Knight Triumphant (31 page)

She had caused this. It was her fault. She knew that she goaded Eric when she purposely sought out his cousin, when she teased him, laughed with him. And she had thought that he hadn't noticed, or if he had, that he hadn't cared. She was the prize he had married on order of a king, and the prize that he slept with at night. A woman that he
didn't dislike,
yet for whom he felt no real emotion.

Suddenly, Jamie was backing away as Eric came on with blow after blow after blow which it seemed that Jamie was barely defending.

Eric seemed to move like lightning, bringing on such an assault that Jamie was sent down to his knee, his shield jerking with the heavy fall of Eric's sword.

Jamie would die!
She thought.

And his blood would be on her hands.

Igrainia turned from the window and raced across the room. She didn't notice who was in the hall, if anyone. She tore along the hall, down the stairs, through the great hall, and the entry, and out to the courtyard. A group of men were circled around the combatants; she had to push her way through them. As she burst through, Jamie raised his shield just in time for Eric's sword to pound against it with a ringing that rent the air. Both men fell back. And as they did, she raced the last few steps to where Eric stood, throwing herself against him as he prepared to raise the massive weapon once again.

“Stop!” she cried. “Please, stop!”

She couldn't see his face for the visor. Beneath mail and plate, she felt the tension of muscle in his body, and for a wild moment, thought that he would hurl her aside and continue his assault.

“Stop, you idiot! He's your kinsman, and you're going to kill him!”

Eric's sword and shield fell into the dirt. He raised the visor on his helmet. She saw his eyes, and would have backed away, except that his gloved fingers curled into the hair at her nape. “You little fool! You might have been killed.”

By then, Jamie, too, had dropped his sword and shield, and raised his visor. He strode closer to where the two of them stood, a smile on his lips. “Igrainia, what is this?”

“Evidently, Jamie,” Eric said, and the fingers in her hair tightened, “she feared for your life,” he said lightly. “Igrainia, I believe, was of the opinion that you and I were trying to do one another in.”

She was aware that they had an audience, all of Eric's men around them, all of those who were entering into training as men-at-arms. And aware that she had made a serious mistake.

Eric never released his hold on her, but turned to the gathered men. “And there you have it, good fellows. Knowing your opponent's move, and using your shield to deflect a blow while planning your next strike. It's a pity, of course, that most often on a battlefield, there will be no gentle lady to come flying between you and the promise of death, if you don't learn both offensive and defensive moves. Part of the battle is in practice and strength, and a great deal in the mind, and in intuition. We'll end here for the evening.”

A cheer went up suddenly, as if they had been performing some entertainment. Jamie dramatically took a bow. And then the men began to disperse.

Eric's hold hadn't lessened a bit.

“I apologize for the interruption in your quest to teach men to bash one another to pieces,” she murmured, wanting nothing more than to be away at that moment. She winced, feeling the tension in him increase. “I saw you from above. It appeared . . .”

“As if we were at one another's throats?” Jamie asked. “Of course, you realize now, we were teaching defensive techniques,” he said very softly. He caught her hand, drew it to his lips, kissed it. “I thank you for the rush you made down here to save my life.”

Embarrassed, unnerved, she withdrew her hand quickly.

“Amazing, she didn't in the least fear for
my
life,” Eric informed Jamie.

“Indeed,” Jamie said, mock affront added to his tone, “apparently, she doesn't believe that I'd be the victor in this fight.”

“Nor does she realize that kinsmen such as we never take up arms against one another,” Eric reasoned, his voice casual. She thought that there was so much more to that statement.
We do not take up arms against one another . . . and never, never, would, over you.

“Never, we fight but one enemy,” Jamie told her gravely.

“Of course,” she said, only a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “Again, I beg pardon for the interruption. I'll leave you alone to return to your play-acting and mock battle.”

“It's never play-acting, Igrainia. Learning is life or death,” Jamie said.

