An hour and a half after walking in to see Sybil, Jennet walked out with the answers she’d been after, and while she’d never be able to forgive Sybil, she was glad she’d made the journey to talk to her old friend.
She paused in the great hall to break her fast because she’d missed the morning meal and her stomach was rumbling. When she finally strode back into the room, it was to find Ada’s face red from crying, an uneaten meal laying cold on the table, and Eddie nowhere to be seen.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as fear snaked its way into her breast.
“Edward is fighting in the melee.”
She froze. Chills spread over her, and her hands began to tremble.
“Nae. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“They don’t use blunted weapons in the melee.” Her voice shook, and even as she made the statement, she realized Ada was probably already aware of that fact.
Dread pierced her heart as she thought about her brother putting himself in such danger. He was good with a sword. She didn’t doubt his skill, but he’d been sick for nearly two days and although he’d done a good job at hiding it, he had been injured the day before that.
“What did he say?”
“He only sent word that we shouldn’t leave the room and that he’d be back when the battle was done.”
Now Jennet wished she’d skipped the food below. Her gut twisted.
“I have to get down there. Perhaps there is a way to stop it.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to build her courage.
But she knew the battle had started long ago. On her return from the village, she’d heard the clangs of swords, the screams of men, and the shouts of both victory and defeat. There would be nothing she could do, short of running onto the field to save her brother, and he’d never forgive her if she caused such a scene. She wouldn’t storm the melee, but she had to go see if he was safe.
She bolted from the room before Ada could object.
Minutes later, she entered the area roped off from the rest of the field where family and friends could wait for news of their loved ones. The space was called the refuge, but to her, it was hell. Lord Yves’s men had forced her in this direction, saying ladies weren’t allowed on the field. Her heart beat so fast she could feel it, and her nerves were shattered.
Wounded men lay everywhere with others standing triumphantly over them and waiting for some price to be paid for their victory. Her belly roiled at the coppery smell that wafted through the air. She had to look but averted her gaze from each injured man as soon as she’d confirmed they weren’t her brother.
The blood brought back terrifying images from the past, and her whole body began to tremble. She’d been there when her mother had died from a difficult childbirth. She’d been present when her older brother had lost his life at the hands of her uncle. She’d been helpless both times, and now that same despair was closing in around her.
And just like before, there was nothing she could do but watch as the people she loved most died in front of her.
Giric galloped across the field, the blare of the trumpet still resonating in his ears as he fixed his focus on the man charging from the other direction on his own steed. Edward Linton’s horse had the colors of his house, blue and gold, draped across its back. Giric had sent his squire as a scout earlier to make sure he knew what to look for and could make haste toward the correct man. He didn’t want to have to bother with the rest of the participants in the battle.
He respected Edward. The man hadn’t flinched and had met Giric’s challenge with the honor of a true knight despite his position as a baron’s son.
He was mere yards from his target when another man from the tenans riding a destrier changed direction and shot toward him. He recognized the attacker. He was the blond with the crooked nose who had listened to his conversation with Lord Yves. He wore red and black and as he rode near, he aimed a spear at Giric’s mount. Giric veered off course to protect his warhorse, but the sharp turn threw him off balance. He was nearly unseated from the unexpected attack.
The attacker circled about and charged again. This time, his blow connected with Giric’s shield, the force so strong he was knocked sideways. The red and black knight was thrown from his horse at the impact. He rolled when he fell and stood almost immediately. The man drew his sword and started on foot toward Giric.
Giric jumped from his warhorse to meet the brute head-on. He couldn’t focus on Edward until this threat was gone. The man hurtled at him with sword drawn.
“I dinnae wish to fight ye. I am here to battle another.” Giric blocked the blow as the familiar-looking man struck.
“Aye, you may not wish to, but I think I could win a hefty purse for returning the queen consort’s nephew to the Scottish king.”
He’d purposely been reserved this week and not participated in the jousts to avoid bringing notice upon himself. But now he recognized this man. He had ridden nearby as Giric and Lord Yves had talked on their short ride in the country. Giric hadn’t counted on others knowing who he was, nor that they may be seeking to make a profit on his head. And the man was right. His aunt and the king—not to mention his brother, the Lord of the Isles—would pay a handsome reward for his safe return.
