My Valiant Knight Page 4

  What he had glimpsed of her character so far had intrigued, surprised, and excited him. That was something he considered to be very dangerous, and not simply because she was a MacNairn, the daughter of a man he had sworn to defeat, and his prisoner. Lady Eleanor DesRoches had shown him the folly of trusting in his emotions. Older and more worldly, she had used the lust and blind love of the boy he was to try and aid her true paramour, a man who wished to destroy the de Amalvilles and coveted all they owned. His friend Paul had tried to warn him, but he had been deaf to the truth. It had taken her attempt to end his life before Gabel had felt his naive trust crumble and harden into a wary cynicism he fought hard to cling to. A flame-haired Scottish lass with fine blue eyes was not a good reason to cast aside that hard-won control.

  And what good could come of such an infatuation anyway? he asked himself as he forced his eyes closed. Even if Ainslee MacNairn was not a prisoner and one of the enemy’s spawn, she was wild, clearly untutored in the proper ways of a lady. She would still be highly unsuitable for him, and would never be able to fit into the life he had so carefully planned for himself. Such a free-spirited woman would indeed make a very poor wife.

  But she would make an exciting lover, a voice whispered in his head, and Gabel found himself staring at Ainslee again. He cursed and tightly shut his eyes. The thought was a tempting one, but he girded himself against its allure. Gabel was no monk, but he struggled to remain honorable in all his dealings with women. Taking a wellborn young lady as his woman, fully intending to cast her aside when he found the wife he searched for, was not the act of an honorable man. As he struggled to banish all thought of an impassioned and willing Ainslee from his mind, Gabel hoped that her father would be swift in ransoming her.

  A scream echoing in the cave yanked Gabel from his hard-won sleep. He grasped his sword from its place close by his side and staggered to his feet. A quick glance at his men showed that they, too, were in an unsteady state of groggy awareness.

  “M’laird,” called Ronald, drawing a rapidly waking Gabel’s attention his way.

  Gabel looked at the aging Scot, who was struggling to sit up, and immediately noticed that Ainslee was no longer curled up at the man’s side. He whirled to face the mouth of the cave and saw one of his men fighting to hold onto Ainslee. Just as he moved to go to the man’s aid, Ronald’s wavering voice drew his attention back.

  “She is but caught in a dream,” Ronald said.

  “She does not try to escape?”

  “Only from the dark memories that sometimes haunt her sleep. She can be difficult to rouse, m‘laird,” Ronald advised as Gabel strode toward the guard who clearly did not know how to control a blindly frantic Ainslee. “Ye may have to shake her free of the dream’s grip, or e’en slap her.”

  Once at the side of the struggling pair, Gabel knew that Ronald was right. There was a look of stark terror on Ainslee’s small face and no sign of recognition in her wide blue eyes when he called out her name. She was babbling something about her mother, her accent so thick he could barely understand her. What caused Gabel to feel the cold touch of alarm, however, was that Ainslee’s voice was that of a very young child.

  “Ainslee,” he snapped as he yanked her out of the other man’s arms and shook her. “Wake up!”

  “I must get out of the hole. Maman needs my help.” Ainslee pushed at Gabel’s chest in a vain attempt to break free of his hold. “Canna ye hear the women screaming?”

  “No one is screaming but you. Come to your senses, woman. ’Tis but a dream which afrights you.”

  “Nay! Maman is screaming.” When Gabel finished shaking her for a second time, Ainslee slumped against his chest. “I was too small to help, but I am bigger now.” Ainslee frowned, confused by her own words as the tight grip of her nightmare began to ease. “Nay, that isna right. Maman is dead. I canna change that.”

  “Nay, you cannot.” Gabel felt her body grow lax and he tightened his grip on her, fighting to ignore how good it felt to hold her in his arms. “One cannot go back and change another’s fate.”

  “But ’twas such a pitiful fate, so painful, so horrifying. I can still see all the blood,” she whispered. “I couldna clean it away. I tried, but I was just a bairn. I closed her eyes so that the sun wouldna burn them.”

