Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) (30 page)

She jerked her head up to look at him, stunned. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a carnivorous smile as he backed away from her. “Did you know your mother and my father were lovers before she married your father?”

“You contemptible liar! My mother wouldn’t lower herself to
spit
on your father! She would
never
have gotten into bed with him!”

“Don’t tell me Emara has been keeping a secret from her little girl?” Jariath laughed. “Oh yes, it’s true. My father misses her terribly. He’ll be glad to have her back.”

Aislin clenched and unclenched her fists at her side, gritting her teeth in rage. It was not true...
not true
...he was just trying to make her angry.

“Where
is
my mother?”

“In the dungeon with Gwen. I’ll have to cut Gwen’s throat, of course, before we leave. She is of no use to me.”

She stopped breathing, another round of chills raising the hair on her arms. She turned pleading eyes to him, hoping there was even a tiny bit of humanity left.

“Jariath...please...please don’t...”

“Oh dear, are you going to cry? Poor Princess Aislin, who thinks she can save the world,” he taunted in a singsong voice, before he lowered it to a snarl. “I’ve beaten you, bitch. I’ve won. When will you understand that
no one
tells me ‘no’?”

“And when will you understand that I will
never
tell you ‘yes’?” She shouted it across the room, fists clenched, her fingernails digging painful half-circles in her palms.

Jariath growled and started toward her, and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow she knew was coming. She felt him stop directly in front of her, his imposing size casting a deep shadow across what was left of her courage.

“Pain and fear are excellent persuaders, my love. You’ll eventually see things my way when I have you back in Morrigan. But right now I need you healthy and on your feet. There will be time for persuasion later.”

He turned his back to her and walked away. She followed him with her eyes. In all of his raving, Jariath hadn’t said a word about Tristan, and he talked as though he believed her mother and Gwen were still in the dungeon.

Aislin began to feel a small trace of hope. He certainly would have brought it up if he’d killed or captured another elf, would have placed his body on the floor next to Duff’s. Was it possible Duff hadn’t known about Tristan? Had he died before he could relay that information? Had Tristan gotten the women out of the dungeon?

He would know by now she was missing. Was he looking for her?

So many questions. No answers.

Aislin nearly jumped out of her skin when the throne room door burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud crack. Brock stumbled into the room, gasping and bloody. His jaw dropped when he saw her. He stared at her across the room as he addressed Jariath.

“My Prince, the army of Wyndham is on our doorstep and already attacking! They have the largest army I’ve ever seen—tens of thousands of men! We’re badly outnumbered!”

Aislin closed her eyes and gave silent thanks, as Jariath roared in frustration. He pointed a finger at Brock. “You tell my men to hold their ground! I will kill anyone who turns and runs from this fight!”

“It’s too late! Half of them are already on their way back to Morrigan. I’m joining them. I’m not dying for the likes of you!” And with that, Brock was gone.

Aislin tried very hard to keep a smirk from her lips. “It’s over, Jariath. Arianrhod will be back in the hands of my family before nightfall.”

Jariath regarded her for a moment, a cold glint in his eyes. Turning away from her, he reached behind the throne and picked up the length of horse rope hidden there.

“Arianrhod may indeed be taken back this day, but their princess now belongs to
me
. They won’t want to see any harm come to you. They’ll allow me to walk out of here free and clear as long as I have you at the end of this rope.”

Not today, you bastard!

Aislin leapt over Duff’s body, grabbed her pike in one fluid motion, and hit the door out of the throne room as hard as she could with her shoulder. As she ran, a plan quickly formed in her mind. She headed for the family cemetery.

Chapter Thirty Five

T
HE MANOR HOUSE AND PART of the grounds was surrounded by a very high stone wall. Within it was the royal family cemetery. It had given a young Fionn and Aislin another avenue of escape from their parents.

Standing on a tall gravestone at the back of the cemetery, they would pull themselves up onto the high wall. It was then an easy jump down onto another half wall outside, and finally to the ground.

