“It truly is a splendid feat you have wrought, Ian,” said Fiona. “Though I am not surprised.”
“’Tis wondrous, to be sure.” Claire’s face glowed with pride as she gazed around her.
Ian’s heart hammered at her compliment. He cared not what Niall thought, but Claire—her admiration warmed his blood and eased his feelings of unworthiness.
“I am thankful you approve, my lady,” Ian said. Any more of this praise and he might be tempted to steal a kiss. “Shall we return to the keep?”
Once they reached the horses, Niall pulled his waterskin from his saddle and offered it to Ian. “How have you managed all this work in the short amount of time you have been here?”
Ian took a long drink, relishing the cool liquid, then returned the skin to Niall. “Phillip found the workers, and I’ve delegated the training and the building to different men.”
“So others are in charge.”
By the saints, the continual slights to Ian’s abilities wore him down, and he’d had enough of it. “Nay, I am.” Ian turned his back on his brother, made sure Claire was mounted, and then guided the group home. While he wanted to assert his own strength in leading the rebuilding, he dinna want Niall to combat him further—especially in front of Claire.
He must devise a plan to see his brother gone from Whitfield. That was of the first order.
Chapter 23
Ian’s foul mood festered as Claire enjoyed Niall’s company while returning to Whitfield after their tour. His tales delighted her while his jests made her laugh outright. His brother had entertained her through the entire outing. Ian, on the other hand, was not amused. He glowered at the two, his disposition souring even more as they neared the castle.
Whitfield’s gates swung open for them, and he pressed forward, leaving the group in the wake of his dust. Why did he still feel the sting of rejection by his brother? The overwhelming mantle of inferiority? Wasn’t it enough that he’d lived a lifetime of it in Scotland? Did he have to tolerate it in his own home? On his own land? Ian made for the stables, ready to be free of his brother as well as from his humiliating past.
Stopping at the paddock, Ian dismounted. A wave of heaviness seeped through his body. He closed his eyes and gripped the saddle to keep from falling. Odd. He blinked a few times, steadied himself, and then led his horse to Toly. As he handed Toly the reins, he felt as if he were lifting his arm through mud. Was he ill?
The group of riders reached the paddock. Niall dismounted and went to Claire’s side. She placed her hands upon Niall’s shoulders. He slid his hands about her waist and slowly brought her to the ground. His hands remained at her waist.
By the saints! Ian had endured enough of Niall and the intrusive currying of Claire’s favor. He strode toward the pair, shoving away the feeling of trudging through quicksand. His hands clenched, the seed of frustration bursting into full bloom.
Ian grabbed Niall’s arm, yanking him far from Claire. “I will not have you fawning over my intended.” He stepped between Claire and Niall, facing his brother.
Claire pulled his arm. “He was giving me aid, which you neglected to do.”
Ian’s neck grew warm at the slight. “I would remind you of your frequent insistence that you need no help from a Scot.”
Claire winced and released his arm.
“Perhaps it is only a certain Scot she wants distance from, brother.” Niall clasped his hands behind his back and shrugged.
Ian unclenched his hands and stretched his fingers. He wanted to punch his brother’s insolent face. He stepped toward Niall, but Claire moved in between them.
“The both of you are foolish, and I will not be used as an excuse for you to come to blows. I will not stay and listen to your childish arguments.” Claire blew out a breath and faced Fiona. “Shall we retire to the solar?”
“Aye,” Fiona said and followed Claire across the bailey toward the keep.
Ian faced his brother. “You will regret your interference with Claire.”
“As if you could scare me into stopping.” Niall drew his sword. “You have always been weak.”
Ian slid his sword out of its scabbard, the steel scraping loudly within the quiet circle of guards standing around them. By the saints, his body moved as if weighted by ten suits of armor.
“Nay!” Claire turned back and ran toward them, with Fiona close behind. Ralph grabbed Claire before she could come between Ian and Niall. “Please! Do not fight over me!”
