by Sherry Ewing
Lynet reached out and fingered the edges of the ribbon placed on his arm much as he had just recently done. “I am most pleased you still wear this, Rolf,” she murmured. “You know I do care for you, do you not?”
Afore he could mutter some form of a reply, Dristan called to her, for another was ready to claim his victory dance. Lynet murmured a barely audible hasty farewell and departed.
With a heavy heart, Rolf left the festivities to retire. He may not have much of a chance to win the lady’s heart, but by God, he would die trying, if he must.
Chapter Ten
“Yield!” Ian called out to the knight beneath the point of his claymore. He waited with his heart hammering inside his chest ’til the man at last nodded his confirmation Ian had won the match. A round of cheers went up from those seated in the stands, who had been watching for what seemed like hours whilst men continually hacked away at each other with their swords.
Ian lifted the visor of his helmet and made his way to bow afore Dristan and those surrounding him. His eyes lingered on the young woman who had barely acknowledged his existence in the past several days. Today was no different, as she all but ignored his presence. He took off his helmet and glared at her ’til she at last peered at him in a sideways glance. She flushed a becoming shade of red. He smiled at her obvious frustration to remain uncaring. With a blush like that painstakingly plastered on her comely face, he knew he had her undivided attention, whether she willed it or not.
His point made, he gave her a low courtly bow, despite the heavy metal encasing his body. “My lady,” he said, loud enough that all within hearing heard the emphasis on his claim to the beautiful Lynet.
“Harrumph!” Lynet gave an off handed reply, all but raising her pretty, little, pert nose at him.
He chuckled whilst calling for ale and left the field ’til the next poor sorry excuse for a knight rose up to challenge him again come the morrow. The array of opponents had been falling like rain drops from the grey skies ’til only the best of the best now remained for him to fight to claim his prize. Since Dristan had made it perfectly clear these rounds were not to be challenges to the death, many had grumbled their complaints as they had fallen victim to better adversaries. From the sneers that followed him through camp, Ian had made plenty of enemies by advancing through the ranks to win Lynet’s hand in marriage.
Ian bestowed a brief glance over his shoulder at Angus and Connor, who he knew guarded his back, as he made for his tent to take his ease. Although Killian had made room for him in the Garrison Hall, he preferred to be outside of the keep walls, not trusting himself to restrain the urge to throttle the very lady he was trying his best to win.
The little vixen! How many nights, as the victors celebrated in the Great Hall, had she all but told him with her eyes that she hated him? Their kiss, however, told him differently, and ’twas the reason he continued to maintain the advantage in the matches he entered. ’Twas sheer goading on his part each time he bowed down afore her as he won, again and again. He looked forward to the day when he would become the last man standing. There was no doubt in his mind Lynet would be returning with him to Urquhart.
Still, he had to give her credit in her resolve to attempt to prove to herself, at the very least, that she cared not for him. Ian had watched, one fair morning at the beginning of the games, when she bestowed yet another favor on Rolf’s armor, as if the first one she had given him had not been enough. Once the deed had been accomplished, she had peeked directly at him through lowered lashes ’til he gave her a mocking salute. If she thought to make him jealous, she would shortly come to the realization she would not win at her game. She should have heeded the warning he had already given her that such a ploy would not be to her advantage.
She had done Rolf no favor that day, however. The ribbon, once placed in front of all those competing for her hand, had all but floated on the breeze, as if daring and waving a bright red flag at a charging bull to come and take it from his arm. Rolf had taken a fair beating that morn, and yet, he still remained one of several combatants to fight another day. As one of Dristan’s guards, Ian would have expected no less of the man.
