My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

  After a moment’s thought, she decided they had to take a risk, stay where they were and try to recoup their strength. They had taken a torturous route through the thick wood as they fled the Normans. It should follow that the Normans would find it very difficult to locate them. The Normans did not know the forest as well as she and Ronald did.

  Not able to completely trust to luck and fate, however, Ainslee collected her and Ronald’s swords. She knew it was a futile gesture, if the whole force stumbled upon them. Even more than two would be more than she and Ronald could deal with. Nevertheless, she also collected her bow and arrows and checked that her knives were in place. She was not one to swerve from a fight, nor did she mean to surrender meekly. If she and Ronald were fated to die, she intended to take a few of the cursed Normans with her.

  “Lass, flee while ye still can,” Ronald ordered in a fading voice.

  “Nay, Ronald. Ye wouldna leave me, would ye?” She sat down next to him.

  “That be different, and weel ye ken it. No mon with any sense of honor or a drop of courage in his veins would leave a wee lassie to defend herself against a foe.”

  “I can defend myself near as weel as any mon, and weel ye ken it, as ye yourself taught me such skills. Skills no mon will expect a woman to have.” She smiled faintly. “I shall be a great surprise to those Norman dogs.”

  “Aye, ye will at that,” grumbled Ronald. “Lass, ye are no fool. Canna ye see what those Norman swine will do to ye, if they catch ye? Ye, more than any other woman, must ken how a fighting mon’s thoughts turn when he sets his hands on a lass.”

  “Aye, I do. I suspicion that the devils will think on raping me,” she replied with a hard won calm. “Howbeit, if I see that fate has deemed that to be my lot, I shall kill myself.”

  “Nay,” he cried, shock giving him a brief surge of strength. “ ’Tis a mortal sin to take your own life, to die by your own hand. Ye could ne’er be buried in consecrated ground.”

  She shrugged and decided it would be best to divert his attention from that dark subject. “I believe the Normans may consider asking a ransom from my kinsmen for me. In truth, ’tis a very great possibility.”

  “Aye, a vena big one. Ye may weel be right in that, lass.”

  “Why, thank ye kindly, Ronald.” She grinned, and he managed a weak one in return. “Now, ye are to rest,” she ordered him in a stem tone of voice. “I can keep watch for our pursuers. Ye need to regain your strength, at least enough of it to continue on. Although, where we shall go is a great puzzle to me. My father and brothers have been most successful in assuring that we are surrounded by enemies.”

  As he closed his eyes, Ronald murmured, “We shall find some safe place and stay there a wee while, lass.” He sighed. “My weakness is forcing me to obey your insolent command to rest. Dinna fret, sweeting. We will find a safe haven to crouch in, until we can learn the fate of your family.”

  Within moments, the only sounds Ainslee heard were the trickling of the brook and the chattering song of the many birds secluded within the trees. She sat cross-legged, as close to Ronald as she dared to without risking waking him, and laid her weapons across her lap. Ears trained for any sound of approaching danger, she tensely waited. Fear was a knotting coldness inside of her, but even that would not shake her from Ronald’s side. He was her friend, her only friend, as well as her teacher, and had been more of a father to her than the man from whose seed she had sprung.

  A soft sigh fluttered from between her lips, and she ran her hand along the sword resting in her lap. It would be a completely futile gesture to take up her sword against a knight trained and battle hardened. She hated futile gestures, yet knew she would do it, if she was forced to. Ainslee knew she could never simply sit quietly by and let her enemies do whatever they wished to Ronald and to her. She had spoken the truth when she had told Ronald that, if the Normans tried to sate their lusts on her unwilling body, she would kill herself. It was yet another futile gesture, but it carried the satisfaction of depriving the Normans of their brutal sport. The moment they tried to rape her, she would make certain that they held only a corpse.

