The Draig's Wife

by Lisa Dawn Wadler

  Ignoring the bile in her throat due to the blood on her hands, she focused on the screams of what could only be children. The high-pitched frantic sounds tore at her heart and spurred her back into motion. Picking up the laundry pole, she ran toward the noise.

  Breath caught in her lungs as the raider raised his weapon to strike the children fleeing the tall grasses that bordered the far side of the village. Running straight at the man, her body jumped and delivered a powerful sidekick to the man’s back, which knocked him to the ground. Balance found from years of practice helped her land on her feet while she swung the pole to crack the side of his head. Satisfied that he would not be rising anytime soon, she turned to face the man swinging his blade at the grass and saw her worst fear materialize before her eyes. The man grabbed a fleeing Mary by the wrist.

  “Let me go. I am the Laird’s daughter,” Mary screamed as she thrashed within his hold. Emma cringed that the child had finally found her courage at the wrong time.

  Emma silently swore as she caught sight of the hold on Mary’s wrist. If I had started her training, she’d be able to escape. Breaking a wrist hold had been the first lesson she had learned in martial arts. Emma shouted to grab the assailant’s attention and prevent the sword from swinging down. “Let her go!”

  His gaze swept her up and down. He would have seen a tall woman carrying a bloodied long stick with her legs bared for the world to see. His shock gave Emma the moment she needed.

  She ran at him full speed while her pole struck him in the stomach. Her body followed, and her shoulders impacted his midsection. A pleasing “umph” passed his lips. She yelled for Mary to run, but the man held tight to the child’s wrist, dragging her to the ground. Rising quickly, she smashed the stick into his wrist, confident that his scream and the crunch meant his bones were broken. Lifting Mary to her feet, she snapped, “Get behind me.”

  The wounded man snarled from the ground, “You will pay for that.” The injury didn’t slow him down. He grabbed his sword with his remaining good hand.

  Without waiting for his feet to find balance, Emma swung the pole and knocked him hard in the shoulder, keeping him swaying on his feet. Not wanting to give him a chance to recover, she alternated blows to his chest and head. The sound of the pole cutting through the air rang in her ears, and rage blinded the rest of her.

  The tug on her skirt brought Mary’s words into focus. “He fell down, Emma. I dinna think he will get up.”

  The child was right; the man was unconscious and bleeding. She picked up his fallen sword and stabbed him in the chest for daring to hurt the children. No judge or jury was needed to know death was what he deserved. Her gaze left the dead man and fell to the pale child by her side. Taking the small hand in hers, she said, “We need to get you away from here, now. Where is Brina?”

  With a shout, the blond girl sprang from her spot behind the trees and ran to grip Emma around her waist. Though the child shook with fear, it wasn’t the time or the place to do anything about it with swords clanging around them. With quick instruction, Mary took Brina’s hand, and she began to pull them back to Aalish’s cottage until a black stallion reared in their path. For the first time, the tingles creeping over her skin threatened to make her weep with relief.

  “Get her back to the keep,” Declan commanded as he leaped from his horse. His hands grabbed Emma’s and closed them over the reins.

  Casting her gaze over the village and open space leading to the keep, she saw it was full of men battling. “I can’t get through,” she said. “It is clearly too dangerous to attempt.”

  “You can on the horse. Now, Emma,” he growled at her.

  “I can’t ride!” The girls clutched her tattered skirt, and she wished that Cortland had given her riding lessons. “I can get them back to Aalish’s cottage and keep us safe.” To emphasize her point, she held out the laundry pole that dripped blood.

  They both saw the pair of men running toward them. “Then run!” Declan pushed her away from the attackers.

  Holding tight to Mary, who clung to Brina, they ran through the narrow paths in the village, weaving around cottages and wherever the path was void of danger. Hearing footfalls behind them, Emma pushed the girls to the ground and turned to face the new threat.

