Highland Knight (6 page)

“Attack!” Avery cried as she galloped into the MacAlpin camp and reined her mount into a rearing halt. “The DeVeaux are headed your way.”

“But, they arenae our enemies,” said Wee Rob.

“They are now,” said Cameron as he rode up, dismounting before his horse had come to a complete halt. “They want their money back.”

“How close are they?” asked one burly man.

Cameron looked at Avery. “Those men were forward scouts?”

“Aye. I doubt Gilly and I gained much distance on what looked to be a sizable DeVeau force. I would say only minutes.” Avery dismounted and helped Gillyanne down.

“Or less,” added Gillyanne, pointing to a slight cloud of dust.

Avery and Gillyanne found themselves hurried away with the other women, all of them grabbing what supplies and goods they could carry as they fled. They were accompanied by three pages and two squires who brought along the horses. But yards from the camp, sheltered by the trees, they halted. It was their sad duty to watch, prepared to flee if the battle turned against their men. Only one small page would hold back, hiding until it was over so that he could report the final outcome and let them know if there were any wounded to collect. Avery did not ask if they would bury or collect their dead as
well.

As she watched Cameron’s small force prepare to meet one twice its size, Avery prayed. She prayed that the MacAlpins would not pay too high a price for the folly of dealing with a DeVeau. She prayed the DeVeau men were not willing to sacrifice too many men just to return the mercenary fee to their lord. She also prayed that, if the worst happened, if the MacAlpins lost, she and her cousin would not find themselves back in the grasp of their old enemy.

When the attack came, it came hard, fast, and loud. Avery swayed as if she herself had withstood the first assault. A soft gasp erupted from the ones around her, and she knew she had not suffered that strange reaction alone. Avery doubted anyone could stand silent and still before such a display of force.

Cameron and his men had placed themselves upon a small rise. It was just high enough to give them an advantage, putting them at a height to more equally battle the men on horseback and putting the DeVeau force at a slight but welcome disadvantage. The MacAlpins formed a tight circle, a pair of skilled archers in the middle. If the DeVeau men were not too determined, Cameron’s battle plan could easily win the fight. Avery felt the flicker of hope invade her heart.

It soon became impossible to watch every aspect of the battle, so Avery set her gaze on Cameron and kept it there. She held her breath each time the DeVeaux swarmed toward him, and let it go each time he repelled them. By the soft cries of those around her, she knew that some of Cameron’s men had fallen, but never once did she take her gaze from Cameron. Instead, she simply prayed for the soul of the fallen man and hoped it was a mendable wound that had caused his fall and not the cold touch of death.

Although it felt as if she had stood there praying and watching for hours, Avery knew it was probably more like minutes before the battle turned in favor of the MacAlpins. DeVeau dead and wounded littered the camp, and the enemy suddenly seemed to become aware of how dearly the battle was costing them. One man helped a wounded companion to stumble away from the fight, then another did the same, and another, until it became a hasty retreat. It took all of Avery’s willpower to stay where she was until the DeVeaux had disappeared into the trees; then she saw Cameron sink to his knees. Even as she started toward him, the other women also moved, until they were all running toward the men. Every step of the way, Avery prayed that Cameron was hale or only slightly wounded, that weariness had brought him to his knees and not the weight of impending death.

With his gaze still fixed upon the dust of the fleeing DeVeaux, Cameron slowly sank to his knees. He found just enough strength to signal a man to follow the DeVeaux and make certain the retreat was a true one; then he slumped. The battle had been short and fierce, but he felt as if it had lasted all day. Leargan panted at his side, assuring Cameron that his cousin still lived, and Cameron decided he could take a moment to marshal his strength before seeing to his losses.

A soft touch upon his arm roused him from his exhausted stupor. Cameron looked up to find Avery looking at him with concern darkening her fine eyes. Guilt lashed him. He owed her his life and those of his men who survived the battle. He should let her go, but he knew he would not. His desire for her and his need to make things right for his sister would not allow him to.

