by Lynn Kurland
“I will not fail us,” he said hoarsely. “Anne, I vow it with my life.”
She only shook her head and clutched him tightly to her. And then, just as suddenly, she stepped away from him.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she said quietly.
Robin nodded and unbuckled his sword belt.
“Robin,” she gasped.
He drew the blade and handed it to her, then dropped the scabbard onto the bench. He smiled gamely.
“If I’m to be prey, may as well be easy prey.”
“Robin, nay—”
“Think you I am only skilled with a blade?” he asked.
“You are skilled with many things, my lord,” she said briskly, “but no doubt your sword might serve you?”
“I’ll return for it.” He sat her—and rather unwilling she was about it—on the bench, stepped back, and made her a low bow. “Until later, my lady.”
He took one last look at her, gingerly holding his sword over her knees with her hand on its hilt, and prayed he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life, leaving her there alone. For himself, he couldn’t think of anything more sensible. If Baldwin were truly behind all this, then seeing Robin in such a defenseless position would be too much temptation to resist.
And so Robin turned and walked out to the middle of the lists. He turned, faced the road that led between the inner and outer gates, and folded his arms across his chest.
And he waited.
There was no movement and very little sound. Perhaps things seemed quiet after such commotion over the past few days. Robin had instructed the outer guards to let no one who did not belong to the keep to enter and no one at all to leave. That way if Baldwin did return, he would be let pass and would no doubt quickly come to the lists to take his pleasure.
And if it were someone from within the keep, they would be hard-pressed to bolt.
He continued to wait.
He looked over at Anne. She had taken his sword and propped it up against the bench. Perhaps she tired of the delay. He couldn’t blame her. He was half tempted to sit down and have a little rest himself.
And then he saw movement near the gates.
Baldwin of Sedgwick.
Robin smiled. Perhaps this would go as he planned after all. He tapped his foot impatiently and watched his cousin hesitate. Robin held wide his arms to show he bore no weapon.
Baldwin, as expected, took the bait. He turned his horse and walked it across the lists. He came to a halt some thirty paces away. Robin didn’t wait for him to speak.
“Finished with your labors at Wyckham?” Robin asked pleasantly.
Baldwin’s jaw went slack and that told Robin immediately all he needed to know. Baldwin shut his mouth with a snap and scowled.
“I was on an errand—”
“To procure ruffians?” Robin smiled politely. “I understand my sister dispatched one of them quite handily. Best scout a little harder next time for mercenaries, cousin. Those don’t look to have earned their gold.”
Baldwin’s mouth worked for several moments, but he seemed incapable of producing intelligent speech. Then he gathered his wits about him.
“You whoreson,” he spat.
Robin only smiled. “My mother was not a whore, my lad. I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess about yours, however.”
Baldwin roared and spurred his horse forward. Robin sidestepped him and turned. Baldwin wheeled his mount around and looked at Robin, apparently weighing the benefits of making another pass. He made no move, however, so Robin could only assume he’d thought better of the impulse. Robin contemplated drawing the knife tucked in his belt. That might infuriate Baldwin enough to force him to act and who knew what sort of sport that might provide him with.
“My mother was a lady,” Baldwin snarled. “And at least I know who my father was.”
Robin blinked, then shrugged. It was obviously meant as an insult, but he couldn’t for the life of him divine why he should be offended by it. He looked at his cousin who was currently drawing his sword with a great flourish, and wondered if he might have an answer or two before he dispatched the cretin.
“You wanted my siblings dead?” Robin asked.
“The lads,” Baldwin said. “And you, of course.”
“Of course. But my sister too? Passing unsporting of you, I’d say.”
“I didn’t want her dead,” Baldwin said, sounding disgruntled. “Damned idiots didn’t realize she was a she. I have other plans for her.”
“You wouldn’t survive the night in her bed,” Robin assured him. “She’s very handy with a blade.”
“A woman can’t wield a blade if she’s been beaten enough,” Baldwin said.
