“I have come for my brother,” Balfour said, watching Beaton closely since the man had a reputation for fighting in less than honorable ways.
“Ye mean my son?”
“My father’s son. Ye cast the lad aside as if he were no more than scraps from your table. Ye have no claim to him. Ye denounced that years ago.”
“A serious lack of foresight that I now intend to correct.”
“No one will believe it.” Balfour then shrugged, having espied Calum slipping away and leaving Beaton alone to face his fate. “It doesnae matter anyway, for ye will soon be dead.”
“This slow rotting ye see hasnae killed me yet.”
“Nay, but I dinnae intend to leave ye alive now that I have found you. Ye have committed your last outrage against my people.”
Balfour knew the moment that Beaton realized he was alone. The slight loss of color the man suffered when he saw that Calum had deserted him made Beaton look an even more sickening gray. For one brief moment he wondered if it was right to fight with the man. It seemed somewhat dishonorable to take up his sword against such an obviously sick knight. Then he watched Beaton move and realized that, no matter how bad the man looked, he still had his strength and probably some of his former skill. Beaton still had the ability to kill him, and that was all he needed to know.
“Arenae ye going to ask about your wee whore?” Beaton taunted him as they began to slowly circle each other.
“If ye try to enrage me with your insults about Maldie, I would save your breath, especially since ye willnae be enjoying it for much longer. Ye willnae cause me to act foolishly. Ye will just be giving me more reason to kill you.”
“Mayhap, my boastful enemy, I shall kill you.”
“Face to face with no one to aid ye? I think not. Ye have let others do your fighting for you for too long, Beaton. Aye, either that or done your killing treacherously in the dark, and from behind. A mon can lose his skills quickly when he doesnae keep them honed.”
Balfour realized that Beaton was not keeping the same control over his emotions that he was. The man’s face flushed a deep red, accentuating the sores and seared skin grotesquely. Beaton was clearly too lost in his fury and sense of defeat to realize the weakness he was revealing. As plainly as if he had spoken the words aloud, he told Balfour that he could be taunted into acting rashly and that could make him easier to kill.
“Ye may have won this battle, Murray, but I intend to see that ye ne’er survive to enjoy the sweet taste of victory. Aye, and neither will the two ye have come to save.”
It was hard, but Balfour ignored the man’s threat, Beaton’s not so subtle claim that Eric and Maldie were about to murdered. Fear for them was a hard knot in his belly, however, as he met and parried Beaton’s first, somewhat frantic strike. The power of the blow was enough to tell Balfour that he needed to keep all of his attention upon Beaton. The man’s skill may have slipped due to high emotion and lack of use, but he was still a serious threat. All he could do was pray that Beaton lied, or, if he did not, that he could reach his brother and his lover before whatever murderous plan Beaton had made was enacted.
The battle was fierce and silent. Balfour was grateful for the fact that Beaton needed all of his strength to fight him and had none left for any taunts. He was proud of his control over his emotions, the way he had concentrated all of his feelings and attention onto one goal, killing Beaton, but Balfour knew his grip was a tenuous one.
It did not take long for Balfour to know that he would win the fight with Beaton, unless some horrible twist of fate or one of Beaton’s men intervened. The man still had some skill left and strength, but that strength was waning. Whether it was because of the illness or too long a dependence upon others to do his fighting, Beaton tired swiftly. His sword thrusts became more erratic, and he began to stagger when he avoided Balfour’s attacks.
The end came in an almost disappointing way. Beaton stumbled even as he tried to parry a blow by Balfour, and left himself open for a swift, clean death stroke. Balfour did not hesitate to take full advantage of that, thrusting his sword deep into Beaton’s chest. As he watched the man fall, Balfour felt little more than relief that it was over, and that now he could find the two people he had come to save. Beaton had been their enemy for so long, Balfour was surprised at how little he felt over the man’s death, but decided that he did not have the time to sort out his own vagaries.
He wiped his sword clean on Beaton’s jupon, idly noting that Beaton’s armor was old. Although the man had been accumulating wealth off the backs of his people for years, he had clearly not spent much on weaponry and armor to protect them. Beaton had evidently depended mostly on hiding behind Dubhlinn’s high, strong walls. It explained the ease with which the battle was being won once they had gotten within those walls.
“Weel, now ye are the corpse ye have looked like for so long,” he muttered as he stood up and looked around.
The few remaining Beatons who were still fighting had either seen or already heard of their laird’s death. A cry had gone up as soon as the man had fallen. Balfour doubted they would continue to fight, at least not for Beaton. Since so many of Dubhlinn’s men at arms were hired swords, outlaws, and outcasts, there might be some who feared capture more than death. The battle, however, was as good as finished.
As he strode toward the keep, Balfour paused by one badly wounded Beaton man lying in the mud, bent down, and grabbed him by the front of his tattered jupon, lifting him off the ground slightly. “Where are the prisoners?” he demanded, wanting to make sure that matters had not changed since Douglas had fled Dubhlinn.
