Nothing Else Matters (25 page)

When he did begin to think and feel again, the throbbing physical pain in his arm was the first thing he became aware of. Bloody but not too bad, he

decided after a quick look. He stil hurt inside as wel , but now he recognized that it was a hurt that would grow less with time. His father was avenged and that helped. Now he could go home.

He looked around to see that the battle was over. Most of the Muraghs were dead but a few prisoners were being rounded up. Stian guided his horse

toward Malcolm, who was calmly watching two men wrestle with the skinny lad who’d rode by Conner’s side.

“By the Rood,” Malcolm said as he rode up, “that’s Long Kate!”

The struggling prisoner’s head came up at the sound of the name and Stian saw that the tal lad wasn’t a lad at al . The loss of the oversized helmet

revealed the freckled face of a pretty girl.

He looked from her to Malcolm. “Long Kate? That’s old Conner’s granddaughter.” He careful y got down off his horse to have a better look at her.

“Aye. A great bundle of trouble she is, I’ve heard.” Malcolm leaned over his saddle to contemplate the prisoner, now standing quietly enough between the

“Aye. A great bundle of trouble she is, I’ve heard.” Malcolm leaned over his saddle to contemplate the prisoner, now standing quietly enough between the men who held her. “Seems al I’ve heard about her father treating her more like a son than a daughter is true.”

With his wounded arm careful y held at his side, Stian went up to the girl. He gestured for the men to let her go. They stepped back but stayed close. The girl kicked out at Stian’s shins as he approached but he used the movement to knock her feet out from under her. She fel heavily onto her back with an angry hiss.

Lars laughed, “If that’s truly a female, that’s the right place for her.”

She glared hatred at the Dane’s words but kept most of her attention on Stian. She was a trapped thing, frightened, he could tel , but defiant and

dangerous with it. Stian wondered what to do about this odd prisoner. For al that she was one of the murdering thieves, she was also little more than a girl.

“She’s what, fourteen, for al her size?” he asked. “Conner’s eldest son Rob’s oldest child, isn’t she?”

“Closer to fifteen, I think. She’s the only one of Rob’s brats left,” Malcolm answered. “Her brother died in last year’s war.” He glanced toward the pile of Muragh bodies. “Now her da’s dead as wel . And her grandda. Would that make Long Kate here the heir, do you suppose?” Malcolm asked thoughtful y.

“I’m told she asked for a dagger once as a child after her da offered her a dol , and he laughed and decided she was real y a boy in skirts. Now she’l need the training if she’s to head her clan. Assuming she leaves here alive.”

“Assuming that,” Stian agreed.

“I’m not asking for mercy,” she declared. She pressed her lips tightly together, obviously angry with herself for speaking to the enemy at al .

“I’m not asking for your opinions, brat,” Stian replied.

Stian supposed that she would need to be a fighter if she was indeed the heir. Her position within her clan made what he should do with her even more

complicated. Kil ing her might end the threat from the Muraghs for a while but another generation was bound to grow up to harry his own sons’ lives and lands, claiming a darker blood feud than the one they already had.

His own sons? Had kil ing Conner real y cleared his conscience so much that he could now consider the possibility of a future? It seemed that it had, for he knew that al he wanted now was to go home and make peace with his wife. And get this arm taken care of. Damn, but it hurt. First though, there was the prisoner to consider.

Lars came up and knelt beside the girl. He grabbed her by the hair when she tried to scoot away. “Take her,” he said to Stian. “You first then al the men.

Plant a bastard in her then send her home.”

“Take her?” Stian echoed. “Rape her?” His stomach twisted as Lars nodded. Some of the men laughed and cheered at the idea but stopped when Stian

turned a cold look on them.

Lars took no notice of his displeasure. “Do it. Revenge for your father.” He shook the girl, like a terrier with a rat. Though she grabbed his wrist with her hands, she couldn’t stop the shaking.

“Stop that!” Stian ordered. Stian stepped forward to loom over his cousin and the prisoner. “Get away from her.”

“Gladly,” Lars answered, moving back. “You first. It’s your right to take her maidenhead, if she has one.”

“I don’t give a damn about her maidenhead.”

