Bedding the Enemy

Chapter Twelve

The Tower of London was a fortress that struck fear into those who entered it. Helena decided that the dark weather fit the moment. The outer walls were protected by a moat, and somewhere along the stone walls was the traitor’s gate. The storm had likely saved Keir from entering the Tower through that infamous opening.
But that wasn’t much mercy.
The walls rose up above her, sending a shaft of fear through her. The solid stone and iron was inhabited by too many ghosts to name. Past the outer walls and towers there was another entire set of walls and towers before you reached the tower green where the scaffold stood. At the very heart of the fortress stood the white tower. Its walls rose ninety feet into the air, built to impress Norman rule after Britain had been conquered.
Black-uniformed yeomen stopped them. Helena felt the rain splatter on her cheeks when she stretched her neck to watch Farrell hand the parchment over to one of the yeomen. He looked up, his gaze settling on her face.
“Bring the lady closer.”
She climbed down from her seat at the front of the wagon that hauled her trunks before any of the McQuade men offered her a hand. She didn’t blame them. They were uneasy and watching what was coming toward them. Her own stomach was twisted into a knot. The sight of the outer wall sent terror through her. The Earl of Essex had lost his head not a full two years ago.
And now her husband was imprisoned inside it.
Helena moved closer to the yeomen.
“Push your hood back and open your cloak.”
Farrell protested but the yeoman silenced him. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to sneak in wearing a dress.”
“I am a woman.” Helena did as instructed and the rain quickly soaked into her hair. She opened the wool cloak wide. Heat burned in her cheeks when she watched the man’s gaze settle on her breasts.
“All right then.” He waved his hand and there was a groan from the iron gate. It creaked and moaned while it was pulled up. “The lady may enter. Only the lady. Her escort will remain here. My men will take the trunks and deliver them once they have been searched.”
Arrogance and authority edged his words. Helena bristled beneath it but she knew the way the Tower worked. There was only one way to survive inside its walls. She reached into her doublet, the yeoman’s eyes following her motions. A hint of lust flickered in his eyes but it quickly changed to greed when she plucked a pound coin from her bodice. He licked his lower lip with anticipation.
“I place my faith in you, sir.”
The coin disappeared in his gloved hand in the blink of an eye. The rain continued to fall, drenching her dress. The cloak became heavy with water, pulling on her shoulders. Walking across the drawbridge, Helena shivered when she passed beneath the raised gate. The yeomen sent men into the rain to pick up her trunks. They hurried back across the length of the bridge on their way to shelter.
Helena stopped just on the other side of the raised gate. Farrell and the other McQuades looked more at ease in the weather than any Englishman in sight. They had a portion of their kilts pulled up over their heads but there wasn’t a miserable expression among them. They looked strong and invincible, exactly as she recalled from the first day she had laid eyes on Keir.
“We will be waiting on yer return, my lady. Right here.”
“I will not be leaving until you have found Raelin.”
Farrell scowled at her. He stepped forward but the yeomen instantly lowered their pikes to keep him on the outside of the tower.
Helena raised her voice so that the men behind him heard her.
“You promised Keir that you would not leave me unprotected. Look around; there is no more secure place than the Tower of London.”
“That is nae what my laird meant and you know it.” Farrell cast a look at the pikes, judging the men who held them. Helena stepped back and he frowned at her.
“Come back here.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you plan to place your faith in the English to recover Raelin McKorey?”
Several of the retainers behind him scoffed at her words. Farrell pressed his lips together.
“Ye’re trying to confuse me.” He dug into his own purse and produced a silver pound. He held it up. “One of ye be a good lad and give me mistress a push this way.”
“I have the king’s permission to see my husband.”
The captain of the yeomen gripped her arm. “You do, and you shall see him. That is my duty.”
Farrell snarled. “Be a good fellow and bring her back here.”
Another pound appeared in his fingers. It was a large amount of coins and a few of the yeomen looked at the grip the captain had on her.
“Farrell, stop it. Can’t you see that this is the only way that I can help? Keir is your laird. You must go looking for Raelin.”
The burly Scot was torn. She witnessed the battle in spite of the rain. The other clansmen frowned, clearly divided between loyalty to Keir’s last order and the need to do something other than stand watch over her.
