My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

  “I have had no proof of that as yet. I have shown them that I have the strength and the skill to punish the men who betray me. If they choose to follow their father’s treacherous path, then I will deal with them as I have dealt with their father.” He cast one brief glance at the gruesome trophy upon the castle walls. “Well, almost. I believe I would at least return them to their king in one piece, so that he could dispense with their corpses as he saw fit to.”

  “Weel, if ye dinna have the stomach to do what must be done—I will.”

  Fraser drew his sword, but took only one step toward the huddled group of MacNairns. All four MacNairn brothers reached for their swords, and cursed when they grasped only an empty sheath. Fraser advanced no further, however, for he met the drawn swords of Gabel, Justice, and Michael. MacFibh stood firm for a moment, scowling in confusion, then stepped back, silently distancing himself from Fraser and the man’s challenge.

  “Coward,” Fraser snarled at MacFibh, but his former ally just shrugged.

  “I am nay one of the king’s favored laddies,” MacFibh said. “I would lose more than ye would if I drew a sword on the Norman. Aye, and though I dinna agree with his need to show such mercy, I came under oath as his ally. Ye may keep this squabble atween yourselves.”

  “Ye must live near these bastards. How can ye stomach any of the MacNairns remaining here, especially the mon’s own heirs?”

  “I will deal with them as I must. A ruined keep with no one to guard the lands doesna do me much good either.”

  When Fraser turned back to him, Gabel smiled coldly. “And are you sure you wish to fight o’er this?”

  “These men are as guilty as their father, and they will plague this land as sorely as he did. I demand that ye punish them. If ye dinna, ye are as great a traitor as they are.”

  When Justice and Michael moved as if to attack the man, Gabel halted them with one sharp movement of his hand. Their job was to protect his back and help him guard against treachery, not to fight his battles for him. This time Gabel knew there had to be a battle. Such insults could not go unpunished, and Fraser would have to nearly grovel in apology to make any attempt at forgiveness become acceptable to his men and the others who watched them. And Fraser would never debase himself to apologize, no matter how rash the words. Gabel just hoped they could solve the matter without a killing.

  “In but moments you have accused me of cowardice and of being a traitor,” Gabel said, his voice cold as he stared steadily at Fraser. “You go too far, Fraser. Your insults to me began months ago within Bellefleur itself, and have continued unrelentingly. I expect the most profuse of apologies, or I will put a swift end to your sly ways here and now.”

  “Apologize!? For what? I but tried to kill a MacNairn at Bellefleur. ’Tis no crime. And I willna take back one other word.” He assumed a fighting stance and sneered at Gabel. “Prove yourself, Norman. Show us that ye can do more than speak prettily and beg for truces from bastards and outlaws.”

  “You may well have just talked yourself into your grave, Fraser.”

  Gabel had barely finished speaking when Fraser attacked, the resounding clang of their swords silencing everyone around them. He did not need to look at the MacNairns sheltered behind his men to know that they were dismayed. A soft groan arose from them the moment the battle was begun. They knew as well as he did that it was not only for his honor that he fought, but for their lives. If Fraser succeeded in killing Gabel, the man would feel no compunction about cutting down the men of Bellefleur to reach the MacNairns, and MacFibh would probably join in the slaughter. After promising the terrified remnants of the MacNairn clan that they would be safe with him, Gabel could not allow his stung pride and Fraser’s blood lust to tear away that safety.

  Fraser had skill, but Gabel quickly recognized how the man allowed his own anger to diminish it. The man did not even have to be taunted openly to grow angry. Gabel knew that the cool demeanor he struggled to hold onto infuriated the man. The angrier Fraser grew, the calmer Gabel forced himself to appear, even beginning to smile faintly. Fraser’s temperament made it easy to deceive the man into believing he was just being toyed with. That proved to be Fraser’s downfall, causing the man to lose the last few vestiges of skill he had managed to cling to in the midst of his rage.

  As Fraser panted and began to weaken, fighting Gabel as much as he was fighting against his own fury, Gabel found the chance he waited for. In a few swift clean moves, he knocked Fraser’s sword from his hand, and then knocked the man to the ground. Before Fraser could regain his footing, Gabel pinned him to the ground by placing one booted foot on the man’s heaving chest and holding his sword point against his throat.

