The Protector

by Allison Butler

  ‘Mairi!’

  She flinched at the anger in her father’s tone as he said her name. ‘Forgive me, Father, but—’

  ‘I am not the one you should be asking forgiveness from.’ Her father slowly shook his head as he stared at her. His next words were for her alone. ‘Duff is here as my guest of honour. His actions saved my men’s lives. Have you forgotten he then saved yours?’ His lips thinned. ‘I never would have reached you in time.’

  Mairi’s head lowered beneath the weight of her father’s pain-filled words. Concern for her father and the shame she’d caused him rushed in to heat her cheeks.

  Her father lowered his head.

  ‘It is unlike you to be ungracious and outspoken. The day’s events have shaken us all.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But, Daughter, you still owe my guest an apology.’

  She glanced around her father’s shoulder and was relieved to see Duff looking into the crowded hall. She lowered her voice further. ‘Do you not find it odd that a stranger from as far away as the Borders is in the exact same place as a group of men who attack you?’

  ‘Duff was in the right place at the right time to aid our party and he did so with great skill.’ His look intensified. ‘Mairi, has he harmed you?’

  ‘Nae, Father, he—’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘He …’ She couldn’t tell her father that Duff had made her look weak in front of the one man she’d spent the last eleven years determined to appear strong to. And she couldn’t possibly tell her father that dark-haired Duff addled her sensible, duty-driven wits. It was most annoying admitting it to herself. ‘He annoys me.’

  ‘He annoys you?’ Her father’s frown matched her own.

  ‘I told him to leave me be and still he pulled me from my horse.’ Despite being a stranger I felt safe in his arms. The thought caused her annoyance to grow. ‘He forced his assistance upon me when I’d assured him I didn’t need his help to dismount.’ And then he defends me even after I have left him waiting overlong. ‘I find him most annoying.’

  ‘You find him annoying because he helps you?’

  Mairi knew her claims sounded ridiculous. ‘He does not listen to me. I say one thing and he does another.’

  ‘Duff annoys you because he does what he believes is best,’ her father said.

  ‘Aye.’

  Her father studied her face. ‘I still expect you to offer him an apology.’

  Mairi stared at her father a moment more, then lowered her lashes, trying to remember precisely what she needed to apologise for.

  As if sensing her dilemma, her father said, ‘Duff, I believe my daughter has something she wants to say to you.’ Her father leaned back in his chair, giving Mairi a clear view of his guest of honour.

  ‘I …’ Dark eyes settled on her. ‘I thank you for assisting my father and his men during this morning’s attack.’ It wasn’t quite an apology but she was trying to keep her words honest and she was grateful that he’d come to her father’s aid. She still didn’t believe she needed to say sorry, not when she’d not done or said anything wrong.

  Duff inclined his head and said, ‘Again, I am pleased I was there to assist.’

  Her father searched her face and his single raised eyebrow told her he wasn’t completely pleased with her efforts. Thankfully, he turned his attention to Duff and said, ‘I’ve yet to see a skill to match yours with both sword and dirk.’

  ‘It has proven useful.’

  Over the years she’d heard similar conversations, but most had gone the way of men highlighting their own skills. Duff’s modest reply lured Mairi more so than if he’d tossed a rope around her waist and pulled her close. She fought the urge to look at him, but eventually, couldn’t help herself. At least she hoped she managed to do so discreetly.

  Continuing to pick at her food, she leaned forward a little and peered at Duff from beneath lowered lashes.

  ‘Care to share a move or two with an old man?’

  One corner of Duff’s generous mouth curved upward at her father’s question.

  Mairi felt her lips part.

  ‘More wine?’ her father offered, and waved one of the servants forward.

  The other corner of Duff’s mouth lifted, showing a glimpse of white teeth within.

  Mairi licked her lips.

  ‘So you plan to fill me with good wine to learn my fighting secrets?’ Duff held his hand over his goblet, and with a smile for the servant said, ‘Nae.’

  ‘I can have ale served instead if it will guarantee my success.’ The teasing note in her father’s voice drew her eyes from Duff’s smile.

