My Valiant Knight (24 page)
“Weel, this ugly cur will ne’er bother us again,” Ainslee said as she nudged the man’s body with her boot to reassure herself that he was truly dead.
“I canna believe ye have just killed that mon.” Morag stared at Ainslee with a mixture of horror and deep admiration.
“ ’Tis not something I take any pleasure in, but I prefer to fight and kill than stand and die.”
“That must be a verra hard choice for a woman to make.”
“Aye, it is,” Ainslee replied in a soft, somber voice. “Now, we must move on ere we are seen by one of his companions, and they decide to take up his sword and face me. I am too weak to fend off another of these murderers.”
Ainslee saw the fear rush back into Morag’s expression and inwardly cursed her too free tongue. She had spoken the simple truth, but it was not a truth Morag was in any condition to hear. The girl had just begun to calm herself with the thought that her mistress could fight off the enemy, only to have her mistress reveal her own weakness and doubts.
“Come, Morag, let us hurry and find some place where ye can cease to be so afraid,” Ainslee murmured as she urged the girl along.
“M’lady,” Morag whispered in a thin, shaking voice a few moments later. “Is that not one of the Bellefleur men ye seek?”
Ainslee looked in the direction Morag pointed, and her heart skipped with a heady mixture of hope and joy. She was certain Gabel was only yards away from her now, the clutter of fighting men and the helmet the man wore causing her only a moment of confusion. What stole away all her pleasure as swiftly as it had come was the sight of Fraser confronting Gabel. Every inch of Fraser’s burly frame bristled with fury, and Ainslee could sense the danger of the moment even from where she stood. Suddenly, all of her concern about getting to safety, even about saving Morag and her child, was pushed aside. Instinct kept her wary of the dangers all around her, but she began to move faster, desperate to reach Gabel before the argument between him and Fraser resulted in drawn swords.
Gabel scowled at Fraser as he and MacFibh strode over to face him. It was easy to see that the men were furious, and Gabel had no trouble in figuring out what stirred their rage. None of the Frasers or the MacFibhs were happy about the number of MacNairns he had placed under his protection. The fact that all four of Ainslee’s brothers now stood with him had obviously been more than either of his contentious allies could bear. Gabel had feared that this moment of confrontation would come, but, this once, he would have been pleased to have been proven wrong.
He resented the constant bickering and this delay. Gabel did not feel that he should have to constantly explain himself to his allies, nor should he have to spend so much of his time trying to keep innocent people from being murdered. Because of the constant discord and other problems, he had still not found Ainslee. His ability to search for her had been severely curtailed during the battle itself and now, when he could even afford to employ some of his men in the task, Fraser appeared to hinder him yet again. Gabel realized that he had come to loathe the man.
The MacFibhs had been easier to bear, which had surprised Gabel a little. Lord MacFibh was an unwashed uncouth man, who had some cold bloodthirsty ideas on how to conduct a battle and treat one’s enemies. Yet the man also had a firm sense of what was right and what was wrong, and could be counted on not to change his opinions just to please others or to accomplish his own gains. Fraser was the worst sort of courtier and, in comparison, MacFibh had begun to look almost likeable. MacFibh still believed that the only way to end the troubles caused by the MacNairns was to kill every last one of them, but he had finally—grudgingly—conceded to allowing the women and female children a chance to surrender. There was a hint of mercy in the MacFibhs, however, for some had allowed a male MacNairn to surrender as well, and even MacFibh himself had tossed a small boy into Gabel’s arms in the heat of the battle, saying only that his sword arm had grown tired by the time he had reached the child.
MacFibh now stood with Fraser, however, and Gabel could not be sure how firmly he did so. There was too little of the man’s face visible beneath his helmet, his wild hair, and the filth of battle. In the man’s eyes was a cool look of consideration, nothing more. Gabel did not even want to try and guess at what the man was considering. His only concern at the moment was what Fraser planned to do, and if MacFibb—who had displayed a tendency to argue, complain, and do exactly as he pleased—would now cross the line into treachery.
“What game do ye play, de Amalville?” Fraser demanded as he faced Gabel, sparing only one hate-filled glance for the MacNairn brothers.
