What Dand had said was not wrong. She thought perhaps telling her not to see or think about Luke had been a bridge too far, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that the substance of what he was saying wasn’t wrong. She did need to focus. She did need to keep her eyes on her goal, the reason she came back to Sowkirk in the first place. None of that was wrong.
But even still, she had not expected to come home and find a man who intrigued her the way Luke did. She did not expect to find a man who made her feel the things Luke made her feel. But now that she did, Aileas wasn’t ready to walk away from him without exploring what it was that was happening between them.
She sat down on the low wall and let out a long breath. The night was dark and overcast, and the breeze that bustled by carried a chill that made her shiver. Aileas knew she would have to go inside and apologize to Dand, but she wasn’t quite ready to just yet. She wanted to take a few moments to settle her racing heart before going back inside.
She sat up on the wall and wall and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knee. Aileas gazed off into the darkness, thinking about the coming battle with Pringle. She really was trying to do her best to focus on the impending fight. It was not going to be an easy one, and she definitely needed her mind to be in the right place when the time came.
Aileas frowned as she looked off into the darkness. Deep down, she knew Luke was a distraction. But he was a pleasant distraction that not only fueled the emotions racing through her heart but fired the physical sensations in her loins. Coupling with somebody had never been as pleasurable as it was with Luke. Before, it had always been a means to sate a craving. With Luke, she actually enjoyed it.
She was so lost in thought, Aileas didn’t hear the man creeping up behind her until his boot scuffed a stone. Moving on instinct, Aileas threw herself off the wall and rolled, popping back up on her feet again in one swift, smooth movement. The man, dressed entirely in black, with a hood pulled low over his face, jumped over the low wall and advanced on her, the edge of his blade glittering dully in the dim light of the night.
From the corner of her eye, she saw more movement as two men, dressed the same as the first, emerged from the trees around Dand’s home. She opened her mouth to call out, but the first man lunged at her, the point of his blade leading the way. She spun to the side, the edge of his sword missing her by a hair’s breadth. As the man’s momentum carried him forward, Aileas grabbed his wrist and twisted it awkwardly. He screamed out, dropping the blade, and she snatched it from mid-air, turning and parrying a blow that would have cleaved her in two.
The ring of steel on steel echoed through the night, and Aileas lashed out with her foot, catching the man in the midsection. He was driven backward with an audible grunt, doubling over as the wind was forced from his lungs. Pain erupted in her head, though, and she staggered to the side, points of light bursting behind her eyes. Aileas’s vision blurred, and her head was ringing like a bell.
Taking several wavering steps back, her legs threatening to give out beneath her, she raised the sword she’d taken from the first man－the man who’d just driven his fist into the side of her head. He advanced on her, his fists raised as the other two closed in from either side of her. Fear rippled through her heart as she struggled to keep them all in her sight. It was a task made all the more difficult thanks to her head still ringing and her vision still wavering.
But then Dand was there, charging into the fray with his sword in hand. He waded into the middle of them, and with a loud growl, swung his blade in a broad arc that drove all of them back a few steps. It gave Aileas the time she needed to recover. Giving herself a shake, she charged back in, engaging a man who was moving in on Dand from the rear.
He spun and caught her blade before she could slash him. But she got him away from Dand, which was all that mattered since he was engaged with the other two. The man looked at her and launched a flurry of blows, moving quickly and smoothly. The man was skilled with a blade, and Aileas, her head still ringing, was finding it challenging to keep up with his whirling steel.
But then she got her feet under her and drove him backward a few steps with a combination of slashes and lunges of her own. As he staggered backward, the man’s hood fell back as he parried her flurry of blows, and his face was tight with tension. Long dark hair framed dark eyes and a sharp, chiseled face. Dark stubble lined his jawline, and a thick scar that ran from just below his right eye down to his chin added to his rough and rugged visage.
She didn’t recognize him at all and didn’t think he was from Sowkirk. It made her think of the foreign conscriptions Pringle had in his keep. Had he sent these men to kill her? Aileas didn’t have long to ponder the question as the man launched a vicious counterattack, furiously slashing and hacking at her. Aileas was able to deflect his blows, but then one slipped through her guard, slicing her along the ribs before she was able to turn from the blow.
She staggered backward, her hand pressed to her side, a grimace on her face as she felt her blood, warm and viscous, spilling down her side. Aileas knew it wasn’t a deep wound, but it felt like a line of fire had erupted along her ribs. Grunting and in pain, she dropped to a knee. Sensing victory, the man grinned and rushed again.
Aileas was ready for him though. As he closed on her, she spun to her right and lashed out with her foot, catching him in the side of the knee. There was a thunderous crack followed by the sound of the man’s agonized wailing. He fell to the ground, his leg bent at an unnatural angle, and Aileas jumped to her feet, then buried her sword in the man’s chest.
She looked around to see Dand dispatch one man, but the second man was closing in on him, poised to strike.
“Dand. Behind you!” she shouted.
