by Ashley York
The two dropped their battle stances and turned toward their apparent leader. “What are you thinking, Niall?”
“It was a strange setup is all. Those three men with the one lass.” He dragged his hand across his wet mouth and stood.
“Perhaps she was their hostage?” Aldred said.
“And they passed her around when they wanted some.” Lachlann guffawed at his own joke. Aldred shoved him gently, their past disagreement forgotten.
Niall nodded, his expression tight with suspicion. “No, he could be correct, Lachlann.”
The long hair on this one made him appear younger than the other two but Peter would have guessed at perhaps sixteen summers. Surely too old to be traipsing around the countryside in search of a good swiving.
“It could be something like that.” Niall went to his horse and adjusted the saddle with quick gestures before straddling it again. “We can catch them if we cut them off through the glen.”
Shouts of excitement surrounded him.
“We shouldn’t have any trouble rounding them up.” The blond directed his horse around in preparation of mounting as well. “Are you game, Lachlann?”
Lachlann, suddenly serious, stood frowning, unmoving. “But who will get the lass?”
So pathetically desperate. Peter knew it’d be the leader who got the girl and he felt somewhat sorry for the female. These three were pups.
Without the slightest hesitation, Peter urged his mount forward, emerging from the darkness. Sword in hand, he approached the suddenly silent group. Their hands empty, they glanced at each other as if to ask where this man had come from. Mort followed behind.
“So what is this talk of a brown-haired fox I hear? Are they common in these parts?” Peter was surprised how much he sounded like his father. Also a powerful soldier. He flinched in remembrance. “Perhaps you need leave it to men who can handle such a hunt?”
Niall tipped his head, a definite tenseness. Perhaps he only feigned nonchalance. He surveyed Peter before answering. “Norman?”
Peter nodded and waited for the inevitable ranting that usually followed but ready in case they wanted to fight it out. The King was the usurper and he needed to go back to Caen. This young man did not seem so inclined.
“I am Niall of the MacDonell Clan.” He came abreast of Peter. His confidence was surprising for one so young. Peter felt an instant liking to him.
“A Scot?” Peter asked. He’d not met many of the northern tribes.
Niall smiled, causing a crease at the corner of his eyes. “We try to come upon our prey unidentified. It gives us the advantage.”
In a flash like lightning, the three lads shifted from being individuals to a unified fighting force. They were armed with swords and their war cry but they were also armed with something less tangible. Their shoulders shifted back. Their heads tipped, as if attuning to each other’s movements. As one they moved, circling Peter. They forced him from his horse. Mort put his hands up in surrender. Peter dropped his weapon carefully to the ground.
The point of Niall’s long blade stopped short of Peter’s chest even when the lad dismounted. Peter allowed himself to break into a broad smile and clapped his hands in a slow rhythm.
“Well played, lad. I thought you to be three untrained villagers and yet here you have me at a disadvantage.”
They did not break from the unified front. Their faces remained stoic.
“You’d have done better to stay hidden and let us pass than to confront us, my friend,” Niall said.
“I see you are right.” Peter bowed slightly in acquiescence, both arms outstretched.
He turned his arm slightly, curling his hand in a fist. He knocked the loosely held sword hilt, the edge of the blade hitting against the silver band at his wrist. Peter stepped in tight to grab Niall around the chest, moving him in front. The sword fell harmlessly at his feet.
“Weapons down. On the ground.” Peter took the dagger from his belt and held the tip to Niall’s throat. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Niall struggled to loosen the man’s grip circling his neck, his horse shifting beside him. The other two quickly placed their swords on the ground in front of them.
“So you are quicker than you appear, old man.” Niall managed to squeeze out the compliment.
Peter snorted. “And you are far more aggressive than you appear.” He pushed him at his two friends. “Do you provoke a fight with anyone you come across?”
The three exchanged glances, seemingly confused by the question. Finally Niall turned back and shrugged. “Yes.”
Peter laughed out loud at the audacious answer.
“So the Scots have earned their battle-loving reputation.”
Mort just shook his head.
What should he do with these enthusiastic would-be warriors?
“Should I speak to you about chivalry and the proper way to woo a lady rather than to just take and jump on anything that has breasts?”
Aldred’s jaw dropped, aghast. Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“No wooing!” Aldred sounded as if he’d just been ordered to cut off his arm. “We would have no interest in that.”
Niall shook his head and rolled his eyes in apparent embarrassment at his friend’s outburst.
“What about you?” Peter asked. “Is that your true name? Niall?”
Niall sized Peter up once again with a very somber look on his face. “I had no need of jumping on anything I came across. The travelers were from across the sea and they were on our land.”
Aldred jerked his head toward Niall. “What? You said you’d like to get a piece of that!”
Niall reddened slightly. Peter knew how it was. Boys needed to impress each other with their constant virility. Well mayhap it was just to impress each other.
“They got away from you then?” Peter asked, his brows rising.
Judging by the blush creeping down Niall’s neck, Peter believed he had the right of it.
He couldn’t resist adding. “And they don’t even know the area? Tsk. Tsk.”
