Claire quickly came to her feet and ran toward Whitfield’s guards. Niall’s men bolted after her, but Ian’s guards met them before they could catch her. The other two women ran to the castle, which now had many of its inhabitants lining the battlement to watch.
Niall rushed toward Ian, and he gripped his sword tighter. Panic washed over him as he recalled his defeat just two days earlier. Nay! He had his full strength today. He was fighting for his land. He was fighting for Claire.
Ian pushed forward with sword raised against his brother. Steel met steel, and the clash reverberated through Ian’s arm. Niall swung his sword in quick succession, hurling the blade downward upon Ian. Blocking Niall’s blade with his own, Ian held his ground, refusing to give an inch.
The clang of swords rang around him as his men engaged Niall’s guards. Was Claire still safe? Out of harm’s reach? Niall thrust his sword and Ian jumped back, barely escaping its point. He shoved his concern for Claire from his mind. Focus! Be the victor over Niall once and for all!
A man’s cry rang out, and Ian grasp tightened around his sword. He sliced his blade horizontally. He must end this battle before he lost too many men. Niall stepped back, and Ian took the offensive. His blade flashed in the sun like lightning, forcing Niall back toward a stand of trees.
Sweat poured down Niall’s face, his mouth contorted with his effort to gain control of the battle. Ian renewed his zeal, pushing harder. He drove Niall until his back pressed against a massive tree.
Niall pivoted, rounding the large trunk, and then wended through the trees to the left. He ran into the open, his face twisted with hatred.
Ian ran toward his brother, blade held aloft. Niall rushed at him with a bellow.
Their swords came together with a clash, and they both spun around from the momentum. Ian faced Niall and slashed his sword from side to side, causing Niall to step back. Ian quickly glanced around, shocked that many of his men still fought valiantly. Pride swelled within his chest at the sight.
Niall’s yell drew Ian’s attention, and he stutter-stepped backward to avoid the swing of Niall’s blade. The tip ripped through Ian’s trews and nicked his lower thigh. By the saints! Concentrate! He couldna lose—not when so much was at stake.
“’Tis only a matter of time. You with no mail. I shall rip you to shreds.” Niall’s crazed laughter sent a shiver up Ian’s spine.
Nay, Niall would not win this time. Ian gathered his strength—the strength of will and the strength of his sword arm. He bellowed a war cry and drove Niall to a retreat with every swing of his blade. “You—shall—never—have—Claire—nor—Whitfield,” he said with each stroke.
Niall stumbled under the force of Ian’s sword and fell to his knees. Ian continued his onslaught until he had knocked Niall’s sword from his hands.
Ian pressed the tip of his sword to Niall’s neck. “Do you yield?”
“Never.” Niall’s face twisted in contempt. “I will never yield to you.”
“Very well.” In one deft movement, Ian hit Niall in the temple with the flat of his blade. Niall’s eyes rolled back, and he pitched forward onto the ground.
Ian looked upon his fallen brother as cheers from the castle sounded. He’d done it. He had felled his brother—without ending his life. He might later wish he had, for Niall would most likely retaliate. But for now, he had won.
“Well done, Ian.”
Ian looked at Phillip.
“I had faith in you.” Phillip put a hand on Ian’s shoulder.
“You shall make me weep like a maid if you continue in that vein.” Ian smiled at his friend. He glanced around them. He counted six of his men wounded. Two suffered deep gashes on the arms, while the others sustained minor flesh wounds. Ralph tied up one of Niall’s men, the only one conscious. Out of the other three, only one lived.
Claire bent over one of Whitfield’s men, her shoulders shaking.
“Claire!” Ian ran toward her.
She came to her feet, a wobbly smile on her face. She pushed back the wild hair that had escaped its braid and walked toward him, her gait unsteady.
Ian dropped his sword and crushed her to him, her soft body enveloped by his. She trembled within his grasp. He pulled away slightly, searching her face. “Did he hurt you?”
“Nay.” She shook her head, and then looked back at the body she had just left. “But Samuel, one of your new men. He is dead.”