  The man fell to the attack he hadn’t expected when her pole cracked his skull. Not taking the time to kill him, she grabbed the girls and ran. Ducking around another cottage, she halted to listen and wait for the men to leave. “The laird is on the far side. Whoever brings him down gets a larger share of the purse.” While it struck Emma as an odd comment to make, she had no time to ponder with the girls attached to her.

  Thankful, only because the men ran toward where Declan fought, Emma moved with more caution until she reached Aalish’s door. Banging on it with her pole, she called, “Open up.”

  Aalish swung open the door and pulled the three of them inside. With the girls gasping for air, Emma found her breath and offered a quick prayer of thanks the girls were safe, if only for the moment. Before the door could close, Emma heard a woman’s screams. Unable to abandon anyone to the mayhem in the village, she turned to Aalish. “Lock it up.” Then against her better judgment, she ran toward the screams despite her friend’s protests.

  Horror filled Emma to find one of the women—one who had previously referred to her as “the whore”—pinned to the ground by a raider. The sound of fabric ripping filled the air, and again her makeshift bo staff cut the air to crack a skull. Emma pushed the man off his intended victim and grabbed his fallen sword to make certain he would never rise again. Pausing only long enough to help the woman to her feet and push her toward home, she stood her ground to face another man who charged. Armed with the pole and a sword she was ready for the attack.

  ~ ~ ~

  Time had ceased to matter, and the afternoon became a blur of violence. Not sure how many she had fought or killed, Emma stepped back from the latest to fall from her attack and turned quickly when she felt someone at her back. For a brief second, a smile crossed her lips. “Nice to see you, William.” Her smile faded at the blood covering his side. Pointing to his wound, she asked, “How bad is it?”

  “Just a wee scratch,” he answered with a staggered step.

  William was barely on his feet. Taking some of his weight on her shoulder, Emma led him between the men who were fighting until they were halfway up the path that led to the keep. “Can you make it from here?” she asked. “I can’t go back without Mary.”

  “Aye, Emma,” William answered with a face full of pain. “Remind me nay to call guarding Mary a dull way to spend the day.”

  She nodded at the jest, doubting she would ever be able to laugh again. Surveying the battle raging down the hillside and throughout the paths within the village, she knew she was a fool for going back into the battle. Dead men littered the ground, along with the wounded. Many lay on the grass bleeding and crying out for help. The scents of acrid smoke and blood filled the air and choked her. The horror of the scene made her wish she could hide inside the keep until it was over. Pushing aside her fear, she locked a vision of Mary in her mind and ran straight into the thick of the battle, again.

  ~ ~ ~

  Banging on the cottage door, she called out, “It’s Emma. Let me in.” The noise of the bolt opening greeted her ears, but the door only opened a crack. Images of danger within the cottage filled her mind, and she mentally prepared for one more fight. She poised the sword in the air, and protecting her wounded foot, her other foot leapt to kick open the door with a pop-up kick. The pain would be processed later after she had killed whomever threatened those she loved.

  The main room of the cottage was empty until Aalish stepped into her line of sight. The sigh of relief never left her lips as she stared at the woman with her chopping knife raised aggressively toward her. Wary of the angry eyes that watched her
every move, Emma slowly pushed the door closed.

  “It’s pretty much over. The warriors are in control and chasing down the few raiders that still breathe,” Emma said. She waited for a reply that never came. “I saw big Thomas just a few minutes ago. He’s fine and will come home soon.” While the relief was clear on Aalish’s face, the hostile body language remained.

  Giving voice to the fear now taking over, Emma asked, “Did something happen? Are the kids hurt?” She couldn’t ask if it was worse. Nothing could be worse than hurt.

  “The wee ones are tucked under my bed, and there they will stay,” Aalish answered coldly.

  Emma dared a few steps closer, though it was more of a limp. “I’ve come to take Mary home.”

  “The lass stays with me. I dinna ken who you are.” The knife she pointed toward Emma spoke volumes.

