My Valiant Knight (4 page)
Relieved to hear her voice returning to normal, Gabel gently urged Ainslee toward the fire. He glanced at Ronald, who nodded and laid back down. One sweeping look at his men was enough to send them back to their posts or their beds. Instinct told him that Ainslee would be embarrassed, although he was a little confused as to how he could feel so certain about that.
“I should return to my bed,” Ainslee muttered even as Gabel made her sit down by the fire.
“Drink this,” he quietly ordered as he sat down next to her and handed her his wineskin.
Slowly recovering from the chilling horror of her memories, Ainslee found the strength to give Gabel a cross look as she took a drink of the sweet wine. She struggled against a sense of deep embarrassment over revealing her weakness and fear before Gabel and his men. Ainslee also knew that many men would consider her mother’s death a shameful one, even though none of the women killed that day had asked for the horror they had suffered through. One reason she never spoke of her mother’s death was to try and prevent anyone from thinking poorly of the woman, of her honor, courage, or morals. Such undeserved scorn infuriated her, especially since she knew that such men could never be swayed from their unfair condemnation by any argument she might choose to make.
“Do ye think this wine can dull the sharp edge of my dreams?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Mayhaps for the rest of this night,” Gabel replied. “I but wish I had some potion which could steal such dark memories from your mind for all time. You watched your own mother die?”
“Nay, I listened to her. Aye, and to all of the other women cursed enough to be captured.”
“You
listened?”
Gabel did not want to contemplate what such horror could do to a child.
listened?”
Gabel did not want to contemplate what such horror could do to a child.
“Aye. My mother hid me in a dark hole, covering it with debris. She told me to stay there and make no sound. I wasna the most obedient child e’er born,” she smiled crookedly for one brief moment, “but that time I did exactly what I was told to. I huddled there in the dark until all was quiet, and then I crept out to see the brutal destruction men can so easily wreak upon the innocents.”
Gabel inwardly winced beneath her look of condemnation. “I cannot claim that my men and I are free of any such crimes, but none of us has ever cruelly slaughtered a woman.” He sighed and shook his dark head. “I have been amongst warriors who have, and in battles where such crimes were committed. Since I cannot claim to have stopped such dishonorable acts, I must claim some of the guilt. Where was your father?”
“Running for his life and saving his sons.”
“And leaving his wife and daughter to face a battle-maddened enemy?”
“My father prizes his sons most highly. As he has ofttime said, daughters can only gain a mon a wee bit through a good marriage, and a mon can always find himself a new wife. He has buried two wives since my mother died. Since neither woman provided him with a live son, I believe he has cursed us all to hell’s fires and plans to wed no more.”
“So, you have lost three mothers.”
“Nay, only one. My father’s other two wives were no more to me than shadows flitting through the halls of Kengarvey. They had no use or love for me. I kenned that and left them be. After my mother was murdered I was given into Ronald’s care, and there I have remained.”
It was hard for Gabel to understand such a bleak childhood. His family had its troubles, but he had never felt unwanted. Despite all the rivalries and arguments, he enjoyed a true bond with his family, the near and the distant relations. Judging from the way Ainslee spoke, the only member of her closest family who had cared for her had died years ago, leaving only Ronald, a man most people would consider little more than a servant.
He studied her as she took another sip of wine, pleased to see the color returning to her ashen cheeks. It was not difficult to see the child within the woman. Ainslee MacNairn must have been a very engaging child, yet she had been tossed aside by her father like leavings from the table. Only briefly did Gabel question the truth of her sad story. Her terror had been too real, and she spoke of her bleak life as if she had accepted it and certainly did not expect any pity.
“Your man Ronald did his duty well,” Gabel said.
“Aye, although it is certain that many folk wouldna think so.” Ainslee smiled faintly and glanced toward her sleeping mentor. “Ronald taught me all of his skills, gave freely of all his knowledge, but ’tis not the sort of skill or knowledge a wellborn lass should have.”
“In this rough land it probably serves you well.”
“Verra weel except in gaining a husband.” Ainslee briefly wondered why she spoke so freely, then decided she was simply too tired to guard her tongue. And, since theirs was to be a short acquaintance, she also decided that what Gabel learned about her life was of little consequence. “A mon first looks to gain land, coin, or power. Then he looks for such skills as fine needlework and courtly manners. After all, a wife is but a tool for gain and the breeding of sons. Aye, I may produce sons, for my mother bore four living ones, but I canna say that I would bring a mon much gain. Nay, especially not with my father causing such trouble and making so many enemies.”
