His to Keep: A Medieval Romance

by Sherrinda Ketchersid

  Leticia’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she curtsied before heading to the kitchens.

  “James, go ahead and question the men to see if they have any information as to what exactly happened to Wade and Faethon.”

  James left the hall. Ian slumped into his chair and pushed away his food. He had no more appetite.

  Phillip sat beside him. “Ian—”

  “I dinna want to hear anymore.” How could he explain why he felt bound to honor Claire’s wishes about not bedding before marriage? Aye, it would have sealed their troth and negated the situation Ian currently was in, but he would have had to force himself on his betrothed, and that he would not do. Of course, if he had wooed her properly, she might have acquiesced, but what did he know of such things? He was a fool.

  “Ian,” said Phillip. “You must go after her.”

  Ian looked at his friend. “You are daft. She dinna want me.”

  “It does not matter. Your family passed over Whitfield. It is yours. Yours!” Phillip pounded the table with his fist. “All your coin is sunk into this land. ’Tis yours to keep.”

  “But Claire prefers Niall, and whoever marries her gets Whitfield. ’Tis too late.” Ian shook his head, casting his gaze down at the table.

  “But it’s unlikely they are married yet, so you may still be able to prevent the wedding. It is never too late when pursuing your destiny.”

  Ian snorted. “You sound like a soothsayer.”

  “I am speaking truth. Claire is your destiny. I know ’twas a rough beginning, but I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I know you care for her. I tell you, Claire is yours to keep just as much as Whitfield. Find her and marry her before Niall does. She will come to love you soon enough.”

  His to keep. His own love to have and to hold. Phillip had it aright. He cared for Claire. He loved her. She had woven herself into his heart, bound herself to him in a way that would never unravel. And while he knew the kiss they had shared had been … well, glorious, if she now cared for Niall, he wouldna stand in the way of her happiness. “Niall has captured her trust, if not her own heart.”

  “Niall is a liar if tales of your youth are to be believed. Deliver Claire from Niall’s clutches and you will be saving her. You will be delivering her from the devil’s snare.”

  Ian lifted his gaze and looked across the great hall, as if to peer through the cobwebs clouding his view of what was true. Phillip spoke truth—always had. While Claire apparently thought Niall the well-mannered man he’d been here at Whitfield, Ian knew better. Indeed, Niall may have murdered the guard on duty to pull off a nefarious plan.

  To wrench Claire from Niall’s clutches—even against her will—would save her from marrying an ogre who would chew her up and spit her out when tired of her. He couldn’t allow that to happen, even if it meant living with the truth that he would always be her second choice.

  Ian came to his feet, gripping the handle of the sword by his side. “Go gather the men. Leave four here to guard Whitfield but have them all armed for battle.”

  Phillip leapt to his feet with a grin. “I knew the real Ian was in there somewhere.”

  That his friend thought of him as a man who would charge into battle to claim what was rightfully his—it humbled him. And made his chest swell a wee bit, truth be told.

  Ian clasped Phillip on the shoulder, thankful for his wisdom and boldness to proclaim it.

  “Let’s go save my bride.”

  The beat of the pounding hooves kept tempo with the throb in Claire’s head. The odor of horseflesh filled her nostrils as she was jostled about. She struggled to open her eyes, though part of her wanted to keep them closed and return to the blessed darkness free from pain.

  Was she ill?

  Nay! She’d been attacked. Her eyes flew open, revealing the rushing ground beneath her. She panicked, trying to grab hold of something—anything—to steady herself, but her bound hands made it impossible.

  Pain seized her in the stomach. She was draped over a man’s lap, the pommel of the saddle the culprit of her discomfort. Twisting her head around, she viewed her captor. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression. Niall.

  He sneered. “Do not try to fight me, for I will pummel you senseless once more.”

  She closed her eyes against the hammering in her head and the light of the early morning sun. She let her head fall back down. Bile rose in her throat at the motion of the horse. Or was it the foreboding of what was to come that turned her stomach?

