malcolm let out a chuckle of frustration. “I share the sentiment.”
    Kenneth arched his brows as he peered at Malcolm. “If she tries to kill you, slay her.”
    Bethoc's teeth clenched and her dark eyebrows shot up, as blazing green eyes stabbed Malcolm with a loathsome threat of a hundred deaths. He almost bit his tongue from laughter at the woman's dramatic expression. 
    Malcolm glanced askance at his king. “Well, this should be a quaint wedding night.”
     “You will have to sleep sometime, Scot, and I will kill you then,” Bethoc snarled through still clenched teeth. 
    “Tie her to the bed before you nod off.” Kenneth flashed a wry grin. 
    “I rather like the thought of that.” Malcolm smiled in earnest as he envisioned her long, earthy-brown hair fanned out across his bed. Her neck arched as she writhed and screamed in ecstasy of love play. Then Malcolm flinched. What had happened? He was thinking like a human. 
    Kenneth nodded at his brother, Donald. “Tell the priest to prepare the chapel for a wedding at dawn.”
    * * * *
    Bethoc rubbed her hands against her shoulders to ease the bite of the chill, damp chapel. She wore nothing but her dark tunic and braies and her cowl pulled back from her head. Her husband to be had not offered her his woolen bratt to keep her warm. Those addled Scots hadn't even lit enough candles. Bethoc's long chestnut hair swept from one shoulder to the other as she jerked her head and huffed. She’d failed to take vengeance on her sire’s death. The tattoos on her left thigh, depicting her ancestry tingled. She’d let her family down. Kenneth would be dead if only she'd drawn back the bow, but she could not kill a man in his sleep. Bethoc had never killed anyone.
    Her arms fell to her side and she curled her hands into fists. She slammed her foot down on the stone floor of the dark chapel, yelped with pain, then rubbed her ankle. 
    The priest stepped back. “Did you harm yourself, child?” 
    “No. Neither will I let a Scot harm me. I will not marry this man, Father.” The oaf, Malcolm, looked like he was carved of stone. The brown mop of hair on his head had a strange hint of red and his dark blue eyes were huge, like a cow's.
    The scrawny priest's mouth dropped open, which was a sight, for he barely had any chin. “My king, the woman refuses to wed.” 
    Kenneth curled his fingers beneath his firm chin. “Yes father, but if she does not marry I shall have to cut off her head.” 
    The priest swallowed as he stared at his king. 
    Kenneth answered the question in the priest's eyes. “What you heard is true. She tried to slay me as I slept.” 
    “Oh,” the priest's eyes went round and he glanced back at Bethoc, “you will wed, m'lady.” 
    “Because the church has no love for the Picts,” she spat. She was to have wed Drostan, lean, yet muscular with hair the shade of a raven's