Sometimes that trick could disarm an opponent. Not this one. The knight clung to his sword with an iron grip.
They battled back and forth in a straightforward manner for several exchanges, lunging and hacking, thrusting and blocking.
Then he made a unique move. One she should have anticipated, since she’d seen it before.
He swept his blade over her head, missing it by only a few inches. Then he flung his shield at her, releasing it toward her right shoulder. While she was distracted, dodging the flying shield, he finished his spin, bringing his blade low to sweep her off her feet.
He almost succeeded. At the last instant, recognizing the maneuver, she leaped over the blade.
It had to be Colban. That was the ploy he’d shown Brand and Gellir.
On the other hand, she supposed anyone could learn a trick like that.
She had to finish the fight and find out for certain the identity of The Sable Knight.
He had surrendered his shield, wagering his tactic would end the match. Hallie could have easily won by taking advantage of his vulnerability.
But her mother had taught her a valuable lesson. Chivalry was more important than victory. So she retreated, picked up his shield, and tossed it back to him.
The crowd cheered. The knight inclined his head in thanks, and she swore she could imagine Colban’s crooked smile beaming out at her from inside that helm.
As a warrior, Hallie was renown for remaining cool, even in the heat of battle. And although The Sable Knight was challenging her composure, she knew she had to rely on that gift if she wanted to win this skirmish.
Rather than wielding blows that would finish him off, she began pestering him with small, quick attacks. Her sword became a swarm of bees, stinging in the gaps of his chain mail and thumping against his helm.
Forced to defend against each minor offense, he became annoyed. Once he was annoyed, his return attacks became careless. Fueled by his temper and sheer frustration, he grew negligent.
Finally, as every foe did when confronted by a horde of bothersome pests, he lashed out with a wild and reckless slash, as if he could wipe them out in a single blow.
Almost without fail, when a warrior’s sword slashed right and his shield went wide to the left, he left himself open to attack. Hallie took advantage of that moment to lunge forward, bowling him over with her sword, her shield, and all of her strength.
He fell backwards into the dirt, taking her with him. She ended up astride his body with her blade at his throat.
She’d won the tournament. But there would be time to celebrate later. Right now, she wanted to know just one thing.
While the crowd cheered, she leaned forward and whispered, “Tell me your name.” Her heart pounded as she waited for his reply.
Rather than answer her, the lout slipped his shield under her blade, pushing it away from his throat, threw her off of him, and fell heavily on top of her with his sword at her throat.
Her gasp was echoed by the crowd. How had he done that? How had turned the tables on her so quickly and stolen her victory?
She struggled beneath him. But it was to no avail. She still had her sword in her grip, but the wrist of her sword arm was anchored to the ground in his steel gauntlet. She was well and truly conquered.
“Fine,” she bit out in disappointment. “I yield.”
The knave cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I yield,” she snarled.
He let her up, but she coldly refused his hand when he offered it. She was vexed. The lout had usurped her triumph and snatched glory from Rivenloch. Worse, he’d refused to give her his name.
Colban supposed a gentleman might have let the lady win. But she didn’t need the purse that came with the championship. He did. And her hastily whispered question had caught him off-guard. Fearing exposure of his identity, he did what came naturally in a sword fight, overthrowing his opponent by any means possible.
If it were left to him, he would have remained atop the magnificent Valkyrie, tossed aside their swords and helms, and continued his assault, drinking in her beauty, touching her face, kissing her lips.
But he had been lucky enough already, earning the privilege of fighting with her. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of Hallie from afar. But even in his wildest dreams, he hadn’t imagined the two of them would engage in close combat.
She was just as amazing as they said. Competent. Calm. Deadly. The match could have easily gone her way. He wanted to tell her so. But speaking would have revealed his identity. Besides, she might have perceived his praise as condescending.
He lingered just long enough to receive the applause of the crowd and the satchel of silver for his efforts from Laird Morgan and Jenefer.
