Knight Triumphant (11 page)

“Bless you for your mercy, Sir Eric!”

The cries arose, blended, and continued.

He wondered if he was being mocked.

He looked at the faces in the sea of people surrounding him as he moved his horse through them. And there was hope in their eyes, not mockery.

The inner gate opened.

The drawbridge fell.

And he rode out, followed by his men.

As it happened, the four young men decided that, at the least, they would start out riding with the others.

At first, Igrainia was glad. They were a strong foursome.

Then she feared that they might offer the danger that Gregory had foretold.

But each of them seemed so earnest and decent.

Igrainia found herself riding in the lead with one of them, Thayer Miller. And as they spoke, her fears abated.

He told her that his mother was English, his father was dead. They'd worked a small piece of land through Lord Denning, who had chosen to follow Robert Bruce. Not long ago, when the Bruce had gathered men to go against Edward's forces, there had been a slaughter that had become known as Methven, and Lord Denning had been killed. Soon after, English troops had come to the late lord's holdings. Most of the people had escaped to the woods, but the English had slaughtered the pigs and livestock, trampled the fields, and set fire to all the buildings. There had been nothing left to eat, and the promises Lord Denning had made, to teach his promising young tenants the ways of the warrior, were as dead as he and the land that had once been the livelihood for so many. Thayer's mother, surviving with his younger siblings in the poor homestead of an aunt, had given him letters of introduction.

“But, the English destroyed your home and everything you knew,” Igrainia said. “One would think you'd rise against them.”

He looked at her with a rueful smile. “You must understand this. I don't know if Robert Bruce has a right to be king; he followed Edward long enough himself, when it suited his purpose. There were many in the lowlands who supported John Comyn, and though Bruce may have done penance, it seems, if the news that covers the countryside is true, that he murdered Comyn. He struck a blow in the sanctity of a church. Perhaps God is against Bruce for such an act. But what I have heard, thought, and believed, is not really what guides my desire now to reach England. I believe that this country, especially the lowlands, will be torn by war for years to come. If I were to try to remain, I could spend my every waking moment working another's man land, growing crops, raising livestock, and waking again one morning to find that one army or another is coming, and will again slaughter every living thing, raze the buildings, and burn the houses. When I get to England, I will find the right noble to serve, and I will prove myself, as will my friends. Aye, there's much more I need in the way of training, but I have the will to learn. When I've made my place, I will be loyal until the last breath has left my body, and then I will send for my mother, my sisters and brothers, and see that they have a life in which they do not spend their days hiding in the forest, desperately searching for anything that resembles food, just to survive.”

“Perhaps, when we reach London, I can help you,” Igrainia said, touched by his determination to help his family. “We have some letters of introductions, and some friends there,” she added quickly. But he was already watching her with a skeptical smile, and when she furrowed her brow in a frown at the look he gave her, he apologized quickly.

“I'm sorry. I don't believe that you're a poor farm lass, a refugee from the wars,” he said.

“Believe me, I am a refugee,” she said. “And I am as desperate as any man or woman in the lowlands of Scotland to reach London.”

She saw in his face that he had decided not to pry.

“If it's only marriage you're seeking, you need go no further than this party,” he told her.

She frowned again.

“Haven't you seen?”

“I'm sorry, seen what?”

“The younger man with the old folks. Gannet, the brother. He has watched you constantly. Like a great roast, ready to be devoured.”

His words startled Igrainia. She looked back. Far back. Gannet was riding with one of Thayer's friends, the one he had called Reed, she thought, at the far rear of the company. John and Merry rode together, right behind her—just like proper guardians. Behind them, Thayer's two other companions rode with the rest of Anne and Joseph's party. They all seemed to be in conversation.

“I have to get to London,” she told Thayer. “Our new friends certainly seem to be fine enough people, but . . . I have to get to London.”

“And I don't think you're intended for such a man.”

“At this moment . . .”

“At this moment?” Thayer queried.

She shook her head. “I think I'd like time alone more than anything.”

Thayer studied her. “Ah. Well, there is more to your story than you are telling. I think I know the truth. There was a young man . . . probably a knight. And he rode forth to do battle—for one side or the other—and he was killed. And with his death . . . your future has changed. And you're not happy. I'm so sorry. It was someone you loved.”

She arched a brow to him. “All right. There was someone. And it's true. He died. And so, everything is changed.”

As she spoke, Igrainia became aware of a disturbance behind them. John and Merry had reined in and were looking back timorously. Thayer's two companions had already started riding back on the rough trail they had followed, where the others could be heard but not seen because of a twist in the path and the high trees that hedged the road, nearly growing upon it.

“What's going on?” Igrainia called to Merry.

“I don't know—there was a sudden cry from the rear,” John said.

“Someone is in trouble!” Thayer cried out, and he kneed his horse, sending the animal into a swift lope back in the direction from which they had come.

Igrainia started to follow him, but John reached out and caught her horse's bridle. “No, lass, there's something amiss!”

“Has someone ridden up behind us?” she asked fearfully.

“No!” Merry said.

The air was rent by a horrible scream. The others had all moved back, and because of the twist in the trail, could still see nothing.

“John, I must see what has happened. Someone has been hurt!” Igrainia insisted.

