Reckless by Hannah Howell

17

Flanked by the twins, Ailis stood on the battlements and watched Alexander lead the men of Rathmor to the chosen battlefield. She would be able to see the battle, but the distance would make seeing each man distinctly a little difficult. Alexander would not really be distinguishable from his men except that he would be in the lead, but in the fever of battle, who led would soon be difficult to determine. Even his banner might cease to be an exact marker. She ached to be closer, to be near enough to keep a close eye on Alexander, but there was no chance of that. He had left orders that she was to be very closely watched. The command revealed that he knew her far better than she had realized, but she did not appreciate that at the moment.

Alexander turned to wave a final farewell, as did Barra and Jaime, who would guard Barra’s back. To Ailis’s pleasant surprise, Angus also waved. She readily returned the gesture, then looked to Kate, who stood off to her right and held Sibeal in her arms. Both of them also waved to the men. Ailis found herself deeply relieved to see no sign of concern or fear on Sibeal’s face. It had to mean that Sibeal had not seen any troubling visions, had had no dark dreams. Ailis told herself not to put too much faith in that, but it was hard not to have a little more hope.

“This must be hard for ye, mistress,” Kate said as she set little Sibeal down. “The father of your son marching off to clash swords with your clan and your kin.” Kate shook her head. “ ‘Tis sad.”

“ ‘Tis sad that men canna find a better way to solve their differences,” Ailis grumbled.

“What sets between the MacDubhs and the MacFarlanes is far more than mere differences. ‘Tis far deeper than that.”

“Oh, aye, I ken it.” She rested her forearms on the cold stone. “I do but vent my anger, my helplessness.”

“ ‘Twill be fine, Aunt Ailis.” Sibeal patted Ailis on the arm, then let Rath take her by the hand and lead her away.

Ailis watched her niece carefully led off of the walls by her nephews. “Now, was that merely a courtesy, or was she trying to tell me something?”

“ ‘Tis probably as well not to ken exactly what it meant. What I should like to ken is—is Jaime a skilled fighter?”

As she met Kate’s worried gaze, Ailis suddenly realized that she did not really have an answer for that. She felt briefly guilty, then shook the feeling away. It was not her fault. Jaime had not done much fighting, and it was not really a skill she was knowledgeable enough about to be a good judge. Then she saw how Jaime had been placed in the battle order and felt she had her answer.

“He has been set to guard Barra’s back, Kate. Someone must think that he is skilled.”

“Ye have never seen Jaime fight? I thought he was your protector?”

“Aye, but he never really needed to wield a sword to do that. Now, if ye asked me—if ten men charged Jaime, could he knock the fools aside?—I could say aye in all confidence. A sword fight? I simply canna be sure. But I point again to the fact that he has been placed at Sir Barra’s back. Some man who can judge such things far better than I has judged Jaime fit enough to guard one of the heirs.”

Kate grimaced, then nodded and smiled faintly. “I worry too much. Jaime often tells me so. There is one other thing that I do worry on, and that is that he might be confronted with his own kinsmen, face to face, sword to sword.”

“And will our softhearted Jaime have the stomach to protect himself against them?” Ailis finished and smiled at Kate. “The chances are very few that Jaime would meet any of them on this battlefield. His father and elder brother died long ago, and the rest arena soldiers, mere arrow fodder at best, but mostly left behind to plow or reap muck out the stables. Even if they are there and by some strange twist of fate Jaime should meet them, he willna hesitate to protect himself if they attack. His fear of them has eased, and he has learned not to meekly accept anything they say or do, but to fight back.”

“That does ease my mind, but can ye say the same?”

“Can I protect myself against my own kin and the MacCordys? Aye, without hesitation. What kin I had any affection for have all died. The lot who march against Rathmor and Alexander are naught to me. ‘Twill be sad to accept that there can never be anything, but that isna my fault. They chose the path they walk down. Since it is me and mine they wish to hurt, I feel I can cut all ties to them. The few I still care for at Leargan willna be out on the field.”

“And the ones ye care about shall survive this day.”

“I pray we both shall have cause to smile when this is all over.” She reached out to briefly clasp Kate’s workworn hand. “Dinna forget what ye promised me.”

