“Yes, she is worth it,” Eric said impatiently.
“Then, if you’re ready, it’s time to begin.”
“There is no other way,” Eric said. Then he hesitated, turned back, and looked at the grim faces around him, at those who had ridden with him, so long, and so well.
“Remember, not one of you is to be seen. They will kill her. I know them, and no matter how much Robert Neville wants his riches, Niles Mason wants his vengeance more. And remember this as well, no matter what happens, you must see that she gets away,” he charged them. He mounted Loki, and Lord Danby and Aidan, too, swung onto their mounts.
Eric looked at Aidan. “You must see that she is pulled away, quickly.”
Aidan sighed. “You keep forgetting that she is my sister.”
Eric turned then to Lord Danby. Danby had been taken from the back of the ranks; he wasn’t aware of the full plan.
“Lord Danby, I can only warn you that these are not men of honor.”
Danby replied, “I will demand that the lady be respected.”
Eric turned to his men one last time.
“No one, no one, is to be seen,” he repeated.
“Aye, Eric,” Jamie vowed.
It was time. More than time. Eric spurred Loki, and the fine horse broke into a gallop. It occurred to Eric that he could be racing to his own date with death.
CHAPTER 24
As they waited, Igrainia was forced to watch the arrangements.
She wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have Robert drag her into the woods.
The scaffolding was makeshift, thrown together with whatever logs they could find. They arranged them under a tree to suffice for the height they needed to cast the rope over so that they could hang their prisoner until he was choking and half dead.
Water buckets were brought so that his head could be wetted if he passed out and became unconscious in the middle of the proceedings. The crucial point of such an execution, Niles pointed out, was that a condemned man suffer for the wrongs he had done. A sword ended a man’s life, but . . . it also made his atonement far too short. Traitors could pray while they were in their agony, and perhaps win redemption before God. Niles was irritated not to have proper execution tools at his disposal. He needed a sharp, hooked blade to properly reach into the body and extract the organs correctly, to keep the prisoner alive while he was ripped apart.
Father MacKinley grew quite pale, but he was quick to point out to Niles that God was the final judge for all men, and perhaps he preferred to mete out his own brand of atonement, once a man had passed from this life to the other.
“Won’t matter any, Father, this outlaw will be cast from the pain of the blade to the fires of hell,” Niles said.
Father MacKinley looked sternly at Robert Neville. “I personally watched over you, Sir Robert, when you were at death’s door. I helped see to it that you escaped Langley before any retribution fell upon you.”
“You helped me out of the castle. And I’ve not yet managed to return to it!” Robert reminded him. “Mind your prayers, Father. We will, of course, allow you to say them over the condemned. And Igrainia! I had thought that you’d be on your knees already!”
“If I were to say a prayer that was needed now, Robert, it would be for your soul. However, since I hope you burn in hell forever, I will not bother.”
She thought that he would have struck her, had Father MacKinley not stood so staunchly at her side. Yet as she spoke, they became aware of hoofbeats on the earth. She bit hard into her lip as she saw that Eric was coming. He rode between her brother and Lord Danby, just as had been agreed. With a sinking heart, she saw that he had meant his agreement.
He had come with no help, with no sign of hope.
Niles walked forward with pleasure. “Igrainia is there, with Father MacKinley. Aidan, Lord Danby, you may join her. Igrainia is placed there, right by the trail, and may take your horse and ride the moment your head is severed from your body, Sir Eric,” he said.
Eric nodded. He didn’t look at Igrainia. She started to rush forward. MacKinley held her back. Aidan and Lord Danby dismounted, standing on either side of her and Father MacKinley.
Niles had a rope which he had fashioned into a noose, and with deadly accurate aim, now threw it over Eric’s head. The noose tightened around his neck, and he was dragged from his horse. Instinctively, his hands flew to the rope to still the tightening around his throat. Niles called to one of his mounted men, and the fellow came forward, spurred his horse, and began to race through the clearing, dragging Eric over the ground.