She broke free from his hold, and her little horse made amazing speed as she raced back along the way, reining in confusion as she saw that a young man appeared to be the one in danger; he lay on the ground on the path. Anne was down beside him with her sister Lizzie while Joseph and the others hovered at his side. The others had reached his side as well, and were on their knees in the trail, questioning Anne. Thayer had dismounted from his horse.

Igrainia lost no time as well, dismounting from Skye, but even as she did so, she heard another sudden cry. Another of the young men fell to his side, grasping his stomach.

“What is it? Have they been poisoned in some manner?” Igrainia cried out. “Let me closer; perhaps I can help.”

“My God, what is happening to them?” Thayer demanded, now on his knees, reaching for his friend.

“No great mystery!” Anne said with surprising cheer.

“Aye, no mystery!” a voice said from behind Igrainia. “They've been stabbed.”

Igrainia swung around and saw that Gannet stood behind her smiling. She whirled back in time to see Anne slip a knife from the fold of her skirt and strike with alarming speed and determination, shoving the blade of the weapon into Thayer's midsection.

Joseph stepped closer, a huge rock in his hand. As one of the younger men began to attack, the rock was thudded down hard upon his head.

“No!” Igrainia shrieked. “No!”

He fell, joining his fallen companions on the dirt road.

Igrainia saw then that a pool of blood had formed beneath the fallen form, and that it stretched, like a strange band of brotherhood, to Thayer, who had crumpled so close behind him. She marveled at the vicious cunning that had allowed two women to bring down three healthy young males, and the horror of the situation wrapped around her at the same time.

Gannet, she knew, was at her rear.

As much as she had once thought that she cared little for her own life, she knew that she wanted to escape these people and live. She felt a fury burn through her, and a longing for vengeance against these people who were surely planning on murdering her, John, and Merry next.

She couldn't go to the fallen young men; there would be no helping them now. These people outnumbered her and they meant for the men to die. All she could do was preserve her own life.

She felt Gannet about to reach for her; she didn't need to turn. Each member of their party had positioned themselves perfectly to bring this about.

She didn't turn and she didn't hesitate. With a sudden spurt of speed she raced the few steps to her horse and leaped into the saddle.

Gannet was instantly behind her, reaching for the bridle. She freed her foot from the stirrup and kicked him with all her might, aiming high for his face. He released the bridle, crying out and grabbing for his eye. She kneed Skye and the little horse reared a foot off the ground, found her footing, and started out.

Igrainia saw John and Merry in the path before her. “Run!” she shouted. “Run your horses, run now!”

John heard the urgency in her voice; he said something to Merry and the two moved their horses.

They were not mounts bred for speed.

But neither was Skye, though she gave good effort.

But as Igrainia rode, she heard the horse coming from behind her. She felt the thunder of hooves, and the menace that nearly hovered over her.

A moment later, she risked a glance, and saw that Gannet was at her side.

“Stop!” he shouted. “We intend you no harm. You'll come with us; we'll make you one of us. Stop, and you'll not need a blacksmith's son; we'll make you far richer. I'll make you my wife.”

Her glance of horror must have assured him that she would accept no such fate.

She flattened herself against Skye, trying to allow the little horse a greater speed.

But Gannet captured the horse's bridle, and as they dangerously twisted and turned on the path, the mare was forced to slow her gait, and Gannet hurled his own form from his horse to hers, knocking them both to the ground.

They struggled in the dirt, and she remembered that the knife Rowenna had given her was lodged against her shoe.

She kicked, scratched and struggled until she had freed herself from his weight, then reached beneath the skirt for her knife. She sprang to her feet as Gannet did. He was ready to leap upon her again, to bring her down, when he saw the weapon gleaming in her hand.

“A frisky one, eh? And you think you're going to stab me?”

He circled around her, apparently amused.

She knew that in minutes, his companions would be behind them. She had to escape him now, before the rest of his murderous crew could reach them.

She lunged at him, bringing forth a startled cry as her knife ripped through his shoulder.

He grasped at the wound, stared at the blood that covered his hand, then looked at her anew, fury in his eyes.

“Now . . . now, you'll suffer!” he promised her.

As he stared at her and she stood, poised and ready to strike and fly, she became aware of the sound of hoofbeats on the road behind them. His companions were coming fast now. Any second they would be upon them.

She lunged again.

This time, she caught the man in his midsection. But his force against her was great, and they both went crashing back to the ground.

He managed to keep his weight heavy on her, and though she brought her knife up again, he caught her wrist with both hands, and exerted such pressure against her to release the knife that she screamed in pain.

Yet held on.

She twisted, bringing up a knee against his groin. He rolled to his side, bellowing in pain but still maintaining his deadly grasp upon her wrist. She lashed out with her feet, but he rolled again, leaning half his now bloodied form against her.

She clawed at his wrists with her free hand, bringing her nails desperately into his flesh. He swore, cursing at her with a fury.

The hoofbeats came near . . .

Stopped.

She could see nothing, but she knew that at any second, he would have help with his companions at his side, aiding him.

She couldn't see. There was now too much road mud and dust in her eyes, and she could only stay locked with Gannet, fighting to the end.