Everlasting

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Their thundering hoofbeats seemed to echo through the forest glade as one of them reached behind his back and drew forth a heavy battle-ax. Its bearer lifted the weapon high above his head, and though his dark eyes were barely visible beneath the visor of his crude, battered helm, they fixed unswervingly upon the younger Scotsman.

  Drawing the spear back over his shoulder, Raven bided his time, closely eyeing the pair advancing toward him. Cedric sent his own steed racing forward as he sought to intercept them before they could do harm to his son. Upon espying him, the nearest brigand wheeled his warhorse about and dispatched the animal in a straight line toward the elder. Glimmering through the eyeholes of the mask, the gray eyes never strayed from the older man, the brigard’s widening, black-toothed grin conveying a grim promise of death beneath the crudely finished headgear as he slowly swung the heavy mace he clasped to and fro.

  The elder’s gleaming claymore sang richly as it was drawn forth from its scabbard. Facing the oncoming charge squarely, Cedric touched his spurs to his stallion’s flanks. Clods of greensward and leaf-matted turf flew helter-skelter as both steeds raced toward each other across the narrow expanse of land separating them. Raising a war cry that widened the eyes of his adversary, Cedric swung his claymore in a circular motion high above his head as he guided his mount merely by the pressure of his knees. The two steeds met, the smaller one easily whisking alongside the huge warhorse as the elder rose in his stirrups. In the next instant, the claymore rang with a note of deathly clarity as it whipped about with a deft stroke, clanging briefly against the crude helmet before separating the brigand’s head from his cloaked form.

  The heavy mace plummeted from a lifeless hand, but Cedric took no notice of the decapitated body’s tumbling descent as he whirled his steed about to see what further assistance he could be to his son. Another moment more, and he would have failed to witness the skewering of the stranger on Raven’s spear.

  Cedric eyed his offspring for any evidence of injury and, upon seeing none, rumbled in the chiding tones of a parent, “It took ye long enough ta finish off that brigand, lad. Didna I always tell ye ta be punctual in the face of danger?”

  Cocking a dubious brow at his sire, Raven gave as good as he got. “I was averse ta shaming ye by finishing off the man afore ye took care of the one ye went after. Besides, if ye’ll remember, I had ta retrieve the brigand’s weapon afore I could enter the fray.”

  “Fine excuse ye’re giving me,” Cedric chided. Though conveying a lighthearted mood, this most recent attempt upon his son’s life left him seething with a burning hatred for the man who had invited them for such a diabolical purpose. “Might ye be knowing the names of these beggarly souls we’ve just killed, laddie? And might ye be explaining your thinking as to the man behind them?”

  Dismounting, Raven tied the two shaggy warhorses to a pair of trees, proceeded to remove the helmet from the man he’d killed, then shook his head and shrugged. “I’m guessing they’re simple soldiers. Who put them up ta this foul deed is what we’ll have ta determine…should there mayhap be a wee chance the culprit is someone other than Squire de Marlé.”

  Cedric shook his head sadly as he surveyed the carnage. “Betwixt the two of us, lad, I’d say there’s no mistaking the wily toad who put this pair up ta killing ye. De Marlé had no reason for inviting us, except ta serve us up as meat for his dogs.”

  “Aye, that and his preening arrogance.” Raven’s gaze narrowed. “Still, it’s hard to believe even a sorry excuse for a man like de Marlé would be contemplating murder only a day before he’s to exchange wedding vows with a woman as fair and winsome as Abrielle.”

  “Ye shamed him, lad, that ye did, not only by saving the bonny lass from his foul purposes, but by showing him ta be a coward his own mother wouldna own up ta birthing.”

  Raven smiled. “I canna think it helped him warm ta me when he saw how his betrothed went ta the trouble of quieting an entire hall in our defense at the banquet last eve.”

  “I saw the look he gave ye and I didn’t like it,” admitted Cedric.

  “But does he question the lass’s loyalty so much that he would kill?”

  “I’d be more likely to question her eyesight,” his father retorted. “The thought of the bonny lass about ta marry that man would make a stone weep.”

  “So now ye agree she’d have ta be desperate ta make such a choice? If, indeed, he was her choice. I think there’s more ta the arrangement than anyone knows, something so dire Vachel had no choice but ta agree ta the match.”

  “So what do ye intend, seeing as how we’re guests of the murdering rascal?” Cedric asked, peering at his offspring speculatively. He waved a hand about to indicate the gory scene around them. “If we stay, we’ll be facing more of what we’ve just encountered.”

  “And it’ll end the same. I speak only for myself, Da, I’ll be staying, and past the nuptials as well. If something should go awry, the lass will be needing protection.”

  “That doesn’t mean it has to be your protection,” Cedric pointed out.

  Raven squashed any further protest with a sideways glance. “I’m staying.”

  “Ye can be sure de Marlé willna be waiting long ta find another ta kill ye,” Cedric warned. “Once we bring back these men, he’ll be even more set ta see ta your death.”

