Devil in a Kilt (40 page)

"I
am but a servant," Elspeth said, the humble words foreign to her usual
self-assured demeanor. "It would not be seemly for me to dispute the
laird's wishes."

Fair
desperate and spurred to action by a series of hollow-sounding thuds as arrows
thwacked against the closed window shutters, Linnet dashed across the room and
snatched up her herb satchel.

Near
tears, she waved it under the odious guards' noses. "In this bag is
everything needed should harm befall my lord or a single one of his men."
Pausing, she blinked back the stinging moisture burning her eyes. "And you
would keep me from aiding them."

The
men grew still, nodding in silent admission they'd heard her, but not budging
from where they stood.

"Do
you not care if one of my husband's men dies for lack of proper care?" she
pressed, clutching the satchel close to her chest.

The
look they exchanged told her more than spoken words.

"Who?"
she demanded, dropping her bag of herbs and rushing up to them. With trembling
hands, she clutched at the tunic of the one called Malcolm. "Who is—"
she broke off, panic seizing her. "Not my husband?"

Malcolm
swallowed and slid a sideways glance at Alec.

"You
will tell me," she cried, pulling on Malcolm's shirt. "I demand
it."

"Naught
has happened to Sir Duncan, lady," Alec spoke up. "‘Twas Iain. He
took an arrow in his neck. Naught would've saved him."

"There
will be others, and they deserve my care," Linnet said, letting go of the
warrior. She stepped back and straightened her shoulders, her determination
growing upon hearing this dire news. "Mayhap even my husband."

"You've
no need to fret over the laird," the more talkative one, Alec, tried to
reassure her. "A more able warrior never lived. I've seen him cleave a man
in two with one stroke of his broadsword."

"And
if he cannot wield it? If he takes an arrow?"

"He'd
fight on. Your husband is a masterful opponent, my lady," Malcolm said,
breaking his silence. "He fears naught and would challenge the devil
himself to defend his own."

"I
can fight, too," Robbie piped up, suddenly awake. He sprang from Elspeth's
arms, his little wooden sword held high. "I will fight Uncle Kenneth to
the death."

"And
surely you will," Elspeth granted, pushing herself out of her chair and
gathering Robbie up in her sturdy arms, toy sword and all. "‘Tis a fine
and noble warrior you'll no doubt be.
Someday,"
she crooned, settling
herself back in the chair, the lad held firmly upon her aproned lap. "But
first you've a mite bit of growing to do."

"Well,
I
am
grown," Linnet boldly proclaimed. "And I can fight well.
My brothers taught me."

At
Elspeth's shocked gasp, Linnet defiantly lifted her skirts and displayed the
finely honed dirk tucked into her boot. "‘Tis sharpened, and I ken well
how to use it." She paused to glare at Alec and Malcolm as she let the hem
of her gown fall back into place. "Dinna make me show you."

"My
lady, you go too far," Elspeth warned. "Have you forgotten the tales
of Sir Duncan's valor? He does not need your help to fight off his enemies. As
for the wounded,
if
there be any, Fergus will have thought to see such
needs are taken care of."

Linnet
shot her lady a furious look and resumed her pacing. But after three rounds of
the chamber, she halted in the middle of the room. "Do none of you hear
the shouts and screams out there?" she cried, wringing her hands.
"Are you all deaf?" Her frantic gaze raked first Elspeth, then her
husband's two men. "I can't bear it, do you hear me? How can you expect me
to stand here and do naught?"

The
old hound, Mauger, stirred at her outburst. As if unsure of the welcome he'd
receive, he crept forward, his head low, his straggly tail held between his
legs. Whining softly, he nudged her, pressing close against her legs.

"Mauger,"
Linnet breathed, the one word almost too thick to get past her painfully
constricted throat. The dog gazed up at her, his brown eyes filled with concern
and adoration. Not taking his gaze off her, he gave another pitiful whine, then
bathed her hands with kisses.

His
display of devotion snapped the tenuous threads holding Linnet together. With a
little cry, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the ancient
mongrel, burying her cheek against his shoulder. "Oh, Mauger, why will
they not listen?" she murmured against the soothing warmth of his rough coat.
" ‘Tis important ... so important..."

Holding
tight to Mauger as if only he understood, she kept her eyes squeezed shut,
refusing to let her tears fall. Even when Elspeth laid a gentle hand upon the
back of her head, she kept her cheek pressed firmly against the dog's shoulder,
clinging to him and drinking in the solace he so lovingly offered.

If
only something would drown out the horrid sounds reaching them from the
battlements.

Then
something did.

Something
infinitely more terrifying for its portent.

‘Twas
Sir Marmaduke's voice, loud and gruff, ordering young Thomas to unlock the
door.

Linnet
scrambled to her feet at once. She remained where she stood, frozen to the
spot, whilst Alec slid back the heavy bolts barring the door from inside, for
it had been secured against intruders both within and without.

An
unnatural silence fell heavily over the chamber as the door creaked open to
reveal the tall Sassunach. His formidable presence filled the archway, but it
was the grim expression on his scarred face that struck terror into Linnet's
heart.

That,
and the pity in his one good eye.

"Nay!"
she cried, her world crashing around her feet. "My lord? Is he ..."
She let her voice trail off, unable to put her fear into words.

Sir
Marmaduke shook his head, then drew an arm over his begrimed forehead. "I
am sorry, my lady, but I must escort you to your husband. He lives, but I fear
he will not much longer if he does not have his wounds tended." He paused.
"The fool refuses to leave the battlements."

No!
He must not die!
Linnet didn't know if she screamed the words or
if they sounded only in her head. She couldn't tell, for the floor had tilted
crazily beneath her feet, and the room seemed to be spinning around her.

