My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  Elen’s mouth set in a tight line as she turned away, but she grew even more pale at the sight of Gilead.

  “She’s never been able to handle the sight of blood,” Angus said.

  Deidre took her arm to steady her. “Maybe you’d better leave,” she said as she took the cloth away. “I can finish here.”

  Elen put a hand to her mouth and bolted to the door.

  Gilead watched in silence as Deidre added warm water to the basin from the kettle hung over the brazier. She dipped the cloth in it and began to dab gently at the abrasions on his shoulders. By the Christian God, she had a touch softer than an angel’s. He tried to get her to look at him, but she kept her eyes averted, tending to her task. He gasped a little when she dribbled the alcohol over the cuts, not so much in pain, but to see what her reaction would be.

  She was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but the gashes must be clean or they’ll fester.”

  “I can bear it.” Gilead purposely avoided his father’s incredulous stare and Formorian’s amused smile. If he wanted to bask in a little attention, it was his due, wasn’t it? Deidre was not often this docile. She was even more careful as she finished her ministrations and stepped back.

  “That should do it,” she said. “Formorian and I should be going.”

  He wasn’t ready to let her go and caught her hand. “I think I’m going to be really stiff tomorrow. Would ye mind rubbing my back a bit before ye leave?”

  “An excellent idea,” Formorian said with an impish grin as she looked at Angus. “Do ye think ye may be stiff tomorrow, too, my lord?”

  He grinned back at her. “Aye. Mayhap I’ll even need a stroking in the morn.”

  Gilead ignored both of them. There was magic in Deidre’s fingers as she slowly spread them over his upper back and lightly kneaded his shoulders. Her hands traced a path down either side of his spine and up along his ribs, then circled his back again. Her touch was both soothing and arousing. Maybe there was a touch of witchcraft in the lass after all, but he wasn’t about to complain. The pain of his wounds was definitely worth the attention he was getting.

  Abruptly, though, they were interrupted as the door swung open and Elen stood glaring at them. “If it’s not too much trouble, husband, Turius would like a word with ye.” She nodded stiffly to Formorian. “I should think ye would wish to clean up a bit before yer husband sees ye.”

  Formorian gave Angus’s arm a final pat before stepping away. “He’s seen me far worse, but aye, a bath would be wonderful.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Deidre said quickly. “Lady Elen, you’ve had quite an upsetting day. Maybe a quiet dinner in your room this eve would be good.” She turned back to Gilead. “I never did thank you for saving my life today.”

  “Ye repaid me already,” he said and smiled at her.

  Angus reached for a clean shirt after the ladies left and pulled it over his head. “That was quite an accomplishment,” he said.

  Gilead straightened his own shirt. “’Twas nothing. The brute intended to rape her. I put a dirk in the man’s back. Anyone would have done the same.”

  “Certes,” his father answered. “That wasna what I was talking about.”

  “I doona know what ye mean.”

  Angus chuckled. “Ye acted verra brave, only groaning a little from the deep pain ye must have felt from those wee cuts she tended for ye.”

  “It was the pain in my leg that I groaned about,” Gilead said evasively.

  “Then why dinna ye make a sound when the medic was sewing ye up?” He held his hand up as Gilead started to protest. “Doona worry, son. Yer secret is safe with me.” He walked to the door and then turned back as he was about to leave. “But who is it, exactly, that’s playing with fire?”

  ◊♦◊

  Deidre pushed aside the linen bedsheet and turned over. She had been tossing about for well over an hour. It had been a long, stressful day with the Saxon fighting and she should be sound asleep by now, but her thoughts kept returning to Gilead.

  Had he actually been flirting with her? Seeing him nearly naked with only a plaid strewn across his loins had nearly taken her breath away. The snowy bandage had only served to accentuate the bronze color of well-developed, corded thighs. The skin on his back had felt satiny smooth over hard muscles and she had liked the way he involuntarily caught his breath when she softened her touch to brush lightly down his ribs and along the lower curve of his spine. If only she’d had the courage to sweep across his buttocks. She wondered what his reaction would have been then.

