The Selkie’s Daughter (6 page)

The same heart that would break when he left.

Fearing he had already gone without saying his farewell, she swung her mantle around her shoulders and rushed outside to the byre.  When she heard his voice inside, she breathed again.  Until that instant, she had not known she had been holding it.  She paused outside the door that was cracked open, wondering who he was talking to.

Moving so she could see inside, without being seen, she watched as he used a handful of hay to rub down the grey stallion.  The horse’s hide rippled with delight at the tender care.  To express his joy, he put his head against Rhys arm and nuzzled him.  It was clear how deeply the man and animal were bonded.

“Sorry,
Spirit
.  I know the lodgings are not what you are accustomed to.  But a few more days and then I should be strong enough to ride out of here.  Challon speaks of Glenrogha as a wonderful place.  I am sure you will find plenty of brazen mares there to keep you occupied come spring.”

Annys brushed the stray tear that trickled down her cheek away with the sleeve of her sark. 
His words were a dagger to her heart.
  She had known his leaving was inevitable, but being a stupid, silly woman, her heart had not listened.  Nothing wondrous or magical had happened.  His coming only showed her just how empty her life would be when he was gone.

She stepped inside.  “You should be resting, Rhys.  Your body still has much healing to do.”

“Thank you for mending my clothing.  I fear the pack horse with my other belongings is likely never to be found.”  He petted the horse’s neck and then held out a handful of hazelnuts to him.

“Please come inside.  So far you have had no fever, but you should not risk it.”

He came to her and kissed the tip of her nose.  “You cared for me well.  I am able to walk already without too much pain.  I needed to see for myself that
Spirit
fared well.”  Taking hold of her hand, he slid something on it.  “Tis a token of my esteem.”

“There is no need.”

“Yes, there is.  Do you know what today is?”

“You are leaving?” she replied, trying to mask her sadness.

“Today is Christmas.  I do not have any gift to give you, and there is no repaying you for the care you gave.  So I made you a ring from my hair.”

Annys glanced down to see the braided hair encircling her middle finger on her left hand.  Her heart felt like a fist was squeezing it.  “’Tis a wonderful present, Rhys.  I thank you.  I have naught to give you.  When you are gone, it will give me something to remember you by.”  She desperately tried to hide the emotions inside, but it was too painful.

“Are you so eager to be rid of me?” he asked with a teasing laugh.

She shrugged.  “Nay, but I know the day will come.”

He nodded, “Yes, I suppose I needs must make my way to Glenrogha soon.  Howbeit, I wish that you––”

Whatever he had been able to say was left hanging in the air, as he pushed her aside and pulled his long sword from the scabbard of his saddle.  Then she heard what he did:
riders.

Rhys was in no condition to wield the mighty sword.

They stood inside the shed watching as seven men mounted upon palfreys filled the small clearing.  No one carried a banner to identify them.  They were a hard-bitten lot.  Not knights, maybe hobelars, lightly armed men who were little more than mounted foot soldiers.

“Stay in here, Rhys, I will deal with them.”  Annys did not want these men to ken Rhys de Valyer’s presence.  “’Tis likely someone seeking aid from Hagatha.  No one kens she is gone yet.”

“Or ’tis the men who waylaid my party,” he countered, trying to push her behind him.  Rhys stepped to the doorway, his sword held before him.  “You are far from the travelled roads.  What brings you here?”

“We seek the old witch.  There is a need for her healing skills,” the man in the center returned.

Annys’s heart dropped.  There was no question about it.  “Rhys,” she said lowly, “he is the man I was betrothed to.  ’Tis been over ten years, but I shall never forget that face, his voice.”

Rhys stepped in front of her body, once more, trying to shield her.  “The old woman died several moons past,” he informed them.

“Our laird sickens.  He needs a healer.  Is there no other?  I was told a girl lives with her.  Mayhap she can come,” Breathan Laidlaw pressed.

Annys prepared to step forward and confront the man who had spurned her, but Rhys pushed her back with his left arm.