Igrainia screamed. She tried to rush forward, to stop what was happening. She looked in dismay to Aidan and Lord Danby who were emotionless as they watched.
“My God, no!” she breathed, struggling with MacKinley.
His hands bit into her shoulders. “Stay, you must stay!” he begged her.
“I cannot!” she said. “My God, I thought this had to be a trick, that Eric would ride in with his men, that . . .”
“He couldn’t do that. Don’t you see? He couldn’t let them do . . . what they might have done to you.”
“It could be no worse!”
She watched as Eric’s body thumped over rocks and earth, and she tried to turn against MacKinley’s chest. Robert strode to where they stood, wrenching her around.
“You are required to watch, Igrainia.”
The horseman had come to a halt. Eric lay still. She feared that he was already dead.
Niles walked to where he had stood. As he was about to reach down, Eric came to his feet. Blood trickled from his forehead, and his lip. His face was covered in dirt, and marred with red scratches. His rich blond hair was matted, near brown from the dirt through which he had been dragged. His clothing was torn and ragged.
As he stood, another of Niles Mason’s men walked swiftly behind him, grabbing his wrists, pulling them behind his back, tying them tightly together. Eric didn’t move a muscle in protest. He stared at Niles all the while.
Niles caught the rope around his neck and tossed it to the man at his back. The rope jerked, causing Eric to stumble momentarily. He regained his balance, and walked, shoulders squared, back straight, head high.
She couldn’t bear it. She started to run to him.
She escaped MacKinley, but not Robert Neville, who stepped forward, catching her by the shoulders, jerking her back and forcing her to look again. “There is your warrior husband, Igrainia. A beaten animal, ready for the final slaughter.”
Aidan stepped forward. “Robert, you will leave my sister to me. It is part of the agreement we made.”
Robert released her far too easily, and with far too charming a smile.
But it was good that she was with Aidan then, because Niles called out that MacKinley was welcome to come forward and open his prayer book. Father MacKinley did as he was bidden, walking to the tree trunk scaffolding and slipping his prayer book from his cassock.
The rope around Eric’s neck was thrown over the tree. Another man joined the first to lend his weight to the rope so that they could lift Eric from the ground.
Igrainia watched Eric’s face turn to crimson as he struggled and gasped for breath.
She began to scream.
He fell, dropped to the logs by his executioners.
Niles stepped behind the logs, ordering that Eric be spread out properly atop them. He took his knife and ripped open Eric’s tunic and shirt.
“And the Lord bless you and forgive you, and welcome you into the bosom of his arms!” MacKinley said, bending over Eric to make the sign of the cross on his forehead.
Igrainia could bear no more. Her screams filled the air as she wrenched free from her brother’s hold.
“Igrainia!” Aidan shouted in dismay.
She started to rush forward. But before she could reach the scaffold, and before Niles Mason could dig into Eric’s flesh with his raised knife, Father MacKinley made a stunning move. He dropped his prayer book.
&nb
sp; Beneath it, he carried his own knife. It was a small weapon, but a weapon, nonetheless.
And with an awkward upthrust, he speared it into Niles Mason’s belly.
He didn’t kill Mason, but he hurt him bad enough to send him staggering backward.
And in that time, Eric rolled from the logs, and struggled to his feet.
“It’s a trick, a trap! Kill them! Kill them all, the traitors!” Robert Neville cried. He was rushing forward himself, sword drawn, eager to reach Eric as he rose with his hands still tied behind his back. His preoccupation to reach Eric in all haste caused him to push past Igrainia, ignoring her.
“No!” she raged, and her scream turned into a cry of fury and hatred. “No!”
She leaped on his back. She beat him in a frenzy as he tried to dislodge her.
She heard a whizzing sound. Arrows flew through the air. The two men who had wielded Eric on the rope fell dead.