“Nay, I willna. If the MacCordys and the MacFarlanes succeed, and please God they willna, your son will be safe. There isna a man or a woman here who would turn that child over to our enemies. I will claim him as mine, and if I fall, there are women aplenty ready to step forward and claim him.”

Ailis relaxed, her fears soothed for the moment. “So, there is naught else to do but wait.”

 

Alexander drew his mount to a halt. He could have easily walked the distance from Rathmor to the chosen field, but that would have lacked presence. His men found added strength in the appearance he presented, and, he hoped, it would make the enemy view him with some respect. Once dismounted, he met with the men he had sent out to watch the MacFarlanes and the MacCordys.

“Have they tried any of their sly tricks?” he asked his men.

Red Ian grimaced. “They did try. There were several archers placed so that ye wouldst be pelted from all sides. ‘Twould whittle down your strength until MacCordy could win.”

“But ye took care of the rogues?” Alexander was disgusted that his enemies could not even fight their last battle with honesty.

“Aye, that threat is no longer. There is only one other wee thing of interest. It concerns Sir Malcolm MacCordy.”

“He has joined his kinsmen again, I presume.”

“ ‘Tis difficult to say.” Red Ian dragged his fingers through his bright copper hair. “He no longer rides with them but has camped a few yards beyond the western line of trees. He claims he has had enough of his cousins’ feuds and pointless battles. ‘Twas a loud argument, so I believe I ken most of what was said.”

“He had broken from his kinsmen, then,” Alexander frowned and rubbed his chin. “Do ye think we can trust to that? ‘Tis true that the man was never that close to his kinsmen, but he could also be very sly.”

“Oh, aye, a rogue, but I think the break is a true one.” Red Ian looked at his companion, who nodded, then he looked at Alexander. “He has camped and a few men have stayed with him, but ‘tis difficult to ken if they are friends or guards. It did appear as if his kinsmen wanted him close at hand so that they could . . . curse it—what did they say?”

“So that they could make him see the error of his ways after they beat ye, sir,” answered the other man.

“Ho, such boasters. If the ground is dry and cleared of treachery, then victory is ours. If the battle is an honest test of skill, then the MacCordys and the MacFarlanes have no chance of winning. They have relied upon murder and black-hearted betrayal for so long that their true fighting skills are no longer as honed as they once were. See to the safe securing of our mounts, Red Ian, and prepare yourself.”

As soon as the two reconnaissance men left, Barra, Angus, and Jaime stepped over. Alexander could see the reflection of his own growing confidence in their faces. He felt his become even stronger. Most of the men of his clan had turned out for the battle, and he was moved by the sign of loyalty.

“A fine showing of brave men, eh, Angus?” He smiled at his man as he tugged on his mail gauntlets.

“Aye. They are eager to clash swords with this foe, eager to put an end to this long and bloody feud.”

“Do ye truly believe that it will end here?” asked Barra as, with Jaime’s aid, he laced on his mail shirt.

Alexander nodded. “It will. No matter which way the tide turns, the feud will end here—today. I pray ‘twill end in a victory for us, but ‘twill end nonetheless. I offered a truce to these fools, but ‘twas refused. They have never wished peace, for in peace they would have to cease stealing all that is ours.”

“Here they come,” murmured Jaime. “Laird Colin comes ahead under a flag of truce.”

“Mayhaps they have finally changed their minds,” suggested Barra.

“Aye, or they have discovered that we found their hidden archers and ended that threat. So now they want to treat with us to gain time so that they can set yet another snare.” Alexander shook his head. “We will hear what that black-hearted Colin wishes to say, but we willna trust in it. Always wary, my friends. We must be ever vigilant.”

Colin halted and allowed himself and his two companions to be fleetingly searched by Angus and Jaime before stepping closer. For one brief moment he contemplated switching allegiances. The MacCordys had stolen everything from him, leaving him with no power within his own clan. One look into the MacDubh brothers’ eyes cured him of that brief treacherous thought. There would be no mercy there. The MacDubhs wanted blood for blood. He had murdered their father, and they would not allow that crime to pass unpunished.