  “I would advise you to yield,” Gabel said with cool politeness, aching to kill the man, but knowing it would be wiser to accept a bloodless victory for now.

  Fraser’s muttered yield was completely unsatisfactory, but Gabel slowly released him. The man snatched up his sword, glared at them all, and strode away, roughly pushing his way through the men who had gathered to watch the battle. Gabel shook his head as he resheathed his sword. Nothing had been solved, and Fraser’s hatred of him had only been irrevocably deepened.

  “That mon will do his utmost to see that ye pay dearly for his shame,” Colin MacNairn said.

  Gabel turned to look at Ainslee’s brother, noticing how the other three now gathered around him, silently choosing him as their leader. “I realize that I have just made an enemy for life.”

  “Aye, and he will try to make that life as short a one as possible.”

  “Ye should have cut the bastard’s throat. Ye had that right,” muttered George, who then cursed softly when Colin cuffed him offside the head.

  “Pardon, m’lord,” Colin said. “He forgets whom he speaks to. Although, there is a cold truth to his blunt words.”

  “I know, but I cannot treat Fraser as I might treat some other foe, at least not until I have had a chance to speak to the king about the man’s crimes and insults. Fraser sits high in the king’s favor. To kill him and then try to explain why I did so could damage my own prestige, and I need it. I am still seen as an interloper, e’en as a thief who takes the land some Scot could rule in my stead. Nay, it seers my innards to allow that cur to live another moment, but, for now, I gain more by doing so.”

  Colin shrugged, then frowned as he looked over Gabel’s shoulder. “I told that child to flee this place,” he muttered and shook his head. “It doesna soothe my pride much to ken that, out of all of our father’s children, ’tis the youngest girl who holds most tightly to her spirit and honor, whilst the rest of us followed like lambs to the slaughter pens, too terrified to do aught else.”

  It took Gabel only a moment to comprehend who Colin spoke of. He spun around and searched the still crowded bailey, finally espying Ainslee stepping clear of the smoke and shadow-shrouded walls of Kengarvey Elated to see her on her feet, alive and carrying no visibly serious wounds, Gabel smiled at her. He started to walk toward her, intending to meet her halfway, and waved aside Justice’s and Michael’s attempts to accompany him.

  Ainslee sheathed her sword, certain that she would no longer need it. She quickened her pace even as she glanced around to reassure herself that the battle was really over. A man on the wall behind Gabel caught her attention, and she came to an abrupt halt. One of Fraser’s men was notching an arrow in his bow, and it was aimed at Gabel. She frantically looked around for Lord Fraser and found the man off to her right. His attention was fixed upon his archer, and Ainslee’s blood froze when he gave the man an abrupt signal. Ainslee looked up at the archer again and saw him pull back on his bow. This time there could be no doubt about his target—Gabel’s unprotected back.

  “Look out, Gabel!” she screamed, but he only stared at her in confusion.

  Hiking up her skirts even as she began to run, Ainslee raced toward Gabel. As she neared him, she lowered her head, butting him in the stomach like a goat. Gabel groaned and cursed as he stumbled
backward. He hit the ground hard, panting as he struggled to reclaim all the air she had knocked out of him.

  Ainslee straightened up to look at Gabel, reassuring herself that she had not really hurt him, then felt something slam into her shoulder. She stared down at the arrow protruding from her body, even as she staggered backward from the force of the blow. Then the pain came. Crying out and trying to grab the shaft of the arrow in a vain attempt to remove the source of her pain, Ainslee slumped to the ground. As the thick blackness of unconsciousness began to creep over her, she hoped that bellow of raw pain had not come out of her.

  Twenty

  Gabel stumbled to his knees, half-crawling over to Ainslee. His throat was raw from screaming her name as she fell. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his men scramble to protect him from any further attack. Just as he reached Ainslee’s side, he heard a scream and looked up to see the man who had tried to murder him tumble from the walls, several arrows protruding from his chest. His hand shaking, Gabel reached out to search for some sign of life in Ainslee. He shuddered with relief when he felt her heartbeat. The young maid Ainslee had brought with her fell to her knees at Ainslee’s side, an older woman quickly joining her.