“You are but one of many reasons, Maid Claire.” Niall lunged at Ian and thrust his sword toward his brother’s heart. Ian deflected the blow and jumped backward before planting his feet, sword raised.
Claire struggled within Ralph’s grasp. “Nay, my lady,” he said. “You must stay back and let the lords deal with each other.”
“They might kill each other!”
“My lady, they do not fight to kill. They fight for position, as brothers are wont to do.”
Position. The word sounded in Ian’s head, reverberating like an echo in a hollow cave. He’d never fought against his brother, or anyone in his family for that matter, for position. He had always been shoved away, left out, forgotten. He had no position.
But here was his chance to prove himself—to show he was worthy of the inheritance and had the mettle to hold on to it no matter who came against him. If only his sluggish body would cooperate. Ian pressed forward, raining strikes against Niall, pushing him backward toward the paddock fence by sheer will. Niall’s face reddened as he deflected each blow.
A crowd gathered, giving them a wide berth as they fought. As Niall neared the fence, the corralled horses whinnied their protest. Niall grabbed his sword with both hands and furiously swung at Ian, pushing him back a few steps.
A sneer marred Niall’s face. “You were always a wretched child and remain so now.” Niall pounded Ian repeatedly, forcing him to retreat.
By the saints, his strength waned.
“Do not fail,” Claire yelled.
Was she encouraging him or Niall? He shook the question aside as Niall continued his assault, forcing him back with each strike. Niall changed the direction of his sword and sliced horizontally. His blade caught Ian’s, and with a twist of his sword, Ian’s blade came out of his hand and fell to the ground.
“Nay!” Claire lunged forward but Ralph held her tight.
With a wild cry, Niall thrust his sword at Ian’s chest. Ian twisted, barely evading the blade. He dove for his sword and rolled to his feet in time to deflect another horizontal slash of Niall’s sword.
Ian’s arms retained little strength. What was happening to his body? He couldn’t withstand Niall offensive and slowly retreated until his back pressed against the castle wall. Ian’s sword clashed against Niall’s and the two met head on, their faces a mere handsbreadth from each other.
“You pathetic piece of refuse,” snarled Niall.
“Says the man whose soul is as black as night. You will leave Whitfield at first light on the morrow.”
“You try and make me.” Niall spit on Ian’s face.
Ian reared his dizzy head and with one quick movement, smashed his forehead against Niall’s. The two men broke away, each staggering from the blow. Niall regained his footing first and raised his sword to strike.
“Ian! Watch out!” Claire’s shrill voice cut through the air.
Ian leaped to the right, dodging the blow, and then pivoted on his foot. He swung about and met Niall’s blade with his own.
Bellowing, Niall pressed Ian back against the wall, relentlessly beating his sword against Ian’s. Ian clutched his blade with both hands and met each of Niall’s blows.
With nowhere to go and no strength left, Ian couldn’t get the leverage needed for an offensive. He continued deflecting Niall’s blows, his arms burning from the strain.
Niall edged closer. Once again, he caught Ian’s sword and hurled the blade to the ground. Niall pointed the tip of his sword to Ian’s chest.
�
�Do not hurt him!” screamed Claire. She pulled at Ralph’s hand gripping her arm.
“If he was going to kill him, he would have already done so,” said Ralph.
“But—”
“Let us see how the lord will proceed,” said Ralph.
Ian lifted his chin. How did one proceed in the face of humiliation? Defeat?
“’Twould seem you haven’t mastered your swordplay enough to defeat me, brother. Not that I am surprised. You never had the capacity to learn.”
“Dinna listen to him, Ian,” said Fiona.
But Ian had listened. What they didn’t understand was that he had learned. He’d learned to keep his emotions in check in the face of his brothers’ verbal abuse so as not to feed the monster within him. He had learned to not care what his family thought of him—home was only a place to sleep, eat, and learn to fend for himself. Ian stared at Niall, keeping his face as still as stone.
“See to it you never order me about again.” Niall said through clenched teeth.
Ian kept quiet, not rousing the beast within his brother.