Everything she said was true, and the reasoning was both common and practical. It was the reasoning Gabel himself used in his search for a wife, yet he inwardly winced. There was no condemnation or anger in her voice, but simply speaking of such methods aloud made them sound callous and mercenary. Gabel did not like to think that he shared such ungallant ideas, but, he also knew most people would consider him the greatest of fools if he did not consider lineage, fertility, breeding, and gain when he sought out a wife. He also realized he was being ridiculously contrary when he mused that a man would have to be a fool not to consider Ainslee for a wife, despite all she lacked.
“A man must look to his future,” Gabel murmured.
Ainslee wondered why the man sounded defensive, even apologetic. Gabel de Amalville was a man of good birth and knowledge. Such men choose their wives carefully. It was not only accepted, but expected of anyone in his privileged position. Ainslee decided she was so tired she was hearing things in his voice that were not there.
“I believe my fears have waned now, Sir Gabel,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I will return to my bed. I pray I willna disturb everyone’s rest again this night.”
“There is no need to apologize for something you cannot help,” he said. “Few of us can boast that we are free of the night’s terrors.”
“Mayhaps, but I shall endeavor to cease dragging all about me into the midst of mine. Good sleep, Sir Gabel.”
“Good sleep,” he replied as he watched her return to her bed at Ronald’s side.
As she wrapped herself in her blanket, Ainslee fought the strong urge to look back at Gabel. Waking from her nightmare to find herself in Gabel’s arms had been quite a shock. Even more so when she had recognized how much his touch and deep soothing voice had contributed to the easing of her fears. That was not something she wished him to discover.
Especially not now when he kens most everything else about you, she thought with a strong hint of self-disgust. Her decision not to control her words suddenly felt like a grave error, and not only because of all Gabel had learned about her. His responses had revealed a few things about him, that he could be a gentle man for one thing. Ainslee did not want to know about the man’s good qualities. She was going to have enough difficulty controlling her attraction to the man. She sighed and yet again prayed that her father did not prove obstinate about ransoming her.
Four
“Twill be a fine, sun-kissed day,” said Gabel, gazing up at the sky.
Ainslee glared at his broad back and heartily wished that there was some way to ride behind him safely without having to wrap her arms about his waist. That brought her very close to his strong body, and the warmth such nearness engendered within her irritated her. The fact that he had taken possession of the reins of her horse irritated her as well. Even the beautiful weather annoyed her. She was being taken away for ransom. The storm of last night should still be raging in heavenly protest. That her horse had so amiably accepted a new rider’s commands seemed to her to be a particularly cruel blow. She glanced down at Ugly, who trotted along beside them, and wondered when he, too, would desert her.
“You do not find the sun’s warmth pleasing?” Gabel asked, glancing briefly over his shoulder at her.
“Can ye not tell that from my smile?” she snapped.
“From that grimace of clenched teeth? Nay. Your restlessness in the night has left you in a foul temper.”
“ ’Tisna my restlessness which causes my ill humor.”
“And will m’Iady grace me with the knowledge of what does cause her to be such poor company?”
Certain she could hear a tremor of laughter in his voice, Ainslee fought the urge to punch him squarely between his broad shoulders. “Mayhaps I find it annoying to have Normans creeping about my lands taking whatever they covet—lands, keeps, honors, women,
and
horses.” She cursed under her breath, sure that she could see his shoulders shake with amusement.
and
horses.” She cursed under her breath, sure that she could see his shoulders shake with amusement.
Gabel stroked the neck of her horse. “A fine, strong steed. Mayhaps too strong for a woman.”
“Did ye see me have any difficulty with him?”
“Nay. You ride with great skill.”
His flattery only soothed her bad temper a little. “I suggest ye dinna get too comfortable on his back. My father will soon ransom me, and I shall take my horse with me when I leave.”
“There are many men who would consider such a fine animal as the spoils of victory.”
“Ah, but ’tis ofttimes said that Sir Gabel de Amalville is not like other men.”
She was a little surprised when Gabel laughed aloud, a hearty, open laugh. A quick look at the men riding with them revealed several openly amazed expressions, as well as some looks of intense curiosity directed her way. Her tone of voice had been so sweetly flattering she had expected some amusement from Gabel, but not so much. What troubled her was how that deep, pleasant laugh caused a tingling warmth to curl around her insides. This further indication of her total lack of control over her own errant feelings heightened her sour mood, pushing aside the brief flash of good feeling inspired by his laughter.
“Did you think that sudden piece of honey-sweet cajolery would alter my decision about anything?” he asked, grinning at her over his shoulder.