  “I am Morag, m’laird,” the maid announced as she tore open Ainslee’s bodice to survey the wound. “This is my mother. Ye go and do what ye must do. We can tend to the mistress.”

  “But—” Gabel protested even as he began to get to his feet.

  “Go, m’laird. ’Tis most clear that ye have some verra deadly enemies. ’Tis best to be rid of them ere they really do kill someone.”

  Although he ached to stay at Ainslee’s side, terrified that she might slip away from him while he was not watching, Gabel knew that the maid was right. The assassin had been a Fraser man. Gabel turned to look for the man who had given the order to the archer.

  Fraser stood but a few yards away to Gabel’s left He was flanked by a half-dozen armed men, and faced twice that number of well-armed Bellefleur men. Knowing that none of his men would act without his command unless Fraser made another attempt to kill him, Gabel walked over to stand next to Justice and Michael. He wanted Fraser for himself, and this time he did not intend to give the man any chance to yield.

  “You tried to murder me, to cut me down from behind like some low stinking coward,” Gabel charged as he took a step toward Fraser, his sword in his hand and his whole body tensed and ready for battle.

  “Nay, I didna. I thought that MacNairn lass meant to do ye some harm,” Fraser replied.

  Gabel watched the man look around nervously, clearly trying to discover some route of escape. This time, however, there was no way for Fraser to flee, not from him nor from the punishment rightfully due a murderer. In one ill-thought-out attempt to cut down his rival, Fraser had lost all he had achieved over the years, especially the hard-won and highly coveted favor of their king. There were too many witnesses to his devious attempt to kill a king’s man. Fraser could not successfully lie his way out of trouble this time.

  “You cannot expect us to believe that, Fraser,” Gabel said. “Nay, not even the king, who has been blind to your sly ways and deadly games for many years, will believe that lie. If naught else, you insult me and my men by implying that we need your help to fend off one tiny Scottish woman.”

  “Woman? ’Tis no mere woman we speak of, but one of the devil’s own spawn.”

  “Ware, Fraser. Do not make the mistake of adding insult to the injury you have caused.”

  “I have done naught but cut down a MacNairn. There is no crime in that.”

  “There is when she is under my protection, a protection the king himself allowed me to offer to anyone of my choosing. And not when the arrow was intended to sit in my back. Nay, cease trying to lie your way free of this cowardly act, and prepare to try and save yourself.”

  “Ye canna cut me down, de Amalville. I too am one of the king’s own men. Ye will have to answer for my death.”

  “I have no doubt that I can easily justify what I am about to do.”

  Before Gabel could act, however, Fraser and his men attempted to flee. They started to back away, warily watching him and his men as they did so. Behind them stood MacFibh and several of his men. If the MacFibhs sided with the Frasers, Gabel knew the fight could be very costly. He was debating within himself whether or not to stand and fight, chancing a deadly battle with the combined forces of the Frasers and the MacFibhs, or move to pull his men and the MacNairns out of Fraser’s reach, when the need for any decision on the matter was ripped from his hands.

  MacFibh struck with no warning, startling both Gabel and the vulnerable Fraser. Even as Fraser’s expression revealed his horrified realization that his allies had deserted him, MacFibh neatly severed his head from his shoulders. Fraser’s men were dispatched with an equal brutality by MacFibh’s men. Throughout the bailey, Frasers fled or fought and died at the hands of the MacFibhs. Gabel realized that, as he and Fraser had confronted each other, MacFibh had quietly placed his men so that they could end the threat before it really began. After staring at his dead enemy for several moments, speechless with surprise over this turn of events, Gabel looked at MacFibh. The man finished cleaning his sword off on Fraser’s jupon, stood up, resheathed the weapon, and then met Gabel’s look.

  “I had planned to kill him myself,” Gabel said, disappointed that he had not been able to personally avenge the harm the man had done Ainslee, and not exactly sure that he could trust MacFibh yet.

