My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

  Ainslee shuddered when he brushed his lips over her forehead. They were soft and warm, and their touch clouded her mind. She knew he was going to kiss her. Despite a multitude of self-scoldings about rampant vanity and the folly of it, Ainslee had suspected that he wanted to kiss her since shortly after they met. It might be wise and proper to sternly rebuff his advances, but she knew she was going to consign right and proper to the winds. She was far too curious, had thought about kissing him often enough to want to know what it would feel like. When he touched his lips to hers, she leaned into him, wordlessly conveying her willingness.

  Warmth rushed through her body, pushing away all remnants of the chill caused by the brisk weather. She clutched at the front of his thick tunic, desperately needing the support when he slowly began to deepen the kiss. A tremor went through her when he invaded her mouth with his tongue. Each stroke of his tongue within her mouth increased the sense of hunger swamping her. She clung more tightly to him, pressing her body closer to his as, for a moment, she fully succumbed to the power of his kiss. Then, as he smoothed his hands over her back, a flicker of alarm broke through passion’s haze. The need in her was too strong, the desire too hot and fast.

  It was not easy, but Ainslee pushed Gabel away. She took a few deep unsteady breaths and, her voice so thick and husky she barely recognized it as her own, she said, “I believe I will return to my chambers now. ‘Tis a very fine room, though ’tis still a prison.” Afraid she was in danger of babbling, she sidled around him and headed toward the narrow steps which led down from the walls. “Howbeit, prison or not, it does seem the safest place for me to be right now.” Without waiting for him to respond, she fled.

  Gabel smiled as he watched her flee. It was wrong to try and seduce her, yet he found it easy to push aside all twinges of guilt. That one kiss had shown him a glimpse of a passion so fierce and rich he could not simply ignore it, no matter how fleeting it may be. He knew Ainslee would now try to hide from him, and he would allow her that escape for a while, but he knew nothing would stop him from taking up the chase again—soon.

  Six

  As quietly as she could, Ainslee began to creep down the stairs. For the first time since Michael had been ordered to guard her four days ago, she had caught him napping. It only surprised her a little, as she had worked very hard to ensure that the young man got no sleep during the night. She had done everything from noisily moving the heavy furniture in her bedchamber—thus stirring up his suspicions about what she was doing—to using the garderobe so often he had to think she was ill. Her games had left her exhausted as well, but they had succeeded in freeing her of her constant shadow for the first time since her arrival at Bellefleur.

  She glanced over her shoulder to make certain Michael was not following her. When she looked back down the stairs, she cursed and abruptly stopped. Another few steps and she would have walked right into Gabel. He stood at the foot of the stairs, hands on his trim hips, watching her with unveiled suspicion.

  “And where are you creeping away to, m’lady?” asked Gabel. “Escaping?”

  “Oh, aye. I thought I would rush boldly from the keep and bound through the gates,” she replied, leaning against the tapestry-draped wall flanking one side of the narrow, winding stairs. “I feel assured I can do so without any of your score or more fighting men espying me. And ’twould be but a small challenge to outrun all your war-horses.”

  “A restless night clearly makes your tongue even sharper. ’Tis not a good day to be so clever. A few of us are not in the kindest of humors, after being roused from our beds in the middle of the night.”

  Ainslee ignored his remark, but inwardly grimaced with guilt. At one time during the long night she had feigned having a nightmare. It had seemed like a clever way to keep Michael from getting any rest until a concerned Gabel, his aunt, and young Elaine had also stumbled into the room. Lady Marie and her daughter had been all that was kind, but a gleam of suspicion had quickly entered Gabel’s sleep-softened eyes. Gabel had seen her caught in the throes of a real nightmare, and she knew she was not skilled enough to imitate it properly, especially since she woke from her nightmares with little memory of what she had said or how she had acted. She would never admit to such a deception, however.

  “Many pardons for being such a troublesome guest. Mayhaps it would be best if ye sent me back to Kengarvey.”

  “I think not,” he replied with a crooked smile. “What I will do is select a second guard for you, so that you can no longer weary the man so much so that he becomes less alert.”

