My Valiant Knight Read online

  “A prisoner canna be expected to be, all that is courteous and cheerful,” Ainslee said.

  “You are no prisoner, mistress, but a hostage,” Gabel replied.

  “There is some difference?” The man nodded as she rose to her feet, and she added, “Weel, I fear it eludes me. I will tend to Ronald now.”

  Gabel watched her walk away, then ordered a man to fetch their horses and the other men before looking at Justice. “The lady has a sharp tongue. How fares your shoulder?”

  “Whatever the girl did has served to ease the pain,” Justice replied. “ ’Tis naught to concern yourself with. I have had far worse than this, although it grieves me to have suffered it at the hands of such a tiny lady.” He weakly returned Gabel’s grin.

  “A storm still brews,” Gabel murmured aloud, scowling at the sky. “We must find some shelter soon.”

  “We must tell them where shelter lies,” Ronald said as Ainslee helped him sit up.

  “I care little if the Normans suffer a true battering by the weather,” Ainslee muttered.

  “Nor do I, but we are now in their grasp, and we shall suffer with them. We both ken that a Highland storm can be both fierce and dangerous. I dinna want us to sit out in it.”

  Ainslee sat beside Ronald as he called to the leader of the men and told the Norman where they could all find some shelter. She suffered from an uncomfortable mixture of anger and sadness. It puzzled her that she felt no fear. A twinge of self-disgust rippled over her as she wondered if that lack was because she found the Norman knight far too handsome for her own good.

  She quickly shook aside that thought. He could easily have killed her, yet had clearly made an effort not to hurt her. She also could have been well used by him and his men by now, yet not one man had made a lustful advance toward her. Ainslee was not fool enough to think that meant that her virtue was safe, but she was growing confident that she would not be used as some communal whore. That bone-chilling fear was rapidly fading. Somehow she had realized that from the start. When she recalled her decision to take her own life if she was threatened by rape, she grimaced in self-mockery. When the Norman stepped up to her, she could tell by his dark expression that she had not succeeded in hiding all of her thoughts.

  “Why do you look so forlorn, mistress?” he asked.

  “ ’Tis merely that I have had to confront my own cowardice,” she replied as she stood up and walked to her horse.

  Gabel kept pace with her and shook his head. “You are no coward, mistress. No man here would question your bravery. You faced me with all the courage any man could hope to show.”

  She knew he was speaking the highest flattery, but it did little to raise her spirits. “I am alive.”

  “It would have been more courageous to die?”

  “Mayhaps. At least in death my honor would remain untouched. I made a vow, ye see. If dishonor threatened, I would take my own life. Instead I but talk myself out of feeling threatened. I dinna have the courage to honor my own vow.”

  “Dishonor does not threaten.”

  “Nay? And whose word am I to put my trust in? I ken ye not.”

  Gabel flushed a little as he realized he had neglected to introduce himself. “I am Sir Gabel de Amalville, and the man you skewered is my cousin and sergeant-at-arms, Sir Justice Luten. And I should not need to remind you that suicide is a mortal sin. You would be denied a resting place in consecrated ground.”

  “The MacNairns have been excommunicated. I dinna think I can rest in consecrated ground anyway.”

  “If your father would cease his lawless ways, that would quickly change.”

  “My father was born into a lawless land, and a lawless man seeded him. I dinna think some French guest of our king will cause Duggan MacNairn to change his ways.”

  “I am no guest, but an anointed knight of the king, and will soon hold my own lands.”

  Before Ainslee could reply, a low rumble rolled across the sky. “ ’Tis a pleasant conversation, m’laird, but I fear it must end, or we shall never find shelter ere that storm begins.”

  She swung up into her saddle, scowling down at him when he grasped the reins as she reached for them. A quick glance toward the others revealed Ronald and Justice being settled on hastily prepared litters, despite their protests that they did not need such coddling. Ronald could not escape now, and she could not leave him behind. He was a poor man, and her father would never ransom him. Ronald could be in grave danger once the Normans discovered how worthless a hostage he was. She looked back at Gabel and knew he did not really trust her to stay with them once he released the reins.

