Silverhawk (37 page)

The gate was groaning open as he reached it. Henry arrived first, surrounded by his band of knights. Inside the keep, the fighting lessened as many of the confused soldiers recognized allies in the men they fought. They would be easily disarmed. Thank God for little bloodshed.

No sign of Garley nor Osbert.

The wedding!

Giles caught Davy by the neck of his tunic. “Where’s Lady Emelin?”

“In the ’all, I think. Missy said the lady fought with ’er brother.”

Muttering a string of curses, Giles dashed toward the keep. If Emelin was harmed—They weren’t in the great hall. Upstairs, then. He kicked in the door of the lord’s bedchamber, but only the lord and lady were there. Lady Clysta called something, but he paid no attention as he ran. The solar was next.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sword raised, Giles kicked open the door, stormed inside—and stopped. The small group froze in place to stare at him. Garley held a wicked-looking dagger to Sister Ressa’s throat. Osbert, an eye swollen shut, stood beside Emelin.

Emelin’s lip was split and bloody; a bruise darkened one puffy cheek, and the other bore a distinct red handprint. Scratches streaked her forehead.

Jesu. What had Garley done to his own sister? A roar tore from Giles’ throat as he stormed forward. The scene in front of him exploded. Garley shoved the nun away, and a thin whine sung as he slid free his sword.

“Giles.” Emelin started toward him.

“No,” roared Osbert. He clutched her arm and pulled her to safety.

Then Giles focused on Garley. The moment that devil raised a hand to Emelin he’d sealed his fate.

The heightened energy of battle sharpened Giles’ focus. Every movement passed in slow motion. Garley was good. But he was overconfident. So certain of his own brute power, he lacked the patience for true skill. He attacked like a battering ram, pounding his opponent backward with the sword, waving the dagger.

Giles, on the other hand, moved with lithe precision. In a graceful two-step retreat, he balanced himself and the instant of Garley’s upward swing, twisted and kicked out. His boot connected with the dagger hand. The knife sailed across the room.

With both hands on the sword hilt now, Emelin’s brother intensified his attack. Giles obliged with a slow backward procession around the chamber. While the action drove Garley’s fury, Giles grew calmer, his mind sharpened. He planned to maneuver the other knight to a corner where the fight would end.

****

Emelin watched in horror as Garley beat Giles back. Now he backed around the room. She could tell his sword was lighter than her brother’s. He could not defend against such a heavy weapon. Her attention fixed on the battling pair, Emelin began to note Giles’ actions. He wasn’t expending energy as Garley was. He moved with grace and rhythm, as if performing steps of a dance.

It
was
a dance. The patterns of fight flowed in a precise manner, she could see that now. Giles seemed to sense Garley’s every move, as if he knew the steps and the other man didn’t. Her brother might have the reputation as a fearsome fighter, but paired with a master like Giles, he looked like a clumsy squire learning the craft.

The two neared a corner now. Emelin sucked in a breath. If Giles weren’t careful, he’d be trapped. What would she do if her brother killed the man she loved? God help her, she’d have to return the favor. If Garley harmed Giles, she wouldn’t rest until he was beneath the earth.

Then with a fluid turn Giles stepped to the side, pinning Garley in the tight V of the corner. But on the floor behind Giles lay the dagger. One stride backward and he’d trip on it. As his foot reached that spot, Emelin uttered a soft “Oh.”

The sound reached Giles’ ear, and he threw a concerned look over his shoulder. Garley took advantage of the distraction and raised his sword.

Again, he was overconfident. His movement was too sweeping, too broad. Giles simply pivoted, brought his lighter sword under and up, and pierced Garley’s throat. He ducked to avoid the arcing blood as he jerked free the sword.

A look of surprise swept across Garley’s face as he pitched forward.

Emelin raced across the floor to fling herself into Giles’ arms. He dropped the bloody weapon to catch her. He cupped her face between his hands, and his lips began a frantic progress over her wounds.

