By Fire and by Sword (27 page)

Ewen brought them tea in the solar, and warned her he had taken the liberty of adding a dram of whisky to hers to ease her suffering a bit. After he left, she and Josette talked about Kenna’s challenge to Lord Walter, and whether or not they thought he was smart enough to figure out she had baited him, or whether his warped pride and confidence would make him face her with a sword.

Kenna was about to make a point, when Ewen came into the room looking grave, his skin ashen. A sense of dread gripped her, for she knew something had happened, something far worse than the fate of the two sweet deerhounds.

“What is it, Ewen? What has happened?”

Outside, she could hear shouts and the sound of booted feet running.

“They found Dougal and Owen with their throats cut, and someone has set fire to the distillery. It could spread to the castle.”

The faces of Dougal and Owen floated through her mind, as she recalled the bond of friendship she had formed with them during the hours they worked together in the distillery. Even now, she could hear the sound of their laughter, which was so frequent, and played an important role in making her feel at home.

She said a prayer for them, and whispered, “I shall miss you terribly, dear friends. I’m so sorry…so very sorry.”

Their deaths made her more determined than ever to stop Lord Walter, and she vowed to do so before another life was lost.

Kenna and Josette went out to see where Gavin was, but she did not see him. It was not utter chaos, but men and horses were scrambling, buckets were brought out and bucket lines formed near the well. Already they could smell the smoke and saw the black smoke billowing upward to form fat gray clouds.

It was a terrible blow to her, and Kenna wondered if this nightmare would ever end.

Josette sensed her despair and tried to offer her encouragement.

“I am losing heart, Josette. I grow weary. Everything I try is hurled back in my face. Defeat is behind each door that I open. I am so weary of death and watching those I care about disappear out of my life. I’m sick of trying. I feel I have lost the best years of my life, and for what? For each dragon that I slay, two more spring up. I have had enough. I turn in my sword. I am ready to leave Scotland altogether.” She went back inside and slumped into a chair.

Josette followed her inside. “You cannot give up now. Every hero has his dark moment, and only those who are strong grow stronger. It is when you are cast into the deepest pit and experience your darkest moments of despair that you must call forth all your reserves in order to stand firm. You said you issued a
challenge to him today. You cannot crumple now. What if he accepts the challenge? What will happen if you are unprepared, if you are not ready?”

“Why is this happening?”

“We all have trials and demons we must face from time to time, and only the weak are defeated. You have worked too hard and paid too great a price to get this far. You cannot quit now. I won’t let you.”

“I don’t know how you can stop me.”

“If you don’t fight back, if you don’t face your enemy, then I will do it for you.”

“Don’t be silly, Josette. You said yourself that you have no stomach for drawing blood.”

“One of us has to try. It will be either me or you.”

“You are foolish to consider it. The
comte
would tell you that if he were here right now, and you know it. You are not strong enough with the sword to withstand Lord Walter.”

“Perhaps not, but I am strong enough to face him.”

Josette left the room and Kenna dropped her head into her hands. She could not cry. There were no tears left. They had all been expended long ago.

It was close to midnight when Gavin MacKay came into the solar, where Kenna and Josette waited for the occasional reports on the fire’s progress, wondering whether or not they would have to abandon Durness altogether.

They looked up with expectant faces. His clothes were burned, his face blackened, his hair singed, but his spirits seemed high. “We have fought back and beaten down the last of the flames.”

Kenna expelled the breath she had been holding. “Oh, thank God.”

Suddenly, the faces of Dougal and Owen came back to haunt her, and she knew it would be a long time before she would be able to think of them without a stabbing pain of loss. Dear God, she prayed, let there be no more deaths. With her heart pounding, she asked the question she dreaded, yet knew she had to ask. “And the men? How do they fare? Any injuries?”

“They fare much better now, milady, than they did earlier. Good news always makes a man’s fighting arm stronger. Their spirits are high, since they know the worst is over. There are no serious injuries, just a few burns and a lot of dirty faces.”

“There is no danger to the castle?”

