by Nicole Locke
It was still dark when Gaira woke to soft choking sounds coming from the bed.
She shifted, felt her legs rub against much larger and rougher ones and stopped with a jerk. She had fallen asleep by the fire long before Robert. But he was near enough to touch and it appeared she had—her feet were warm and plastered against his.
Another soft sob from the bed turned her attention away from the feel of Robert’s skin against her own.
She moved slowly and hoped she wouldn’t wake him. When he remained still, she rose from the floor and stepped quietly to Flora, whose sobs had become shakier.
Gaira knelt beside the bed and laid her hand on Flora’s arm.
‘Nae, doona hold the tears back,’ Gaira whispered. She wished she could take Flora and hold her, but she knew that would wake Maisie or Alec. ‘It helps to let them out.’
Flora turned over. There was only thin streams of dawn entering the room, but Flora’s eyes were wet, red-rimmed and the dark circles shadowed pale cheeks.
Flora sniffed. ‘I never hear you crying.’
Gaira didn’t know how to answer. She hadn’t cried for the death of her sister. Not once. The pain in her chest wouldn’t let her. But Flora needed to see her grief, to see that she loved and lost just as they had.
‘I grieve, Flora. I haven’t shown it because it’s stuck, here.’ She rubbed over her heart. ‘I haven’t wanted to hurt you with my grieving so I haven’t talked. But I guess that was nae a good idea.’
Flora’s eyes began to dry as Alec and Maisie wiggled. They were listening, too.
Gaira pulled away the thin strands of hair sticking to Flora’s cheeks and forehead. ‘I miss my sister very much, Flora, and you’re supposed to miss your parents, too.’
‘I...do.’
The too-loud stretch and noisy yawn behind her let her know Robert was waking. She wondered how long he’d been listening.
Gaira rolled her eyes for Flora, who giggled.
She stood and looked over her shoulder. ‘Good morning, Robert.’
‘Did I wake everyone?’
‘Nae, I was just waking the children.’ Gaira lifted Maisie. Alec sprang up with his usual verve, hitting Creighton in the chest with his elbow when he bounded out of bed.
‘Creighton, it’s time to rise.’
Creighton did not answer. The cover was still over his head.
Gaira, her arms full of a sleepy Maisie, marched over to Creighton’s side. ‘Creighton, time for you to get up, too.’ She kissed the top of Maisie’s head and carefully set her down before she yanked the cover from Creighton’s shoulder.
The sudden and violent swing of an arm surprised her. She didn’t even move as the full force of it hit directly below her belly.
But Creighton didn’t stop and he was already rising, his fists swinging. Gaira could do nothing until she gained her breath, but the boy’s fists were waving towards her and she shuffled backwards.
It was Robert who reacted. In two swift strides, he lifted the young boy from the bed and, with arms locked hard, held him against his chest. The boy was nine and already growing into a young man’s body, but against Robert he looked as childlike as Maisie.
Creighton, still silent, his eyes unfocused, kept swinging his fists, his strong arms and legs making contact with Robert.
The pain dissipated enough for Gaira to straighten. Flora was clutched to her side. Alec was slumped on the floor, Maisie was crying, but Gaira could only stand and stare.
Robert hummed a song as he took Creighton’s pounding to his back and the sharp kicks to shins. Gaira didn’t recognise the song, but his voice was calming and the tune was a haunting lilt.
When Creighton woke, his fists and kicks stopped immediately, but anger blazed in his eyes when he realised where he was and he pushed with all his might to get out of Robert’s arms.
Robert let him down immediately and the boy tugged at his clothes. Robert did not say anything to Creighton, nor did he look at Gaira. He just walked to the door and put his hand on the handle to open it.
‘I’ll see what they have to break our fast.’
After the door closed, Maisie still cried and Gaira rushed over to soothe her. Flora had moved to Creighton and was giving tentative pats to his back.
Creighton was not acknowledging anyone in the room and Gaira didn’t know what to say to him. But she had to say something.
‘It was I, Creighton. I dinna mean to wake you abruptly. You were nae awake. Everyone knows you knew not what you were doing.’
Creighton looked up. His wide blue eyes were filled with remorse, but he stayed silent.
She wiped Maisie’s face and gave her a quick squeeze before she knelt in front of Creighton and Flora.
‘It’s been a rough morning for all of us and, given what we’ve all been through, that’s nae surprising. ’Tis going to take us all some time.’
Flora rested her head on Creighton’s shoulder and Creighton nodded. Not exactly a positive response, but it was a response. She just hoped with time that they’d all be able to heal.
‘However, I’ll tell you what is surprising.’ She gave a wide conspiratorial grin. ‘Who knew that that grumpy Englishman could sing?’
* * *
Gaira adjusted the cloth bundles in her arms and walked to the shade of trees by the inn. The late morning sun was quickly drying the wet ground and causing the air to feel thick and hot. She couldn’t wait to get moving to feel a cooler breeze.
Robert was adjusting straps on the new horse. She set her bundles down beside him and swiped her plait back over her shoulder.