  She willed her mind to focus. Think! What could she do to thwart her captor without getting hit by a fist?

  “I am about to be sick on your boots.” ’Twas not an untruth.

  Niall abruptly came to a stop and slid her off the horse. She landed on her feet but grew lightheaded. She stumbled and fell onto her backside.

  Claire moaned at the pain. She put her bound hands up to her forehead and closed her eyes, trying to force the bile in her throat back down.

  ’Twas to no avail. She bent over and spewed the contents of her stomach upon the road. After heaving until she could heave no more, she wiped her mouth. Faith, she was thankful to be on solid ground.

  Niall dismounted while his four guardsmen remained in their saddles, standing guard several paces away.

  “Why have you taken me?”

  “I would think ’tis obvious. I aim to have Whitfield. You are the key to my obtaining it without opposition.”

  Claire came to her feet. “But you cannot, for your family passed Whitfield to Ian. ’Tisn’t fair to change your mind, especially after Ian has spent all his coin improving the estate.”

  Niall laughed. “Hence the reason I’ve changed my mind. I won’t have to expend all my resources to further the land’s construction.”

  “He will fight you for the land.” Claire knew how much Ian wanted Whitfield.

  “And not for you?” Niall’s mouth twisted.

  Claire remembered Ian walking away from her the night before, leaving her alone in the bailey. She squared her shoulders and tried to look brave in the face of the truth of Niall’s words. Ian might use her to fight for the land, but he would not fight for her.

  “He should have made you his as soon as you were handfasted.”

  “But why take me away from Whitfield? You could have sent for a priest and forced a wedding.”

  “We are heading to Scotland to gather my full garrison of men as protection against any assistance Ian might muster to oppose me. Wedding you once across the border is an added bonus along the way.”

  Claire’s skin crawled at his words and dread seeped through her body. “I am not willing.”

  “That makes it all the more enjoyable.” A slow smile crept across Niall’s face.

  How could she have ever thought Niall to be kind? She rued her easy acceptance of him, embarrassed she had been deceived. “I shall fight you at every turn.”

  “As I hoped you would.” Niall came toward her.

  The fear coursing through her caused the ache in her head to pound harder. Nausea swept over her and she heaved—right onto Niall’s boots.

  Jumping back too late, Niall cursed. “You foolish wench!”

  Claire spit the foulness from her mouth, wishing she could as easily rid herself of Niall’s presence. “You brought it upon yourself. You shouldn’t hit women.”

  “I’ll hit whatever and whomever I like.” He stomped into the tall brush by the road and attempted to wipe off his boots with handfuls of brush.

  Claire hoped the stain of her vomit would remain on his boots, reminding him of his daft plan.

  After a few minutes of grumbling, Niall returned. “We must keep moving.”

  “I need to see to my needs.” Anything to stall their progress.

  “Nay, you can wait.”

  Claire shrugged. “If you don’t care if I soil myself while in your arms, then so be it.”

  Niall cursed again. He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her off the road until they reached the t
ree line. He thrust her forward and she tripped, falling to the damp grass.

  “Be quick,” he spat.

  Claire would be anything but quick. She took her time coming to her feet, using her bound hands as an excuse to be clumsy.

  “I said to hurry.”

  Claire lifted her bound hands. “It would be easier and quicker if I were not bound.” She held out her hands. “Do you prefer to cut me loose?”

  “Nay.”

  Claire dropped her hands and waited.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Not with you standing there.”

  Niall cursed. “Were you this much trouble for Ian?”

  “Much worse.”

  Niall blew out a breath. “No wonder he put off bedding you.”

  Claire stifled a smile. “Give me privacy, please.”

  Niall turned his back to her but remained where he was.

  “Nay, step away.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest but did not move.

  Claire frowned, wishing she had more space between them. She moved back into the trees.