“What do ye want, MacFarlane?” demanded Alexander. “The terms of the battle are very clear and have already been agreed upon.”

“I was but sent along to give ye one last chance to end this.”

“Oh? Are ye to return to me all that is mine? Including my murdered father?” he snapped.

Ignoring that last furious demand, Colin answered, “We want ye to return what ye have stolen—my niece and the bairns who were abducted from MacFarlane lands.”

“From MacDubh land. Leargan is MacDubh land. Your niece is also mine. She is the mother of my child.” He smiled coldly at the stunned look upon Colin’s face. “Did your fine allies neglect to tell ye about that? Well, there is something else that ye may be surprised to learn, then—ye canna have the bairns back, either, for they are my brother Barra’s spawn.”

“The bairns are MacDubhs? My niece’s lover was a MacDubh?” Colin could hardly speak; he was red-faced and breathing hard. “And ye say that the MacCordys kenned all of this?’

“Aye.”

A low, guttural sound escaped Colin MacFarlane. He turned and snatched his sword from a startled Angus. The two men with Colin stood confused as Colin started back toward the MacCordys with long, purposeful strides. When Colin gave out a bellow of rage and began to run straight for the three MacCordys, the two men finally moved and ran after him, but they were too late to catch him. Colin raced up to the MacCordys, who started to draw their swords and tried to get out of the way. The first swing of Colin’s sword cut down William MacCordy. The second swing was successfully blocked by Duncan MacCordy, and Donald stepped over to impale Colin on his sword with a thrust from behind. Colin MacFarlane’s death scream echoed over the suddenly quiet battlefield.

“Two enemy dead and we havena yet bloodied our swords,” murmured Angus.

“Aye, but it looks as if the MacCordys feel that we are to blame for this as well.” Alexander scowled toward the MacCordy forces, watching as Donald ranted and raved while Duncan briefly knelt by an obviously dead William.

“How could Colin not ken that Ailis was carrying your bairn?” Barra asked.

“Well, I suspicion that he kenned she was pregnant, but he didna have to ken that it was by me. The true parentage could be all that they kept hidden. He was shocked because he realized he had been lied to by men he had trusted. As much as a man like that trusts anyone. Mayhaps he suddenly just realized exactly how much of a fool and a pawn he had become.”

Jaime nodded. “I saw that he had no power left when Ailis and I were prisoners at Craigandubh. Lady Una kenned more than Laird Colin by then. He grew more vague as she grew sharper.”

“Well, mayhaps she will grow even sharper now that the source of her torment is gone.” Alexander silently waved his men to take up their battle positions. “It appears that Donald’s raging has either convinced many of the MacFarlane men to fight, or he has simply scared them all into staying. I dinna see many fleeing now that their laird is dead.”

“I think their laird had been one of the MacCordys for many a month.”

“ ‘Tis their curse. For ‘tis a MacCordy who shall lead them to their deaths.”

Alexander drew his sword and readied himself to match the assault he could see his enemy preparing. He felt a touch of regret that he had not been the one to end Colin MacFarlane’s life, that neither he nor his brother had been able to avenge his father’s murder personally. On the other hand he was very grateful. He had not wanted to be the one to kill Ailis’s closest kinsmen. Those emotions surprised him, for his thirst for vengeance had been such a part of him for so long. He had sensed a change in himself, but he had not realized that it was a subtle easing of the bitterness he had nursed in his heart for so very long.

The MacCordys and the MacFarlanes bellowed their threats and insults, so Alexander fixed his attention on the front lines of the enemy warriors. Soon the charge would be starting, and he did not want to miss any of the signs that would proceed it. It was not a good time to be distracted or musing about any changes in himself. If he kept his mind on the battle to come, he would have plenty of time for such contemplations later.

 

Ailis heard the dull roar as the battle started in earnest. The MacCordys and the MacFarlanes screamed the last of their insults, bellowed their battle cry, and charged. The MacDubhs gave their full-throated reply and moved toward their attackers. Ailis could almost feel it when the two armies slammed into each other. Even Kate grunted softly.

