Warriors Of Legend (47 page)

Stephan took a long drink from his cup and even from a distance Micah knew he was getting quite drunk. Stephan’s gaze swept over the bailey, stopping suddenly.

“Damn ye, wench!” he roared and charged down the stairs.

Micah’s heart lurched as he looked back to Kate. She had lowered the bucket into the well and paused with her head bowed, trying to grab an instant of peace. Stephan strode straight to her and Kate spun, terror lining her face.

“I gave ye a day of rest,” Stephan barked. He grabbed her arm and hauled her away from the well.

Micah’s feet started moving without conscious thought.

Stephan’s hands closed brutally on her shoulders and he shook her hard. “I canna have ye shirkin’ duty, especially when ye become my wife.”

Micah’s rapid walk turned into a jog, he pushed his way through the people without heed.

“I’ll teach ye a lesson ye not soon forget.” Stephan raised his fist to strike her.

Fury burned through Micah and he drew his sword with his left hand. Two long strides covered the remaining distance as Stephan’s fist descended. Micah thrust the blade forward, driving it through Stephan’s gut, and breaking his grip on Kate. His fist never landed.

Stephan stared at the blade, bewildered, blood trickling from his mouth, then he looked at Micah and his eyes widened in horror.

Micah yanked the blade back. “No one touches my wife,” he growled.

Stephan toppled over, dead.

“Micah,” Kate whispered.

He started to turn around.

“Treachery!” A voice screamed.

Micah snarled a curse as all eyes locked on them. “Too soon,” he muttered. They were not ready yet. “Kate, get inside now!”

Kate took two steps but stopped as three Scots charged down the stairs, cutting off her escape.

“Never mind,” Micah barked. “Get behind me.”

Kate quickly obeyed. Micah gave thanks to the Maker that she did not freeze in terror. Micah retreated, heading for the wall in order to cover his back. He had to protect Kate.

As the Scots charged toward him, Micah’s men galvanized, throwing back their cloaks and drawing their weapons.

“Montfort!” The battle cry echoed against the stone walls.

The bailey exploded in chaos. Micah’s men intercepted two of the Scots running toward him while a third Scot continued. Micah parried the blow and reposted, striking the man’s face and killing him.

He continued to back toward the wall.

Another Scotsman saw Micah and sprinted. Micah easily deflected the blow and countered with one at the soldier’s head. The man blocked. Micah snapped his wrist around, launching his blade at the other side of the soldier’s head in a deadly combination. The soldier missed the block and Micah’s sword struck home. Bone cracked and the man collapsed.

A third Scot descended the stairs from the wall and ran toward him but a villager lifted the cudgel he had been working with and slammed it into the man’s head, dropping him like a polled ox. The small man ran for the gates, hesitating only when a Scot tried to grab him, again the cudgel rose, crashing into the Scot’s knee and crippling him. Micah blinked in shock realizing that many of the villagers turned on the guards standing near them with their tools. They struck and ran for their lives.

The surprise attacks dealt even greater devastation than Micah ever imagined possible.

Kate crowed in delight.

Micah stole a glance over his shoulder. “Methinks you are not telling me something.”

Her laugh ignited a spark of joy in him. “Marjorie and I worked all night. The villagers remain loyal to you.”

He grinned, watching the tide of the battle turning dangerously against the Scots. “You told them to strike and run.”

“Aye,” she said. “I’ll not ask them to stand against trained soldiers but they can fight for their own freedom.”

“Bless you, Kate, I—”

“Micah, watch out!”

Micah brought his sword up in time to defend against MacLeary’s blow. The laird’s face was florid and his dark eyes enraged. “You were dead,” he bellowed.

“Perhaps your huntsman isn’t as loyal as you thought.”

The laird’s heavy claymore plunged downward. Micah parried but winced. He could fight with his left hand but it wasn’t as strong as his right. He needed to be able to move, using his speed as a counter.

MacLeary roared his fury and charged. Micah met the rush with his blade and gritted his teeth as his defense nearly crumbled. Good glory, the man possessed the strength of a bull. Micah stepped to the side and redirected the charge. MacLeary flew past him, landing hard.

The laird rolled to his feet, his claymore at the ready. He approached more cautiously this time. Micah stepped around the debris of the tools and other construction littering the ground. MacLeary’s sword leapt at the left side of Micah’s head. Micah blocked and snapped his weapon out, trying to hit MacLeary’s unguarded face. Somehow, the laird jerked back, and the tip whistled past his nose harmlessly.