The party of Mason’s and Neville’s men, off-guard in their fascination with the execution and taken by complete surprise at the sudden turn of events, seemed to come to life suddenly in a mass movement. They surged from their arc around the site of execution, but even then, they were unprepared for the Scotsmen. A hail of arrows suddenly seemed to fly, and in their wake, men were falling from the trees like ripe fruit. The arrows had taken down many a man, but others came forward. A great clash of swords began, and everywhere Igrainia turned, which was dizzying as Robert spun about madly in his efforts to dislodge her, she saw more men engaged in combat.
At last, Robert managed to disentangle himself from her fierce hold upon him. It didn’t matter. As she flew from his back, she saw that Father MacKinley had used his knife to free Eric’s bound wrists. Jamie, sprinting by Eric in the midst of deadly hand-to-hand combat, tossed Eric the sword he had carried in his left hand.
Filthy, bloody, bruised, and scratched, Eric turned on the first man coming forward to do battle with him.
That was the last Igrainia saw. She landed with her back hard against a tree, and fell to the base of it, stunned. She blinked, scrambling to rise. As she did so, she saw that she had Robert Neville’s full attention now. He was walking toward her. He had apparently forgotten that she was the key to the riches he had so coveted. His sword was raised.
She braced herself against the tree. There was no weapon to grab. And there was nowhere to run.
Yet, even as he came within reach of her, something strange touched his eyes. He opened his mouth as if he would speak.
Then he crashed down before her. Behind him stood Aidan, Robert Neville’s blood dripping from his sword.
“Igrainia, I was charged with getting you on a horse and out of here!” he chastised irritably. “You made me fail at my one important task.”
“Aidan! Behind you!” she shouted, and he turned, whipping his sword around, just in time to fell the man who had been rushing to him.
Aidan was instantly engaged anew. Igrainia saw a man scrambling over the body of one of his fallen fellows, and heading toward her with a lethal fury in his eyes. She dropped to her knees, straining in her efforts to retrieve Robert Neville’s sword. Neville’s dead weight was upon it.
Someone stepped past her, engaging the enemy bent on her demise. She pulled the sword free, clutched it fiercely. She saw Lord Danby cut down the man who had meant to take her life.
“Lord Danby!” she breathed. “You fought . . . an Englishman.”
“No,” he said. “I fought for the honor of the English—which does exist,” he said firmly.
She smiled. “I know,” she told him.
Then she was grateful she held a weapon, for the fighting had become desperate, with no mercy or consideration for a woman. She hadn’t the power or the expertise of the men. She was able to defend herself until one of the armed men surrounding her came to her defense. She became posessed with the desperation of defense, turning, swinging the sword in an arc to keep any enemy at bay. The men at her side were all engaged when a shattering blow fell against her blade.
She looked up. Niles Mason, grinning from ear to ear, had forced her weapon to the ground.
She struggled to free it. Smiling, he moved his blade. She raised her own, and met with the same shattering force. He began to swing again and again, methodically. She was forced back. She didn’t think she could hold the blade any longer.
Someone thrust by her, pushing her back.
Eric. He and Niles engaged. She gasped for breath, then swirled, stunned as she saw another man rushing to accost her. She spun in a wide arc as he came, catching the man in the middle. He staggered away, scraped, but newly infuriated.
Jamie stepped in.
She swung around, hearing someone at her rear.
“Igrainia!”
She knew her brother’s voice. She went still.
He came to her, taking the weapon. She realized then that the clearing had suddenly gone still.
And in the center of it, Eric was still face to face with Sir Niles Mason. Theirs was a contest that seemed to go on and on.
Eric was scratched and torn, covered with grime, and appeared ready to fall. There was blood coating Mason’s tunic.
And he must have seen that his men lay fallen, like piles of castoff metal.
Eric’s men stayed back, creating a circle around the two. As Igrainia watched, Eric took a step and stumbled. A choked sound escaped her. She started to rush forward.
She was caught around the waist by Jamie.