In the evenings, Lynet had been forced by Dristan to dance with those who had won their matches each day ’til ’twas quite clear the lady was not enjoying the music. Coming to claim her for a dance after she had just been partnered with her distant cousin, who apparently now called Lorn his home, Ian had bristled as she had started to leave him standing alone on the floor ’til he had made a grab for her arm. He had spoken not a word as he had all but dared her to continue her departure. She had chosen wisely that night, and he had been pleased to watch her breathing elevate each time their hands touched or came in contact with one another as they went through the pattern of the dance. He remembered, in mild fascination, when the pupils of her blue eyes had dilated, and he had known then and there she wanted him as much as he wanted her. His only wish had been to sweep her from the room, thoroughly kiss her stubborn pride from her lips, and have her admit she still cared for him.
“My laird…” Angus’s voice interrupted his musings, and Ian wondered how long the man had been holding back the flap to the entrance of his tent whilst his laird reminisced on a tiny slip of a girl.
Ian entered and went to a nearby pitcher. After pouring water into the bowl, he cupped his hands and splashed the cool liquid on his face to remove the sweat of a hard day’s labor. Angus handed him a drying cloth, and he took it gratefully, along with a tankard of cool ale to take the dirt from his mouth. He gulped the spirits ’til the cup was drained. “Help me get this damn armor off,” Ian drawled, as exhaustion began to seep from his body. Only now, away from the prying eyes of others, would he give in to the need for rest.
“I told ye we should ’ave brought a lad. Look at us…reduced tae the duties o’ squire!” Connor complained. Ian shot the man a piercing stare that silenced any further words of complaint. “Sorry, me laird.”
Ian grunted some form of reply and managed a sigh of relief as the armor that had been weighing him down all day was slowly removed from his body. The chain mail was to be removed next. Bending forward, he allowed the weight from the heavy links to do the work for him as the mail slid from his chest onto the floor. Any energy Ian may have still possessed drained from him as if water running through fingers. Angus lifted off the padding he had worn so the metal would not rub his skin, only to reveal a path of blood that had been trickling down his side for some time.
“Yer injured,” Angus stated the obvious as he began poking the stab wound in Ian’s side.
“That hurts, if you would but care to inquire,” Ian declared with a hiss.
“’Tis going tae be hard tae hold yer lance and balance yerself in the saddle come the next event with a wound o’ this nature.”
“I am sure I will manage, given the price I would pay if I fail. At least, I have the morrow to rest.”
Angus continued his torture of assessing the wound, much to Ian’s irritation. “How did ye come by this, and fer how long has it been bleeding the life from ye?”
“’Twas from Broderick, that sniveling distant relative of Lady Lynet’s. Apparently, the gent did not like the beating he was receiving and thought to even the odds.”
“Well…he did a right fine job and knew just where tae slice ye between the plates o’ yer armor. The wound needs tae be stitched.”
“I am sure ’tis not the first time the wretch has behaved so cowardly, and ’tis one of the reasons we did not get along whenever he came to visit Berwyck. I never could stand a cheat.”
“At least he has now been eliminated from the competition. I heard tell he was packing his gear and cursing yer name at the same time,” Angus laughed.
Ian flinched, looking down at his side, and did not care for the look of the wound. Since he had not wanted to call attention to the issue of someone getting the better of him by calling for Kenna’s aid, he had left the injury unattended throughout the day.
’Twas not the wisest choice. The edges of skin were jagged and an angry shade of red. ’Twould not surprise him in the least to see the gash becoming poisonous. “Bloody Hell! The bastard used a dirty knife.”
“Aye, that he did, and ’twill become more infected than it already is if we do not take care o’ the wound soon.” Angus wiped his bloodied hands on a cloth and turned to Connor. “Go and fetch Berwyck’s healer, else we will be planning a funeral, instead o’ a wedding.”
Angus pulled up a stool and motioned for Ian to sit. Lowering his tall frame, Ian sat, waiting for Kenna’s aid in healing his injury. He did, after all, need to fight another day.
~***~
Lynet lightly held the arm of a man whose name she could not recall to save her life. He was of the Davidson clan in the north of Scotland. At least that much she knew. He made her uncomfortable with his enormous height and massive build. ’Twas as if she were walking beside a mountain that blocked the sun from the skies. She appeared as a child next to him and could not imagine spending her life with such a man.
