One Winter Knight

by Townsend, Lindsay

  “I don’t know. I don’t know which way to go—” It dawned on her again that her indecision was a measure of her desperation. She had no plan, no idea of which way to even ride away from her home to get to a safe place.

  “West is the river. Too dangerous to cross in this cold. North lies McTierney’s lands. East,” he shrugged. “well, you’re headed for Finnegan’s holdings—and they’ve never been friendly to us. South, there be O’Malley’s lands. But also, there’s a crofter’s hut you could sleep in tonight—if you’re bound to do this thing.”

  “Oh, yes, Harmon. I’m going to do it. At least, until I can have time to think…My head is pounding.”

  He nodded grimly. “Then ride due south, two hours ’til you come to Donegal Rock. Do you know it?”

  “Aye, it’s a boundary marker—”

  “Aye. And it’s where you’ll go west. But not far. No more than a half-hour. There, the cottage be. Or there it was a fortnight ago when we rode out to check our boundaries. With firewood stored nearby, and food stores in the pantry. There’s turnips and such in the barn under some straw.” He turned away and said, “Wait…” From a battered bag of his own, he took a half moon of cheese and a near-full loaf of bread. Thrusting them toward her gruffly, he muttered, “You’ll need something to eat tonight. I can steal more tomorrow from the kitchen.” There was a twinkle in his eyes as he watched her gratefully stow the food in her satchel.

  “Thank you, Harmon. I must be on my way, now. You’re right—I smell snow in the air. And dark is coming on.”

  “I’ll see you out, miss. And godspeed.”

  ****

  The snow had begun only a short while after Noelle had ridden out of the stables, into the cover of the nearby forest. She’d skirted around the Breasal holdings through the woods, intersecting with the road a few miles southward she meant to follow.

  The snow had only been a sprinkle when she’d first set out, but quickly began to fall heavier the farther south she rode.

  She’d breathed a deep sigh of relief when she had neared Donegal Rock. Full darkness was nigh. Old Harmon had said a half-hour more from this point, due west.

  She turned Dancer into the woods directly across from the huge stone. There was a semblance of a trail she could barely make out, more from the widening of the tree limbs than the ground being cleared beneath Dancer’s feet.

  She hugged Dancer’s neck, bending low, to avoid any errant tree branches. The trees formed a dense canopy above her, keeping much of the snow off of her and Dancer. Another relief.

  Noelle had no way of keeping track of time. She began to become alarmed. Had she passed the cabin somehow in the darkness? From time to time, a shard of moonlight filtered through the trees. The snow suddenly got thicker as the trees began to be more sparse and separate.

  Abruptly, the forest ended, opening up into a clearing. At the edge of the woods, a few feet away to her left sat the cottage, with a small barn for any animals to shelter in nearby.

  “Come along, beauty,” she murmured to Dancer. “Let’s get you inside and give you your rest after this journey.”

  Noelle cautiously rode toward the barn. She turned her face up to the snow, just for a moment, remembering days past. She missed her older brother, Cormac. He would have talked some sense into Mama, rather than let her marry Noelle off to a man she’d heard…such rumors about.

  Cormac had seemed to care for Noelle. A memory of another long-ago snowy day filled Noelle’s mind. Da had been there, swinging the younger boys up in his arms as he ran with Cormac and Noelle across the snowy ground inside the castle gates. Isabel had been ill and unable to join in the fun. But Da had said, “Wave to your sister!” and they’d all dutifully lifted a hand to acknowledge her as she looked out her window.

  They’d scooped a bowlful of snow and brought it inside to her…Da had tried to foster love for one another among the five of them…She pushed her thoughts away and dismounted, leading Dancer into the barn and out of the snowfall.

  A lantern was hung on a peg just inside the barn door, along with a flint and steel. Noelle expertly struck a spark, and the lantern glowed with flame in no time. Noelle set it carefully on the dirt floor.