  Deep ruts, long unused, fanned and crinkled about her sire’s eyes and bracketed his mouth. Leaning further forward in her chair, Mairi twisted in her seat, the better to view the man beside her.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her father jest. She struggled to recall the last time she’d seen him smile.

  Lights of mischief twinkled in his blue eyes, stealing the focus from the dark circles beneath. Happiness lined his face. He looked ten summers younger than his fifty-two years. How she wished she’d witnessed his happiness more often.

  Tears threatened, burned.

  Her gaze flicked to the cause of her father’s joy. Duff sat, watching her closely.

  She turned away, looked down and pushed the contents of her trencher about, fighting the burning behind her eyes. She did not cry. Ever. She needed to rein in her emotions that were at present more tangled than the bracken she’d tumbled into as a child.

  ‘Perhaps a demonstration with both sword and dirk would be better than speaking of them,’ Duff offered.

  ‘Aye,’ her father replied instantly. ‘But it will have to wait until I’ve checked on my injured men.’

  Mairi hadn’t been able to lessen the years of loneliness he’d suffered because of her, but she had become adept at lightening his duty load. With a few swift blinks, she ensured her eyes were clear and dry. ‘I plan to visit Balfour once the meal is done. I will check on Nairn also and advise you of any changes.’

  Her father looked in her direction and held her gaze for moment before turning to Duff. ‘Thanks to my daughter, you can demonstrate your skills the moment the meal is done.’

  Thanks to my daughter. Pride sparked within Mairi’s chest.

  ‘You are fortunate to have such a capable daughter,’ Duff said quietly.

  ‘That I am.’ The pride in her father’s tone renewed the threat of her tears.

  Mairi’s gaze slowly shifted and climbed to meet the eyes of the stranger who praised and defended her a second time. Rich, warmth slowly spread through her as she returned Duff’s open stare.

  She’d wished him gone; dismissed him, then attempted to pretend he wasn’t here. How was she to ignore a man who effortlessly made her brooding father smile? How was she to ignore a man who set her belly to fluttering just by looking at her? How could she possibly avoid the man she now felt indebted to?

  For her clan’s sake. She must.

  Chapter Five

  ‘You are well on your way to becoming my daughter’s champion,’ Alastair Gordon said.

  Something jolted inside Duff’s chest. He didn’t need to search out the laird’s eyes across the small space separating them in Castle Gordon’s bailey. Their gazes were already locked.

  What did the sudden glint in the faded blue herald? Anger? Curiosity? His host advanced on him, the weapon he carried rotating through the air. Just as Duff had instructed.

  ‘I meant nae disrespect.’ He hadn’t. He’d simply listened and observed before stating what an asset the man had in Mairi. The hand about the hilt of his sword clenched tighter.

  ‘And none was taken, lad.’ The lines marking the outer corners of the laird’s blue eyes deepened with his smile. ‘It has been too long since someone defended Mairi,’ Alastair said as he struck his first blow.

  Steel clashed with steel as Duff blocked the blade heading for his chest. He then quickly arched
his body away from the dirk slicing the air on its way toward his stomach. The older man was a fast learner.

  Duff and his host circled one another, watching, swords constantly moving, waiting for the other to strike. While Duff had evaded Alastair’s attack with relative ease, he struggled to accept Mairi’s lack of defenders. Surely she had champions aplenty. He doubted he’d have the chance to discover her secrets from her directly during his short stay, but perhaps he could learn more about her from her father. Doing so while stretching his stifled sword skills for a second time in one day was a boon.

  ‘Mairi has nae brothers?’ Duff asked as he changed direction and circled back the way he’d come.

  Profound sadness consumed the older man’s expression, ageing him countless years. His response was a half shake of his head, as if a complete shake would tax him too much. Was the open sorrow Duff witnessed due to not having sired a son, or had he fathered one and lost him?

