“So the Selkie bitch found a husband?” Breathan’s handsome face failed to hide the cruelty he held inside. “Well, perhaps your Fae blood carries some magic. Come with me to the fortress and my men will spare your husband.”
“No!” Rhys growled.
Annys hated Breathan and would never go anywhere with him, but to save Rhys, she would sacrifice her life. “If you give your word…” She hated asking for it, because she would never trust anything coming from his mouth. But what choice did she have? They would kill Rhys before her eyes if she resisted. “…that he will be unharmed, I will come with you.”
Rhys stepped blocking her in the byre. He said lowly, “You cannot go with him, Annys. Those are the men who killed my soldiery, nearly killed me.”
She looked up into the amber eyes and gave him a brave smile. “’Tis all right, Rhys de Valyer.” Her thumb worried the braided hair ring on her middle finger. She raised up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his cheek. “All will be fine.”
“Annys, no!” Rhys’s face was drawn with warrior’s helplessness. He knew Breathan’s men would cut him down in a heartbeat. “You cannot. They will kill me anyway,” he argued lowly enough so the words did not reach the riders.
For a moment, Annys was lost in his amber gaze. In that breath, she knew she loved Rhys de Valyer, knew that giving her life for his would not cause her hesitation. That silly dream floated through her mind that something wondrous and magical would happen to her. Well, it had. She had fallen in love with the warrior she found half-dead in the storm. Standing here, she realized she knew so little about him, yet she sensed he was a good man, an honorable man. The difference between Rhys and Breathan was stark.
“Come, Annys. I give my word your warrior will go unharmed.”
Annys touched her fingertips to his lips, silencing his protests. She lost sight of the men on horseback as her vision blurred. She could only see Rhys. He was so heartbreakingly beautiful, the curls on his forehead stirred by the morning breeze, as this moment spun out, a shard of time when she knew love and how valuable the emotion was.
“Stay safe,” she whispered, and started out of the barn.
Rhys let out an inhuman howl and lunged to grab her.
Everything happened at once. Rhys jumping to catch hold of her, at the precise instant the redheaded man let loose a bolt from the crossbow. Annys screamed and had to blink thrice for the arrow did not go into Rhys, but seemed magically to embed in the redhead instead. He reeled from the impact of the arrow to his chest and spun wildly in his saddle, upsetting the other horses near him. In shock, Annys spun around to see Rhys was unharmed. The bolt fired at him had missed and was lodged in the wood of the byre door. Someone else had fire another arrow at the same time. But who?
Rhys dragged Annys back to the protection of the barn.
She was still wondering who had loosed the arrow on Breathan’s men. So did they. The horses were agitated and it took most of the men’s attention to not be tossed. Unexpectedly, more riders charged into the small clearing. Not tame palfreys, but monstrous destriers, and upon their backs, bearded knights. They rode to circle the back of Breathan’s men, who unslung their crossbows, only to find the knights armed with crossbows and swords. They rode under a standard of a green dragon on a field of deepest black. The one next to the leader had a morning star, a one-handed flail, and he rode toward the redhead and sent the ball flying through the air. The man never stood a chance; the metal spikes ripped through his head like hitting a gourd.
The others raised their weapons, but the leader called out, “Hold! Else my men will cut you down like wheat.”
Breathan’s men looked to him, then to each other, all clearly knowing they were outmatched. These were well-trained knights, fully armed and on powerful horses of war, not some ragtag pack of brigands. A couple lowered their weapons, fear on their faces. Two dropped the crossbows to the ground.
“Watch them. If a bloody single one of them moves for his weapon, cut them down.” The leader reined his horse to where he could walk him to Breathan. “I am seeking one of our own. Four days passing one of our squires found way to Glennashane with tides that his party was attacked. I am seeking their commander.”
Rhys ordered, “Stay here,” and then stepped outside.
The tall, handsome knight with blue-black hair turned partially in the war saddle when he spotted Rhys. “Ah, the very man I speak of. Well-come to Scotland, Sir Rhys.”
Annys ignored the command to remain inside the byre, and followed him out. The black headed knight’s brows lifted in surprise at seeing her.
“Good morn, my lady. I be Sir Guillaume Challon, baron of Glennashane and brother to the Black Dragon.”
Once more, a ripple of fear ran through Breathan’s men, their eyes looking around for a path to escape.
“Well-come to Rowenwood, Baron, but I am no lady, I am…”
Rhys stood against her back. “She is my wife.” His clear tone said he would brook no opposition in the matter.