“Help him! He’s half—he’s half dead!” she said. “Niles has suffered a flesh wound, MacKinley is no warrior. Niles may know he is about to die, but he is so maddened for blood that he will die with pleasure if he is able to take Eric with him. Jamie, you must go in, kill him, get him away from Eric!”
“No,” Jamie said softly, holding her.
“But—”
“This is a fight Eric has to win himself.”
She opened her mouth to protest again, then drew her hand to her mouth, biting down on it to keep from crying out as Niles lifted his sword in a heavy swing. The clang it made as it slammed down on Eric’s weapon seemed to shatter the air. She nearly rushed forward again, ready to do battle against Niles herself.
But Jamie held her firmly back.
Eric found the strength to wield his weapon. Once, again, and again. Niles was sent in scurried steps back across the clearing. But then he took the offense again, coming so hard and fast and swinging with such fury that at the end, she thought he would slice off Eric’s legs at the knees. But Eric had found the power and agility to jump above the swing, and land upon the logs where it had been intended he should die. He jumped down from them then, and once more, it was he on the offensive, shattering the air as he drove forward again, and again, and again.
Niles took a swing that caught Eric’s upper arm. Igrainia choked back a sob as she saw a trickle of blood appear. As Eric clutched the new wound, Niles moved forward, faster, harder, pushing Eric back. Eric stumbled, and went down. Niles took his sword in both hands, ready to thrust hard into Eric’s heart.
But even as she screamed, Eric rolled. He came to his feet with a vengeance and a will, and he whirled with a mighty strength and fury.
Igrainia watched as his sword ripped across Niles Mason’s midsection.
For a moment, the man remained still, poised there, as if pausing in the middle of a dance.
Then, he fell forward.
For a moment, Eric was still. Then something dark touched his face, and he took his sword in his hands, and in a fit like madness, he brought the weapon down again, and again.
“Jamie, let me go, please!” she begged, and struggled to push from him.
He released her.
“Eric!” she cried his name, and his sword stilled. She rushed behind him, closing her eyes against the sight of Niles Mason.
She circled her arms around Eric from the back, laying her head against him.
“It’s over!” she breathed. “It’s over.”
He remained taut above the body. “The first,” he said quietly, “was for Margot. For my child . . .” His voice faded. He turned, and she looked up as he stared down into her eyes. “And then . . . for you.”
“It’s over!” she whispered again. And she thought that something in him had cracked, that he had suffered more grievous wounds than she could see. Then he stiffened, and his arms around her tightened.
“What in God’s name are you doing here? Aidan was to have you on a horse and out of here before this all began.”
“Aidan tried, but . . . how was I to know that you did have a plan?” she countered.
He caught her chin with bloodstained fingers. “You should be beaten, you know. Locked away somewhere safe. You . . .”
His fingers fell from her chin. He collapsed against her. She didn’t have the size, strength, or power to hold him up.
They fell to the earth together.
Streambeds were an excellent place to heal. They lay against crystal clear bubbling waters. They provided a multitude of healing mosses and herbs for poultices and salves.
Eric was sorely wounded, yet most of what he sustained was superficial. Some of the slashes on his body ran deep, and would add to the scars he had already sustained. His throat was roughly scratched and bruised from the rope. The cut on his arm needed stitches, as did one gaping slash in his thigh.
The first few days, he was so sore and weak that he was a good patient, lying on the bed she arranged, barely aware of the tender care she gave.
There were many wounded. Thayer again sustained serious wounds, but they didn’t seem to bother him. Each one, he assured her, taught him something new about defending himself.
One the afternoon of the second day, while Eric lay sleeping and others tended to the rest of the wounded, Igrainia sat on the bank, her toes in the water, with Jamie beside her.
Jamie chewed on a blade of grass. “You’ll be far safer now, you know,” he told her. And turned to her. “But when he rises, Eric will join Robert Bruce.”
“Has Edward risen then to lead his great force to battle?”
“I don’t know. Allan and some of the others have ridden out to find out what is happening,” Jamie said. “You gave a fine accounting of yourself, you know.”
Knight Triumphant Page 40