  Relieved to hear her voice returning to normal, Gabel gently urged Ainslee toward the fire. He glanced at Ronald, who nodded and laid back down. One sweeping look at his men was enough to send them back to their posts or their beds. Instinct told him that Ainslee would be embarrassed, although he was a little confused as to how he could feel so certain about that.

  “I should return to my bed,” Ainslee muttered even as Gabel made her sit down by the fire.

  “Drink this,” he quietly ordered as he sat down next to her and handed her his wineskin.

  Slowly recovering from the chilling horror of her memories, Ainslee found the strength to give Gabel a cross look as she took a drink of the sweet wine. She struggled against a sense of deep embarrassment over revealing her weakness and fear before Gabel and his men. Ainslee also knew that many men would consider her mother’s death a shameful one, even though none of the women killed that day had asked for the horror they had suffered through. One reason she never spoke of her mother’s death was to try and prevent anyone from thinking poorly of the woman, of her honor, courage, or morals. Such undeserved scorn infuriated her, especially since she knew that such men could never be swayed from their unfair condemnation by any argument she might choose to make.

  “Do ye think this wine can dull the sharp edge of my dreams?” she asked in a near whisper.

  “Mayhaps for the rest of this night,” Gabel replied. “I but wish I had some potion which could steal such dark memories from your mind for all time. You watched your own mother die?”

  “Nay, I listened to her. Aye, and to all of the other women cursed enough to be captured.”

  “You listened?” Gabel did not want to contemplate what such horror could do to a child.

  “Aye. My mother hid me in a dark hole, covering it with debris. She told me to stay there and make no sound. I wasna the most obedient child e’er born,” she smiled crookedly for one brief moment, “but that time I did exactly what I was told to. I huddled there in the dark until all was quiet, and then I crept out to see the brutal destruction men can so easily wreak upon the innocents.”

  Gabel inwardly winced beneath her look of condemnation. “I cannot claim that my men and I are free of any such crimes, but none of us has ever cruelly slaughtered a woman.” He sighed and shook his dark head. “I have been amongst warriors who have, and in battles where such crimes were committed. Since I cannot claim to have stopped such dishonorable acts, I must claim some of the guilt. Where was your father?”

  “Running for his life and saving his sons.”

  “And leaving his wife and daughter to face a battle-maddened enemy?”

  “My father prizes his sons most highly. As he has ofttime said, daughters can only gain a mon a wee bit through a good marriage, and a mon can always find himself a new wife. He has buried two wives since my mother died. Since neither woman provided him with a live son, I believe he has cursed us all to hell’s fires and plans to wed no more.”

  “So, you have lost three mothers.”

  “Nay, only one. My father’s other two wives were no more to me than shadows flitting through the halls of Kengarvey. They had no use or love for me. I kenned that and left them be. After my mother was murdered I was given into Ronald’s care, and there I have remained.”

  It was hard for Gabel to understand such a bleak childhood. His family had its troubles, but he had never felt unwanted. Despite all the rivalries and arguments, he enjoyed a true bond with his family, the near and the distant relations. Judging from the way Ainslee spoke, the only member of her closest family who had cared for her had died years ago, leaving only Ronald, a man most people would consider little more than a servant.

  He studied
her as she took another sip of wine, pleased to see the color returning to her ashen cheeks. It was not difficult to see the child within the woman. Ainslee MacNairn must have been a very engaging child, yet she had been tossed aside by her father like leavings from the table. Only briefly did Gabel question the truth of her sad story. Her terror had been too real, and she spoke of her bleak life as if she had accepted it and certainly did not expect any pity.

  “Your man Ronald did his duty well,” Gabel said.

  “Aye, although it is certain that many folk wouldna think so.” Ainslee smiled faintly and glanced toward her sleeping mentor. “Ronald taught me all of his skills, gave freely of all his knowledge, but ’tis not the sort of skill or knowledge a wellborn lass should have.”

  “In this rough land it probably serves you well.”