“Ian, say something!” Claire’s voice pumped ice through Ian’s veins. His humiliation was complete. He shot his gaze at Claire. Her face held a mixture of confusion, anger, and ... disappointment. He dinna blame her. He was a disappointment—always had been. Saints, he disappointed himself.
Moving the tip of Niall’s sword away from his chest, Ian slowly stood. “Brother, you have bested me yet again. As for leaving Whitfield, you may stay.” As long as you keep away from my bride.
Niall threw back his head and bellowed a laugh. “Oh, little brother, your bravado in the face of defeat is laughable.”
If he wasn’t feeling so poorly, he’d plow into his brother and have another try at beating him senseless. But he was in no condition to attempt anything at the moment.
“I have a mind to stay indefinitely, perhaps permanently.” Niall toyed with the hilt of his sword. “As your elder brother, I stand in line to inherit before you. It is my prerogative to change my mind and take Whitfield for myself.”
Ian’s hand flew to his waist but grasped at nothing. His sword lay on the ground several feet away.
Phillip drew his sword. “At arms, men!” The sound of steel against steel sounded loud as Whitfield’s guards raised their swords. Niall held up his sword as his own men drew their blades.
“Nay!” Claire’s voice drew Ian’s attention. She struggled against Ralph’s arms about her waist as he pulled her away to a safer distance. “No bloodshed!”
Fiona, her face awash with concern, went to Claire and tried to calm her as Ralph led her away.
Ian appreciated the care over his intended. At least he needn’t worry about her safety. Ian focused on his brother. Niall cast a measured gaze around the bailey. Whitfield’s guards stood ready.
Ian breathed in deeply, humbled by the support of his men—proud that they would stand with him against his brother. Phillip tossed Ian his sword, then Ian faced Niall. “Whitfield is mine. You had your chance and gave it away,” said Ian.
“I could easily take your paltry band of men and slaughter them.”
“Perhaps one at a time, but not all of them at once. You are outnumbered.”
Niall’s gaze flickered around him. His lips thinned, and he shot Ian a vicious glare as he thrust his sword into its scabbard. “Very well. I concede for the moment, but let it be known that you couldna thwart me without the aid of your men.”
Ian squared his shoulders. The braggart!
Niall motioned to his men and they sheathed their swords. A slow smile curved his lips as he glanced around him. “‘Tis almost time for the evening meal, aye? I’m famished.” He rubbed his hands together and started toward the keep, motioning for his men to follow. After a few steps, he stopped. “You know I always win in the end.” He didn’t wait for Ian to respond but continued toward the keep.
Ian blinked. Was that a threat or only a way to remind him of all the times he had been at the receiving end of Niall’s spitefulness? He glanced at a grim-faced Phillip, and then put his sword away and addressed his men. “I appreciate your banding together against my brother. You do Whitfield proud today. Now go and eat your fill. You deserve it.”
The men left for the keep, and Phillip drew close. “You do not look well. I thought I’d have to step in to save you when you lost your sword the second time.”
“I feel as weak as a newborn calf. Some sickness coming on, perhaps.”
“You did well against Niall.”
“I lost.”
“But you stood against him in the end. He knows you are not going to back down and give up Whitfield.” Phillip clasped Ian on the shoulder. “You know we need a plan for when he does try to take the castle from you.”
“Aye, that we do.” Ian ran a hand over his face.
“Go rest, and I will send food up to you.”
“Nay, I will not let Niall out of my sight.” Ian began a slow walk to the great hall. Food dinna sound pleasing, but maybe the sustenance would aid his strength.
Phillip walked by his side. “Let us manage him while you fight off whatever is ailing you. I will make sure he stays in check and will report anything untoward.”
The thought of crawling into a bed sounded like a piece of heaven on earth. His heavy limbs ached for rest. His head spun and his mouth was dry. Perhaps a few moments of rest would do him good. Enough to gain some strength.
“I will bring you food,” came a voice from behind them.