Robin couldn’t even contemplate the like and he would be damned before he saw Amanda in the clutches of a wretch like the one facing him.
“Well,” he said, “there’s no need to worry about that, for you’ll not get close enough to touch her, much less feel the bite of her blade.” Robin cocked his head to one side and looked at Baldwin. “I am confused about one thing, though.”
“More than that, I’d say,” Baldwin snorted.
“Why Maude? Why Anne?”
“Maude was a sniveling twit,” Baldwin said in disgust. “She was here to torment you until I could kill you.”
“And she happened to dislike Anne?” Robin asked. “A little extra trouble for your trouble?”
“Aye,” Baldwin said with a nod.
Robin was unsurprised. The only thing that did surprise him was the fact that he hadn’t seen it from the start. The saints only knew where Baldwin had dredged Maude up from, but he could understand Baldwin’s desire to make him miserable.
And damn him if it hadn’t been quite effective.
But now it could be over and Robin could scarce wait to begin. He held open his arms. “Here I am, Baldwin. Do your worst and let’s have this at an end.”
Baldwin balked. “You have no sword.”
“Don’t need one.”
Baldwin’s expression darkened considerably. “I’ll not fight you that way. There is no honor in it.”
“Yet there is honor in poisoning a child,” Robin said slowly. “And pushing a woman down the stairs.”
“That was Maude’s work. Mine is to kill you and I’ll not do it unless you face me truly!”
Robin sighed. This was just his luck—to be fighting an imbecile with ideals. Robin wondered if it would be worth his time to return and fetch his sword, or if he should just take his knife and throw it through Baldwin’s eye. Though it was tempting to do just that, he realized with a start that he found it just as unsporting as Baldwin likely would.
By the saints, he was losing his wits.
“Well,” he said with a goodly bit of disappointment in his voice, “I had hoped you would find yourself with bollocks equal to taking me on, but if you’ve misplaced them—”
Baldwin charged. And as Robin flung himself out of Baldwin’s way, he realized he’d found Baldwin’s sore point. Apparently it wasn’t his parentage, his sister, or his honor. That it was what rested inside his hose shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise.
Baldwin’s horse seemingly had as little fondness for Robin as Baldwin did, for Robin found himself diving and rolling to avoid the slashing hooves. He heaved himself to his feet and flung his dagger before his own arrogance did him in.
His knife lodged in Baldwin’s leg. Sedgwick leaned over to jerk it free at the precise moment his mount reared yet again. Baldwin went crashing to the ground. Robin stood there, sucking in air, and waited for his enemy to rise to his feet. Baldwin jerked Robin’s knife free and threw it at him with all his strength. Robin heard the blade whistle past his ear and wondered if he might have given his cousin too little credit. He spotted his dagger and dove for it, feeling somewhat grateful he’d been cavalier enough to have left his mail behind, for the lack of it certainly aided him in quick movements.
He came up with his dagger in time to see Baldwin b
earing down on him. Robin rolled aside as Baldwin’s sword went ferociously point-down in the dirt.
“Nicely done,” Robin said brightly. “Think you you’ll ever manage to stick it in my flesh?”
Baldwin howled with fury and Robin barely made his feet before Baldwin was swinging his blade with mighty strokes. It was as Robin scarce avoided being decapitated that he began to contemplate the merits of perhaps returning to his lady for his blade. Baldwin dropped his sword suddenly and hunched over, gasping for breath.
“You aren’t going to faint, are you?” Robin demanded.
Baldwin only waved him away.
Robin sighed. No sense in not taking advantage of Baldwin’s generosity. He sighed and turned to retrieve his sword only to stop dead in his tracks.
It was at that precise moment that he realized he had made a terrible miscalculation.
Edith stood next to Anne some thirty paces behind him.
She had a knife to Anne’s throat and Robin’s sword in her other hand. Anne was so pale, Robin thought she might faint. She stood, still as stone. Edith glared at Baldwin.
“Finish him,” she commanded.
“He doesn’t have his sword,” Baldwin wheezed. “I’ll not do it unless I do it fairly.”
