A Knight for Love (34 page)

Voices drifted through the trees and she cocked her head to listen.

“Look.” With a snarl, Alan leaned over and cut the rope from the tree with his sword. “They seek to beat us by trickery.”

“Show yourselves!” Baldric shouted, scanning the trees about him. “Show yourselves as warriors and do not hide as cowards.”

“De Taillur!” Alan bellowed. “Show yourself and meet your fate squarely. You travel with a woman who only slows you down – you have no hope of escape.”

The seconds ticked by but Warin’s voice didn
’t breach the stillness of the breaking dawn.

“De Taillur!” Alan shouted again. He held his sword high, brandishing it and the polished blade gl
eamed in the early sun. “I challenge you!”

Still Warin did not reply.

“What do we do, my lord,” Wimarc asked, seemingly impatient. His hand clenched and unclenched against the pommel.

“We wait.” Alan sat back on his saddle, resting his sword across his lap. “And don
’t forget,” he twisted about to look at Baldric, “Lady Alyna is to be unharmed.”

“I say kill her and be done with it,” Baldric grumbled.

“Lady Philippa wishes the safe return of her niece.”

“I don
’t understand why.” Baldric shook his head.

“What is there to understand? Alyna is with child and Philippa wishes to claim the child as her own.”

“Lady Alyna will not give up the babe,” Baldric said.

“Once the child is born, then she will be killed.” Alan spoke as if talking to a simpleton.

“Is it worth the bother?” Baldric’s voice was dubious.

“Philippa is barren. She
’ll claim Caperun Keep on behalf of the real heir especially if the parents are dead. The king will have no quarrel with that.”

“And you?”

Alan shrugged. “I’ll wed Philippa. The Caperun lands combined with Faulkenburg will be a tidy parcel.”

Baldric frowned at his words. What treachery was this? Philippa was to wed him,
Baldric, not Alan. Philippa had professed her love for him, not Alan. Together they had gone to Faulkenburg and Philippa had pretended an interest in Alan in order to solicit his aid in reclaiming Caperun Keep. And now Alan sought to gain not only Caperun Keep, but Philippa too? His eyes narrowed and he backed his horse away a step or two.

“Listen!” Wimarc interrupted them. “Someone comes.” He swiveled about to look.
Intent on searching for signs of movement on the road behind, he didn’t see Warin charging out of the trees to his left. When he did, it was too late.

With a roar, Warin cut Wimarc’s steed out from beneath him. The horse began to sink to the ground and he stabbed Wimarc in the chest as the other man struggled to hold his balance on the falling animal.

Blood frothed on Wimarc’s lips and a gurgling sound came from his throat. With an incredulous look, he glanced down at the sword in his chest. He clasped his hands about the blade and with a feeble motion, tried to pull at it once, twice, before he fell back, lifeless.

Alan saw his chance as Warin endeavored to pull the blade free. He spurred his mount and lifted his sword to attack.

Warin, realizing what Alan was about, ducked to avoid the swooping arm as Alan careened past. He managed to free his weapon just as his opponent collected his mount to charge again.

“I have you, de Taillur!” Alan’s voice oozed satisfaction and he spurred his horse back towards Warin.

Warin stood his ground and again nimbly stepped aside as Alan galloped past, swinging his sword wildly at Warin’s head. He turned his mount and prepared to charge again.

“Fight me as an equal,” Warin shouted. “Leave your horse and we fight to the finish, man to man.”

Alan hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his odds. “Aye,” he agreed, sliding off his horse. He took a few steps towards Warin. “It will be more to my liking to squeeze the very life force from you with my bare hands.”

“As you say,” Warin said coolly, ignoring the taunting words. He stood in the middle of the road, sword held upright before him in both hands. He shifted to his toes in preparation for the initial blow.

Bennet, meanwhile, engaged in duel with Baldric. He managed to parry a few strokes from the much larger man before Baldric smote him in the head. Dazed, Bennet fell to his knees then dropped over on his side. His eyes fluttered shut and he sagged against the ground. Baldric prodded Bennet’s limp form then hung back to watch the battle fought by Warin and Alan.

Horror gripped
Alyna. Bennet is dead! She screamed it in her mind. Nay, not Bennet, he is to be godfather to our babe! She clenched her hands together in supplication. It cannot be, she prayed. She closed her eyes for a moment then forced herself to continue watching the battle. However fruitless her escape attempt might be, she must be prepared to flee if the time came.

She opened her eyes in time to see Warin slip on the frosted road, falling heavily onto his back
, his sword flopping out of reach.

Without thinking and disregarding the warning given to her by Warin, Alyna screamed.

“Warin, no!” She wanted to move, wanted to run to help him but her legs wouldn’t obey.

Instead, she kept her gaze on the tableau unfolding in agonizing slowness
, kept her gaze on Warin lying helpless on the ground as Alan advanced on him, sword first.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Warin struggled to rise but the mail hindered hi
s movements. He turned his head to gauge the distance to where his sword lay and the other man saw his chance.

With a triumphant howl,
Alan raised his sword high in both arms for the fatal stroke. For a heartbeat he held the weapon high then slowly he lowered it. “There’s no sport in killing a helpless man. Get up,” he ordered.

Warin
managed to sit upright. Steely calm enveloped him. He would not succumb to despair. Aye, the odds at this instant favored Alan but arrogance filled the man. He, Warin, would use that arrogance to his advantage.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bennet stir. Time, he must buy time for Bennet to recover. Of Baldric he saw n
aught, hence no immediate threat lay there.

Warin fixed his gaze on Alan, holding his attention. “
First you claim to desire a fair fight, equal with equal. And now you stalk an unarmed man? You worthless cur, do the rules of chivalry mean naught to you?”