“I play no game.”
“Nay? We are here to crush the MacNairns, yet ye gather them to your breast like long-lost, weel-loved kinsmen.”
“I do not believe I was clutching them that closely.” When Fraser’s face reddened and his expression grew almost feral, Gabel tensed, sensing the danger of the moment. “I am doing exactly what I told the king I would do—saving as many of the MacNairns as I can.” When Michael and Justice moved to silently flank him, Gabel relaxed a little.
“The king wished Duggan MacNairn and all of his spawn dead.”
“Nay, the king wanted only the laird’s head. Mayhaps he believes as I do, that one should not set the burden of a father’s guilt upon his children’s shoulders. These young men have expressed a willingness to swear an oath to the king, and have already sworn one to me. I believe that a living, strong ally is of a greater worth than any dead enemy.”
“Ye canna trust these MacNairns any more than ye could trust their father,” Fraser bellowed.
“I have had no proof of that as yet. I have shown them that I have the strength and the skill to punish the men who betray me. If they choose to follow their father’s treacherous path, then I will deal with them as I have dealt with their father.” He cast one brief glance at the gruesome trophy upon the castle walls. “Well, almost. I believe I would at least return them to their king in one piece, so that he could dispense with their corpses as he saw fit to.”
“Weel, if ye dinna have the stomach to do what must be done—I will.”
Fraser drew his sword, but took only one step toward the huddled group of MacNairns. All four MacNairn brothers reached for their swords, and cursed when they grasped only an empty sheath. Fraser advanced no further, however, for he met the drawn swords of Gabel, Justice, and Michael. MacFibh stood firm for a moment, scowling in confusion, then stepped back, silently distancing himself from Fraser and the man’s challenge.
“Coward,” Fraser snarled at MacFibh, but his former ally just shrugged.
“I am nay one of the king’s favored laddies,” MacFibh said. “I would lose more than ye would if I drew a sword on the Norman. Aye, and though I dinna agree with his need to show such mercy, I came under oath as his ally. Ye may keep this squabble atween yourselves.”
“Ye must live near these bastards. How can ye stomach any of the MacNairns remaining here, especially the mon’s own heirs?”
“I will deal with them as I must. A ruined keep with no one to guard the lands doesna do me much good either.”
When Fraser turned back to him, Gabel smiled coldly. “And are you sure you wish to fight o’er this?”
“These men are as guilty as their father, and they will plague this land as sorely as he did. I demand that ye punish them. If ye dinna, ye are as great a traitor as they are.”
When Justice and Michael moved as if to attack the man, Gabel halted them with one sharp movement of his hand. Their job was to protect his back and help him guard against treachery, not to fight his battles for him. This time Gabel knew there had to be a battle. Such insults could not go unpunished, and Fraser would have to nearly grovel in apology to make any attempt at forgiveness become acceptable to his men and the others who watched them. And Fraser would never debase himself to apologize, no matter how rash the words. Gabel just hoped they could solve the matter without a killing.
“In but moments you have accused me of cowardice and of being a traitor,” Gabel said, his voice cold as he stared steadily at Fraser. “You go too far, Fraser. Your insults to me began months ago within Bellefleur itself, and have continued unrelentingly. I expect the most profuse of apologies, or I will put a swift end to your sly ways here and now.”
“Apologize!? For what? I but tried to kill a MacNairn at Bellefleur. ’Tis no crime. And I willna take back one other word.” He assumed a fighting stance and sneered at Gabel. “Prove yourself, Norman. Show us that ye can do more than speak prettily and beg for truces from bastards and outlaws.”
“You may well have just talked yourself into your grave, Fraser.”
Gabel had barely finished speaking when Fraser attacked, the resounding clang of their swords silencing everyone around them. He did not need to look at the MacNairns sheltered behind his men to know that they were dismayed. A soft groan arose from them the moment the battle was begun. They knew as well as he did that it was not only for his honor that he fought, but for their lives. If Fraser succeeded in killing Gabel, the man would feel no compunction about cutting down the men of Bellefleur to reach the MacNairns, and MacFibh would probably join in the slaughter. After promising the terrified remnants of the MacNairn clan that they would be safe with him, Gabel could not allow his stung pride and Fraser’s blood lust to tear away that safety.
