My Valiant Knight (25 page)
“Look out, Gabel!” she screamed, but he only stared at her in confusion.
Hiking up her skirts even as she began to run, Ainslee raced toward Gabel. As she neared him, she lowered her head, butting him in the stomach like a goat. Gabel groaned and cursed as he stumbled backward. He hit the ground hard, panting as he struggled to reclaim all the air she had knocked out of him.
Ainslee straightened up to look at Gabel, reassuring herself that she had not really hurt him, then felt something slam into her shoulder. She stared down at the arrow protruding from her body, even as she staggered backward from the force of the blow. Then the pain came. Crying out and trying to grab the shaft of the arrow in a vain attempt to remove the source of her pain, Ainslee slumped to the ground. As the thick blackness of unconsciousness began to creep over her, she hoped that bellow of raw pain had not come out of her.
Twenty
Gabel stumbled to his knees, half-crawling over to Ainslee. His throat was raw from screaming her name as she fell. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his men scramble to protect him from any further attack. Just as he reached Ainslee’s side, he heard a scream and looked up to see the man who had tried to murder him tumble from the walls, several arrows protruding from his chest. His hand shaking, Gabel reached out to search for some sign of life in Ainslee. He shuddered with relief when he felt her heartbeat. The young maid Ainslee had brought with her fell to her knees at Ainslee’s side, an older woman quickly joining her.
“I am Morag, m’laird,” the maid announced as she tore open Ainslee’s bodice to survey the wound. “This is my mother. Ye go and do what ye must do. We can tend to the mistress.”
“But—” Gabel protested even as he began to get to his feet.
“Go, m’laird. ’Tis most clear that ye have some verra deadly enemies. ’Tis best to be rid of them ere they really do kill someone.”
Although he ached to stay at Ainslee’s side, terrified that she might slip away from him while he was not watching, Gabel knew that the maid was right. The assassin had been a Fraser man. Gabel turned to look for the man who had given the order to the archer.
Fraser stood but a few yards away to Gabel’s left He was flanked by a half-dozen armed men, and faced twice that number of well-armed Bellefleur men. Knowing that none of his men would act without his command unless Fraser made another attempt to kill him, Gabel walked over to stand next to Justice and Michael. He wanted Fraser for himself, and this time he did not intend to give the man any chance to yield.
“You tried to murder me, to cut me down from behind like some low stinking coward,” Gabel charged as he took a step toward Fraser, his sword in his hand and his whole body tensed and ready for battle.
“Nay, I didna. I thought that MacNairn lass meant to do ye some harm,” Fraser replied.
Gabel watched the man look around nervously, clearly trying to discover some route of escape. This time, however, there was no way for Fraser to flee, not from him nor from the punishment rightfully due a murderer. In one ill-thought-out attempt to cut down his rival, Fraser had lost all he had achieved over the years, especially the hard-won and highly coveted favor of their king. There were too many witnesses to his devious attempt to kill a king’s man. Fraser could not successfully lie his way out of trouble this time.
“You cannot expect us to believe that, Fraser,” Gabel said. “Nay, not even the king, who has been blind to your sly ways and deadly games for many years, will believe that lie. If naught else, you insult me and my men by implying that we need your help to fend off one tiny Scottish woman.”
“Woman? ’Tis no mere woman we speak of, but one of the devil’s own spawn.”
“Ware, Fraser. Do not make the mistake of adding insult to the injury you have caused.”
“I have done naught but cut down a MacNairn. There is no crime in that.”
“There is when she is under my protection, a protection the king himself allowed me to offer to anyone of my choosing. And not when the arrow was intended to sit in my back. Nay, cease trying to lie your way free of this cowardly act, and prepare to try and save yourself.”
“Ye canna cut me down, de Amalville. I too am one of the king’s own men. Ye will have to answer for my death.”
“I have no doubt that I can easily justify what I am about to do.”
Before Gabel could act, however, Fraser and his men attempted to flee. They started to back away, warily watching him and his men as they did so. Behind them stood MacFibh and several of his men. If the MacFibhs sided with the Frasers, Gabel knew the fight could be very costly. He was debating within himself whether or not to stand and fight, chancing a deadly battle with the combined forces of the Frasers and the MacFibhs, or move to pull his men and the MacNairns out of Fraser’s reach, when the need for any decision on the matter was ripped from his hands.
