My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

  “M’lady, did you say you know who these men are?” asked Gabel as he waited for the attack he knew was to come.

  “Only through the tales of their many crimes,” she replied. “They are murderers, thieves, rapists, and traitors; many thrust into banishment by their own kinsmen.”

  “So these are not men who will wish to treaty with us.”

  “Nay. The only thing anyone might wish to say to them is to wish them a swift and early plummet into the fires of hell. Of course, I confess that my knowledge comes only from what has been whispered about by others.”

  “Why have I heard nothing about them?”

  “They have only just begun to spread fear and death over this land. Someone must have appeared to band them all together.” She silently echoed Gabel’s hissed curses. “Do ye think they will attack?”

  “Aye. Howbeit, although there are more of them, we hold the high ground. They cannot win.”

  It was a proud boast, yet Ainslee found she could not scorn it. She suspected his confidence in himself and his men was well earned. As the two forces stared at each other—tense, glaring and exchanging taunts—Ainslee looked for her weapons. Gabel and his men might well be capable of fending off any attack the marauders made, but the chances were good that the outlaws would overrun the hilltop for one brief time. Ainslee did not want to stand there helpless and unarmed when that happened. The increasing noise from the men told Ainslee she did not have much time left. She recognized the bellowed taunts for what they were—a prelude to an attack.

  When she found the saddlepack holding her weapons she breathed a hearty sigh of relief. The outlaws were banging their swords against their shields, stirring their blood in preparation for the charge. She took out her bow and quiver of arrows, briefly scorning the men for refusing to use such a weapon, clinging to their swords as if their were badges of honor. Gabel had only brought two archers with him on his foray, and had then sent them off with the wounded. Tucking her daggers away and sheathing her sword, she moved to a spot that still sheltered her near the horses, yet allowed her to see clearly in all directions. She just hoped that the attack would come before Gabel or one of his men could notice that she was armed, and take away her weapons.

  Even though she had fully expected the attack, Ainslee felt a sharp thrill of fear when the final war cry was sounded by the outlaws, and they raced up the rock-strewn hillside. She stood up, drawing her sword. Ugly stood beside her, tensed, snarling, and prepared to defend her. The first clash of swords made her wince, and she steadied herself to feel nothing as men screamed in pain.

  As she had feared, the outlaws soon swarmed over the top of the hill. They hoped to use their greater numbers to win the fight against the Normans. It was immediately apparent that that tactic was going to fail. Not all of the outlaws had the stomach to face battle-hardened knights. Now was the perfect time to use the bow and arrow, but it still appeared that only she possessed that weapon and, to use it, she would have to tell Gabel that she was now armed, if only so that she might get a clear shot at their enemies. Declaring that she had obtained her weapons was the surest way to lose them. A few well-aimed arrows would have neatly thinned the horde scrambling up the hill. Instead the men met face-to-face, sword to sword. Men, Ainslee mused with a soft snort of disgust, could behave quite foolishly at times. Men thought that the most important things in a battle were honor, bravery, and victory. She felt the most important thing was surviving.

  Ainslee tried to remain alert, constantly struggling to keep a close watch on all sides, but her gaze continued to linger on Gabel. The sight of him tore her apart with fierce conflicting emotions. She thought he looked magnificent as he battled his enemies, even as she trembled with fear for his life. That she could feel so strongly about the man who held her for ransom was both astounding and irritating.

  A sound from her right yanked Ainslee from her confusing thoughts. One of the outlaws had pushed through the tight battle line of Normans and stumbled over to face her. A grim smile curved his bloodied mouth. He had not come through the line unscathed, but clearly believed that she was not to be feared. Ainslee braced herself, crouched into a fighting position, and prepared to prove him wrong. As she raised her sword to meet his blow, the force of the clashing weapons ripping through her muscles, she wondered if she had been a little too confident. Ugly sent up a howl as he trotted around them, eager to help her, but trained not to interfere in such a fight unless commanded to. Ainslee felt her fear ease somewhat. If and when the time was right, she only needed the strength to utter one command, and her enemy would discover himself attacked from two sides.

  Gabel cut down the man before him. The outlaw’s scream had barely gurgled to a halt when Gabel heard the wolfhound’s agitated barking. He ordered his men to stand fast, not to chase the now retreating Scots for fear of a trap, and turned to see what danger Ainslee had gotten herself entangled in. A vile curse was all he could utter when he saw her fighting with one of the outlaws, a burly man who far outweighed her and stood head and shoulders above her.

  “She is armed again,” said Michael as he stepped up next to Gabel.

  “Aye. The foolish woman thinks she is a man.” A quick glance around revealed that the battle was as good as over, and Gabel cautiously moved toward Ainslee. “ ’Tis clear that we did not secure her weapons well enough.”

  “I can understand her need to face the enemy with a sturdy weapon in her hand. ’Twould not be to my liking to stand helpless when these dogs attacked, my only defense being to hide or flee.”

  “ ’Tis the defense most women are content with. Do not try to soothe my anger. We will gain nothing if the foolish girl gets herself killed.”