Sir Guillaume smiled to cover his surprise. “Ah, I was not informed…ah…your bride was so comely, Sir Rhys.”
Breathan’s face darkened in anger. “He lies! She is not his. I was betrothed to Annys Bràigheach when she was two and ten. She ran away and I have been searching for her ever since. It was affeared the wolves had gotten her.”
Guillaume flashed a toothy grin. “I likely would have run from you as well. ’Tis a bit of a muddle, eh? Rhys is knight to my lord brother, and a man of honor. If he says our Annys is his, then I am of certainty Challon will heed his words. You have proof of this claim, a charter, Breathan Laidlaw?”
It had been so long, Annys doubted any trace of their betrothal existed, but she suspected that Breathan would not speak the truth.
“I am sure the charter is at the fortress of Dunaig…somewhere,” he replied.
Sir Guillaume tilted his head in consideration. “That is good, then. You can send one of your men to fetch it. You will accompany us back to Glenrogha, and Challon shall rule on who Lady Annys belongs to.”
“She is my wife,” Rhys insisted.
Guillaume offered him a reassuring smile. “Then, all will be well. Challon rules his holdings well.”
Rhys approached the two men. “Guillaume, may I borrow your gauntlet?”
The sinfully handsome man slowly removed the leather glove, with deft and precise movements, and then held it out to Rhys. “At your service.”
Rhys took the black leathern gauntlet and moved to stand by Breathan. He stared at the other man, not saying a word. Breathan glared back, but Annys saw the coward lurking in his blue eyes.
“You dare the audacity to insult my wife.” Rhys flung the gauntlet into the face of Breathan, hard. “On St. David of Menevia’s feast day, I will meet you on a field of honor for trial by combat.”
“Who the bleeding hell is St. David of Menevia?” Breathen snarled, flinging the glove away.
“He is the patron saint of Wales and the date is March one.” Rhys took a step closer. “Say your prayers, Scotsman, call for your sineater, for that will mark the day of your death.”
One of Breathan’s men took the opportunity of everyone’s focus being on Breathan to spur his horse to run. Two of Baron Challon’s men drew the crossbows down and bolts slammed into the soldier’s body.
Breathan kicked out at Rhys, hitting him in the wounded shoulder, and then spurred his horse, wheeling him on the hind hooves. Several men loosed their bolts, and one caught him in the back, but the horse plowed onward.
Annys ran to Rhys, who has down on one knee in pain. He had been healing well, but a blow to the raw skin must be agony. He sucked in air and tried to stand.
Guillaume leaned over in the saddle. “Are you all right? If so, I will go run the knave to ground.”
Rhys finally stood on his feet again. “Leave him. We do not know if he has more men out there waiting. When I am healed, I shall deal with him.”
“Fair met.” H
e glanced around at the small cottage. “I did not come with a wagon. We can send one back to fetch all her belongings…”
Annys did not wait to hear anymore. She ran back to the cottage. Instead, she found Meone and cradled the cat in her arms. She held him so tightly; the cat wiggled trying to get free. “Not now, Meone. I need your warmth,” she whispered desperately.
Rhys’s tall body blocked the light coming in from the door. “Annys. What is wrong? Why did your run?”
She rubbed her face against the soft hair of Meone. “He asks what is wrong. Stupid stupid man,” she told the cat.
“Annys, please, speak with me. You were not injured, were you?”
Just my heart, she wanted to say. “You are a nodcock, Rhys de Valyer.”
He gave an uneasy laugh and came closer. “Most likely. But may I know why you think so?”
“You told them I was your wife! Mayhap you are not learned in the ways of Scots, but to speak such words before others makes it truth.”
His eyebrows lifted slowly. “Does it? No, I had no idea that speaking such words before witnesses sees it made so.”
“Now you see why I brand you a nodcock.” She buried her face against Meone’s neck to hide the tears she did not want him to see.
He stopped before her and slid a hand around her neck, using his thumb to lift her chin. “Would that be such a bad fate?”
Bad? Oh, nay, it would be a miracle, to be Rhys’ wife, to love him would be all she wished for.
Again, the dream filled her head. The chance of fulfilling your heart’s desire. Oh, yes, she wanted Rhys, but hesitated to speak such. She did not want him trapped into a marriage with her, just because he failed to ken her customs.
He lowered his head and brushed his lips softly across hers. The cat squirmed, not happy with being trapped between two people. Too scared, Annys could not let him down, using the cat as a shield against Rhys and how he made her feel.