  Duff regretted the query, but it was too late to unsay it. He knew of only one way to wipe the sadness from Alastair’s face. He charged his host. Weapons clanged as they came together once more. Harsh breaths momentarily silenced as they strained against each other’s strength. A grunt, swiftly followed by a piercing zing as the blade of Duff’s sword slid the length of Alastair’s steel. They pushed against each other, separated, stared at one another.

  The laird smiled.

  Better.

  Duff smiled in return and asked, ‘She has nae husband?’

  Alastair’s smile remained. ‘Do you attempt to distract me?’

  ‘Is it working?’

  ‘Nae.’

  ‘Pity.’

  Alastair’s small laugh alleviated Duff’s regret, but it didn’t sway him from finding out if Mairi’s seven-foot husband existed. After all, he now knew her nine brothers were a myth. But if her husband did indeed exist, Duff’s honour demanded that he give up discovering anything at all about her.

  ‘I have nae doubt Mairi’s husband will be her champion,’ the laird’s smile widened into a grin, ‘once she has one.’

  Duff’s heartbeat quickened and his blood flowed swift and hot with excitement. He inhaled a long, slow breath through flared nostrils. Waited until he could guarantee his voice emerged without betraying a hint of the storm brewing inside his chest. ‘Perhaps she needs one.’

  ‘That she does.’

  I could be that man.

  Duff had little time to dwell on the ridiculous thought shooting through his mind as his opponent advanced on him again. Swords collided, guttural grunts sounded. Their ongoing practice started to draw a crowd.

  ‘Iain,’ Alastair called breathlessly to one of his men, ‘See what new skill Duff has taught me.’ The laird demonstrated his distractive move on Duff once more, a wide grin splitting his face, even as he gasped for air.

  ‘After Balfour, Iain is my best swordsman,’ Alastair said, lowering his weapon. ‘I’d appreciate you teaching him,’ Alastair paused and drew another breath before continuing, ‘So he may show the rest of my men, and then Balfour when he is well.’

  Duff’s attention stayed on Alastair as the older man fought to catch his breath. Though more than a score of years separated them, they hadn’t battled hard enough to warrant the struggle to breathe his host now wagered.

  No one offered to assist the laird, no one seemed to notice anything was wrong, and the smile Alastair wore hadn’t dimmed. Perhaps Duff was the one misreading his host’s struggle. He’d believed Alastair to be well enough to offer the challenge, else Duff wouldn’t have accepted. He knew little about the Gordon—

  Something jarred Duff’s hand. He jerked his head to his left as the sharp sound of steel on steel sang out.

  ‘Are you to show me your move or do you need a rest after practising against an older man?’

  Duff stared at Iain, his gaze momentarily dropping to the sword the man held in his hand, the weapon that had knocked against Duff’s blade while he worried over Alastair’s health.

  Iain’s frosty blue eyes stared back. His upper lip curled in what appeared to be a permanent sneer. Duff had sensed the man’s instant dislike of him when he’d escorted Mairi home. It seemed neither the time that had passed since, nor partaking of the noon meal, had changed the man’s attitude toward him. Duff also suspected Alastair’s suggestion, that he, a stranger, show his second-best swordsman, a new skill, hadn’t helped to endear him.

  But a challenge was a challenge and Duff enjoyed one as much as any man. He also relished the thought of wiping the sneer from the fair-haired man’s face.

  ‘Thank you for your concern, Iain.’ Duff said, turning to greet his adversary. ‘But I am more than ready to instruct you, as your laird requested.’

  Iain’s lip curled impossibly higher and Duff was sure he heard a faint growl coming from where Iain stood glaring at him. Good. An angry man was always distracted before the fight even began.

  ‘The idea is to create a diversion with one weapon,’ Duff said, slowly slicing the air with his sword. Iain stood unmoving, his gaze immediately falling on the cutting blade as Duff approached. ‘And then to strike a blow with another.’ Iain’s gaze remained fixed on the moving sword. Duff got close enough to witness the pounding blood supply in the side of his opponent’s neck, was within striking distance to sever the artery with his dirk, before he brought the smaller blade up and pressed it against the pulse point. ‘One should always watch his opponent’s eyes rather than his weapon,’ Duff said, for Iain alone to hear.