Try as she would, Ailis could make no sense of what she watched. Although it was at a distance, Ailis did not think that made any difference. She doubted she would have understood it even if she was a lot closer. The men were too muddled up together, too thoroughly mixed. The number of men that became unmoving bodies upon the ground began to grow. From where she stood, it was impossible to tell which of the fallen were friend or foe. She ached to draw nearer but knew that would not be allowed.

“Can ye see how we fare, Kate?” she asked the woman who shared her tense vigil on the battlements.

“Nay. I can see nothing. It but appears to be some mad melee, as if no one has any battle plan.”

“Aye, but they must have one. I thought it would help me to watch, but I believe it has made it worse. Mayhaps the best place to have spent this time was in the church or the like.”

“That has never worked for me. At least, not when ye must sit for hours ere ye ken the fate of the men in your clan. Come and take heart,” Kate advised Ailis. “At least from here ye will ken exactly when the battle has ended and which men flee the field. ‘Tis better than naught.”

“Aye, ‘tis better than naught. And we can always pray for our men from up here.”

Ailis smiled faintly when Kate began to do just that, taking her rosary from her pocket and beginning the calming chants. But Ailis had said so many prayers that she could no longer think of one. All she wanted was for Alexander and the others she cared about to survive and be victorious. If there had to be a choice, then she would accept mere survival. She simply did not want Alexander to be one of those unmoving shapes upon the battlefield.

 

Alexander fought his way toward Donald. He was eager to cross swords with the man. Vengeance for past wrongs was no longer the main reason he ached to fill Donald MacCordy’s heart with cold steel. Every reason Alexander could think of at the moment had to do with Ailis. Donald was her betrothed; Donald had struck Ailis; Donald had threatened the life of their son, thus forcing Ailis to risk her own life in fleeing from those threats. Each of those memories were in the forefront of Alexander’s mind as he battled his way to Donald. Once there, Alexander felt a cold, satisfying sense of victory as Donald whirled to face him. Donald was red-faced and grunting, sweat dripping from his face. Alexander felt cool, rested, and efficient.

“Now we meet as equals,” Alexander called out to him, “although it causes a bitter taste in my mouth to call ye a knight or sir.” Alexander looked the burly Donald over with contempt. “Ye bring shame to every honorable knight in Scotland.”

“Then ‘tis a good thing that I dinna face one now, isna it. Nay, I face an adulterer, a pretty-faced seducer—a carpet knight whose only spurs were earned riding maids in their boudoirs.”

“I hope ye have made your confessions, MacCordy, for ye will die here on this field.”

The first clash of their swords told Alexander that he was not fighting with a poorly skilled man. Donald’s weakness was not in his arm or in his swing. Donald’s weakness was that he could not control his emotions. He could spit out foul insults with ease, but he could not ignore them with calm. He too easily lost his temper, too quickly fell from skilled fighting into a brutal, fury-controlled slashing. It took but one or two clever, sharp insults to steal what skill Donald MacCordy had. Alexander did not stoop to such games, however, but he recognized that his reasons were far from noble. He wanted Donald to sweat, to know that even when he was fighting his best fight, he was not good enough. Alexander wanted Donald to see his own death approaching.

“Ye are willing to toss away your life and what few riches are left to ye for the sake of that brown-eyed slut?” Donald blocked Alexander’s sword and tried to stab his stomach with his dagger, but Alexander easily eluded the clumsy slash. “Are ye even sure that the bairn is yours and not the offspring of that simpleminded fool she keeps so close at hand?”

Alexander was a little dismayed to discover that he had a weakness as well. It was difficult not to react with a blind fury to such insults against Ailis. He wanted to pin Donald to the ground and cut his tongue out with a dull knife. Such emotional responses had no place in a fight. Any emotion—from merciful to murderous—could be fatal. Alexander forced himself to remain untouched by Donald’s ugly words.

“Cease sharpening your tongue on a lass and hone your blade on me instead,” he ordered Donald. “There is no gain in going to your death with insults upon your breath.”

“ ‘Tisna me who shall be doing the dying here, my pretty knight.”