  “Mayhaps you should ride with me,” Gabel said, his tone indicating that was an order not a request.

  “I willna try to escape. Ye hold my dearest friend,” she replied.

  “Who would undoubtedly cheer if you should manage to slip my grasp.”

  “Undoubtedly. Howbeit, I didna heed his urgings to flee ere ye stumbled upon us, and I willna leave him now. Aye, especially not now that I have seen how poorly ye tend the wounded.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she halted his words by adding, “So, if ye willna allow me to ride alone, then I think ye should ride with me.”

  “Nay, I willna allow you to ride about alone,” he drawled.

  She ignored his mocking of her speech, despite how it irritated her. “Then ride with me. I ken the way we must go, and my mount is verra surefooted.”

  “Your companion told me how to find the place.”

  “Then ye will be able to see if I try to lead you in the wrong direction.” When he swung up behind her, she glanced at the brown arms encircling her waist, then at the strong, bare thigh touching hers. “I pray ye havena lost your clothes, Sir de Amalville, for ye will be in sore need of them when the rain starts.”

  He chuckled, then called to his men to follow, and Ainslee immediately decided that riding two in the saddle with this man had not been a good idea. His warm breath stroked her hair, and the feel of it stirred something to life deep inside of her. As they rode, his legs brushed against hers, increasing that newborn feeling, until she recognized it for what it was—lust. Her body was responding to the proximity of his with alarming haste, greed, and ill judgement.

  She inwardly cursed. It was a poor time for her womanly desires to spring to life. Gabel de Amalville now held her prisoner. He had said that she would not be dishonored, but they had been speaking of rape. He had not sworn not to seduce her and, if he sensed her interest, he could well try and lure her to his bed. The feelings now running through her body told her that he could probably succeed. It would not taint his honor if she went to his bed willingly. Since she had never felt attracted to a man before, she did not know how to control the wanting she now suffered, and now was a very poor time to try and learn such lessons.

  A moment later she silently scolded herself for being vain. She had not spent very many moments of her life fighting off the unwanted attentions of men. There was no reason this man should crave what no other man had. The cajoling voice in her head gently reminding her that she had had little contact with men aside from those within her own family, did not ease her self-castigation by much.

  The chill touch of rain on her face yanked her from her musings, and she frowned up at the sky. “I dinna believe the rain will be kind and wait until we reach the shelter we seek.”

  Gabel also scowled up at the sky. “We are not far from it, if your companion spoke the truth.”

  “He did. Ronald has no desire to weather a Highland storm in the open.” She glanced down at his leg, and smiled faintly when she noticed the bumps raised on his skin by the increasingly cold wind and the damp. “Ye will soon sorely regret your lack of covering.”

  “You are most concerned about my state of undress, mistress. Does it trouble you?”

  “Only in that I have no wish to nurse even more Normans.”

  “A little wetting will not cause me to fall ill. It will but wash away the dust.”

  “
A warm, French rain may weel be so refreshing, Sir Gabel. Howbeit, this is a Highland rain, and ’tis late in the year. This rain will push the cold through your flesh to your verra bones.”

  “Then nudge your mount to a greater speed. The hill we plan to hide in is but a short trot from here.”

  “My horse shouldna be made to endure such a trial. He is unused to carrying such weight.”

  “This huge beast could carry two fully armed knights upon his strong back and little notice it.” Gabel patted the animal’s side.

  “Aye, when he hasna already been ridden for hours and forced to flee a pack of French reivers.”

  “I am no reiver. Once we are in our shelter, sitting round a warm fire, we will talk. You will soon learn that I am no reiver, once you come to know me.”

  That was the very last thing Ainslee wished to do. It was proving difficult to ignore the allure of his body and handsome face. He was dangerously attractive. She dreaded thinking of how much that allure could deepen if she began to know the man, to respect or even like him. As she reined in by the mouth of the cave they sought, Ainslee prepared herself to face an ordeal—fending off Sir Gabel’s attempts to charm her, to make her forget that she was a prisoner, and lead her to falsely believe that she could ever be anything more.