The intended jab struck home. Niall started breathing heavier and his friends gathered closer, their chins dipping lower. Any divisions were closed up tight.
“Rest easy now, lads. I’m just trying to anticipate what I should do if I come across this…much sought after…wench.”
“Give her to me!” The blond burst out, easing the tension, a smile on his young face. “I’ll know what to do with her.”
Peter shook his head. “Well, if you’ll leave us in peace, we have no quarrel with you.” It was to his benefit if he could get through this encounter leaving them unscathed. Their unity as a fighting force was inspiring. He’d like to be able to tap into that for his own use. Allies were more beneficial than combatants. “Would that be to your liking, Niall?”
The relief appeared heartfelt. Peter was glad he’d read the boy correctly. “We’ve no quarrel with you either. We can be on our way—”
“To hunt our prey,” the black haired one added, his big grin splitting his face.
Niall gave him an irritated look. “—on our way and leave you unmolested.”
A humorous statement since Peter was the one holding the blade. “That would be much appreciated.”
Chapter Seven
Peter and Mort heard the commotion long before they came upon the scene. Hurrying through the woods, they needn’t worry about being heard above the din they were seeking the source of.
“What the hell?” Peter grumbled, irritated to be yet again interrupted from his mission.
After their encounter with the team of Scots the day before, they’d decided to set up camp and begin their travels bright and early the next day. Bright, however, was not to be found and by the time the clouds gave way to filtered sunlight, the morning was swiftly passing.
Mort laughed quietly. “This is a hell of a busy place for being in the middle of nowhere.”
The two dismounted and dropped down at the edge of the cl
earing. They edged along on their bellies through the tall, wet grass.
“Do you see anything?” Mort came up behind Peter.
The scene was strange in the mist, the voices hung in the air around them but their source was hard to locate. “I think I see three men…no maybe four. Wait! Is that one of our Scottish friends’ horses?”
Mort turned in the direction Peter indicated. The black mount Niall had been riding the day before wandered off to their right. “I would say it is. We are not the only ones who did not get very far this day.”
He turned back to the mist. “Well, is this the prey they were stalking?” He laughed at his own joke.
“God’s Bones!” A loud voice carried, followed by a laugh. Perhaps it was the man whose back was closest to him. “You whoremongers sure don’t give up.”
The piercing sound of steel on steel had Peter up on his elbows, edging closer.
“So do we just step in?” Mort’s expression conveyed urgency as well.
The sound of grunts and fists carried better than the voices.
“I wouldn’t know which side to take,” Peter said.
A shoulder here, a body falling there, and the wide carriage that blocked his view seemed to shake every now and then with the swirling mist.
The sound intensified. Peter had to step in. He was the authority in the area, direct from the King. It seemed his first duty as such was presenting itself.
He edged back to where they’d left their horses and mounted in one motion. Mort was lagging behind but that no longer fooled Peter. It was just Mort’s persona. A better, quicker fighter Peter had never met. Dragging his sword from the scabbard along his saddle, Peter urged his horse forward. He had no doubt Mort would be there to back him up.
Peter made a run at them across the meadow. The men were surrounded by the lifting fog. They appeared as if fighting within a cloud. Aldred dropped to the ground with blood seeping from a head wound. A bald man grabbed at his shoulder. Checking his condition no doubt. The other Scots seemed to have their adversaries, one per man, held in check. For the moment, at least. They were being distracted by concern over Aldred’s condition.
Quick glances toward his friend gave Lachlann’s opponent an unfair advantage which rewarded him a blow to the side of the head. Despite the other man’s shorter stature, Lachlann fell hard. He lay unmoving on the ground. The man raised his weapon to finish the job.
Rounding his horse just short of Lachlann, Peter’s shout received the expected look of surprise. Eyes wide with fear, the little man dropped his weapon and threw his arms up. Peter didn’t hesitate to push his advantage, jamming the man against the carriage before dismounting. He aimed the point of the blade at the man’s throat.
“Desist!” Peter shifted to take in the scene and be sure his blade at the man’s throat would not be missed.
The unknown fighters responded at once, quickly backing away at the threat against their companion. Lachlann stood, apparently unharmed. The bald man moved from Aldred. It was Niall who kept it going. The bearded man he was fighting was much older, Peter could see that now. Taller and more seasoned. Niall’s anger, perhaps at the felling of one of his own, was pushing him beyond reason.
“Niall!” Peter’s voice rang through the surrounding trees. The small man before Peter shook so much the carriage rocked beside him. He peered behind to see he was finally being listened to. Niall was breathing heavy but when the other man laid down his sword, he did the same.
“Stupid shit!” The older man’s voice was low, more like a growl than coherent speech.
Niall reached for his weapon again. “Me? Who the hell do you think you are?”
They both started yelling at the same time.
Mort came alongside Peter and put his own weapon on the first man. Peter pushed his way between the two before Niall had lifted his sword all the way. His vision burned on the bearded man. His nostrils flaring. He did not spare a glance for Peter.
Peter shoved his arm away. “Enough.”