“Are ye wounded?” Avery asked as she looked him over.

“I am nay sure,” Cameron replied; then he began to join her in checking for wounds on his body.

“It appears that all ye have suffered is a shallow sword slash upon your arm.”

“The others?” he asked as he let her tend to his injury.

“One dead, one who may be dying, three wounded but nay mortally if the wounds are tended weel.” She frowned as, done with washing the wound, she smeared an ointment on it. After a close study she shrugged and began to bandage it. “I could stitch it if ye would rather. ’Twould lessen the scar that may remain.”

“Let it scar.”

Avery was not surprised by his reply. The same men who could leap into battle and face death and pain without flinching always quailed when faced with the prospect of needing a wound stitched. It never ceased to amaze and amuse her. She collected her things and stood up, ready to go help the other wounded. Impulsively she bent down and lightly kissed Cameron on the mouth. The look of total astonishment on his face made her moment of weakness worthwhile. She hurried away before he was able to shake free of his shock.

“Looks as if ye are closer to winning than I thought,” drawled Leargan.

Cameron blinked and stared at his cousin for a moment before his wits returned. “Ye are still here.”

Leargan snorted in disgust as he slowly, wearily rose to his feet, then helped Cameron stand up. “I may as weel have been a rock for all the two of ye noticed. Although at least the lass took a wee moment to be sure I wasnae wounded.”

“She obviously has some skill in healing.”

“Both of them do.” Leargan nodded toward where Gillyanne was helping Avery. “’Tis said that one of the Murray women, Lord Botolf s wife, I believe, is a famed healer.”

“Of course.” Cameron shook his head and nearly staggered. “I begin to think there is nothing a Murray cannae do. ’Tis annoying.”

Leargan chuckled, then grew serious. “They saved our lives.”

“Aye, they did.”

“They gave up a verra good chance of escaping.”

Cameron sighed heavily. “Aye, they did. Although, two wee lasses wandering about on their own could also have stumbled into a lot of trouble and danger.”

“Ye arenae going to give this up, are ye?” Leargan snapped out the demand after
cursing heartily for a moment.

“I cannae.”

“For your sister’s sake?”

“Aye. Avery Murray could be as pure and sweet and giving as a nun and I would still do this. ’Tis my duty to restore the honor stolen from my sister. Avery Murray is the surest way to do that. Just as I cannae turn my back on my sister, so Sir Payton Murray cannae turn his back on his. I will, however, temper my actions.”

“Ye willnae try to dishonor the lass?”

“I cannae promise that.”

“Nay, I didnae think ye could?’ Leargan shook his head. “Ye truly do fair stink of want for her.”

“Cover your nose, then,” Cameron grumbled. He looked around. “We cannae stay here, but we cannae travel too far, either. I dinnae wish to risk the lives of the wounded.”

“I will tell the men to break camp, then go find us a new site.”

Cameron watched Leargan walk away and then turned his full attention to his people. The bodies of the DeVeau men were already stripped of all valuables and were being dragged away to be discarded in the wood. His men had acquitted themselves proudly, he decided as he reached the place where four of his men were laid out. One was already wrapped in a shroud, one was lying ominously still and pale, and two were complaining and cursing as the Murray women tended their wounds. Cameron felt sure those two would survive, and he knelt by the too-quiet, more seriously wounded man.

A pang struck him as he saw the youth of the soldier, probably not much past eighteen. It was Peter, a young man who had thought the journey to France would bring him wealth and adventure. Too young, Cameron thought. Too young to feel the chill of death, and to be cut down for so paltry a reason. This was no battle for king and country, but the attack of a dishonorable fool who did not want to lose the coin paid to mercenaries.

“He may yet live,” Avery said as she stepped up and looked down at Peter

“Aye?” Cameron set his fingers against the vein in Peter’s throat and felt a steady, if dangerously weak, pulse. “He doesnae look as if he can travel verra far.”

