The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  “You recall the laird had been using his skean on the deer, aye? Well. He did na’ go down easy.”

  Rhoenne stopped breathing. His heart felt like it was in a vise. Getting squeezed. And Henry just kept talking.

  “He twisted and launched his blade as he fell, and—.”

  “Ah ha! So he did murder his brother!” Aileen screeched it.

  “Silence!” Grant hurled the command. It sounded like Aileen backed a step

  “Nae!” Henry yelled. He sounded hoarse. “Rhoenne was bad hurt. His skean did na’ look well-tossed. But I did na’ actually see it.” His voice lowered. “I am mortified to admit afore you all. Even now. I fell. Hit my head on a rock. Me. Castle champion. I was na’ there to save my laird.”

  Henry paused. The man was a consummate storyteller with a flair for dramatics. It felt like the entire space held its breath. Rhoenne was on his feet again, eyes narrowed on Henry, listening intently. He’d pulled Cassandra up with him. He’d been certain his blade killed Bhaltair. He’d lived with the knowledge for five long years...only to find it might be false?

  “Well? Go on! Tell us! What happened next?” Grant prodded, breaking the silence.

  Henry stepped closer to the man beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “This part is why I brought KilCreggar clan with me. Laird Dughall KilCreggar? You tell them what happened next!”

  Laird Dughall KilCreggar lifted his head to pull in a large breath, leaned a bit on his sword, rolled his head on his neck, exhaled, and then lowered his chin to regard those on the dais.

  “Well. You see. A small band of us were about on the lands that day. Hidden.”

  “You were on Ramhurst land? Reaving?” Grant burst out.

  “Na’ exactly...although I will na’ speak of our original intent. No one saw us. We were well-hid. We watched the earl take down his deer. Watched the younger lad approach. I can name the clansmen with me. I gave them orders na’ to interfere. ’Twas exactly as FitzHugh says...but there comes a point when a man can na’ sit quiet and allow murder. You ask who killed Bhaltair Ramhurst? Well. I confess. ’Twas me. I launched the blade. And I happen to have a verra good aim.”

  The man gave another healthy sigh before continuing.

  “Henry FitzHugh came upon us as we reached the lads. We helped with getting the arrow out. ’Twas a right bloody ordeal. I did na’ ken the earl failed to recollect this. He fought all of us mightily, raining curses down on our heads throughout.”

  “So, why did you run away?” Grant asked.

  “Run away? You accuse a KilCreggar of cowardice, young viscount? Now? Afore so many witnesses?”

  “’Twas na’ cowardice. They were following my orders!” Henry was definitely hoarser. His voice was a scrape of sound.

  “Why would you give such an order?”

  Rhoenne asked it as he stepped between Euan and Graham. They shifted sideways to allow space. He kept Cassandra with him. Henry regarded him for some time before he gave the slightest nod.

  “Two reasons. You were bleeding worse than a stuck boar. I needed their help. We were near KilCreggar land, leagues from any Ramhurst croft. You think it easy to heft you, Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst? And get you up on a horse? It took four of us just to carry your arse. We had to take turns.”

  There were titters of amusement filtering through the crowd, releasing some of the tension.

  “And then I had to make certain you’d live! You were at death’s door for more than a fortnight afore I could see you moved. Is that na’ true, Laird KilKreggar?”

  “In my best chamber,” the man replied.

  There wasn’t a hint of noise from the crowd as Rhoenne stepped nearer to the front of the edge of the dais. “So, what’s your other reason, FitzHugh?” he asked levelly.

  “This is na’ easy for me, Ramhurst. Aside from the oath you made me swear the moment you were well enough.”

  Henry looked at him with the most heart-rending expression he’d ever received from the man. Rhoenne’s eyes stung.

  “I believe my reason is the same as yours. The reason you forced my oath of silence. Even though ’twas self-defense, to speak of it would sully Bhaltair’s name. And he was a Ramhurst.”