Dand spun to his left, the sword that would have cleaved his head in two, driven into the dirt where he stood only the blink of an eye before. Aileas roared in, slamming the attacker in the back of the head with the hilt of her sword. The sound of the crack was grisly, and the man dropped like a sack of flour. Aileas looked at the man sprawled out, unmoving in the dirt at her feet.
“Oi, I think ye killed ‘im,” Dand said. “Woulda been nice tae ask him a few questions.”
“Wasnae tryin’ tae kill him.”
“Looks like ye did anyway,” he grinned. “Daenae ken yer own strength, apparently.”
“Aye. Seems that way. But it was either do what I do or let ‘im kill ye,” she replied.
“I’m rather glad ye did what ye did then.”
“Aye. So am I.”
They shared a brief smile, and Aileas knew that all had been forgiven between them. The man on the ground stirred, a loud groan coming from him, and she let out a silent sigh of relief. Dand kicked the man’s sword away, then hauled him up to his knees. The man looked at Dand, his eyes unfocused until they registered the blade her cousin had leveled at his throat. He swallowed hard, his eyes widening.
“Who are ye?” Aileas demanded.
The man turned but said nothing. Instead, he glared at her balefully. Dand drove his foot into the man’s gut, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, grunting softly as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. He regained his breath slowly, then got back to his knees, his posture rigid, his gaze even angrier.
“Who sent ye here tae kill us?” Aileas asked.
The man hesitated but narrowed his eyes and spoke. “Nae him. Just ye. We was sent tae kill ye.”
His voice carried a thick accent that she couldn’t place. It was familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was not English, nor French. Nor was it of any nation that bordered the Mediterranean that she knew of. It was then she recalled a pair of traders she met once. She remembered they had accents like the man before her, and she concluded his accent was one from the German nation of the Holy Roman Empire.
“By who then?”
The man smirked. “Bruce Pringle,” the man spat. “He found out ye were back in tow
n. Wanted yer head.”
Aileas shared an alarmed expression with Dand, who merely frowned. He didn’t say anything, but she could practically hear his thoughts anyway. The fact that she had been spending time with Luke, that she had told him who she really was and why she was in Sowkirk. She knew Dand was blaming her for it, but in her heart, she knew Luke would have never betray her. Ever.
“How did he find out about me?” she hissed.
The man shrugs. “I daenae ken. All he did was pay me tae kill ye. Twas nothin’ personal though. Not on me end. Twas just makin’ a bit of coin.”
“Men who make their livings by killin’ others don’t often live long enough tae spend thae coin,” Dand said.
“Did Pringle say anythin’ else?” Aileas asked.
He shook his head. “Nae tae me.”
Aileas nodded and, in one fast, fluid movement, drove her sword through the man’s chest. The man fell face-first into the dirt and was still, leaving both she and Dand in silence.
They stared at the man, neither of them speaking as the chill wind bustled by them, making her shiver. And as they stood there, a prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. Aileas looked around at the darkness that surrounded them, peering deep into the shadows and gloom.
“Ye feel that?” she asked quietly.
Dand nodded. “Aye. Somebody’s out there for sure.”
“Why are they nae attackin’?”
He shook his head. “Maybe they’re out there observin’ for Pringle. Supposed tae report back to him about what happened here.”
“Well then, I’d hate for him tae go back empty-handed,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let’s give him somethin’ tae report then, eh?”
Dand arched an eyebrow as he looked at her, a curious smirk on his face. Aileas looked down at the man sprawled and dead in the dirt before them. She noticed he bore a distinctive ring on his right hand.
“That oughta dae it,” she said.
“Dae what then?”
Aileas raised her blade above her head, gritting her teeth as the pain from the cut in her side flared. But she bore it and swung her blade down with all the strength she could muster. The edge bit deep into the wrist but did not sever it cleanly. It took three more hacks to complete the grisly chore. But when she was done, she dropped her sword and hefted the cleaved hand of the corpse.
“Whoever ye are out there, take this back tae yer master. Scurry back tae that bleedin’ cockroach, Pringle,” she shouted, her voice echoing through the darkness. “And show this tae that bastard. Tell him I’m comin’ for him, and I’m goin’ tae take a lot more than his bleedin’ hand!”
And with that, she flung the severed hand out into the darkness. The bushes rattled and shook as the grim memento broke through the thin branches and hit the undergrowth amongst the trees. She and Dand waited a moment, then heard the furtive footsteps out in the trees as their unseen spy crept through the foliage to retrieve the hand.
“Should we go get him?” Dand asked.
She shook her head. “Nay point. Pringle already kens I’m here and is ready enough for us that he’s sendin’ assassins.”
“Nay, I like tae think that he’s nervous enough tae be sendin’ assassins,” Dand replied. “He wouldnae be tryin’ tae kill ye in thae dark of night if he wasnae nervous about meetin’ ye on an honest field of battle.”