For what felt like an embarrassingly long time, Ainslee was unable to speak. The playful smile that lightened his dark face seemed to push all the air from her lungs and shape it into a hard knot in her throat. As she struggled to clear away that obstruction, she prayed she did not look as spellstruck by his smile as she felt.
“ ’Twas worthy of a try,” she finally said, hoping he could not hear the hint of huskiness in her voice.
“I shall have to watch you closely.”
Ainslee’s reply died on her tongue when she idly glanced to the side. There was no mistaking the swift yet silent advance of armed men. It was not only their stealthy approach that warned Ainslee of danger. From all she had heard in the last few months, from all the whispered tales of horror in the kitchens and stables, she knew what now approached them was the newest scourge to darken her land.
“I think you had best watch the men on your right more closely, m’lord,” she said.
Even as Gabel looked around, the men ceased all attempts to be stealthy, screamed out an ear-splitting mix of war cries, and charged. “Who in Mary’s sweet name are they?”
“Outlaws, men cast out of their clans, towns, and homes. Men far past due for a good hanging, and a few of the notorious Graemes. Ye had best act soon. They are swift.”
In a heartbeat Gabel assessed the vulnerability of his men and made his decision. Unprepared for the attack and dragging two wounded men plus one girl, they were left with few choices. He snapped out orders to his men even as he spurred Ainslee’s strong mount into a gallop. While Gabel and the greater part of his force made a loud show of fleeing, the two men dragging the litters carrying Justice and Ronald hurried into the disguising shadows of the forest on their left. Three men slipped after them to guard their backs.
As he rode, drawing the outlaws after him on their swift mounts, Gabel cursed fluently. He detested fleeing like some coward, but he had to pull the attackers away from the weaker members of their group. He wished he had had the time to send Ainslee off with the wounded. Gabel also cursed the distraction he had allowed to creep into his mind, stealing his usual keen sense of danger. He should have been paying attention to the treacherous country he rode through, not the weather and not the tiny female clinging to him.
“If ye turn a wee bit westward right now, ye will reach a rocky rise where ye might make a stand against this swine,” Ainslee yelled, trying to be heard above the pounding of the horses’ hooves.
Gabel did as she suggested and immediately wondered why. Instinct had directed him, but he had to question how good that instinct was. What would a young wellborn woman know of the proper place to try and defend oneself? A moment later he knew his instinct had been right. He did not even have to order his men to make for the rocky knoll. They quickly recognized its worth as a temporary fortress.
Ainslee cried out softly as she was pushed from the saddle the moment they reached the top of the hill. She barely stopped herself from hitting the ground hard enough to hurt herself. Even as she struggled to steady herself, Gabel shoved her back amongst the horses, then turned with his men to meet the attack.
As Ainslee huddled amongst the fretting horses, her panting wolfhound collapsing at her side, she watched the outlaw force reign to an abrupt halt at the base of the hill. She prayed that they would decide that an attack would be too dangerous and flee, but doubted that her prayers would be answered. Such men had so little to lose, they would undoubtedly try an attack at least once. She did not want any of Gabel’s men to be hurt, then briefly worried that she might be betraying her family with such sentiments. After a moment’s thought she decided she was no traitor to the MacNairns. It was not wrong to wish no one would be injured or killed and, at this precise moment, the Normans were all that stood between her and the ruthless criminals at the foot of the rocks.
“M’lady, did you say you know who these men are?” asked Gabel as he waited for the attack he knew was to come.
“Only through the tales of their many crimes,” she replied. “They are murderers, thieves, rapists, and traitors; many thrust into banishment by their own kinsmen.”
“So these are not men who will wish to treaty with us.”
“Nay. The only thing anyone might wish to say to them is to wish them a swift and early plummet into the fires of hell. Of course, I confess that my knowledge comes only from what has been whispered about by others.”
“Why have I heard nothing about them?”
“They have only just begun to spread fear and death over this land. Someone must have appeared to band them all together.” She silently echoed Gabel’s hissed curses. “Do ye think they will attack?”
“Aye. Howbeit, although there are more of them, we hold the high ground. They cannot win.”
It was a proud boast, yet Ainslee found she could not scorn it. She suspected his confidence in himself and his men was well earned. As the two forces stared at each other—tense, glaring and exchanging taunts—Ainslee looked for her weapons. Gabel and his men might well be capable of fending off any attack the marauders made, but the chances were good that the outlaws would overrun the hilltop for one brief time. Ainslee did not want to stand there helpless and unarmed when that happened. The increasing noise from the men told Ainslee she did not have much time left. She recognized the bellowed taunts for what they were—a prelude to an attack.