  The last words trembled. Henry stopped. Cleared his throat. Looked up at the ceiling for several moments. Rhoenne blinked an answering emotion back. Cassandra wasn’t as successful. She sniffed at his side. Her breaths were short and shaky. She swiped surreptitiously at her cheeks. Rhoenne squeezed the fingers of the hand he held. She responded in kind. Henry finally lowered his head and continued.

  “Bhaltair would never have done harm to you...or anyone for that matter. Na’ on his own. I saw his face. The lad was tormented. He looked like a man possessed. I can na’ explain it other. I did na’ ken how far the plot went, nor how many others might be involved. All I was knew was who was behind it all. It was nae hardship. There is but one person who wanted your death. So she could be countess again.”

  With these words, the entire room full of clansmen and women looked at Aileen.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Burn the witch!”

  The cry came from the back of the crowd, the speaker anonymous in everything save gender. It was a woman. She wasn’t alone in her sentiment. The reaction was immediate as fists were raised. Shouts issued. Aspersions yelled. And a mass of angry clan rushed the dais.

  Any question as to why his honor guard had been in an aggressive stance before Rhoenne arrived was answered. The crowd had an ugly side, and a target. Iain and Graham moved to protect his right side. Euan pulled his sword at the front. Grant strode across chair seats to reach Aileen’s far side, blade drawn. He was joined by a number of guards as he stepped down. Rhoenne caught a glimpse of Aileen’s white face. She was wide-eyed, and her face showed an emotion that might actually be fear.

  Rhoenne kept Cassandra against him as he twisted and bent, pulling the ceremonial sword. Emin materialized before them. Rhoenne nodded, released her into the other man’s care, got back atop the chieftain’s chair, and held his sword high, twisting and turning it to catch any available light.

  Drummers started up. Pipers injected a loud discordant whine into the cacophony. More guards filed onto both sides of the dais and filled the space directly before it, making a barrier that effectively stopped the crowd. The guardsmen then fanned out into a semi-circle, pushing clan back. Fists got unclenched. Angry expressions calmed. Some turned shamefaced. Drums and pipes halted. Rhoenne pulled in a deep breath and yelled for silence.

  He only did it once.

  In concert, as if planned, every Ramhurst went to a knee and bowed their head. A well of silence descended. Soundlessly, KilCreggar clansmen sheathed blades and stepped back to the walls. Laird Dughall put his blade away. Upon seeing that, Rhoenne slid the large broadsword into the scabbard at his back. As a unit, every guardsman did the same with his own weapon. Henry didn’t move. He’d folded his arms and regarded Rhoenne from atop the table, his expression unreadable.

  Then the bladier spoke, his voice altering the surreal quietness. His words sent a thrill up Rhoenne’s spine. “Behold! Our true and rightful laird! The earl of Tyneburgh! Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst!”

  Rhoenne cleared his throat. “Rise. All of you! ’Tis na’ the time for anger. Na’ yet.”

  There was a rumble that could be agreement. He scanned the room before focusing on the entry door opposite him. He took a deep breath.

  “If you accept me as your laird...you accept much. I am known as ‘The Dark One’. Emotionless. Ruthless. Merciless. There are more titles. I earned every one. I lived them.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Well. You’ll need to bear with me. I have never spoken as I am about to.”

  There was another spate of rumbling from the crowd. Rhoenne took another deep breath and kept speaking.

  “Like you, I have just learned...many things. I avoided any memory of that day. If I had recollection of what happened after I fell, it was of pain. Anger. And self-hate. A
ll these years I thought it was my blade that killed Bhaltair. I’d thrown it in self-defense, but I wished it kept silent. Nae. I commanded it be kept silent! For a reason. Who among you wants a brother’s memory tarnished...as it now will be?” His voice wavered. He cleared his throat before continuing.

  “That is why I forced Henry FitzHugh to swear a vow. And he is a man of his word.”

  He looked directly across at Henry.

  “So. I speak to you now, Henry FitzHugh. Your vow is na’ broken. It should never have been required. I am rescinding my challenge as well as any punishment. I will na’ fight you on the list. Na’ over this. Nor are you banished. You are a true clansman, captain of my Honor Guard. Should you choose to again take up the Ramhurst colors, you will be welcomed.”