Ever
faster, a dizzying whirl of colors and blurred faces, all crowding around her,
staring at her.

He
must not die!

The
English knight's strong arm went around her, supporting her, and someone .. .
Elspeth? ... pushed her herb satchel into her arms, then draped her mother's
arisaid
around her shoulders.

And
somewhere behind her, a young boy cried.

"God
go with you," one of the guardsmen said, but she didn't ken which one.

Then
Marmaduke was guiding her from the room, urging her toward the stairs to the
battlements. "The wounds are not so grave, my lady, do not fear," he
sought to console her. "‘Tis only he will not stop fighting and his
movements are causing him to lose too much blood. You must convince him to
leave the battlements. He will listen to you."

He
must not die!

Linnet's
knees gave out halfway up the stairs. Before she could crumple to the stone
steps, Sir Marmaduke caught her, easily lifting her into his arms.

"He
will live," he assured her, "and I will not let any harm come to you.
Do not be afraid."

Holding
tight to her herb bag, Linnet pressed her lips together and said nothing.

"All
will be well," he promised as they rounded yet another curve in the
stairs.

He
must not die!

"We
are almost there." Marmaduke halted before the door to the wall walk.
"Lady, have you listened to me? Have you heard a word I've said?" he
asked as he eased open the door with his foot.

"Aye,
I hear," Linnet whispered, her voice ragged.

But
she didn't mean his well-meant words of comfort.

Nay,
Holy St. Margaret have mercy on her, she only heard the words in her head.

Over
and over again.

He
must not die!

She
simply wouldn't allow it.

I
dinna believe my own eyes!" Duncan raged, glaring at his addlepated
Sassunach brother-in-law. "Has your brain turned to mush, English?"

Bold
as day, Sir Marmaduke stood before him, Linnet fair crushed against his mailed
chest. With his brawny arms and broad shoulders, he all but swallowed her, one
arm wrapped tightly about her waist, the other holding a shield over her head
and upper body.

Only
a fleeting glimpse of her lustrous red-gold hair and the bulge of her herb bag
peeking from beneath the shield revealed just who the English knight cushioned
so protectively with his great, lumbering form.

Duncan
swiped at the blood dripping into his eyes and let loose a string of vicious oaths.
He didn't give a pig's arse
how
carefully the witless dolt sought to
shield her from the arrows whizzing all about them, his lady wife did not
belong on the battlements.

He'd
given strictest orders she was to be kept under guard.

In
her chamber.

Safe.

Away
from danger.

Not
here on the wall walk exposed to a hail of fire arrows and broadsword-wielding
assassins bent on slashing anything that moved.

Still
cursing, Duncan cast aside his crossbow and, heedless of the blood on his
hands, yanked Linnet from Sir Marmaduke's grasp and thrust her to her knees before
the crenellated wall. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain the effort
cost him, he shoved her down, lower and lower, until she was completely
sheltered by one of the stone merlons.

Staunchly
ignoring his agony, he straightened and snatched the shield away from
Marmaduke. "Cover yourself and dinna move," he barked, shoving it at
Linnet. "Do as I say," he snapped when she started to protest.

"But,
my lord—
Duncan
—plea—"

"Silence!"
he cut her off, whirling to face Marmaduke. "Have you lost your wits, you
fool? What were you thinking bringing her up here? If aught—" he broke off
suddenly and clutched his side. A fresh stream of hot blood spilled onto his
hands.

He'd
been clipped by a crossbow bolt.

This
time it was Sir Marmaduke who swore. His arm shot around Duncan, supporting
him. "‘Tis not I who would be a fool this night. If you will not heed my
advice and abjure yourself below, then pray listen to your lady"

"Aye,
Duncan," his wife pleaded, her head popping up above Marmaduke's shield.
"Merciful saints, you've an arrow in your arm and I do not want to know
how many other wounds. ‘Twill serve no pur—"

"Get
down, I said!" An arrow whistled through a gap between the merlons, barely
missing Linnet's head. A sickening thwack and a pain-filled grunt bore
testament to the arrow's having found another mark.

Glancing
quickly to his right, Duncan saw one of his younger squires go down, the arrow
shaft protruding from his back. Rage as red as the blood trickling into his
eyes surged through him at the sight.

Beside
him, Sir Marmaduke muttered a quick prayer.

The
squire was but a lad.

A
boy who, mere days before, had proudly showed Duncan the first signs of facial
hair sprouting on his youthful chin.

And now
he was dead.

Duncan
threw back his head and roared out his anger.

Turning
back to his wife, he found her creeping on hands and knees towards the boy.
"Crucifix, woman, stay where I put you! I will not see you killed."

"Yet
you would have me a widow before morn," she argued, still moving toward
the fallen squire. "If you dinna care to have your own wounds tended, I
shall lend my talents to others." She glanced defiantly at him over her
shoulder. "And you willna stop me."

"You
cannot help the lad. He is dead."

Linnet
froze and stared at the inert youth. Her face paled as if she only just noticed
the queer bend of his limbs, only now realized the arrow had surely pierced a
lung, mayhap even the lad's heart.

She
opened her mouth, perhaps to scream, but no sound came forth. Her stomach fair
turning inside out, she could do naught but stare at the slain squire.

Heaven
help her, ‘Twas the one who'd reminded her of Jamie, her favorite brother.

As
Jamie'd looked in his youth.

‘Twas
fond she'd been of the young squire, a cheery lad who'd oft gifted her with a
broad smile, then blushed furiously when she'd smiled back.

"Nay!"
Denial burst from her throat. Blind and deaf to the pandemonium going on all
about her, Linnet hurriedly scrambled the last few paces to where the boy lay
so still.