Micah gritted his teeth and MacLeary launched another attack. Fire shot through his arm as he blocked each blow, the laird nearly pushing his defense aside. The Scot’s claymore added weight to his strength but Micah noted, it slowed each stroke.

With a bellow, MacLeary made a sweeping cut at Micah’s head. Micah ducked and the blade flew past. He charged, his sword smashing into MacLeary’s left side, hacking through the byrnie.

MacLeary staggered, but recovered and rushed again. Micah slapped the laird’s blade away and leaped to the side. The consistent frontal attack grew predictable. Unfortunately, with MacLeary’s strength and size, it was also effective. MacLeary slid to a halt and turned, blowing like an overworked horse. Micah arched an eyebrow. “Would you like to rest, old man?”

MacLeary lunged and Micah repeated the defense of slapping his blade to the side and leaping away. He swallowed hard. Although he taunted MacLeary, Micah’s vision spotted and sweat rolled down his body. Weakened by blood loss, Micah couldn’t keep this up much longer either.

MacLeary attacked a third time and a third time Micah danced out of the way.

“Come on, old man,” Micah baited as MacLeary paused to gulp down a few breaths. “You are boring me to tears.”

“Hold still, you bastard.”

Micah barked a laugh. “Sure, old man.”

MacLeary charged a fourth time. Micah again stepped to the side, blocking the blow but the force staggered him. He lurched backward. Kate darted out of the way, as Micah’s back slammed into the wall. Pain screamed through his body as his wounded arm protested violently. His vision went dark for an instant and he knew he was dead.

Kate screeched. Micah glimpsed a stream of black liquid flying toward the laird. The deathblow never came. Micah blinked his vision clear and saw MacLeary recoil, black pitch covering him.

“My eyes!” MacLeary screamed, struggling to wipe the thick liquid from his face. He staggered backward, toward the brazier the workers used to heat iron fittings. Abruptly he stumbled and plowed into it. The hot coals ignited the pitch instantly. MacLeary howled rolled away but the pitch continued to burn.

Micah lowered his sword, knowing the man was dead. He screamed and bellowed, a sickening stench filling the air. Kate gasped in horror covering her face with her hands. Micah leaned his sword against the wall and pulled her under the shelter of his left arm. She choked on a sob of revulsion.

Pain continued to assail Micah and his legs threatened to buckle. Slowly, trying to breathe, he released Kate and slid down the wall into a sitting position.

“Oh sweet Mary,” Kate whispered, dropping to her knees beside him. “Micah, what’s wrong?”

“My arm,” he said between clenched teeth. “It was wounded before.”

She moved his cloak back and gasped. “So that is why you had to fight with your off hand.” Cautiously she lifted the sling so she could see. “Micah,” she said her voice strained. “You are bleeding badly. These bandages are soaked and the splint is loose.”

“I know,” he said between clenched teeth.

Kate’s hand lightly cupped his face. “You cannot fight like this. Your men turn the battle, MacLeary is dead, let us get away from here and I will tend to your wounds.”

Micah caught her hand in his and brushed her palm with his lips. “My love, I cannot.”

She stared at him, stunned. “Micah—”

“Kate,” he said sharply. “I cannot leave.” His hand tightened on hers. “This is our home, I must fight for it.”

Terror tightened her features. “I lost you once, I cannot bear it again.”

“I know, Kate. Good glory I see it in your eyes. But I cannot run from this. I cannot abandon my dreams when I have just found them.”

Slowly, the harsh lines on her face eased. “Aye, you are right,” she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed him with an intensity that shocked him.

“Montfort!” a voice bellowed.

He jerked away from Kate, his gaze falling on a man striding toward him. “Robert,” he growled. “Kate, help me stand.”

Her face white, she grabbed Micah’s good arm and hauled him to his feet. The bile rose in his throat as the world spun around him. How could he do this? Where would he find the strength for one last fight?

“Did you learn to fly, Montfort?” Robert snapped, walking toward him with a bloody sword clutched tightly in his hand.

“You should have learned your knightly lessons better. When you kill a man, make sure he stays dead.”

“Thank you for the education. This time there will be no doubt,” he said and attacked.