  “As ye wish, m’laird,” she said, but silently cursed. Until Ronald was well she had not planned to try and escape, but now her little game to elude Michael could well have cost her any chance to flee. “I was about to go for a wee walk,” she murmured as she cautiously continued down the stairs, ignoring his wide grin as she nudged her way by him.

  “I insist upon joining you, m’lady,” he said as he hooked his arm through hers, tightening his grip when she tried to slip free, and ignoring the glare she sent him. “I should think you would be interested in what your father has replied to my ransom demands.”

  “I am surprised ye would feel ye could repeat his reply to a lady,” Ainslee drawled.

  She was not really sure she wanted to know what her irascible father had said. There were two ways he could respond to a ransom demand for her—with anger and numerous attempts to delay paying, or by telling Gabel to do as he pleased with her. Ronald believed her father would never simply cast her to the wolves, but she was not so confident of that. Her father had no love for her, and, since no match had ever been arranged for her, she was beginning to think he had no use for her either.

  Gabel laughed, but the thought of her father’s callousness killed his humor as quickly as her wry comment had roused it. The laird’s reply to the ransom demand revealed that Duggan MacNairn cared nothing at all for his daughter or her servant. There was only one captive the man had inquired about—the horse. Gabel hoped Ainslee was not too fond of the beast, for he had decided to keep it just to spit in MacNairn’s eye. It was a somewhat childish gesture, but eminently satisfying. His concern at the moment, however, was to tell Ainslee what response her father had made, yet not hurt her feelings. One glance into her wide eyes told him that he was probably trying to protect her from a truth she was already well aware of.

  “Your father’s language was somewhat belligerent.” Gabel ignored her soft snort of derision over his politely vague reply. “He is attempting to negotiate your price.”

  “If he refused to buy me back, ye need not fret about telling me so. I have long understood that I am not dear to my father’s heart. I canna be hurt by a truth I have already learned,” she lied, and prayed her appearance of outward calm could not be penetrated by Gabel’s piercing look.

  “Are you certain you want the full truth?” he asked, stopping to face her.

  “Aye, ’tis always best.”

  “Sometimes it can be cruel.” Gabel wondered if he could diminish her loyalties with the truth. It might well stop her from enacting any dangerous attempts to escape just to save her father’s pride and coin.

  “The truth is still best. Aye, I would never tell a friend that the gown she wears makes her look like a grazing cow, nor that she dances like a goat with three legs, but, on most occasions, the truth does more good than harm.”

  “Then have the truth. Most of your father’s reply was a profane rant against ransoms, empty-headed daughters, and ambitious Normans. He feels you are at fault for this, you and your companion. The only one whose welfare was inquired after was your horse. Your father also told me that he can only afford to pay a pittance, a sum so small ’tis an insult to me as well as to you.”

  That did hurt, and did so more deeply than Ainslee felt it ought to. Hiding her pain, she gave Gabel a brief smile and stepped around him. “That does sound like my father.”

  Gabel fell into step beside her as she walked toward the narrow steps w
hich led up the walls of Bellefleur. He wished he could see her eyes. It was hard to believe that she could be quite so nonchalant about her father’s cruelty as she pretended to be.

  “I have sent a messenger to him today,” he said, as he followed her up the steps, his gaze fixed upon the gentle sway of her slim hips. “I told him what I have just told you—that his offer is an insult. Since he ignored my mention of the king’s wishes for a cessation of his lawless ways, I have repeated them, and I warned him of the consequences of thinking himself beyond his king’s reach.”

  “My father isna a mon who considers the consequences of anything he does.”

  “Are there no wiser heads at Kengarvey?”

  “Aye, and they grace the pikes upon the walls of Kengarvey. My father’s reply to any advice is a blind fury at the one offering it. No one speaks out now, no matter how great a folly their laird commits. After all, one might survive Duggan MacNairn’s mistakes, but one never survives the urge to advise him.”

  “I am surprised that anyone remains at Kengarvey.”