When she found the saddlepack holding her weapons she breathed a hearty sigh of relief. The outlaws were banging their swords against their shields, stirring their blood in preparation for the charge. She took out her bow and quiver of arrows, briefly scorning the men for refusing to use such a weapon, clinging to their swords as if their were badges of honor. Gabel had only brought two archers with him on his foray, and had then sent them off with the wounded. Tucking her daggers away and sheathing her sword, she moved to a spot that still sheltered her near the horses, yet allowed her to see clearly in all directions. She just hoped that the attack would come before Gabel or one of his men could notice that she was armed, and take away her weapons.
Even though she had fully expected the attack, Ainslee felt a sharp thrill of fear when the final war cry was sounded by the outlaws, and they raced up the rock-strewn hillside. She stood up, drawing her sword. Ugly stood beside her, tensed, snarling, and prepared to defend her. The first clash of swords made her wince, and she steadied herself to feel nothing as men screamed in pain.
As she had feared, the outlaws soon swarmed over the top of the hill. They hoped to use their greater numbers to win the fight against the Normans. It was immediately apparent that that tactic was going to fail. Not all of the outlaws had the stomach to face battle-hardened knights. Now was the perfect time to use the bow and arrow, but it still appeared that only she possessed that weapon and, to use it, she would have to tell Gabel that she was now armed, if only so that she might get a clear shot at their enemies. Declaring that she had obtained her weapons was the surest way to lose them. A few well-aimed arrows would have neatly thinned the horde scrambling up the hill. Instead the men met face-to-face, sword to sword. Men, Ainslee mused with a soft snort of disgust, could behave quite foolishly at times. Men thought that the most important things in a battle were honor, bravery, and victory. She felt the most important thing was surviving.
Ainslee tried to remain alert, constantly struggling to keep a close watch on all sides, but her gaze continued to linger on Gabel. The sight of him tore her apart with fierce conflicting emotions. She thought he looked magnificent as he battled his enemies, even as she trembled with fear for his life. That she could feel so strongly about the man who held her for ransom was both astounding and irritating.
A sound from her right yanked Ainslee from her confusing thoughts. One of the outlaws had pushed through the tight battle line of Normans and stumbled over to face her. A grim smile curved his bloodied mouth. He had not come through the line unscathed, but clearly believed that she was not to be feared. Ainslee braced herself, crouched into a fighting position, and prepared to prove him wrong. As she raised her sword to meet his blow, the force of the clashing weapons ripping through her muscles, she wondered if she had been a little too confident. Ugly sent up a howl as he trotted around them, eager to help her, but trained not to interfere in such a fight unless commanded to. Ainslee felt her fear ease somewhat. If and when the time was right, she only needed the strength to utter one command, and her enemy would discover himself attacked from two sides.
Gabel cut down the man before him. The outlaw’s scream had barely gurgled to a halt when Gabel heard the wolfhound’s agitated barking. He ordered his men to stand fast, not to chase the now retreating Scots for fear of a trap, and turned to see what danger Ainslee had gotten herself entangled in. A vile curse was all he could utter when he saw her fighting with one of the outlaws, a burly man who far outweighed her and stood head and shoulders above her.
“She is armed again,” said Michael as he stepped up next to Gabel.
“Aye. The foolish woman thinks she is a man.” A quick glance around revealed that the battle was as good as over, and Gabel cautiously moved toward Ainslee. “ ’Tis clear that we did not secure her weapons well enough.”
“I can understand her need to face the enemy with a sturdy weapon in her hand. ’Twould not be to my liking to stand helpless when these dogs attacked, my only defense being to hide or flee.”
“ ’Tis the defense most women are content with. Do not try to soothe my anger. We will gain nothing if the foolish girl gets herself killed.”
Gabel ignored his young cousin’s knowing glance. The ransom was indeed the very last thing he was concerned about at the moment, but he had no intention of confessing to that. He began to circle the ill-matched combatants, hoping he could find some way to nudge Ainslee aside and end the battle himself. She would soon tire, and he realized he was terrified of the possibility of seeing her wounded or killed.
“Curse the girl,” he muttered. “If I draw any closer, I could easily cause her death rather than save her.”
Before Michael could reply, the man Ainslee faced stumbled. Ainslee did not hesitate to take advantage of her enemy’s sudden vulnerability. The death stroke she inflicted was swift and clean. The Scot fell with barely a sound. She stood, her sword still slick with blood, and stared down at the man she had just killed.
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