“Ah, lass. ’Tis sorry, I am. To lose any soul is a weighty matter.”
Claire swiped at her eyes and nodded.
Ian glanced at her neck where Niall’s blade had pressed. “He cut your throat, the brute!”
Claire’s hand flew to her neck.
“Merely a scratch, but we should bind it.” Ian pushed back lock of hair from her face. “When I find the person responsible for letting you out of the castle wall, I shall—”
“Do nothing. I took two guards with us for protection.” She gave him a pert smile. “You said yourself Niall had gone to Scotland.”
“And I was wrong. Horribly wrong.” He’d never forgive himself for his lapse in judgement. “’Tis sorry I am you were hurt. I knew what he was capable of. I should have—”
Claire’s fingers on Ian’s lips rendered him speechless. “’Tis over.” The gentle smile and warm gaze melted his heart like wax. He grasped her hand and kissed her fingers.
“We have much to discuss.” He wanted to settle in his own heart the truth of her feelings for him, and his for her. “But first, we must see to the wounded.”
“Aye, of course.” She stepped back, her cheeks a rosy hue.
“We shall bring them to the great hall where you can tend to their needs more easily. Now let me see you to the keep.”
“Nay, you manage your men. I will have the wounded moved to the hall and gather the supplies and herbs.” Claire gave him a quick smile and then headed for the keep.
Phillip approached Ian. “What shall we do with your brother and his men?”
Ian wasn’t about to take Niall and his men into the castle. He looked at his brother, face-down on the ground. “Let’s move them under a tree, out of the sun.”
“You are too kind,” said Phillip, shaking his head.
“He is my brother.” While he had no love for his family, he wanted to be a man of honor despite their ill-treatment of him.
Phillip shot Ian a crazed look. “I cannot believe you would still call him brother after everything he has done.”
Ian shrugged. “I only want to do the right thing, not what I think he deserves.”
“You are a better man than I, for I’d have done away with all of them. At least they wouldn’t have a chance to gather an army and come after us later.”
There was that to consider, but still, Ian needed to be free of the guilt that acting out of revenge or anger would bring. He would be a man of courage and honor. One of worth. “They are not to be harmed. You forget we have an ally in Bardsley.”
“Aye, that is comforting, to be sure.” He pointed to Niall’s steed grazing near the stream. “What of their horses?”
“Tie the horses near the trees when Niall and his men are laid. We shall afford them every opportunity to flee England with ease.”
Phillip gave a quick nod. “I’ve never met anyone more honorable than you.”
“Dinna fash yourself overmuch. I am not completely honorable.” As the continual thoughts of Claire’s rosy lips proved.
Phillip laughed and then ordered the able guards to move Niall and his men into the shade under the trees.
Ian heaved a sigh. It felt good to do the right thing. Leaving Phillip to his task, he headed to the great hall to see if Claire needed aid.
The room bustled like a beehive, with women cleaning wounds and wrapping bandages around limbs. Claire tied off a bandage around James’s wrist and then put a hand to her back to stretch. She looked weary, and her gown was now stained with blood. As he approached, she looked up and smiled.
“The
injuries are not serious. Mostly flesh wounds.”
“That is good news.” That meant less time required to recover. He needed all the hands he could muster if he were going to finish all the work yet to be completed at Whitfield.
Claire picked up a basket of supplies. “Will you go with me to tend Niall?”
“I will take Leticia. You need not attend your abductor.”
Claire placed a hand on Ian’s arm. “I feel like this is something I need to do. I remember the priest saying one time that we should pray for our enemies, and be kind to others, even respond to a slap on the cheek by turning the other. I will see to his wounds and those of his men.”
He marveled at the woman before him. He considered sparing Niall’s life an honorable action, but this deeper act of Claire’s humbled his self-righteous heart. “You are a good woman.”
“Nay, I am not.” She smiled. “But I hope to do better in the future.”
