Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) (26 page)

His brave love would get herself killed in defense of a dog. A dog well worthy of defense. Resisting the urge to stop her, Raeb raced for the only weapon he had. The sword lay only a few long steps out of reach. Could he get it in time to halt disaster?

When he finally grasped the blade and turned to fight, the battle was all but over. The boar lay, still thrashing weakly, on the ground while Jessamyn pulverized its head and shoulders with a tree limb as thick around as Raeb’s wrist. Andrew ripped and tore at the boar’s belly. Raeb thanked heaven that Jessamyn had never turned that terrifying and deadly anger on him. Then his shoulders sagged.
She has nae need of me after all
.

He walked around, stepped between Sir Andrew and Jess, and sank his blade through the boar’s heart, pinning it to the ground.

Dying, it gave one last heave but couldn’t overcome the loss of blood nor the blows that continued to rain down on its still, silent head.

Like the well-trained hunter he’d once been, Sir Andrew released the corpse and sat panting, waiting for approval for a job well done.

Jess, on the other hand, flailed blows on the dead boar.

Raeb wrapped his arm around her, doing the only thing he knew to help. She struggled but eventually dropped the tree limb then stilled to take in great gulps of air. He spared a quick sympathetic thought for the boar. Raeb had suffered an emotional beating as great as the boar’s bludgeoning and for many more weeks. One way or another that suffering would soon end. The only question was whether Jessamyn would stay or if she would leave, and a new kind of suffering would begin.

• • •

Iron bands surrounded her, locking her arms in place at her sides and stopping her blows. “Let me go. That thing will kill Sir Andrew if I don’t kill it first.”

“Hush now,
a chiallaich
. The boar is dead, and Sir Andrew is safe as are you, as are we all.”

Dead
? “What do you mean it’s dead? It moves still.” She gestured as well as she could with the club still gripped in her hands. “And Sir Andrew. The boar threw him, hurt him. Where is our brave hound?”

“Nae. What you see is naught but battle madness. Close your eyes. ’Twill cleanse your mind, and when you open them you shall see true.”

“But … ”

“Close your eyes. Were you a man, I’d clout you on the head to bring your senses back. But I canna strike you. I willna.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Very well. Now tell me where Sir Andrew is. Does he live?”

“Aye, he does. He waits right beside you for you to praise his work this day.”

With that she slumped back against Raeb. “Truly?”

“Truly. Reach your hand out.”

He relaxed his hold on her but maintained the embrace, for which she was exceeding grateful, else she would have collapsed. Extending her hand, she felt the soft lap of Sir Andrew’s tongue. She shifted to stroke the bristly head. “Good dog. You are a veritable king among canines.”

Raeb turned her in his arms. “And what of me,
a chiallaich
? I helped to slay the beast. Do I not deserve petting as my reward?”

She opened her eyes to see his gaze afire with longing.

“Aye, that’s right, look at me and see how great my desire is for you.”

At that moment she could neither look away nor deny the raw passion that swept over her. She reached up and kissed him with the depth of every wish and hope she’d ever had. She’d almost lost him, and she could not tell him her feelings. Death on the tusks of a wild boar was preferable to the pain of loving without hope of love in return. She had little left but pride, so she would not say the words, but she would show him. She poured her entire being into the kiss, into the stroke of her hands on his body, into the thrust of her hips against his. She showed him how she felt in every way she thought he might understand.

Her hands went to his belt, but he stopped her and gently put her aside.

“Nay, Jessamyn, I will no dishonor you. And you are injured. We have years of marriage in which to make love.”

Not years of marriage in which to love each other, but only to make love. She knew now, if she had not before, that the difference was as wide as the gulf between Scot and Englishman. She looked everywhere except at his face, searching for something to say. Finally she noticed the blood staining his left sleeve.

“You are injured, too.” She pointed.

He followed her gesture then his brows lifted. “So I am. Let us check the king of hounds for injuries as well and then go to the stream and tend all our wounds.”

She nodded. “You examine Sir Andrew. I’ll get rags and gather soapwort to help us clean and bind up our hurts.”

