wcEND.rtf (38 page)

As the attackers charged at him Hunter shouted at Détra to run to the door, moving in an arch and keeping her at his back. His sword slashed in the air and thrust forward, cutting through flesh and steel alike, keeping the attackers at bay until Détra reached the door.

From the corners of his eyes he saw her struggle to open the door that fortunately was unlatched and only closed. With her hands tied to her back, she used her foot to widen the gap, and then dashed through the aperture to freedom outside.

Hunter's relief was short-lived, however, for the momentary distraction almost cost him dearly. One of his
attackers delivered a mighty blow to his shoulder. Hunter staggered back with the force of the impact, and though he knew the blade had not cut through his thick hauberk, pain reverberated through his shoulder down to his sword arm.

Smelling victory, both Scots lunged at him. Holding the hilt of his sword with both hands Hunter swiftly sprang to the side at the last moment, and with one vaulting thrust, the blade rented through one of his attackers' bellies like a knife through cheese. The momentum carried Hunter as he whirled around and buried the sword in the other attacker's neck, almost severing his head from his shoulders.

Blood sputtered in all directions, bathing Hunter in crimson. Panting, he gathered his breath, and with pain screaming in his shoulder he dashed outside after Détra.

The weak gray light of dawn was not strong enough to disperse the thick fog enveloping the clearing around the pe
l
e tower; neither could it reveal the identity of the man holding Détra captive in his arms.

Hunter's heart sank. Détra had not gotten away.

He lifted his sword, ready to fight yet another Scot, but men began appearing out of the mist and soon he was encircled in a fence of pointed swords.

Knowing he could not possibly fight his way out of so many assailants, Hunter lowered his weapon, but kept it in his hand, waiting for a better opportunity.

The man dragged Détra inside the circle and halted a few steps from him. Hunter had seen him before; even in the darkness he would recognize such a face. Détra had fallen into the arms of yet another Scot.

Only this time, she had fallen into the talons of the Scottish king, Robert the Bruce, himself.

* * *

FROM THE BATTLEMENT ABOVE, RUPERT WATCHED IN dismay the appearance of Robert the Bruce. What was the man doing here so early? He was not supposed to come until the morrow. Bruce would spoil all his well-laid-out plans. Rupert had dreamed of having Hunter beaten to an inch of his life, stealing his magic chalice, and therefore his good fortune, and then releasing the beautiful Détra from the evil hands of the Scots and Hunter's talons.

Now Bruce would no doubt take both Détra and Hunter hostage and demand high ransom for their return and Rupert woul
d
be left with naught.

Rupert watched as Bruce walked inside the protective circle of his men, holding a struggling
Détra
by his side, and stopped a few paces away from Hunter.

"Does she belong to you?" Bruce asked. His strong voice streamed up to where Rupert hid.

"She is my lady wife," Hunter answered.

"Is that how the English treat their wives?" Bruce asked, obviously referring to Détra being gagged and bound.

"I have the Scots to thank for the ill handling of my lady."

Bruce let go of Détra and she ran into Hunter's open arms.

"No one in my service would manhandle a lady," Bruce said.

"Then you know not the men under your service," Hunter hissed as he removed Détra
's
gag and the ties on her hands.

"Are you hurt?" were the first words out of
Détra
's mouth as she touched Hunter's chest and face.

"Nay. It is not my blood you see, my lady
.
A bath should take care of that. And you?" he asked.

She shook her head and embraced him tighter. Hunter combed her hair back with his fingers, whispering in her
ears. Rupert's stomach churned. He had envisioned Détra seeking comfort in
his
arms, not the bastard's.

Then they stood side by side, arms interlaced, two lovers against the world. Rupert almost puked.

Bruce ambled to Hunter, inspecting him with detailed attention. "Your name?"

With an arm over Détra
'
s shoulders, keeping her close to him, Hunter said, "Hunter of Windermere."

That was a distinct pause. "Formerly of Hawkhaven?"

Hunter nodded.

How did Bruce know of Hunter? What could this mean? Rupert leaned closer to the battlement, his ears attuned to every sound floating up to him.

"Come inside, I must speak with you," Bruce said. "Worry not about your lady. I give you my word"—
h
e grinne
d
—"and the word of a king should account for somethin
g
—
t
hat your lady will not be harmed by my men."

As Bruce and Hunter entered the tower, Rupert scampered off the battlements and onto the stairs. He must listen to this conversation at a
l
l costs.

******************

ROBERT THE BRUCE, KING OF SCOTLAND, ALBEIT UNrecognized by England, stepped over three Scottish bodies, inspecting them briefly before his men removed them, then sat on the same stool Détra had sat on when Hunter arrived.

"I know not one of them," he said. "But men again, I cannot know every man who fights under my banner. And not every Scot fights for me, as you should well know."

Bruce no doubt alluded to the dissenting factions still existent in Scotland and to
the
many Scotsmen fighting on King Edward's side.

But Hunter said naught. If Bruce expected to ply him
for military secrets in exchange for his and Détra's lives, he would be sorely disappointed. Even if Hunter were aware of King Edward's plans against Scotland, and he was not, he could never betray the king to whom he had sworn fealty. He must find another way to save Détra. He was a knight, a lord of his own holdings who would be able to pay a handsome ransom for their freedom. Bruce would be interested in that.

