Once a Warrior (23 page)

Gavin instantly moved to the right. The arrow whipped by him and struck a warrior who was about to run him through with his sword.

Gavin stared at the man, dumbfounded. Then he raised his eyes to Elizabeth.

“Thank you,” he said, impressed by both her skill and her calm.

“Please be more careful.” Her voice was taut.

Gavin smiled. “I’ll try, Elizabeth.”

“Archers, aim for that group down there with the ladder!” ordered Malcolm.

The women in the towers and along the battlements immediately directed their aim at the new attackers starting to climb the ladder. A thick flurry of arrows sailed through the air, striking several of the men and sending the rest scurrying away.

“Excellent shot!” praised Malcolm.

“MacFane, we can’t hold them off back here!” shouted Gordon, engaging in swordplay with a huge, burly man who had made it over the low parapet.

“A few more of you go to the back!” ordered Malcolm, moving along the wall head to help. “Archers as well—but only men!”

“Take that, you murdering dog!” grunted Gordon, thrusting his sword into his attacker’s belly.

The man’s eyes grew round with shock. “Jesus,” he gasped, “you MacKendricks were supposed to be easy to kill.”

“Quite a surprise for you, isn’t it?” snorted Gordon, watching as his would-be murderer collapsed.

“Niall!” thundered Malcolm. “Behind you!”

Niall spun around and swung his sword, deftly hacking into the warrior’s shoulder so that he was forced to drop his weapon. “If you want to live,” Niall growled, the tip of his sword at the man’s throat, “sit down over there and don’t move.”

Gripping his bleeding shoulder, the man scurried into the corner.

“Thank you, MacFane!” called Niall, but Malcolm was shouting orders to another group and didn’t hear him.

Ariella hurried along the corridor to the stairs leading to the battlements. As she passed MacFane’s chamber, she noticed a shadowy figure climbing through the window. Pressing herself against the wall, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and set it against the string of her bow. She then took careful aim at the warrior, only to see he had now been joined by another. She bit her lip. It was possible to shoot one, but she would never have time to get a second arrow into position before the other man attacked her. Deciding it was better to kill one than neither, she drew her arrow back.

Suddenly an enormous net fell from the ceiling, snaring both men in a tangled web.

“Aha!”
shouted Angus, emerging from a corner and waving his ancient sword at the struggling intruders. “Thought you’d sneak in and murder us, did you, you scoundrels?”

“Angus?”

“Oh, hello, Ariella,” he said cheerfully. “No need to shoot, I’ve got these lads under control.”

Dugald appeared from the shadows of the opposite corner. “We’re guarding MacFane’s chamber,” he announced, dragging his old sword behind him.

“But how—”

“MacFane knew his window was particularly enticing, its being large and relatively close to the ground,” explained Angus. “He asked us to attend to the net the lads strung up yesterday.”

“We take turns cutting it down,” added Dugald. “Then Bryce and Hugh come and take the prisoners downstairs and lock them in the storeroom. We’ve already captured six men.”

“That’s wonderful.” It was clear Angus and Dugald were enjoying themselves immensely, and they certainly didn’t appear to be in much danger from operating their trap. Ariella shook her head, amazed that MacFane had actually found something useful for the two elders to do.

“You bloody old fools will regret this when we get out of here,” snarled one of the warriors.

“Is that so?” asked Angus, chuckling. “Well, laddie, it seems to me you will have far more to regret when the Black Wolf decides to deal with you. He eats young pups like you for breakfast!” he threatened grandly.

“The Black Wolf is nothing but a drunken cripple,” sneered the other warrior. “Thrown out by his own clan for letting the women and children be slain while he was drunk—”

“By God, I’ll not stand by and listen to such filthy lies,” roared Dugald, struggling to lift his heavy sword. “Take it back, or I’ll cut your evil tongue out!”

“What’s going on here?” demanded Bryce from the door.

“This slimy toad was insulting MacFane,” he declared furiously.

Bryce’s expression grew hard. “Let’s see how much you have to say after you’ve been locked in a dungeon for a few years,” he stated ominously.

Both warriors paled. Despite the fact that Ariella knew Bryce’s threat was empty, she could not help but take satisfaction from their fear.

“I’m going to join the others,” she said. “Please be careful.”