  She located the grooming tools nearby, and a bucket which she immediately filled with snow and set beside the warmth of the lantern to help it melt. There were provisions inside the second stall, and Noelle assumed they’d been put there by the cadre of men Old Harmon had ridden out with the past fortnight to see to the upkeep and provisioning of this place.

  Were there other cabins like this one on Breasal holdings? Noelle was suddenly struck by how very little she knew about the boundaries of the Breasal territory, and what kinds of structures were scattered across them. And what of the people? Those who lived in solitary cottages such as this…what kinds of lives did they lead?

  She made certain Dancer had plenty of hay and gave her a quick rubdown, then set the partially-melted bucket of snow within her reach. She laid her cheek next to Dancer’s. “Thank you, dear one. Rest well and warm. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Snagging her bag, she took the lantern and headed for the barn door. The snow had picked up and was falling harder than ever. She fought the wind to get the door open, fearing the gale would blow the lantern out. She pulled the door shut behind her, then trudged through the deepening snow to the little cabin, cupping the lantern to protect the flame as she navigated the porch steps.

  The cabin door was unlocked, and she managed to open it on the third try with her cold, stiff fingers.

  She crossed the threshold and set the lantern on a crude table, hurriedly pushing the door closed.

  Wood had been laid for a fire in the hearth, and again, a flood of thankfulness washed through Noelle as she searched for a twig of kindling and carefully removed the lantern glass to light it in the open flame.

  When the small piece of wood was burning at the end, Noelle placed it amongst the dry logs in the hearth. She breathed deeply as the wood on either side took flame, and the fire seemed to come to life on its own.

  The cottage was small, and the fire would warm it in no time.

  She replaced the glass on the lantern and carried it with her as she went into the small kitchen area to look around. Her stomach growled, and she knew even as tired as she was, sleep would not come until she had eaten.

  She rummaged in her satchel for the bread and cheese old Harmon had handed her before she’d left the stables. It wasn’t the best of meals, but it would do.

  She cut a hunk of the bread with her knife, then the cheese, and took a bite. Had anything ever tasted so wonderful?

  Once she’d eaten her fill, she put the leftovers away and carried an empty bucket outside, quickly scooping snow inside it to be melted for water.

  She shut the door quickly, putting the bucket on the table, then went to stand beside the fire and warm herself. Would this chill ever leave her? She felt cold from the inside of her bones outward to her skin. And she knew it was not just from the winter snow. Uncertainty consumed her.

  Noelle gave the bed a quick glance. It wasn’t overly large, but its comfort called to her. She moved a hand to the small of her back and she massaged it awkwardly. The last hour of her journey had taken its toll. She recalled the way she’d had to lean forward—first because of the blinding snow, and then to protect her face from scratching tree limbs as she rode through the dark woods.

  But she’d made it! She’d gotten away. She would not be marrying the O’Malley or the McTierney. Devil take them both.

  A niggling feeling of doubt crept over her. How would she live? She had no bow or arrows with which to hunt…as if she could convince herself to kill an animal, even if she had those weapons.

  There would be no roots or vegetables at this time of the year, save for what might be in the barn that Old Harmon had mentioned. The bread and cheese would only last so long.

  But, for tonight, she had a full stomach, a fire to keep her warm, and she
lter for herself and for Dancer. After she slept, she’d be able to think more clearly. As it was, she was done in—and ready to escape into the bliss of forgetfulness that would come with sleep.

  She pulled the covers down on the bed and sat on the edge of the straw-filled mattress to remove her boots.

  Checking carefully for insects, she fluffed the pillows before lying down.

  Her own down mattress at Castle Breasal had never felt so comfortable. She let her body sink into the contours of the straw-filled tick and pulled the covers up around her.

  If only she could stay here forever…

  ****

  “Stay in the saddle, brother,” Keiran O’Malley coaxed for the hundredth time. But oddly, those words were enough to get the job done, each time he uttered them. Logan rallied unfailingly, and straightened as best he could.

  “’M tryin’, Keir,” Logan muttered, aware of the tinge of fear that crept into his younger brother’s tone with each repeated admonishment.

