My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

  As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she caught a glimpse of the young maid who had helped Colin tend to her injuries after the beatings. The young girl was visibly trembling, clutching a small, wide-eyed boy in her arms, as she tried to press deeper into a tiny niche in the wall near the stairs. Although the girl squeaked in alarm when Ainslee approached her, she still clung to enough of her wits to recognize a friend and not try to run away. There was such a wild look of panic in the maid’s eyes, however, that Ainslee feared she would never be able to talk sense to the girl.

  “Morag, is it?” she asked in a soothing, friendly voice as she crouched next to the girl, positioning herself so that she could still keep a close watch out for the enemy.

  “Aye, mistress,” the maid replied, her voice high and strained. “I thank God that someone let ye out, but now ye must flee whilst ye can. We are all doomed here. The Frasers and the MacFibhs are putting everyone to the sword.”

  “Hush, lass, dinna let your fears cause ye to be careless and thus bring those filthy cowards hunting us.” Ainslee gently grasped the girl by the arm, holding her in case she tried to bolt, but also trying to soothe her. “Is this your bairn?” The girl nodded. “A fine, handsome lad.”

  “He is your father’s bastard.”

  That did not really surprise Ainslee, for she had already noticed something painfully familiar about the child’s eyes and hair. Ronald had tried to keep that part of life at Kengarvey a secret from her, but it had proven impossible. She had barely become a woman herself when she had discovered that her father made free use of all the women and young girls at his keep, girls barely past their first flux. Ainslee sighed and lightly ruffled the child’s soft auburn curls.

  “I am sorry for that, Morag,” she murmured.

  “Why? Ye did naught to me. Ye werena treated much better than me either. Nay, my mother hoped to get me to my cousins in Edinburgh ere I passed my first flux, but there was no way out of this accursed place. I tried to stay hidden in the shadows, but he found me. ’Tis my good fortune that he found me too timid, too cold, and too thin, so he rarely dragged me into his bed.” The expression on her small face hardened for one brief moment. “I am glad he is dead.”

  “My father is dead?” Ainslee was a little surprised at how much that shocked her, for it was the fate her father had been assiduously courting for years. “Come, child,” she ordered the girl, knowing she had to be forceful. There was no time to continue to cajole the girl. “Ye and my wee bastard brother are coming with me.” She started to pull the maid toward the door leading to the bailey.

  “Nay,” cried Morag, her terror swiftly returning in full strength, and she tried to pull free of Ainslee’s tight grasp. “We will all die.”

  “Not if we can reach the men of Bellefleur.”

  “ ’Twas the laird of Bellefleur himself who killed our laird. Cut him down in the great hall. He is as great an enemy of the MacNairns as the others are.”

  “Nay, he isna,” snapped Ainslee, her temper fraying as the girl’s nearly palpable terror began to strengthen her own fears. “If I ever hear ye compare Sir de Amalville to those other swine again, I shall strike ye soundly.” The maid’s eyes were so wide, Ainslee was sure they had to be stinging. Since the girl was so stunned by her mistress’s show of temper she had grown quite still, Ainslee took swift advantage of it and dragged her to the doors of the great hall. “Ye say that my father was slain in here?”

  “Aye, but I swear that I had naught to do with it, and I beg your forgiveness for saying that I was glad your father was dead.”

  “If ye would cease to allow yourself to be so blinded by your own fears, ye would see that I am neither grieved nor angry o’er his death. Ye would also see that none of the enemy are in the halls of this keep. We have neither heard nor glimpsed them since I pulled ye from your hiding place.” Ainslee found that a little strange, but decided it would be wise not to say so aloud, for the girl was still trembling. “I canna see my father’s body,” Ainslee muttered as she looked into the great hall, seeing all the signs of a fight, but no body.

  For one brief moment her gaze became fixed upon the bloodstained rushes where she was sure her father had fallen. A touch of grief came and went, leaving only disappointment. After a minute of confusion, she realized that her disappointment came from knowing what her father might have been and, although it would have taken a miracle to change the man, what he would never become.