“Which ones?” the man asked, his voice weak and hoarse with pain, but still holding a thread of defiance.
“The lass Beaton meant to hang and the boy he tried to claim as the son he couldnae make for himself,” Balfour snapped, gently shaking the man.
“Jesu, cannae ye let a mon die in peace?”
“Nay, and, if ye die before ye tell me what I wish to ken, I will follow ye to the gates of hell to throttle the answer out of ye.”
“In the dungeons, curse ye.” The man groaned when Balfour let him go and he fell back down on the ground.
“Who is with them?” Balfour felt a brief touch of guilt over his rough treatment of a wounded man, then looked more closely and decided that, although the man was badly wounded, it was probably not fatal.
“One guard.”
Balfour stepped over the man and walked into the keep. He held his sword at the ready, but met no one who challenged him. In fact, he met no one at all, and realized that his surprise attack had been more successful than he had hoped, so complete that no one had had time to set up a defense within the thick, sheltering walls of the keep. Stepping into the great hall, Balfour saw the door Douglas had told him about, and all of his fears for Eric and Maldie rushed up to choke him. Without any thought for his own safety, he ran straight for it, flung it open, and hurled himself down the steep stairs.
As he slumped against the cool wall of the great hall, Balfour wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He had fought his way to the hall and heedlessly rushed down to the dungeons only to find a frantic maid and a groaning guard. They told him that Eric and Maldie had knocked them out, locked them in, and fled. Balfour had left the two there, ignoring their colorful aspersions upon his, Eric’s, and Maldie’s characters as he raced back up the dark stairs. Once back in the great hall, however, he had come to a halt, unsure of where to go and what to do next. He had been so sure that he would find Eric and Maldie that he felt rooted to the spot with the weight of his disappointment.
He did not know where James was, or Douglas, or Nigel. Once the battle had begun he had paid little heed to anything except getting to the great hall, to the dungeons where everyone had said his brother and Maldie were being held. Cursing softly under his breath, he started out of the room, knowing to his disgust that he could well have passed within feet of them, may have even missed them by minutes. The only
comfort he could find was that, if Beaton had planned their murder, they had escaped that. He just did not know when, where to, or if they had been successful. Trying to flee in the midst of a heated battle was not easy.
Suddenly, he saw the dead man sprawled beside the head table, and he tensed. Balfour realized that he had become so consumed with finding Eric and Maldie that he was not keeping a watch on the enemy. This man was dead, but he still should have at least noticed the body, been aware of the implications. For all that it looked deserted, the inside of the keep was obviously not completely safe. Balfour wondered who had killed the man and prayed it was neither his young brother nor Maldie. Neither of them was hardened enough to accept killing a man as necessary, as simply a part of battle and survival. And they should never have had to, he thought with a strong wave of self-disgust, for he should have been there to protect them.
“Balfour,” cried a deep familiar voice from the doorway.
“James, I dinnae think I have e’er been so glad to see you,” Balfour said as James walked up beside him and stared down at the dead man.
“Yours?”
“Nay. I was just hoping that it wasnae Maldie’s or Eric’s.” He frowned when James grimaced. “Have ye seen them? I went racing down to the dungeons only to discover that they had already let themselves out.”
“Aye, they have and aye, this death came at their hands.”
“They are unhurt?”
“They are. Calum tried to see that they didnae leave Dubhlinn, alive, but I ended that threat.” James suddenly grinned. “I came upon them by accident. Your wee lass was standing there trying to lift a sword that was bigger than she and keeping herself between Eric and Calum. For a wee lass she has a lot of courage.”
“She tried to fight with Calum?”
“She was just trying to get herself and the lad to safety. Have ye seen Beaton or has that slinking coward managed to avoid the judgment he so richly deserves?”
“I just sent Beaton to the devil.”
“So that is why the fighting has all but ended.”
“Then I need not return to it. Good. Where are Eric and Maldie?”
Balfour was eager to see his brother and Maldie, eager to see with his own eyes that they were unharmed. Until he did, he knew he would not be completely at ease, would not be able to fully believe that he had won. If nothing else, it had all gone too well, been too successful, and he found such ease of victory a little hard to believe in.
“They should not have had to do this,” he muttered, nudging the dead man with his foot. “Maldie should ne’er have been forced to take up a sword.”
“Lad, ye cannae be standing guard over everyone all the time,” James said. “Ye would die from lack of sleep.”
Balfour smiled briefly. “I am not completely guiltless in all of this but, aye, ye are right. I cannae watch everyone all the time or ken every danger that may lurk about the next corner. Dinnae fret. I am nay donning a hair shirt, just feeling a wee pinch or two of guilt.”
“Then let this victory soothe it.”
“’Twill be better soothed if I can see my brother and Maldie.”
“Follow me, laddie. I set them with the pages and the horses, safe upon the hillside. I put your fool of a brother Nigel there, too.”
“He is alright?” Balfour asked as they stepped out into the bailey.
“Aye, just weary. He still doesnae have the strength needed to endure a full battle. Once his men no longer needed his direction, once it was clear that only God could snatch this victory from our hands, I took him out of the fighting.”