Ian took her by the hand, called for a few guards to follow, and then led her outside the castle to Niall and his men. Niall had not regained consciousness. The two dead guards lay several paces away, both covered with a cloak. The other two men were bound, but both were bloodied from cuts on their arms and legs. Fiona stood over Niall, her hands clasped, and her head bowed in prayer. She looked up as they approached.
“Where is Niall hurt?” asked Claire, stopping in front of him.
“’Tis only a knot on his head. No need for a bandage, but he will have an ache in the head upon awakening,” said Fiona.
“Very well.” With Fiona’s help, Claire began to tend the other two men, putting salve on their cuts and wrapping them in clean cloths. She took great care in her work, tending to the enemy with kindness.
Niall stirred, and Ian gripped the handle of his sword. His brother was bound at the wrists, but Ian remained at the ready.
Niall glanced around, then sat upright, putting his bound hands up to his head for a moment before he spoke. “Your bride is sweeter than you, little brother. See how she attends my men.”
“She is kinder than I, to be sure.”
“I wonder if she would be so kind if she knew the truth.” Niall sneered.
Claire stopped her ministrations and looked at Niall. She did not speak.
“Ah-ha. She is curious.” Niall moved as if to stand.
Ian drew his sword. “Nay, remain on the ground.”
Claire returned to her work, her movements quicker. Ian could see she wanted to leave. “She does not need your truth,” he said.
“I believe she does. For how can she move past the death of her parents without knowing who their murderer is?”
Claire sprung to feet and moved toward Niall. Ian caught her by the arm. She trembled, no doubt with anger. He understood her rage.
Niall smiled. “Do you want to know, fair Claire?”
Ian drew Claire close. “You dinna have to listen to him.”
After a long moment, Claire spoke, her voice ragged. “I want to know. Was it you?”
“Nay, but I was an observer at the event. An act done by my very own father.” Niall’s grin was that of a crazed person. “Ian’s father.”
“Nay!” Claire shook her head repeatedly. “Nay!”
Ian heard the anguish in her cry. His own father killed her parents. How could she ever come to love him now?
Niall continued his taunt. “Can you live with a man whose family killed your parents?”
His brother’s words echoed Ian’s tortured thoughts. Claire would never be able to look at him again. “Enough!” Ian gripped his sword tighter. He would not submit Claire to further turmoil.
“What will you do, brother? Kill me? Prove to Claire that Scots are a murderous lot?”
Ian wanted to cut his brother down. Silence his venomous words. Relieve them of his presence forever. But Fiona’s words echoed in his head. Your significance comes from God—who you are in him. Niall’s words held no power. Ian was not a murderer. He was a man who was given gifts—the gift of land and the gift of Claire. Were these good gifts indeed from a good God? Claire seemed to believe in this God. Her heart had been changed of late. Couldn’t he too be changed? He dinna have to be like his family. “Nay. I am no murderer.”
Claire lifted her chin and swiped at the tears coursing down her face. “Aye. Ian is nothing like your father—nor you.”
“You may think so, but won’t you always doubt his true nature, coming from such a family?”
Claire cast an anguished gaze upon Ian, a gaze that seared his soul. She would always question his character. Always wonder if he might turn violent. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she shook her head.
“Nay,” she whispered. She faced Niall and pushed back her shoulders. “Ian has proved himself time and time again,” she said, her voice strong. “I choose to believe he is a man of honor, now and forevermore.”
Ian’s heart nearly burst with Claire’s declaration. He wasna sure he could have behaved the same had their situations been reversed. But she chose grace over hate. Loyalty over suspicion. He was blessed to have such trust from the woman to which he was bound.
Niall’s snort refocused Ian’s thoughts. “My lady has nothing more to say to you. You can either bury your men here or take them with you. I’ve left you their horses should you choose to take them home. Either way, I expect you to be gone from Whitfield by nightfall.”
“I will return, brother.” Contempt marred Niall’s countenance.
“Then you will come against opposition, for Bardsley is now my ally, ready to fight any army you bring. You won’t be able to stand against the both of us.”