Running furiously, Aislin exploded out through the gates of the courtyard onto the grounds and headed for the gravestones near the back wall. The distinct sounds of battle could be heard beyond the wall: horses shrieking in terror, men shouting, cries of pain, the sound of metal on metal. If she could just get over the wall and find a friendly face...

She weaved her way in and out among the gravestones. As she reached the wall, she came to a dead stop, her curse echoing off the stones.

The gravestone she and Fionn had always used to scale the wall had toppled over and was lying on its side. It was too big and heavy for her to lift. She looked up the face of the wall in front of her. If she were going to get over it, she had to have something to stand on.

Her analytical mind searched for a solution to her problem, but there was none. She would soon be trapped in the cemetery with 250 pounds of snorting, violent fury.

Aislin turned and looked back at the courtyard door, searching wildly for another way to escape. Jariath was roaring in rage out in the courtyard, getting closer by the second.

Gripping the pike tightly in her hand, she ducked behind a tall gravestone. Crouching to the ground, she pushed her knuckles against her forehead and closed her eyes.

Her hand quickly searched the pocket of her tunic, but the gossamer was gone, evidently lost during her time with Duff.

Come on! Think of something!

“Don’t make me hurt you!” Jariath raged, ever closer.

She could hear his footsteps brushing through the grass. The sound bounced off the wall, making it seem like he was all around her. She couldn’t tell what direction he was coming from, and it unnerved her greatly.

Think, Aislin, think!

Shaking like a leaf, she mentally reviewed her lessons with Tristan and the pike. She shook her head as she tried to imagine herself swinging at Jariath. He was large, angry and intimidating. Could she do it?

“There’s no point in trying to hide from me. I’m going to find you. It’s just a matter of time. I don’t think you want to make me
angry
!” His shout trailed off to an eerie roar that echoed off the wall like a thousand voices. She flinched behind the stone.

He was much closer now. She wouldn’t be able to hide from him much longer.

Her mind flew through the options available to her. Running was the one she preferred, but she didn’t know if she could make it to the courtyard door if he gave chase. Despite having long legs, she’d never been the swiftest of runners. If he ran her down and took her pike, she was doomed.

She really only had two choices: she could defend herself, or she could give herself up to him without a fight.

The pike was solid in her hands. Tristan had been an excellent teacher. She knew what she was doing. She would not let Jariath, so sure of his power over her, bind her wrists while she cowered against the gravestone of a distant ancestor.

Aislin stood up and stepped out from behind the stone.

He was nearer than she thought. She blinked as she raised her eyes to his face.
And much bigger.

“Good girl,” Jariath said, narrowing his eyes as he took note of the pike. “Well, well. What’s this? Did someone teach you a new trick? You don’t seriously think you’re going to defeat me with a stick, do you, Aislin?”

“I’m
not
going back to Morrigan with you. Not willingly, anyway. If you want me, you’ll have to drag me out. Or kill me.”

“That can be arranged.” The smile that crept slowly across his face was no smile at all, and she knew a moment of uncertainty. She had just challenged a man three times her size to a fight.

He took a long, quick stride to her left, and she moved to her right, holding the pike out in front of her at an angle as Tristan had taught her. Jariath reached out and grabbed the pike in the middle, between her hands. There was a momentary struggle for control of it.

And then he shoved her backward viciously, using his grip on the pike. Her back hit the wall and the breath left her in a jagged
whuff
of air.

Pushing off the wall with her shoulder, Aislin swung the sharp end of the pike at his head at the same time. Jariath saw it coming and tried to duck, but the razor sharp point dragged across his forehead, opening a long gash that began to spurt crimson.

He stared at her, incredulous, as he wiped at the pulsing blood.

She used the momentary lull to get herself off the wall and into the open, where she could swing at him with greater effect. Tristan had told her never to trap herself in a corner, and if she found herself in one, to do whatever she had to do to get out. She widened her stance and firmed up her grip.