“No, milady. All is well for the castle, but the distillery could not be saved. I’m sorry. We did the best we could.”

Kenna shook her head and thought, so much work wiped out in a few hours. She spoke to Gavin. “I am certain the fire was set and we both know the villain who set it. But, tell me, Gavin, how was he able to get close enough to do such a dastardly deed, when you had posted extra guards and all the men were about?”

“It is my opinion that he never left after he attacked you. I think he found a place to hide, and then went back later and set the fire.”

“That makes sense,” Josette said.

“Then that is the first thing about all of this that has made sense,” Josette said.

After Gavin left, Kenna and Josette fell silent, each
seeking their own counsel. Nothing was said for quite some time, until Kenna spoke. “You were right, Josette, and I thank you for trying to talk some sense into my hard head. I am not ready to give up. I simply allowed myself to become overwhelmed for a while.”

“It is easy to do, and we have all done it at one time or the other. The important thing to focus on now is being certain that you are prepared. I agree with your idea to draw him out and to make a stand. Otherwise, God only knows how many more innocent people he might kill. What I don’t understand is how will you do it. I know you have challenged him, and you feel he will react positively. But
where
will he react? Where will he suddenly appear? What will you be doing when you look up and see him standing there with a sword in his hand? You need a plan, Kenna.”

“First, I plan to have my sword belted around my waist at all times. I shall even sleep with it.”

“All right. You have a plan to have your weapon available. What about the place? Where do you think he will strike? Is there anything you can do to draw him to a place of your choosing?”

“I have thought about that and I need to choose a place I know or feel might be advantageous to me. Then I must decide how I can make him come to me. One idea would be to form a pattern of behavior, to do the same thing around the same time every day.”

“You mean something like riding your horse down to the bay every morning?”

“Yes, that way he could plan to hide somewhere and jump out to surprise me.”

“What strategy do you have to put things in your favor?”

Her question was inspiring. “Lord Walter is puffed up with pride, arrogance, vanity and an overabundance of self-confidence. He is in possession of a minor English title—enough to fill him with a nobleman’s idea of defending his personal honor if it were impugned. He is also a man who is easy to incite to anger. If I can make him angry, it is to my good, because we both know that such a man cannot fight with a sword as skillfully as one in control.”

“And you will make him angry, how?”

“I have been thinking if I can find the right insults to taunt him with during our match. If I can wear him down mentally, then he will defeat himself.”

“Good,” Josette said. “Very good. You fence like your fencing master, now you are starting to sound like him.”

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind

Blows in your face.

—William Shakespeare (1564-1616),

English poet and playwright.

King Lear
(1605-1606), Act IV, Scene 2.

“I
have an idea,” Josette said as she walked into Kenna’s room.

Kenna looked up from the book she was reading. “An idea about what?”

“How we manipulate Lord Walter into attacking you.”

She put the book down. “Go on.”

“I mentioned it the other day as an example, but it has been sticking with me these many days. I believe I said you needed to have some habit that he can identify, like riding down to the bay every morning. I think it’s actually a great idea.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.”

“Kenna, hear me out. You and I will start riding down to the bay about ten o’clock every day. The weather is still warm, so we can take a blanket and find the right spot to relax. We can read, or play cards, but the point is, we can position ourselves so we have the sea to our back.”

“I am not comfortable involving you in this.”

“I will be only a prop. I won’t fight…unless it is to save your life, of course. Are you thinking he might not come if I am with you?”

“It is always possible, I suppose. However, we could try it for a while and if he never shows, then we think of something else.”

The plan laid, they began their daily excursions down to the bay the next day.

By the Monday morning of the third week, they were starting to consider other ideas. “We will finish out this week and start afresh with a new idea next week,” Kenna said.

Already dressed in her fencing attire, Kenna fastened her sword around her waist and followed Josette out of the room.

The horses, a chestnut mare and a sorrel gelding, were saddled and waiting. The groom gave them each a boost into the saddle and held the reins until they had adjusted their skirts. Once they were settled, he handed them the reins and they turned the horses and rode through the gates of Durness, and followed the track that wound down to the bay.