Lars laughed. “Fair enough. Let me at her first then. I promise it’l hurt. Your father deserves every drop of revenge we can extract.”

Stian looked down at the girl while he continued to ignore the blood dripping down his arm. She was on her knees now looking around frantical y, as

though seeking a weapon or a way out. He was half tempted to let her escape but didn’t trust in the girl’s ability to make it the many miles back to her home despite what he’d been told about her being raised as a warrior. Why hadn’t her father kept her safe in the bower even if she had grown up tal er than any of the Muragh lads her own age?

Lars had a dagger in his hand and a look in his eyes that showed he was thinking about using it on the girl’s clothing. The other men were drawing near, some of them looking expectant. It was time to put an end to it before the men took the girl whether he gave permission or no.

He grabbed Long Kate by the back of her leather tunic and hauled her to her feet. “This is my prisoner,” he declared, giving a warning glare to the circle of men. “To be held for ransom. No man is to touch her. Am I understood?”

There was a reluctant murmuring of assent from the men but Lars burst out, “What about Roger?”

“Roger’s been avenged,” Stian said. “This girl came to rescue her grandfather. Any one of us would have done the same. I’ve no quarrel with her.” The girl gave him a look that told him she had a deep quarrel with him, but that was to be expected. “She’l be ransomed back to her kin,” Stian went on, glaring at Lars as he spoke. “She’l be safe at Harelby. Returned whole and untouched to her own land.”

Lars gave an angry shake of his head and stalked back to his horse. Stian pushed the girl toward Malcolm’s horse. Malcolm had watched the

proceedings impassively but Stian liked to think his Borderer cousin would have weighed in on his side against raping the girl.

He trusted him now as he said, “Take her up behind you.”

“Gladly.” He looked the tal girl over careful y. “But not until the hel cat’s searched and bound. A Muragh blade in my back is not how I intend to die.”

Malcolm beckoned to one of his men to do the job.

Stian turned away from Malcolm and gestured for Ranald. “Help me get this armor off. I’l need a bandage.” As the lad helped him with the wound, Stian asked, “Dead?”

“None of ours, my lord.”

“Wounded then?”

“Just you. It was the archers who did most of the work.”

“Good. Have someone see to the Brasey animals. We’l soon be back at Harelby.” That was al he wanted, to get back to Harelby. “This hurts like hel fire,”

he added while he thought,
Soon I’ll have Eleanor to cozen and care for me. If a man must get wounded, it’s good to have a woman to tend him. I want
to go home,
he thought.
I want to start living.

“What are you doing with my chess set?”

Morwina looked from the box to her. “Moving it, my lady.”

“But why?” Eleanor asked. “Where?” She’d come to her room to change clothes, only to find Morwina and Blanche in the room. “What are you doing?” she

demanded, stepping through the doorway. “Who sent you here?”

“Lady Edythe,” Morwina answered.

Edythe? What was Edythe about? Before she could ask the women, Edythe came up the stair behind her. Eleanor had last seen her sister in the chapel

where she’d remained after Mass to pray at her husband’s freshly sealed tomb.

Eleanor turned to her, moving from the doorway onto the landing to speak to Edythe in private. “What is going on?”

Edythe was pale, eyes red-rimmed, but she was serenely beautiful even in grief. Her voice was as gently reasonable as ever when she answered,

“Having your and Lord Stian’s possessions moved, of course.”

“Of course?”

“You’ve been far too occupied with setting the household to rights, my dear,” Edythe said. “So I thought I’d supervise this one thing for you. If you don’t mind.”

Eleanor looked back into her room and the women busily packing her things. “Stop that,” she cal ed. To Edythe she said, “Mind? Why would I want my

possessions moved? Stian’s annoyed with me and I with him, but I don’t think a separation is cal ed—”

“To the bower,” Edythe interrupted. “It’s time you moved to the bower, my dear. That bedchamber is where you belong now.”

Eleanor stared at her sister. “You want me to move back in with you? I just got used to sharing the bed with someone else.”

Edythe gave her a brief embrace. “I would love to have your company to share my loneliness, sister. We both know that closeness is in the past.” She

sighed and went on. “The bower belongs to Lord Stian and you now. I’l have my things moved in here, if you don’t mind.”