  With the harshly spoken statement, cold settled within her heart. To make matters worse, the fatigue from the battle came in a rush as her adrenaline fled. The sword fell from her hands, and she staggered forward and fell to the bench before the table. Shaking her head, Emma asked, “Does it really matter who I am? I saved our girls today.” Only her promise to Cortland kept her from spilling the entire explanation to Aalish . . . that and exhaustion.

  “Aye, you did, and for that, I am grateful beyond telling. But you are nay Esmeralda, and Mary leaves only with someone I ken,” Aalish replied, not budging from her place between Emma and the back bedroom.

  The weight of it all crashed down on her. For the first time in ages, Emma had a friend her own age, and all she had done was lie from the start about who she was. Not an auspicious beginning. “How long have you known?” Emma asked.

  “While Esmeralda and I were never close, she used to live in the cottage next to my parents. From the first day you stepped foot in my home, I kenned you lied to me.” The knife lowered slightly. “I told you once that I would do almost anything for one who would bring my Mary to me. That ends now. The danger is too great for me to trust you.”

  Emma sighed as tears pricked her eyes. It was no more than she deserved. “I understand and frankly don’t blame you. Who I am is a long story, and Cortland thought it best for my true identity to be hidden. Please know that I enjoyed spending time with you and your family. Everything other than my history has been real.”

  “Send someone else to fetch the child, someone I ken,” Aalish replied, never taking her eyes off Emma.

  Emma nodded, but made no move to rise. Fighting in the village paled next to the battle in the cottage that had previously contained only laughter. She had heard that mothers would do anything to protect their children. Finally, she had a prime example of a mama bear in action. Unfortunately, she was perceived as the threat.

  Aalish had lowered the knife but not quite enough to prevent Emma from accidentally harming her if she attempted to disarm her. The crystal-clear threat gleamed in Aalish’s eyes and stance. However, Emma hadn’t gone through it all to back down.

  Hoping for a way to distract Aalish, Emma rose and stifled a whimper as she mistakenly placed her weight on both feet. If she had questioned whether or not her left ankle was severely sprained, she had her answer. With cautious steps, she limped over to the cabinetry that served as the kitchen storage. Taking a cloth from the shelves, Emma wiped at the blood that had splattered her face and hands. She saw the way Aalish watched her every move and how her gaze roamed her battered form. Emma was a mass of cuts and scrapes and wore blood on what was left of her gown. It was beyond repair—the rip up the thigh, the shortened length, and the torn bodice exposed her bare skin.

  Concern flashed in Aalish’s eyes, but no questions were asked about her welfare. Emma knew that whatever friendship had been between them was over, and it hurt more than all her injuries combined. Yet, deep down, she had only respect for Aalish’s protection of Mary.

  Emma glanced at the pitcher and cup on the wooden countertop, a place where hours had been spent preparing meals for the children with heartwarming conversation. Her throat ached from dehydration and a lost friend, and she choked back tears. After a small nod from the woman wielding the knife, Emma poured the contents into the wooden cup and drank deeply. The ale was warm, but it didn’t matter; she had never been so unbelievably thirsty.

  “I ken you prefer water, but I could nay get to the well,” Aalish stated.

  With those words, Emma lost it. Her laughter hit hard and fast until tears rolled down her cheeks and her sides ached. Never in her life had anything been so funny. How in the world can anyone get to the well with men battling, roofs burning, and dead bodies littering the village? Wiping her tears in the bloodied cloth, she looked at Aalish. “The ale is fine, thank you.”

  While the smile Aalish gave held none of its usual warmth, it was something. The knife lowered to her side, and the stalemate softened to an uneasy truce. Taking the moment in hand, Emma called out, “Mary, come out now. I’ve come to take you home.”

  Before Aalish could stop her, Mary darted from the back room and ran straight into Emma’s arms. Clinging tightly to the child, she rose from her crouch to face the mama bear.

  “I want my da, Emma,” Mary whimpered as hot tears scalded Emma’s neck.