  Raven canted his head thoughtfully for a long moment before meeting his father’s gaze. “Whatever comes, I mean ta deliver these men ta the keep ta let him know ’twill take more than two soldiers ta dispense with us. Mayhap the sight of these poor beggars will sour his gut or cause him ta fear for his life. After that, I’ll be biding me time, but one way or the other, I’ll be having it out with the man. What’s between him and his lady may not be my business,” he said with another quick glance at the dead men, “but this surely is.”

  Cedric whisked a knuckle beneath his bushy mustache. “Mayhap the toad’ll have a seizure when he sees what we’ve bagged for ourselves.”

  Raven snorted in contempt. “I wish he would…a permanent one ta lay him inta his grave. Then the Lady Abrielle would be free.”

  “Free ta be choosing another, ye mean?” Cedric responded, cocking a brow curiously as he peered at his son.

  Raven slowly grinned as he met the elder’s blue eyes. “Ye know, Da, ye’ve always been so clever at reading me thoughts, making me wonder at times why I even bother voicing them.”

  “Mayhap ye’ll be having the same canny sense of your own in a few more years.” Cedric harrumphed, as if trying to clear his throat. “Till then, just follow my lead if ye think the matter is worthy, otherwise see ta yourself.”

  “I intend ta,” Raven said, his amusement fading.

  CHAPTER 6

  Upon arriving at the far end of the drawbridge, Raven dismounted and, with a casual wave of his hand, bade his parent to wait beside the shaggy destriers bearing the remains of the two culprits and the boar. Several guests espied the tightly bound carcasses and immediately came rushing out to see what had happened. Raven ignored them. There was only one man with whom he was interested in discussing the matter. And should that discussion turn into something more vigorous, he thought, clenching his fists as he strode across the keep, so much the better.

  Soon after being circumvented by Raven, Sir Colbert, a young man of Norman lineage, stalked down the length of the drawbridge as if he were the lord high sheriff of the area. He had already been conveying an attitude of authority among his friends in view of the fact that he was a distant relative of the squire. He had also been evidencing a strong disdain for anyone who wasn’t of Norman lineage, the only exception being the young bride, whom he eagerly declared was the most beautiful Saxon he had ever seen. Having been nurtured from youth by parents who had encouraged friends and family alike to disdain the Scottish clans who had fought against their kinsmen, he stepped before the elder and promptly ordered him to lay the slain men out on the drawbridge where they could be seen.

  “We shall have a look at w
hat you bloody Scots have trussed up like so much grain. If your victims prove to be our friends, then we’ll teach you the folly of your murdering ways. To be sure, ere the day is out your Scottish heads may well be adorning a pair of pikes.”

  “Aye, that’s telling him, Colbert!” another young man shouted, beckoning for their companions to join them. “Let’s give this bloody Scot a harsh lesson in manners right here and now.”

  Cedric’s hand settled almost casually upon the hilt of his claymore as he directed a question toward the youth who had suggested the like of such tutoring. “And who do ye think will be helping ye, laddie? I’ll be warning ye kindly, ’twill take more than ye and your young friends ta best this old man.”

  The second young man lifted his chin in haughty arrogance as he gave the elder a chilly stare. He glanced around at the score or more of his acquaintances and kinsmen who had gathered close around him. “Surely Colbert and I are not the only ones outraged by this unprovoked slaughter of innocents. What say you, lads? Are there not among you a goodly number who disdain these loathsome Scots as much as we do? Let’s deal with them as they rightly deserve! The same as they dealt with this pair they murdered.”

  Having been the first to confront Cedric, Colbert assumed authority as he demanded, “What do you have to say about this matter?”

  The elder cocked a dubious brow as he scoffed, “Naught ta you, I’ll wager, nor ta these young bumpkins collecting like a bunch of goats behind ye.”

  “You will answer for your crimes,” Colbert railed threateningly, “or, by heavens, we’ll see the pair of your heads stuck on pikes right here and now!”

  Summoning the full force of his companions with a wave of his arm, Colbert smirked in pleasure as they surged forward to do his bidding. He could easily foresee the lot of them serving the aging man his just due long before the younger Scot returned from the courtyard.

  This time the heavy claymore sang a different steely song as it was slowly unsheathed. Indeed, the elder seemed to take his own time clasping the hilt and settling into a fighting stance as he braced his legs firmly apart. His broadening grin evidenced an unswerving confidence in his own abilities as he arched a hoary brow and challenged his youthful adversaries to a contest of arms. “Now, who’s ta be the first ta feel this blade?”

  His audience of hotheaded young men glanced at one another warily. The more astute among their group were fairly quick to comprehend that this was a warrior who loved a battle, whereas the best the lot of them had ever achieved was to joust in an open tourney with thick pads protecting them from tip of toe to top of head. Whatever expectations they had briefly savored of teaching the Scot a harsh lesson faltered as quickly as their flagging courage. Of a sudden they were of a mind to retreat before this threat.