  The mere thought of rape caused a flood of fearful memories she had never successfully purged from her mind. She could still feel the bone-chilling cold of the dark, soggy hole her desperate mother had thrust her into, when the battle with one of the MacNairns’s many enemies had turned against them. The piercing screams of her mother and the other women still rang in her ears. The sight that had greeted her young eyes when she had finally crawled out of that hole was still seared into her mind. It had all been more than a child of five could bear, and it had stilled her tongue for two years, before Ronald’s loving care had freed her of terror’s grip. Their enemies had taken their pleasure of every unfortunate woman who had fallen into their grasp, and then cut their throats. They had not bothered to cut her mother’s slender white throat, for their ravenous lusts had killed her. Ainslee swore that that cruel fate would never befall her.

  “Shall we give up the chase, Gabel?” asked Justice. “ ’Tis almost as if our quarry has been swallowed up by these accursed trees.”

  “Soon,” replied Gabel. “We had best look for some water and make camp nearby it. ’Tis far too late to journey back now.” He scowled up at the rapidly darkening sky. “I but pray that we may find shelter as well, ere that brewing storm bursts over our heads.”

  “There is a surfeit of rocky hillside about this area. We may find a cave or, at least, a suitable ledge to huddle beneath.” Justice abruptly halted and everyone immediately did the same. “Can you hear that, cousin?” he asked Gabel.

  “Aye. Your sharp ears do not deceive you, Justice. ’Tis the sweet beckoning sound of water.”

  “And the sound comes from just beyond that thick grouping of trees. Do we leave our horses here?”

  Gabel nodded. “ ’Twould be wise. Our game may well have gone to ground here. Michael,” he called to his other cousin, “you and Andre keep our horses still and quiet. The rest of us shall approach the stream as silently as we can. Shed any armor that may make noise, thus give you away,” he ordered the rest of his men. “ ’Twill not increase the danger to yourselves, for our prey wore no armor.”

  In moments Gabel and his men began a stealthy, annoyingly slow approach toward the sound of water. Stripped to their braies and deerhide boots, they made no sound at all. Gabel did not wish to battle with his quarry, just to capture the pair. Instinct told him that the ones he sought were not simple peasants. When he reached the edge of the clearing the brook trickled through, he came to a sudden halt, stilled by disbelief over the sight which greeted his widening eyes.

  TWO

  Ainslee tensed, abruptly yanked from her dark memories of the past. She heard nothing, yet every muscle in her body was taut with a sense of danger. Her eyes widened and her heartbeat increased to a painful speed when she saw the men step out of the disguising shadows of the deep wood into the clearing. There was no time to use her bow. She might loose one arrow, but then they would be upon her. Slowly, she rose to her feet and took a protective stance over Ronald, her sword held securely and threateningly in her small hands.

  Gabel stared at the girl and, realizing he was gaping, quickly closed his mouth. She was taut and prepared to do battle, her thick red hair sweeping around her slim shoulders, stirred to life by the increasing wind. Like some wild thing cornered, she faced them with the bravado of desperation.

  He slowly looked over every slender, well-shaped inch of her. Her tunic was of a light gray hue and fit snugly over her strong slim arms. The bliand was of a bright woolen plaid, and the three-quarter-length overtunic was slit up both sides and laced tightly onto her shapely form. He expected that beneath that feminine attire, she wore long loose trousers of a heavy linen and hose of an equally thick cloth. That and the soft leather boots which reached to her knees and were held in place by cross gaitering were why, when he had seen her riding, he had thought that she was a he. Gabel briefly
wondered if she wore a man’s braies as well. Since she wore such heavy clothes beneath her gown, he suspected that she was also far more slender than she appeared.

  His attention was drawn back to her hair, and he understood why she had worn a snug hood. No braids held the thick dark red hair in check, the fading light picking out the strands of gold in its depths. Her hair was like some glorious beacon, hanging beyond her waist in heavy waves, and he was not surprised when the sight stirred his blood. He doubted that any man could view such beauty and remain cold. As his desire quickly surged to a crippling height, Gabel looked at his men. They clearly felt as stunned and as moved as he did. The situation needed to be smoothed over and swiftly.

  “M’lady,” Gabel called to the girl in a light, friendly voice as he stepped to the fore of his men. “You cannot believe that you can take us all.”

  “Nay, my fine knight, I am not such a fool,” she replied as she crouched into a fighting stance. “Howbeit, I shall leave ye sorely aware that ye have faced a MacNairn.”