They made their way among gorse bushes, scrub and heather scattered along the rocky hillside, as they
headed for the bay descent. Overhead, the cry of kittiwakes and razorbills soaring overhead was almost drowned out by the pounding of the surf. When they reached the sandy beach, waves were breaking against the rocks, where a few seals sunned themselves. Two of the seals slipped into the water as the horses approached.

They rode to their customary spot, dismounted and tied the horses to a large piece of driftwood, as big as a tree trunk, which is what it had been at one time.

Josette spread the blanket and tossed a deck of cards on top, while Kenna removed her sword belt, withdrew the sword, and placed it on the blanket next to her. Josette did the same.

Josette shuffled, Kenna dealt, and they were soon into the game, talking low together, and occasionally finding something amusing enough to produce a smile or even a laugh. They did not talk about Lord Walter; they had exhausted that topic weeks ago and Kenna did not believe in giving too much attention to the Devil. “I will not glorify that parasite by talking about him.”

As the weeks had passed and Kenna’s nemesis failed to appear, they had given up speculation about it. “He will come when he comes,” Josette said.

During their game, they did, from time to time, scan the horizon, the track or even the beach for a sign of him, and as usual, saw nothing.

That did not mean he was not there.

It was the horses snorting that first alerted them, a stomping of feet, a whinny or two, but their restless behavior
did not elicit much notice beyond Josette’s query to Kenna: “Do you see anything?”

Kenna placed a ten of spades on the blanket and let her gaze scan the hillside they had ridden down. “No, not yet.”

Josette played a jack of hearts. “Still nothing?”

Kenna was rearranging her cards. “No, still nothing.”

Josette was about to lay down a king of hearts when she gave a start and looked up at the same time Kenna did. Lord Walter was striding down the beach toward them.

He came by water
, she realized when she glanced behind him and saw a boat beached on the sand. How could they have been so stupid? He had outfoxed them. The first round went to him.

Cards abandoned, they were on their feet, Kenna with her blade drawn, her dirk at her waist.

His empty eyes darted to the sword in Kenna’s hand. “I see you came prepared.”

“We always come prepared,” she said. “We never know when vermin might appear. Take you, for instance.”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Did you think I would find two swords more intimidating?”

Kenna laughed in his face. “Actually, I don’t think of you at all. Why should I?” She looked him over with a sneer. “Just look at you, a maggoty worm, low in status, low in rank, low in importance—you are insignificant.”

Lord Walter’s face paled. A cruel smile appeared.
“You’ll not think me so insignificant when I make short work of you and leave you to rot in the sun, picked at by scavengers.”

He is taking the bait, Kenna thought, and it was a calming balm. Her insults had cut the surface of his vanity and he was attempting to reclaim his prowess. The only sign Kenna gave that she had heard him at all was the raising of a languid brow, then she added new insult with a trifling glance that made her appear almost bored.

“I would believe now,” sneered Lord Walter, “that you have not only studied the sword, but also at a school of acting. You are very good.”

“Feign or feint? I see you brought your sword. Does that mean you know how to use it?”

“I will let you be the judge. Name the place.”

“Over there, where the track ends on the smooth layer of rock.”

Josette appeared distraught. “Kenna, think! If you do this, you will be a murderer.”

“And a boil on the face of humanity will be lanced. Worth it at any price, I would say.” Kenna started toward the layer of rock she had indicated, her stride one that indicated haste to arrive.

He approached slowly, and she waited with marked impatience. “I have one question to ask you before we start.”

“And what is that?”

“What is your preference?”

“My preference for what?” he asked, already showing agitation.

“Your preference for what happens to your body after I kill you,” she said with casual disinteres.

A startled face was followed by an uncertain laugh. “You surely jest.”

“I am
dead
certain. Unfortunately, you will not be alive to check the truth of my words. Would you like them carved upon your gravestone?”

“We shall soon see who the victor is,” he said, taking a peacock stance, which was wasted on this audience.

