12
E
leanor
had no intention
of waiting meekly in the solar while her husband faced certain slaughter in the hall below. There had to be some deed that could be done to aid him.
Whosoever attacked was a villain, to be sure, for no man violated the injunction against battle on the holy days of the year. Eleanor feared that she knew who that villain might be, for she had lived closely with a family of villains, one of whom had already shown himself to be interested in her fortunes.
Alan Douglas.
Annelise and Elizabeth and Isabella arrived in the solar in their chemises, with their hair unbound, chattering all the while. They each carried some trinket or another, as well as their own cloaks and boots. Their eyes were wide with fear. Vera came behind them with an armload of sturdy woolen kirtles, muttering as she gathered them like wayward chicks. Moira, Eleanor hoped, had found refuge in the kitchens.
“Lock the portal, my lady,” Vera instructed as she dumped the clothing onto a trunk. “We are all here now,
and there is little else to be done. I would have you maidens don your kirtles and boots, the better that you b
e prepared for whatever occurs.
”
“But what could occur?” Annelise asked with a shiver.
“Garb yourself,” Isabella said tersely. “If Alexander does not win, this night will not be an amusing one for us.” Vera’s lips tightened at that.
“Let us move the trunk
s against the portal,” Eleanor
suggested. “The better that it cannot be forced open.”
The sisters followed her dictate, and she was pleased to see that they were not fragile maidens with no strength beyond that necessary to thread a needle.
“We must be able to defend ourselves,” Elizabeth said, looking about the chamber.
“What weaponry has Alexander?” asked Isabella.
They showed a familiarity with their brother’s possessions that surprised Eleanor, but then she had never had any sibling with whom to share. In moments, they had rummaged through his trunk of weapons and each sister held a blade more fearsome than her own eating knife.
“I say we should join the battle,” Elizabeth said. “Alexander has need of every blade he can muster on this night.”
“No, no, no!” Vera cried. “There will be no maidens under my care in a hall filled with fighting men.”
“Or there will be no maidens at all in the mo
rn
,” Eleanor concluded. The maid nodded, but the sisters caught their breath as one. Isabella parted her lips to ask a question, but Eleanor glared
at her. “A rape is no way to
learn of matters abed,” she said with resolve, and that sister fell silent.
Annelise crossed herself and sat down, pale with fear.
The sounds of swordplay grew louder, and more men shouted. Torches could be seen burning in the bailey, and to Eleanor’s amazement, a group of people marched toward the keep from Kinfairlie village. They carried scythes and knives, clubs and hoes, and their expressions were grim.
“There is the miller and
hi
s son, Matthew,” said Annelise, her tone indicating that she shared Eleanor’s surprise.
“
The tanner and his apprentice, and the blacksmith,” said Isabella, forcing her way closer to the window.
“God in heaven,” Vera whispered.
“Look! There is Father Malachy!” Elizabeth said, pointing as she did so. The maid snatched back the maiden’s hand, lest her presence at the darkened window be discerned. “And the baker and the shepherd and even the silversmith.”
“But it is neither their right nor their duty to fight,” Eleanor said. “Such is the order of men: those who work, those who pray, and those who fight.”
Vera granted her a wry glance. “Such is the order in some realms, to be sure. Can a man not be expected to raise a blade in defense, regardless of his calling, when his own abode is at risk?”
“They will be slaughtered,” Eleanor whispered. “Such tools are no match to the swords and blades of knights. They have no training and they have no armor, either.”
“Alexander has no armor, either,” Elizabeth retorted. “This battle is unfair in every way. I am glad the town comes to our aid.”
“They have their love of Kinfairlie,” Annelise said softly. “And that is no small weapon.”
Eleanor hoped she was right.
A man shouted below and Eleanor knew that the villagers had been spied by Kinfairlie’s assailants. A dozen armed men turned upon the approaching group, laughing at the sight of them.