  She rolled onto her back. She was never going to get any sleep if she kept thinking about him. The tips of her breasts were tingling and the pulsating throb had begun again between her legs. If she felt like this now, what would she feel like if he actually touched her there? Fleetingly, she thought of how the parlor maids had giggled about being tupped at the Frankish court. At the time she had been appalled, thanks in large part to the stern admonishments of Clotilde. But now, she was beginning to envy those wenches their ability to make free with their favors.

  She raised and punched her pillow, then sank back down into its depths. She must get some sleep.

  Just as she was finally beginning to get drowsy, the air was rent by Elen’s bloodcurdling scream.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE ABDUCTION

  Deidre threw on a robe as she rushed out the door. The stone floor was cold on her bare feet, but that scream had sounded fatal. She caught a wisp of dark skirt disappearing at the servants’ stairs at the far end of the hall, but had no time to pursue it.

  She flung the door open and rushed in. Elen stood in the middle of the room, pressed back against a huge Saxon. He had one burly arm around her waist and a hand over her mouth. Her darkly dilated eyes contrasted with the bloodless white of her face.

  Deidre turned to run for help and met the cold, blue eyes of another warrior as he silently slid the bolt on the door. He smiled wolfishly.

  “It seems ve have a bonus here, Eric,” he said as he advanced slowly toward her. “Ida vill be pleased vith two for ransom, I think.”

  Deidre eyed him warily. She couldn’t step back much or she’d bump into Elen and the Saxon kept himself between her and the door. She wished she had the dirk she’d been practicing with. Formorian had told her to learn to sleep with it, but she had dashed out without thinking to pick it up. Still, she had to do something. She made a leap for the bed and scuttled across it, hoping to make it to the door.

  The Saxon caught her legs and hauled her back across the bed, pinning her body with his while his hand gripped her hair, lowering his head to capture her mouth.

  “Henrick! Ve don’t have time for this,” Eric snarled. “Let’s go.”

  Already, Deidre could hear boots thundering up the steps. Thank God. They’d be rescued soon, since there was no way out.

  Eric dragged Elen with him and pressed something near the small table that sat by the wall. Deidre stared, in stupefied horror, at a panel opening behind a tapestry. A passageway!

  Henrick ran a thick finger across her mouth and sighed. “This vill have to vait.” He rolled off her and grabbed her arm, yanking her upright and close to his side. “Move.”

  Deidre struggled against him and he cuffed her on her chin, causing her to stagger. For a moment, she saw sparkles in front of her eyes.

  “I’ll knock you out, voman, if you don’t stop fighting.”

  Deidre decided that keeping her wits about her would at least give her a chance to escape. And someone had to look after Elen. She needed to stay conscious to do that. She went deceptively limp. “All right.”

  He cast a wary glance at her, but there was pounding on the door and Angus was shouting angrily. Henrick pushed Deidre through the opening in the wall and pressed something that caused the panel to slide shut.

  She had never been in such total darkness. It felt thick and suffocating and she had no sense of balance. She felt herself teetering.
<
br />   Henrick gave her arm a jerk. “Hold still. I don’t vant you breaking your pretty little neck until I’m done vith you.”

  She heard flint striking and then a torch flared, illuminating the area. Deidre squinted; the light seemed blinding after the pitch black.

  They were standing on a small landing and she could see stone steps leading steeply downward. Eric held the torch with one hand and pulled Elen along with the other.

  Henrick put his hand on the small of her back. “Unless you vant to go headlong, move. Now. Ve’ve not much time.”

  The pounding on the door was muffled in the tunnel and grew fainter as they descended. Deidre tried to calculate how long it would take Angus to get an axe and hew through the solid oak door.

  They finally emerged in a small cave, not large enough to stand up in. Icy water swirled around Deidre’s bare feet and soaked the hem of her nightgown as they crouched and crawled out of the hole.