Edythe’s tone expressed more then her usual politeness, she was asking permission. Asking her permission?

“Edythe?”

“You are lady of Harelby now, Eleanor.” Edythe spoke slowly, as one would explain things to a child. Or one in shock. “You’ve been too busy to notice the change. And I know you would be too kind to remind me of my place as Roger’s widow even if the ful implication of his death had occurred to you.”

“What?”

Edythe gave her one of her sweetest smiles, and explained, “You remember that you are chatelaine but you do not remember that you are now a

baroness.”

As this truth hit her, Eleanor found that she was supporting herself by holding onto the doorframe as her knees buckled in reaction. Her thoughts whirled dizzily for a few moments. She had an odd image of Stian and herself dressed in Lord Roger’s and Edythe’s clothes, sitting in their seats at table. It seemed ridiculous to her but she realized that things had indeed changed. She had to acknowledge that her life was changed. The dizziness faded as

she tried to settle into acceptance of a new pattern to life.

“It is true,” she final y said to Edythe, who had been patiently watching her. “I knew but I didn’t think about it.”

“You haven’t had time to let yourself consider the future, my dear. You are involved with the present. While I,” Edythe waved her hand dismissively. “While I must do something not to think about what is past. So, my lady, I’l see to rearranging our living quarters for you.”

Eleanor looked into her sister’s slightly smiling face and shook her head. “No.”

“But it is the least I can do.”

Eleanor hated to disappoint Edythe in anything, but she said, “I thank you, but no. Stian must decide this.”

“But this wil ease the transition to his new position, don’t you think? Should he not be treated as lord of Harelby from the moment he returns?”

“Perhaps.” Then Eleanor shook her head again. “Most men would welcome the change. Most men relish power, but I don’t think Stian is like most men in

this. He needs time,” she told Edythe. “I tried pushing him about his obligations before he left. He did not take it wel . We wil leave everything as it is for now.”

After a considerable silence where Eleanor was acutely aware of her sister coming to grips with having to obey her younger sister, Edythe nodded slowly.

“I suppose it would be best to leave the decision until Lord Stian’s return. I pray it is soon.”

“So do I,” Eleanor said.

She didn’t want to think about the chance that he would not return at al . He had been gone only a day and she had no idea how much longer his mission of revenge would take. Not revenge, she corrected herself, retribution. Justice. Stian was right. Lord Roger’s murderers needed to be punished. Not just for Roger’s death but the vil eins and guards who had died deserved some justice as wel .

Edythe said, “If we cannot be of service here, I’l take the women with me. We could make ourselves useful mending the hal tapestry.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor answered.

She would have preferred to have the thing burned. Every time she saw it from now on she would remember the inexplicable sword slashes that had torn it when the hal was invaded. She decided that frugal practicality should take precedence over personal distaste. Besides, the work would help keep

Edythe occupied during this sad time.

“Get you to your chamber, sister. And I’l busy myself having the tapestry taken down and brought upstairs so you can mend it.”

When she went down to the hal , the servants she’d left working there were buzzing with excitement as they headed for the door.

“What is happening?” she cal ed as she rushed across the wide room, meeting Fiona by the hearth. “What?” she demanded.

“The sentry just sent word, my lady. I was coming up to tel you. The men are returning.”

A jolt of fear went through Eleanor. “Returning?” A painful vision of Stian brought home as a corpse marched across her inner vision. “Holy Mother,” she prayed. “What are they doing back so soon?” She hiked up her skirts and ran for the door.

* * * * *

She spoke the words as lightly as she could, trying to hide her fear as Malcolm and Ranald maneuvered Stian off his horse. Malcolm had already said,

“Don’t worry, he’s breathing,” as soon as they rode up.

Ranald had been riding behind Stian, holding him on the horse. “He was awake until a moment ago,” he told her now. “He insisted on riding back to

Harelby. Where do you want him?” the lad added pragmatical y as he and Malcolm lowered the unconscious man onto the hal step.

Eleanor looked down at the stil form at her feet, almost too frightened to find out how badly Stian was wounded.