“You would like the Highlands, my lady, and the lochs surrounding my home.” The giant beside her spoke with the deepest timbre to his voice she had ever heard afore. Was it her imagination, or did it feel as though the ground actually shook with his speech?
“Aye, I am sure I would enjoy such a place,” Lynet replied offhandedly as they walked the camp towards the castle’s keep. She peeked at him from lowered lashes only to see a scowl of displeasure set upon his face. Although there was no mistaking the fact he was a handsome brute, she did not care for those deep set brown eyes settling on her body as though he were stripping the garments from her for all the world to see her naked. She raised her chin and spoke her mind. “Have I offended you in some way that you would look at me so?”
“You do not even remember my name, do you lassie?” he grumbled irritably.
“I am afraid not and must apologize for my lapse in memory,” she murmured.
“’Tis Calum,” he replied sourly. “You would do well to remember it, come the future, especially since you will become my bride.”
She halted their progress, for she had had enough of arrogant men telling her what to do. “We shall see,” she retorted with a shake of her head. Espying Kenna busily helping an injured knight across the way, she waved off her escort. “Please excuse me, my Laird Calum. I must needs see if I can be of use to our healer.”
Not waiting for a reply, she cared not that she left the man standing alone, most likely glaring at her retreating form. She made her way through the throng of people who were busily making their way to their own tents after a day of revelry. The days had been long, and the complaints high from those who had fallen and no longer were eligible for her hand in marriage. She was overjoyed the majority of noblemen were no longer in the running.
She came to stand next to a man who was pleading his cause to Kenna, who continued to work on her injured patient.
“I understand your plight, good sir, but I must needs finish here afore I can attend to another,” Kenna murmured, never raising her eyes to the man who sought her help.
“But the wound is deep, mistress, and me laird is in need o’ yer help!” the man said forcefully.
Kenna at last looked up with an irritated and impatient sigh and met Lynet’s gaze as she stood there in silence. “Would you be so kind, my lady, and see to the gentleman’s wounds?” Kenna asked. “I know I should not ask such of you, but as you can see, I have my hands full at the moment.”
“But of course I can help, Kenna. Just let me go fetch my medicine satchel.”
“No need, Lynet.” Kenna tossed her a bag of her own supplies. “Take these and see to this man’s laird. I will send a boy to fetch what I stand in need of.”
The man set a brisk pace, and Lynet all but ran to keep up with him. They did not go far ’til Lynet stood afore a spacious tent that had been erected on the outskirts of the main activity of camp life.
The tent flap was held open for her to enter, and she did so, allowing her eyes to become adjusted to the dim interior after being in the bright sunlight. She saw him then, sitting there on a stool waiting for her. Blue eyes met hazel from across the room whilst her breath left her when she realized exactly who was injured. She rushed to his side. All thoughts of the animosity she had been feeling towards him left her, knowing he was hurt.
“What an honor,” Ian drawled carelessly. “The lady herself comes to aid a most humble servant.”
“Hush, you fool!” Lynet ordered, almost forgetting her kinder thoughts but an instant afore. Kneeling down at his side, she called for more light so she could better examine the wound. “Why did you not stop your fighting so this could be attended to? ’Tis already festering.”
“Aye, I know.” Ian lifted a bottle of spirits to his lips and took a long drink.
“Well…why did you not halt the combat?” She probed deeper into the wound and heard him cuss. “Sorry,” she muttered softly.
“You know the reason I continued on with the games, Lynet. ’Tis foolish of you to think I would allow myself to be beaten by some sniveling coward who thought to win the match by deceit.”
“And did you?”
Ian shook his head, as if he was clearing his thoughts from the fiery liquid he drank. “Did I what, my dear?”
Lynet sighed and stopped momentarily to look up into his visage. “Did you win the match?”