  “Some have no other choice. Also, Kengarvey is their home. Even if they must endure a fool for a laird, they stay out of love for Kengarvey.” She sighed as she stared out over the walls of Bellefleur. “Kengarvey isna as fine as this keep, neither as sturdily built nor as comfortable, but ‘tis home and, for many, ’tis the only home they have ever kenned. There are fools there as weel, dim-witted ones who think my father is the bravest of men. They admire the way he spits in the eye of anyone who tries to rule him.”

  Leaning against the cool stone wall at her side, Gabel asked quietly, “Even his king?”

  “Do ye wish me to talk my father into a charge of treason?”

  “Such a charge already hangs o’er his head and, if he does not soon swear the allegiance asked of him, he will find out that the king he scorns can be a formidable enemy.”

  Ainslee shuddered at the thought of the fate her father tempted. The penalty for treason was death, a long, gruesome death. It would not be only her father who suffered it either. Most certainly he was placing his precious sons at risk, and could even be endangering her and her sisters. She could not defend her father’s actions, but she decided it was past time to begin weighing her every word. By neither word nor action would she help Gabel or the king brand her father a traitor. Although her father had done nothing to earn such loyalty, it could easily prove to be a matter of self-preservation.

  “My father but plays the ransom game, Sir Gabel,” she replied. “Verra few people bow to the first ransom demand made.”

  “I cannot believe you truly think that.”

  “What ye believe about me and my thoughts, sir, doesna really matter.” She returned to staring out at the countryside and tensed when he moved closer to her, his body brushing against hers all along one side as he lightly stroked her hair.

  “But it does matter. I do not know you well, Ainslee MacNairn, but I did feel that you were an honest woman.”

  “I have told ye no lies.”

  “Nay, but you have told me few truths either.”

  “Weel, here is a truth. Someone approaches and ’tisna my kinsmen.”

  He tensed, stared at the riders moving toward Bellefleur at a slow, steady pace, and moved away. Ainslee felt the chill of his leaving immediately, and knew it was not just from the removal of his warm body. He had retreated from her in every way. She looked more closely at the riders, trying to discern the reason for his almost complete withdrawal. In the midst of the riders was a small horse-drawn cart. Within the cart sat several women, one of them clearly a wellborn lady. Ainslee recognized the party as the Frasers, one of her father’s many enemies and the most ardent.

  There were two reasons for the Frasers to travel to Bellefleur. One was to ally themselves with Gabel against her father, but the wellborn women of the clan did not often join such a venture, especially not at this time of the year. The other was to attempt to bind the two families together through a marriage. Ainslee had the sinking feeling that the lady in the cart was going to be offered as a possible bride for Gabel.

  Ainslee was torn between fury and disgust. She had harbored no illusions about Gabel’s attempts to seduce her, although the depth of her hurt indicated that she might not have been as free of romantic self-deception as she had thought. For Gabel to try and draw her into his bed even as he courted a bride was not only infuriatingly arrogant of him, it was deeply insulting. If she was right and this was a candidate for a bride entering through the heavy gates of Bellefleur, then it was indisputable proof that Gabel de Amalville had a very low opinion of her. He really did see her as no more than someone to dally with then cast aside, as no more than some common hedgerow whore, for it was evident that he did not treat every wellborn Scottish lady the same.

  “I believe I will return to my bedchamber,” she said as she headed down the steps, desperate to get away from him for fear he would read the turmoil she suffered in her eyes.

  “You do not wish to meet the Frasers?” Gabel asked as he quickly followed her.

  Ainslee wondered what would happen if she pushed the fool off the walls. She could not believe he wanted to introduce his intended leman to his intended bride. “This particular Fraser loathes my clan. I dinna believe he would be pleased to see me.”

  Despite her best efforts to reach the safety of her bedchamber before Colin Fraser or his people saw her, Ainslee found herself trapped in the bailey as her clan’s deadliest enemies arrived. She tried to hide behind Gabel as he shook hands with Lord Fraser and greeted the man’s daughter, a dark buxom beauty named Margaret. Ainslee knew her pathetic attempt to hide until she could flee to her room had failed when Lord Fraser glared at her.

  “What is one of those MacNairns doing here?” Fraser demanded.