  ‘Stay away from Mairi,’ Iain said as quietly in return.

  Duff managed not to draw back in surprise or be distracted. He lowered his dirk, stilled his sword and stared into Iain’s serious gaze. Despite her arrogance, Mairi awakened a man’s protective instincts and Duff couldn’t help but grudgingly admire any man who defended her. It didn’t mean he had to like them.

  The laird was wrong. Mairi already had a champion.

  ***

  Mairi exited the Great Hall and descended the timber steps into the bailey. She reached the hard-packed ground and stopped to breathe deeply of air free from the strong, aromatic odours of feverfew and other healing herbs. She needed to gather yarrow to restore Tavie’s dwindling supply whenever she next escaped to her glade.

  Precisely when that might be was a troubling thought. After visiting with Balfour, it was obvious he wouldn’t be escorting her there any time soon. But he would survive his sword wound. As would Nairn.

  She drew a chest-filling breath, then expelled it along with a hefty amount of fear for both men. Relief swamped her and her eyes burned, as menacing tears threatened. Useless tears that changed naught and did nothing but make the one who wept look weak. An impression she’d sworn never to show again after that day when she was seven summers.

  Balfour would live. But watching the colour leach from his face as he tried to get up from his pallet to check on his horse had been frightening to see. Heart-clenching. She’d placed her hands on his shoulders and carefully pressed him back down onto his makeshift bed. She’d then given her word she’d check his mount for him.

  Her promise had the desired effect. The loyal, kind-hearted man, who’d watched over her for the last eleven years, finally lay back and gave into the weariness dragging at his ashen eyelids.

  A healing slumber, Tavie had assured her.

  Mairi closed her own eyes and tipped her face up to the gentle summer breeze brushing her cheeks. A breeze that carried the distinct sound of blade striking blade, the number too many to be her father and Duff exchanging sword skills alone.

  She opened her eyes and reminded herself the men were in the practice yard at the south-west corner of the bailey and they were training, not fighting. And she was on her way to fulfil Balfour’s request. Once she was done, there would be no time to wonder how her father and his guest fared. She had a multitude of small, last minute tasks needing her attention before their guests arrived the next morning.

  So soon.

>   Duty!

  She lifted her skirts and marched across the dusty bailey to the stables. The long building ran parallel to the curtain wall on the southern side of the fortress and boasted an entrance on the north side of each end. Mairi passed no one as she headed for the stable’s closest entrance. Not a stablehand, nor an off-duty sentry making his way to the Great Hall to eat now his watch was done. Not even one of the children often seen chasing a stray chicken, childish laughter filling the sun-drenched air.

  She passed not a single soul.

  The men at practice gave those in the bailey something to watch while they soaked in the summer sun. Having a stranger participate had likely drawn her clansmen over to satisfy their curiosity. But all of them?

  What was she missing?

  The only noise, aside from a rare grunt now and then, was the incessant clash of steel on steel, the sound suddenly ringing like her name. Calling. Coaxing. Playing havoc with her determination to focus on her promise to Balfour.

  Her curiosity was giving her nothing but a sharp pain in the side of her neck as she resisted its lure. She would not look behind her to where daily sword practice took place. She forced herself to continue peering ahead. The sight of her destination, closing fast, sent a hint of relief skittering through her mind, but at the same time, doubled her struggle not to turn around and look back. It was as though if she didn’t look now, the chance to see what she was missing would be lost to her forever.

  The ache in her neck intensified as her battle turned brutal. She needed to prove to herself she had the strength of will, possessed enough of it, to put important tasks and promises first and her fears and this sudden unfamiliar yearning last. How Duff looked as he wielded a sword shouldn’t matter. She despised swords and daggers, or any bladed weapon, loathed the sight of them. It should be easy to ignore the urge. It wasn’t.

  But she did it.

  The coolness of the stable’s interior claimed her. The breath choking her rushed free. She sucked in air flavoured with horse and hay and gave her eyes time to adjust to the dim light within.