An Outlaw's Honor

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Bloody hell!” he yelled as he let her fall to the floor. “If you think you will lie beneath me like a lifeless fish, you had better think again. My last wife did that and see where she is now? Aye, you think about that!”

  Now her father did jump up and come to them. Reaching down and helping her to her feet, her father placated him.

  “Worry not, Laurence. She has her mother’s spirit and stubbornness. She will be exactly what you want in a wife.” The knight seemed to calm then. Her father continued, “We will sign the betrothal contracts tonight, and the marriage will be held at the feast on the morrow, after the melee.”

  “Betrothal this night?” she asked.

  “Aye, Annora. The contract lies ready for us to sign,” Le Govic said. “And we marry and leave for Normandy after the great feast.”

  In her pain and fear, she did not control her damnable curiosity that bothered her father so much. “But what Thom...Laurence...” She thought better of pricking an angry animal and stopped.

  “It matters not, Annora. Betrothed tonight and marriage tomorrow.”

  “Go and fix yourself,” her father said, pointing to the opening. “And make certain you bring something appropriate to give to our champion for him to carry into battle.”

  He walked out, and Laurence followed him but not before repeating the terrifying vow, with a new addition.

  “Betrothed tonight, Annora. Wed on the morrow. And dead? We shall see.”

  When Margaret found her on her return, Annora sat where she’d been standing, sobbing into the torn wimple.

  Thomas was now truly her only hope.

  But could she trust an outlaw and traitor to do the right thing?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The horse sent by the king was spirited and well-trained. As Thomas sat in the line of knights awaiting to take their place before the stands, the beautiful black animal seemed to take in all the adoration of those cheering as though only for it. Thomas laughed then and gave it some head to prance as it wanted to.

  This morning dawned so brightly and warm that the calamity of yesterday felt like a dream. The winds that followed the rains and the summer warmth helped to dry out most of the lanes in the lists, so they would not be filled with the sticky mud he’d faced before. Oh, there would be some spots where it had not dried, but the majority of the lists were definitely in good enough condition that it would not impede the horses or the men from getting a good foothold.

  Today’s field would feature several personal challenges like his with le Govic, as well as some daily challenges in the tournament itself. But the match that had gossip and rumors flying through the crowds was the one now scheduled for late in the afternoon.

  A challenge to fight to the death had been issued by Sir Hugo of York to Sir Alexander de Mandeville. That Sir Hugo was so much older, and Sir Alexander was the renown fighter called the Devil’s Blade added to the excitement that seemed to make everything louder and brighter. No one knew the reason behind it except the participants and Lord Yves, since he had to give leave for such a match on his lands.

  He would not worry over another’s match when his was still before him. Thomas’s and le Govic’s would not be to the death. They had agreed to do three runs with lances, and if one knight did not fall, continue to fight on the ground until one of them could not. They were not supposed to kill each other, but Thomas thought grimly that it would not stop him from trying.

  Thomas paused after such dark thoughts and inhaled the sweet summer air to let it calm him. One step at a time. One fight at a time. He’d won doing that, and he would win again in that manner. In spite of not sleeping at all once Annora was safely back in her tent, he felt strong and focused and ready to do battle.

  Finally, the marshal called the knights to order, and they rode along the stands and circled back to line up as they were introduced. When it was his name and le Govic’s called, he guided the horse forward, ignoring how foul his opponent’s mount was, and came to the center of the stands where Lord Yves sat with the guests of honor. Only then did he see Annora.

  He lost control for a brief moment when he took in her pale face where a bruise was darkening the side of her cheek, and her lip was swollen. Her beautiful eyes were red, and it looked as though she had been ill or sobbing. When Lord Yves called for Lord de Umfraville to stand and accept the terms of this private challenge, Annora’s father dragged her to stand.

  What in the hell had happened to her?

  Only when she stood, and the rays of sunlight illuminated her, did he see what she wore. And he wanted to call out her name for it.