Farrell replaced the money. He reached up and tugged on his cap. Approval shone from his eyes and it humbled her to see it.
“Are ye sure ye are nae a Celt, my lady? You have a very clever nature.”
Relief flooded her. “I am a woman. No matter where we are born, we females need be clever to survive.”
“See that ye do that, ma’am.”
There was a groan as the gate began coming down. So close to it, she flinched at the harsh metal-on-metal sound of the chain grinding against itself. The black iron gate shook when it connected with the drawbridge. It was such a final sound, one that shook her to her soul. How many nobles had listened to that same sound and never lived to cross back over the drawbridge? Farrell turned and took to his horse in powerful motions. She could see the impatience in every motion. Smiles split the lips of the other McQuade retainers, many of them turning to offer her a quick tug of their bonnets before they dug their heels into their mounts and galloped into the afternoon gloom.
It gave her hope. She clutched it tightly against her heart as she turned to look at the inner wall of the tower. The captain of the yeomen led her through a maze of stone corridors and walls. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the rain—it was the emotion rising from the walls, all of the suffering that had happened between their hard surfaces. A raven called out and others answered. The black birds swooped down from the sky to land beneath the eaves of the tower roofs. They stared down at her, looking sinister with their feathers slick and shiny from the rain. Their steps echoed on the cobblestones and she swore that she heard the faint sounds of drums echoing from an execution.
“We gave Lord Hurst a decent room. Not bad at all.” The captain pointed up at one of the round towers that was built into the inner wall. “That’s the bell tower. Our good queen Bess was staying there when she was just a princess. It’s got a view of the Thames.”
And the scaffold on Tower Green…
Helena swallowed her horror. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“Well now, we appreciate the noble behavior of your husband. That Lord Ronchford made quite the fuss. We stuck him somewhere where we don’t have to listen to his bellowing.”
There was a sick enjoyment flickering in the yeoman’s eyes. But Helena imagined that it was the sort of thing that kept a man sane while living and working within the Tower.
“You’ll have the use of the wall up there once the weather clears up a bit. Of course, your husband is Scottish, so I imagine a little rain doesn’t bother him any too much.”
“How nice.”
The yeoman’s lips twitched, almost as though he was enjoying her struggle to maintain civility while they moved deeper into the fortress.
“Right up these stairs. You understand that you have the right to leave, but once you go, you may not return.”
The stairs were narrow and dark. Wind blew down them but it was still musty. None of those things deterred her. Keir was there, up the last few steps and behind a locked door. The rattle of keys bounced between the sides of the stairway as the yeoman pulled a ring from his belt.
“Do you understand, my lady?”
Helena lifted her chin. “I do, sir. I will not be leaving until my husband does.”
He didn’t believe her. The look on his face showed her a man who had seen too many prisoners deserted by their spouses when the years began to pass. Helena stared straight back at him, unwavering in her determination.
“Well then. I wish you well, lady.”
He fit the key into the door and turned it. A grinding sound issued from it before the latch opened and he pulled the door wide. The chamber was dark, with light coming only from the fireplace. She stepped boldly inside, seeking the man for whom she longed. He was sitting in a chair, staring at the embers of the fire. Wood was stacked up near the hearth but he had not fed the fire; it was only a faintly glowing bed of coals.
Her husband swore.
His eyes glowed and he cursed even fouler than the first time. His body rose in a powerful motion that made the yeoman next to her reach for his sword.
“Easy now, my lord.”
Keir stepped forward, his anger clear on his face.
“The lady has the king’s permission to visit.”
Keir froze. “Permission to visit?” Suspicion darkened his features. His attention shifted to her and she felt her throat tighten.
Her husband was not pleased.
“Are ye telling me that ye asked to be here?”
His brogue thickened with his anger. He looked at the yeoman. “Would ye excuse us, man?”
The door of the chamber slammed shut. There was the sound of the key grinding in the lock that made her flinch. It sent another shiver down her spine but she did not regret her choice. Even angry, her husband was the dearest sight she had ever beheld. The first true smile lifted her lips since they had been interrupted in their chamber.
“Now dinnae do that.” Keir shook his head, even raised one finger and pointed at her.
“I am not allowed to be happy to see you?”
He closed his eyes and groaned. His face lost its stern expression. It was replaced by a need so fierce it drew a gasp from her. His eyes opened and she stared into eyes that hungered for her.