As Aileas listened to the sound of the unseen watcher retreating through the undergrowth, a knot of tension tightened in her belly. The fight was coming, and coming soon. Pringle was gearing up and ready for her.
But for the first time, she wondered… was she ready for him?
Chapter Seventeen
As Robert picked his way along the deer path that cut through the forest, he grumbled to himself, his frustration burning hot within him. He’d come to the edge of the forest where they’d tied their horses before continuing on foot to Dand’s house. He quickly untied them all, hitching the three who wouldn’t be returning with riders to his own saddle before lighting out for the keep.
He had tried to tell Pringle the girl was nobody to be trifled with. Robert had heard about the Sea Fox’s bloody and violent reputation. He knew she was a woman who could fight and fight well. He’d heard stories of her daring and fearlessness. Had heard tales of her handily besting men twice her size.
But Pringle would not listen to him. He’d tried to warn him of the dangers of taking the girl lightly. He’d tried to convince Pringle that facing her in battle would not be the simple matter he believed it to be. Robert knew, though. He believed the tales of La Renarde de la Mer. He even accepted the more outlandish tales had a kernel of truth in them. Everything he’d learned of Aileas Kerr told him this was a formidable opponent, and to dismiss her based on her sex, as Pringle was doing, was a mistake. And everything he’d seen tonight only confirmed his opinion of her.
He’d tried to warn him, and Pringle had waved him off. And now Robert was taking a grisly trophy back to his master. He knew he’d taken a risk in retrieving the severed hand, but he calculated it was a risk worth taking. He believed the girl wanted Pringle to see precisely what Robert had been warning him of… that she would neither back down nor be the easy mark he thought her to be.
As grim and tasteless as he found the task he was carrying out to be, Robert secretly relished the idea of throwing this bloody reminder that Pringle should be listening to him rather than dismissing his counsel. Robert hoped this proof that he was right, and Pringle was very wrong, would force the man to rely on him more heavily. Would give more weight to his words and his insights.
Robert rode through the darkness, and by the time he reached the gates of Pringle’s keep, he thought he might pass out from exhaustion. The muscles in his legs burned, his backside was sore, and the adrenaline that had fueled his flight had ebbed, leaving him trembling and feeling weak.
Robert reined in at the edge of the forest on the hill above the keep and took a minute to himself. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten. He wanted to be composed when he met with his master. He needed his wits about him, more than anything. Pringle was likely to be outraged by the failure of his assassins, and Robert needed to make sure he was calm and did not say anything he would quickly come to regret.
Only when he felt sufficiently relaxed did he ride down the hill. He gave the guards stationed on top of the wall a wave as he passed through the front gates and into the bailey. At that time of the evening, there wasn’t much activity, as most people had retired for the night already. But he knew Pringle would be waiting for his return, and Robert suppressed a grin when he imagined the look on his face when he showed him what he’d brought back.
On his flight from Dand’s home, he had imagined several different scenarios in which he broke the news to Pringle that his assassins had failed as he predicted they would. Robert thought something shocking would be best. A dramatic example. Only a jolt of surprise would sear the lesson into Pringle’s mind. Only when he was caught off guard and flat-footed could Robert hope to convince Pringle that he needed him. Needed him now more than ever.
He let out an irritated breath that there were no stable hands to take his horse, and not wanting to tarry too long, he dismounted and put all four horses in the paddock. Annoyed, he quickly removed the saddles, bridles, and other gear, tossing them on the ground in disdain. Let the stable boy clean this up in the morning, he thought. Grabbing the bag with his grim trophy, Robert stomped out of the stables and across the bailey.
Cyril intercepted him as he stepped into the keep, looking at him with pure disgust upon his features. Robert looked down at the dirt and mud that splattered his clothing and frowned. He was a mess.
“Mebbe ye want tae take a minute tae clean yerself up?” Cyril offered, as close to considerate deference as he’d ever been.
Robert thought about it, then rejected the idea. To reinforce the point, he would make to Pringle and hopefully deepen the ties between them, R
obert decided the man needed to see him just as he was. Needed to see that his rejection of Robert’s warnings had consequences and that Pringle would be wise to heed his counsel.
“I’m fine. I wish tae see Master Pringle immediately,” Robert said.
“He’s havin’ his supper at thae moment. Ye’ll have tae wait anyway.”
“Bollocks,” Robert snapped. “I’ll see him now.”
He stepped around Cyril and headed down the corridor, the sack swinging from his hand and Cyril at his back.
“Ye cannae just go in there,” he said. “Thae master’s eatin’,”
“It cannae wait.”
Cyril’s hand fell upon his shoulder, and Robert rounded on him. He put his hand on the steward’s chest and pushed him back. He slammed the smaller man into the wall, gripped him by the throat, and leaned close, their faces scant inches apart. Robert knew he was not a physically imposing man－he was larger than Cyril, but that didn’t mean much given the man’s slight frame. The steward, though, looked at him with fear etched upon his face, as if he’d become a giant. It made Robert feel powerful.
Every Highland Sin: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Page 14