One Snowy Knight (16 page)

Noel jerked awake when his shoulder was prodded. Struggling to focus, he finally saw Guillaume stood at bedside. Giving him a grumpy frown, he labored to sit up, moving his stiff, aching body. He glanced around, looking for Skena. Flashes of dreams lingered, so intense they worked to suck him back into their velvet embrace. Truth be told, he wanted to escape to their seductive lure, return to the happiness and perfection he found there. As he worked to hold on to the shards, to remember their importance, this world was already intruding, vanquishing them. Forced to return to this cold reality, his heart felt hollow.

“Sorry to waken you so early, especially after what you went through, but figured you would want to know something odd is happening,” Guillaume said, watching Noel as he rose from the bed and went to the pitcher on the far side of the room.

Noel poured water into the large bowl and splashed some onto his face. “What is so urgent you awaken me before dawnbreak? Is it not enough you tortured me yestereve?”

“You are lucky I ‘tortured’ you. Likely, you would find trouble awakening this morn had I not put the knife to you.” Guillaume studied him closely, judging his condition. “How do you feel? You look none worse for the wear, considering what you have been through.”

“How do I feel? Tired. ’Tis been a rough few days. Damn coughing bruised my ribs, methinks.” He rubbed his side, flinched when the wound instantly set to throbbing. “The searing naturally burns, but ’tis small compared to the pain I have suffered through for the past sennights. Happily, I seem on the mend. Thanks to Skena and you.” Noel flexed his right hand and for the first time in two months failed to experience even a trace of the numbness that had so troubled him. “In June the sensitivity began. I would get a tingling in my thumb if I moved too sudden. Then it grew to be the whole hand. Each time it was worse. Each time it lingered, taking longer to go away. This past fortnight, at times I had a hard time gripping my sword. All the feeling of deadness is gone. A burn I can handle. I know that will pass. I was truly concerned I might lose use of the hand for good.”

“No, you would have lost your life. The poison was already spreading from the wound site. We would have come in one morn and not been able to awaken you. I have seen it happen before. I have grown accustomed to your pretty face and would hate to lose it over this….” He held up the half link of broken mail. “A memento to remember the former baron by.”

Noel took the twisted piece of black metal from Guillaume’s fingers and held it to the candlelight to study. “Odd what a bit of nothing can do to the body. That would have killed me. Most surprisingly, outside the first few poultices I felt no pain. Mayhap it was too much for my mind and it shuttered in some manner.”

Noel puzzled over the matter. The hot poultices had been distressful, and the agony intensified with each new one, pain building upon pain. He simply could not recall much after that. Just Skena…and the strange dream, which now faded into mist. In this other realm, he recalled staring at her; the longer they remained unblinking in that match of wills, the more cat-like her eyes became. His body bucked as a fragment of that vision bubbled up in his thoughts, suddenly so clear, of his making love to Skena. After endless weeks of reliving the horrors of Berwick each night, that had been a most agreeable way to pass the dark hours of sleep. It pushed him to want to claim Skena so he could spend the coming nights discovering the pleasures of her flesh, not just dreaming about her.

“Mayhap…” Guillaume allowed his thought to trail off, the vivid hazel-green eyes watching for Noel’s response to what he was about to say.

“Speak your piece.” Noel soaked a rag in the bowl and then placed the cold cloth to the back of his neck to speed the wakening. “I have never known you to be reticent in saying what bites at your mind.”

“Very well. Mayhap you felt so little pain because Skena took it for you,” his friend suggested, caution touching his voice.

Noel snorted a scoff. “What silliness? No one can take pain for another.”

“I mentioned this to you before, and Damian has spoken of it time and again. I have come to the belief that these Ogilvie women are able to do things you and I would first dismiss. For the better part of a year I have watched them. The experience tends to open my thoughts to accepting they have gifts beyond most mortals.” Guillaume shrugged. “The Highlands are a queer, moody place, Noel. Once you are here for a length, you forget about the world outside of these glens. ’Tis a spot unto itself, far from the boundaries and perceptions of what we have kenned before.”

“Kenned? You begin to sound Scot?” Noel pointed out.