Then he repaired to his pavilion to prepare for the final event, the melee.
He paid a servant to fetch supper from the castle—pork pies, ruayn cheese on brown bread, apple tarts, and ale—for him and the three French knights sharing the pavilion.
They were halfway through the meal when an unexpected guest arrived.
“I knew it!”
“Shite,” Colban breathed.
It was Morgan. With an angry slap of the pavilion flap behind him, he strode to where Colban was and gave him a hard shove that almost knocked him off the trunk where he was sitting.
“Hey!” Colban complained, trying not to spill his ale.
“Where the devil have ye been?”
Colban scowled. “I thought ye’d be a wee bit glad to see me.”
“Well, ye thought wrong. I’ve been worried sick about ye for weeks.”
The three French knights began to murmur in speculation among themselves.
Colban sniffed. “Ye know I can take care o’ myself.”
“Is that so? Well, in case ye didn’t realize it, ye’re a wanted mur-…” Morgan glanced at the others and lowered his voice. “Tell me the truth. Did ye kill Archibald Scott?”
“Aye,” Colban said stiffly.
“What?” Morgan’s eyes widened.
“But I had my reasons.”
Morgan hissed, “Would one o’ those reasons be lustin’ after the man’s wife?”
Insulted, Colban stood up and gave Morgan a hard shove into the pavilion wall. “Ye know me better than that.”
Morgan’s eyes smoldered into his. Then he pushed away from the pavilion wall, brushing off the sleeve of his cotun. “Why did ye return?”
“I didn’t,” Colban told him. “The Sable Knight returned.” He shrugged and grumbled, “He needed the coin.”
“Ah. So ye won’t be stayin’?” Morgan’s tone was cool and lordly. But Colban knew that his friend—his brother—was hurt.
“Ye know I cannot,” he said, “not after what I’ve done.”
Morgan compressed his lips. He did know. “Isn’t there some way—”
“There you are!”
Isabel burst into the pavilion so suddenly she startled a squeak out of one of the French knights who was changing out of his leine. The lass—sweaty, out of breath, disheveled—paid the knight no mind.
“What the devil?” Colban seized her upper arm and steered her away from the others.
This was not good. Not at all. Morgan would have kept Colban’s secret. But if Isabel had recognized him, news of his arrival would be all over Creagor in a matter of hours. Hell, she may have spread the gossip already.
“What are ye doin’ here?” he demanded.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“How? By peekin’ in all the pavilions?”
“Aye.” She shrugged. “How else was I to find you? I mean, after you ran away from the tournament field…”
“I didn’t…” He scowled, glancing at the other knights to be sure they weren’t listening. “I didn’t run away,” he whispered. “I came here to prepare for the melee.”
“You did?” Her skepticism slowly evaporated. “So you’re not leaving yet?”
“Nay.”
Sh
e gasped. “I know what you’re doing.” She clasped her hands as if in hopeful prayer. “At the end of the melee, you’re going to stage a dramatic reveal. You’ll pull off your helm, announce who you are, and ask for my sister’s hand in marriage.”
“What?” Colban exploded.
“What?” Morgan echoed.
The French knights began talking furiously again.
“You know you love her,” Isabel insisted. “You always have. And she loves you.”
Colban wanted to deny it. He couldn’t. And hearing that Hallie loved him made his heart go soft and his tongue go silent.
“Is that true?” Morgan asked him.
Colban frowned. “That’s not why I…” He didn’t want Morgan to believe he’d killed Archie to win Hallie. But he also couldn’t discuss his real reason while Isabel was here. She wouldn’t understand. And she’d tell everyone.
“Besides,” Isabel said, turning very pink and biting her lip, “I know something about Hallie you don’t. Something almost nobody else knows.”
Colban waited for her to elaborate.
“’Tis a secret,” she said.
Colban waited.
“You musn’t tell anyone,” she said.
Colban waited.
“Because if anyone finds out—”
“Are ye goin’ to tell me or nay?” Colban growled.