A shock went through Alexander’s arm as Donald’s sword hit his. It was a powerful blow, but Alexander had faced enough opponents to know that Donald could not continue like that. Donald was one who fought a short fight well, but used up all of his strength far too quickly.

In a very short time Alexander saw that he had judged his opponent perfectly. Donald was soon awash in sweat and panting hard. The man’s sword strikes, even the occasional lunge with the dagger, became awkward. For one brief moment Alexander contemplated toying with the man, prolonging the death blow they both knew was inevitable. Then he discovered that he really did not have the stomach for it. When the moment came, he ended Donald’s life swiftly, with one clean direct sword thrust to the heart.

It was as he watched the man sprawl on the ground that Alexander realized the battle was as good as over. He turned his head to find Barra calmly watching him. His brother’s whole attitude was one of calm and victory.

“So—we have finally won,” Alexander said as he crouched by Donald’s body to clean off his sword on the dead man’s jupon.

“Aye, brother, we have finally won. Your insistence on an acre fight was clever. These fools were too arrogant to say nay.”

“True, and they thought I wouldna guess the tricks they would use to ensure a victory.” He glanced to the far end of the small battlefield to see a horseman approaching very cautiously and holding a white flag. “Malcolm.”

“He wishes to treaty with us? The battle is over. His people lost it.”

“He had no side in this. ‘Tis probably what he wishes to remind us of now. Dinna scowl so, Barra. Instinct tells me that the man is no fool. He probably wishes to keep hold of what little he now holds. That will, of course, be a gain for him, for it would now belong to him alone. He willna be his cousin’s slavey. I say let him keep what he holds. I have Leargan back. I can be generous. Dinna forget, he did much to help Ailis.”

“Aye, and I still canna stop asking myself one question—why?”

It was a question Alexander had often asked himself, but he had consistently shied away from the answer. Malcolm had risked a lot to aid Ailis, and while Alexander did not want to insult the man, he could not feel that chivalry was the sole cause of such assistance. He was all that was polite to the man, however, when Malcolm halted before him. Alexander reassured Malcolm that all that had been his before the battle would remain his. As he was leaving, Malcolm extended his kind wishes to Mistress Ailis and the child, as well as an invitation for all of them to visit him whenever they were in Edinburgh. It seemed a curious thing to say, but the man left before Alexander could question it. With a shake of his head over the vagaries of some people, Alexander headed back to Rathmor, pausing only to make sure that Jaime and Angus had come through the battle unscathed as well. Once assured of their good health, his only thought was to get back to Ailis.

 

Even from a distance it was easy to see that the battle was over and that the MacDubhs had won the day. Ailis exchanged a brief exuberant hug with Kate, then joined the woman in hurrying off the walls. She was eager to get down to the gates so that she could see Alexander the moment he returned and see with her own eyes that he had escaped the battle unharmed. There was a good chance that she could reveal a lot of her feelings for him in that first moment of greeting, but she did not care this time.

Alexander had barely finished dismounting when Ailis flung herself into his arms. She briefly felt guilty that she could be so happy, for it had been at the cost of her kinsman’s life. There was no doubt in her mind that her uncle was now dead, but she could muster no grief for him, and that did make her fleetingly sad.

“Your uncle is dead, lass,” Alexander said as, with his arm around her shoulders, he started through the celebratory crowd of MacDubhs and into the keep.

“I was just thinking about that. He and the MacCordys made it so that there was no other choice. Just death or victory. Of course, in their arrogance, they had not expected to lose.” She paused just before they started up the stairs to their chambers to order a hot bath for Alexander. “So, ‘tis all over now.”

“Aye, ‘tis all over.”

Nothing more was said as they went up to their bedchamber. Ailis helped Alexander shed his armor and, as soon as the hot bath was delivered, the rest of his battle-stained clothing. Unlike many a time before, she was not stirred by the sight of his naked form. She was too concerned with assuring herself that there were no serious injuries. It was not until Alexander was dressed in his braies and sprawled comfortably on the bed, sipping a tankard of wine, that the silence between them began to grow a little awkward. When a maid delivered a tray with some bread, cheese, and apples, Ailis took it to the bed and sat down next to Alexander. The way he was watching her began to make her very nervous.