  Though her wimple was the usual white that most ladies wore, the veil covering it matched her kirtle. He was not exceedingly good at naming the colors of women’s garments, but what Annora wore over her white undergown and sleeves was as close to green as cloth could be without being it. So, between the white on her head and the gown she wore, she was covered in the same colors he wore on his surcoat and on his banner.

  One look at her face told him not to make any reference to it. She appeared to have been already hit or, God Almighty Forbid, beaten. Thomas would rip the one responsible into pieces for harming her. When Lord Yves asked for his assent, he nodded. Then, at le Govic’s side, they crossed the few yards for the tradition of asking for their lady’s favor. The silk Annora had given him last night was tucked inside, next to his heart. No matter, he must play along in this for her sake now.

  “Lady Annora, do you have a favor to present to one of the knights?” asked Lord Yves.

  She slipped her hand inside her sleeve and withdrew a long piece of what looked to be an expensive ribbon. He could not help the smile that sat on his face when he saw the color...green again. They both dipped their lances though they all knew how this must be done.

  “I present this to you in the hope of a victory this day,” she said. Did anyone else notice that, although she tied the ribbon onto le Govic’s weapon, she met Thomas’s gaze as if she spoke only to him?

  He would not know what spurred him to boldness, but the words came out before he could consider the wisdom of engaging with her. “Nothing for me, my lady?”

  He heard le Govic’s growl and Lord de Umfraville’s protest, but the crowd loved his nerve and roared out in support.

  “Sir, you overstep,” she warned him, shaking her head.

  “You tell him, Annora,” le Govic called out to her. “You cocky bastard,” he said loud enough that Thomas heard it.

  “Traitor though I may be called, bastard I am not,” he replied, now raising his voice a bit, so others did hear his words. Then he called out again to her. “So, you have no good words for me then, my lady?”

  The crowd called out many suggestions, and he laughed at some of them. Bawdy words, suggestions and advice on fighting were bandied about until the lady herself raised her hand to bring it to an end.

  “Sir, you mistake yourself if you think I will be yours, for Sir Laurence has assured me that I will be betrothed to him this night and married to him on the morrow.”

  The crowd and le Govic roared their approval at her supportive words, but Thomas heard the threat in them. Then, though she smiled and nodded, the coldness in her gaze told him the truth of it—winner or loser, Annora would be forced to marry his opponent. He knew not how, only that her father and le Govic had a plan to bring about such a thing.

  The marshal gave them leave to go to their places at the designated ends of the list, and Thomas glanced at her again as he headed to his place. Martel wait there for him. Incensed over what she’d told him in her veiled words, Thomas realized he’d seen Margaret coming to his tent earlier as he made his way to the place where the knights were called to gather.

  “Martel,” he beckoned the man closer. “Did Annora’s maid come to my tent this morn?

  “Aye, sir, I was about to tell you.” Martel replied. “After you’d left, she brought word from the lady.” The man waited unti
l Thomas was ready, with his lance couched against him and then waved off the squire so no other could hear his words. “The lady believes that le Govic is deaf in his right ear. He cannot hear anything coming from that side.”

  “Deaf?” Thomas nodded at the words, but he was already considering how he could use it to his advantage. “I must go, Martel.”

  The man rushed away, and Thomas put the visor down on his helmet. As the marshal raised his hand, Thomas emptied his thoughts of everything but the man who would be hurtling towards him. Then the signal was given, and he urged his horse to a gallop.

  As he rode down the lane, he adjusted the lance and aimed for a spot that would throw off his opponent’s balance at the same time he shifted his seat and lowered himself to make him more difficult to hit. The hardest part of this was not flinching or moving away while aiming. The air around him seemed to still as the impact came.