“We cannot simply wait here!” Isabella protested. “We must do something!”
Eleanor leaned out the window as scythe and sword clashed, hoping to see better how the villagers fared. She could not imagine them dying in the defense of Kinfairlie, but at the same time, she could well understand their loyalty to Alexander. She too would do any deed to see him and Kinfairlie secured. She stretched farther and saw a familiar horse, the insignia on its caparisons fairly stopping her heart.
It was Alan Douglas.
She could stop this carnage. The realization came suddenly. Alan Douglas wanted only her, or more accurately, he desired only the legacy she would bring to him with the delivery of a son.
If she surrendered to Alan, the assault upon Kinfairlie would halt. As soon as Eleanor realized the truth, her choice was made. She pivoted and lifted the key from her belt. She unlocked the portal, Alexander’s sisters clustered about her in their excitement.
“What are we going to do?” Elizabeth demanded, her grip fierce upon her borrowed blade.
“You are going to remain here, as you have been bidden to do,” Eleanor said firmly. She placed the key within the maid’s hand and closed Vera’s fingers surely over it. “And you will lock the portal behind me. Open it only to Alexander.”
“But where are you going?” Isabella asked.
“To end this madness, for once and for all,” Eleanor said with resolve, then stepped out of the chamber. She waited on the landing until she heard the key turn in the lock, listened for a moment to the unanimous protest of the three maidens, then marched down to the hall.
Alexander, Kinfairlie, and all the people pledged to serve both had need of the sacrifice only she could make. Eleanor would not regret making it, not for a moment, for she believed it would see this haven and its laird saved from certain destruction.
That would be a sufficiently potent legacy for any woman.
* * * * *
T
he hall was thick with smoke.
Someone had dropped a torch into the strewing herbs upon the floor, but they were so freshly cut that they smoked rather than burned. Only a few other torches burned, so the hall was full of shadows. Malcolm peered through the tangle of men and tried to make sense of who was who.
One matter was for certain: only those who attacked wore armor, for no man in Kinfairlie had had time to don his mail. Malcolm saw his brother come down the stairs and, with characteristic confidence, step directly into the fray. Alexander had dispatched two men and rounded upon another by the time Malcolm reached his side. They fought, more or less back-to-back, cutting a swath through the hall.
“I trust you slept well,” Alexander said to Malcolm, as if they rose on a peaceful mo
rn
to break bread together.
He grunted as he drove his sword into the gut of a mercenary.
“Quite well,” Malcolm replied, his tone genial. “Though I must admit, I did hear some ruckus in the midst of the night.” He swung his blade at a mercenary’s knees, and that man fell. He rounded quickly and jabbed the point of his sword into the eye of a man who had tried to sneak up beside him.
“Rats,” Alexander said, as if confiding a sorry secret of his hall. “We are besieged by them at the most uncommon times.”
He whistled a warning to his brother, who understood the signal as no others did. Not for nothing had these two brothers sparred together for years!
Malcolm ducked in the nick of time as Alexander’s blade slashed over his head, then struck an assailant’s elbow. That man howled and dropped his blade. Malcolm picked it up, then tossed it to Alexander, who was more adept at fighting with both hands.
Alexander circled another mercenary, both blades swinging, as he continued in a most conversational tone. “Like all vermin, they must be diligently hunted and excised.”
“Ah, so that was why I heard swordplay,” Malcolm said. He parried the thrust of another man, their blades locking so that their wrists almost touched. “Oh, look there!” Malcolm said to his opponent, who was fool enough to do so. Malcolm dispatched him with a blow while he was so distracted.
“We are plagued by particularly large and vile vermin this year,” Alexander said with a shake of his head. He and his assailant met in a furious clash of steel on steel.
Alexander grunted and jabbed, and cast the man’s corpse aside. “I only apologize that such necessities interrupted the slumber of a guest.”