  “Verra weel except in gaining a husband.” Ainslee briefly wondered why she spoke so freely, then decided she was simply too tired to guard her tongue. And, since theirs was to be a short acquaintance, she also decided that what Gabel learned about her life was of little consequence. “A mon first looks to gain land, coin, or power. Then he looks for such skills as fine needlework and courtly manners. After all, a wife is but a tool for gain and the breeding of sons. Aye, I may produce sons, for my mother bore four living ones, but I canna say that I would bring a mon much gain. Nay, especially not with my father causing such trouble and making so many enemies.”

  Everything she said was true, and the reasoning was both common and practical. It was the reasoning Gabel himself used in his search for a wife, yet he inwardly winced. There was no condemnation or anger in her voice, but simply speaking of such methods aloud made them sound callous and mercenary. Gabel did not like to think that he shared such ungallant ideas, but, he also knew most people would consider him the greatest of fools if he did not consider lineage, fertility, breeding, and gain when he sought out a wife. He also realized he was being ridiculously contrary when he mused that a man would have to be a fool not to consider Ainslee for a wife, despite all she lacked.

  “A man must look to his future,” Gabel murmured.

  Ainslee wondered why the man sounded defensive, even apologetic. Gabel de Amalville was a man of good birth and knowledge. Such men choose their wives carefully. It was not only accepted, but expected of anyone in his privileged position. Ainslee decided she was so tired she was hearing things in his voice that were not there.

  “I believe my fears have waned now, Sir Gabel,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I will return to my bed. I pray I willna disturb everyone’s rest again this night.”

  “There is no need to apologize for something you cannot help,” he said. “Few of us can boast that we are free of the night’s terrors.”

  “Mayhaps, but I shall endeavor to cease dragging all about me into the midst of mine. Good sleep, Sir Gabel.”

  “Good sleep,” he replied as he watched her return to her bed at Ronald’s side.

  As she wrapped herself in her blanket, Ainslee fought the strong urge to look back at Gabel. Waking from her nightmare to find herself in Gabel’s arms had been quite a shock. Even more so when she had recognized how much his touch and deep soothing voice had contributed to the easing of her fears. That was not something she wished him to discover.

  Especially not now when he kens most everything else about you, she thought with a strong hint of self-disgust. Her decision not to control her words suddenly felt like a grave error, and not only because of all Gabel had learned about her. His responses had revealed a few things about him, that he could be a gentle man for one thing. Ainslee did not want to know about the man’s good qualities. She was going to have enough difficulty controlling her attraction to the man. She sighed and yet again prayed that her father did not prove obstinate about ransoming her.

  Four

  “Twill be a fine, sun-kissed day,” said Gabel, gazing up at the sky.

  Ainslee glared at his broad back and heartily wished that there was some way to ride behind him safely without having to wrap her arms about his waist. That brought her very close to his strong body, and the warmth such nearness engendered within her irritated her. The fact that he had taken possession of the reins of her horse irritated her as well. Even the beautiful weather annoyed her. She was being taken away for ransom. The storm of last night should still be raging in heavenly protest. That her horse had so amiably accepted a new rider’s commands seemed to her to be a particularly cruel blow. She glanced down at Ugly, who trotted along beside them, and wondered when he, too, would desert her.

  “You do not find the sun’s warmth pleasing?” Gabel asked, glancing briefly over his shoulder at her.

  “Can ye not tell that from my smile?” she snapped.

  “From that grimace of clenched teeth? Nay. Your restlessness in the night has left you in a foul temper.”

  “ ’Tisna my restlessness which causes my ill humor.”

  “And will m’Iady grace me with the knowledge of what does cause her to be such poor company?”

  Certain she could hear a tremor of laughter in his voice, Ainslee fought the urge to punch him squarely between his broad shoulders. “Mayhaps I find it annoying to have Normans creeping about my lands taking whatever they covet—lands, keeps, honors, women, and horses.” She cursed under her breath, sure that she could see his shoulders shake with amusement.

  Gabel stroked the neck of her horse. “A fine, strong steed. Mayhaps too strong for a woman.”

  “Did ye see me have any difficulty with him?”

  “Nay. You ride with great skill.”

  His flattery only soothed her bad temper a little. “I suggest ye dinna get too comfortable on his back. My father will soon ransom me, and I shall take my horse with me when I leave.”

  “There are many men who would consider such a fine animal as the spoils of victory.”