  “They took the body away, mistress,” Morag said, breaking into Ainslee’s sad musings.

  “Took it away? Why should they take the time from slaughtering us to drag a dead mon away?”

  “I was hiding, mistress. I but saw them and was too far away to hear what they were saying. They were some of Fraser’s men; that I can swear to.”

  “Curse them. Weel, there is nothing here worth lingering over. We shall go out into the bailey” She cursed under her breath when the maid whimpered and tried to pull away from her. “I will see that ye and your son are safely placed in the hands of the men from Bellefleur.”

  “Oh, sweet Mary, we are soon to die.”

  “Hold your judgement until ye actually see such a threat.”

  Ainslee ceased trying to be gentle and understanding, dragging the girl along as she pushed her way through the heavy, partly splintered door leading out of the keep. The sharp scent of smoke had already begun to sting her nose and eyes, so she knew the keep had been fired, but her first sight of the bailey nearly caused her to echo Morag’s whimper. The ground was strewn with bodies, the smoke from the slowly burning keep swirling around the twisted corpses. There was a number of Frasers and MacFibhs scattered amongst the dead, but that gave Ainslee little comfort. The toll amongst her own people had been appallingly high.

  A sharp cry of horror from Morag and the maid’s renewed attempts to pull away, yanked Ainslee from her dark thoughts. She turned to scold the girl, only to frown when she saw that Morag was not looking at the corpse-cluttered ground, but upwards. Ainslee warily followed the direction of the maid’s stare and heard herself cry out in shock. Now she knew why the men had taken the time to move her father’s corpse. Their enemies had separated her father’s head from his body, and were displaying it on the end of a spike placed high up on the walls of Kengarvey. Although she felt no real grief over her father’s death, she found this barbaric display enough to churn her stomach. She fought the urge to simply turn and flee, to run from the gruesome sight of her father’s dismemberment, from the stench of blood, smoke, and death, and from the purposeful destruction of the only home she had ever known.

  One glance at Morag and her baby helped Ainslee subdue that urge. The child clung to his mother, but stared at Ainslee with fear and confusion. Ainslee knew that she did not have enough supplies to care for the mother and child as well as herself if she fled Kengarvey. She also knew that, if she did not lead Morag to safety, the maid would rush back to her inadequate hiding place and get herself and her child murdered.

  “Come along, Morag, and I will lead you to Gabel’s people,” Ainslee said, her weariness weighting her voice.

  “We dinna need to go now.” Morag pointed a shaky finger at Duggan MacNairn’s head. “The battle has clearly been lost. The fighting will soon cease as weel. We but need to hide—”

  Ainslee cursed and gave the maid a brief hard shaking. “Ye will do exactly as I say, and cease this endless whining.”

  When Morag immediately grew quiet and obedient, Ainslee wished she had been so fierce from the moment she had discovered the girl. She did feel a little guilty about treating Morag so, as it was the constant brutality of life in Kengarvey that had made the girl such a coward. Sympathy and kindness would not save the girl’s life now, however.

  As she searched for some sign of a Bellefleur man who could help them, Ainslee stayed close to the keep. Sparks from the burning building fell dangerously close to them, but Ainslee felt that the Frasers and the MacFibhs were far more dangerous. There was stil
l a lot of fighting going on, for the MacNairns knew that the Frasers and the MacFibhs were offering no chance of mercy, and her father’s hirelings never expected any, so entered each battle as if it were one to the death. In the midst of all that confusion, men busily robbed the dead and looted the outer buildings before setting them afire as well, squabbling amongst themselves over what few spoils they could find.

  She stumbled against a body slumped next to the wall. When she glanced down even as she and Morag stepped over it, Ainslee whispered a curse. Her guard stared into the emptiness of death, a look of surprise on his face. Ainslee felt the usual horror she did when looking upon a violent death, as well as a twinge of regret. By allowing Colin to visit her and sneak her a few morsels of food, the man had revealed a hint of goodness.

