“The chief hasn’t yet decided, my lady.”
“She’s been helping out in the bakehouse, milady,” Kinnon rushed to say, “and with the horses—”
Another frown. “Serf or servant? But you have rooms inside this keep?”
“I-I—” Anice didn’t know what to say.
It didn’t matter. Lady Kincaid disregarded her still. To the pretty woman, she said, “When you are lady here, you can see that she is removed.”
Anice’s eyes widened, and then more when Nathara finally spoke, passing skinny eyes over all of Anice. “I will speak to Gregor anon. But in the meantime, I should not be subjected to that.” Her gaze landed on Anice’s shorn hair. “See that you keep it covered henceforth.”
Amazingly, while Anice was being interrogated and ill-treated, she found herself fighting back laughter as the woman spoke. The young Duncan woman, for all her beauty, had a distinctive and distracting nasally voice, as if she only spoke through a clogged nose.
“Yes, my lady,” Anice said, folding in her lips to keep her smile at bay.
The ladies turned then and left Anice and Kinnon staring after them. Rather gape-jawed, Anice turned to Kinnon. His usually pale and friendly face was contorted with anger, his eyes blazing, and his cheeks reddened.
“I do not have anything to cover my hair.” Anice said.
“You’ll no be covering your hair, sister,” Kinnon said with some force. “We’ll see what the chief has to say.”
“We will not.” Anice held up her hand when Kinnon faced her, about to argue. “I’ve caused him enough trouble—”
Kinnon’s frown was instant. “You’ve done no such thing!”
“Kinnon, I’ve learned that it’s usually in my best interest to bring as little attention to myself as possible.”
He sighed. “I dinna like it, no one bit. Who is she to—?” He stopped and shook his head, considering Anice’s pleading look. “Wait outside, sister. I’ll find you a cover for your head.”
Anice hesitated and looked around the empty hall as Kinnon dashed off to the kitchens and the larder. She stepped outside and was immobilized by a sudden fear. Her eyes moved around the yard, seeing only people at work, or those moving from one place to the next. She watched an unknown man with thick arms cross the yard and felt herself grow wary, until she saw him duck into the smithy’s stall and begin some conversation with Robert. Another man, heavy and unkempt, came into the bailey from the tunnel, his eyes seeming to find and settle on Anice so that her breathing fractured and came so unevenly, until an equally rotund woman approached the man, screeching about his being late as she thrust a weighty bucket into his hands, and they left the yard.
She glanced up at the battlements but saw only the top half of several soldiers over the inner stone wall, recognizing none that she knew. Even as no person in the yard appeared to pay her any heed, she felt rather conspicuous and debated staying indoors today. She hung near the wall of the keep, waiting for Kinnon, keeping her head lowered while her fingers tried to make some sense of her hair, as if combing it down or closer to her head might make it less noticeable, or less disagreeable.
Kinnon reappeared and thrust a piece of rough linen at her with a shrug. “Was all Cook had just now.”
Anice unfolded the fabric and wrapped it twice around her hair, tying the ends at the nape of her neck while Kinnon shook his head, his anger returning apparently.
“Sister—”
“Anice,” she corrected.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you.” He shuffled his feet, his cheeks flaming. “I feel bad....”
“I am, too, Kinnon,” she said with a grimace. She searched for words to describe the immediate change she noticed in herself. “I’ve never been afraid before, not that I recall.” With a nervous laugh, she admitted, “Truthfully, I seem to act and then suffer fear as a result, usually when I’m about to be punished. But now...now I feel, well, fearful. I’m looking over my shoulder or...” she blew out a breath, “I don’t know.”
Kinnon’s frown eased, his eyes filled with sympathy. “You dinna have to worry. The chief commands that you are no to be alone. No ever. You’ll always be safe now. You have your own personal guard.” He smiled at her. “That’s why I was waiting for you in the hall.”
While a sense of comfort came to her with this knowledge, she despaired telling Kinnon that she would have preferred to possess security from within, to not have been made to know fear.
