The Warrior's wager

by Mia Pride

  Within the half hour, she heard men shouting over one another in the distance and knew the enemy had reached the gate, yet she had seen no signs of Daniel or any other man coming through the forest. Frustration and impatience started to make her squirm in her position. While she was hiding up in a tree, men were fighting to protect their people.

  The more she sat, the angrier she became. Her husband would try to prevent her from fighting alongside her people, but she was the one allowing him to control her. No longer. She was an archer, one of the best they had, and her talents could save many lives. She had chosen this spot in case any men came through this way, but so far all had been quiet. Even Branwen had not been alerted to any noises nearby. Based on the sounds of metal clashing and voices shouting in the distance, she knew men were fighting and she should be there to help.

  Climbing down from the tree carefully, she softly whistled to Branwen who ambled over to her and she started swiftly maneuvering herself through the thick brush and tall trees, her heart pounding in her chest as the sounds of battle grew nearer. She had more than just herself to care for now. Her unborn child’s life was in her hands. She had to tread carefully. Yet, she knew if she found a tree to hide in within shooting distance of the battle, she would easily stay out of harm’s way and be able to fight the enemy effectively.

  As soon as she saw an enemy warrior within several yards of her in the clearing, she knew she was close. The sound of metal on metal was deafening and agonized screams made her stomach clench. She sent a quick prayer up to the gods to keep her husband, family, and people safe. Never had she been so close to death before and she had to focus on her own skills, forcing away the bile threatening to rise.

  Climbing up another strong oak tree, she saw scores of men fighting from all sides. Scanning the area quickly, she saw no sign of her husband, which made her feel relief, yet sick with worry at the same time. He was out there somewhere; he had to be. Swords clashed, reflecting blindingly against the midday sun and several horses whinnied as their riders fought to stay seated.

  A loud grunt took her attention to the left and she saw her Uncle Brocc several yards away locked in combat with another warrior. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she nocked it and pulled back, closing one eye and expertly drowning out all distractions around her as she aimed for the warrior swinging his sword toward her uncle’s chest. Just before she released, she saw another arrow whiz through the air from a tree in the opposite direction. The enemy bellowed a deafening roar as the arrow pierced through his neck, sending blood spurting over Brocc’s face.

  Tracking the source of the arrow, she now saw Freyne also up high in a surrounding oak tree with his bow. He was one of the best with a bow in their tuath, his skills renowned across Ériu. Between her and Freyne, she was confident they could hugely impact the outcome of this battle, not to mention the score or more of archers she knew must be hiding in trees or under cover in surrounding bush, waiting to stealthily attack.

  A sea of men moved below her, and she allowed her instincts to take over as she let her nocked arrow fly and took out an enemy on a horse. As he fell, his horse kicked its hooves up in the air and sped off in the other direction. Good. Horses were beautiful creatures of the earth and she loathed watching them be killed during the senseless battles of men. But, these men had brought this battle to her village and she would fight, senseless or not, to protect this land that her family toiled to build on, grow on, and live on.

  Pulling another arrow out, then another and another, she squinted her eyes and remained focused, taking out one man after another. A large warrior with black plaited hair and a horned helm stood out in the crowd as he bore down upon her brother with his sword. Though Eoin was large, strong, and well-trained, he was also exhausted from this surprise attack and appeared to be struggling to keep his ground against such a large man. The ground beneath them consisted of loose gravel, causing Eoin to lose his footing.

  With a gasp of fear for her brother, she let an arrow fly, hitting the man square between his eyes before he could even let out a bellow of pain. Eoin panted and looked up, seeing her in the tree. He saluted her with his finger as he would one of his own warriors and she felt pride, unlike anything she had ever known. She had saved her brother and, though she would never have done it solely for the glory, having him acknowledge her made her feel like a true member of Tuathal’s elite army.