“You bitch. You drew blood.” He wiped his bloody hand on his breeches. “Have it your way,” he growled.

Jariath reached over his right shoulder and pulled out the cudgel he had strapped there. He stalked her slowly, eyes narrowed, his breath hissing between clenched teeth. Aislin knew she’d surprised him. He was mentally trying to assess the warrior that stood before him.

He continued to advance on her, swinging the club, testing her. She deflected every strike as she backed away, ducking away from him if he got too close. Soon he got more aggressive, swinging harder at her. She watched his eyes, trying to anticipate his moves. It wasn’t as easy with Jariath as it had been with Tristan. Still, she was holding her own.

He growled and rushed at her, his face contorted with rage. She stumbled, and in her panic to escape him, fell backward over a low gravestone.

He leapt over the stone and landed between her feet. Aislin instinctively pulled her knees up and kicked at his chest, hitting him squarely in the sternum with both feet as he bent over to grab her. He staggered back, wrapping one of his massive hands around her right ankle. He dragged her forward and up, and she was horrified to find herself dangling upside down in his grip.

She had dropped her pike, but as she twisted in the air, she found herself eye level with his crotch. Steadying herself with a hand on his thigh, she drew back her right arm as far as she could and punched him in the testicles with all the force she could muster.

It was another thing Tristan had taught her. If all else fails, go for the sack.

Groaning and choking at the same time, he dropped her, grabbing at himself with both hands as he stumbled.

She landed hard on her upper shoulders and rolled quickly to her knees, looking around wildly for the pike. It was directly in front of her, just beyond her reach.

She stretched and reached for the pike just as he appeared at her right side. She leaned, the tip of the pike teased her fingertips. She groaned and silently willed it into her hands.

Jariath kicked her viciously in the stomach with a booted foot just as she wrapped her hand securely around the end of it. It felt like he put everything he had into that kick, his toe digging into the softness of her solar plexus. She lifted slightly on the curve of his boot, and then she flipped hard onto her back, unable to breathe.

He stood over her, one big hand reaching for her. Aislin tried to scream, but her chest was paralyzed. She lay staring at the blue sky as it spun circles overhead, working the muscles of her throat, trying desperately to get air into her lungs.

He caught the slim wrist of the hand holding the pike in his, and let go of his crotch to reach for her throat. Her eyes widened as her line of vision filled with a snorting, seething blond demon.

Aislin launched both feet at him again, catching him on the side of the head. His head snapped sharply to the right, stopping his momentum and pushing him back. Her wrist twisted right out of his beefy hand. She rolled over and grabbed the pike, sticking the point in the ground. Shaking, she pushed to her feet.

Aislin backed away from him, pike in front, and put some distance between them. Jariath slowly got to his feet from his knees. He was furious and winded, and he looked like he was in pain. He gripped his jawbone with his right hand and moved it from side to side, and she saw him spit several bloody teeth into the grass.

Tristan had told her to study her enemy carefully for a sign of weakness.
They all have one,
he’d told her,
and if you’re observant, it will make itself plain to you.

It was one of those astonishing moments of clarity.
His size is his weakness!

He was huge, muscular, with the strength of ten men. But his large size made him slow, lumbering, clumsy. In contrast, her size allowed her to be quick, agile, a smaller target. He had a hard time holding onto her because his hands were so large. This type of fight, where speed and agility counted, wore him out completely.

If she could just keep him busy in the cemetery, wear him down by making him chase her, maybe...just maybe...it would give
someone
out there time to find her.

He regarded her for several minutes, ashen and shocked, his hands on his knees as he took great gulping breaths. Then he slowly turned around and walked back to where he’d dropped his cudgel.

He picked it up and walked back to her. “You’re unbelievably good. Really. I would’ve never guessed a little thing like you would have so much fight in you. I must know where you learned this.” He seemed eerily calm.