“And there is the largest vermin of them all,” Malcolm said, nodding toward the gates. Alan Douglas had just crossed beneath the portcullis. He pushed up his visor, his strangely pale features seeming to glow in the shadows, and looked over the company. His gaze fell on Alexander and he smiled his cruel smile, apparently in anticipation of an easy victory.
“The king of the rats himself,” Alexander muttered, and strode to confront his attacker. “He will not steal the finest morsel from my table so readily as that.”
The two leapt at each other and Malcolm valiantly tried to defend Alexander’s back. His brother moved quickly to engage with Alan, though, so quickly that Malcolm was snared by a mercenary determined to see him dead.
The mercenary struck a fierce blow that took Malcolm to his knees. Malcolm feigned greater injury than he felt, then slashed upward. His opponent was caught by surprise and the blade slipped beneath the bottom of his jerkin. Malcolm plunged the blade deep, then pulled it out and kicked the man’s corpse aside.
By that time, Alexander was surrounded by three men as well as Alan. It was not a fair fight, and though Alexander was a competent swordsman, Malcolm could see the sweat on his brother’s brow.
Malcolm leapt into the skirmish with a bellow and distracted the men sufficiently that Alexander felled one with a telling strike.
“One rat less in my abode,” Alexander said through
gritted teeth, then parried the blow of another assailant. Alan struck in that moment, taking advantage of the fact that Alexander was engaged, but Alexander still had the second blade in his left hand. He swung it, even as he drove his own sword in
to the mercenary’s throat, and
Alan yelled as he retreated.
Blood ran from Alan’s ear, Malcolm noted with a quick glance. He was busy himself, for the fourth man who had been attacking Alexander turned upon Malcolm.
They fought with ferocity; then the mercenary pivoted abruptly to swing his blade at Alexander. Malcolm whist
l
ed, his brother ducked, and the heavy blade swept over
Alexander’s head to strike down his opponent.
“That was neatly done,” Alexander said with a grin. He nodded to the mercenary still before Malcolm. “I thank you for your timely contribution.”
The mercenary roared in fury and lunged at Alexander,
who halted that man’s bloody blade with his own. They struggled back and forth, neither gaining any quarter
against the other; then Alan stepped out of the shadows.
He smiled and Malcolm began to shout a warning, but too late. Alan’s swinging blade struck Alexander on the back of the head.
Alexander’s eyes widened briefly; then he fell so hard that Malcolm feared the worst. Blood pooled around
Alexander’s body with alarming haste.
“No!” Malcolm cried, but the mercenary turned upon him, a deadly gleam i
n his eye. Malcolm ducked his
blow, then stepped closer to the man. The man’s eyes widened, so startled was he by Malcolm’s proximity, but his eyes widened more when he felt Malcolm’s knife blade slide into his throat.
It was a trick that Alexander had taught Malcolm, to step inside the swing of a blow, and though it was a marvel to see it work in a desperate situation, Malcolm wished his brother might have witnessed its success. He turned upon Alan, intent upon seeing that man dead, but in that same moment, a woman shouted.
“No!” she cried. “Cease your assault!”
Alan looked toward the stairs, a knowing smile upon his face. He lifted his hand and called for the fighting to halt, as calmly as if he called for more salt at the board.
Malcolm turned, followed Alan’s gaze, and saw Alexander’s wife, Eleanor, standing on the third-to-last stair. She looked out of place, her garb so perfect that she might have been appearing at the king’s court for dinner, not stepping into the midst of a bloody battle. Her poise was also perfect, her stance regal, her composure complete.
Only her pallor revealed her distress.
She descended the last of the stairs from the solar without hesitation. She walked through the hall, as fair as a wraith, as unexpected as an angel. She paid no heed to whatsoever was strewn beneath her feet and she did not stumble.
The men fell back to grant her passage, seemingly so astonished by her presence that they let their blades fall by their sides. Malcolm did not doubt that her manner was a greater power than Alan’s command.