  A strong whoosh of air whizzed past her head and a sudden stinging sensation assaulted her cheek. An arrow struck the thick trunk of the oak tree she was squatting in just where her head had been. She felt blood trickle down her cheek and touched her fingers to the wound, wincing at the pain. Looking around frantically, she saw the enemy archer nocking another arrow in a tree not far away, gaze focused on her, ready to let it fly. Within a second, she would be struck down for certain. Her body froze, calm coming over her as her eyes narrowed in on the tip of the arrow aimed directly at her head. She could never move fast enough on this narrow branch to dodge the speed of that arrow once he let it fly.

  She said a silent prayer, Alastar’s beautiful face flashing in her mind’s eye, his last words, demanding her to stay home ringing in her ears. She would die and with her, her unborn child. She had failed.

  A dagger flew through the air, twirling expertly just before connecting with the archer’s belly. Àdhamh. The warrior had saved her from certain death, whether he knew it or not. She sent a quick prayer of thanks up to the gods and another of thanks to Àdhamh, and decided her time in that tree was up. If that archer had spotted the direction of her arrows, so had others. She may have been several yards away from the battle when she chose that tree, but the fighting was slowly moving her way and her chances of relocating were decreasing by the second. If she remained any longer, she would be swallowed up by the melee with no chance of discretely fighting with her bow up in a tree.

  Time to move… now! Bending over to wrap her hands tightly around the thick branch she stood on, she slowly stepped her right leg back, feeling for the branch she knew was just below her feet. Finding purchase, she shifted her other foot and moved her hands lower. The drop to the ground was usually nothing she could not handle, but with a babe in the womb, she could not simply jump out of the tree. Taking another step back, she found a lower branch and then one more, until she was certain it was safe to drop. Her feet landed silently on the floor of the forest and she immediately ran away from the battle, weaving between trees for protection, constantly looking over her shoulder in case she had been spotted dismounting.

  She wanted to stay and fight. She was no coward and the thought of death had never scared her before, but the blood still dripping down her cheek from her near-death blow and the memory of the archer’s second arrow aimed straight between her eyes made her pause and reconsider. She had a life growing within her. What sort of mother was she, risking her unborn child’s life?

  Nay. She had to accept the change in her circumstances. No longer could she make decisions based on her own welfare and stubbornness. It was that very same sort of decision that had led to her almost dying back there. What would Alastar do if she died in battle, along with their babe? He had already lost so much in his life, his entire family. He spent years avoiding love because of his fear of loss and now when he finally allowed himself to move on, she was risking her life, and their babes, for a few moments of glory?

  Shame washed over her for disobeying her husband. She disliked being told what to do immensely. It was her gut instinct to always do the opposite of whatever she was told, if only to prove that she could. That sort of childish behavior ended now. Already, she would pay the consequences when he arrived home, and he would come back home, for she could accept no other alternative. And when he did, he would see her wound. He would know she had been out there fighting… and yet, she could not be sorry. She had saved Eoin and taken down numerous enemies. As much as it pained her to make the responsible decision, she knew she had to return home. Mayhap a woman could fight
amongst men, but not an expectant mother.

  She heard voices just ahead and froze on the spot. She was deeper in the forest now. Had men come through the exposed area, after all? One voice sounded like a man, but the other sounded like a woman… a sobbing woman. If a man was out here violated a woman, she could not stand back and do nothing. She would have to be careful and quiet, using her hunting and tracking skills to stealthily get within viewing distance.

  “Why are you here, lass?” she heard the distant male voice bellow in anger. It sounded much like Alastars, but that could not be so. “You could have been killed!” More sobbing echoed through the thick air and Aislin slowly stepped forward again, hiding behind the large trunk of a pine tree.

  She made her way a little closer, but she still could only see the woman. She was a beauty with long blonde waves of hair that sparkled in the sunlight like the surface of the lake on a hot summer day. Holding her side and bending over, blood leaked through the fabric of the woman’s white linen dress. She was injured.

