My Valiant Knight (21 page)
Eighteen
“There lies Kengarvey,” murmured Justice as he reined in his horse next to Gabel.
“Aye, there it lies,” Gabel agreed absently, his gaze fixed upon the newly rebuilt keep, but his mind fixed upon what he would be forced to do next.
Justice glanced over his shoulder at the men gathered behind them and waiting to start the battle. They all waited within the thick wood, using the trees to hide their approach. If any of them moved forward more than a few yards, they would be in the expansive clearing surrounding Kengarvey, and the men stationed upon the high walls of Kengarvey would see them, unless they were blind or asleep. Justice was sure that their army thought that Gabel was making some important last judgement upon Kengarvey’s strengths and weaknesses, but the Frasers and the MacFibhs would not be able to sit still for very much longer.
“Cousin, our allies begin to grow restless,” he said, leaning closer to Gabel and hoping to shake the man free of his reverie.
Gabel briefly glanced back at the men and noticed how the Frasers and the MacFibhs were edging ever forward, each trying to stay but one step ahead of the other. “Each of them is so busy trying to insure that he and not the other man is in the lead, that they will soon creep out from the cover of the trees.”
“I understand what makes you hesitate, Gabel, but, if you mean to save any of the MacNairns on this day, it might be best if you did not linger here for too long.”
“Nay, for, if I do, I am sure to be trampled into the dust by MacFibhs and Frasers, eager to begin their slaughter.”
“They have been eager for that since the king told them that they could join us. Do you make new plans, or do you sit there hoping that some sorcery will allow you to see through those thick walls and find Ainslee before the battle even begins?”
A faint smile curved Gabel’s mouth. “That would suffice to comfort me somewhat. And, nay, I do not make any new plans for the battle ahead. Tell our archers to be ready to do what is expected of them. Our charge will pull all eyes at Kengarvey our way, but only for a short while.”
“I wish you well, cousin. Every Bellefleur man knows that they must try to find her before the others do. With so many eyes searching for her, I am certain that she will be found.”
Gabel nodded, wanting to believe Justice’s assurances, but unable to do so. He knew how a battle brought nothing but chaos and destruction. It could easily prove impossible to find Ainslee amongst all of the people who would be fighting, trying to flee for their lives or hiding from their enemies. Far too often he had been forced to wait until a battle was over before he could discover the fate of his own kinsmen, even when the de Amalvillles had been one of the victorious army. As he signaled his men, Gabel prayed that Ainslee had found some way to flee Kengarvey.
Ainslee frowned, an odd sound pulling her from her lethargy. She rose from her meager bed, and cursed under her breath when her first steps toward the bars were unsteady ones. The beatings she had endured while at Kengarvey, the cold damp of the dungeon, and the lack of food, all conspired to sap her strength. Her constant hunger slowed her healing, and made it hard to fight the ill effects of her dark prison.
Gripping the chill, slick bars, she looked over at her thin, narrow-eyed guard. In the week he had sat there staring at her, all she had been able to learn about him was that his name was Robert. That tiny scrap of information had come her way only because the other guard had once greeted him by name. After only two days she had ceased trying to end his silence, and had accepted his mute presence. The very evident uneasi-ness Robert was now revealing told Ainslee that her ears had not deceived her. She listened intently for a moment, and suddenly recognized what she heard. A chill snaked down her spine.
“We are under attack,” she cried, torn between fear for herself, her brothers, and all the people of Kengarvey—and elation. A battle meant danger for them all, but it also meant that Gabel was close at hand.
“Nay,” protested Robert, but there was little conviction in his voice, a voice amazingly deep for a man with such a slender chest. “Mayhaps your father is simply in one of his tempers.”
“Weel, my father can have some gloriously loud and deadly rages, but ye must ken that we arena hearing the frightening sounds of his temper now. The battle has begun.” When he still said nothing, she cursed softly and viciously. “Come, ye are one of my father’s hirelings, and ye must have sold your sword to others ere ye came here. If I can recognize the sounds as those of a battle, then ye must as weel.”