MacFibh struck with no warning, startling both Gabel and the vulnerable Fraser. Even as Fraser’s expression revealed his horrified realization that his allies had deserted him, MacFibh neatly severed his head from his shoulders. Fraser’s men were dispatched with an equal brutality by MacFibh’s men. Throughout the bailey, Frasers fled or fought and died at the hands of the MacFibhs. Gabel realized that, as he and Fraser had confronted each other, MacFibh had quietly placed his men so that they could end the threat before it really began. After staring at his dead enemy for several moments, speechless with surprise over this turn of events, Gabel looked at MacFibh. The man finished cleaning his sword off on Fraser’s jupon, stood up, resheathed the weapon, and then met Gabel’s look.
“I had planned to kill him myself,” Gabel said, disappointed that he had not been able to personally avenge the harm the man had done Ainslee, and not exactly sure that he could trust MacFibh yet.
“I ken it, Sir de Amalville, but I had my own reasons to want the mon dead,” MacFibh replied.
“He was your ally. The two of you have stood shoulder to shoulder against me ever since we began this venture.”
“That mon was ne‘er anyone’s ally save his own. He would have cut his own mother’s throat, if he had thought it would bring him any gain. But one year past he cost my cousin his lands and his life. I now must house and feed his widow and her bairns, their name left so badly stained that they might ne’er retrieve it.”
“Yet you joined forces with him?”
“The king ordered it, and I had a wee urge to spill some MacNairn blood.” MacFibh stared down at Fraser’s body for a moment, then spat on it. “I could speak upon this mon’s crimes until the sun has set and risen again, but I suspect that ye ken what he was.”
“Did you come to this battle intending to exact revenge upon Fraser, as well as upon the MacNairns?”
“Nay, but I did come intending to keep a close watch for any chance to cut him down. His jealousy of you gave me that much longed-for chance. I suspected that he would use this battle to try and murder you.”
As Gabel resheathed his sword, he eyed MacFibh with an increasing cynicism. “You did not think that I or even one of my men ought to be informed of your suspicions?”
“I saw no need to trouble ye with them,” MacFibh drawled, then smiled faintly, his own cynicism plain to read upon his harsh features. “And, Sir de Amalville, why should one king’s mon heed an old minor laird’s suspicions about another of the king’s men?”
Gabel almost laughed, but his concern about Ainslee’s health was already pulling his thoughts away from Fraser and MacFibh. “I truly had wished to kill him myself.”
“And for stealing your chance to seek the revenge ye wanted, I do beg your gracious pardon.” MacFibh winked. “There will be others, m’laird, and I swear that I willna intrude in the killing of them.”
Gabel shook his head and moved to find Ainslee. He knew that later he would find some dark source of humor in the situation and in MacFibh’s ingenuity. The man was barbarous, unclean, and unmannered, but was also a great deal more clever than Gabel had first judged him to be. MacFibh had watched for a chance to cut down his old enemy without cost or retribution, and had not only seen that chance the moment it had arisen, but had acted with a swift deadly cunning to grasp that chance without seriously endangering himself or his men. It was devious, yet the man was blunt about what he had planned and what he had done. Gabel decided that he would have to keep a very close eye on MacFibh, and try to find the time to learn all he could about the man. At the moment, however, all he had time for and interest in was Ainslee.
He found Ainslee inside of a small shelter constructed of sticks and dirty sheepskins. The little maid and her mother had already removed the arrow and bandaged the wound. Gabel took one look at the strips of cloth wrapped around Ainslee’s slender shoulder, and felt a chill slide up his spine. They were gray with filth, nearly as filthy as the furs Ainslee lay upon and as the hands of the maid and her mother. Although he did not know if Ainslee’s insistence upon cleanliness while treating a wound was based upon any facts or reason, and had even found it endearingly amusing, he did know one thing—the wounds Ainslee had treated, Justice’s and Ronald’s, had healed perfectly.
Careful to speak gently to the timid women, thanking them for their help, Gabel ushered them out of the lean-to. The moment they were back with the other MacNairns, he signalled to Justice. Gabel prayed that, if Ainslee was correct about dirt being a real danger to any wound, he was still in time to correct any damage the well meaning women had wrought.
“She has not woken up?” Justice asked as he looked at Ainslee. “Ah, well, ’tis not really a bad sign,” he added in a quiet belated attempt to soothe Gabel’s obvious agitation.
“Do you remember what Ainslee did when she treated your wound?” Gabel demanded as he knelt by Ainslee’s side.