  Christos, he must look like death for his stoic, battle-hardened brother to take that note with him.

  Forget what he must look like…the pain seemed to be never ending.

  And every time Logan thought it could get no worse—somehow, it did. He’d taken an arrow to the thigh, and in the close fighting that came soon after, a lucky McTierney soldier had managed to pierce his chain mail just under his ribs on the left side.

  Logan had been distracted. And Keir felt guilty for that, but God only knew why. Any brother would have done what Logan had done when Keir faltered. Of course, Logan had come to his aid.

  And that was the crucial moment when the swordsman had come out of the blinding snow and made his fateful, deadly lunge.

  Well, I’m not done for yet. I can’t die and leave Keir with the burden of guilt to carry the rest of his life.

  Somehow, they’d gotten separated from their cadre of soldiers. But in truth, Logan didn’t remember much after the McTierney bastard had driven the sword into his flesh. The wound was deep, though Logan had tried to pretend otherwise for Keiran’s sake.

  “How much farther?” Kier asked, and Logan heard doubt in his brother’s voice.

  So…he must believe I’ve imagined this cabin…

  “Any time, now,” Logan managed to grit out.

  “Can’t see a damn thing—”

  “It’s here—just ahead.” And Logan was certain of it. They were on Breasal lands. The cottage belonged to Breasal, but the O’Malley clan had had an agreement with the Breasals for many years that the cottage could be used by O’Malleys, if needed. It was understood that the O’Malleys would see to keeping the cottage in good repair and contribute to the food stores from time to time, as well, since they were welcome to use it. And the place was almost the same distance from the O’Malley keep as from the Breasal stronghold.

  “There—” Logan muttered with the last bit of coherence left in him. The cottage had come into view, easier to see than it ever should have been on this blustery, snow-driven night.

  There was a soft glow from within—a gentle light that exuded warmth and welcome to the two O’Malleys, even from this distance.

  Logan pressed his horse forward. Friend or foe inside, he would soon know. But he was almost beyond caring, with the incessant pain of his wounds, the biting cold of the blowing snow, and the fatigue from blood loss.

  He would almost trade what life he had left for a place to lie down and be warm as his spirit left him.

  Keir caught up with him, and together, they rode near to the porch, their horses’ steps muffled by the snow drifts.

  “Let me go in first—” Keir said. But Logan had already half-slid, half-fallen from his mount, and was determinedly climbing the steps.

  With a low curse, Keir dismounted and hurried up the steps beside his brother.

  Logan didn’t take time to draw his dagger. He only wanted to get inside, to be warm again. Even if Satan himself waited on the other side of the cabin door, Logan believed he could best him in one final, terrible fight if it meant being warm again.

  “Logan, wait—” Keir began, but Logan’s frozen fingers were already on the door handle.

  ****

  The door banged open and slammed against the wall, letting in an icy blast of wind and snow.

  Noelle sat up in bed, her dagger already drawn as she came fully to her feet. She stood facing the two men, hair tumbling about her shoulders. Silhouetted in the firelight, she might have been an avenging angel—but from what realm? Heaven or hell, it would have been hard to say, at that moment.

  “Sweet feathery Christos…” the taller man swore.

  “We mean you no harm, lass—” the other assured her. “We’re O’Malley’s men—”

  The wind gusted again, and the fire shuddered at the onslaught. The one who had cursed suddenly went to his knees. Before his companion could reach him, he fell forward on the floor.

  Noelle did not move. She met the soldier’s stunned gaze as he knelt beside his fallen comrade.

  She drew a deep breath. “Then, shut the door, at least, ‘O’Malley’s man,’ and let’s see what we might do for your companion.”

  ****

  “I’m Keiran—uh—Devlin. And this is my brother, Logan. We were ambushed by Dalon McTierney’s band of cutthroats,” he’d told her hurriedly once they’d gotten Logan off the floor and into the bed. “Ye’ve naught to fear, young woman. My brother needs a healing hand, and we need shelter.”