“Then you must excuse me, and resume,” Igrainia said. Dear God, did she want Eric to let her go! She wanted to crawl into the ground. At best, be alone. Anywhere. Away from the laughter that Eric was surely feeling, along with his anger, that she should begin to presume that they might have fought over her.

“The light is dying, the session is over,” Eric said curtly. “We're done here now.”
Because of you.

She was released at last as he stooped to retrieve his sword and shield. She glanced at Jamie, who seemed touched and amused and sympathetic, then quickly took advantage of her freedom. “Again, I apologize.”

She turned to start briskly for the hall.

“Igrainia,” Eric said, and she halted, turning back slowly.

“You speak so scathingly of this training. Perhaps, were you to see some of these people under attack on a battlefield, you would not be so contemptuous. The time will come when they will need these techniques against men more than willing to hack them to pieces.”

“Once more, I beg your pardon,” she managed to say, and she turned and walked swiftly with all the dignity she could muster. Men still lingered about the courtyard, removing bits of their accouterments, stopping at the well for water, or simply dipping their faces in the trough, for though the day was pleasant, they were dusty and sweaty with exertion.

Thayer hailed her; she hadn't seen him in some time, and as he walked to her with an eager smile, she was forced to stop and acknowledge him.

“Thayer! Healed and at practice, I see. Are you well?”

“Very well, my lady. In fact, I wanted to say how grateful I am to you.”

She was startled. “Grateful?”

“First, I'm not sure if I ever really thanked you for my life, after that vicious attack we all suffered upon the road. Thank you for all you did to heal wounds that might well have become infected and killed me, as the cutthroats came so close to doing. And second, for speaking on behalf of me and of Timothy and Brandon. Seeing that we were brought to Langley. These great fellows here might as well have cut us down on the road where we lay—after all, we were heading for England. I've never been happier. Learning so much. And being here. And believing that we can fight for Scotland, and honor our rightful king.”

“I really did nothing; you proved your own value and mettle here,” she murmured, aware that Eric was not far behind her.

“You gave the three of us life—and a chance at a future,” he insisted.

“I'm pleased if I've done anything for you,” she murmured, wishing to be away.

“And you were quite beautiful, you know, flying into the midst of battle like that.”

“She was quite stupid,” Eric said, approaching them from behind. “She might have been killed. Had either of us swung with her between us, it would have impossible to stop the weight of the sword. Thayer, get rest this evening, the time is coming closer when you'll need all you've learned. My lady, come, you can help me with the buckles on the plate, and to shed this coat of mail.”

He didn't touch her, but proceeded toward the hall.

“God bless you, lady,” Thayer said, and bowed, and turned away, expecting that she would be pleased to follow Eric. “We would all die for you, you know.”

“That is kind, Thayer. I pray you are never called upon for such a sacrifice,” she said, hoping that Eric had not heard the last.

But he must have. He turned back impatiently, “Igrainia!”

With little choice, and enormous dread, she followed him.

She didn't think that he really needed her help; his helmet and visor were cast aside when she reached the room, just seconds behind him. But he took a seat in the chair before the fire and beckoned to her as she came into the room. “Come. You're so taken with swords and mail. Help with the shoulder plates.”

“I don't believe you really require my assistance.”

“But I would so like you to render it.”

She walked across the room, determined that she was going to stay in cool control. The shoulder plates he wore were attached over the mail with heavy leather straps and metal buckles. She undid the first buckle, and was startled by the weight of the plate that fell into her hands. She managed not to drop it, and placed it on the floor by his side. He didn't speak, and neither did she, though she was aware of the brooding look in his eyes as he watched her.

The second plate lay by the first. She started to remove the chest plate. His hand caught hers, and he spoke softly. “You had best thank God, Igrainia, that your words, when you plowed into me, were not heard by the men.”

“My words? That you should not kill your kin?”

“No, madam. Those words in which you referred to me as an idiot.”

“And if they had been heard? What would you have done?”