  “Sweet heaven,” murmured Justice as he edged closer to Gabel. “That bastard MacNairn breeds some very fine women.”

  “So, you believe she is that laird’s spawn?” Gabel did not even glance at his cousin, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the girl.

  “Aye, Gabel. She wears the MacNairn brooch at her shoulder. You could see that for yourself, if you would but tear your eyes from her hair.”

  “Glorious, is it not? I have a craving to wrap myself in its thick waves. I will see if I can hold her gaze upon me, whilst you edge up to her from the left. Tread warily, cousin. She may well be able to wield that sword with some skill. It looks to have been made specifically to fit her small hands.” Gabel smiled at the girl as Justice inched away. “There is no need for bloodshed, m’lady. We do not seek to harm you.”

  “Oh?” Ainslee briefly glanced at his men. “Ye brought a score or more fighting men with you so that we might exchange court gossip? Stay back,” she hissed when she saw him edge toward her, Ugly’s low growl of warning a confirmation of her suspicion that the man tried to sneak up on her. “Watch Ronald,” she ordered the dog, and the animal adopted an unmovable stance by the unconscious Scot.

  “Do not urge your beast to the attack, m‘lady, for my men will quickly cut him down.” Gabel knew he had judged her right when her eyes widened; she glanced nervously at the dog and then glared at him. The animal was trained to command, and eager to protect her and the man. It meant she had spent time and affection on the grotesque beast. “Give over, m’lady, and you will come to no harm.”

  Ainslee studied him closely and realized that she wanted to believe him, but she suddenly did not trust her own instincts. The man was too handsome, and she was far too aware of that despite the tense confrontation they were engaged in. He was taller than most of his men, his long body lean and muscular. Since he wore only his braies and boots, she could see that his complexion was naturally dark, not browned by the sun. His somewhat angular features could not really be called handsome, but they intrigued the eye and demanded respect. An aquiline nose was framed by well-defined, high cheekbones and led to a firm, slightly thin-lipped mouth. Straight dark brows crowned rich deep brown eyes so heavily lashed that Ainslee was certain they had caused some women to suffer sharp pangs of envy. His jaw was firm, implying a strength she had no doubt he possessed in full measure. His broad chest was smooth and hairless, a hint of dark curls finally appearing just below his navel and lightly dusting what little showed of his long, well-shaped legs. Both her mind and her body found the man far too intriguing, and she fought hard against that ill-timed interest.

  She made a sharp, scornful noise in response to his claim that she would come to no harm. “Do ye mean to escort me home then, Norman?”

  “I mean to hold you to ransom,” Gabel replied.

  There was such a strong tone of honesty in his voice that Ainslee almost submitted, but she suddenly espied one of the Normans stealthily approaching her from the side. Swiftly, not allowing herself time to consider what she was doing, she pulled her dagger from beneath the wide girdle at her waist, and hurled it at the man. Confident that her weapon had found its mark, she fixed all of her attention on the man facing her, for she knew there would be swift and lethal retribution.

  “Justice,” cried Gabel when his cousin yelped in pain. “Are you harmed?”

  “Aye, but ’tis only a small wound in my shoulder,” Justice replied.

  Gabel scowled at the slim girl who stood before him, her sword at the ready. “You try me sorely, woman.”

  “Aye, but not enough, I am thinking,” Ainslee replied, “for ye still cower out of reach of my sword, me frail, trembling knight.”

  He grit his teeth against the sting caused by the sneer in her melodious voice. “I will fight no woman.”

  “Then ye shall be a lot easier for me to kill,” she said with a chilling sweetness even as she attacked him.

  Gabel barely dodged the blade of her sword in time. His eyes widened as he raised his own sword in defense. Her swing had been a well-practiced one, not merely some blind thrust. The girl did possess some skill. His men fell silent and edged closer as he faced her, and Gabel knew they were intrigued by a battle between such an ill-matched pair. Gabel cursed as he realized he had been forced into a comer. He had to fight to protect himself, and could only hope that he could disarm the girl without hurting her.