Guillaume turned his palm up. “What can I say? I find I am starting to feel Scot. Feel we belong here. Oh, we must still make token obeisance to Edward to retain what we were given here. But this land, the people…the women get under your skin. They have changed me in the few months I have been here. A change I embrace. ’Tis my sincere desire that Edward bends his mind to the campaign against France, sails there, and leaves the men of Challon alone and forgotten in this valley. Permit us to enjoy this peace we finally discover within these glens. Peace that we deserve…we earned.”

“Peace? Were not Julian and Damian attacked by Scots on the way back from Parliament?”

“Oh, aye. Only Scots—Grant Drummond and Duncan MacThomas—came to their aid. The people in Glen Shane and Glen Eallach accept Julian and Damian. I find them accepting me at Lochshane. Methinks that approval stems from the people knowing their ladies effect change in our hearts.” Guillaume gave him a knowing grin. “Tell me you have not already started to feel it. You know Lady Skena but days, and yet already you are in love with her. That same immediate power was there between Julian and Tamlyn, but she is a hellcat. She had to hiss and spit until Julian soothed her. I wish…”

“Wish?” A shiver rippled up his spine as a fragment of his dream spiked through his blood.
Make a Beltane wish.
Tossing the cloth into the bowl, Noel dismissed the fey bit of nonsense. He moved to his clothing folded upon the bench and began to dress. “Skena insists we waste time upon wishes.”

“And what think you? Has not your deepest yearning been answered in Craigendan? A home of your own, a family…if you so choose? Deny you are in love with the lady.”

“I am not sure of this thing love, a word balladeers sing of so profusely. An elusive creature, at best. Nonetheless, I do feel a bond, a sense of purpose in coming to Craigendan. Fate. Skena is everything I could want in a lady wife, and taking her as such would see me assuming the title of baron on a more level path. As you say, the people shall accept me easier if their lady approves of me. Only…there is more,” Noel ended with a shrug, unable to express how deeply his bond with Skena grew already, how time had little to do with its strength. The specter of fear arose in his mind, concern that this newfound link between them could be shattered like fragile glass if she learnt Angus Fadden had died by his hand.

“I envy that bond. ’Tis the same with Julian and Tamlyn, and now Damian and Aithinne,” Guillaume said wistfully. “Did Damian tell you how he and the Lady Aithinne first met?”

“We did not have much time to speak at Berwick. Hard to find a moment of privacy when all of Scotland was crammed into the castle. Julian and Damian both kept a distance from the women whilst they were in the presence of others. Only someone who knew them well would have been aware they cared for their ladies deeply.”

“They kept wise council. Same as you should remember if you ever come with Lady Skena before Edward. Never allow Edward to see she is valued by you. She then becomes a tool to use against you. You must ask Damian about his ‘courtship’ when you next see him.” Guillaume’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You can also ask him about dreams and wishes. You might find it enlightening.”

“Now that I am awake and my head clear, what is so urgent you broke my sleep?”

“I failed to find my rest so decided to tour of your holding, assess what you need to see it secure here. I walked up to the top of the donjon and happened to catch sight of your lady heading toward the stables. They have built some sort of a pen near the postern gate. She and the old man are down there. The horses are raising a racket, trying to kick down the barn.”

Noel had no time to question him further, as the door burst open and the old woman called Muriel rushed in. Her eyes widened as she saw them both. She did a small dip of deference and then gasped, “Oh, thank our Lady! You are up. You needs must come! Quick! ’Tis Skena…that cork-brain
òinnseach—”

“Òinnseach?”
Noel questioned, reaching for his shirt.

Guillaume chuckled. “A female fool. You hear it spoken about Ogilvie women now and again.”

“What is wrong with Skena?” Noel’s heart rocked with urgency as he searched around for his baldric and found it hanging from a loop in the corner.

“Wolves…” the woman gasped. “The silly female is trying to deal with wolves digging to get in. Fool, she thinks she has to do everything herself. The only help she has is that daft old man and two boys. I have a bad feeling about this. You must hurry.”

Noel started to ask where, but then remembered. Looking at Guillaume, he said, “To the stables.”

“Angus?” His name fell from her lips in a whispered gasp.