“Beat you, of course,” he said gravely. “It would be required, for me to keep my dignity among my men. I can never lose their respect.”

Her fingers froze where they lay against plate. He had spoken matter-of-factly, and with a full explanation. And still, she wasn't at all certain that she believed him. She had never seen him be anything but gentle with any woman in his contact. Except, of course, with her. It was an admirable quality she could grudgingly accord him. He was aware of his great strength, and because of it, was well able to afford to offer mercy. A virtue she had seen over time.

“I acted as I felt I must at the time,” she said. And pretending not to be affected by his words, she continued with the task, trying to keep her fingers from trembling.

“Take care with the level of confidence and power you are feeling,” he warned.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I'm sure you do. Since it seems there are those who are more than willing to die for you.”

“I hadn't even spoken with Thayer in a very long time.”

“Thayer has reason to be grateful to you, and he is young and idealistic. And I'm not referring to Thayer.”

“Then . . . what?”

“First, my lady, you should be aware that Jamie and I are cousins, with the honor of a name between us, and a deep friendship formed through years that were often filled with hardship and battle. He would never betray me, in any way, and it would be amusing that you might believe that you could bring us to blows, if it were not such a serious matter. Second, I'm well aware of your determination to charm every one of my men—especially Jamie. I'm not blind, nor am I deaf, and I have noted your antics in the hall. The men, however, are not aware that you are not equally charming in the time we talk alone, and therefore, you've appeared to be no more than gracious. I've let you play your game, since it's caused no harm, and it has seemed to give you a twisted pleasure. But you must be aware—not a man here will ever defy me in any matter regarding you, no matter how many you believe would lie down and die for you, and no matter what you have set out to do.”

She drew away from him, feeling a rush of blood to her face, and turned to the fire. “I have not set out to do anything. Thayer and his friends were good, decent men, which you discovered yourself. He meant to protect me, and I was in his debt when I did my best to keep his wounds from infection. And as to your cousin . . . I speak with Jamie because I like him.”

“That was evident this afternoon. But you needn't fear for him—he's one of the finest swordsmen I have ever known.”

“So, could he have taken you down?” she inquired politely, turning back to meet his eyes.

“Are you hopeful?” he inquired.

“Curious, no more.”

He walked away from her, removing the heavy chest plate, and then the mail, without faltering beneath the weight. As he laid out the heavy coat of mail, she started across the room again, afraid that he was far more angry than his manner and words betrayed.

“I'll leave you to your privacy, and go on down to the hall,” she murmured.

“No. I'm covered in sweat and mud. Summon Jarrett for me, and ask that the bath be brought.”

She hesitated at the door, her back to him. “Certainly. I will ask him on my way down.”

“No.”

She turned uneasily, watching him.

He stripped off the coat of padding he wore beneath the mail. The linen shirt he wore beneath was nearly plastered to his chest. “No,” he said. “You will not go down, not as yet.”

He was some distance from her, still by the fire. Maybe a sense of resentment, and maybe the tone of his voice brought about her challenging query.

“Why not? I am certainly not going to rise and try to go running from a room filled with your trustworthy men. And nothing that I do influences anyone, so you need have no fear of my behaving in any way to upset you or bring on battle.”

“You won't go down just yet . . . simply because I would like you to remain here.”

“You would like me to remain here? Or you order me to remain here? If I walk out of this room now, will someone drag me back at your command?”

“If you want to find out, take your chances.”

He strode to the door where she stood, hands on hips, a half-smile that offered no real amusement curled into his lips.

“Well?” he said softly.

“If I walk out the door, someone is going to drag me back,” she murmured.

“Possibly, and if so, it will likely be me. So?”

She allowed her gaze to fall from the top of his damp hair to his feet, the grime of battle practice heavy on him.

“So?” he repeated softly.

She raised her chin in an expression of distaste.

“You would ruin my clothing with the least touch,” she murmured. Back against the door, she slid a distance from her stance before him, then brushed by and walked back to the fire, taking the chair between it and the bed.