  The clang of steel against steel echoed loudly in the small clearing. The dog, caught between the command to guard the wounded man and his urge to protect his mistress, began to howl mournfully. The horses, infected by the dog’s loud agitation, also grew noisily restless. Gabel was amazed by the girl’s strength and skill. It took far longer than he had anticipated for her to begin to weaken, thus giving him the advantage he sought.

  When he was finally able to knock the sword from her hands, she lunged to retrieve it. He kicked it out of her reach and she threw herself at his legs, knocking them out from beneath him. She fell upon him, yet another dagger in her hand. Gabel caught her by the wrist as she tried to thrust the point of her knife into his chest. He cursed as they rolled over the rough ground, and he struggled to disarm her. The knife finally dropped from her hand, and he quickly pinned her firmly beneath his body. He could see that she was panting as heavily as he was.

  “Now, mistress, be that all of your weapons?” he asked, eager to pull away, for he was becoming all too aware of the tempting softness of her.

  “Aye,” she snapped, her angry tone weakened somewhat by her breathlessness. “So, ye can remove your hulking great weight.”

  He slowly got to his feet, watching her closely and keeping a firm grip on her slender wrist as he pulled her up. “Answer me true, mistress. Are you the daughter of the laird MacNairn?”

  Ainslee nodded. “I am Ainslee of Kengarvey, the youngest daughter of Duggan MacNairn.”

  “Who is the man?”

  “Ronald MacNairn, a cousin.”

  “Call off your dog,” he ordered, and almost grinned when she did, for he found the animal’s name humorously fitting. “Pascal,” he called to a short, balding and stoutly built man. “Search the man and their horses for weapons. Gather whatever is at hand.” He dragged Ainslee over to where one of his men was dressing Justice’s wound. “Shall we survey your handiwork, Mistress MacNairn?”

  Ainslee fought to hide all hint of emotion as she looked at the handsome young man’s wounded shoulder. Her aim had been high, her knife piercing his smooth brown skin high on his left shoulder. Although it was not a mortal wound, it was clearly painful. Justice’s features were taut and his face lacked color. She met Justice’s dark gaze with a look of complete unconcern, contrary to the turmoil she felt. It upset her to cause anyone pain, although she never hesitated to strike if the need arose.

  “Feeling remorse, m’lady?” pressed Gabel, frustrated by the lack of expression on her delicate face.

  “Aye. ’Twas not one of my better throws
,” she replied in a too sweet tone. “May I see to my companion Ronald? His wound needs tending far more than this boy’s pinprick.” Just as she tried to pull away from the stern-faced man who held her, the man tending Justice began to cover the open wound with a piece of filthy cloth, neither washing or dressing the wound first Ainslee knew she could not simply stand silent and allow that. “Ye great fool,” she snapped, wrenching the dirty scrap from the startled man’s hand. “Do ye wish to turn a minor wound into a fatal one? This cloth is not fit to wipe a dripping nose. Get me some water.”

  When the man looked at him, Gabel nodded, indicating that he should obey that sharp command. He cautiously released Ainslee’s wrist when she tugged at it again, allowing her to fetch a small bag next to her cousin Ronald. He found it strangely reassuring to discover that she was not as unmoved by a man’s pain as she tried to pretend. When, after washing Justice’s wound, she poured a dark liquid over it that clearly pained his cousin, Gabel knelt by her side and snatched the flask she held.

  “What is this?” he demanded, grimacing slightly as he sniffed it.

  “Uisge-beatha—the water of life. A strong drink we brew. How long have ye been in Scotland?”

  “Long enough, but I have wit enough to abstain from tasting any of the local poisons. Why pour it o’er his wound?”

  “ ’Tis said that it will aid the healing, and it appears to do so.”

  “Now what do you put on him?” he asked as she smeared a gruesome-looking paste over the wound.

  Ainslee sat back on her heels, rinsing clean her hands before applying a bandage, and cast the man a look of pure annoyance. “ ’Tis an herbal salve to aid his healing. When ye slither back into whate’er hole ye crawled out of, ye can wash it clean and stitch the wound, then apply some more.”

  As she wrapped a clean strip of cloth over Justice’s injury, Gabel grinned at his cousin. “An ill-tempered wench, eh?”