  “Stay where you are!” Niall glanced over his shoulder.

  “If you do not leave, then I am moving for more privacy.”

  “I would not risk your escape.”

  “As if I could run far with bound hands,” said Claire.

  “Wench, go to the trees and be done.”

  Claire slowly moved into the trees. After taking care of her needs, she paused, hearing Niall speak to his guards. Good, he was distracted. Though she dreaded what Niall might do in response, she must keep delaying their journey.

  So she ran.

  Moving fast through the trees, she ran as straight a line as possible, putting as much distance as she could between them.

  Niall’s cursing reached her ears and she pressed harder. Her gown lifted in her bound hands, she pumped her legs, jumping over sticks and stones in her path.

  “Your efforts are futile,” yelled Niall.

  His footfall grew louder. She knew her capture was near. A push from behind sent her careening forward, and she landed on her side atop a branch. She cried out. Faith! She’d have a nasty bruise.

  “You are the most foolish woman I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. I’ll make sure you do not run away again,” snarled Niall. He snatched her shoes off her feet and threw them into the brush, and then yanked her to her feet.

  Claire winced as his grip tightened. Both arms would be bruised before this day ended.

  “How you could think an escape would be possible is beyond my comprehension.” He hauled her behind him as he strode back to his horse. She struggled to keep up, tripping continually over her skirt while she avoided sticks and stones on the ground.

  Two of Niall’s men dismounted and met them as they reached the road. One grabbed her by the wrists and yanked her toward Niall’s horse. Once Niall mounted, the guard put his hands around Claire’s waist to lift her to her captor.

  She brought her knee up, connecting with the guard’s groin. He doubled over and stumbled backward, yelling curses upon her.

  Slow their journey. ’Twas her only plan.

  The other guard rushed over, twisted Claire around, and gripped her waist from behind. As he started to lift her, she reared her head back until her skull connected with the man’s face.

  “Argh!” He dropped Claire and clutched his mouth. “She knocked my tooth loose!”

  Claire’s first instinct was to run, but she knew she wouldn’t get far. She allowed herself a smile, satisfied with her efforts. Another guard dismounted. She lifted her chin as he came towards her like a cat stalking a mouse.

  Her scalp felt as if it had been lit on fire, and she was lifted off her feet. Her bound hands were no match for Niall’s grip on her hair. One of the guards finished the job and lifted her onto the horse in front of Niall, who kept a firm grasp on her hair, pulling her head back against his chest.

  “Do not even think about causing me harm or I shall pull every last hair out of your head.” Niall’s voice growled in her ear as he pulled tighter.

  Claire cried out. The brute!

  “Will you remain still as we go?”

  “Aye, aye!” Claire would for a while, if only to relieve the hot, prickly fire from her head.

  Niall released her and she closed her eyes. He moved his horse forward and brought it to a slow trot.

  Though trotting made her head throb worse, she was thankful for the slower pace. Perhaps it would give Ian time to catch up to them.

  He would rescue her, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t give in to Niall. She thought back to Ian’s interactions with Niall over the past few days. Would Ian go against his brother once more for her?

  Doubts crept in her heart as she relived their conversations and even her actions. She hadn’t made life easy for Ian. While they had come to an understanding and had shared a lovely kiss together, she hadn’t truly believed his concern regarding Niall. She had made friends with the real enemy.

  Grim questions chased each other through her mind. Did her behavior cause Ian to think she preferred Niall over him? Would he think her worth coming after? Did he truly want the land enough to claim her? Perhaps his need for her hand in marriage to claim Whitfield would be enough to prod him into saving her.

  For she desperately needed saving.

  Chapter 26

  In the small armory next to the guardhouse, Ian and ten of his men outfitted themselves for battle. Ian pulled the chain mail over his head, letting the heaviness settle over him like the calm that had shrouded his thoughts. They would track Niall and his men and rescue Claire.

  ’Twas for her best future, whether she believed it or not.