“Ah, Annys, lass. When we were in the byre, I had started to speak of my wish, that you would come to Glenrogha and be my bride. My life has been so empty. I only now understood how hollow, after spending these days with you. Please do not make me go back to that life.”
His life had been empty? His words echoed her own thoughts, how sad her life would be if she watched him ride away.
“’Tis Christmas. You spake you had no present to give me. Then grant me this and it would be the best Christmas gift I will ever receive.”
The fire danced as the breeze gusted through the open door. Annys could almost hear the words spoken… only if you are strong enough to reach out and shape the future with your hands…
“Can Meone come?” she asked terrified of hoping, but even more frightened not to fight for what she wanted.
“Of course. I would never separate you from your friend. Agnes the cow can come, too.”
She choked on a sob, but then composed herself enough to answer. “Very well, I gift you with Meone and me as your Christmas present. Agnes, too.”
Rhys pulled her tighter and kissed her. Not the gentle kisses they had shared over the past days, but a kiss full of promise and passion.
****
Annys sat on the grey charger, as Rhys handed her a bundle to hold. Meone’s head popped out of the small, makeshift sack and howled. She pulled the kitty close to her body and draped her mantle about him.
Rhys mounted behind her. When she glanced up at him, he kissed her on the cheek.
As Rhys steered the stallion to join the formation of Baron Challon’s men, Annys glanced back to the tiny cottage that had been her sanctuary for the last decade. Her time here was past, but the place had been good to her. A stray ray of rare sunshine poked through the tall pines and fell on the cottage, and the air filled with sparkles of gold and silver. Annys batted her eyes trying to focus, as she spotted a woman standing in the doorway. She did not seem real, but made of golden shimmers of light. She raised her hand and waved.
Annys watched as the brilliant shaft of light wavered, then vanished, leaving the grove in darkness. The old cottage seemed to fade into the shadows and then she could see it no more. Tears welled in her throat, but she leaned her head to Rhys’s chest, knowing he would drive the sadness away.
“Merry Christmas, Annys de Valyer, I love you,” he whispered, as she lifted her lips for his kiss.
About the Author—Deborah Macgillivray
Deborah Macgillivray has penned six award-winning novels and fifteen novellas and stories, which are translated worldwide in Russian, Japanese, German, French, Spanish and Portuguese, for Montlake Romance/Amazon Publishing, Kensington Books, Dorchester Publishing/Lovespell, and now Prairie Rose Publications. She writes Scottish Medieval Romances, Dragons of Challon™, and Paranormal Contemporary Romances, Sisters of Colford Hall™, and has her on anthology of cat romances, Cat O’ Nine Tales. Her novel, Riding the Thunder, picked up the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence for Best Long Contemporary Romance of 2008. She currently lives in Kentucky with her husband and her beloved cats.
Blogger - http://deborahmacgillivray.blogspot.com/
Twitter - https://twitter.com/Scotladywriter
website - http://deborahmacgillivray.co.uk
A Cat in Jackboots
He is a hunter...despite being a scion of one of the most respected families of the ton, he enjoys solving the mysteries that life presents...at a price. And he is hot on the trail of a burglar robbing the titled members of London society.
She is saddled with a scatterbrained, matchmaking Grandmother and a retired battman for a butler...and a black cat named Romeo...and carries a world of secrets. One slip and it will cost her everything.
Neither is seeking romance...only sometimes love happens when you least expect it.... Amazon Link
One Hot Knight
Come join us for a medieval collection of wonderful romantic tales that take place during the hottest part of the year with ONE HOT KNIGHT! This unusual offering of summertime stories set between the medieval times of 1100-1300, of hot nights and even hotter knights, will keep you reading long past bedtime. You’ll be entranced with these five tales of knights and their ladies from some of today’s top medieval authors, as well as some rising stars in this up-and-coming genre. Lindsay Townsend, Deborah Macgillivray, Cynthia Breeding, Angela Raines, and Keena Kincaid offer you some of the best medieval-themed stories written, filled with romance and intrigue, laced with traditions and celebrations of this rich era. Prairie Rose Publications is proud to introduce yet another wonderful collection of exciting tales for your reading pleasure. ONE HOT KNIGHT is sure to bring you hours of enjoyment as you read on to find out how these knights and ladies will find their very own "happily-ever-after" endings at this very “hottest” time of year! Amazon Link
The Selkie’s Daughter Page 5