Her footsteps only faltered when she neared the red pool of blood surrounding Alexander. She halted as the first fissure showed in her composure. She made a little sound, a gasp of pain, and her head bowed as if to hide her tears. She stood between Malcolm and his fallen brother.
Malcolm did not doubt that Alexander’s wound was fatal, but Eleanor would have stepped into the blood. She would have gone to Alexander’s side, but Alan shouted at her. “Do not touch him. His fate is sealed, as is yours.”
Eleanor hesitated for a moment and Malcolm could see how she found her urge to defy the other man’s command.
“What do you think you can do to me now?” she asked softly.
Alan chuckled though it was not amiable.
Eleanor exhaled, the steel leaving her shoulders with that breath. “I am sorry, beloved,” she whispered to Alexander, her words uneven. Malcolm could not imagine for what she apologized, for the blame for this assault could not be laid at her feet.
Or could it?
To Malcolm’s astonishment, she then addressed him, though she faced Alan. “I would ask you, Malcolm, to inform that witch Jeannie that if she does not see her laird healed from this malady, she will have me to fear.” Her words were uttered with such conviction that Malcolm did not doubt she would be vengeful indeed. “Whether I find her in this world or the next, my vengeance for any incompetence she shows in this matter will be so fierce as to make her wish she never drew breath. I fear that it is too late, but she must try, as never she has tried before.”
Malcolm nodded. “I will so do.”
Eleanor looked down at Alexander and Malcolm saw a glisten of tears upon her cheek when she turned to face Alan. “Alexander ensnared me with a kiss,” she said, her words husky, “while this man would capture me with a blade.” Eleanor granted Malcolm a glance, her eyes so
vivid and piercing a green that he caught his breath. “A wise man knows which is the more formidable weapon.”
“Do you bow to the inevitable, then?” Alan demanded, raising his voice so that all could hear him.
“I will accompany you, if that is your meaning, but only so long as your men sheath their blades immediately,” Eleanor said, as if she had something with which to wager. “You will depart from Kinfairlie and not a one of you will ever cast a shadow across her lands again. These are my terms for accompanying you.”
Alan nodded. “Agreed.” He sheathed his blade, sparing a condescending glance to the man fallen before him. “Though we could have taken all we desired by force.”
“Only because you cheated,” Eleanor said with some heat. “On a level field, you would not have won an advantage so readily.”
“You speak boldly, for one who surrenders herself to my power,” Alan said with a scowl.
Eleanor smiled coolly. “I am only of worth to you so long as I live. We both understand that. You may claim my body, but you will never claim my heart, and you cannot silence my words.”
To Malcolm’s astonishment, Alan did not dispute this. Eleanor reached for Malcolm then, her hand closing around his wrist with vigor. “Be with him,” she counseled with quiet vigor. “No soul should pass through the veil without a familiar hand upon their shoulder.”
When Malcolm moved to do her bidding, he felt her push something hard and heavy into his hand. Instinctively, he grasped it, without knowing what it was.
“Because your brother taught me that there are treasures with a value far beyond their price,” Eleanor murmured to him, ensuring that her words could not be overheard.
Malcolm guessed that none realized she had given him any token and closed his hand over it as if he held nothing at all.
She crossed the floor to a smirking Alan then, and Malcolm knew that he did not imagine that the lady shivered as she drew close to that villain’s side. She did not flinch from what had to be done, though, and true to Alan’s word, his men filed peacefully out of Kinfairlie’s hall behind him.
When they were gone and Malcolm finally opened his hand, he found a ring within his grasp. The emerald gem that his mother had worn as a sign of her nuptial pledge to his father, the gem that Alexander had used to seal his own vows, glinted back at him within his own palm.
And Malcolm understood then that Eleanor had surrendered herself to ensure Kinfairlie’s security, though still he did not understand why Alan should content himself with solely the lady as his prize.