  Noelle had nodded a quick agreement before he’d opened the door and gone back into the blizzard to lead the horses to the barn. She had to come up with a story. She’d never considered the possibility that something like this could happen. She’d been so caught up in congratulating herself on getting away from home and finding the cabin that she hadn’t counted on any other unforeseen circumstances.

  And this was certainly unforeseen.

  She took her medicinal pack from her bag. Laying it on the small table, she opened the laces of the pack, unfolding the edges to reveal the medicines, vials, and salves, along with the healing herbs within. Noelle took a deep breath. Likely, she would need every bit of each of the medicines she’d brought. This Logan Devlin was in a bad way.

  Noelle crossed the few steps back to the bed and bent to examine the remnants of the protruding arrow shaft. Well, this was something she could do something about. And now that Sir Devlin was unconscious, she’d best waste no time.

  She picked up her dagger and wiped it clean, from habit. Another lantern hung on a peg near the door, and she fetched it quickly and lit it. She purified the blade before replacing the glass and tin cover. Bringing the lantern close, she pulled the fabric of Devlin’s braies apart where the arrow had severed and gone into his skin.

  She would have to widen the wound the arrow had made in order to get it out—that was the way of it, since the flesh always closed in around the tip. It was not as if she hadn’t done this before, she thought grimly. She pulled the table close to the bed and set the lantern on it. Then, with a quick motion, she widened the path the arrow had created and gently pulled, taking care not to leave the angled tip embedded in his flesh by yanking too hard. Slowly, the arrow point came out, and Noelle ripped a piece of the bedding coverlet away to soak up the sudden flow of blood.

  Devlin gasped and groaned as he tried to move. Noelle bit her lip, holding the makeshift bandage in place with one hand.

  “Lie still,” she whispered, smoothing a strand of his dark hair back from his forehead. “Let me bandage this, and we’ll see to your side—”

  Foolish. She spoke to him as if he could hear what she was saying. She gave a caustic laugh at her own silliness. It was thankful she was that he couldn’t hear her! The pain must have been unbearable, riding with these wounds as he had been.

  She bound up the thigh with two thick strips of the coverlet, then turned her attention to his side where the hole in his chain mail gaped.

  Just then, the door opened and Keira
n Devlin blew in along with another snowy blast, nearly putting out the lantern on the table with the gust of air.

  “Ach, shut the door—” Noelle turned, her harsh words broken off at the look in the man’s eyes. He was worried beyond measure.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, closing the door behind him. “How is he?”

  “I need your help to get this off him.” She gestured at the heavy shirt.

  Keiran nodded and leaned over his brother. Together, they managed to get the unwieldy piece of protective clothing off, and Keir dropped it in a heap on the floor before turning back to help remove Logan’s undershirts.

  For a moment, they both stood looking at the wound.

  “Mother of God,” Keiran breathed. “Is it mortal, do you think?”

  Noelle had wondered, too. She would have to probe a bit to see how deep it was. Mayhap the chain had offered some protection. If not…if the sword had cut into his inside organs…there would be nothing to do but pray for his soul

  She gave a deep sigh. “Let me have a look—mayhap it—it isn’t as bad as it looks.” She pulled one of the rough-hewn chairs up to the bedside once more and bent over the wound, just under his ribs on the left side. She carefully pulled the edges of the cut open, but it only started the bleeding again.

  “I—can’t see—”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  They were both silent a moment, and then Noelle said, “I can burn it—and we’ll have to hope for the best.”

  Keiran nodded. “That sounds—well, it’s all there is to be done.” The fatalistic note in his voice made Noelle turn to look at him.

  “He’s my older brother.” Keir gave a grim smile. “We were—supposed to be looking out for one another. This is what he got for his efforts.”

  “You were ambushed, you said?”

  He nodded. “Away from this place. Closer to the Breasal holdings.”

  Noelle kept her face impassive. She stood and walked to the kitchen in search of a bowl. The poultice she would need had to be readied. She’d want to use it as soon as the burning was done.