  Gabel ignored his young cousin’s knowing glance. The ransom was indeed the very last thing he was concerned about at the moment, but he had no intention of confessing to that. He began to circle the ill-matched combatants, hoping he could find some way to nudge Ainslee aside and end the battle himself. She would soon tire, and he realized he was terrified of the possibility of seeing her wounded or killed.

  “Curse the girl,” he muttered. “If I draw any closer, I could easily cause her death rather than save her.”

  Before Michael could reply, the man Ainslee faced stumbled. Ainslee did not hesitate to take advantage of her enemy’s sudden vulnerability. The death stroke she inflicted was swift and clean. The Scot fell with barely a sound. She stood, her sword still slick with blood, and stared down at the man she had just killed.

  “Ainslee,” Gabel called as he tentatively approached her, unsettled by her ashen complexion and the look of stunned horror on her small face. She spun around, facing him with sword in hand. “Do you mean to skewer me as well?” he asked, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.

  “ ’Twould free me,” she said, her voice thick and husky.

  “Nay, ’twould get you killed, right here, right now.”

  “Your men would hesitate to kill a woman.”

  “Not if that woman’s sword was sticking out of my chest.”

  A sigh shuddered through her slim body as she handed him her sword, watching morosely as he cleaned the blade. “I probably would have cut your throat, not impaled you.”

  When Michael stepped up beside her, Ainslee meekly handed him the rest of her weapons, hesitating only briefly before giving him her second dagger. Her stomach clenched painfully, but she was unable to fully quell the nausea churning inside of her. She had never killed a man before. It was possible that one of the arrows she had loosed at an enemy had found its mark, but she had never stared into a man’s eyes as her sword plunged into his flesh, spilling his life out onto the ground. She felt weak, sickened, and horrified.

  “You have ne’er taken a man’s life before?” asked Gabel, signaling Michael to remove the body.

  “Nay.” Ainslee shrugged. “Not that I can recall. Certainly not face-to-face.”

  “ ’Tis always hard the first time.”

  “Why? He was
trying to kill me. I should feel nothing, no regret, no mercy.”

  “It will take time for that truth to settle into your heart. Just continue to repeat it and soon you will accept it. The man gave you but three choices—flee, which was impossible; hide, another poor choice in such a small place; or kill him before he killed you.” He took her by the arm. “Come, we had best leave this place.”

  “The battle is over?” she asked as she looked around.

  “Aye. The dogs left alive have fled with their tails atween their legs.”

  “Ye didna pursue them?”

  “Nay. I think it best if we just leave this place. That may not be all of them. To follow could put us into the midst of a trap. I did not come here to battle outlaws and outcasts. That would only gain me the pleasure of having seen justice done, for I am sure that each one of those men is long overdue for a hanging.”

  “Long overdue.” After he mounted her horse, she allowed him to pull her up behind him. “Do ye think that the others, your men who fled with Ronald, are safe?”

  He nodded as he urged her horse down the rocky hillside. “We will not meet with them again before nightfall. This battle has delayed us, and I fear we will need to camp the night. If all had gone well, we would have been upon my lands by now.”

  She rested against his back and struggled to banish the image of the dead man from her mind. It would not be easy. Ainslee feared she would be forever haunted by the look of surprise upon the man’s face as she had killed him, by the way all the life had seeped out of his eyes. She needed to talk to Ronald. He had always been there for her when she was troubled. She prayed Gabel was right, that Ronald was safe and would be waiting for them somewhere along the road.

  Ainslee muttered a curse when she was lightly shaken. Soft, deep, male laughter further pulled her out of her sleep. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, Ainslee sat up straighter, looked around her and frowned. She fixed her gaze on the strong arms wrapped around her waist.

  “How did I get here? I was riding behind you,” she muttered, rubbing her temples as she tried to clear the fog of sleep from her mind.

  “Aye, but you fell asleep,” Gabel replied as he reined the horse to a stop.

  “Did I fall from the saddle?”

  “Almost. I stopped and had Michael move you.”

  “ ’Tis odd that I canna recall that, that I didna wake up.”

  “You roused enough to thank him most sweetly.” Gabel dismounted and lifted her down. “We will camp here for the night and will reach my lands in the morning.”

  “Is Ronald here?” Ainslee asked, wriggling free of Gable’s light hold and looking around.

  “Aye. He and the men were waiting here for us. He is off to your left by the line of trees.”

  Gabel watched her run to her companion’s side and was startled by the pang of jealousy he felt. With each moment he spent in her company, matters grew more and more complicated. As his men set up camp and began to prepare a meal, Gabel walked over to Justice and sat down.

  “How do you fare today, Cousin?” he asked the younger man as he offered Justice a drink from his wineskin.

  “Too well to be imprisoned upon this litter,” Justice grumbled.

  “You will only be on it for a short while longer, and then you may lie upon a soft bed to recover.”

  “Gabel,” Justice began in protest.

  “Do not try and tell me that you are hale and ready to fight at my side. You are still pale, and you wince each time you move. Unless we face a battle where even your weakened sword arm is needed, ’tis but foolishness for you to ignore your wound. Do not let vanity slow your healing, mayhaps even leave you forever weakened in that arm.”