“Nay, not now. Howbeit the wound did little damage to his innards. It but bled so freely, ’twas like to drain him. The bleeding has ceased. If it doesnae start again, and if he doesnae take a fever, he could heal quickly, at least to the point where he could survive a journey taken carefully.”

“How soon could ye tell?”

“Two days. Mayhap less.” Avery did not even blink at the harsh curse he spat out. She had heard worse.

“We will move to a new camp as soon as Leargan has found us one.” He glanced at the shrouded body. “Who is the dead mon? Do ye ken?”

“One of the women said he was a mon called Adam.”

“Ah.” Cameron felt guilty for feeling a hint of relief that the man had been neither kin nor friend. “A mon who joined us as we traveled here, a mercenary who kenned he had a better chance to earn money as part of a group rather than alone. Why did ye come back?” he asked abruptly, meeting her gaze and silently cursing the fact that she had her feelings well shielded.

“I may wish to be free, but nay at the cost of others’ lives.”

“Ah, and here I thought it might be for love of my fair face.”

“Your face is about as fair as a moonless night.” She gently lifted Peter up until his face rested against her shoulder, and slowly began to feed him a drink, stroking his throat with her long, beautiful fingers to coax him to swallow.

“What is that ye feed the lad?” Cameron asked, finding himself ridiculously jealous of young Peter’s position.

“An herbal drink that will strengthen him and will help him to replace all that blood he lost.”

“Ye didnae give it to the others.”

“Nay, they arenae hurt so badly. They are stoutly whining, a sure sign of health and quick recovery.”

Cameron grinned. “If Peter begins to whine, ye will consider him cured, will ye?”

“Aye.” She gently settled the young man back down on his blanket. “A mon facing death doesnae usually whine about twinges, itches, and foul-tasting medicines. If he has any wit or strength left to speak or think, he usually tries to recall all the sins he has committed, worries on what faces him after death, and begs for absolution.”

“Ye have seen a lot of men die, have ye?”

“Too many,” she replied in almost too soft a voice; then she rose and walked away.

An hour later they moved camp. A distance of little more than a mile away was another small clearing with adequate water and grass for the horses. There was also a high hill close at hand that would allow a watch to be kept on the surrounding countryside. The DeVeaux would not be able to get close again without being seen.

By the time camp was set up, Cameron had bathed and eaten and was more than ready to seek his bed. He looked around for Avery. It annoyed him to see her and Gillyanne returning from the brook only lightly guarded. Even as she paused by the wounded men to check on them, Cameron strode over and grasped her by her wrist. He ignored the disapproving looks and mutters from his men as he dragged Avery to his tent. Clearly he had lost whatever support he had had for his plan. He wondered how they could so easily disregard his sister’s needs—the insult done her and thus the whole clan. Cameron shoved Avery into his tent, followed her in, and went to pour himself some wine.

“I assume this means that my daring, gallant rescue today changes nothing,” Avery drawled as she sat down on the furs that formed his bed and began to remove her boots.

“It cannae,” he said flatly as he sat down on a heavy, dark chest that held his belongings. “Ye are needed to force your brother to do his duty by my sister, the lass he dishonored.”

“Why dinnae ye just try to grab him? Drag him before the priest yourself instead of using me to lure him to his fate?”

“Iain told me that he had tried to do just that, but it didnae work. Your brother nimbly evades every trap.”

“Aye, he would. He has learned that game verra weel.”

“He makes a habit of seducing young lasses, does he?”

“Nay, ye thick-witted lout,” she said very sweetly as she stripped down to her underclothes.

For a brief moment, Avery had contemplated sleeping in all her clothes, but she decided that she was sick to death of continuously trying to preserve some scrap of
modesty. Her crisp linen shift and the delicate linen braies she had made for herself were modest enough. She did wish she had the courage to watch Cameron as she shed her gown, certain he would be stunned, but she decided he would see that as too much of a challenge. The abrupt, heavy silence in the tent gave her enough satisfaction as she made herself comfortable on the rough bed and tugged the blanket over her.