  Distracted by finding Robert’s body, Ainslee did not see the Fraser man until it was almost too late. Morag screamed softly and sank to the ground, sheltering her child with her own body. Ainslee cursed, raising her sword just in time to successfully block the man’s deadly blow. The painful way her arm shook from the force of the blow confirmed her fears that her captivity had weakened her. She would have to resort to some trickery or deception if she was to win the fight, and she prayed that some opportunity would present itself quickly, before what little strength she still had was all used up.

  “Ye are MacNairn’s youngest whelp, arena ye? The one that crippled fool raised up,” the man said.

  That Fraser’s hireling would talk to her as they fought revealed how confident he was that he could beat her, and Ainslee wondered if she would be able to take advantage of that. “Aye, and that cripple is more of a mon than ye can e’er hope to be.”

  “Aye? Put down your sword, lass, and I will show ye just how much of a mon I be.”

  “Ah, so the Frasers still indulge in the crime of raping and murdering women.”

  “I ne’er said I would murder you.”

  “Ye ne’er offered me a chance to live either.”

  “Nay, if ye seek to live, ye had best go to one of those tenderhearted men of Bellefleur.”

  She neatly eluded his lunge, but he was quick to recover. His next strike came so close that it sliced into her skirts, and Ainslee knew that she could not fight him for very much longer. All of the deprivations she had suffered through since returning to Kengarvey had left her too weak, and that weakness robbed her of much needed skill and speed. She wished Morag was not so afraid and would notice that she could use some help, but knew she would have to depend upon her wits alone.

  The next blow that came too close cut through the bodice of her gown and scored her side. Ainslee felt the warm dampness of her blood begin to soak her clothes, and had to fight her own swiftly rising fears. The man’s insulting reference to the tenderhearted men of Bellefleur told her that Gabel was keeping his promise to try and save as many of her people as he could. With safety so close at hand, she could not die now. It would be so unfair. It would also lead to the death of Morag and her child, for Ainslee knew that, once she fell, the man would immediately turn his murderous attentions upon the terrified maid and her helpless baby.

  Just as Ainslee began to think that the opportunity she so badly needed would not come until she was too exhausted to take advantage of it, Morag leapt up and grabbed Fraser’s man by the arm. “Ye shouldna try and kill a woman, ye stinking coward,” Morag screamed as she repeatedly kicked the man in the legs.

  When the man turned to shake off Morag, Ainslee did not hesitate. Even as she drove the sharp point of her sword deep into his chest, he had begun to turn back to her, his expression revealing that he had suddenly realized what a fatal mistake he had made. As he slumped to the ground at her feet, Ainslee heard Morag whimper in horror, and watched the girl hastily retrieve her child from where she had set the boy down.

  “Thank ye, Morag,” she said, as the trembling girl returned to her side “Ye have just saved my life.”

  “Oh, I have?” Morag blinked in surprise and calmed down a little. “I fear I didna really think about what I was doing. I just wanted the fighting to stop,” she added in an unsteady whisper.

  “Weel, this ugly cur will ne’er bother us again,” Ainslee said as she nudged the man’s body with her boot to reassure herself that he was truly dead.

  “I canna believe ye have just killed that mon.” Morag stared at Ainslee with a mixture of horror and deep admiration.

  “ ’Tis not something I take any pleasure in, but I prefer to fight and kill than stand and die.”

  “That must be a verra hard choice for a woman to make.”

  “Aye, it is,” Ainslee replied in a soft, somber voice. “Now, we must move on ere we are seen by one of his companions, and they decide to take up his sword and face me. I am too weak to fend off another of these murderers.”

  Ainslee saw the fear rush back into Morag’s expression and inwardly cursed her too free tongue. She had spoken the simple truth, but it was not a truth Morag was in any condition to hear. The girl had just begun to calm herself with the thought that her mistress could fight off the enemy, only to have her mistress reveal her own weakness and doubts.

  “Come, Morag, let us hurry and find some place where ye can cease to be so afraid,” Ainslee murmured as she urged the girl along.