“Are you all right? Why did you fight him?” Each question was punctuated with a kiss. Fingers traced the still-burning welt on her cheek where Garley had slapped her to the ground when she refused to repeat the wedding vows. “Is it finished? If you’re wed, I’ll have to kill him.”

She laughed through tears and clung to Giles as if she’d never let him go.

She wouldn’t have to. No vows tied her to Osbert. Both had seen to that. And the older man had surprisingly withstood his own beating at Garley’s hands when he refused to marry her.

Giles had been right all along.

“You were right—”

“I’m sorry—”

They spoke in unison. Emelin smiled and winced against the split, swollen lip. “You first,” she insisted.

“I killed your brother. Can you forgive me?”

“How could I not forgive you? You saved me twice. If he had harmed you, I would have been forced to kill him, myself. You saved my immortal soul.”

Giles mouth caressed her left ear. “That’s only once,” he whispered as he nipped the lobe.

She shivered then pulled back from his crushing hug to gaze into his beautiful silver eyes.

“You were right about his plans. He intended to force the marriage, then kill Osbert and declare himself my guardian. Eventually, after the child came, he would do away with me. If I didn’t oblige him by dying in childbirth, he said.”

“Damn him to Hell. I wish I could kill him again.” Her words sank in at last. “What child?”

“I told him I couldn’t marry Osbert because I carried your child.”

An arrested look flashed over his face. “Do you? How can you know? It was but a few days ago…”

“Yes, but he didn’t know that, did he?”

“You’re a devious wench, Emelin. How did you manage to remain at a convent for five years?”

She laughed again. For the first time in days, her chest unclenched and she breathed deeply. “You have no idea.”

But
she
had an idea. It had popped into her mind sometime after his arms closed around her and his lips nipped her ear.

“Father Arwin,” she called above the din of others who piled into the bedchamber.

In her arms was the man she loved. He had come for her, fought for her. He must love her. His reputation was fierce, but she had seen his heart, and it was gentle, caring. He just needed someone to love him, to stay by his side, never leave. To accept him for who he was.

She loved him. Accepted him.

It didn’t matter that he had nothing. If her inheritance from Sir Clifford were not enough, if he must continue to fight, then she would go with him. Surely other ladies followed their knights to war. She didn’t need a castle to be happy, she needed only Giles. Wherever he was would be home.

****

Giles held his precious little warrior tight against his chest as she called for the priest and a small man in a rough cassock appeared.

“Yes, my lady?” The voice was surprisingly deep, mellow, comforting.

“This is the knight, the father of my child. You must marry us at once. You were prepared for a wedding; perform one now.”

The elderly priest’s head bobbed up and down, but when he looked up at Giles, his blue eyes glinted with humor. “I see that, yes, of course. You must marry at once. Sir Knight, take her hand.”

Was this tiny holy man actually prepared to perform a different ceremony at this moment? Giles glanced at Emelin. Her lips were curved with mischief—and something more. Their fullness softened under his gaze, opened slightly then closed.

Damn, the priest had best hurry when she looked at him like that. He laughed. With pleasure. And, perhaps, joy. This woman wanted him enough to lie to a man of the cloth, to force a wedding. How did she know Giles would agree?

Her eyes sparkled with tears. Happy tears, he hoped. He wanted this woman with all his being.

Then he remembered. Even with Lord Osbert removed from consideration, there was the other obstacle. The joy he’d felt a moment earlier became a chill of dread. He didn’t answer.

Her eyes dimmed at his silence. Her smile faded.

“If you don’t want me, of course…” she whispered, the hurt evident on her face.

God’s breath! Did he want her? More than life.

But he couldn’t have her. Jaw clenched, he spoke the words that were knives to his heart.

“Stephen lives.”

****

Emelin didn’t understand. It sounded as if Giles said Stephen lived. But that was impossible. He had been dead for years.