Cameron was astonished when Avery stripped down to her shift and those odd underbreeches she wore with such calm, almost as it he were her brother or some maid. As if he was a man she did not have to worry about, he thought with a spark of annoyance. He had been doing a fine job of seducing her since she had stumbled into his grasp, even making her shiver with need, and pant and moan. She ought to worry about him. She ought to worry about him a lot. His increasing irritation grew with a bound when he realized what she had just called him.

“’Twould be wise for ye to keep a sweeter tongue in your mouth, lass,” he growled, annoyed that simply saying the words
tongue
and
mouth
had him hard as iron.

“I thought I did speak sweetly,” she replied.

She had, he mused. Her tone had been sweet as thick honey. Cameron decided to return to talking about her brother. She would be quick to argue with him, and that could well work to cool the lust now throbbing in his veins. He did not think he should try to seduce her tonight. After all she had done today, it would be discourteous not to give her at least one night’s respite.

“Ye have called Sir Payton handsome, gallant, sweet, honorable, brave, clever, and a mon all the lasses slobber o’er. Are ye telling me he is also monkish in his habits? That he hasnae used all these wondrous gifts to pull the lasses into his bed?” Cameron could see that his sarcasm enraged her, and he almost smiled. He would certainly be getting that argument he wanted now.

“He doesnae have to pull any lass into his bed,” Avery snapped. “Nay, he often has to kick them out.”

If Sir Payton was not oozing vanity from every pore, it certainly was not because his sister kept him humble, Cameron thought wryly. “He fair trips o’er lasses tumbling at his feet, does he?”

Cameron’s sarcasm made Avery ache to hit him. “Nearly so. Ye will see.”

“All I wish to see of your brother is his back as he kneels afore a priest to wed my sister and restore the honor he has stolen from her.”

“And I keep telling you that my brother would ne’er steal anything from a lass, has ne’er had to. And, if he had bedded your sister, he would ne’er deny it. Why, he e’en once faced a Douglas mon squarely and told him that he had bedded down with the mon’s betrothed. Of course, Payton was warning the mon about the evil of the woman, and the Douglas mon didnae really want her because he thought she had already murdered three of his kinsmen—which she had, but that doesnae matter. The tale shows that my brother is a verra honest mon.”

Not knowing the whole tale, Cameron felt it could also show that Payton Murray was a reckless fool. One just did not go about confessing to bedding the betrothed of a Douglas man. Douglas men didnae take such insults well. There was clearly a great deal more to the tale, but he would drag it out of her later. Right now he had work to do. He had to get her so furious with him that she would neither look at nor speak to him but would try to stay as far away from him as her captivity would allow.

“Does it? I think it shows that he doesnae have much care for the boundaries other men observe. If ye mean to make him sound the saint ye claim he is, telling me he bedded another mon’s woman isnae the way to do it.”

He had a point there, Avery mused, but she knew she would rather pull out all of her fingernails than tell him so. “I keep telling ye that Payton is no saint, but he does stay away from virgins. I doubt your kinsmen made it a secret that they were seeking a husband for your sister, and Payton always takes care to avoid such maidens.”

“’Tis clear he has no wish for a wife.”

Since Cameron was stripping down to his loincloth, Avery suddenly found it a little difficult to talk. She also found it very difficult to hide her appreciation of his lean, dark body. It was not easy, but she forced her suddenly wanton thoughts back to the matter at hand: Cameron’s insults to Payton.

“Of course he wishes a wife—somewhen. He has no objection to marriage, unless ’tis shoved down his throat and to a lass he doesnae want.”

“If he didnae want my sister for a wife, he shouldnae have bedded her.”

When he bound their wrists together and then sprawled on his back at her side, Avery fought the temptation to pummel him senseless. She kept telling herself it was good for him to have such faith in his sister, to want to aid and protect her. That faith was sadly misplaced, but she doubted she could get him to believe that.