Both Ian and Phillip whipped around, their hands at their swords. Claire stood before them, her hands clasped at her waist.
“I did not mean to startle you.” She dropped her hands and walked toward him. “Are you unwell?”
The concern on her face stood in stark contrast to her expression of disappointment earlier. He didn’t need her pity. “I need nothing.” He turned his back to her and walked toward the keep. He dinna care that he might have hurt her feelings. He dinna care that he pushed her away. It dinna matter that their marriage would be difficult. He dinna care about anything except burrowing into bed and sleeping off the ill effects of whatever sickness plagued him.
Phillip came to his side. “Ian, you—”
“Leave me be about Claire.”
“But—”
“I will not be pitied by my ... my ...” Claire. His intended. The one who should be proud of her betrothed, not full of disappointment. Anger, he understood, but he couldna take her pity. Not today. Not ever.
Tomorrow he’d find a way to face her, but tonight ... tonight he wanted sleep to dull his senses and release him from the indignity of falling prey to Niall’s dominance.
Perhaps once he gained his strength, he’d challenge his brother. Next time he’d win. He would force Niall off his land and endure his manipulation no more.
Chapter 24
A bolt of lightning streaked across the inky sky as Claire stood in the middle of the empty bailey. She watched Ian’s broad back as he plodded to the keep ... away from her. His shoulders slumped. His head was bowed. His steps were heavy, uneven, and he seemed to be struggling to maintain his balance. He did not turn around—not even a glance over his shoulder. Thunder rolled deeply, vibrating the earth with its power.
She blinked against the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks and thrust her chin high, defiant in the face of Ian’s rejection. Yet, she’d seen the utter defeat in his eyes when Niall had pressed his sword against his chest. Humiliation had surrounded him thick as quagmire, sucking his very soul into its depths.
She swiped at her eyes as she trudged toward the keep, angry with Ian for keeping her at arm’s length yet again but empathizing with his deep humiliation. And, if she was honest, she was angry with herself. She was a fool for going against Ian’s wishes and spending time with Niall. Ian had been right about his brother’s duplicity. She should have rebuffed him, no matter how amiable he had seemed to become. The man was truly evil, and now he was in
a position to cause real trouble at Whitfield.
Had she lost the little progress she’d made in her relationship with Ian? She’d have to work hard to show how much she appreciated him for his work at the castle. In truth, she admitted she had begun to trust him. So far, he had accomplished everything he set his mind and hand to do.
Claire entered the great hall and was enveloped by the aroma of roasted meat and the heavy silence of fear. She wended her way through the tables filled with men and women eating their fill, their faces etched with worry. She couldna blame them. Niall had proved he was capable of defeating Ian.
Niall’s hooded gaze followed her as she ascended to the head table. A wry smile played about his mouth as he chewed his food. Would that she could rid him of that smile and bring his visit to an end. He’d proven his strength and power over Ian. How could she guide him into a decision to abandon his ambitions on Whitfield and leave on his own accord?
Claire slid into the chair between Niall and Fiona and reached for the goblet of ale set before her.
“Has Ian retired for the evening?” asked Fiona.
“He was feeling quite ill and won’t be joining us,” said Claire.
Niall smiled. “I’m not surprised. As a child, he tended to run away when things did not transpire as he saw fit.”
“Niall! ’Tisn’t true! He ran from your ill-treatment of him, nothing more.” Fiona placed a hand on Claire’s arm. “Please excuse Niall. His manners are not as they should be.”
Claire summoned a smile, if only to be cordial to Ian’s sister. She had been nothing but kind since her arrival. Claire lifted her goblet to her lips and gulped the cold liquid as she prepared to go to battle for Ian. She set her cup down and sucked in deep breath and faced Niall. “You were cruel to Ian. ’Tis unlike the happy companionship you pictured when you spoke of your childhood. Is there a reason for your arrogance toward him?”
Niall grunted and picked at a morsel of food between his teeth. “I may have exaggerated Ian’s jovial nature. In truth, he’s a wastrel, not deserving of this land.”
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 20