Justice shrugged. “She smeared a few salves o’er it and bandaged it. It looks as if those women tended her well enough.”
“Look closer and think harder, friend. Do you not recall Ainslee’s insistence upon cleanliness, of the wound and of herself as she treated it?”
“Oh, aye.” Justice grimaced. “ ’Tis clear that cleanliness is not a concern of the MacNairns.”
“Nay. Come, help me take these filthy rags off of her.”
“I will fetch some clean blankets and water first. And, mayhaps, I can find some of the foul brew these people drink. I now recall that she poured some of it o’er my wound.”
As soon as Justice left, Gabel turned all of his attention to Ainslee. Her pale color and her stillness worried him. When he finally got the bloodied strips of cloth off of her wound, the sight of the jagged hole in her soft flesh made him sick with fear. She was so small, so delicate, that such a wound could prove to be a dangerous one, could even prove to be fatal. Her lithe body was covered with bruises, and she had lost some weight. Gabel knew that both of those things were the results of her father’s brutality, and could easily steal away the strength she would need to heal. He wished he could make her father pay all over again for his mistreatment of his own child.
The moment Justice returned with the water, clean rags, and clean blankets, Gabel stripped and bathed Ainslee. He fleetingly begged Ainslee’s forgiveness for slighting her modesty. Justice held Ainslee still as Gabel cleaned and stitched her wound, for, even in the depths of unconsciousness, she felt the pain and cried out, trying to twist away from him. When he was done, he splashed some of the clean water on his face as Justice covered her limp form with blankets, and even took a hearty swallow of the strong brew.
“I cannot believe anyone actually drinks this,” he said, his eyes watering a little as he set the jug aside.
“I tasted it once and found it very strong,” Justice murmured.
“Aye, it fair burns its way to your belly.” He sighed and gently brushed the hair from Ainslee’s ashen face. “ ’Tis a deep, bloody wound, and her father’s cruelty has ensured that she is not at her full strength to fight off all the threats of such a wound.”
“Even like this, bruised and half-starved, Ainslee MacNairn is stronger than most women we know or have ever known. If any woman can survive such a wound, she can.”
“I pray that you are right, Cousin, for I will ne’er forgive myself if my weakness causes her death.”
“Your weakness?” Justice looked at his cousin in surprise and confusion. “What are you saying? Even if I could think of some weakness, how could it be blamed for this tragedy?”
“My weakness is my hesitancy to treat my enemies as they deserve. I show mercy to those who deserve none. I try to make peace with men who have no honor. My reluctance to spill the blood of others has brought Ainslee to this. I should have cut Fraser down the first time he tried to kill her, back at Bellefleur.”
“Mercy and a reluctance to slay all who stand against you is not a weakness. If you had killed Fraser at Bellefleur, you may well have angered the king so deeply that he would not have allowed you to lead this fight, or even to join in it. That would assuredly have cost Ainslee her life and the lives of all of her people as well.”
“I should have seen Fraser’s treachery ere it cut her down.”
“You are an honorable man, Gabel. Sometimes ‘tis hard for an honorable man to see treachery, or guess what trick a dishonorable man might play. Aye, mayhaps you need to look at other men with a far more distrustful eye, but ’tis no true weakness or fault.
“You fought Fraser fairly, man to man. You won and he yielded.” Justice shook his head. “I myself thought that that would be the end of it, and I am the one who should be more cautious for ’tis my place to watch your back. Nay, Gabel, you cannot blame yourself for not seeing what a low cowardly trick Fraser was about to play.”
“MacFibh saw it,” Gabel said quietly, his gaze fixed upon Ainslee’s face as he tried to will her to wake up and look at him.
“MacFibh is but a breath away from dishonor himself.”
Gabel smiled fleetingly. “The man does bear close watching. He wanted Fraser dead, yet was willing to bide his time until he could wreak the revenge he sought without any fear of retribution. I believe the wrong Fraser did MacFibh’s cousin is but one of many crimes and insults he dealt the man, yet MacFibh waited, patiently, coldly, until the perfect moment to strike. I thought the way MacFibh acted toward the MacNairns revealed the full true nature of the man.”
Other books
The Runner by David Samuels
Power Foods for the Brain by Barnard, Neal
A Dangerous Masquerade by Linda Sole
The Auric Insignia by Perry Horste
The Avatar by Poul Anderson
Saint on Guard by Leslie Charteris
Kabul Beauty School by Deborah Rodriguez
Leaving Orbit by Margaret Lazarus Dean