The sound of a horse clopping through the tunnel lifted their gazes. The shadows within the tunnel only showed the silhouette a large figure atop a tall steed. When man and animal entered the sunlit bailey, Anice recognized the Kincaid. Her pulse quickened, watching him walk the horse toward the keep. His eyes stayed on the door to the hall until he noticed Anice and Kinnon several feet away. The Kincaid flicked his wrist and brought his mount to a stop near the pair. Without a word, he extended his hand, studying her with eyes that took in the whole of her briefly, before resting keenly on her face.
Anice hesitated only a moment, glancing at Kinnon before leaving the shelter of the wall and taking Gregor’s hand, remembering to place her foot atop his and twist herself so that her bottom landed between the horse’s withers and the Kincaid. He wrapped his arm around her middle and pivoted the horse sharply, steering him toward the tunnel again. She left her legs aside and placed her hand over his. He appeared in no hurry to reach whatever their destination might be but only walked the horse a steady pace.
“Why have you covered your hair, lass?” His voice at her ear warmed her.
“I was hoping to be less conspicuous,” she said, deciding it wasn’t an outright lie.
He stiffened behind her. She felt it along her back.
“You’ll no be harmed again, Anice.”
She only nodded, allowing him to believe this was the reason she was suddenly inclined to wear a headscarf.
At the bottom of the hill, he angled toward the right, not sharply toward the beach, but rather gradually so they crested another smaller hill and picked over and through rocks and mounds that dotted the land until they met with his army upon the training field, a large and trampled meadow of brown and green. He stopped when they were still far enough away that not everyone upon the field had noted their coming, and those that had could not hear when he said, “You’ll be having your own training today, lass.”
Anice turned her head, which then put their faces so very close, so close she could see the tiny green stripes in the amber of his eyes. “Training? My lord, I don’t think I would make a very good soldier.”
His lips twitched. “You’d probably no be able to lift a sword, even. Nae, lass, I’ll teach you how to wield a knife instead. And you’ll keep it on you always and you can defend yerself.”
Her eyes flashed as she considered this. She hadn’t any idea what she might be able to do with a knife, or if she could actually use it on another human being, but the idea definitely intrigued her. He must have read this in her expression, at least her piqued curiosity, for his grin widened and he moved the horse again. “Aye, it’ll be fine, lass.”
All the men upon the training field were split into two groups, and as she and the Kincaid neared, Anice’s brow crinkled. A long stretch of open meadow separated the divisions. In the middle of the field stood a fairly thick trunk of a tree, pounded well into the ground, if the displaced dirt around it was any indication. Suspended near the top of the timber, looking much as a man with his arms outstretched, a cross bar of wood spun round on a piece of metal, being just a broad plank strewn with purposeful holes to one side, while the other side was weighted with a filled bag.
“What is that?” Anice asked as the Kincaid reined in his mount, before he might have set her on the ground.
“That’s the quintain, lass. Watch.”
A mounted soldier from the far side raced towards the object, drawing his sword when he was near and striking at the wide part of the swinging board. As soon as he st
ruck his sword at the wood, the cross bar swung ferociously around, and the bag slapped him in the back before he’d gotten out of the way.
Derisive and taunting laughter followed this and the boy to this side of the field.
“Teaches a lad to strike at things, the enemy in particular, while moving at full speed,” said Gregor at her ear, while she watched the next man from this side of the field charge toward the piece, “and shows him that slowing his speed to do so will get him killed.”
“Quintain,” Anice repeated. The next contender swiped at the board and kept his speed up, so as the bag swung, it came full circle, missing him by almost a foot.
“The bag is filled with sand.” Gregor continued a commentary on the spectacle.
“Why are there holes in the flat part of the wood?”
“So air can flow while it’s swinging, otherwise it would be too slow.”
“Does anyone ever just chop that side of the board right off? Wouldn’t that disrupt the return swing of the bag?”
Gregor chuckled and set her down onto the ground. “Aye, lass, but then we’re idle while the carpenter is called to replace it. I hear the chief frowns upon that.”