She was almost too weary to play her part in the cleaning and the binding of their physical wounds. If only her emotional injuries could be cleaned and bound so they could begin to heal. However, she feared that would never happen. She’d started her journey with such confidence that she could easily achieve her dreams. Now she no longer knew what she desired, which most certainly put it beyond her reach. She’d spend her life in regret and wonder at what had gone so terribly wrong.

Midsummer’s Day had arrived, and Raeb couldn’t believe the sight that greeted him as they topped the hill above Dungarob. He wanted to hurry toward the approaching people but was held back by worry for Jessamyn and fear that he was imagining things. The battle could not possibly be over yet.

“Now what?” She pouted and halted Persia beside him.

They’d been in the saddle all day, and after the rigors of the boar fight she had to be as weary as he.

“Look.”

She leaned forward in her saddle, shielding her eyes with her hand. “Is that … ?”

“Aye. ’Tis my sister Keeva and most of the guards I left at the keep. They’ve captured Edward’s soldiers.”

“Thank heaven your family is safe, but what of Simon?” Jessamyn slumped back.

“Keeva will know. Keeva!” Raeb called out as the group approached. “What goes on here? Have you word of Sir Simon Du Grace?”

“Raeb!” His sister whooped and raced away from the group she led to meet up with him. She pulled her horse—a very nice horse, too, not one of the cart horses his sisters normally shared—to a stop beside him and gave him an awkward embrace. “And Jessamyn!”

The young woman treated Jessamyn with the same clumsy affection.

“We’re so glad to see you. You’ll never believe what happened while you were gone. It was all Artis’s idea. Though Neilina refined the plan and gave the orders. And it worked. We had a time convincing Dougal to follow those orders, but eventually he recognized that there was no other way to defend the keep and disarm these wretched Englishmen. Oh—” His sister covered her mouth then dropped her hand and let the flood of words rush on. “I’m sorry, Jessamyn, I mean no disrespect to you, but why your brother would wish to attack us when we are to become family is beyond … ”

Beside him, Jessamyn gnawed at her lip. “Simon is here? Is he well?”

“Aye, that is sort of. He claimed he only sailed on one of those ships that brought the soldiers because he wanted to attend your wedding. We locked him in the tower room because some of the soldiers said he was their leader, and we dinna know whom to believe.” Raeb’s normally shy sister’s eyes widened. “Oh, is that a dog? Where did you … ?”

“Keeva!” he snapped to get her attention. Relief that Simon Du Grace lived fled before the worry that Jessamyn would beseech her brother’s support against him. “Stop prattling. Was anyone killed or hurt in the battle?”

“Um.”

By that time the rest of Keeva’s group caught up with her, and a large blonde man in Highland dress broke ranks after telling the others to continue on.

“There was no battle, Baron MacKai,” the stranger announced. “However, I regret to inform you that your sister Lady Brighde suffered a small injury. Also an Englishman, who claims to be your future brother-in-law, received a wound to his shoulder, and Dougal one to his head. Lady Maeve, another of your sisters as I understand, has treated all, and they are resting as comfortably as possible given that Sir Du Grace is, at the moment, a prisoner.”

“Raeb,” Jessamyn spoke in his ear. “We can sort this out after we get to the keep. I need to see my brother.”

“Aye, give me but a moment.” He nodded. He could not stop her if she chose to leave him, but his heart would go with her. “Exactly who are you, where are you taking those men, and why is my sister with you?”

The man drew himself up, which brought him eye to eye with Raeb. “I take these men to ransom them as my share of the spoils of victory. I am MacTavish, and Lady Keeva is my chosen bride.”

Raeb gave the man his sternest look. “I agreed to a marriage between you and one of my sisters, but we have no drawn up the marriage contracts. For both your sakes, l pray you have no yet spoken you vows before a priest, since I’ll no permit the marriage without protection and provision for Keeva. Do you understand me, MacTavish?”

“Aye, I do. My warriors will continue on to the MacTavish holding with our prisoners. Lady Keeva, ’tis best if you and I return to Dungarob with your brother. We’ll join my men, after our vows are said.”

She opened her mouth, but must have thought it better to hold her tongue. Then she nodded and set off as if her mount’s hooves were afire. Had he seen relief in her eyes? Jessamyn urged Persia forward to match Keeva’s speed. He mentally shook his head at the rapidly disappearing women.