And just when Robin thought things couldn’t deteriorate any further, he looked behind Edith to see his siblings shuffling across the field. Perfect.
“Stop,” he shouted. “Edith has a knife!”
The trio came to a teetering halt. Edith dragged Anne to the side so she could see both Robin and his siblings.
“Come no closer,” she shouted. “I’ll kill her if you do!” She looked at Robin and then threw his sword toward him. “There,” she said. “Take your blade.”
Robin looked at her, trying to judge her trustworthiness. As if having a blade across his love’s neck wasn’t indication enough of that! But he wasn’t about to discount the aid his sword would provide him. He retrieved it carefully, then backed away slowly. He didn’t dare look at Anne.
“Baldwin,” Edith commanded. “Finish him.”
Robin continued to back up until he had both Baldwin and Edith in his sights. Baldwin had apparently recovered his breath. He was scratching his head, scowling.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began.
“The saints preserve us,” Edith said with a sigh.
“What good will it do me to kill him?” he asked, pointing at Robin, “when Miles is Artane’s son of the flesh? He’s the one I should be doing in. Robin means nothing.”
“Robin means everything!” Edith exclaimed. “Dispatch him, you half-wit!”
Baldwin continued to stare at her. “You really want me to kill him? I thought you wanted him for yourself.”
“I want his keep,” Edith said. “The grave can have him for all I care.”
“I don’t know why he matters anyway,” Baldwin groused. “He’s not Artane’s son anyway.”
“Baldwin, you imbecile,” Edith said in disgust, “of course he’s Artane’s son. Have you not two good eyes in your head?” She pointed back at Robin’s siblings. “Look you at Miles, then look at Robin. They could be demon twins for all they resemble each other! And look you at Nicholas. Artane’s image, only with fair hair!”
Baldwin looked. Robin found himself looking as well. It was true Miles and Nicholas looked powerfully alike, save the color of the hair, but Robin had assumed it was because . . . well, he had no idea why. It had just been so.
“What are you saying?” Baldwin demanded. “That Robin is Rhys’s son?”
Edith clapped her hand to her forehead. “Aye! Sired on Gwennelyn of Segrave. I overheard her speaking of it to Lord Rhys when first I came here.”
Robin gaped at her and felt his sword slide down to rest point-down in the dirt. “You did?”
Edith glared at him, then slowly she began to smile. It was a very chilling smile. “Aye. Didn’t you know? Ah, apparently not. Then allow me to share the truth. Rhys sired both you and Nicholas, apparently within hours of each other on the night before your mother wed with Alain of Ayre. Did you never wonder why Ayre wanted so little to do with you before his untimely demise? I daresay he couldn’t stomach looking at you and seeing his enemy staring back at him through your eyes.”
Robin could scarce believe it. He looked at Anne and found that even she was looking at him with compassion.
“You knew?” he asked hoarsely.
“I suspected.”
Robin vowed three things in that moment. One, he would finish Baldwin. Two, he would rescue Anne and throw Edith in the dungeon. And three, when next he saw his sire, he would kill him.
With his dullest blade.
His sire. Robin snorted. The man deserved to be disemboweled in the most painful way possible.
He glared at Anne. “Think you he knows?”
“Doubtful,” Anne managed. “Or it could be that he already thinks of you as his, so heredity doesn’t mat—”
Edith pushed her blade against Anne’s throat and she ceased speaking immediately.
“Enough,” Edith snapped. “Baldwin, be about your business. Once he’s dead, you’ve four more here to see to.”
“I don’t want to,” Baldwin said. “Look you; he won’t even raise his blade against me.”
Robin wished for nothing more than ten minutes to stagger about the lists like a drunken man, reeling from the impact of what he’d just learned. Hadn’t he always wondered why he and Nick looked so much alike? Hadn’t he marveled that he and Miles resembled each other so greatly when they only shared a mother in common?
“Now!” Edith commanded.