  Henry grinned and started stripping. Rhoenne wasn’t the only one with raised brows. It didn’t take long to shuck a feile-brecan. Henry wasn’t a young man, but he was extremely fit. In premium fighting condition. His actions displayed almost all of it. Rhoenne wasn’t the lone one relieved to see the man wore a loin-wrap.

  They all watched Henry fold and then hand the black and gray sett to the laird of the KilCreggars with a reverent gesture. Then he lifted his Ramhurst plaide of gray-and-white with smaller blue and black stripes. Nobody spoke as he wound it about his frame, tucked it beneath his belt, retrieved and secured several skeans. He said something to Dughall. The man nodded. Then Henry jumped down to the floor of the great hall and strode toward the dais. The crowd parted for him. Several men clapped him on the back as he passed. Behind him, the laird of the KilCreggar clan left the tabletop as well, and got swallowed up by the crowd.

  Henry chose to access the raised platform using the steps nearest Aileen. Guards moved out of his way. Grant stepped back for him. When Henry reached Aileen, he made a large arc around her, never once taking his eyes from her until he’d passed. Then he reached Rhoenne and stood, although Henry’s head was just level with the laird’s thigh.

  Rhoenne stepped down. Offered his hand. Henry clasped it and gave an iron squeeze. Rhoenne returned it until the man let up. And then they both grinned. All of it immensely satisfying. Rhoenne took another deep breath, and turned back to address the crowd again.

  “Now! For my next duty, I will need my captain of the guardsmen! Show yourself!”

  “Here!”

  “Nae. I am here!”

  The calls came from opposite sides of the dais. Rhoenne looked left and then right.

  “Get down in front. Both of you,” he ordered.

  He recognized Rory FitzHugh easily. Angus’s brother was a larger, younger version of the steward. The other man was clearly a Montvale. He resembled both Iain and Graham. The two men claiming captainship were a like height, approximately the same age, and appeared to have the same brawn, too.

  “You both claim to be captain of my guards?”

  “Aye!” they replied in unison.

  “You!” He pointed to the Montvale. “State your name and your claim.”

  “Calum Montvale. I am the captain of the guards. I earned the position at the games three years back. I’ve held off all challenges on the list e’er since.”

  “And you?” Rhoenne pointed to Rory.

  “Rory FitzHugh! I was assigned the duties a sennight ago. Called in by the steward.”

  “Who just happens to be your brother,” Aileen inserted snidely.

  There was a collective indrawn breath. Rhoenne turned his head toward her.

  “Lady Aileen,” he said each word with a promise of deadly intent. “I am ordering you to be silent. Should you speak again, I will toss you to the crowd. And I will na’ stop them from burning you. You are warned.”

  Her eyes widened again. Her lips quivered. She clutched a hand to her bosom. None of it gave him any satisfaction. He turned back to the two men before him.

  “So. FitzHugh. The steward recruited you. He must have his reasons. I assume the selection met with the approval of my wife?”

  His voice reflected how much he liked saying the term. He didn’t bother disguising it. He looked over to where Cassandra stood, Emin behind her, Graham and Iain at her side. She nodded and gave him a quick smile. He returned it but sobered before facing the men again.

  “I have my answer. The countess approved your selection. You must have qualifications. Have you any wins in the games or on the list?”

  “I did na’ compete in the games. Nor did I challenge on the list.”

  “Why not?”

  “I would prefer na’ to answer that, my laird.”

  “Well. I am requiring that you do so. You look fit. You appear brave enough. You’re a FitzHugh. You come from a family of warriors. So, I ask again. Why would you na’ compete?”

  “Because serving at the castle was na’ a position of hon—.” He caught the word, and cleared his throat as if it was a mistake. “I mean...’twas na’ something I had any wish for. My mum was adamant about it. I was also betrothed...if you ken my meaning.”

  Somebody coughed. Rory was flushed, but he didn’t look away. Nor did he blink. Rhoenne considered the man’s steady regard. Calculated his words. Rory was a handsome fellow. Strong. Manly. Exactly the type Aileen would have favored. The man had obviously been avoiding a lose/lose situation. Service meant more than guard duty, while denial meant he’d be shown the gates.

