Knight Triumphant

by Heather Graham

  She was startled. “Grateful?”

  “First, I’m not sure if I ever really thanked you for my life, after that vicious attack we all suffered upon the road. Thank you for all you did to heal wounds that might well have become infected and killed me, as the cutthroats came so close to doing. And second, for speaking on behalf of me and of Timothy and Brandon. Seeing that we were brought to Langley. These great fellows here might as well have cut us down on the road where we lay—after all, we were heading for England. I’ve never been happier. Learning so much. And being here. And believing that we can fight for Scotland, and honor our rightful king.”

  “I really did nothing; you proved your own value and mettle here,” she murmured, aware that Eric was not far behind her.

  “You gave the three of us life—and a chance at a future,” he insisted.

  “I’m pleased if I’ve done anything for you,” she murmured, wishing to be away.

  “And you were quite beautiful, you know, flying into the midst of battle like that.”

  “She was quite stupid,” Eric said, approaching them from behind. “She might have been killed. Had either of us swung with her between us, it would have impossible to stop the weight of the sword. Thayer, get rest this evening, the time is coming closer when you’ll need all you’ve learned. My lady, come, you can help me with the buckles on the plate, and to shed this coat of mail.”

  He didn’t touch her, but proceeded toward the hall.

  “God bless you, lady,” Thayer said, and bowed, and turned away, expecting that she would be pleased to follow Eric. “We would all die for you, you know.”

  “That is kind, Thayer. I pray you are never called upon for such a sacrifice,” she said, hoping that Eric had not heard the last.

  But he must have. He turned back impatiently, “Igrainia!”

  With little choice, and enormous dread, she followed him.

  She didn’t think that he really needed her help; his helmet and visor were cast aside when she reached the room, just seconds behind him. But he took a seat in the chair before the fire and beckoned to her as she came into the room. “Come. You’re so taken with swords and mail. Help with the shoulder plates.”

  “I don’t believe you really require my assistance.”

  “But I would so like you to render it.”

  She walked across the room, determined that she was going to stay in cool control. The shoulder plates he wore were attached over the mail with heavy leather straps and metal buckles. She undid the first buckle, and was startled by the weight of the plate that fell into her hands. She managed not to drop it, and placed it on the floor by his side. He didn’t speak, and neither did she, though she was aware of the brooding look in his eyes as he watched her.

  The second plate lay by the first. She started to remove the chest plate. His hand caught hers, and he spoke softly. “You had best thank God, Igrainia, that your words, when you plowed into me, were not heard by the men.”

  “My words? That you should not kill your kin?”

  “No, madam. Those words in which you referred to me as an idiot.”

  “And if they had been heard? What would you have done?”

  “Beat you, of course,” he said gravely. “It would be required, for me to keep my dignity among my men. I can never lose their respect.”

  Her fingers froze where they lay against plate. He had spoken matter-of-factly, and with a full explanation. And still, she wasn’t at all certain that she believed him. She had never seen him be anything but gentle with any woman in his contact. Except, of course, with her. It was an admirable quality she could grudgingly accord him. He was aware of his great strength, and because of it, was well able to afford to offer mercy. A virtue she had seen over time.

  “I acted as I felt I must at the time,” she said. And pretending not to be affected by his words, she continued with the task, trying to keep her fingers from trembling.

  “Take care with the level of confidence and power you are feeling,” he warned.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m sure you do. Since it seems there are those who are more than willing to die for you.”

  “I hadn’t even spoken with Thayer in a very long time.”

  “Thayer has reason to be grateful to you, and he is young and idealistic. And I’m not referring to Thayer.”

  “Then . . . what?”

  “First, my lady, you should be aware that Jamie and I are cousins, with the honor of a name between us, and a deep friendship formed through years that were often filled with hardship and battle. He would never betray me, in any way, and it would be amusing that you might believe that you could bring us to blows, if it were not such a serious matter. Second, I’m well aware of your determination to charm every one of my men—especially Jamie. I’m not blind, nor am I deaf, and I have noted your antics in the hall. The men, however, are not aware that you are not equally charming in the time we talk alone, and therefore, you’ve appeared to be no more than gracious. I’ve let you play your game, since it’s caused no harm, and it has seemed to give you a twisted pleasure. But you must be aware—not a man here will ever defy me in any matter regarding you, no matter how many you believe would lie down and die for you, and no matter what you have set out to do.”

  She drew away from him, feeling a rush of blood to her face, and turned to the fire. “I have not set out to do anything. Thayer and his friends were good, decent men, which you discovered yourself. He meant to protect me, and I was in his debt when I did my best to keep his wounds from infection. And as to your cousin . . . I speak with Jamie because I like him.”

  “That was evident this afternoon. But you needn’t fear for him—he’s one of the finest swordsmen I have ever known.”

  “So, could he have taken you down?” she inquired politely, turning back to meet his eyes.

  “Are you hopeful?” he inquired.

  “Curious, no more.”