  “Take heart and stand fast!” Colbert railed at his companions in mounting frustration as they began to sidle away, much like lapdogs facing a savage wolf. “If we stand together against this old man, surely he won’t be able to defeat us all!”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that” came a reply from the second young man, who was already scurrying toward the courtyard. By the time he reached the outer doors of the keep, he was nearly breathless and didn’t bother closing them behind him as he rushed in. Upon espying the younger Scot, who had been followed by several curious youths, he pressed back against the outer curved wall, where, with a modicum of safety, he could watch what transpired between Raven and the rabble.

  Thurstan had been seated with several older men at a trestle table when Raven pushed his way through the gathering. Upon settling his yellowish eyes blandly upon the Scotsman, Thurstan lifted a brow, leaned back on his elbows, and stretched out his legs. “Were you looking for me?”

  Raven halted directly in front of him. “Nay, I was looking for your uncle, but ye’ll do.” The mere sight of de Marlé’s nephew made his hackles rise, and the look of smug disdain on the young cur’s face all but proved his suspicions were on the mark. The urge to lash out with tongue or sword or both was strong, but he was a master at keeping them tethered until the moment was right.

  “My da and I brought back two dead men,” he said simply, his tone level. “They’re tied onta the back of their mounts at the far end of the drawbridge, if ye care te take a look.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “For appearances?” Raven suggested with only the barest hint of sarcasm. “It occurs ta me your uncle might want ta at least feign concern that a couple of henchmen took it inta their heads ta kill his invited guests.”

  “Why should the squire care about the doings of two thieves?” Thurstan asked coldly.

  Raven’s dark brows lifted. “Did someone mention thieves? These men were equipped as soldiers, not thieves.”

  Thurstan shrugged. “So, what you’re saying is some of my uncle’s men took it upon themselves to attack guests?”

  Without taking his gaze from Thurstan’s face, Raven swung out hard with one boot and knocked the younger man’s negligently crossed ankles apart so forcefully he had to scramble to hold his seat. “Do try ta listen more closely. What I am doing here is distinctly not saying it.” Why should he, Raven thought, when the words a man didn’t speak could be so much more effective?

  The penetrating coldness in Thurstan’s expression continued to convey his loathing for the Scotsman. As much as he would’ve enjoyed ordering the pair to bury what they had killed, he suddenly realized he ought to maintain a proper decorum with the eyes of so many respected guests upon him. “I will see them.”

  Raven casually followed Thurstan as he stalked outside to the drawbridge, then bent down to begin untying the bodies.

  Desmond shouldered his way through those who had paused near the end of the drawbridge and, upon arriving at the fore of a youthful audience, found himself facing the Scotsmen. He had realized that they would be hard to kill. Even so, these soldiers had been chosen on Thurstan’s promise of their cunning—and the threat to murder their families if they didn’t comply.

  The Scotsmen returned Desmond’s slack-jawed astonishment with unwavering stares as he made a desperate effort to reclaim his aplomb. He failed to a great degree before he turned his attention to his nephew. A harsh frown drew Desmond’s bushy brows sharply together.

  “What’s the meaning of this commotion?” he demanded, and then, upon espying the slain men tied to the backs of their huge steed, he whirled upon Cedric. “What have you done?”

  The laird’s chortle was seriously lacking in humor. “I was just going ta ask ye the very same question, Squire. Do ye ken these men who tried ta murder us whilst we were out hunting?”

  “Did you provoke them?” Desmond asked curtly.

  “Only with our presence,” Cedric said. “Ta be sure, we had na ken they were even in the area till they charged across the stream with weapons drawn.”

  “My wedding is on the morrow,” Desmond cried, “and you’ve brought the brumes of gloom down upon us with this senseless killing.”

  Raven scoffed. “Senseless? I dinna ken about that. Where I’m from, when faced with a man who’s got it in his head ta kill ye, it makes perfect sense ta separate that head from his body before he has the chance. This pair were clearly of a mind ta kill us. With that settled, all that’s left to discover is their motive. Since me da and I knew them not at all,” he continued, his tone becoming cold and speculative, “we thought ye be knowing what reason they had ta seek us out?”

  “The promise of a fat purse, perhaps,” Thurstan said drily. “I still say they’re thieves.”

  Over the squire’s shoulder, Raven espied Abrielle, Cordelia, and their mothers venturing out onto the drawbridge. Upon facing Desmond again, he warned in a muted voice, “Your guests are approaching.”

  Promptly turning, Desmond scurried toward the four as he advised them, “My ladies, I must urge you to return to your chambers. There has been some trouble…the Scotsmen have brought back two bodies, and though I’m reluctant to frigh
ten you, I’d be remiss in my duties if I failed to think of your safety before looking into this matter more thoroughly. I must urge you to return to the security of your chambers and to stay there until we’ve managed to make some sense of this dreadful matter.”

  Abrielle had had a terrible feeling all day, and now she could see the anger from Desmond’s cohorts directed at the Scotsmen. Raven and his father had been forced to kill two men? She could only believe it was because they were attacked first, but then, she didn’t know him very well. She could not let a handsome face mislead her into assuming he was honorable. But Raven was watching her now, standing at his father’s side. There was no appeal in his expression, as if he would never beg her to believe him.