He scooped her up and she wasn’t even sure when he crossed the distance between them. Helena didn’t care. She clung to him, her arms trying to pull him even closer. She wasn’t near enough, couldn’t seem to hold him tightly enough to drive the chill out of her heart.
“Good God, ye’re freezing and soaked to the bone.”
“But I’m with you. That’s all that matters. We’ve time aplenty for my dress to dry.” Her feet touched the floor but she kept her hands on his shoulders. Her husband frowned and picked her up once more, depositing her in front of the fireplace. She trembled when the heat touched her chilled skin. She hadn’t noticed the chill, hadn’t allowed herself to be concerned with such things as her own comfort. What was a bit of rain compared to the possibility that the Privy Council might well be urging the king to sign an execution order even as she had her reunion? Keir tossed a log onto the coals. It began to snap and pop almost instantly.
“How did ye give Farrell the slip?”
“You assume he did not agree with my choice to join you.”
He unlatched her soaked cloak and hung it on the wall. Keir slid his arms around her without a care for how wet she was, placing his body against her back to warm her.
“I know my man. He’s going to blister me ears when I see him again, isn’t he?”
“Perhaps. Yet he did tell me I was clever.”
He muttered something in Gaelic. “More like irritating, madam. I told ye to stay with me men.”
She turned, pushing at him and frowning when she had to glare at him and wait for him to decide to release her. The hands she had planted flat on his chest were no real inducement when pitted against his strength.
“And I believe your men are far more needed to find Raelin. Since I am with you, they may begin to search for the witness that will clear your name. You see? Very logical.”
He growled but his face told her that he agreed with her. Reaching up, she smoothed one of the creases from the side of his face.
“Don’t be angry with me, Keir. I couldn’t stand being away from you. It hurt too badly.”
He captured her hand and held it against his lips. He turned it over and drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her skin. Heat flickered to life, a tender passion that sent tears into her eyes.
“Aye, lass. I understand what ye mean.”
His eyes opened and she gasped. So much need shimmered in their dark centers. It cut deep into her heart, laying her emotions open to his keen gaze. She loved her parents because they were her parents, but she loved him because she could not resist. The tears spilled over onto her cheeks.
“I cannae stand the sight of yer tears.” He caught them with his thumbs, easing them across her cheeks.
“I only cry for you, Keir.”
He stiffened. “Ye cried the night afore our wedding and the slash of that still pains me. Tell me why.” His voice was raspy with need. The hands cradling her head suddenly held her more firmly. “Tell me.”
“I was half in love with you and I didn’t want to see reality shatter it.”
Surprise flashed through his eyes. “You mean to say that you believe all this nonsense about love nae belonging in a marriage?”
“Well, you told me that you didn’t think that you would ever fall in love when your mistress was leaving you.”
She tried to shake off his hand but he held her head firmly. A grin offered her a flash of his teeth.
“I keep telling ye, Helena. I am a Scot and we do things a wee bit differently.”
She scoffed at him. “You cannot say that you expected love from your marriage. Admit that you are as surprised as I.”
“Right after ye tell me ye love me.”
Determination flickered in his eyes. Hunger and need was there as well, making her heart ache. He was so powerful, so full of strength that her love seemed a pitiful thing to offer to such a man.
But it was the only thing that was truly hers to give. It was unique because she knew that he was the only man she would ever say such words to. That gave her words luster. She felt it shinning in her eyes.
“I love you, Keir McQuade, and I don’t care how angry you are about my joining you here. I would wither away without you.”
She reached up and pulled one of his wrists toward her lips. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, exactly as he had done. The scent of his skin filled her senses, triggering a flare of passion that licked over her skin. His other hand opened and the fingers cupped her neck. She felt him move closer. Felt the way his body loomed over hers, surrounding her with strength.
“I love ye too much nae to be cross with ye, lass. This is nae a place that I want to see ye in. Even if I longed for ye so badly I thought it might kill me.”
She opened her eyes and stared into his dark ones. “Any place we are together is perfect.”
“I’ll nae argue with being together, but I do wish it were on me own land.”