“There is no girl here.  She must have run away after the old woman died.  My wife and I sought shelter here from the storm.  No one else has been around.  We were lucky to find peats stacked in the shed and were able to ride out the snow and wind.”

Annys gave a small gasp. 
Wife?
  What sort of nodcock was he?  Mayhap he had no idea to declare before others that they were married was as binding as if he stood before a priest and spoke the words.

“I regret your trip was for naught.  I would ride hard to get out of these woods before night falls.  It comes so early in this Northland.  We came upon what looked like a fight…bodies, packs strewn.  Another reason we took shelter here.  Clearly, the roads are not safe in these troubled times.”

“Oh, aye.  A fair warning to heed.  We found the same, and wondered who was traveling this far north.  We looked to see if we could find any survivors, but no soul survived that we could see.”  Breathan leaned in the saddle trying to see past Rhys.  “Wouldst your lady wife perchance be learned in the healing arts?  I am desperate to find someone to ease my father’s passing.”

One stout man with red hair leaned to Breathan.  Annys could not hear his words, but his mouth clearly formed the words, “That be him.”  He reached to the side of his saddle where he had a crossbow slung.  He leaned over and grabbed it.

“My lady, step out from behind your husband please, so we may speak,” Breathan asked, but it was more of a demand than a request.

Rhys hand tightened on her arm, telling her to stay put.  She had to stop this now.  The man with the crossbow could put a bolt into Rhys heart from this distance, and there was nothing to stop him.  Rhys wasn’t even wearing mail.

Ignoring the caution, she pushed by him.  Breathan’s face seemed smug, but then changed to confusion and finally to a smile.  It was not one of joy.  “Well, well…I do believe ’tis Annys Bràigheach.”

She saw Rhys trying to hide his anger and worry.  He knew the situation was beyond his control, knew the redheaded man held the crossbow on his lap.  His sword was no defense against it.

“So the Selkie bitch found a husband?”  Breathan’s handsome face failed to hide the cruelty he held inside.  “Well, perhaps your Fae blood carries some magic.  Come with me to the fortress and my men will spare your husband.”

“No!”  Rhys growled.

Annys hated Breathan and would never go anywhere with him, but to save Rhys, she would sacrifice her life.  “If you give your word…” She hated asking for it, because she would never trust anything coming from his mouth.  But what choice did she have?  They would kill Rhys before her eyes if she resisted.  “…that he will be unharmed, I will come with you.”

Rhys stepped blocking her in the byre.  He said lowly, “You cannot go with him, Annys.  Those are the men who killed my soldiery, nearly killed me.”

She looked up into the amber eyes and gave him a brave smile.  “’Tis all right, Rhys de Valyer.”  Her thumb worried the braided hair ring on her middle finger.  She raised up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his cheek.  “All will be fine.”

“Annys, no!”  Rhys’s face was drawn with warrior’s helplessness.  He knew Breathan’s men would cut him down in a heartbeat.  “You cannot.  They will kill me anyway,” he argued lowly enough so the words did not reach the riders.

For a moment, Annys was lost in his amber gaze.  In that breath, she knew she loved Rhys de Valyer, knew that giving her life for his would not cause her hesitation.  That silly dream floated through her mind that something wondrous and magical would happen to her.  Well, it had.  She had fallen in love with the warrior she found half-dead in the storm.  Standing here, she realized she knew so little about him, yet she sensed he was a good man, an honorable man.  The difference between Rhys and Breathan was stark.

“Come, Annys.  I give my word your warrior will go unharmed.”

Annys touched her fingertips to his lips, silencing his protests.  She lost sight of the men on horseback as her vision blurred. 
She could only see Rhys
.  He was so heartbreakingly beautiful, the curls on his forehead stirred by the morning breeze, as this moment spun out, a shard of time when she knew love and how valuable the emotion was.

“Stay safe,” she whispered, and started out of the barn.

Rhys let out an inhuman howl and lunged to grab her.