And yet Hunter was surprised Bruce was aware of his existence. "How did you know where I hailed from?" he asked.

"I know of you from a long time past," Bruce said.

Bruce'
s
puzzling remark baffled Hunter. Could Bruce remember him from the battlefields? But that would not explain he knew Hunter was from Hawkhaven.

Bruce
's
gaze strayed to the floor, and seeing the chalice lying by the stool, he bent over and picked it up.

"It has been long since I last saw this."

Hunter's head snapped to attention. How could Bruce know of his chalice? Dread filled him to think that his chalice was somehow connected to the Scottish king. Was Bruce behind Détra
'
s abduction?

Should he deny ownership of the chalice? In doubt, Hunter said naught.

Bruce stared at him. "I gave this chalice as a gift to a beautiful young woman I once knew, a woman who lived in Hawkhaven's village."

Though his heart leapt at the possibilities filling his mind, Hunter still said naught. His mother had never told him who had given her the chalice. Hunter had always assumed it had been a gift from the lady of Hawkhaven, Lord Reginald's wife, who was fond of his
m
other before she died. That was another reason why Hunter was always so secretive about the chalice while he still lived at the castle. If Rupert had known about it he would have de
m
anded Hunter give it back to him. As the only possession of his mother, Hunter hated the thought of parting with the chalice.

Bruce rose from the stool to stand before Hunter. "I know this chalice belongs to you because I know that woman was your mother."

Hunter blanched. What was Bruce saying? The question for which he had sought an answer his entire life hovered on his lips, a moment away from slipping into the open. Snapping his mouth shut, Hunter held the words within, refusing to allow the rising hope to surface again only to be destroyed yet another time.

Was he so desperate to know his father
's
name that he would jump to conclusions with any stranger that knew his mother?

Hunter stared at Bruce, scrutinizing him as if seeing the man for the first time. He noted the similarities between the
m
—
s
ame height and build, dark hair and eye
s
— but those were common traits to many, and proof of naught.

He wrestled his gaze away, refusing to believe the truth that might be staring him in the face.

At that moment two Scots entered the tower. "One of the men was not dead yet, my
l
ord," one Scot said.

Bruce rose his eyebrows. "What did he have to say?"

There was an odd exchange of glances between Bruce and his man. 'The man behind the abduction is still at large. It is best if we secure the tower, my lord."

Bruce nodded and when Hunter made a move to follow the men up the narrow staircase, Bruce stopped him.

"Let them search the place first."

"If the perpetrator of my wife's abduction is here I want to be the first to find him, and the one to kill him."

Not releasing his ho
l
d of Hunter, Bruce said, "The tower is surrounded by my men; no one can exit without
being seen. If he is in here, he will be yours."

Knowing he was not exactly in a position to make demands, Hunter nodded and stepped back.

Moments later one of the Scots came down. "No one is here," he said. "I left James in the battlement to watch out for coming English troops. You may continue your conversation without fear of ears listening to what is none of their concern."

Bruce nodded, and when his man left, he turned to Hunter.

"It was with great sorrow that I learned of your mother's demise," he said. "I cared much for her. And I made sure she was well taken care of."

Now Hunter understood why they never struggled for food. The wagging tongues in the village accused his mother of selling her favors, but Hunter knew better.

"Apparently you cared not enough to make her your wife." The pain of watching his mother pine away for a man she could never have resurfaced with renewed force. But even as Hunter accused Bruce he understood the impossibility of their union.

Bruce and his mother belonged to different stations in life. His mother had been the daughter of a blacksmith; Bruce was the son of an earl, now a king himself. Nobles sometimes claimed their bastards from such liaisons, but they rarely or never married the women who bore their children.

"I understand your resentment," Bruce said. "But I was a young lad, much younger than you are now, when I first met your mother. We were together for only a few days and we both knew there would be no future for us. I only learned of your existence days before she died. And even then I could do naught but provide for your future."

So it was Bruce who paid Lord Reginald to foster him. But what was the link between Hawkhaven
'
s lord and
Bruce? Though their acquaintance in itself meant little, for many Scotsmen held lands and friendships in England and many Englishmen held the same in Scotland. Only in times of war those divisions mattered.

But there was no little significance in Bruce and his mother's relationship. "What exactly are you saying, Robert the Bruce?" Hunter demanded. He wanted the words.

"I am saying, Hunter of Windermere, that I am your sire."

And there they were! The words, the truth Hunter had sought his entire life.

Finally free from the shackles of uncertainty Hunter realized he knew not what to do with this newfound knowledge. He stared at Bruce, his father, and all the resentment, the hurt, the longing meant naught anymore. He knew his father, at
l
ast.

Bruce made the first move and they embraced awkwardly at first, then in a vise grip, both choked with emotions too strong for speech.

When they separated, Bruce said, his voice raspy, "A man is forced into many hard choices in a lifetime, and I have had my share of them, but the hardest choice of all is that I shall never be able to acknowledge you as my son."