  Rubbing her back, Emma whispered, “I’ve got you, and everything is going to be okay. I’ll take you home, and we’ll find your da, I promise.”

  “You came back for me,” Mary mumbled against her neck.

  “Of course I did, sunshine. I love you so much. I promise to always come for you, no matter what,” Emma vowed while her gaze remained fixed on Aalish. The woman had no chance of attempting to stop her with Brina clinging to her skirts and Thomas fussing in her arms.

  “You are hurt,” Mary said, lifting her head.

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Emma reassured the girl with a nod. “Let’s go home. I would like my da, too.” Looking away from the child and facing the woman who would challenge the lie, she said, “He’s the only father I’ve ever known.”

  “So, it may be. I dinna ken and have no cares for what you speak,” Aalish replied. “Leave Mary with me.”

  Cold, hard eyes held hers, and Emma held Mary tightly to her. The child had no desire to stand on her own, and Emma doubted she would be willing to put her down anyway. She had no idea how she was going to make the long walk back to the keep with her ankle and the extra weight, but she’d manage.

  “Sorry, Aalish. Mary comes with me. But so you know, she is perfectly safe.” Emma again felt tears prick her eyes when Aalish glared at her. When Brina would have come to her, Aalish pulled her back. Only Thomas offered her a smile, but even that seemed wrong. “Thomas’ cheeks are red. He looks like he still has a fever.”

  Aalish kissed the child’s forehead and grimaced. “Aye, he is as warm as he was yesterday. Mayhap ‘tis more teeth making their way through.” Her features hardened. “‘Tis none of your concern.”

  Placing a small kiss to Mary’s temple in a weak attempt to hide the hurt, she limped to the door, only stopping to pick up the sword resting next to the bench. While the fighting seemed to be over, she was taking no chances. Closing the door behind her, she glanced back at the cottage that had been a place of warmth, only to see cold stones.

  “Keep your face in my neck and don’t open your eyes. I don’t want you to see any of this,” Emma told Mary. She had no choice but to keep her eyes on the carnage littering the paths and the hillside up to the keep, though tears filled her vision and blurred the worst of it. The worst horror of the day had happened in the cottage.

  Consumed with grief and pain from carrying the child, Emma nearly ran into Declan’s horse. She had to duck to avoid being trampled by the hooves. Mary’s tears heated her neck with abrupt motion. “Shhh, sunshine. It’s okay. I found your da.”

  Leaping from the stallion, Declan practica
lly ripped Mary out of Emma’s arms and held her tightly. If she had any doubts about his love for his daughter, they were completely erased. He kissed Mary’s head as if his life depended upon it.

  Emma held the front of her dress closed as Declan’s green eyes raked her torn gown from over Mary’s head. She wanted to laugh at her foolish modesty. It’s not like there’s enough to keep his attention, and after today, modesty is the least of my concerns. Letting the flaps fall, Emma held out her arms. “I’ll take her back to the keep.”

  “You are barely on your feet. I will see you both back,” Declan said, placing Mary back into her arms and then lifting both effortlessly onto the stallion. As soon as Mary snuggled back into her neck, Declan mounted behind her and placed one arm around them both.

  For just that moment, Emma savored the safe feeling of being held within strong arms with a muscled chest against her back. Her eyes closed to let the sensation wash over her. Declan must have needed a human touch just as badly, she decided when she felt his cheek rest briefly against her hair. She could smell the blood, sweat, and acrid smoke covering him. She knew she must carry the same scents given that she was covered in the same, though none of that mattered to her. For the first time in hours, she felt protected.

  “Rest, Emma. I will keep you safe.” Declan’s whisper filled her ear, and she nestled against him. His warmth and strong chest felt like heaven as his arm banded tighter against her while the horse began the journey back to the keep.

  Her eyes opened when she heard the hooves hit the stones of the courtyard. The normally open space was covered in people, some from the village, warriors with wounds to be tended, and women from the household who were taking care of everyone. The noise was deafening. While the battle was over and won, chaos still had a firm control over the land.