“It was a victory for ye?” she finally asked as she cut off a piece of cheese and put it on her bread.

“Aye, Leargan belongs to the MacDubhs again.” He paused, then added, “I wasna the one who killed your uncle, lass.”

“It wouldna have mattered if ye had been the one. I would have kenned that it wasna a murder but a fair fight. There is but one thing I need to ken—he didna suffer, did he? I truly dinna understand why that should matter to me, yet it does.” She shrugged and gave Alexander a faint smile.

“He was the last of your close kin. ‘Tis a bond that is hard to break.” He told her how Colin had met his fate.

“Killed by his allies. Somehow there is a strange justice to that. When I was with them, I began to see that he had lost his power, that the MacCordys were the masters at Leargan. And ‘tisna so strange that word of who had fathered my child should be such a surprise to him. Even his poor befuddled wife felt that he had become more vague and dark-humored. He never came to see me, either, so a good look at my shape wasna able to rouse him to the facts. ‘Tis a shame about William, I think.”

“Wasna he the younger son? A somewhat witless fellow?”

“Aye, a wee bit slow, but I dinna think there was any real harm in him. He was but a pawn, pulled and pushed about by his father and brother. And what of Malcolm?” She tried to sound only politely interested but was not sure she had succeeded when Alexander gave her a sharp penetrating glance.

“Malcolm survived, but I believe he is good at surviving. He never joined the battle, but withdrew from it altogether ere his kinsmen took to the field. When the battle was done, we talked for a brief time. He asked to keep what little his kinsmen had given into his care, and I agreed. Then he said that we must come and see him in Edinburgh whenever we might chance to travel there.” He watched her closely and realized, with a flicker of alarm that she was purposely not looking his way.

Ailis inwardly cursed Malcolm in every way she could think of even as she struggled to remain calm and only mildly interested. “Why should we chance to go to Edinburgh?” She wondered if the answer to her dilemma was just to ignore Malcolm completely. After all, she would find it very difficult to fulfill a promise to a person she never saw.

“I have a house there just as Malcolm does. It seems we both have some business there, and we like to go oversee it now and again. In a few days we shall travel to Leargan. After we put matters to right there, we shall travel on to Edinburgh. ‘Tis a journey I make every year. Have ye ever been to Edinburgh?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Ye will enjoy it, I believe.” His curiosity grew as with each thing he said about Edinburgh, Ailis’s mood grew more somber.

As Alexander talked, telling her of the sights and sounds of Edinburgh, Ailis wondered how she could possibly keep from going to the place. She briefly contemplated feigning some illness, but that would only give her a short respite. She would have to be ill whenever there was fine weather and talk of Edinburgh. That would certainly become suspicious after a while. An exerted effort to avoid any place was certain to arouse suspicions. In fact, any continued aversion to any spot would raise questions. Avoiding Malcolm or any place he was was clearly no answer. Neither was there any way to preserve her honor by keeping the promise, yet not betray Alexander by lying with Malcolm.

She put aside the empty goblets and food tray, then huddled closer to a quiet, relaxed Alexander. There was so much he and she could share now, but it would never be. Slowly Alexander had begun to soften toward her, she was sure of it, and now that those who had wronged him were all dead, his bitterness would ease, and things could only get better. Or they would do, she mused with a heavy sigh, if her promise to Malcolm was not poised like a dagger at her throat. That Malcolm would have the audacity to remind her of her promise by mentioning Edinburgh and inviting her and Alexander to come and see him was nearly more arrogance than she could tolerate. Malcolm had known that she would understand what he had meant, that the invitation to his home in Edinburgh was really him telling her where he expected her to rendezvous with him to pay her debt, and he had used her very own husband to deliver the message. She ached to slap the man—very hard and repeatedly.

“Come, Ailis,” Alexander murmured, tilting her face up to his and brushing a light kiss over her mouth. “We were the victors today. ‘Tis a time for smiles, not for such long, dark faces.”

Although she gave him the smile he sought and a kiss or two, she ached to remind him that when some people had the pleasure of victory, it meant that someone else had lost. For every success there was a price. It was a lesson his wife was doomed to teach him.