Everything happened at once.  Rhys jumping to catch hold of her, at the precise instant the redheaded man let loose a bolt from the crossbow.  Annys screamed and had to blink thrice for the arrow did not go into Rhys, but seemed magically to embed in the redhead instead.  He reeled from the impact of the arrow to his chest and spun wildly in his saddle, upsetting the other horses near him.  In shock, Annys spun around to see Rhys was unharmed.  The bolt fired at him had missed and was lodged in the wood of the byre door.  Someone else had fire another arrow at the same time.  But who?

Rhys dragged Annys back to the protection of the barn. 

She was still wondering who had loosed the arrow on Breathan’s men.  So did they.  The horses were agitated and it took most of the men’s attention to not be tossed.  Unexpectedly, more riders charged into the small clearing.  Not tame palfreys, but monstrous destriers, and upon their backs, bearded knights.  They rode to circle the back of Breathan’s men, who unslung their crossbows, only to find the knights armed with crossbows and swords.  They rode under a standard of a green dragon on a field of deepest black.  The one next to the leader had a morning star, a one-handed flail, and he rode toward the redhead and sent the ball flying through the air.  The man never stood a chance; the metal spikes ripped through his head like hitting a gourd.

The others raised their weapons, but the leader called out, “Hold!  Else my men will cut you down like wheat.” 

Breathan’s men looked to him, then to each other, all clearly knowing they were outmatched.  These were well-trained knights, fully armed and on powerful horses of war, not some ragtag pack of brigands.  A couple lowered their weapons, fear on their faces.  Two dropped the crossbows to the ground.

“Watch them.  If a bloody single one of them moves for his weapon, cut them down.”  The leader reined his horse to where he could walk him to Breathan.  “I am seeking one of our own.  Four days passing one of our squires found way to Glennashane with tides that his party was attacked.  I am seeking their commander.”

Rhys ordered, “Stay here,” and then stepped outside.

The tall, handsome knight with blue-black hair turned partially in the war saddle when he spotted Rhys.  “Ah, the very man I speak of.  Well-come to Scotland, Sir Rhys.”

Annys ignored the command to remain inside the byre, and followed him out.  The black headed knight’s brows lifted in surprise at seeing her.

“Good morn, my lady.  I be Sir Guillaume Challon, baron of Glennashane and brother to the Black Dragon.”

Once more, a ripple of fear ran through Breathan’s men, their eyes looking around for a path to escape.

“Well-come to Rowenwood, Baron, but I am no lady, I am…”

Rhys stood against her back.  “She is my wife.”  His clear tone said he would brook no opposition in the matter.

Sir Guillaume smiled to cover his surprise.  “Ah, I was not informed…
ah
…your bride was so comely, Sir Rhys.”

Breathan’s face darkened in anger.  “He lies!  She is not his.  I was betrothed to Annys Bràigheach when she was two and ten.  She ran away and I have been searching for her ever since.  It was affeared the wolves had gotten her.”

Guillaume flashed a toothy grin.  “I likely would have run from you as well.  ’Tis a bit of a muddle, eh?  Rhys is knight to my lord brother, and a man of honor.  If he says our Annys is his, then I am of certainty Challon will heed his words.  You have proof of this claim, a charter, Breathan Laidlaw?”

It had been so long, Annys doubted any trace of their betrothal existed, but she suspected that Breathan would not speak the truth.

“I am sure the charter is at the fortress of Dunaig…somewhere,” he replied.

Sir Guillaume tilted his head in consideration.  “That is good, then.  You can send one of your men to fetch it.  You will accompany us back to Glenrogha, and Challon shall rule on who Lady Annys belongs to.”

“She is
my
wife,” Rhys insisted.

Guillaume offered him a reassuring smile.  “Then, all will be well.  Challon rules his holdings well.”

Rhys approached the two men.  “Guillaume, may I borrow your gauntlet?”

The sinfully handsome man slowly removed the leather glove, with deft and precise movements, and then held it out to Rhys.  “At your service.”

Rhys took the black leathern gauntlet and moved to stand by Breathan.  He stared at the other man, not saying a word.  Breathan glared back, but Annys saw the coward lurking in his blue eyes.