“Then why waste my time with your talking. The victor awaits you. Draw your sword, monsieur.” She used the French word to honor the
comte.

Once they faced each other, Kenna unfastened her skirt and let it drop to reveal the fitted black trews beneath, where her shirt was tucked. The surprise worked, for Lord Walter looked disconcerted. She knew by his expression that he was well aware he had lost one big advantage: the lack of mobility a long skirt would have given her.

They took their positions.

“Your youth and inexperience does stack the dice against you. Don’t you want to say a prayer of confession?” he asked, with a surge of shaky confidence.

“I will say it afterward, when I have a murder to confess.”

“On guard!” he cried, and attacked vigorously. He began the match with the obvious intent of catching her off guard and ending the fight with due haste. An intent that began to look less obvious almost immediately. He was accustomed to facing those who yielded ground easily and took it if they could, who advanced
and retreated, and took the advantage whenever possible. But now he began to see that she fought in a different style, for she barely moved at all, giving no ground, nor taking any. He had a mental image of how it must look, with him doing his fencing maneuvers while she practically stood in place and deflected each thrust with an effortless parry.

He tried a few of his tricks, and even a secret thrust, and found his point easily parried each time. He retreated to draw her away, and she held her ground. He advanced with an attack and she moved not.

She was all defense and no attack. He doubted this was in any fencing manual. His mental stress was distracting, and he was beginning to tire, while she had not even broken a sweat.

“Are you sufficiently warmed up now,
monsieur
?” she asked. “For I am ready to begin this match.”

His anger flared. “You call that fencing?”

She smiled. “I understand your confusion,
monsieur
, for it is apparent your maneuvers have all been self-taught.”

Lord Walter responded with a forward feint and a lunge. Kenna encircled the blade, knocked it clear and touched her tip to his throat. Enraged that she had foiled him so easily, he attacked again, ready for her to hold her ground and not move, when she surprised him by retreating swiftly. He followed her, with force, but it was smoothly met. He was seriously winded now, and fell back to pause. He was paying a dear price for his rash confidence that he would finish her off quickly, and the hot and fast pace he had maintained
because of it. He realized too late that had been her intent all along. Furious now, he was enraged to know his pomposity had cost him dearly.

“
Mon Dieu!
I thought you wished to fight. Have you changed your mind, then?”

“I shall lift your head from your shoulders as easily as I did your brother’s.”

She expected such references beforehand and had prepared her mind to accept the painful reminders with cold calm. “You are beginning to feel, I think, some of the same awareness of approaching death that you gave to my family. How does it feel,
monsieur
, to know your life is all but over?”

Driven by his anger, he attacked when he should have conserved his strength, and Kenna, knowing he was winded, refused to allow him to rest. She exposed her low lines to invite his expected lunge, and whirled away when he followed through, which caused him to waste the move on empty air, which put her inside his guard, right where she needed to be, and she drove her blade to pierce him from one side to the other, and render him motionless.

It was done with such precision and speed that Kenna recovered before Josette realized the monster had been hit, for Lord Walter was still standing, his eyes wide with astonishment, his expression a mixture of terror, amazement and awe.

A tremble coursed through his body at the same time a faint moan escaped his lips, and he slowly sank, as one in quicksand, and fell forward at an angle that broke her sword in two.

Trembling and weak enough to faint, Kenna stood over him, and spoke the epitaph she had long held inside:

“When you are gone, you will vanish into nothing. Your name will be blotted out, no one will grieve, no grave will record your existence, even Hell will reject you. You are nothing, an empty space, a void. You will not be revered, you will not be missed, you will not be remembered, because you do not exist.”

She heard the hiss of his last breath leaving him like a demonic vapor, and she recited the Lord’s Prayer, because she had killed a man, and to protect her from any evil he might have left behind.

She swayed and felt the rise of nausea, and hated him anew for driving her to the point where she had no choice but to end his life so others might be spared. It would forever change her, and the memory of what she had done here this day would linger for the rest of her life.

She felt Josette’s arm go around her, and she wished it was Colin who stood at her side.