  “I was told you were… here. I needed to… see you,” the woman cringed and the man lunged forward to grab her before she fell. He turned his face and though Aislin was still a few yards away and hidden well behind the tree, she could clearly make out the features of her husband. She stifled a gasp and dug her nails into the wood of the tree as she watched Alastar wrap his hands around the woman's waist as he lowered her to the ground. Her arms easily circled his neck for support.

  Who was that woman and why was Alastar alone with her in the woods? They seemed to know one another very well, yet she was not from Ráth Mór. Alastar said something to the woman, but Aislin could not hear his whispered words over the shouting in the distance or the wild beating of her own heart. As the woman was lowered to the ground, Alastar gently tucked her golden blonde tendrils of hair behind her ear. The move made Aislin sick. It was so tender, so natural, so familiar. He had touched her that way many nights and now he leaned over this woman, looking down at her as she released her hands from his neck and placed them on either side of his face.

  “I love you, Alastar.” The woman’s declaration was strained and laced with angst, and it floated on the wind toward Aislin like a slap to her face. Who loved her husband?

  “I love you, too Elwynna…” She heard the traitorous words on his lips. He said something else, but the words were much too softly spoken for Aislin to pick up on. Aislin slowly crept forward, feeling as if she was floating in a dark thundercloud, waiting to strike lightning down on her husband and his love from long ago. Elwynna. Bile rose in her throat. He kneeled closer to Elwynna’s face, keeping a hand on her side where she was still bleeding through her garment.

  “Tis good to see your face,” he murmured, and something snapped inside Aislin. His lips continued to move, to whisper to the woman he had loved before Aislin. She was consumed with hot fury and envy, two emotions that, when put together, made her want to rip the heart out of her backstabbing husband. Had he only settled for her because he had believed Elwynna lost to him? Was she only second in his heart?

  Rubbing her belly, she felt their babe move and tears pricked her eyes. She carried his child, but Elwynna carried his heart. That much was certain.

  “It hurts, Al.” Elwynna clutched his hand that gripped her side and groaned.

  Alastar got up on his feet and picked her up behind her knees. “I will take you to my home. The healer can tend to you.”

  His home? No mention of his wife? Aislin was more than angry, more than hurt, and more than shattered. She was destroyed watching her husband carry Elwynna in his arms, the tenderness in his eyes, the softness in his voice. He had said he loved her.

  Aislin, more than anything, wanted to find a reason to believe she had not just been betrayed but those words from his own lips were proof enough that he had already forgotten about her. The wound across her face still stung, but nothing compared to the complete and utter pain of her heart being ripped out of her chest and stomped on relentlessly with every look or word they exchanged.

  Just as Aislin was about to step out of hiding and either shout at her husband or stab him with the dagger tucked into the laces of her boot, a man in a dark cloak stepped out from behind Alastar, holding a sword high above his head. Aislin was certain neither Alastar nor Elwynna saw the blade as it aimed for them. Fumbling for an arrow, she reached behind her and grabbed one from her quiver while shouting at her husband.

  “Alastar! Behind you!” The look on her husband’s face as he saw her standing beneath the pine tree in full view now, was telling enough. Guilt and fear laced his features, but she did not have enough time to analyze his expressions. Knocking her bow and aiming at the heart of the cloaked man, she let the arrow fly and it plunged deep into his heart… but not before his sword went straight through Alastar’s chest.

  All three bodies seem to crumple in slow motion before Aislin. Elwynna shrieked as she hit the floor, but Alastar’s silence frightened her most. Just before the hooded man died, his hood slipped from his head and he gave a sinister grin in Alastar’s direction. “Now who… is better… with a… sword?” The words came out garbled and strained, clearly worth the effort to the man, to make his last words those of revenge.

  Running toward Alastar and dropping to her knees, Aislin finally saw the face behind the shadows. Daniel. He had brought this battle, just as she knew he would. He had sought out his uncle Mal and while the rest of his army attacked through the gates, he had slipped in through the forest, as she had suspected he would.