“I’m thinking this isn’t a simple act of abduction,” Mort stated the obvious and pushed the short man against the carriage with so hard a shove the vehicle rocked again. The man dropped where Mort pointed.
Glancing about, Peter shook his head. “What goes on here?”
“The bastard thinks he can take anything he wants,” the bearded man answered.
Even taller than Niall, he was an imposing creature.
“And who are you?” Peter asked.
He sized Peter up before answering. “I’m Cole.”
Niall grunted but held his temper in check.
The bald man finally spoke. “You’re far from your home to be making accusations against us.”
Niall spat on the ground. “No, you’re the one far from home—”
Peter had to shove Niall back again. “Sit—Sit ! Now! All of you.”
With the swords out of harm’s way, Peter rubbed his chin and thought about how best to handle this. “Do you all know each other?”
Niall glared at Cole. “I know a whoreson when I see one.”
Peter shoved Cole back down with the toe of his foot before he could get all the way up.
“Enough. Or should I just be on my way? And let you all kill each other?”
Aldred moaned where he lay unmoving. Niall quickly crawled over to his friend.
“Aldred? You got a hell of a lump on your head.” Concern for his friend came through in his tone. The other men looked concerned as well.
“Do you all know each other?” Peter repeated.
The bald man covered his concern with a snicker. “Know is such a strange word.”
“A poet!” Mort said. He hooted. “Here in the wilds of England. Imagine that.”
Lachlann wiped at the blood dripping from his mouth. “We’d shared a meal together last night. Like friends. Even enjoyed our time together.”
“Friends? Not likely,” Cole said.
“Clearly not you!” Niall tossed back just as vehemently from where he was helping Aldred sit up.
“You got that right,” Lachlann agreed.
The conversation made little sense to Peter but he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. It seemed nothing more than a family spat and yet there was a man bleeding profusely not three feet away.
“Mort, can you help our Scottish friend?”
It was going to be a long day.
Brighit shifted on the hard floor of the carriage, afraid to move. She did not want to call attention to herself. She’d stayed squatted in the small space through all the fighting and arguing. Surely they’d all settle down and go back to drinking as they’d done the previous night. Wouldn’t they?
She shook her soaked chemise out again and tried to work her way down to the opening. It had seemed a simple enough task. Get the water. Bring it to the carriage. Wash as quickly as possible. Get dressed.
Spilling the heated water onto her chemise had not been part of the plan. Then the loud men from the night before came traipsing back into camp. She had questioned her own hearing. And this just as she’d pulled the sopping wet material off, over her head.
Urgency slapped her in the face. It set her fingers to quivering. It also made it even more difficult to move quickly.
“If they gave you friendship last night, why are you fighting so early this morn?”
She stilled. The voice was that of a man she didn’t know. Brighit shivered. She tried to calm her nerves and focus on her task.
“We find their ways offensive and told them so.” That was definitely Niall’s voice. She’d had to listen to him enough the night before, trying to woo her after he’d had too much to drink. Why hadn’t Ivan just allowed her to leave them?
“Are you jesting? Those aren’t our ways. Those are your ways.”
Cole sounded extremely angry. In the short time she’d known him, he got irritated easily enough, but never angry.
“What?” Niall again.
Brighit rolled her eyes. The
y’d all gotten along well enough last night. What could have set them off this time?
Settling for a quick wash had seemed harmless enough. Especially since what she actually wanted was to submerge herself in the lake as the handsome man had done. She took a moment to close her eyes. And took a slow deep breath. She could again see the man... in full detail. The hard lines of his muscled body. The warm blond of his sopping wet hair.
She had dreamed of him! All at once it came to her. He had taken her into his strong arms and held her tight against that hard body. Every muscle pressing into her. Then the touch of his warm lips sliding along her cheek to meet her mouth with a hungry kiss. Brighit had actually felt his lips on hers and that same heat swirled through her now.
She sighed. Yes. It was a very nice dream.
The shock of cold air accompanied with the sound of the curtain being dragged back had her eyes flying open. There in front of her was the man from the lake... the one in her very real dream. In the flash of a second, his eyes changed from wide with shock to a look she’d swear spoke of pleasure.
“And what is this?” He tipped his chin toward her, a knowing smile gracing his pleasing face.
Brighit covered herself. One arm across her breasts and one hand over her private parts. She felt like Eve posing in the Garden of Eden.
The sudden silence stole her breath away. She refused to confirm it but knew all eyes were on her.
“Do you mind?” Ivan’s voice cut through the awkward moment as he stood next to the carriage. He yanked the curtain from the fine-looking man’s hand, dropping it back in place. Brighit was again cocooned in darkness.
“Yours?” The man’s voice was low, resonating through her core. It was as appealing as his body.
She took a steadying breath, trying to calm her nerves enough to cover herself. She couldn’t have done a better job of calling attention to herself if she’d tried.
Just how many men were out there? How many men had seen her without so much as a stitch of clothing? She yanked the chemise down but it refused to cooperate. The sopping material bunched at her hips. She grabbed at her gown, her hands shaking with the rage coursing inside her.