Fraser had skill, but Gabel quickly recognized how the man allowed his own anger to diminish it. The man did not even have to be taunted openly to grow angry. Gabel knew that the cool demeanor he struggled to hold onto infuriated the man. The angrier Fraser grew, the calmer Gabel forced himself to appear, even beginning to smile faintly. Fraser’s temperament made it easy to deceive the man into believing he was just being toyed with. That proved to be Fraser’s downfall, causing the man to lose the last few vestiges of skill he had managed to cling to in the midst of his rage.
As Fraser panted and began to weaken, fighting Gabel as much as he was fighting against his own fury, Gabel found the chance he waited for. In a few swift clean moves, he knocked Fraser’s sword from his hand, and then knocked the man to the ground. Before Fraser could regain his footing, Gabel pinned him to the ground by placing one booted foot on the man’s heaving chest and holding his sword point against his throat.
“I would advise you to yield,” Gabel said with cool politeness, aching to kill the man, but knowing it would be wiser to accept a bloodless victory for now.
Fraser’s muttered
yield
was completely unsatisfactory, but Gabel slowly released him. The man snatched up his sword, glared at them all, and strode away, roughly pushing his way through the men who had gathered to watch the battle. Gabel shook his head as he resheathed his sword. Nothing had been solved, and Fraser’s hatred of him had only been irrevocably deepened.
yield
was completely unsatisfactory, but Gabel slowly released him. The man snatched up his sword, glared at them all, and strode away, roughly pushing his way through the men who had gathered to watch the battle. Gabel shook his head as he resheathed his sword. Nothing had been solved, and Fraser’s hatred of him had only been irrevocably deepened.
“That mon will do his utmost to see that ye pay dearly for his shame,” Colin MacNairn said.
Gabel turned to look at Ainslee’s brother, noticing how the other three now gathered around him, silently choosing him as their leader. “I realize that I have just made an enemy for life.”
“Aye, and he will try to make that life as short a one as possible.”
“Ye should have cut the bastard’s throat. Ye had that right,” muttered George, who then cursed softly when Colin cuffed him offside the head.
“Pardon, m’lord,” Colin said. “He forgets whom he speaks to. Although, there is a cold truth to his blunt words.”
“I know, but I cannot treat Fraser as I might treat some other foe, at least not until I have had a chance to speak to the king about the man’s crimes and insults. Fraser sits high in the king’s favor. To kill him and then try to explain why I did so could damage my own prestige, and I need it. I am still seen as an interloper, e’en as a thief who takes the land some Scot could rule in my stead. Nay, it seers my innards to allow that cur to live another moment, but, for now, I gain more by doing so.”
Colin shrugged, then frowned as he looked over Gabel’s shoulder. “I told that child to flee this place,” he muttered and shook his head. “It doesna soothe my pride much to ken that, out of all of our father’s children, ’tis the youngest girl who holds most tightly to her spirit and honor, whilst the rest of us followed like lambs to the slaughter pens, too terrified to do aught else.”
It took Gabel only a moment to comprehend who Colin spoke of. He spun around and searched the still crowded bailey, finally espying Ainslee stepping clear of the smoke and shadow-shrouded walls of Kengarvey Elated to see her on her feet, alive and carrying no visibly serious wounds, Gabel smiled at her. He started to walk toward her, intending to meet her halfway, and waved aside Justice’s and Michael’s attempts to accompany him.
Ainslee sheathed her sword, certain that she would no longer need it. She quickened her pace even as she glanced around to reassure herself that the battle was really over. A man on the wall behind Gabel caught her attention, and she came to an abrupt halt. One of Fraser’s men was notching an arrow in his bow, and it was aimed at Gabel. She frantically looked around for Lord Fraser and found the man off to her right. His attention was fixed upon his archer, and Ainslee’s blood froze when he gave the man an abrupt signal. Ainslee looked up at the archer again and saw him pull back on his bow. This time there could be no doubt about his target—Gabel’s unprotected back.
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