  Three

  “My cousin needs no more tending, mistress,” Gabel said as he stepped up next to Ainslee.

  Ainslee gave a slight start, then cursed the tension that caused her to be so obviously uneasy. She had been purposely avoiding Sir Gabel from the moment they had entered the cave, barely escaping the sudden downpour of rain. The last thing she wished to do was to sit near him around a fire, talking and learning all about him. There was a look on his handsome face which told her that he suspected that she was trying to elude him, and she inwardly grimaced, silently cursing herself for a coward.

  “I was stitching his wound. It needed closing,” she murmured, and struggled against flushing guiltily beneath the sardonic look he cast her way.

  “You could have sewn together a full court gown by now, m’lady.” He grasped her by the arm and tugged her over to the fire. “You must warm yourself and partake of some of our food and wine.”

  “I should look to see how Ronald fares,” she protested, pulling lightly against his grip.

  “The man fares no worse than he did when you last crouched by his side. Sit,” he ordered, nudging her down by the fire.

  Ainslee sat, but rebelled enough to glare at the chuckling men who also shared the fire’s warmth. It annoyed her when her anger only amused them more. She said nothing as she accepted, with ill grace, the bread and cheese offered to her. The cautioning voice in her head, which warned her against scorning her good luck in being captured by such apparently kind and good-humored men, was one she easily ignored. If these men were so kind and honorable, they would release her and Ronald.

  “The fare is not to your liking?” Gabel smiled faintly when she glowered at him even as she accepted a second thick slice of bread.

  “ ’Tis rather fine food to take upon a raid,” she said between bites.

  “This was no raid, but a righteous vengeance sought by an angry king.” When she simply continued to stare at him with open anger, he continued, “I always carry good food and drink with me when I begin a foray. It does not last long, of a certain, but I see no need to waste time foraging, simply because I do not carry adequate or palatable supplies. Foraging, taking whatever is at hand to feed my men, troubles me some as well, for ’tis too often the poor who suffer.”

  “A laudable sentiment, m’laird, but it doesna stop you, does it?”

  “Nay, my ill-tempered lady, it does not. My men must eat.”

  She took a long drink from the wineskin he held out to her, then made a soft scornful noise as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Your men could eat well, aye, better and more often, if ye stayed at home.”

  Since he could understand the testiness she revealed, Gabel found it an easy thing to ignore. “That is impossible, and I believe you may have the wit to realize that.”

  “How kind of ye to say so,” she muttered, and fought to ignore the charm of his brief smile.

  “I am a knight who has pledged himself and his sword to the king. I do not believe the king asked for my pledge so that I could skulk inside of my castle walls and do naught.”

  It did not improve Ainslee’s mood at all to find herself agreeing with him. If she was to hold onto her anger, he had to be boorish, irritating, even dimwitted. Instead, he spoke calmly and with a quiet reason she could not fault. He answered her sullen remarks with an almost friendly courtesy. Protecting herself against that somber, subtle charm was not going to be easy. In fact, when she met his dark gaze and realized that he was speaking to her in a way few men would speak to a woman, nearly as an equal and as if she actually had some wits, she knew he could easily prove to be impossible to resist. Ainslee struggled to hide the alarm which suddenly swamped her.

  “Ainslee has the ring of an English name,” Gabel said, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Nay, it doesna,” she snapped.

  “Aye, it does, and I now recall it being said that MacNairn’s wife had some English blood.”

  “If she did, ’twas swiftly subdued by her good, hale Scots blood.”

  “Of course.”

  “The food and wine were good,” she said, as she cautiously rose to her feet, tensed to resist any attempt to restrain her. “And I thank ye kindly for it. I am weary and will bed down next to Ronald now.”

  “I noticed that you had spread a blanket at his side.”

  “He may have need of me in the night.”