A dull flush swept over the other man’s face; his lips thinned.
“Now you die,” he roared. “And your wife will know the exact moment you do, for I heard her scream and know she’s nearby.” Alan raised his arms again, the edge of his blade catching the early sun like a sliver of death.

“No, Alan of Faulkenburg. It is not my time to die,” Warin
growled, remembering Alyna’s words of long ago. She had believed in him and had given him pardon. Her remembered words strengthened his resolve and he knew he would not fail her.

He kept his eyes on his enemy’s face as he placed one hand on the ground beside him in an effort to lever himself to his feet. With the other, he felt around for his sword. He clasped his hand around the hilt, drawing from the power cours
ing through the blade. “Why do you pretend to honorable behavior,” he taunted. “You threaten a disadvantaged man with death. Kill me now and be done with it.”

“
You will die but I’ll wait for you to stand. To kill you while defenseless is too easy of a death. I prefer to watch you suffer. Like this.” Alan sliced Warin across the arm and blood striped the sleeve. “And this.” A second bloodied line striped the sleeve below the first.

At Warin’s flinch, he laughed. “More wounds will cover your body before you draw your final breath. And while you die, the greatest wound to you is the knowledge I
’ll claim your wife and unborn babe as the prize. You’re powerless to save them.”

“Babe? You jest, Alyna carries no babe.” Babe, what nonsense
did Alan spew? Impossible. He would have known if Alyna carried a child, a wife would freely share that with her husband.

But if it were true, he would have the family and the future he so wanted.

He must hear the truth from Alyna. And to do that, Alan must be vanquished. Hope flared in Warin’s breast and he readied himself to spring to his feet at the opportune moment.

“Aye, she does. And when she is delivered of the babe, your wife will meet the same fate as you. Philippa and I will claim the child, and Caperun Keep, as our own.”

Hate twisted Warin’s guts at the gloating words. He wanted nothing more than to pierce Alan’s heart but he forced himself to remain on the ground. He had to keep his foe talking – Bennet crept on silent feet, only a few steps from Alan’s back.

“Any child of mine would know you
’re not his father. You’re witless, a worm seeking to gain riches on the backs of a newborn babe and a shrew.” Warin shook his head. “You fancy yourself a warrior but you’re useless.”

The insults had the desired effect. Anger cloaked Alan’s face. “
No more of your false words. Now you die.” He raised his sword arm overhead. At that instant, Bennet raised his sword and swung it down, down, slicing through his enemy’s shoulder.

The blow from behind caught Alan unaware
s. His sword dropped from nerveless fingers to the ground. Cradling his injured shoulder, he watched with disbelieving eyes as Warin sprang to his feet and lunged forward, sword extended. Alan grunted as Warin’s sword pierced his midriff then collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

Blood trickling from his temple into his unruly beard, chest heaving from the effort, Bennet slowly lowered his sword. Swaying slightly, he rested on the tip as he watched Alan fall.

“My lord?” He managed to ask before sinking to his knees.

“Thank you, my friend. The hardest thing for me was to pretend helplessness to hold Alan’s attention while you crept to him.”

“Aye,” Bennet agreed, heaving a ragged breath. “I know you for the warrior you are.”

“Ah well,” Warin shrugged. “Sometimes the bravest man is one who does not raise his sword.” He looked around
for Baldric. The fight would not end until that one had been defeated as well. Where was he?

*****

Baldric watched Bennet creep towards Alan. He made no move to assist Alan but watched as Bennet struck the first blow. Alan faced his doom, but he, Baldric must save his own skin.

And
before he did, he had to find Alyna and take her with him, back to Faulkenburg. It was what his Philippa wanted, a babe to raise as her own. And if he brought Alyna back, and with Alan gone, then Philippa would be his again. He would have it all – Faulkenburg, Caperun Keep, Philippa and a child.

He must act fast. The battle between Warin, Bennet and Alan would soon be over and then they would hunt for him. By then he would be on his way with a hostage to provide him safe passage.

Indifferent to his companion’s fate, he turned to follow the tracks leading to his prey.

*****

A scream pierced the air.

Alyna.

Warin charged up the hill, pushing through the trees as if
made from thin air. Fear gripped his heart at the scene that met his eyes.

Alyna perched on Citadel’s broad back, reins in one hand, pommel clenched in the other, while Baldric yanked on the stirrup trying to dislodge the saddle. She kicked at him but the horse
stood so tall her foot barely grazed the top of his helm. Baldric dropped the stirrup and reached up to grab her ankle. Desperate, Alyna leaned away, pulling against the pommel, trying to free herself.

Citadel had been trained well, for the horse stood solid against the altercation. For that Warin was thankful – the last thing he needed was his destrier plunging and bucking wildly.

“I have you now,” Baldric gloated, pulling on Alyna’s ankle with both hands. “Come, Philippa will be pleased to see you.”

“Let her go.” Warin’s voice
sliced whip keen through the morning air. His sword arm trembled with the effort of holding back the killing blow but it was too dangerous to Alyna. He might strike her by mistake. He had to get Baldric to loosen his grip. “Let her go,” he repeated.

“Wh-what?” Baldric hadn
’t heard Warin coming. He let go of Alyna’s foot to swing about, reaching for his sword as he did so. Warin’s blow flew so swiftly that hand never touched hilt. Baldric crumpled and fell on his back and in an instant, Warin stood over him, sword point at his throat.

A pulse pounded in Baldric’s neck,
saliva flecked his lips. “Kill me,” he whispered.

Warin leaned on his sword and a drop of Baldric’s blood quivered on the silver tip. “Aye. I should kill you.” He pressed a little harder and Baldric flinched; a second drop of blood joined the first one.

“Do it.”
Baldric could barely force the words past the sword jammed against his larynx.