“Aye, ye may be right,” he snapped, his inability to decide what to do next fraying his temper, “but I was told to stay here and guard you.”
“And so ye want us to both sit here and merely wait for the enemy?”
“The enemy may ne’er get this far into Kengarvey.”
“We could die here, fool.”
“Mayhaps, but that isna certain, is it? ’
Tis
certain that, if I release you and we have misjudged what is happening above us, I
will
die, for your father will kill me for my failure without any hesitation.”
Tis
certain that, if I release you and we have misjudged what is happening above us, I
will
die, for your father will kill me for my failure without any hesitation.”
There was no argument Ainslee could make to that, for it was the cold hard truth. She clutched the iron bars tightly as she fought her fear and rising temper, stirred by the man’s inability to think for himself. She studied him closely for a moment as he paced, pausing only to scowl up the narrow stone steps leading up to the keep. It might serve her purpose better, she mused, if she played upon the man’s deep desire to survive, as that appeared to concern him the most.
“Just heed me for a wee moment,” she said, speaking in as calm and as pleasant a voice as she could muster, so that she did not anger or offend him. “What good will it do my father if we are both killed down here, or if I am snatched from his grasp once again, thus costing him more of his precious and scarce coin?” Seeing that her guard was mulling that over, she pressed on. “Mayhaps my father is right, and I am the laird of Bellefleur’s lover. This could easily be him, coming to take me back to his bed. There can be no real harm done if ye simply go and try to discover what is wrong. If we are being attacked and, if Kengarvey is about to fall into the hands of our enemies, ’twould be wise to release me. My father would prefer me running free than to have me taken for ransom once again. After all, if I am alive and free, he can capture me later and kill me in his own cruel way, something we both ken he is trying to do.”
“Aye, he does want ye dead, and so he may not care if ye are slain in battle.”
“Oh, aye, he will mind, and ye ken it weel. My father appears to loathe me, and we both ken that he willna appreciate it if another mon’s sword steals away his sport.”
“Be still,” Robert yelled as he dragged his fingers through his filthy black hair. “Aye, ye are right. ’Twould be best to discover exactly what is happening above our heads. I will return in but a few moments.”
The moment he disappeared up the narrow, littered stairs, Ainslee wanted him to come back. She knew that she was allowing her fears to make her foolish. There was only the smallest of chances that the man would protect her, and he was not the sort of companion who would do anything to help ease her fears as the battle raged around them. Her guard’s only real concern in life was to stay alive, and she suspected that he would readily sacrifice her to accomplish that. All she could pray for was that he would return and let her know what she might have to face.
“Not that I may do anything about the danger hieing my way,” she grumbled, and struck the bars with one small clenched fist. “I can do nothing else but sit here and await my fate.”
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to try and calm herself. A full sense of calm and hope was impossible, but she was finally able to hold back the crippling sense of panic threatening to choke her. Ainslee knew that, as long as she remained locked in the dungeons, the best thing she could hope for was that the ones who were attacking her home contained some mercy in their souls. She tried to ignore that cold disheartening fact, but found it very hard to deceive herself.
As time crept slowly by, she grew more and more agitated. There was no doubt in her mind that a battle was raging over her head. The sounds grew more distinct with every passing moment. She paced her tiny damp cell, cursing her captivity, her father, her weakened state, and her lack of weapons.
Finally, she stopped, pressed against the bars, and closed her eyes. She tried to concentrate on the muffled noises that caused her to feel such alarm, praying that some noise would penetrate the thick stone surrounding her so clearly that she would learn what was going on. So intent was she on listening that, when the door at the head of the stairs was banged open, she jumped in alarm. The sounds that, for one brief moment, came distinctly through the open door, confirmed all of her fears. Kengarvey was in the midst of a fierce battle.