  He cinched his arm guards, stuck a couple of daggers in his boots, and took hold of his chain hood. He was ready.

  “Riders coming!”

  Ian rushed into the bailey toward the gate. Who would come at first light? Had Niall returned? “Who comes?” he yelled to the guard atop the barbican.

  “Bardsley! With two men!”

  By the saints! Had Bardsley changed his mind regarding peace? This was the last thing Ian needed to deal with this morning.

  Ian ran up the stairs to the top of the barbican and watched as Bardsley neared the castle. Saints, he didn’t have time to deal with his neighbor. He had to save Claire. By the time Bardsley arrived at the castle gates, Phillip had joined him.

  “Lord Bardsley,” Ian called. “What brings you to Whitfield so early in the day?”

  “I have business in the neighboring village and thought I would stop and—".

  “I dinna have time for a visit right now, Bardsley. My brother has made off with my betrothed during the night, and I must see to her rescue.”

  Bardsley’s brows rose. “I thought you handfasted.”

  “My brother seeks to nullify it by wedding her himself and taking control of Whitfield.” Ian placed his hands atop the battlement. “Should he gain control, he would not be as congenial a neighbor as I.”

  Bardsley barked a laugh. “You congenial? One who steals my sheep?”

  “As payment for land used to feed those sheep. And, might I add, that you have given me as a gesture of good will for aiding your nephew.” Ian ran his hands over the rough stone. “Listen, my brother is a violent man who would have no compunction about killing your men or violating your women. Believe me when I say he will make your life miserable, especially if he gains the aid of my family.”

  “I can defend my own people. I do not fear what he can do.”

  “You should.”

  Ian started at the voice behind him. Fiona joined him.

  She addressed Lord Bardsley. “Ian speaks truth, for Niall will get aid from my father and brothers who are every bit as fierce as he is. Their garrison of men is impressive.”

  “I am not afraid,” said Bardsley.

  Ian paused. “If there is the threat of my family’s army in taking Whitfield, my hope is that you and I can stand toge
ther. We have come to terms in regards to the sheep. Let us agree to be allies should either of us need aid from outside forces.”

  “As for using your land, do I have full reign over your pasture?”

  “Up to the creek. In time, I will have my own large flock, but until then, you may have the use of my land.”

  “Very well, allies we are,” said Bardsley. “Do you need aid fetching Maid Beaumont?”

  Was he in need of help? He had more guards than Niall, but his brother’s guards were better trained. But then he felt much stronger now than when he fought against Niall last eve. He could defeat Niall, couldn’t he? He must face his brother at some point. “Nay, but I thank you for the offer. If I have need of you in the future, I shall send for you and your men. And should you ever have need, you should send for me.”

  “Very well.” Bardsley nodded. “The reason I am here is to bring your coin as payment for using the pasture.” He held out a fat purse.

  Ian motioned to Ralph to open the gate. “My thanks. I hope our arrangement works well for the both of us.”

  “Time will tell.” Bardsley handed over the coin to Ralph, and then motioned his men to follow. With a wave of his hand, he headed back toward his own land.

  “Well done, Ian.” Fiona placed a hand on his arm and squeezed.

  Ian blew out a breath. “I dinna think I would ever have such an alliance with Bardsley, but ’tis glad I am.” He took Fiona by the arm and led her down the stairs to the bailey. “I am leaving several guards here while I am away. If something happens or you need aid, send one of the men to fetch Bardsley.”

  “Ian, please be careful against Niall. He is dangerous.”

  “Aye, I ken that well.”

  “Rescue Claire, but please understand that killing Niall will not relieve you of the past.”

  “But it will prevent Niall from returning to steal Whitfield from me. I willna fail in being lord over this estate.”

  Fiona stopped in the middle of the bailey as guards mounted their steeds and moved into formation in front of the gate. She grabbed his hands and faced him. “Your significance doesna come from being a lord. It comes from God—who you are in Him.”