He kissed her and she rose up to meet his lips. Conversation had lost its appeal now that she could smell his skin, feel his warm embrace. Her wet clothing chafed, irritating her skin. She wanted to return to the security the king’s guard had interrupted. The kiss was hard with need, his lips moving over hers and pressing her to open her mouth for a deeper kiss. The tip of his tongue slipped along her lower lip until she complied and allowed it to tease her own tongue. A shiver went down her back and her husband lifted his mouth away from hers.
“I should paddle yer bottom.”
Helena frowned at him. “I’ll overstarch your shirts.”
He chuckled and reached for the top button of her doublet.
“No.”
“No?” One dark eyebrow rose in question.
Helena stepped back and noticed that she left a wet smear on the stone floor. She reached up and unbuttoned her doublet. The wet wool was difficult to manage with chilled fingers. But she finished and opened the garment herself. It was too stiff to slip down her arms. Instead it stuck to her shoulders.
“Perhaps ye’ll reconsider.”
He didn’t wait for a response. His hands gripped the doublet and swept it down her arms. “I’m nae sure what I find more attractive—the idea of ye disrobing for me or the satisfaction of doing it with me own hands.”
He wasn’t wearing a doublet and his shirt was wet. Helena reached for the ties that held it closed at the neck.
“I confess that I don’t care how it happens, so long as we both rid ourselves of these clothes.”
“A point I find myself agreeing with ye on.”
Her clothing didn’t make it an easy task. It took his greater strength to unknot her corset tie. The log he’d placed in the fire had caught and heat radiated out toward her. Keir pulled at her corset until he freed it, gaining a soft sound of delight from her.
“Och now, there’s another thing we can agree on. I prefer ye without all these layers, as well.”
Her breath caught on a gasp. An amused chuckle rumbled form his chest. “Is this the lass who just offered to disrobe for me?” He opened her waistband and reached inside to find her bum roll. His hands pushed the entire wet mess down her legs in another few moments.
Her cheeks warmed. “I am still becoming accustomed to your way of saying things so boldly.”
“Good.”
He leaned toward her and pressed a warm kiss against her neck. It sent a delicious ripple of sensation over her skin that traveled down to her breasts. Freed from her boned stays, the delicate skin rose into goose bumps. His gaze dropped to her chest and she realized that her chemise was translucent in its wet condition. The thin fabric stuck to her every curve, the coral tips of her nipples showing plainly through.
She stepped out of her skirts and enjoyed the way his eyes remained on her. It was empowering, the way his face changed, his features becoming tighter, his eyes narrowing. She turned in a slow motion and paused with her back to him while peeking over her shoulder.
“Ye’re beautiful, lass.”
She believed him, actually felt her confidence rising. He pulled off his clothing, his motions rougher than they’d been on her. She turned back around, watching his skin being revealed. It was the most erotic thing she had ever witnessed, and the most tender. Unlike her wedding night, she was completely at peace. More than eager for the coming union but also content to enjoy the motions that would lead them to intimacy. There was a subtle seduction in the way they watched each other, something that words wouldn’t translate. It was in the slant of his eyes and the way his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Her body responded, her nipples tightening into hard pebbles. His dark gaze swept down to them and his lips thinned.
He opened his belt but didn’t allow his kilt to fall to the floor. He caught it in a firm hand and laid it over the chair in which he’d been sitting. Pride flickered in his eyes when he looked back at her, pride in who he was and the clan colors he wore.
That was the man that she loved enough to give her trust to.
She pulled the wet fabric from herself. It resisted for a moment before leaving her skin with a soft wet sound. He stood still. A muscle twitched in the side of his jaw, betraying the fact that it cost him to do so. But he remained where he was, allowing her to look at him. His body was sculpted into ridges of muscles, all covered in smooth skin. His torso was lightly covered in dark hair that thinned at his waist but also grew around his sex. His cock stood at attention, confirming that he wasn’t in the mood to wait. Her own body slowly heated up until the warmth from the fire was almost too much.
He moved toward her, cupping her breasts in gentle hands.
“I treasure yer trust, lass.”
She quivered, lifting her chin to stare into his eyes. Love shone there. It was sweet and tender, and was everything that she had foolishly believed did not exist in reality. She was grateful to be humbled by discovering it.
“I love you.” Her words were a whisper but they broke through the still of the moment, shattering it.
His arms slid over her body, one going down over the swell of her hips to hook beneath her knees. He lifted her and cradled her against his chest.