“Don’t you worry about us, lass,” returned Angus. “Dugald and I have been fighting since—” He paused and scratched his white head. “Have we ever fought before, Dugald?”

Dugald leaned on his sword for support, considering. “There was that time we fought over Bessie when we were lads,” he reflected. “Does that count?”

“Aye, it does,” Angus decided. “Especially since I won.”

“I don’t know why you think that,” Dugald challenged, “as I’m the one who married her—”

Ariella smiled and continued on her way.

The wall head was crowded with men and women rushing back and forth as they fought to keep Roderic’s men from climbing the wall. If a warrior did manage to scale it, he was shocked to find the MacKendricks waiting with a sword, an arrow, or a well-placed shove that sent him flying backward into empty space. Ariella quickly searched the darkness for MacFane. She found him at the back of the curtain wall, fighting off an enormous man who managed to make him appear almost an ordinary size. MacFane fought ruthlessly, his fury obscuring all hint of his injuries, but his opponent was strong and quick, and ably deflected his blows. Ariella took aim with her bow, but the men were moving too quickly for her to be sure she wouldn’t hit MacFane. Through the corner of her eye she saw Gavin rushing toward them to help.

Suddenly a tall fair-haired man climbed over the parapet and grabbed him.

“Drop your weapon, brave Gavin,” Roderic ordered, lifting his sword to his throat.

Gavin tossed his weapon down. “You spineless bastard.”

“Gavin!” screamed Elizabeth, her eyes round with terror.

Roderic looked at her in surprise. “Why, Elizabeth, don’t tell me you’ve come to care for this aging warrior. What a pity.” He positioned Gavin in front of him, using the man as a shield. “Enough, Gregor!” he called to the warrior fighting MacFane. “He’s mine now.”

The huge man smiled, revealing a rotting collection of brown teeth, and lowered his sword.

Malcolm fought to control the rage churning within him as he turned to regard his former warrior.

“Hello, Malcolm,” said Roderic. “I must say, you look better than I expected. Still, haven’t you learned yet that you are incapable of protecting anyone?”

“What do you want, Roderic?” he demanded, his voice deceptively mild.

“Why, nothing more than what every man wants,” returned Roderic, shrugging. “A castle to call his own. A few people to see to his needs. And a beautiful woman to warm his bed.” His gaze shifted to Ariella. “Good evening, my dear. You are as lovely as ever. I don’t even mind that you’ve cut your hair.”

Ariella kept her arrow trained on Roderic, but she had no hope of hitting him as long as he held Gavin.

“Give up, Roderic,” Malcolm commanded. “Your forces have been reduced by half, between those who are wounded and those who have been captured. As for the MacKendricks, they have barely begun to fight. You have no hope of capturing this castle.”

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. “At least not this evening. Do put down your bow, my dear,” he said to Ariella, “or I will be forced to cut poor Gavin’s throat.”

Ariella hesitated, then dropped her weapon.

Roderic smiled. “Very good. And now there is a personal matter I wish to settle with your crippled leader. I advise you to tell them not to interfere, Malcolm, or Gregor will cut off poor Gavin’s head.” He shoved Gavin at the burly warrior, who placed the edge of his blade against his neck.

“No!” gasped Ariella, horrified.

Malcolm slowly raised his sword. “No one is to interfere,” he commanded harshly.

Roderic smiled. “Excellent. Now, my friend,” he said, lifting his weapon, “Let’s see what kind of opponent you are.”

Terror surged through her as Ariella watched the two warriors charge each other. Both fought with savage determination, the steel of their blades ringing loudly as each struggled to gain the advantage. Roderic was younger and his body more fit, but Malcolm was driven by a rage Ariella had never seen before. His great broadsword sliced and thrusted, slashing a silvery arc through the black air as he met Roderic blow for blow. He wielded his sword with both arms, and it was clear by his grunts that the battle was an effort for him. Ariella began to fear Roderic would simply toy with him until he tired, then close in for the kill. But Malcolm continued to fight with skill and determination, slowly driving Roderic backward toward the parapet.

“So,” began Roderic, still matching Malcolm’s movements, “it seems she didn’t give it to you.”

Refusing to be distracted, Malcolm ignored the comment. The next thing he knew, Roderic had spun about and leaped onto the wall.

“That is enough for tonight, I think,” he announced, holding his sword menacingly in front of him. “Off you go, Gregor.”