‘The money you gave me bought us enough oatcakes for three journeys.’
‘You’ll still need fresh meat. But the dried supplies will help.’ He looked at the children patting and talking to the new horse. ‘It seems the horse has met with approval.’
Even though the horse had been ill used by its previous owner, she was the gentlest horse Gaira had ever seen. Even Flora banished her fear and was brushing the soft muzzle.
Gaira smiled. ‘More than sufficient, I think she realises she’s about to become a pet.’
Robert continued to secure the satchels. She loved the smooth, confident way his hands worked.
The horse shied nervously as he tugged. ‘I doona think she likes you, however.’
He turned around. ‘She doesn’t need to. All she has to do is her duty.’
So like the man to say such a thing. ‘She’s a horse,’ she pointed out.
‘We’re all just something.’ He moved to attend his own horse. ‘It doesn’t preclude our duty.’
And that simply, the river revealed some of its depths. Gaira finally understood part of what drove Robert, part of what made him the man he was. He said it was duty, but she knew otherwise.
She was running out of time. He had not agreed to take them further on this journey, but he had to. Maybe, just maybe, her further understanding of what drove him would help her persuade him. Because what drove him drove her, as well.
‘Is that why you are here?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you’re going to leave us? Because of duty?’
He shifted, took a couple of steps away from the horse and the children. ‘It is what drives most men.’
‘But not you,’ she said. ‘Oh, it’s there, in every care you make to your swords and to your horse, but it doesn’t explain why you came to Doonhill, why you helped us, or why you are leaving now.’
His eyes had become wary. She was close to the truth now. She knew it.
A loud guttural cry broke through the quiet of the town.
Gaira, startled, looked past Robert’s broad shoulders. She screamed.
Robert whirled and ducked. He just missed the sword sweeping above his head.
Her legs weaved beneath her. She was st
ill standing close to Robert, but didn’t duck, and the tip of the sword had been close.
‘Get the children!’ he shouted.
She ran. The children, standing behind the horses, didn’t see what was happening. She scared them when she swept them further away from Robert.
And from Busby of Ayrshire.
She could not mistake that huge thick-gutted man.
Her betrothed had found them. And he meant to kill Robert. His blue eyes were filled with rage and his black hair bristled around him. His sword was even now making another swing.
Robert was without any shield or any sword. In his quick movement to protect her and the children, he had run away from the horses and away from his weapons.
He didn’t stand a chance.
She gripped Creighton until he looked at her. ‘Stay here!’
Running to Robert’s horse, she looked at the two swords in their scabbards and yanked at the largest one. It stuck.
Another scream of rage from Busby—followed by a quick shout from Robert. Oh, God, was he already dead? She couldn’t get his sword free. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder. Her entire concentration was on his weapon.
She yanked again. The sheath swung, but the sword was firmly in the leather’s hold.
Creighton was suddenly by her side, his fingers quickly releasing the scabbard. The sword fell with a clang on the ground. The horse stomped his feet with the sudden movement, but she didn’t hesitate to fall to her knees beside it.
With shaking fingers she unlatched the scabbard and pulled the heavy instrument free. Half dragging, half lifting it, she turned towards the two men fighting.
And quickly wished she didn’t have to look.
Robert was fighting for his life. She had not even seen it coming. One moment they were saddling the horses, the next she’d seen Busby come out of the copse of trees beside them.
Robert had managed to grab a large branch, but it was too short as a weapon and was making a paltry shield. Already it had been chopped smaller by Busby.
Busby’s back was to her, but Robert saw her and the sword. A gleam of victory flashed in his eyes.
She was not that certain.
She couldn’t move any closer to Robert because Busby was swinging his sword for all he was worth.
To get to the sword, Robert would have to get past Busby.
Robert feinted low right. Busby raised his sword to swing. It was just enough opening for Robert to dive towards Gaira.
There was too much gap between her and Robert and Busby was already recovering from the missed swing.
She pushed the sword in front of her with all her might. It went wide, but the handle stayed straight. Robert hit the ground and grabbed the long handle with both hands.
Her yelp of elation was covered by her gasp of fear.
Busby was directly over Robert. His sword, clasped in both his hands, was raised to strike Robert.
Robert still had his stomach on the ground. Swiftly turning, he blocked the brunt of Busby’s sword and strength. The two swords reverberated through the small square.
Busby had the advantage. He leaned his great weight into his sword. Robert was rocking to throw Busby off balance, but it wasn’t working and he started to shake.
He wasn’t going to have the strength to hold out. And even if he did, how could he roll away fast enough from Busby’s pressing sword?
Without thinking, she screamed and started jumping up and down. Busby’s eyes flew to hers. It was the distraction she was hoping for. Robert rolled and Busby’s weight, off balance, fell forward.
Gaira’s elation swelled and was dashed again as Busby recovered. He swung himself to face Robert.
But now, Robert was ready for him.
She had forgotten how huge Busby was. Robert, broad and thick, was still a head shorter.