Skena’s mind snapped back as the wolves crashed against the postern door, which in turn knocked into her, throwing her off balance. With the door all the way back, she was trapped against it and the opening for the blind. She shoved, trying to slide into protective cover, only the wolves jumped against the door’s plane, again and again, slamming her head to the stone wall. The last time was so hard that pain lanced through her mind. Reaching up, she felt moisture. When she drew her hand back, blood covered her fingers. It appeared black in the moonlight.
Just like that dead wolf’s had in the snow.
Biting back the sense it was an ill omen, she grew aware of voices yelling, but with the wolves snarling and yapping she could not hear what they were shouting.

“Simple, eh?” Skena fought the dizziness brought on by her head hitting the stones. Looking at her trembling hand with the blood smeared on her fingers, she forced herself to take slow breaths to regain control. “I refuse to panic. First, get the door back enough for me to get inside the trap, and then I will continue with my plan…. Just kill a few more wolves than I bargained on. More meat for Cook’s pot.”

Galen and the lads were calling, but she was unsure if that was to lure the wolves away from her, or if they endeavored to drive them out of the pen entirely. One animal screamed, mayhap from catching the end of one of the spears. The growling and barking only increased tenfold after that. Still, it saw an ease of resistance against the metal door.

By pushing with all her might, she was able to rock the door enough for her to see out. The scene petrified her. There were at least seven wolves, but she could not be sure, because they were jumping around, fighting, and attacking the spears. Grays, blacks, and one white, but she took no time to count them as she shoved herself through the narrow slot and into the blind.

As she was almost inside the safety of the blind, the white one turned and lunged at her, his massive jaw clapping on her lower arm. She screamed, seeing blood poured down his neck from a spear wound, soaking his thick fur.
Never leave a wounded animal alive…sometimes, not even a man. ’Tis when they are most dangerous.

While the bite hurt, the mail shirt she wore stopped his sharp teeth from penetrating and reaching her skin. The jaws remained locked on to her arm like a vise. She frantically kicked at his hind legs, but the creature snarled deep in his throat and jerked his head from side-to-side savagely, the force nearly causing her to lose her footing in the snow.

In desperation, Skena grasped at the broadsword, but the strong beast began to drag her out into the pen. As a big black wolf ran foward, preparing to launch toward her, she cried out again, knowing she would not be able to fight off two of them. They would drag her down into the snow. As she struggled to reach the sword, realization hit her that she had no room to wield it since she was up against the doorway. Instead, she clutched at the arrows, finally coming up with two. Jabbing upward, she caught the second wolf in the throat at the last instant, not a deep enough wound to kill, but sufficient to slow his attack. It shrieked and howled, causing another one milling about to turn on him.

A sword descended, slicing downward on the wolf with the arrows protruding from his neck and then the other one fighting with his packmate.
De Servian.
His booted foot slammed into the ribcage of the one hanging on to her arm, causing it finally to release its hold.

Noel grabbed her upper arm and flung her into the blind. “Stay there!” Then he slammed the door shut and turned his attention back to the wolves.

Guillaume tossed Noel a spear, and they began to force the pack to the outer door. Some of the beasts ran, escaping into the predawn darkness. Wounded ones continued to fight. Slowly, the two men backed the animals up enough for Skena to push out behind them. Notching an arrow in the small bow, Skena followed them, careful to nudge the dead wolves on the ground to make certain they had no life in them still.

Half the pack or better was running away, but at least seven were down or dead. One reared up and tried to snap at her booted foot as she pushed at him. She did not hesitate to loose an arrow into his chest.

Noel prodded at one wolf’s snout, driving him out the door. Since the crazed animal was attacking and refused to stop, he could not lower the spear long enough to close the door. He tried once, only to have the animal charge again. Noel was forced to follow the vicious animal. With a strong thrust, he caught the furious beast in the front of its chest and used all his strength to force the animal completely out of the gate.

The creature’s boldness saw two others flanking him move forward, hoping to drag the man down with the pact’s tactics: one would go for one arm, the second the other, leaving the third wolf to lunge for Noel’s throat. Guillaume, seeing what the wolves were doing, pursued Noel, quickly killing the small grey on the right by hurling the spear. Only the pike embedded deep in the animal, and Guillaume was having a hard time pulling it out. He had to put his heel to the wolf’s body to remove it.