  The sound of wood splintering, the screams of the crowd and then the realization that he remained upright, followed in a quick procession. Turning back, he prayed he’d been successful, for le Govic had not been. His hopes were dashed when le Govic yelled out to the crowd. The two of them circled back around to their end to prepare for the next one. He was gathering up his next lance when Martel approached.

  “Repeat that, if you can,” he said, holding the horse’s bridle to steady the horse. “It lifted him off his saddle.”

  Thomas nodded at the advice, for a keen observer was the best assistant a knight in the lists could have. Someone who understood the mechanics of how this worked as priceless. Mayhap he’d misjudged Martel?

  “And keep your left shoulder lower,” he said. “He managed to graze it that time.”

  And Thomas was off again, rushing towards another chance to take his opponent down. He did as Martel suggested, but he felt the blow of the lance on his shoulder even as his own crashed into le Govic’s chest, knocking him free of the saddle. But would the man recover and remain astride?

  When he reached the end of the run, Thomas turned to see if he was still on horseback, even as his shoulder screamed in pain from another blow to the already injured area. He shook his numb arm to regain feeling as he saw le Govic drag himself upright and remain seated.

  Damn him to hell!

  He tugged the reins too tightly, and his mount reared up and kicked its front legs out. Thomas struggled to control it and finally got the horse on the ground and heading back to his place. Martel came running once more and took the remnants of the lance from him, tossing it to the squire.

  “You need to do it again while remaining in your own saddle,” he said.

  Thomas was not certain if he was being sarcastic or not. “Truly? That is the goal of this, Martel?” he asked, not needing or wanting an answer.

  “Can you lean a bit more to the inside, or does it take you off your balance?”

  “Nay, I cannot,” he said, settling in place and gathering the lance tighter this time. He nodded at the man’s suggestion. “I will try.”

  Sweat poured down inside his helm and into his eyes. Even the cushioning did not help that. His shoulder burned like the fires of hell, and he struggled to keep his grip of the lance. He tried to clear his thoughts in those last seconds and offered a prayer for his efforts. To save Annora.

  He felt the blunt impact as his lance hit its target and lifted le Govic out of his saddle, knocking him to the ground. Thomas finished riding to the end and circled back, praying all the while that the man was down and done. Silence reigned over the lists while the marshal ran out to assess le Govic’s condition. When the French words came ordering the knights to continue the fight on the ground, Thomas cursed under his breath even as he slid out of the saddle and smacked the horse’s hindquarters to urge it out of the way.

  Turning back as Martel took the lance and handed him his sword, Thomas knew the advantage he had right now. Yet, while le Govic was still stunned from the blow and lying on the ground, that advantage would not last long. So, armed with sword and shield, he trotted towards his opponent to get to him before the man could climb to his feet and regain his wits. He would not attack an unarmed knight, but neither would he wait until he was steady on his feet.

  Le Govic was not used to being the disadvantaged one in a fight, and he struggled mightily for the few minutes. Thomas thought he might be dazed from landing as he did, but soon, the knight was gaining his bearings and fighting back. Then, Thomas was the one being thrashed under a relentless attack.

  At this point in any battle, Thomas let go and stopped thinking, allowing his body to use its experience and training to carry on the fight. Instinct replaced strategy. Practice and stamina replaced the initial burst of vigor at the beginning of a battle. He had no idea how long they’d been fighting or how much longer they would—he knew only that his task was closer at hand with every blow he delivered and every one he avoided.

  Then, he found an opening and aimed his sword at the left side of the knight’s helm, slamming the edge of it where it was thinnest with as much strength as he could put behind it. He wanted to dent the metal while leaving le Govic disoriented. If he were unable to hear clearly in his good ear, it would give Thomas the cover he needed to approach unheard.

  No amount of warnings called out by the crowds could help him either. And that blow would send waves of dizziness and make him unsteady and unable to sort out Thomas’s attacks. When le Govic began clutching at the smashed helm, Thomas charged from behind the knight.