But their swords matched in length and breadth. They both held them with two hands. She looked at them closer. They were claymores, the Scottish sword.
In rage, Busby swung to kill, his aim inaccurate like a hammer and just as relentless.
Robert parried and thrust and blocked Busby’s moves. He stayed crouched and moved his legs to keep distance between them.
It worked. The majority of Busby’s swings were hacking through air. If they struck Robert’s sword, Robert still maintained his distance. His sword took the blows, not his body.
Robert was skilled with the claymore. Whereas she had trouble lifting it, she watched as it danced in his hands. He used speed and balance as a weapon to counteract Busby’s size and strength. His feet kept close to the ground and he used the muddy terrain as another weapon.
* * *
She had three brothers, who trained every day. They were skilled, strong swordsmen, but she had never seen a man fight like Robert did.
He was a master and used the sword as an extension of his body. He was fluid. Busby hacked. Robert used skill, Busby his strength.
What did her brothers tell her? Strength always ran out, but never skill.
Robert, still dressed in his customary black, was like a shadow of Busby.
There was no doubt he was a formidable English warrior.
She jolted as if she was suddenly grabbed and dunked in cold water.
Black. Claymore. Robert. Warrior.
She looked around her. Her legs gave way and she struggled to stand. She had been so concerned for Robert’s safety she did not see the crowd gathering. She recognised the faces of the innkeeper and the blacksmith. She even spied the three Scots who had talked to them yesterday—the exact three Scots who had celebrated Black Robert’s death.
Taking in a steadying breath, she looked at the children, who were crouched and not watching. Even if they did, she doubted they would draw the same conclusion she had.
She knew she no longer needed to worry over Robert’s safety.
At least not from Busby.
But they were in the centre of town, surrounded by hordes of Scottish people who hated the English and most especially one man they thought dead.
She wondered how they were to going to get out of town without the people realising whom they were watching.
Black Robert was not dead.
Chapter Eighteen
The man fighting him was tiring. His sword shoulder dropped and his shifting weight was more pronounced. Robert made more wide-swinging cuts at the man’s legs. While the cuts weren’t enough to fell him, more cuts meant more blood loss and a slower target.
He allowed himself only to feel the rush of his blood and the tremors of his strength. He could make no mistakes. He knew he had the better skill, but there could be some misstep, some miscalculation, and he would be killed.
Then Gaira and the children would have no protection.
After the first attack, he stopped trying to reason with the man who was trying to cut him to shreds. He had no idea who this man was or where he came from. The man could be holding a grudge from a past battle or have discovered Robert was English. He didn’t know and didn’t care. After his first battle, Robert stopped looking his enemy in the face. It made killing easier.
Robert made another leg cut. The man stumbled. It was time. Without warning, Robert dropped to the ground and swiped his sword deep into the shins of the man. The man lost his balance.
Robert twisted his body, rose up and sliced the man’s neck with one fluid movement. He rolled out of the way before the corpse hit the ground.
He stood. The last effort had cost him his breath and he wiped the sweat pouring from his brow so he could see.
The crowd of people was thick. He could not see Gaira or the children. ‘Does anyone know this man?’ he called.
The crowd of people stared at him. There was no yelling, screaming or crying foul.
Some shook their heads, but no person spoke; no one stepped forward.
Either they were scared or the dead man was a stranger to them, too. Robert looked at the man with blood rushing out from his neck. The man had been intent on killing him. From his anger and rage, Robert knew it had been personal. But he still did not recognise him.
He leaned down, flipped the man’s tunic and looked for a pouch. The man carried nothing.
The man had attacked him, had come from behind. No witness could claim he had killed wrongly. What they did with his body, he didn’t care. Robert wiped his sword against the man’s tunic. Reaching into a small pouch still attached to his waist, he threw some coins on to the body. The man was a stranger, but he would have to be buried.
Straightening, he searched the crowd again until he saw Gaira and the children far behind the horses.
Her face was so white, she looked no darker than the birch trees shading her. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she was not looking at him. She was looking at the people surrounding them, gazing at each face as if she was a child lost, searching for some recognition in the crowd.
The crowd parted and murmured, but he paid no attention. He waited for Gaira to acknowledge he was heading her way, but she didn’t notice him until he stood directly in front of her. Frantic, she grabbed his arm and tugged at him.
‘Ro—!’ She stopped, looked around and lowered her voice. ‘We have to get out of here. Right now. You have to come with us. The horses are still packed and the children are ready.’
She was in shock. Panic was etched in her brow and around her eyes; her hands on his arm were shaking. She had watched the fight.
He had not thought. He had killed. In front of her. He should not have allowed her to see that happen.
‘Gaira, I am sorry. He came out of nowhere. I did not think about you or the children witnessing—’
She tugged harder and he took a couple steps forward. ‘We have to leave!’
She was terrified. Maybe she hadn’t seen what had happened. ‘All is well, Gaira. He is dead. The children are safe.’
She raised her voice. ‘I know, I know, it’s just you!’
It wasn’t panic in her voice now, but frustration. He was missing something. ‘What is wrong?’