Chapter Twenty

Micah’s muscles burned with exhaustion, his limbs trembled and his heart rattled in his chest. He hacked and slashed at Robert, trading blows equally.

“It’s over, Robert, MacLeary is dead, his bid for Appleby died with him and his son.”

“Nothing is over, Montfort! For two years I pursued you, trying to find a way to exact my revenge.” He took two steps back, pulling out his belt dagger with his free hand. “Now I have discovered the perfect answer. Just like you destroyed my life and family so will I destroy yours.”

Micah tried to make his exhausted body obey, to step to the side, away from the dagger Robert was going to throw at him. Robert hefted it then tossed it, not at Micah but beside him.

Kate screamed and fell.

Terror assailed him. “Nay, Kate!” Micah roared. She lay like a broken doll on the ground blood streaming from the knife in her left shoulder just below her collarbone. Dear God, Robert had killed her. Micah charged. His sword descended, driven by fury that ignited Micah’s blood and tinted his vision red.

Robert barely managed to deflect the blow. Micah snapped his weapon around, cutting at Robert’s right side. Again Robert parried the blade. But Micah did not stop his onslaught. Madness possessed him. Had he lost Kate forever? His sudden burst of strength ebbed, replaced by fear and worry.

Robert countered then lunged. Micah blocked but the huntsman knocked him backward. Robert followed the advantage, their weapons locking in front of Micah’s face.

The huntsman dark eyes glittered balefully and Micah had a fleeting sensation that he stared into the depths of hell. But his mind raced. The man possessed an almost inhuman power and the strength seemed to seep out of Micah’s limbs like water leaking from a rotted bucket. Micah desperately cast for a way to knock the huntsman away. This man may have killed Kate and his child.

His thoughts returned to Normandy; the reason why Robert hated him. When Amaury tried to kill Micah, his vow had been to never again let himself be fooled by love or deceived by his dreams. But this time, an inviolable conviction rose within him. Micah made a different vow.

Never again would a man steal those dreams from him.

Micah unleashed the black fury within his soul. He shoved the swords back. The huntsman’s eyes widened in surprise. Micah kicked and caught Robert in the gut, staggering the huntsman again.

With controlled precision, Micah launched a series of combinations which drove Robert backwards. The swords crashed together, ringing through the bailey. Micah surged forward, no longer thinking, allowing his training to control his actions. His weapon arced toward Robert in an overhand cut. Robert blocked the blade, pushing it slightly to Micah’s right. Micah stepped in, cocking his left arm and launching a jab to the huntsman’s nose with his elbow. Bone cracked and blood spattered his face. His head snapped back and he howled in pain. Robert staggered, regained his balance, and lunged.

Micah bellowed and spun, snapping his sword out and around. His blade plowed into Robert’s ribs, destroying chainmail and leather. It caved his chest, smashing bone and driving into his lungs. The huntsman’s scream turned into a chilling gurgle. Micah hauled himself back as the man collapsed then lay still.

Micah stood, trying to suck in his breath. Robert did not move. Weariness washed over him but dread quickly replaced it. “Kate?” he called desperately, returning to her crumpled form. He dropped to his knees beside her. Micah’s heart lurched. The wound did not appear to be mortal. He freed the dagger and tried to slow the bleeding.

“Baron,” Hubert shouted.

Micah glanced up and saw the huntsman running toward him. He slid to his knees beside Kate. “Let me see it.”

Micah moved his hand and Hubert checked the wound then felt the lifebeat in her neck. He sighed in relief. “She’s all right, the wound isn’t that bad.” He drew his dagger, muttering apologies to Kate, and tore a long strip of fabric from her skirt. He quickly bound the wound.

Kate groaned, her eyes fluttering open.

“Easy, my sweet,” Micah said, smiling broadly.

“My shoulder is on fire.”

“I know how you feel.”

She sat up and Micah wrapped his left arm around her, holding her tightly. “What happened?”

“We won, Kate,” he said softly.

“Aye,” Hubert said. “The Scots who remain alive are running. Once their laird died, they lost all stomach for battle.”

Micah sagged, his weakness catching up with him.

“Hubert,” Kate said urgently. “Get him inside, I need to tend to his wounds before he loses any more blood.”

“Aye, lady,” Hubert said and grabbed Micah’s arm. As Micah fought to stand his vision went black.