The huge man instantly released Gavin, heaved himself over the parapet, and climbed down a ladder.

“Farewell, sweet Ariella.” Roderic shoved his sword into his belt, then grabbed hold of a rope that had been tossed over the merlon and jumped.

The MacKendricks ran to the edge of the parapet. Roderic fell about ten feet, then quickly climbed down and mounted his horse.

“Retreat!” he ordered, wheeling his mount about.

Anxious to comply, his men instantly abandoned their efforts and ran to find their horses.

The MacKendricks broke into a thunderous cheer.

“We did it!” shouted Duncan, slapping Andrew on the back.

“By God, we did indeed!” agreed Gordon. He went to hug his daughter, but she had thrown down her bow and was racing toward Gavin.

“Are you all right?” Elizabeth demanded.

Gavin looked at her in surprise. Tears were welling in her enormous blue eyes, and her lower lip was trembling. “I’m fine, Elizabeth,” he assured her.

She stood there staring at him, her face pale. It seemed she needed something more from him, but Gavin wasn’t certain what it was.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

Elizabeth nodded and slowly turned away. Then suddenly she let out a little cry, ran back to him, and began to sob noisily against his chest.

Gavin hesitated, uncertain what to do. Finally he sighed and closed his arms around her. “Hush, now,” he said, gently stroking her hair. “We’re safe now. Everything is going to be all right, Elizabeth.”

Malcolm watched in grim silence as Roderic and his men rode away. Uneasy by how willingly his former warrior had abandoned his attack, he turned to look at Ariella. The fear in her eyes told him she too was certain he would return.

“Here’s to MacFane!” roared Ramsay, lifting his sword high. “Without whom we never could have defeated those cowardly swine!”

An ecstatic cheer filled the air, followed by the resonant chanting of Malcolm’s name.

“MacFane! MacFane! MacFane!”

A group of men surged forward. Before Malcolm could protest, they lifted him high on their shoulders.

“A cheer for the Black Wolf!”

The clan shouted and cheered wildly. Overwhelmed by their idolatry, Malcolm ordered them to put him down, but he could not make himself heard above the noise.

“Let’s raise a cup to the Black Wolf, and the magnificent success he has led us to on this wonderful night!” yelled Dugald.

“MacFane! MacFane! MacFane!”

Ariella watched as her people joyfully swarmed around Malcolm. They carried him to the castle doorway, then let him down and swept him inside. Their cries of elation continued as they descended the stairs, herding him to the great hall, where they would celebrate his abilities as a great warrior.

Despite her relief that they had won, she found she could not join them.

Instead she remained standing alone on the battlements, numbly wondering when Roderic would return.

A scattering of stars flecked the velvet cape of deep night.

The castle had finally fallen quiet, after long hours of jubilant revelry. Ariella rose from the bench and leaned against the low parapet, drawing comfort from the rough coolness of the stone against her fingers. This was where the addition to the parapet had not yet been completed, rendering the wall head vulnerable. It was also where one could still sit upon a bench and contemplate the magnificent view of the lands surrounding her castle. Great, dark stands of forest spread thickly before her, sleeping. To the west was the loch, shimmering charcoal beneath a pearly ribbon of moonlight, its deep, cold water home to countless fish, and perhaps even a kelpie or two. And then there were the mountains. They were what she loved most, those glorious peaks rising in magnificent waves, powerful, mysterious, enclosing them in a vast mist-shrouded wall that for years had kept them isolated from the rest of the world.

Until now.

How sweetly, foolishly naive they had been. Her clan had been asleep for a hundred years, hidden amidst these heather-scented mountains, going about their lives. They had known almost nothing of the outside world. Of course, they had heard stories from the odd traveler who stumbled upon them, and from Alpin, who told them of the legends, the leaders, and the wars. And of the great heroes like the Black Wolf. But it had all seemed very far away, part of another place that had nothing to do with them. The MacKendricks had had their own great lairds, and the comfort of knowing that it was not their way to participate in thievery or brutality. All they wanted was to learn to better appreciate the beauty around them, and, if possible, to add something to it. This was why they had built a short parapet of intricate stonework that wouldn’t block the view. What they had not understood was that someday someone might come and want to take all of that away from them. That someone would feel they had the right to steal what they had created, to rule them by force, and to wield the power of the ancient sword without being chosen.