  “Are you all right?” she asked Elen worriedly.

  To her surprise, Elen seemed calm. She smiled and patted Deidre’s hand. “Whatever happens, save yerself if ye can.”

  “Not without you,” Deidre whispered back.

  “Stop the jabbering!” Eric pulled a small coracle hidden in some reeds near the bank of the Forth. “Get in.”

  They did as they were told. As the lightweight round boat bobbed up and down, caught in the swift current, Deidre thought it highly likely they might not survive the journey to wherever the longboats waited.

  She was surprised then, when Eric poled away from the deepening water and headed for shore. Henrick released his hold on the two women to grab another pole and pull against the tide.

  Elen suddenly moved. Whether from panic or some random thought that suicide was better than capture, Deidre would never know. Elen stood up suddenly, causing the coracle to spin dizzily. Both men cursed as they fought to steady it, and, before Deidre could release her own hold on the side of it, Elen had fallen into the frigid water.

  Deidre leaned over, trying to grasp a foot or part of the gown, only to find herself yanked backward by her hair. She didn’t even notice the pain. Elen was fast being sucked out into the ever-widening expanse that led to open water.

  Eric cursed as he leaned over with the pole extended in an attempt to catch Elen, but she was beyond his reach.

  Deidre watched helplessly as the fragile arms flailed in an attempt to swim, and then Elen disappeared below the surface. Deidre strained her eyes, but could see no more, even with the moon’s beams on the water. No screams or cries for help filled the air, only the sound of waves breaking over each other in their eternal rush to the sea.

  ◊♦◊

  With one last, massive stroke, the door splintered and Angus, Turius, and Gilead nearly fell into the room, swords drawn.

  “Where is she?” Gilead asked. “I know the scream came from here.”

  “Aye. I heard it, too,” Angus said grimly and then went over to the small table. He touched something along the wall and, to Gilead’s amazement, a passageway opened.

  “I dinna know that was here!” he said.

  “It goes down to the sea,” Angus said. “The laird who built the castle wanted a sure escape if he needed it.”

  Turius sheathed his sword. “We’d better get going. Whoever took her already has a good start.”

  A short time later, they waded through the shallow water of the cave onto solid land. Angus bent down. “Something’s been dragged here,” he said as his hand scraped the mud.

  “A boat, most like,” Turius agreed, “and small enough to be hidden.”

  Angus stood up. “A small boat only big enough for one or two men and a woman. They’d likely not fight the ebb tide, fast as it is.”

  “They’d be headed for sea, then,” Gilead said. “Do ye think the Saxons didn’t learn their lesson today with the slaughter?”

  Turius snorted. “They don’t fear death. If they die in battle, one of their Valkyries escorts them straight to Valhalla.” He turned to Angus. “But how would they know about the passage?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, “but I’m going to find out. Turius, go back and rouse the men. Tell them to skirt the coast and look for any signs of longboats. I’m going to follow the shore for a way.”

  “It might not be wise by yourself,” Turius said. “If you come across a band—”

  “I know this shoreline well,” Angus replied. “There’s a rocky jetty less than half a league from here. The water behind it remains still enough to swim in. If Saxons didn’t take Elen, whoever it was would most likely have horses waiting there.”

  Gilead knew the place and suddenly he wondered if this was another trysting spot of his father’s. An image of a naked Formorian and his father splashing water at each other rose unbidden in his mind. And then another image imposed itself. Deidre, not quite submerged enough to cover her breasts, her nipples hard… He shook his head to clear it. His mother was missing, for God’s sake. What was wrong with him?

  “I’m coming with ye,” he said.

  For a moment, Angus looked like he might argue, but then he nodded. They moved into the wood, out of sight of any hidden men who might be waiting to pick them off, and followed the shore as closely as they could. They didn’t speak, keeping their eyes peeled on the coast, and their ears open for any unusual sounds, but the forest was silent. Even their footsteps made no noise on the damp, fallen pine needles atop a cushion of moss. Not quite an hour later, they cautiously left the trees and headed toward the water.