“I hope so, because I love ye too much to ever let ye leave me side.”
He carried her to the bed that the chamber provided. It wasn’t as wide as the one in their town home, nor as comfortable, but it was clean. Keir followed her down onto the sheets, his mouth seeking hers. She wasn’t sure of all the touches. His hands slid over her, almost desperate to trace each curve. Her own hands were just as determined not to miss one part of him. It was the only way of truly healing the hurt that had tormented her from the moment she had watched him leave her. She reached for him, stroking the powerful shoulders by which she had first been mesmerized. His kiss was demanding but sweet, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in a slow imitation of what her body craved. She opened her mouth to accept the penetration, her thighs parting to allow his hips to move between them.
He didn’t rush toward taking what she offered. Instead, one firm hand slipped between their bodies to tease the top of her sex. She shuddered and arched up toward that touch, need beginning to twist into her. A soft whimper broke through their kiss and Keir lifted his head. There was meager light on the side of the room where the bed was. But the shadows only heightened her awareness of how his skin felt pressed against her own. It was as though she had never known exactly what her body was capable of until she was bare against him. It was a treasure, something rare and uncommon.
He rolled onto her, pressing her back to the surface of the bed. His hands tangled in her hair, pushing into the braid to hold her still. His wounded pride made him crave submission from her, but she lifted her hips, refusing to be docile. She breathed deeply of his scent and felt the rapid beating of his heart. Surrender was the furthest thing from her mind.
For once the chamber was filled with the sounds of pleasure. Her husband thrust deep and she whimpered with delight. No grisly facts surfaced to intrude. There was only the rapture building between them, the pleasure tightening beneath each stroke of his length. The hope that his seed might take root and bring them the joy of a family with which to share their love. Everything built into a moment that stole them both away from all things except each other. Helena clung to her lover, clasping him with her thighs while her body clasped his length to pull his seed deep into her. The pleasure was blinding and she surrendered to it gladly, basked in the warmth. Ripples of delight continued to move along her limbs long after Keir had ground himself into her for the final time. She held him, her hands smoothing over his back. He caught his weight on his elbows but didn’t roll off her quickly. Instead he pressed small kisses along her forehead, over her cheek and down to her neck. His heartbeat slowed to normal before he drew a stiff breath and moved.
He hooked an arm under her waist and pulled her over so that her head rested on his chest. Reality broke through her joy as she looked around the room, truly seeing it for the first time. There were three windows, but she would have to stand on a stool to see out because they were set so high in the wall. Since it was a tower room, the chamber was round but the windows were thin to make it harder for arrows to enter. It also served to keep prisoners inside.
Only the bare essentials furnished the camber: two X-framed chairs that looked many years out of date and a small table that was scarred and etched with knife marks. There was no carpet on the floor, only the dull stone with a coat of dust. The pile of firewood along the wall was the most luxurious thing afforded her husband. If the yeomen were angry enough, they would have forgotten to bring up such a comfort.
There was a second doorway that led to a short walk along the inner curtain wall. The young princess Elizabeth had used it during her incarceration within the Tower. The doorway was narrow and low, built to Norman standards, and she guessed that her husband would have to duck to clear the top of it.
The bed was nice enough. Keir had his noble blood to thank for that. Along with the fact that he didn’t stand accused of treason. Murdering a peer was no small crime, but it was considered something that might allow him to be kept in the Tower according to his station. Those incarcerated for treason against their monarch would discover just how miserable the Tower’s dungeons were. If she had felt horror permeating the air when she entered, it no doubt rose from those places where torture was employed. She shivered and a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder.
“Tell me about the home you plan to take me to.”
The hand on her shoulder paused and gripped, betraying his emotions.
“Red Stone? ’Tis a fine place. The heather will bloom in a few more weeks…. Have ye ever seen heather? Or inhaled its scent when the sun is warming the blossoms?”
Helena listened to his words. She used every bit of self-dicipline she had ever been forced to cultivate to focus on the picture he painted of a place she made herself believe she would someday go with him. There was no other option to consider. She refused to think about the Privy Council or the demands of other noblemen for Keir’s blood. She wouldn’t think about his head being displayed on the bridge as a warning to others.
She would immerse herself in his words, the rich sound of his voice, and believe as she had never believed in anything else that faith would deliver them both to Red Stone.