Tonight he would settle things with Jessamyn, but first he had to unsnarl the mess his sisters had created and make certain Keeva was willing to wed MacTavish. Despite the looming tasks, Raeb was grateful his sisters had somehow thwarted Edward’s plot with so much ease and so little death and injury. He was eager to learn the story of how six women and a smattering of Scots warriors had accomplished something the Welsh had failed to do: defeat an English army without a single loss of life.

• • •

“But I don’t want to rest,” Jessamyn objected as Raeb, a firm hand on her arm, escorted her to their chamber. “I’ve no objection to the bath you ordered, but that can wait until I’ve seen my brother. I insist on seeing Simon. Now!”

He opened the door. “Be reasonable, Jessamyn. You heard Maeve say your brother was sleeping. You would no want to disturb the healing sleep of a wounded man. ’Tis best if you take time to bathe and rest. You need to recover from that fight with the boar, and your other injuries are still healing.”

Jessamyn drew herself up. She needed to gain Simon’s promise to help her before Raeb did something idiotic like explaining to her brother why honor demanded her marriage to Baron MacKai. “I am not your wife,” she protested. “You have no authority to order me about. I may do precisely as I please.”

Raeb released his grip but leaned forward, his expression fierce. “I am your betrothed and your host. I have every right to order you within these walls, and you will do precisely as I please. It pleases me that you bathe and rest. I will send Maeve to attend you when you finish your bath.”

“Do not bother.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, turned on his heel and left.

She waited for the
thunk
of the bar dropping into place on the other side of the door. Surely he would not trust her to stay here when she’d openly opposed his order that she do so. It was a trick. She’d try to leave, and he’d pounce on her. She rolled her eyes at herself and went to sit on a bench beneath a window. What nonsense. Raeb was not given to that sort of trickery. More likely leaving the door unbarred was some sort of test, or he truly did not care.

Her shoulders slumped. How sad that she and Raeb now shared nothing but anger and indifference. She believed with all her heart that marriage to her would cause him the worst unhappiness, but she did not wish this gulf to exist between them because of her refusal to wed. She wanted him to be happy, to have all he needed to restore his home and his clan. She could see no way to resolve the problem and was shaking her head over her failure when the door opened and a hoard of maids entered bearing everything needed for a lady’s bath.

Maeve arrived as Jessamyn stepped out of the bath and allowed a maid to wrap her in a towel. Raeb’s sister carried a large basket filled with pots of ointment and bunches of herbs. Behind her another maid brought a stack of clean clothes.

Jessamyn stared. “I doubt you’ll need all of that for me.”

Maeve nodded and smiled. “You’re right. Please get on the bed and lie on your stomach. I brought everything because I tended Raeb first.”

“He allowed you to tend his injuries?”

Raeb’s sister gave a small laugh and set to work poking and prodding at the various scrapes and bruises that Jessamyn could only feel. “I wouldna say he allowed it. More like he had no choice. The cut and the bruising on your thigh are quite bad. Does that hurt?”

Maeve stroked a hand over the leg sliced by the boar’s tusk.

“The cut not so much, but the battered muscles still ache as if the devil’s minions are trying to tear my leg apart from the inside.”

“Hmm.” Maeve moved on to examine other bruises, then proceeded to treat her thigh with something cool and wet that smelled vaguely of mint and rosemary. Raeb’s sister rubbed the leg with gentle firm strokes but gave the cut only the lightest touch.

“You were telling me why Raeb had no choice but to accept your care,” Jessamyn reminded.

“Turn over, please. My sisters and I surrounded him and would no leave him be until he saw cooperating with me as his only escape from our chatter and demands.” She began to examine Jess’s face.

Jessamyn smiled at the thought and almost felt sorry for Raeb. While Maeve searched for and treated more bruises and scrapes, Jessamyn remembered what it was like to have all of Raeb’s sisters, save Sorcha, demanding attention at one time during her first days at Dungarob. She sighed.
Pity it takes six or seven women to manage a man like Raeb
.

“Aye, ’tis a great pity, but a single woman can gain his cooperation if she knows how to approach him.”

Jessamyn covered her mouth.

“I need to look at that arm,” Maeve said.