The knight swung again, aiming for Giric’s arm, a place that would wound him but surely not cause death. Giric deflected the blow with his own sword, and a clang rent the air. As he lifted his weapon to come back to a defensive pose, he caught a glimpse of Edward on the ground, occupied in his own battle with a man nearly twice his girth.
“This is yer last chance to walk away. I dinnae wish to harm ye, and I have business to see to.”
“Aye. It will be seeing to your wounds when I’m done with you.” The red-and-black knight cackled.
“So be it.” Giric knew he would not make it to his goal until this man had been dealt with.
He swung, and they were locked in battle, both alternating blows, then deflecting. He scored a solid hit to the man’s arm, but the knight’s chainmail prevented any damage except bruising.
They circled each other, and Giric caught a glimpse of his enemy’s son. Edward stepped awkwardly, and his leg gave beneath him. He fell to the earth with a clang as his armor rattled at the impact.
Giric had no idea who the man above Edward was, but the green-and-white attacker struck at the downed Edward’s face with his fist. Edward attempted to get to his feet.
The red-and-black knight attacking Giric lunged again, and this time hit his side. The impact brought him back to the immediate danger. Giric couldn’t save his mission, or Edward, until he fought off the man determined to bring him down.
The red and black knight charged again, but this time, instead of deflecting the threat, Giric slid to the side. His opponent lost his balance and stumbled forward. Giric came down and sliced the blade of his sword across the back of the man’s thigh, where his armor didn’t protect the sensitive flesh. His opponent fell to the ground as blood streamed from the wound.
Giric watched for a moment to assess the damage. The knight writhed on the ground, holding onto his injury. It was a deep cut, but the knight quite likely would live, though he’d never be the same.
Turning back to his original target, Giric spotted the other knight pulling the helmet from Edward’s head. As it slid off, Giric saw that Edward was dazed and couldn’t focus on his opponent. Blood dripped from his mouth. The attacker’s helm allowed a good view of the man’s twisted grin. He said something to Edward, but from his position, the words were inaudible to Giric. Then the other knight drew back with the axe.
The arse was going to kill him.
“Nae,” Giric yelled.
Edward’s attacker turned his attention toward Giric for a brief moment, then shook his head and continued to raise the weapon.
Giric reacted on instinct, charging the man and knocking him off Edward. The ax flew through the air and landed a few feet away. They rolled, and the attacker managed to land on top. The crazed knight drew back with his arm and came down hard with a fisted gauntlet on Giric’s helm. The punch slid off to the side, but the impact was brutal, and a buzz vibrated in his ears.
Giric blinked, then took a quick deep breath. Drawing on his reserves and his training, he focused on getting the larger man off of him. Giric lifted his leg, swung it to the side, then planted his foot behind the attacker’s ankle, pinning it in place. Then he pushed up with his other leg as he rose with his hip and flipped the man onto his back.
The man in green and white threw his arms in the air to knock Giric off, but Giric remained seated on the man’s chest, keeping him pinned to the ground. As he blocked punches, Giric was able to reach behind his thigh and pull free the dirk he kept strapped to the back of his leg. His gloved hand almost dropped it when the man landed a jab to Giric’s face.
He secured his grip, then leaned down and plunged the knife into the man’s thigh where his chainmail didn’t protect him. A furious roar came from the injured man’s chest. Giric withdrew the blade.
The green-and-white knight bucked and swung again, throwing his pelvis into Giric and almost knocking him off. As he continued to struggle, Giric managed to grasp the edge of the gorget on the man’s helm, pull it up, and plunge the knife between his breastplate and helm. The man stopped fighting and reached for his neck, writhing in pain.
Climbing off the man, who Giric guessed would no longer be a threat, he turned his attention to Edward. The baron’s son remained prone and dazed on the ground. Giric had only just been in time to save his life.
Lifting the injured Englishman, he lay Edward across his horse, then gathered his own warhorse. Giric made his way toward the refuge to see who would be there to bargain with. He was prepared to hand Edward over in exchange for the baron.
Victory was at hand.