“Curse this rain!” Farrell glared at the sky. The swollen clouds were black, promising more rain, not reprieve. His feet sank in the mud up to his ankles, wringing another curse from his lips.
There was nothing but swollen ground to find. The Thames was flooding and sweeping debris along in its powerful current. He studied the way it rolled large tree limbs under the surface with ease. There was power in the current, the sort that may have made easy work of sweeping a lass to her death.
He grabbed the thick neck of his horse and fit his foot into the stirrup. With a pull and push, he swung up into the saddle. He didn’t bother to notice how wet it was. That didn’t matter.
“We’re going to split up—half of ye go to the opposite bank to search for the girl. See if some silver buys us the information we need.”
None of his clansmen looked any too hopeful. It was an opinion he shared, but there was little point in dwelling on it. He was a McQuade, after all. Keir McQuade had taken the name he was born to and restored more luster than most of them had believed possible in the short time since the last laird had tarnished it. Now it was his turn to serve Keir, and Farrell didn’t plan on losing faith just because the odds didn’t look favorable.
He’d face defeat only when he was forced to and not one minute before that.


“A peer is dead.”
James Stuart wanted to crush Lord Bramford’s neck, but settled for gripping the arm of his chair. More than half his council was calling for retribution and he couldn’t truly blame them. If one murder was allowed to go unpunished, it would be their own throats they would be worrying about come next month. There were always rebels who believed noblemen needed to die for some cause.
“I agree that it is a grave matter but that does not help us decide upon a clear course of action.”
“Put the man to trial by the barons.”
James held his emotions behind a mask. The rest of the council pounded on the table in agreement.
“The man? I believe I have two who had reason to do this deed, and the next man who accuses McQuade because he’s a Scot is going to be reminded very solidly that I am done hearing that the country I hail from is beneath yers.”
There was silence at the table, many of the men pulling their hands off the polished surface.
“Make no mistake, I am very interested in discovering the truth of this deed. But there will be no assumptions. No use of torture to gain a confession.”
Lord Bramford leaned forward. “Sire, I suggest a baron’s council be convened to try Lord Hurst by a company of his peers.”
The others nodded. James could see the quest for vengeance burning in their eyes, but his own temper ignited.
“Lord Hurst?” He rose out of his chair and planted his hands on the table with a loud smack. “Dinnae ye mean Lord Hurst and Lord Ronchford? Or does being English mean that the man is guiltless by blood alone?”
“Lord Ronchford did not marry—”
“Because he was beaten off the girl. But my fine-blooded Lord Edmund Knyvett told his sister that she was to wed Ronchford. I am suspicious that there was an agreement between Ronchford and Knyvett that would have led to the man being angry that he didn’t get the bride he wanted. Or possibly paid for, since the girl’s dowry ended up on a gaming table.”
His councilors did not speak, but their eyes were full of brewing discontent. James sat down, forcing his own temper to cool. Balance was the key to maintaining power. Elizabeth Tudor had taken England from a penniless country and built it up into one of the richest kingdoms in the world by maintaining balance.
“They will both be tried. Bramford, I wish a list of noblemen to be presented to me for consideration. We will be fair with an eye for justice, gentlemen. I suggest Lord Warwickshire be placed on that list, since his daughter is married to a Scot.”
“An excellent plan.”
Lord Bramford didn’t care for it but he masked his displeasure well enough. James looked around his Privy Council, his gaze resting on each man for a moment. Most were placated by his plan. For the moment, it would keep the discontent from boiling over.
Yet it would not hold forever. Someone’s head would have to rest on a pike for Knyvett’s murder. That was a shame. The man had been an arrogant fool upon whom fate had taken its vengeance. James didn’t mourn him and he doubted that any of his Privy councilors did, either. No, their insistence for justice was about protecting their own skins. Many of them were not the most likeable men, either. They had abused those around them and taken far more than they had given in return. They craved knowing that the masses had an example made to them to keep them in their place, with them remaining on top.
He just hoped that he didn’t have to do that at Keir McQuade’s expense. He frowned, dark thoughts settling over him. Being king came with a burden. Sometimes it was so heavy, he believed it might crush him. Now was one of those times. He didn’t want to sign Keir McQuade’s execution order, but he very much feared that he might have no other option.
Aye, heavy. Too heavy.