  He walked away from her, removing the heavy chest plate, and then the mail, without faltering beneath the weight. As he laid out the heavy coat of mail, she started across the room again, afraid that he was far more angry than his manner and words betrayed.

  “I’ll leave you to your privacy, and go on down to the hall,” she murmured.

  “No. I’m covered in sweat and mud. Summon Jarrett for me, and ask that the bath be brought.”

  She hesitated at the door, her back to him. “Certainly. I will ask him on my way down.”

  “No.”

  She turned uneasily, watching him.

  He stripped off the coat of padding he wore beneath the mail. The linen shirt he wore beneath was nearly plastered to his chest. “No,” he said. “You will not go down, not as yet.”

  He was some distance from her, still by the fire. Maybe a sense of resentment, and maybe the tone of his voice brought about her challenging query.

  “Why not? I am certainly not going to rise and try to go running from a room filled with your trustworthy men. And nothing that I do influences anyone, so you need have no fear of my behaving in any way to upset you or bring on battle.”

  “You won’t go down just yet . . . simply because I would like you to remain here.”

  “You would like me to remain here? Or you order me to remain here? If I walk out of this room now, will someone drag me back at your command?”

  “If you want to find out, take your chances.”

  He strode to the door where she stood, hands on hips, a half-smile that offered no real amusement curled into his lips.

  “Well?” he said softly.

  “If I walk out the door, someone is going to drag me back,” she murmured.

  “Possibly, and if so, it will likely be me. So?”

  She allowed her gaze to fall from the top of his damp hair to his feet, the grime of battle practice heavy on him.

  “So?” he repeated softly.

  She raised her chin in an expression of distaste.

  “You w
ould ruin my clothing with the least touch,” she murmured. Back against the door, she slid a distance from her stance before him, then brushed by and walked back to the fire, taking the chair between it and the bed.

  “You didn’t call Jarrett and ask that the bath be sent,” he reminded her.

  “You’re by the door.”

  “So I am, but so were you. And I asked you, politely, I believe, to summon him.”

  “I can only repeat what I have said several times before. I am a prisoner here. Prisoners are not expected to be charming lackeys who obey a master’s commands.”

  His smile deepened. It was a dangerous one, she thought. And she remembered that she had first been eager to escape the room because she wasn’t certain just how angry he had really been when they had arrived here.

  He took a step toward her.

  She rose. “I’ll see that the bath is brought.”

  She slipped around him, opened the door, and saw Jarrett in the hall. She called to him, telling him that Eric required water and the bath.

  She was deeply tempted to run after him.

  A hand on her shoulder kept her from doing so.

  “Why, thank you, my lady, how kind.”

  She stared at his hand where it lay then on her upper arm. “Must you?”

  “Indeed, I believe I must, since I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to give in to temptation, run down the hall, and find yourself in the degrading position of being thrown over my shoulder, and dragged back.”

  “How very polite of you to worry now about the humiliation such a thing might cause. It’s truly a pity you didn’t think of it on the night of our mock marriage.”

  “A legal ceremony, no matter how you arrived for it.”

  “And never so much as opened my mouth!” she reminded him.

  He shrugged. “Come farther into the cage, little bird.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she wished that it didn’t seem he could read her every thought. His touch propelled her back into the room. She strode to the fire again, feeling the confines of a chamber that was really more than generous in size.

  “Fine,” she murmured. “I will stay here, and we will cast cruel and miserable words at one another while you bathe.”

  “I’m actually trying to understand why you feel the need to cast barbs, Igrainia. You’re a prisoner. One allowed to keep every stitch of rich and valuable clothing. Your prison is a room that has been your home. You tease, talk, laugh, and sing in the hall. You eat well. You admit to liking some of your evil captors.”

  “They are still my captors. And I am a prisoner while you train men to fight against those to whom I owe my loyalty. Those I love.”

  “Good King Edward!” he scoffed.

  She hesitated. “I grew up in England. And in England, he is considered a great and glorious king. Tall and golden, a Plantagenet with the power to rule, to make laws, and govern well.” Her voice faltered slightly. “I have seen him at court, and I have seen him be kind and generous, as befitting a king.”

  “Ah, yes. The earl’s daughter, knowing about royalty in the great and glorious halls. So, you have seen him, and know him. And you know Robert Bruce as well. And surely, Edward finds you as grand and beautiful a pawn as Robert Bruce. Except that he refused to rescue you. There is your kind and generous king. He betrayed you. And you know as well that he has often ordered wholesale slaughter.”

  “I know that men from both sides have been vicious and brutal when invading one another’s land,” she said.

  “We had no fight with England. Edward is fighting a war here of pure aggression. We fight hard in our defense. And we will continue to do so. I train men to fight for the freedom of their land, against the aggression of a tyrant.”

  “Your war against me is a battle of aggression! Haven’t I the right to fight back against a tyrant?” she asked him sharply.

  “Your war has long been lost, the fight is over, and you are the conquered territory. And I am far from a tyrant.”

  “You certainly are a tyrant!” she protested, “and like Scotland, I will keep fighting.”