  Justice cursed softly and slumped against the rough trunk of the tree he had been set near. “ ’Tis not the wound which troubles me,” he admitted in a faintly sulky voice, “but that I gained it at the hands of a woman. A tiny, red-haired Scottish lass has cut me down as if I was no more than some virginal page.” He glared at Gabel when the man laughed. “I see no humor in this. You need not add to the laughter I will have to endure.”

  “Do not fear that your pride will take a bruising. ’Twill soon be known by all at Bellefleur that Lady MacNairn is no weak, pretty child. She killed a man today in a sword fight.” He nodded when Justice gaped at him in surprise. “She armed herself, and one of those outlaws was fool enough to think her an easy kill.” Gabel looked to where Ainslee sat close beside Ronald. “She found her first killing hard to bear, but I believe she has the will to overcome that.”

  “Aye, that is one very willful woman. The ladies at Bellefleur will find her a puzzle. No doubt of that.” Justice studied his cousin for a moment before adding, “A woman so brave and skilled would be a good wife for a man trying to grasp a foothold in this wild land.”

  “Do not try and choose my wife for me, Cousin,” Gabel said, smiling faintly at Justice to soften the reprimand. “I have decided upon the sort of wife I must have, and, beguiling and stirring to the blood as Ainslee MacNairn is, she is not what I seek. She is but a pawn in a game of treaty.” Gabel avoided Justice’s stare, certain that his lack of conviction in his own words would show in his face. “That lovely girl is one tiny, enchanting packet of trouble, which we must be rid of as swiftly as we can.”

  “Ease your mind, lassie,” Ronald soothed Ainslee after she told him all that had happened to her upon the rocky hill. “That mon would have killed ye without a thought.”

  “I ken it.” She looked Ronald over carefully, relieved to see that fleeing from the outlaws had not served to worsen his condition. “Ye appear to have survived your flight through the forest.”

  “Aye. The lads did their best to travel gently yet swiftly. My only regret is that their care is spent in taking me to Bellefleur and not to Kengarvey.”

  “Bellefleur?”

  “Aye. That is the name of Sir Gabel’s keep.”

  “Bellefleur, eh? It doesna sound a verra strong name for a knight’s fortress. I wonder how he came to choose that name.”

  “Methinks ye might wonder about that mon far more than might be wise.”

  Although she flushed slightly under Ronald’s steady, knowing gaze, Ainslee nodded. There was no reason to hide anything from him. “I fear I might indeed, but I shouldna fret yourself o’er it, my friend.”

  “Nay? We could find ourselves held at Bellefleur for a verra long time.”

  Ainslee recognized the danger of that as well, but just smiled and patted Ronald’s hand. “Sir Gabel is an honorable mon, and I am a woman full grown. If anything happens betwixt us, ’twill rest upon our own heads.”

  She smiled ruefully when Ronald muttered a curse, and wished she felt as brave as she sounded. If Gabel de Amalville had any interest in her as a woman, a long stay at Bellefleur could prove to be very dangerous indeed. However, Ronald could not help her this time. Whatever did or did not develop between herself and Gabel was a matter only she could deal with. All she could do was pray that she had the wit and the strength to do so without endangering them or her own heart.

  Five

  Bellefleur rose from a dark bed of rock, strong and majestic. As Ainslee reached the crest of a small hill and saw Gabel’s keep, she hesitated. King David was rewarding the Norman very well indeed. Even from a distance the keep bespoke wealth and refinement, neither of which her family had ever attained. The imposing stone fortress was a huge symbol of the massive gap between Sir Gabel de Amalville and herself. All the other differences and complications, from Gabel’s holding her for ransom to her unusual upbringing, could be explained away, pushed aside and ignored. There was no deluding herself about the large, sturdy symbol of power and prestige she was looking at. Bellefleur made Kengarvey look like the meanest of crofter’s huts.

  “Have you grown weary, Mistress Ainslee?” asked Gabel as he rode up beside her.

  “Nay,” she replied and started walking again, hurrying a little to catch up with Ronald, whose litter she had been w
alking next to. “I but needed to pause for a moment before climbing the rest of this mountain.” She ignored his grin and frowned at how comfortably he sat astride her ash gray gelding. “I still believe that my horse needs a respite from carrying two people.”

  “A mount as strong as this would not be troubled by the addition of your small weight.” He stroked the horse’s strong neck. “What do you call the animal?”

  “Malcolm,” she replied with little grace, certain that the man planned to keep her horse.

  “Malcolm?” Gabel laughed softly and shook his head. “Why call a destrier Malcolm?”

  “Why not? ’Tis a good name.”

  “A very good name, just an odd one for a horse.”

  “I suppose you think I ought to have named him Blood-spiller or Skullcrusher.”

  Gabel just smiled and did not respond to her petulance. “What do you think of my Bellefleur?”

  “It looks a strong place, something much needed in this land.” She eyed him with a curiosity she made no effort to hide. “And why should a knight call his fortress by such a pretty name?”

  “My cousin Elaine named it.” Gabel made a good-humored grimace. “I promised her whatever she wished for the day she turned thirteen. She decided she wanted to name my lands. Bellefleur is not such a poor choice.”