Anice glanced over at him, her lips quirking, just as he dismounted and called out for Sim to attend him. That turned many eyes upon them at this side of the field. As a whole, Anice noted that these twenty or more mounted men all sat a little straighter in the saddle, noting their chief’s presence. She found many pairs of eyes on her as well. She felt her cheeks color, wondering if they stared because they’d heard of the attack on her. Sim separated himself and parked his steed next to the one Gregor had left, hopping down next to Anice, standing barely any taller than she did. Anice smiled at him and they waited while the Kincaid fetched something out of his saddle bag.
He presented to Anice a small knife, holding it by the single-edged blade so that she received it by the wooden handle. While it was heavier than she’d have imagined, this knife was not half as large as the daggers she’d spied in the belts of the soldiers.
“I asked Robert to fashion this, lass,” he said. “Our daggers would no be an appropriate size for you. See how the blade is only a wee bit longer than your hand? That’s all you need, and it will no be too uncomfortable ‘round your waist.”
Anice looked at Sim. “You’re going to teach me how to use this?”
Sim’s freckled face pinkened. “Me? Aye, no, sister—er, lass.”
“Sim’s to be your sparring partner, lass. I’ll be the one instructing you,” said Kincaid. He waved his hand so those that had gathered would back up.
Anice glanced around nervously, holding the blade out as if afraid to accidentally impale herself. She caught Fibh’s eye, who nodded reassuringly at her. The Kincaid moved behind her and Sim faced her, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. Anice was sure he had been chosen because of his comparable size to her own. Peripherally aware that the soldiers from the other end of the field rode toward this end, curious as to the goings-on no doubt, Anice looked from her new knife to Sim’s long sword.
“He has a sword, and I have only this thing,” Anice said.
From behind her, she heard Gregor say, “You’ll learn how to defend against his bare hands, a sword, and a dagger.” He stepped close to her and settled his large hands lightly on her slim shoulders. Anice tensed immediately and held her breath. “He’s going to come at you with his dagger, and you have several choices: you can parry, which means you meet his blade with your own and push back or deflect; you can evade the strike by ducking or moving out of the way; or you can counter, by deflecting his blow and landing your own. Sometimes you might work some of these together.”
She did listen, but truly, it was very hard to concentrate with his hands on her, and then even more difficult to pay attention, or take in this instruction, when he leant close to her ear, and said in a quiet voice, so that only she could hear. “First thing you do is keep eye contact. The eyes always tell where he’s going to strike.”
Sim rolled his shoulders and withdrew his dagger, appearing to be taking this seriously now. He tossed his long dagger from hand to hand, teasing her with his proficiency in handling the knife.
“Watch his eyes,” Kincaid whispered again. And then in a normal tone, “Lift your blade to defend.” And he released her shoulders. Anice kept her eyes on Sim, who did indeed remove his gaze from her as he stabbed straight at her.
“Ahh!” She shrieked and almost dropped her blade, so startled by the swiftness of Sim’s attack. Of course, she hadn’t been in any jeopardy, his blade not coming within a foot of her.
Laughter sounded all around her.
“You’ll want to keep your eyes open, sister!” Someone called and the laughter increased.
Anice did not have time to fret over her silliness, or to be embarrassed by the shouts of laughter, as the Kincaid’s brusque voice rang out.
“Again,” Kincaid said behind her, not bothering to shush his men. “Brace your feet apart, Anice. See how Sim’s feet are set as wide as his shoulders? Gives good balance.”
Anice shifted her feet apart.
“Bend your knees just slightly, this allows you to move more easily as needed.”
She did this, while Sim again tossed his blade around. She held her own knife firmly, the tip pointed toward Sim, watching his eyes. When he lunged again, she stepped forward and swiped up, meeting his blade and deflecting it up and away from her. Cheers sounded and some men clapped their hands as Sim backed away.
“And then reset,” Kincaid directed. “Feet apart and knees bent.”