  Gilead could see the jagged edge of the jetty looming up ahead and then a cloud scudded across the moon, dimming the view. When the waning light returned, he nearly stumbled over a sodden bundle.

  He looked down and then gave a low cry that caused Angus to turn around sharply. “What is it?”

  But Gilead was already kneeling on the ground, holding the crumbled heap that was his mother.

  ◊♦◊

  Dawn broke, streaks of fire rending the dark sky as Deidre’s captors led her into the Saxon camp.

  They’d ridden most of the night, following deer paths and sometimes treading their way through dense underbrush in the deeper recesses of the forest. Deidre’s legs were scratched and her feet cut from where they had to walk and lead the horses, but it was her wrists that hurt most, rubbed raw from the rope that bound her hands.

  As glad as she was to slide down from the saddle and Henrick’s grasp of her, she muffled a scream at the sight of some twenty barbarian warriors in various stages of morning undress.

  A huge man with a brushy beard lumbered over. “Did you bring us a fair piece of sport, Henrick?” He reached for her breast with a leer on his face.

  Henrick glowered at him and brushed his hand away. “I’ve not had her yet. You’ll have to vait your turn.”

  Deidre shuddered involuntarily. How long could she keep from being raped? And, by the interested looks of the men now forming a circle around her, she wondered if she might even survive, once the pillage started. This was not the way she wanted to lose her virginity, and she didn’t want to die being torn apart by savages.

  What she wouldn’t give to have had military training like Formorian, but she didn’t even have the sgian dubh the queen had given her. Clotilde had kept her too protected, afraid her virtue would be compromised, and Deidre had been happy to immerse herself in stories of a perfect world in which knights rescued damsels in distress. She squelched her fear. According to that blasted Book, when Gwenhwyfar was abducted, the legendary Lancelot rescued her. But there was no Lancelot in this world, nor any other gallant knights, either. Gilead came close, but he was wounded. And would anyone think to look for her, anyhow? They’d be far more concerned over Elen’s disappearance. She’d have to fend for herself and the odds weren’t good.

  Another man stepped up and dangled a bag of coins in front of Henrick. “This is yours if you’ll let me be first.”

  Others moved forward, too, rummaging throu
gh their clothes for coin. “I’ll pay more than him,” one said, only to have another yell over him, “Knucklehead! I’ve more money than the rest of you!”

  Someone pushed Henrick aside and grabbed Deidre’s arm. She tried to kick him, but with bare feet it made little impact on his shin. He merely laughed and pulled her toward him for a kiss, but she was jerked away before he had the chance. Suddenly, she was being jostled from one man to the other, each vying for first rights, it seemed. She stumbled and would have fallen except that there was always another pair of arms waiting to grab her. Anywhere. Places that she wanted only Gilead to touch.

  “Hold!”

  The persecution stopped and the men dropped back abruptly. The man who’d issued the command glowered at his soldiers as he strode through the now-silent ranks and came to a stop in front of her.

  He was shirtless and his blond hair hung wet and loose to his shoulders. He had obviously been in the midst of morning washing and did not look pleased to be interrupted. He was nearly as tall as Angus and Deidre tried not to notice the many battle scars that crisscrossed his broad chest and heavily muscled arms. She had no doubt that he could swing one of the deadly battle-axes easily with one massive hand.

  His eyes were the light blue of glaciers and nearly as cold. Deidre shivered slightly, in spite of the nearby fire that broke the morning chill. The man’s voice was civil, though, when he spoke.

  “My name is Ida. Velcome to my temporary quarters. I trust you vere not harmed coming here?” When she did not answer, he narrowed his eyes. Then he caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger and turned her head to the side.

  “How did you get that bruise?”

  Trying to think of a way to escape, she had almost forgotten the cuff that Henrick had given her. Now she was aware of the swelling and she winced at the pain. “I turned down your kind invitation to visit,” she said, with more bravado than she felt.