“Aye. Aye.” She took a deep breath. “Hallie is…” Isabel lowered her voice to a tiny whisper. “She’s with child.”
“What?”
“She’s going to have a babe.”
Colban suddenly felt sick. Not because Hallie was secretly carrying a bairn. Such a thing might be expected, since she’d been wed for three months. Nay, what made him feel ill was the fact he’d just trounced the hell out of a pregnant woman in the tournament.
“Ye’re certain?” Morgan’s tone was skeptical.
“I swear,” Isabel said. “She doesn’t know I know. But I’m her sister. And after Gwendolyn, Hallie’s maidservant, told her sister Alyce, who told Bonnie the kitchen wench, who shared it with her cousin Margaret, ’twas only a matter of time before Margaret told me.”
Morgan looked dizzied by her explanation. Clearly, half the servants already knew Hallie’s secret.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I thought you should know, since it might be…”
“Might be what?” Colban asked, still feeling faint.
Isabel blushed and lowered her head. “It could be yours, aye?”
Colban froze.
“What!” Morgan said, cuffing Colban’s shoulder.
“’Tis highly unlikely,” Colban said. “We only…” He glanced at Isabel, far too inquisitive and worldly for her years.
“Isabel!” Outside the pavilion, someone was calling her. It sounded like Jenefer. “Isabel!”
Isabel sucked in a quick breath. Before she rushed out, she turned to him, her brow furrowed with worry. “Don’t tell her I told you.” Then she was gone in a flurry.
Morgan turned to him. “Ye got her with child?”
“’Tis possible.” He arched a brow. “But don’t be castin’ stones at me when ye know very well ye’re not without sin.”
Morgan rubbed a hand across his jaw. “What will ye do?”
Colban sighed and straightened. “The right thing.”
“But ye said it yourself. Ye don’t know if the bairn is yours.”
“It probably isn’t. We only had one night together.”
“One night?” Morgan released a breath of relief. “Well, then, ’tisn’t yours. She was with Archie for weeks.”
Colban knew that. “Her child needs a name. And a father.”
“’Tisn’t like that bairn is not goin’ to be abandoned like ye were, Colban. Ye know that, aye?”
On some level, he did know that. The Rivenloch clan would ensure the child had all the love and care it needed, even if it was born a bastard.
But if there was the slightest possibility the bairn was his, he couldn’t walk away and leave Hallie alone to raise the child. Hell, he realized, even if the child wasn’t his, he didn’t want her to have to bear the burden of being both a laird and a widowed mother.
“’Tis far too dangerous,” Morgan warned. “The Rivenloch clan has every right to string ye up for Archie’s murder.”
“’Tis a risk I have to take.”
Morgan shook his head. “Ye should never have come back, brother.” Then he gave Colban a rueful smile. “Though I’m glad ye did. There’s no one I’d rather have steal my silver in the tournament.”
Colban lifted a corner of his lip. “’Twas my pleasure.”
Then a great horn sounded, calling the combatants to return to the field for the melee.
Colban would wait until after the battle to find Hallie. After all, she might well refuse his offer. And if she did, it would be better if he didn’t reveal himself to her clan. He would quietly slip away, avoiding execution and continuing his existence as The Sable Knight.
In the excitement of preparing for the melee, Hallie’s disappointment at losing the sword battle was completely forgotten.
Jenefer had prepared something quite special. Melees had always been a risky event. Brutal and chaotic, they were little different from an actual battle. Casualties piled up on all sides. Rather than training knights for war, melees served to cripple fit warriors and diminish one’s forces. Indeed, for a time, melees had even been outlawed in England.
But for this event, Jenefer had specified that weapons were to be blunted. She’d even had her armorer forge dulled swords for those who didn’t bring their own. Best of all, Gellir, Brand, and other younger lads who were usually excluded from tournaments could safely participate. It was a genius idea, exposing them to the dynamics of a real battle with none of the dangers.