  Gabel briefly scowled toward the mouth of the cave. “Do you expect this storm to last throughout the night?”

  “Aye, if ’tis a small one. Good sleep, sirs.” She bowed slightly to the men and went to curl up next to Ronald and Ugly.

  “An odd young woman,” murmured Michael Surtane as he sidled closer to his cousin Gabel after Ainslee left.

  “Odd?” Gabel asked, ignoring his cousin’s intent stare.

  “She acts like no lady I have ever met before.”

  “I was not in Scotland long before I learned one cannot judge the women here as one does the ladies in France or England.”

  “I was thinking of the Scottish lasses I have met when I spoke. She is not like them either.”

  Gabel laughed softly. “I concede, cousin. Aye, m’lady MacNairn is not like any other lady you or I know. Methinks she has had an unusual raising.”

  “True. One must not forget who her father is.”

  “Nay, there is a harsh truth and a wise warning.” He frowned at Ainslee, her slim form nearly hidden by the shadows at the back of the cave, and inwardly sighed, a little astonished at the sudden confusion of emotion he was afflicted with. “ ’Tis strange, but I do not sense any of Duggan MacNairn’s taint within her. ’Tis as if the man has had little or nothing to do with her.”

  Michael nodded, glancing briefly at Ainslee before returning to his close study of his cousin. “I noticed that you had a sharp interest in her.”

  “She is intriguing. The girl has skills more suited to a man, and I believe there is a keen wit behind those fine blue eyes.”

  “And under that heavy, glorious hair you are so bewitched by.”

  “Ah, I begin to see what may concern you, cousin. Do not fear. I am not so bewitched that I forget who and what she is—a MacNairn and a prisoner for ransom.” Gabel smiled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity when his cousin frowned. “You look as if you have suffered some disappointment.”

  “Nay.” Michael grimaced and ran his fingers through his dark hair, then laughed softly. “You have ever been the one with the coolest blood, and we owe our lives to it. ’Tis but, well, just once I should like to see you beguiled by a lovely face, and Mistress MacNairn has the fairest face I have seen in many a year.”

  “That she has. Howbeit, I learned at
a young age that ’tis dangerous to allow a fair face to beguile me. Such foolishness nearly cost me my life once, and it did end the life of my good friend. If I had not been so blinded by Lady Eleanor’s fair face, I would have seen the treachery she worked:”

  “Gabel, that was nearly ten years ago. You were but a boy, untried and easily led,” Michael complained as he poked a stick into the waning fire.

  “And I learned my lesson well. As you said—you owe your lives to it.”

  “Well, aye, but ’twould make the rest of us feel better if you stumbled in your perfection a time or two.”

  Gabel laughed and clapped his cousin on the back before moving to seek his own bed. “I have never been perfect, Michael. You know that as well as any can. I have simply taken to heart a lesson painfully learned—cool blood and following one’s head, not one’s heart or passions, is the best way to stay alive. Wake me if the storm wanes, or if I am needed to stand a watch.”

  “Do you think there may be some trouble?”

  “In this weather? Nay. Howbeit, keep a watch, for one must always be wary in this land.”

  As Gabel settled himself on his meager bed of blanket and rock near the right side of the cave, he fought the urge to look over at Ainslee, and failed miserably. Even as he shifted his weary body until her slight form was in view, he cursed himself as a weak fool. He had indulged in a false boast when he had not argued Michael’s opinion that he was ever cold-blooded and clearheaded, but he did not wish to expose what lay beneath his armor and somber facade. If his own men knew of the turmoil within him, of the constant battle he fought to make calm thought overwhelm discordant emotion, they would undoubtedly question his ability to command.

  From the moment he had set eyes on Ainslee MacNairn, he knew he faced one of his toughest battles with himself. Standing there in all her belligerent glory, she had accomplished what no woman had done for years—stirred a deep, immediate, and fierce emotional response within him. Gabel both savored it and feared it. He had never felt so alive, so eager to face the hours, days, and weeks stretching out before him.