  “I ken it, Sir de Amalville, but I had my own reasons to want the mon dead,” MacFibh replied.

  “He was your ally. The two of you have stood shoulder to shoulder against me ever since we began this venture.”

  “That mon was ne‘er anyone’s ally save his own. He would have cut his own mother’s throat, if he had thought it would bring him any gain. But one year past he cost my cousin his lands and his life. I now must house and feed his widow and her bairns, their name left so badly stained that they might ne’er retrieve it.”

  “Yet you joined forces with him?”

  “The king ordered it, and I had a wee urge to spill some MacNairn blood.” MacFibh stared down at Fraser’s body for a moment, then spat on it. “I could speak upon this mon’s crimes until the sun has set and risen again, but I suspect that ye ken what he was.”

  “Did you come to this battle intending to exact revenge upon Fraser, as well as upon the MacNairns?”

  “Nay, but I did come intending to keep a close watch for any chance to cut him down. His jealousy of you gave me that much longed-for chance. I suspected that he would use this battle to try and murder you.”

  As Gabel resheathed his sword, he eyed MacFibh with an increasing cynicism. “You did not think that I or even one of my men ought to be informed of your suspicions?”

  “I saw no need to trouble ye with them,” MacFibh drawled, then smiled faintly, his own cynicism plain to read upon his harsh features. “And, Sir de Amalville, why should one king’s mon heed an old minor laird’s suspicions about another of the king’s men?”

  Gabel almost laughed, but his concern about Ainslee’s health was already pulling his thoughts away from Fraser and MacFibh. “I truly had wished to kill him myself.”

  “And for stealing your chance to seek the revenge ye wanted, I do beg your gracious pardon.” MacFibh winked. “There will be others, m’laird, and I swear that I willna intrude in the killing of them.”

  Gabel shook his head and moved to find Ainslee. He knew that later he would find some dark source of humor in the situation and in MacFibh’s ingenuity. The man was barbarous, unclean, and unmannered, but was also a great deal more clever than Gabel had first judged him to be. MacFibh had watched for a chance to cut down his old enemy without cost or retribution, and had not only seen that chance the moment it had arisen, but had acted with a swift deadly cunning to grasp that chance without seriously endangering himself or his men. It was devious, yet the man was blunt about what he had planned a
nd what he had done. Gabel decided that he would have to keep a very close eye on MacFibh, and try to find the time to learn all he could about the man. At the moment, however, all he had time for and interest in was Ainslee.

  He found Ainslee inside of a small shelter constructed of sticks and dirty sheepskins. The little maid and her mother had already removed the arrow and bandaged the wound. Gabel took one look at the strips of cloth wrapped around Ainslee’s slender shoulder, and felt a chill slide up his spine. They were gray with filth, nearly as filthy as the furs Ainslee lay upon and as the hands of the maid and her mother. Although he did not know if Ainslee’s insistence upon cleanliness while treating a wound was based upon any facts or reason, and had even found it endearingly amusing, he did know one thing—the wounds Ainslee had treated, Justice’s and Ronald’s, had healed perfectly.

  Careful to speak gently to the timid women, thanking them for their help, Gabel ushered them out of the lean-to. The moment they were back with the other MacNairns, he signalled to Justice. Gabel prayed that, if Ainslee was correct about dirt being a real danger to any wound, he was still in time to correct any damage the well meaning women had wrought.

  “She has not woken up?” Justice asked as he looked at Ainslee. “Ah, well, ’tis not really a bad sign,” he added in a quiet belated attempt to soothe Gabel’s obvious agitation.

  “Do you remember what Ainslee did when she treated your wound?” Gabel demanded as he knelt by Ainslee’s side.

  Justice shrugged. “She smeared a few salves o’er it and bandaged it. It looks as if those women tended her well enough.”

  “Look closer and think harder, friend. Do you not recall Ainslee’s insistence upon cleanliness, of the wound and of herself as she treated it?”

  “Oh, aye.” Justice grimaced. “ ’Tis clear that cleanliness is not a concern of the MacNairns.”

  “Nay. Come, help me take these filthy rags off of her.”