Anice did as instructed and Sim came at her again, but she kept her eyes on his, and knew he would go left this time. She overshot it, though, and her blade only glanced off his, but it did keep it from getting too near her. More applause followed.
“You’re no supposed to smile in a fight, sister!”
“But I think I’m winning,” she called back, ready for Sim’s next thrust.
Behind her, Kincaid called, “Tamsin! Come up.”
The lanky lad squeezed through the throng. Anice watched his approach and saw that Torren stood in the group. She smiled at him and he dipped his head, his arms crossed over his massive chest while he watched.
“Step aside, lass,” Gregor said. “I want Tamsin and Sim to spar a bit and they’ll show you some maneuvers to evade and counter.”
Anice’s shoulder’s relaxed and she stepped back, next to Gregor.
Tamsin and Sim began to move about each other, their matching blades shining in the sunlight.
“Show how to evade first,” said Kincaid. “Slowly, so the lass can see.”
Anice watched as Sim lunged, seeming to send his blade much closer to Tamsin than he had to her. Tamsin leaned back as Sim’s dagger swiped just in front of his face. Then, as he pulled forward again, he swung high and Sim ducked beneath it. They stopped then, awaiting further instruction.
“Tamsin, show a counter move.”
The lads squared off again, dancing around each other. Anice watched Sim’s eyes, pleased when he moved in the direction she’d guessed only a second before. When he drove his dagger forward, Tamsin ducked under and moved forward at the same time, coming up behind Sim, plunging his own dagger nearly into Sim’s side. Thankfully, they were moving slowly enough that the blade never reached Sim.
Moving Sim out of the way, Gregor Kincaid stepped forward. “Another counter would be this,” he said, and beckoned an attack from Tamsin with a flick of his fingers.
He drew forth his dagger just as Tamsin lunged. Kincaid’s free hand swept out, coming from the side and halting Tamsin’s thrusting arm by grabbing at his wrist and pushing up, and as he did, his blade moved forward to plunge into Tamsin’s belly, stopping only inches before it might have.
The Kincaid turned toward her and nodded so she took her place again and faced Sim, who’d replaced Tamsin.
“Never saw so much smiling in a knife fight,” she heard Fibh’s voice.
Anice tried to rein in her smile, with little success. She watched Sim’s eyes again, feeling empowered already with so little knowledge. She liked how the knife in her hand made her feel so much less helpless. Sim jabbed but it wasn’t close enough for her to defend so she only waited, keeping her feet shoulder width even as she moved as she’d seen Tamsin do.
“She’s no scared of you, Sim,” someone cackled.
Anice surprised Sim by lunging herself, though not very close. Sim reacted swiftly and hoped to catch her off guard then, stabbing straight at her, his eyes on her neck. Anice swept her knife up from below and knocked his hand off his jab. But he kept coming, swinging his hand around and under hers, striking at her waist. Anice had no choice but to hop to the side to avoid being struck.
And a boisterous cheer went up now so that Anice turned, smiling, to face the crowd, but saw only their eyes widened, looking beyond her that she fell immediately to her knees and winced, her hands and her blade on the ground, assuming Sim pursued her still. He did, obviously not expecting her to drop to the ground. He bumped into and tripped over her, falling at her side. This had everyone laughing and cheering, Sim and Anice included.
Kincaid stepped forward and stretched out two hands. Anice took one and Sim the other.
Wryly, he said, “Aye, lass, you never turn your back on your opponent.”
She nodded, seeing the folly here, but potential disaster in a real circumstance. “Oh, but I like this knife fighting very much. Can I practice more?”
He nodded. “But you’ve embarrassed Sim enough for one day. Torren, help us out.”
Anice’s eyes widened and she turned her eyes to the big man, who strode forward through the soldiers, lifting his thick brows at her, his teeth showing in his smile.
“I cannot possibly hope to have any success against Torren,” Anice said, her shoulders slumping. “He can swipe one hand and knock me into next week.”
The Memory of Her Kiss Page 15