His brow rose, as if he was surprised she would even ask such of him. “How could you doubt I would not become victorious in the end?”
She remained mute, for truly, what was there to say when the man had fought relentlessly just to win her hand, despite the injury he had incurred. She began making a paste to pack the wound and draw out the infection, but she could feel the heat of his stare. The look he cast her sent a small thrill through her, even though he was just so exasperating at times. She kept to her task and tried to force from her mind the view of him sitting so nigh with a smirk plastered on his handsome face.
Pulling out linen for bandages, she told Ian to raise his arms. Naturally, this brought her into closer proximity of the man she was determined to hate for rejecting her all these years. Her fingers brushed across his bronzed chest, lightly furred with a hint of red, as she began to wind the cloth around his torso. She could actually smell the spirits on his breath. She was so near, she almost forgot her mission ’til she reached the end of the bindings. After she tied the knot, he put his arms down. Lynet sat back on her heels and collected the medicinal ointment, herbs, and linens to pack away in Kenna’s satchel.
Ian offered her his hand as she rose, sending currents of heat flowing through her veins at his touch.
“You should stay abed to ensure no fever sets in,” Lynet said as his thumb caressed the back of her hand he still held.
He gave a brief laugh. “And miss the chance to sup with you this eve and claim my dance? Not a chance, little one.”
She smiled at the endearment as he raised her hand to his lips. Their eyes met yet again whilst her heart once more leapt up into her throat. She cleared it, trying to find her voice. When she finally spoke, the sound came out as more of a croak, causing his own smile to broaden, knowing he had affected her so.
“Then if I cannot steer you from your course, I shall see you this eve, my laird.” She noticed his eyes took on an almost wicked gleam. “What amuses you so?” she asked, trying her best to control her breathing.
“I but enjoyed the sound of you calling me my laird,” Ian chuckled, still holding on to her quivering hand.
Her brow rose at his nerve to bring her error to her attention. “Did you now?”
“Aye, I did, my dearest Lynet.”
She attempted to hide the smirk lighting her face, but knew she had failed when his laughter rumbled inside his chest once more. “Well…do not get used to it. I said your title in a lapse of good judgment on my part, I assure you.”
“If you say so, but…” He l
et his words drop off, as though he knew she had once again spoken a falsehood. The look he tossed her told her he was completely amused with how uncomfortable she was feeling for her slip. “Sure sounded like an endearment to me.”
He finally let her hand go, but Lynet could tell ’twas done with reluctance. “Since the morrow is the Sabbath, I will check on you after mass and stich your wound if no further infection is present.”
Lynet did not wait for any form of reply. She practically ran from the tent whilst her heart continued its rapid flight. He was winning her slowly, but surely, and he knew it. Mayhap, ’twas time to admit defeat and give in to the love she had always harbored for the insufferable man!
~***~
Calum unfolded his arms from his chest and watched Lynet with interest as she left the MacGillivray tent and made her way to the keep. He was not pleased with the events that were fast becoming clear to him. His estates failing, he needed the girl’s dowry to replenish his coffers, by any means necessary.
She cared for the man…that much was becoming abundantly clear. He had noticed her pleased expression, when she thought no one was looking, whenever Ian of Urquhart had been named victorious from the relentless matches he won. If he did not do something about it, MacGillivray would attain her hand, despite Calum’s best interests to do the same. Aye, the MacGillivray laird was the biggest threat to his own plans to have the lass. Perchance, Calum needed to take a different tactic in order to see his own desires were fulfilled.
Chapter Eleven
“Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess,” Lynet began ’til her nephew Royce started squirming in her lap. She gazed down at the boy, who did not appear pleased with the tale she was about to weave. “What is amiss?”
The boy crossed his arms over his chest in a way so reminiscent of his sire, Lynet did everything in her power not to break out in laughter and shame the lad. “Cannot you tell me the tale of the knight, and how he slays the dragon, Aunt Lynet? ’Tis one of my favorites.”