Robin promised himself a good think later. For now, he had to finish Baldwin and free Anne, likely within the same moment. He suspected if he killed Baldwin and couldn’t reach Anne within the same heartbeat, Edith would finish her with that blade across her beautiful white neck.
And the thought of that almost paralyzed him.
He turned to Baldwin. “Very well,” he said, raising his blade. “I’ll give you the fight you want.”
“At least you’ll die a man,” Baldwin sneered.
“One could hope,” Robin said with a sigh.
And then it was begun. Robin pushed aside thoughts of how much rested on what he did at present, of how many lives depended on his showing there. His sword hilt was slippery in his hands and his legs felt unsteady beneath him. And he had to admit that during the first few clashes of his blade against Baldwin’s he thought he might not manage it. He found himself falling back and it wasn’t a matter of strategy. His blade felt heavy and awkward. His mind was clouded with shock and dismay.
And his cousin was beginning to wear the look of contempt he’d worn during every encounter in Robin’s youth.
And for a moment, Robin wondered if he would fail.
Their swords came together with a mighty clash, the blades slipped down until they were locked at the hilt. Baldwin’s face was a hand’s breadth from his. His breath almost knocked Robin over by itself.
“Pitiful whelp,” Baldwin sneered. “Shall I leave you wallowing in the mud again?”
Robin felt the humiliation of that moment wash over him again as freshly as if it had just happened. He almost went down on his knees.
“Robin.”
Anne’s quiet voice carried across the field. Robin looked at her and saw the trust in her eyes. She was standing with a blade across her neck, her life resting on his performance, and still she could look at him as if she thought he couldn’t fail.
Robin turned and looked at his cousin and as he did, he remembered who he was.
The best bloody swordsman on English soil.
After all, all that de Piaget blood was apparently flowing through his veins and his father was a bloody good swordsman himself.
Damn him to hell.
Robin shoved Baldwin away from him. “No mud for me today,” Robin said simply. “As you can see, fool, the ground is dry. But I suppose I couldn’t expect
someone of your few wits to appreciate the difference.”
Baldwin charged and Robin fended off his attack easily. Indeed, he wondered why he’d had so much trouble with Sedgwick in the first place. The man was nowhere near his equal.
“Make haste!” Edith exclaimed.
“I’m trying!” Baldwin bellowed, increasing the fury of his attack.
Robin clucked his tongue as he easily kept his cousin at bay. “I fear those clumsy strokes simply will not win the day for you. Perhaps if you had trained a bit harder in your youth.”
“Finish him!” Edith shouted.
Baldwin turned and spat at his sister. Robin didn’t waste any time with thoughts of a fair fight. Perhaps he could finish Baldwin quickly and that would cause Edith to at least drop her guard for a moment. That would be enough to rescue Anne. It would have to be enough.
He suspected it might be all he would have.
Robin stepped up behind Baldwin, ready to plunge his blade through Baldwin’s heart when he turned.
Only Baldwin didn’t turn.
Robin watched in amazement as Edith shoved Anne away from her and slapped her brother as hard as she could across his face. Then she jerked him around and pushed him toward Robin.
“Take him,” she demanded.
Baldwin stumbled, thanks to another great push, then spun aside the moment before he would have skewered himself on Robin’s uplifted blade.
Edith, however, was apparently not so graceful.
Robin watched in horror as she tripped and fell.
Full onto his sword.
It came thrusting out her back, through her dress, bloodred and glinting dully in the sunlight.
Robin released his sword before he knew that was what he intended. Edith lay facedown on the ground, unmoving. Robin knelt down next to her, then rolled her on her side. She looked up at him.
“I . . . wanted . . . Artane,” she breathed.
Then her eyes stared at nothing.
“You bastard!” Baldwin roared.
Robin looked up in time to see Baldwin looming over him, his sword bared and raised. Robin realized with a sickening flash that he would not have time to pull his sword from Edith’s body and wield it quickly enough to fend off Baldwin’s attack, nor would his only other weapon—the pitiful dagger that found itself dropped somewhere behind him in the dirt—have been sufficient for the task.