  “M’lady,” Morag whispered in a thin, shaking voice a few moments later. “Is that not one of the Bellefleur men ye seek?”

  Ainslee looked in the direction Morag pointed, and her heart skipped with a heady mixture of hope and joy. She was certain Gabel was only yards away from her now, the clutter of fighting men and the helmet the man wore causing her only a moment of confusion. What stole away all her pleasure as swiftly as it had come was the sight of Fraser confronting Gabel. Every inch of Fraser’s burly frame bristled with fury, and Ainslee could sense the danger of the moment even from where she stood. Suddenly, all of her concern about getting to safety, even about saving Morag and her child, was pushed aside. Instinct kept her wary of the dangers all around her, but she began to move faster, desperate to reach Gabel before the argument between him and Fraser resulted in drawn swords.

  Gabel scowled at Fraser as he and MacFibh strode over to face him. It was easy to see that the men were furious, and Gabel had no trouble in figuring out what stirred their rage. None of the Frasers or the MacFibhs were happy about the number of MacNairns he had placed under his protection. The fact that all four of Ainslee’s brothers now stood with him had obviously been more than either of his contentious allies could bear. Gabel had feared that this moment of confrontation would come, but, this once, he would have been pleased to have been proven wrong.

  He resented the constant bickering and this delay. Gabel did not feel that he should have to constantly explain himself to his allies, nor should he have to spend so much of his time trying to keep innocent people from being murdered. Because of the constant discord and other problems, he had still not found Ainslee. His ability to search for her had been severely curtailed during the battle itself and now, when he could even afford to employ some of his men in the task, Fraser appeared to hinder him yet again. Gabel realized that he had come to loathe the man.

  The MacFibhs had been easier to bear, which had surprised Gabel a little. Lord MacFibh was an unwashed uncouth man, who had some cold bloodthirsty ideas on how to conduct a battle and treat one’s enemies. Yet the man also had a firm sense of what was right and what was wrong, and could be counted on not to change his opinions just to please others or to accomplish his own gains. Fraser was the worst sort of courtier and, in comparison, MacFibh had begun to look almost likeable. MacFibh still believed that the only way to end the troubles caused by the MacNairns was to kill every last one of them, but he had finally—grudgingly—conceded to allowing the women and female children a chance to surrender. There was a hint of mercy in the MacFibhs, however, for some had allowed a male MacNairn to surrender as well, and even MacFibh himself had tossed a small boy into Gabel’s arms in the heat of the batt
le, saying only that his sword arm had grown tired by the time he had reached the child.

  MacFibh now stood with Fraser, however, and Gabel could not be sure how firmly he did so. There was too little of the man’s face visible beneath his helmet, his wild hair, and the filth of battle. In the man’s eyes was a cool look of consideration, nothing more. Gabel did not even want to try and guess at what the man was considering. His only concern at the moment was what Fraser planned to do, and if MacFibb—who had displayed a tendency to argue, complain, and do exactly as he pleased—would now cross the line into treachery.

  “What game do ye play, de Amalville?” Fraser demanded as he faced Gabel, sparing only one hate-filled glance for the MacNairn brothers.

  “I play no game.”

  “Nay? We are here to crush the MacNairns, yet ye gather them to your breast like long-lost, weel-loved kinsmen.”

  “I do not believe I was clutching them that closely.” When Fraser’s face reddened and his expression grew almost feral, Gabel tensed, sensing the danger of the moment. “I am doing exactly what I told the king I would do—saving as many of the MacNairns as I can.” When Michael and Justice moved to silently flank him, Gabel relaxed a little.

  “The king wished Duggan MacNairn and all of his spawn dead.”

  “Nay, the king wanted only the laird’s head. Mayhaps he believes as I do, that one should not set the burden of a father’s guilt upon his children’s shoulders. These young men have expressed a willingness to swear an oath to the king, and have already sworn one to me. I believe that a living, strong ally is of a greater worth than any dead enemy.”

  “Ye canna trust these MacNairns any more than ye could trust their father,” Fraser bellowed.