“I don’t know the story,” Giles added as if reading her thoughts. “But Lord Henry told me Stephen returned two nights ago. He is at Riverton now, with Sir Clifford.”

She couldn’t seem to understand the words. Stephen. Home. The boy she was to marry a lifetime ago, not dead. Dear Heaven—the boy she was betrothed to. Out of one betrothal, into another. And none of them to the man she wanted.

Suddenly it was too much. She began to laugh; tears streamed down her face. Sister Ressa was there, along with Father Arwin. They led her to a bench, pressed her to sit. Still Emelin laughed. At some point, the laughter gave way to sobs. She sensed a presence beside her on the bench, and warm arms enfolded her.

Her nose was clogged, but beneath the obstruction she whiffed perspiration, the now-familiar odors of blood and metal. How she treasured them—him. When her face burrowed into his warm neck, she caught the trace of his unique scent. She
clung to Giles for dear life.

****

Giles held her tightly, harnessing energy from battle’s aftermath that coursed through his veins. His mind flew back to the moment she had mentioned a child. He’d been triumphant, overwhelmed. But it was not to be.

Even so, he couldn’t see her trailing a homeless warrior through rain and cold, sleeping in tents during sweltering temperatures or freezing snow. Emelin was too fine for that life.

No, he would return as he came, alone. Hollowness opened where his heart should be. His mission to England was finished; the king would be pleased at the result. Giles had no reason to remain and every reason to leave. Immediately.

He glanced up and his gaze collided with Lord Osbert’s. Chill calmed the fire in his blood.

How could he have forgotten the one thing that had driven him endlessly over the years?

His father. Standing right before him, unprotected. He would never have a better opportunity. His hand curled as if he yet clutched his sword. Then it relaxed. The urge to kill had left him. Emelin inhaled sharply, and Giles’ arm flexed around her. Let the old man live. The inferno of hatred had dimmed. But it had not disappeared.

He gently set Emelin away and brushed a kiss across her brow. Teeth clenched, he faced Lord Osbert. Giles dragged the medallion from around his neck and jerked it over his head. It dangled in his fingers, swaying with every step as he stalked forward.

“I’ve waited my entire life for this moment.” His voice was a low growl. “Do you recognize this?”

The old lord frowned in surprise. “Of course I do. It’s mine.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lord Osbert squinted through his unswollen eye and held out a hand. “It’s mine. I gave it to—”

The words chilled Giles’ heart. He hadn’t expected the admission so soon. How could the deceiver act so unconcerned?

“To the girl you seduced and abandoned a score and eight years ago,” Giles interrupted, his lips twisted in a snarl. He prowled closer to Osbert, driving him back toward the wall. Revenge still simmered in his heart.

“The trusting maiden who had faith in your lies,” he ground out in a snarl. “She believed you would return for her, but you had your wealthy lady waiting for marriage, you lying bastard.”

Giles shifted the dagger he’d grabbed, seeking a tighter grip.

“What a fool you were,” he taunted. “The lengths you’ve gone to, the betrayals you’ve made, all for a son. Well, here he is. Look closely at him. Do you see anything of the woman who bore him? Any trace of the gentle lady who went to her grave with your name on her lips?”

The chamber froze in deadly silence.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment, dreamed of the look in your eyes when my dagger slides into your belly like twine through hot lard.”

Osbert’s mouth opened, then snapped closed. There was no fear in his face, only confusion.

Giles halted. “Hatred has been my companion each night, each day. It has consumed my life. But it’s over now.” He raised the dagger, yet Osbert made no move to protect himself. Giles heard a gasp. Emelin. But she said nothing. He paused. No. This revenge wasn’t worth his soul.
She
had made him realize that. Very slowly he lowered his hand.

“I won’t allow you to rule my life any longer.” He tossed the dagger to the floor. “There’s
your
life,” his bitter voice rang. “Granted you by your son.”

The clang of the dagger echoed. Osbert looked from the floor where it landed to Giles. He frowned again, shook his head.