  “She is a prisoner,” Gabel replied. “I am discussing her ransom with her father even now.”

  “Ye let a prisoner walk about freely? Especially one of those treacherous MacNairns? Ye should lock the bitch in chains, or ye will soon find a knife sticking in your back.”

  “At least MacNairns dinna smile sweetly at a mon whilst using lies, the law, and the king to rid ourselves of him,” Ainslee snapped, glaring right back at the burly man.

  “Your father has never obeyed a law in his whole miserable life, so ’tis sure he wouldna ken what ones to use to his advantage. And he certainly canna even go near the king or he will swiftly be hanged for the thieving dog he is.”

  “Enough,” Gabel said and, seeing an abashed, sleepy-eyed Michael walking toward him, nudged a glowering Ainslee toward her youthful guard.

  Although it caused the bile of fury to sting the back of her throat, Ainslee bit back the final insult she was prepared to hurl at Fraser. The look of contempt Margaret Fraser gave her only made that silence harder to maintain. Ainslee ached to hit the woman, but allowed Michael to drag her away. Watching Gabel soothe his guests and flirt with a suddenly coquettish Margaret was not something she wished to be subjected to anyway. She did wonder how much the circumstances of her captivity would now change.

  “Ye will ne’er believe who is stomping about these halls,” Ainslee announced as she strode into Ronald’s bedchamber later.

  “Colin Fraser and his hell-bound daughter Margaret,” Ronald replied as he pushed himself up until he could rest against the pillows Ainslee hastily plumped at his back.

  “Ye ken who Margaret Fraser is?” Ainslee poured him a tankard of mead, then sat on the edge of his bed.

  “Only through rumor, lassie. I have ne’er met the woman meself.”

  “Weel, what does rumor have to say about her?”

  “That she has a hearty dose of her father’s blood. ’Tis said she is even better at intrigue than he is. The Frasers are the kind of sly, ambitious courtiers who make the king’s court such a dangerous place. They are as bad as your father, but with the wit to hide their outlawry and treachery behind a cloak of courtly manners and legality.”

  “Old
Colin wasna so courtly when he saw me.” She smiled faintly when Ronald laughed. “His daughter looked at me as if I were some nasty bit of muck staining her embroidered slippers. I canna believe Gabel would want to marry such a woman.”

  “Do ye think a wedding is planned?”

  “Margaret is certainly planning one. I dinna think any betrothal has yet been agreed to, however. Gabel didna speak to the Frasers as if they were already his kinsmen. Margaret is here to be chosen.”

  Ronald shook his head, then finished off his mead. “An alliance there would certainly be ill news for us.”

  “From what ye have said, it wouldna be verra good for Gabel or Bellefleur either. ‘Tis foolish, I shouldna fret o’er what fate may befall my captors. By all rights, I should wish them all the ill fate and God may deal them.”

  “Nay, sweet lass. Ye have too good a heart.” Ronald briefly patted her hand, then winked at her. “And I ken that ye have cast a favorable eye at young Gabel de Amalville.”

  “ ’Tis not my eye he wishes me to cast upon him.” As Ronald laughed, Ainslee puzzled over the strong yet even mix of jealousy and concern which assailed her. “The mon tries to seduce me until he sees his possible bride trot into view. I ought to cast him to the wolves and take gleeful pleasure in watching them tear the blind fool apart. Howbeit, as ye say, I have too good a heart and, mayhaps, too empty a head. If these Frasers are as treacherous as ye say—”

  “Mightily so. And, if but half the whispers about bonny Margaret are true, she is the most poisonous of adders. From what talk I have heard about these halls, de Amalville has gained great favor with our king.”

  “And thus becomes someone who is in the way of others who aspire to that place of honor.”

  Ronald nodded as he set his empty tankard aside. “De Amalville is our captor. He means to bring your father into the king’s fold, or put an end to the trouble he causes. Howbeit, he is also an honorable mon, who would prefer a treaty to a battle, and who treats us most kindly. He deserves better than to be betrayed and brought low by an ambitious mon and his equally sly daughter.”