  “Ah, but ’tis ofttimes said that Sir Gabel de Amalville is not like other men.”

  She was a little surprised when Gabel laughed aloud, a hearty, open laugh. A quick look at the men riding with them revealed several openly amazed expressions, as well as some looks of intense curiosity directed her way. Her tone of voice had been so sweetly flattering she had expected some amusement from Gabel, but not so much. What troubled her was how that deep, pleasant laugh caused a tingling warmth to curl around her insides. This further indication of her total lack of control over her own errant feelings heightened her sour mood, pushing aside the brief flash of good feeling inspired by his laughter.

  “Did you think that sudden piece of honey-sweet cajolery would alter my decision about anything?” he asked, grinning at her over his shoulder.

  For what felt like an embarrassingly long time, Ainslee was unable to speak. The playful smile that lightened his dark face seemed to push all the air from her lungs and shape it into a hard knot in her throat. As she struggled to clear away that obstruction, she prayed she did not look as spellstruck by his smile as she felt.

  “ ’Twas worthy of a try,” she finally said, hoping he could not hear the hint of huskiness in her voice.

  “I shall have to watch you closely.”

  Ainslee’s reply died on her tongue when she idly glanced to the side. There was no mistaking the swift yet silent advance of armed men. It was not only their stealthy approach that warned Ainslee of danger. From all she had heard in the last few months, from all the whispered tales of horror in the kitchens and stables, she knew what now approached them was the newest scourge to darken her land.

  “I think you had best watch the men on your right more closely, m’lord,” she said.

  Even as Gabel looked around, the men ceased all attempts to be stealthy, screamed out an ear-splitting mix of war cries, and charged. “Who in Mary’s sweet name are they?”

  “Outlaws, men cast out of their clans, towns, and homes. Men far past due for a good hanging, and a few of the notorious Graemes. Ye had best act soon. They are swift.”

  In a heartbeat Gab
el assessed the vulnerability of his men and made his decision. Unprepared for the attack and dragging two wounded men plus one girl, they were left with few choices. He snapped out orders to his men even as he spurred Ainslee’s strong mount into a gallop. While Gabel and the greater part of his force made a loud show of fleeing, the two men dragging the litters carrying Justice and Ronald hurried into the disguising shadows of the forest on their left. Three men slipped after them to guard their backs.

  As he rode, drawing the outlaws after him on their swift mounts, Gabel cursed fluently. He detested fleeing like some coward, but he had to pull the attackers away from the weaker members of their group. He wished he had had the time to send Ainslee off with the wounded. Gabel also cursed the distraction he had allowed to creep into his mind, stealing his usual keen sense of danger. He should have been paying attention to the treacherous country he rode through, not the weather and not the tiny female clinging to him.

  “If ye turn a wee bit westward right now, ye will reach a rocky rise where ye might make a stand against this swine,” Ainslee yelled, trying to be heard above the pounding of the horses’ hooves.

  Gabel did as she suggested and immediately wondered why. Instinct had directed him, but he had to question how good that instinct was. What would a young wellborn woman know of the proper place to try and defend oneself? A moment later he knew his instinct had been right. He did not even have to order his men to make for the rocky knoll. They quickly recognized its worth as a temporary fortress.

  Ainslee cried out softly as she was pushed from the saddle the moment they reached the top of the hill. She barely stopped herself from hitting the ground hard enough to hurt herself. Even as she struggled to steady herself, Gabel shoved her back amongst the horses, then turned with his men to meet the attack.

  As Ainslee huddled amongst the fretting horses, her panting wolfhound collapsing at her side, she watched the outlaw force reign to an abrupt halt at the base of the hill. She prayed that they would decide that an attack would be too dangerous and flee, but doubted that her prayers would be answered. Such men had so little to lose, they would undoubtedly try an attack at least once. She did not want any of Gabel’s men to be hurt, then briefly worried that she might be betraying her family with such sentiments. After a moment’s thought she decided she was no traitor to the MacNairns. It was not wrong to wish no one would be injured or killed and, at this precise moment, the Normans were all that stood between her and the ruthless criminals at the foot of the rocks.