  Looking down at the blood pouring from her husband’s chest wound, panic bubbled up in her chest as she fought to keep control of the situation. Daniel was dead and Alastar was dying, if not already dead. Nay… nay. He was not dead. Elwynna cried hysterically and tugged on Alastar’s shoulder, blubbering his name as blood continued to seep from her own wound. Watching the woman touch her husband was more than she could handle in this disastrous moment. He did not need some bumbling fool. He needed help. Aislin needed to stop the blood flow and seek help.

  “Quit your cursed shrieking and take your hands off my husband, you… you… filthy… husband stealing… bitch!” Aislin was seething with fury and scared for her husband’s life at the same moment. “Tear off the hem of your dress!”

  Elwynna stopped shaking Alastar and stared wide-eyed at Aislin’s strange request. “You… you are his wife?”

  Och. Aislin had so many nasty things she wished to say to this woman… and to her husband, but she would never get the chance if the fool died first. “I need to stop the bleeding! Give me your blasted dress!” Some sense seemed to sink into the woman’s addled brain, and she ripped a long length off her dress, handing it over with shaking fingers. Wasting no time, Aislin began to bind Alastar’s wound. So much blood. It soaked her hands, his tunic, and the forest floor.

  “Stay with him. I’m going for help.” Elwynna gasped and opened her mouth to speak, but Aislin shot her a murderous look. “He is not dead. He breathes still, but barely. Stay,” she shouted and pointed at the woman, taking no time to start running frantically back through the forest. Branwen must have heard her command, for she stopped barking wildly and sat on her haunches beside Alastar. Just as well. She could protect them in case of another attack while Aislin sought help.

  Alastar was dying and the last words she would ever hear him speak were words of love to another woman. Tears blurred her vision and small twigs whipped across her face as she ran. She put her arms up to shield herself, but she could not care less about the pain of their lashes. She had fallen madly in love with her husband against all good sense. She had opened her heart to him, and given him all of herself. She believed his sweet words and promises, and believed him when he swore he did not love Elwynna anymore. Aislin was carrying his child and now, she was about to lose him.

  Nay! She would not allow it. She loved him, and yet hated him with vehemence. But she would not allow him to die. Nay, he would live. He could be with Elwynna
if he so chose, but she would not have his death on her hands.

  Running a little further, she puffed with exertion and cursed the tears running down her cheeks, no doubt mixing with her blood and creating watery red trails down her face. The sounds of battle had stopped. Had the fighting ended? Running faster, she approached the open space of the main village just in time to see the chaos. Bodies littered the ground and the acrid smell of blood assaulted her nostrils. The cries of children and recently widowed women filled the air. Her heart sank.

  The enemy was gone. Her people must have beat them back enough to chase them away, but she could tell by the silence of the warriors that this was no victory. Men had died. She prayed to the gods none of those men had been her family, but her husband would be one of them if she did nothing.

  Rushing into the village, she sought out any familiar face. Her three uncles huddled together next to her brother and cousins. Flynn. Brennain. Eoin. Freyne. Tuathal. They were all there, all alive, thank the gods.

  “I need help! Tis Alastar! He has been struck down!”

  All their faces turned to her, filled with terror. Jeoffrey ran up, Clarice clutching onto him tightly with shock in her eyes while holding their new son in her arms, and their five-year-old lad, Wee Jeoff, clinging to her skirts. “Is he… is he…” Jeoffrey choked on the words, utter fear for his best mate written across his face.

  “He lives, just barely. Follow me!”

  “Lin!” Her father ran up to her and grabbed her arm. “Sweet daughter. You are hurt.” He put his hand on her shoulders and searched her face with desperation.

  “I am fine, Papa.”

  “But… the babe?” He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Is your babe safe?”

  She gasped and looked deep into her father’s hazel eyes, the lines of a lifetime of worry crinkling at the corners. Her heart softened, and she frowned. He knew. Of course, he did. He and her mama always knew.