  Or worse.

  Rhoenne’s lip curled with distaste. “Is this true of...other clansmen?” he asked.

  “I do na’ ken. You will have to ask them,” Rory replied.

  Rhoenne liked Rory’s forthrightness. But there was tradition to consider, and Calum Montvale had earned the position.

  “Angus MacHugh!” he called out.

  “My laird?”

  The steward was at the edge of the platform on Cassandra’s side. He stepped down to the main floor, the row of guards let him through. He joined the two men before the dais.

  “It appears we have a competition to schedule. Announcements to make. A plan to enact assuring every clansman hears about it. Not only do I need to replace fallen members of my Honor Guard, but I wish to oversee selection of guardsmen for Castle Tyne.”

  “Verra good, my laird.”

  “And I want the competition to start with a battle a-tween these two. Calum Montvale and Rory FitzHugh.”

  Calum and Rory looked at each other. Back at Rhoenne. Both looked inordinately pleased.

  “And now. I have an assignment for you, Rory FitzHugh.”

  The man took a step toward him.

  “I understand we have eight men in our dungeons? Ramhurst clansmen?”

  “Aye, my laird. We do.”

  “I want you to fetch them. Take as many men as you need.”

  Rory gave him a slight bow before trotting off, pointing to several fellows as he went. The crowd parted easily, letting Rory and at least a dozen others through to the door. As they left, new arrivals entered the same door, brushing snow from their heads and shoulders while stomping feet.

  “Angus!” Rhoenne said.

  “My laird?” the man asked.

  “We seem to have a gathering on our hands of a sudden. And more arrive as I watch.”

  Ripples of amusement ran the assemblage at his remarks. It continued with the repeating of them.

  “It is na’ every day the true laird returns...and takes control of the clan.”

  Rhoenne nodded and rubbed his chin, hoping he looked august and sage. “Well. While we stand about, do we have anything we can offer our guests? Some ale casks to be tapped? Followed by roasted venison or boar...or even mutton?”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  The man walked back through the barricade of guardsmen. Calum Montvale watched him go before looking up at Rhoenne.

  “Laird Rhoenne?” he queried.

  “Calum Montvale,” Rhoenne responded.

  “I have ever been a loyal clansman,” the man remarked.

  Rhoenne regarded him for long moments. Then spoke. “Hav
e you ever taken down a deer and found the meat inside was damaged?”

  “My laird?” The man was obviously confused. His face was a match to most of those in listening distance.

  “Surely you ken of what I speak. You cut your deer open only to discover unusable meat. Perhaps it suffered a past injury. Or perchance ’tis filled with cancer. You ever take down an animal like that?”

  “I do na’ ken what this has to do with me,” Calum answered.

  The man wasn’t amused. He sounded aggressive and angered. Rhoenne wondered if Calum was the type to spark easily. A quick temper made a man especially easy to take down in any contest. Rhoenne regarded him again. Calum wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Once you open an animal like that – riddled with rot, there is little you can do about it save find the source and start carving. You cut as much and as deeply as you have to. There may be good meat there. You just have to look closely. Because some of it...may na’ look bad on the surface.”

  Montvale straightened. His mouth thinned and a flush rose up his cheeks, visible above his beard.

  “Do na’ fash, Calum Montvale. I do na’ hold a man’s past against him. The new viscount can vouch. You will be given a chance to prove loyalty. Every mon will. When it’s time.”

  “And, until then?”

  “Well, for now...you are to stay exactly where you are. I think we both ken why.”

  Calum flashed him a look that didn’t just contain anger. It held apprehension. Rhoenne noted that both Iain and Graham were studiously looking above their relation’s head. Rhoenne turned and took two steps to where Cassandra stood.

  “You need to sit, sweet?” he asked softly.

  She nodded. He held out his hand for hers, and brought her to the chair beside his. Waited as she sat. Leaned down, his words meant just for her.

  “You are taking this exceptionally well, love,” he told her.

  “You would na’ truly...let them burn her. Would you?”