That was the intent.
And at first it went remarkably well. Over a hundred warriors took the field when the fighting began. Rather than the savage curses and groans of pain that usually accompanied a melee, the air was filled with laughter, grunts, and good-natured ribbing.
Gellir, of course, took it all very seriously. Before long, he was leaping into the fray against Sir Rauve and their father and even Laird Morgan, as if he were suddenly their equal.
Hallie fought close to Brand. While he was in no peril of being slashed or stabbed, his wild antics could get him trampled or cost him an eye.
All was going well, and Jenefer jested that, at this rate, they would all tire before anyone triumphed.
Then the first scream floated across the battlefield.
Chapter 41
Colban was not happy. True, with blunted weapons, the melee was more like a rough game than a mock battle. But Hallie was in the thick of it, putting herself and her babe at risk.
He could see why no one had noticed Hallie’s condition. The lass might look slightly thicker around the middle, but her cotun and chain mail hid it well.
He shuddered. The blades might be blunted. But some of the combatants dealt out rib-bruising, bone-breaking blows. And since only Isabel and a handful of maidservants knew Hallie’s secret, none of the Rivenloch clan were exercising extra caution. Someone needed to protect her.
Maneuvering close, he made it his duty to watch over her. In turn, she seemed to be watching over Brand.
To Colban’s pride and chagrin, Brand used Colban’s shield trick to knock the de Ware knight off his feet. Meanwhile, Hallie held off the Nubian knight long enough so Brand could retrieve his shield. Colban in turn protected Hallie from a fierce attack by the Hun descendant.
So intent was Colban on both defending himself and looking out for Hallie that he didn’t at first notice the strange commotion at the far end of the field.
The sound started as a series of startled shrieks and then quickly rolled across the field like thunder as the fighters began bellowing in outrage and confusion. Peering over the heads of the other knights, Colban saw warriors surging rapidly outward in retreat, as if a wild bo
ar had been dropped in their midst.
He turned to locate Hallie. But she’d disappeared.
Scanning the crowd, he spotted her. Rather than fleeing with the others, the intrepid lass was heading straight toward the danger.
“Bloody hell.”
Narrowing his eyes above the oncoming wave of warriors, Colban glimpsed the flash of a claymore. Not a blunted sword meant for a friendly melee. But a killing weapon sharpened to dole out death. Already, its silver edge dripped with blood.
Colban didn’t think. He reacted.
Fighting his way through the retreating knights, he cursed as he saw the claymore rise and fall, over and over, hacking out destruction. A handful of fighters were trying to stop the murderous man wielding the weapon. But their blunted blades were useless against him.
As Colban struggled forward, he saw fallen and injured knights. Sir Rauve. Hallie’s father. Several of the mac Giric clan.
The man was swinging his claymore in an arc like a reaper, heedless of where it landed. Most knights leaped out of the way. A few brave souls tried to engage him. But they were repelled by the wounding blows of his great weapon.
Then, just as the claymore lifted high in the air again, young Gellir rushed in to attack the rogue warrior.
“Nay!”
Colban hurtled forward. But time dragged at his heels. His sabotons tore up chunks of sod. His armor clanged as he shouldered knights out of the way. But already the deadly claymore was reversing direction, plunging toward Gellir.
He’d never arrive in time to save the lad.
Laird Deirdre would.
With seasoned grace and speed, she thrust her shield between her son and the claymore an instant before the blade would have split his skull. Still the power of the heavy sword pummeled the shield hard enough to knock Gellir to the ground and throw Laird Deirdre off-balance. She staggered to one knee.
The warrior withdrew his blade, preparing for a second blow, this one meant to hack the laird’s head from her shoulders.
With a savage roar, Colban leaped forward, blocking the claymore with his blade. The impact to the blunted weapon rattled his teeth and shuddered through his bones. But he managed to deflect it enough to save Laird Deirdre.
Bride of Ice Page 33