  If his strength was lagging, all he did was allow a bit of his outrage over Annora’s condition to replenish his resolve. He raised his sword and struck the knight one last time with the force needed to end this.

  To save her. To keep her.

  The next thing he heard was the screaming of the crowds. Martel reached him first and took his sword. Thomas lifted his own helm off and took a length of cloth from his squire to wipe the sweat from his eyes and his face. Though too far to see Annora clearly, he saw the gown she wore and knew she would be safe. After taking a drink of ale and a last glance as they carried le Govic from the list, Thomas followed the marshal over to the place in front of the stands where Lord Yves stood waiting for him. The baron motioned for Annora and her father to stand with him.

  “You are the victor in this battle of honor, Sir Thomas of Kelso,” the lord began. “Brisbois! Bone-breaker!” he called out to the crowd who began to chant his name. Lord Yves smiled, understanding and manipulating those watching. This nobleman was also clearly part monger, selling the excitement of the tournament to increase the pleasure of those attending. Regaining their attention, he said, “As the one charged with overseeing this challenge by those involved, I declare it done and decided in William of Scotland’s favor.” Lord de Umfraville muttered something under his breath, but Thomas cared not.

  Annora was his.

  He met her gaze and saw the confusion and fear still there, dimming the usual sparkle in her eyes. It would take some time for this to settle in and for them to find a way to their new life together. If she would have him, he would offer her marriage.

  Annora would be his wife.

  From the terrible hatred that darkened her father’s face, Thomas recognized the look of a desperate man and would swear the man did not accept this outcome. As he took hold of Annora’s hand and began to lead her away, Thomas knew he could not let her go with her father. What had she said before the fight?

  Betrothed tonight. Wed tomorrow.

  Thomas walked closer and asked to speak to Lord Yves. The baron leaned over the railing and listened as Thomas explained the danger to the lady. Lord Yves then called out to Lord de Umfraville.

  “My lord, I would like you and your daughter to celebrate with us at the feast this evening. I am certain there are matters to discuss amongst you and Sir Thomas and I offer my services to mediate any...difficulties.”

  Annora’s father opened his mouth to argue with the powerful lord and would have
until Yves nodded to his steward, who would do his bidding, and to his commander, who very ably kept the peace during this huge gathering. Soon, a group of guards surrounded the man, giving him no choice but to comply.

  “Since I must be present for the upcoming challenge, I bid you return to the keep with my men. You will be given chambers and a chance to eat and refresh yourselves.” He leaned closer to his steward then and whispered some words, glancing at Annora as he did. “My lady, I am certain this day’s events have proven exhausting to you. I beg you to accept my hospitality until arrangements are finalized.” Her gaze met his, and, for the first time today, he saw her smile at the word arrangements.

  “I thank you for your consideration, my lord. ’Twould be my pleasure.”

  With Annora safe, the tension melted from him and the bone-deep exhaustion and pain from the injuries he’d received flooded in. Martel urged him to return to his tent and see to his wounds, and Thomas obeyed without argument. There would time to see her at the feast, and then, when the melee was done and the documents ready to be signed, he would finally be able to begin his life...again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Annora stood in the silence of the large, well-lit chamber and waited for her heart to stop racing. The noblewoman who’d brought her to this room had introduced herself as a particular friend of the baron’s and one he’d asked to see to her comfort. Annora suspected she understood what kind of a friend this woman was to the powerful man—the very same kind Annora would soon be to Thomas—but how could she feel anything but relief and gratitude in this moment?

  Thomas had understood her message and what her father had planned for her and warned the baron. Her father must be waiting elsewhere in the keep, for he had boldly yelled out that he would not leave without her.

  What would he do now? Did he face ruin, having lost their lands and claim to Prudhoe Castle? Would William take the lands after hungering for so long for their return from the English kings? How would her father pay le Govic’s fee if he had no lands from which to draw the gold needed? If she were no longer in his control, what price would le Govic demand?