  A tap sounded on the door. Igrainia bit her lip, swallowing back her denial. She didn’t want to fight in front of the servants.

  Especially since it did seem she had lost long ago.

  Even the battles within her soul.

  Eric opened the door. Garth had come, leading the party of servants with the endless kettles of water. At length, they finished.

  The door closed behind the last of the servants. Eric stripped off his soaked shirt, boots, hose and breeches, and settled into the water, as if she were not present.

  She remained in the chair, her fingernails digging into the wooden arms. His head disappeared below the surface of the water as he soaked his hair.

  He emerged a moment later, and seemed to bask comfortably in the steam while she felt the tension increase in her limbs moment by moment. She nearly jumped when he moved, taking soap and cloth to scrub, then rinsing the cloth, placing it over his face, and sinking back into the heat.

  Finally, she could stand it no more. She rose and walked to the tub. His distrust of her was apparent as he quickly drew the cloth from his face, eyes narrowing as he watched her.

  “What? You’re eager to scrub my back?” he inquired.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I am not Margot,” she replied, then felt her limbs grow cold as she saw the frost that entered his eyes.

  She couldn’t believe what words had escaped her lips in her haste to retort.

  “No, you’re not,” he said, and leaned back again. “You are not Margot at all.” His tone certainly implied that she lost in the comparison.

  She should leave it be, walk away. She shouldn’t have spoken those words.

  “But,” he said suddenly, “you are what I have now.”

  She should still walk away! she warned herself.

  She had begun what she shouldn’t have, but his last words were like salt in a wound, and she found herself unwilling to let it lie.

  He had actually given her the opportunity to walk away.

  She could not take it.

  “I am what you have now . . . not the perfect wife, adoring from the moment she became your bride, willing to cast aside her own loyalties and thoughts and feelings for any passion you had in your mind. No, I am not that woman!”

  He rose, water running from his body, now gleaming with soap and steam. She jumped back, turned and fled, headed for the door, certain that he wouldn’t follow her dripping and naked into the hallway.

  But she didn’t reach the door before he caught her. Heedless of his dripping state, he held her shoulders and backed her against it. “Are you so curious? Let me tell you about her then. Margot was no blushing bride when I married her. She was my companion for years before we wed. I defied my father and family when I did so, since it was assumed that I would marry a woman of means. She brought nothing to me in the way of lands, estates, or riches. But she did bring an unwavering loyalty. She ignored the disdain of others to follow where I led. And I don’t think I knew myself just what she endured, and what she gave without question or demand, until we had been married. She was educated, intelligent, and beautiful, and cast away what promised prospects she had herself when she chose to follow me.”

  Igrainia found that she was shaking, though she wasn’t certain exactly why. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. Except for the pressure of his hands, gripped hard into her flesh. But there was a blue fire in his eyes that seemed to burn her, and the wet pressure of his body, against hers in anger, somehow brought a greater misery than a slap across the face might have done.

  “I can’t be Margot!” she whispered.

  “And I cannot be your precious, idealistic Afton, living in the clouds.”

  “When she spoke, you probably listened!” Igrainia murmured.

  “Since you never care to really speak to me, except to inflict a wicked barb with your words, it would be difficult to listen. You are what I
have now. And I am, Igrainia, what you have as well. You are not held in chains of steel, starved, or beaten. Perhaps upon occasion you would consider giving in just a bit.”

  She lowered her head. “I am already an outcast among my people for what I have given in on.”

  He caught her chin, lifting it. “What people, Igrainia? Who? Those who lived at Langley and survived the plague and my people, imprisoned here, were treated just the same. This is Scotland. People have bowed to Edward out of fear. They are more than willing to embrace a king who might lead them to a real freedom. Do you see anyone here walking about in chains? The gates open daily. Men and women are free to leave.”

  “Except for me,” she murmured.

  “And where would you go?”

  She held silent, exhaling. He shook his head, serious as he studied her eyes. “You know as well as I that both Niles Mason and Robert Neville are butchers. And unless you manage to escape to a nunnery on the continent, far from Edward’s power, you will be a prize for Neville, a trophy, wrapped in the ribbons of your lands and riches.”

  She knew that she was trapped in her own argument. He was awaiting a reply. “At the least, you are not a butcher,” she murmured. “I’m not at all sure what you gain. What can my lands in England mean to you?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “You have Langley,” she said.

  “Aye.”

  “So what can my value be to you?”

  “Interesting question,” he murmured, without replying to it. “But I am grateful for your admission that I, at the least, am not a butcher. I take that as a great concession, coming from you,” he said, with a small curve of his lips but a somber tone. “What is your value? The point is that I do have you, and I am not displeased with what I have now.”

  “You are not displeased. Because you don’t dislike me.”

  “You do know your own power, and your assets, Igrainia,” he said dryly. “You’ve the face of an angel and the form of a goddess.”

  She was startled by such a compliment from him. Even if it was spoken impatiently.

  She moistened her lips, watching him, still wishing she could escape.