Her heart skipped with hope when she recognized the man running down the stairs. Colin himself was all that inspired that heady feeling, however, for his appearance justified all the dark terrors that had been preying upon her mind. He wore his padded jupon, his mail shirt, and his helmet. All were smeared with blood. What little she could see of his drawn face beneath his helmet was streaked with sweat, dirt, and blood. Even the sword he still held in his hand was badly bloodstained. Kengarvey must be falling to the enemy, for Colin would never have left the battle he had so clearly been in the midst of just to have a talk with her.
“Our enemies have come,” he announced as he slumped against the bars and fought to catch his breath.
“And they are winning the battle,” Ainslee said, only the slightest hint of a question in her voice.
“They are but a wee splinter or two away from breaking through our gates. They will also soon swarm o‘er our walls. More men now slip o’er the parapets to fight us sword to sword than we are able to push back.”
“Ye havena told me which of our enemies is attacking us.” She tried to keep all of her hope out of her voice, but Colin’s weary glance of irritation told her that she had failed.
“Your fine laird of Bellefleur is there, fighting to be the first mon through our gates!”
Ainslee was prepared to argue the insulting tone weighing Colin’s words, then paused, frowning as she rethought his words. “What do ye mean by the
first
mon to get through our gates?”
first
mon to get through our gates?”
“He hasna come to Kengarvey alone. Those two dogs Fraser and MacFibh are yapping at his heels.”
“Nay!” Ainslee was appalled, certain that Gabel would never deal with such men, yet unable to doubt her brother’s assertion. “Gabel sent Fraser from Bellefleur because the mon tried to kill me twice. He ached to do more, but couldna punish the mon for his crimes against me as I am proclaimed an outlaw.”
“Weel, ye can ask your lover why he is cheek to jowl with those men—if ye live long enough.” Colin moved to where the guard usually sat, sheathed his sword, and took the key from the hook on the wall. “I didna come here to talk about de Amalville, what he allies himself with, or e’en if he chose the men himself.” He fumbled with the key as he struggled to fit it into the lock of her cell door. “I came here to set ye free, so that ye may have some chance to save yourself.”
The moment Colin opened the door, Ainslee fought the urge to collapse at his feet with relief and gratitude. She hugged him, easily ignoring the stench of battle he carried. Now she might be able to save at least a few of the Kengarvey people.
“Save yourself as weel, Colin,” she said as she pulled away enough to look him full in the face. “Dinna let our father take ye or our brothers into the grave with him.”
“Dinna start telling me how de Amalville will help us,” Colin snapped as he started to drag her up the stairs.
“He swore to me that he would try to save all he could.”
“The mon is beating down the last vestiges of our gates with his own hands. He is as eager to cut our throats as his hellborn allies are.”
“Or, mayhaps, he but tries to reach us ere the Frasers and the MacFibhs do so, for he kens that those men will slaughter us and show us no mercy.”
Colin stopped once they reached the upper hall, cursed, and then pushed her toward the stairs leading to the bedchambers. “Go, get your weapons so that ye might fight, or supplies so that ye may flee this blood-soaked place, but cease trying to dull my wits with talk of old promises made.”
Ainslee started to argue, but Colin was-already running back out of the keep into the very heart of the battle. She felt like weeping, certain that she had failed to convince Colin to trust in Gabel and thus save his life, but she fought that urge. There would be time enough to grieve later, if she could stay alive long enough to learn the fate of her kinsmen. As she raced up the stairs to her bedchamber, she decided to gather her weapons as well as some supplies. There was little doubt in her mind that she would have to fight, even if she decided to try and flee her home. Ainslee prayed that the fates and God would deliver her into Gabel’s hands before she had to do either.
Gabel cursed as he watched the Frasers and the MacFibhs scramble over the walls. He still faced a doorway he could not break through. The battle had become a race. His treacherous allies intended to beat him to the MacNairns, planning to kill as many as they could before he could begin to save any. He also suspected that Fraser and MacFibh each ached to be the man to kill the laird of Kengarvey. That was not an honor Gabel really wished to fight them for, even though he knew it could greatly enhance his favor with the king. All he cared about was getting inside Kengarvey before every MacNairn was cruelly slaughtered, before Ainslee could be found by men who only wished her dead.
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