Niall’s glared at Ian. “We shall see.”
Ian took a small dagger from his boot and tossed it a good twenty paces away from Niall. “That is to cut your bindings once we are within the castle wall. I have guards with crossbows aimed at you should you try anything untoward.” Ian turned to Claire and Fiona. “Come. We are done here.”
Fiona shook her head. “I will leave with Niall.”
“Nay,” cried Claire. “You must stay.”
“Aye. For your own safety, stay and make your home here.” Ian moved to Fiona and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You will find a life of peace under my roof.”
Fiona glanced at Niall, indecision in her expression. “Very well. I shall stay, but only for a time. I dinna know where the Lord may lead me next.”
Relieved, Ian led Claire and Fiona to the castle gate. Away from his brother. Away from his past. He had defeated his brother and had won the respect of his lady, Claire. Despite the horrific news she had discovered, she had placed her trust in him.
He dinna ken why he deserved such loyalty, but he vowed to be a man worthy of her trust.
Once they were safely ensconced within the castle wall, Claire’s tense body relaxed. Niall’s revelation stirred up the pain and anger she had recently been able to push aside. She had already managed to let go of some of the rage that had consumed her for so long, but learning the identity of her parents’ murderer sent the feelings crashing over her once more. She loved Ian; that she could not deny. But should she marry a man whose family had murdered her own? Would that horrible knowledge somehow create an inevitable barrier between them?
She considered Ian. The man who had endured her bad temper with patience and wrought a miracle upon Whitfield in such a short time. The man who had come to her rescue to save her from his brother’s evil nature. A man who had let his brother live, even though he had cause to kill him. Considering his gentle strength helped her gain the courage to trust—to trust the man whose character spoke of kindness and honor.
“Claire, shall I carry you the rest of the way to the keep?” Ian gripped her trembling hand tighter. She’d slowed her pace considerably, as her body felt heavy and tired.
“Nay, I am well.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Her legs were a wee bit wobbly, but she pushed forward.
“But Niall’s words …” Ian
’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head.
Claire came to a stop in front of the keep. “’Tis a relief to know who killed my parents. Aye, ’twas a nasty surprise to learn it was your father, but Ian, you are not your father.” She placed a hand on the side of his face, trying to reassure him.
Ian placed his hand over hers, then brought her fingers to his lips. “You humble me, fair lady. Your grace almost surpasses that of your beauty.”
“Heavens above!” Claire’s pulse skittered through her body at the warmth in Ian’s gaze. She put a hand to her throat where it met the linen covering her scratch. “Oh, we need to tend our wounds. Your leg. It must be cleaned.” She looked to the bloody bandage around his lower thigh.
Ian took her hand. “’Tis but a simple flesh wound.” Ian tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, as he was often wont to do. “Go to your chamber and rest. I will have someone prepare a bath for you and send up a tray of food. The evening meal will be upon us soon, but you need some sustenance after what you’ve been through.”
His easy smile and caring eyes made it easier to acquiesce. “Aye, but you must wash as well. Phillip can care for your wound.”
“I can manage on my own.” His smile took on a teasing light. “I recall tending the wound issued by your very own hand not long ago.”
Heat suffused Claire’s cheeks at the memory. She couldn’t believe she had the audacity to injure the man before her. Much had changed in a short time. “That seems so long ago. I am sorry for treating you so.”
Ian’s finger traced a cool trail across her hot cheek and then rested under her chin. “I’m sure I can think of several ways you can redeem yourself.”
The heat from Claire’s face rushed throughout the rest of her body, as she remembered the warmth of his hands on her waist, the feel of his arms around her, the soft touch of his lips upon hers. “Perhaps—” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Um, when the priest arrives, I shall redeem myself fully.”
Ian moved a breath closer. “I should send a host of men to search for the priest.”
“By the saints,” said Phillip. “Cease your pretty utterings, for I can take no more.” Phillip strode from the bailey and skirted around them to open the door to the keep. He held it open for them to enter.
His to Keep: A Medieval Romance Page 25