“I suspect he wasnae too pleased.”
James just smiled, and Balfour turned his attention to what was happening in the bailey and beyond. The battle was indeed over. His men were disarming the ones who had surrendered and the women and children were already appearing in the bailey. They meandered amongst the dead and wounded, looking for their men. The sharp sounds of grief were already welling up and Balfour inwardly grimaced. Beaton had left him no choice, but he did feel for the women and children who had lost fathers, sons, husbands, and lovers. There was a good chance that their lives would be better now that Beaton was dead, but he knew they would draw no comfort from that for a long while.
“There is naught ye can do for them,” James murmured as they started to walk up the hill, at the top of which was Maldie and Eric.
“Aye, I ken it. It ne’er fails to steal some of the glory of victory, however. I also wonder what will happen to them now. We cannae take these lands. There are too many other claimants, and some in far more favor with the king than us.”
“It cannae be any worse for them than what they have already suffered under Beaton.”
“It may be one of Beaton’s kinsmen.”
“I should like to believe that all Beatons arenae as poisonous as that one.”
Balfour just nodded, for his full attention was on the small group of people at the top of the hill. In but a moment he would see Maldie again. The last time he had seen her he had accused her of being a traitor, of being one of Beaton’s curs. He still wondered if that was why she had come to Dubhlinn to kill Beaton. It was hard to guess why she had done it, or why she did anything. Balfour knew that he understood very little about Maldie, and knew even less. He was sure of one thing, however, and that was that she would not be welcoming him with open arms.
Somehow he had to get her back to Donncoill, he decided. He needed time to soothe the insults he had delivered, time to try and win back her favor. He could not let her go. She was too important to him, to his happiness. If he had to, he would tie her up and drag her back, holding her until she consented to hear him out.
Maldie watched Balfour climb the hill and felt weak with relief. He had finally won his fight against Beaton and lived to enjoy it. She heartily wished she could savor it with him, share in his pleasure. Instead, she was about to tell him things that would definitely steal some of that joy away. It seemed very unfair. No one had deserved death as much as Beaton did, and Balfour should be proud of the fact that he had rid the world of such a man. Maldie hated herself for what she was about to do and how it would taint all of that. She felt Eric touch her hand and looked at the boy.
Eric looked as despondent as she felt. She took his hand in hers. She was about to lose the man she loved. Eric was about to lose a lot more. Maldie knew she had to be strong for him.
“We have to tell him,” Eric whispered, not wishing Nigel to overhear the conversation. “I dinnae think it can wait.”
“Probably not,” she agreed. “He just looks verra pleased, and he has just beaten the mon the Murrays have been plagued by for thirteen years.”
“Aye, and this news willnae let him enjoy that for long. Nay, ’twill steal it all away. In a way, it will show that this long, bloody feud was based on a lie, that many a Murray had died for nothing. Howbeit, that will be the way of it no matter when we tell him. And if we wait too long, it may be worse.”
“I ken it. He will then wonder why we didnae tell him when ’tis clear that we had to have gained all this knowledge during our stay at Dubhlinn.” She grimaced. “At least, the knowledge of who ye really are. I have held to my truth for a long time, even lied to hide it.”
“Mayhap we dinnae need to tell him all of your secrets.”
“As I told ye before, we must. Ye didnae learn about your birthright from the fairies. Once Balfour learns how ye ken who your father is, he will look to me. The mark we share not only proves we are bound by a blood kinship, it reveals my lies. And I am weary of telling them. Nay, it all has to be told. If we tell only a part, Balfour has the wit to figure out all the rest, and then we shall both be liars in his eyes.”
Eric smiled fleetingly, his expression weighted with sadness. “In truth, I would prefer it if we both speak the full truth. After all, if I am to be cast aside because of my parentage, ’twould be nice to have ye cast out with me. ’Tis nay verra good of me to think such a thing, but I fear I do.�
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She briefly squeezed his hand in a gesture of understanding. “’Tis no great sin. No one likes to be alone. Trust me in that, for I have been alone for most of my life.”
“No longer,” he said firmly.
Maldie felt deeply touched, for she knew he had just made a vow. No matter what happened when the full truth was known, she would not be alone. He knew exactly who she was, had learned most of her sad past, and was fully aware of the sin she had come to Dubhlinn to commit, but he remained faithful. In her heart she knew he would always be there for her, always be her family, yet it was going to take some getting used to. Such kindness, such steadfastness, was not something she was accustomed to.
“What are ye two whispering about?” asked Nigel.
“Just wondering what has happened to Beaton,” replied Eric, unable to meet Nigel’s eyes.
“Since our brother marches toward us looking verra much alive, then I must assume that Beaton is dead,” Nigel drawled, smiling briefly at Eric. “Are ye sure ye werenae hurt?” he asked when Eric still did not look at him.
“Aye, Maldie and I are both weel.”
“’Tis glad I am to hear it,” said Balfour as he finally reached them.
Highland Destiny Page 24