A Knight Well Spent. Jackie Ivie

him. It felt, and probably looked like, he was using her body for a shield. She knew the reason the instant she saw them. She just couldn’t believe they hadn’t heard them.

      There were ten of them. Ten knights atop their horses, separated by trees and yet joined by the slash of color across their mail. Aislynn didn’t dare blink. She knew who it was instantly. Everyone knew. It was their overlord.

      The men didn’t move; only the breathing of their horses and flicks of sound from restless bridles being shifted betrayed their presence and their reality. Aislynn gulped. The Ramhurst was sitting, looking down at them, and all she could think of was his lust for women; any woman.

      Aislynn felt Donald’s left arm crushing her to him, holding her just beneath the breastbone as he lifted her. She didn’t mind. As much as she detested it, she actually would have been molded to him without his help. There was only one thing worse than Donald: the man in front of her.

      “Good eve, O’Rourke.”

      Aislynn watched as he pulled the chain head-covering called a hauberk from him, showing a thatch of medium brown hair, unshaven, wolfish-looking cheeks, and a nose that had been broken at some point, even with the protective nosepiece on his helmet. It didn’t make his appearance more favorable, nor did it detract from it, since he looked like what he was; a battle-hardened man. He was stout, wider than Donald, and perhaps even than her blond giant had been. He had clear-water blue eyes…strangely, familiar eyes. Then he pursed his lips, narrowing his cheeks as he set the helmet atop his saddle pommel.

      “I said good eve,” he spoke again.

      “Good eve, My Lord,” Donald replied. Aislynn heard the rumble of sound through his chest, as well as felt it.

      “You have reason to be about courting, rather than building? Or, should I say…rebuilding?”

      “I was na’ courting,” Donald replied.

      Aislynn watched the Ramhurst’s eyebrows rise. Her own were probably mirroring it.

      “He looked to be courting. I saw courting. Did any see different?” He turned to encompass his question to the knights about him. No one answered. He turned back to them. “Very well…since you were not courting this maid it will not matter that I shall escort her home. Come, lass.”

      He brought his horse closer to them and put a gauntleted hand down toward them. Despite the fact that Donald had her attached to him like a leech, Aislynn tried to back even more. She wasn’t getting an escort home. She knew, very well, what was being offered.

      “I promised her father I would see her home,” Donald said.

      “Methinks you should have hastened there, rather than dallied about in the woods, then. Wicked things happen when there are no observers.”

      He was smiling. It wasn’t with mirth. Aislynn tried to curb every bit of fright and find her inner strength, but all she managed to do was bring the sheen of tears to her eyes. That sign of weakness, she could do without. She blinked them rapidly away.

      “Come, maid. My horse grows restless and my men the same. I shan’t harm you, or should you consider it harm, you’ll be well compensated.”

      “I cannot allow this, My Lord. She’s with me. Nae harm is to befall her. I have so promised her father.”

      “Then you should not have been kissing her, I would say.”

      “I was na’ kissing her,” Donald replied.

      That reply got another raised brow from the man facing them. “He looked to be kissing her to me. What do you say?” He looked to the left and right of him again, as he asked it. Once again, none of the others answered.

      “There are other maids,” Donald replied, and his voice had a lower pitch to it than before. She wondered if he was stupid enough to challenge the liege.

      “Aye. That there are. None near as lovely. How is it you have discovered her…and in less than a moon’s time?”

      “Allow me to pass so I can see her to her home. Find another wench—one of your own kind.”

      “I’ve already spoken for the chore and I don’t like to be kept waiting. Cease this argument, and give over the girl.”

      “No harm is to come to her. I promised her father!”

      “Harm? What harm is there to it? ’Tis no harm I would offer; only my love. I feel nothing but love for yon maid. Come. This encounter is not increasing my good mood.”

      He moved his horse closer. Donald didn’t move, although the horse was sending prickles of gooseflesh down her body from its breath at Donald’s ear.

      “See reason, smithy. You’ve lived but a moon’s time in this place. You don’t know how it happened. It was so fast. The maid was stolen from you. Or, you can say she ran off. You can tell them Ramhurst has her. You will need no further explanations. Her father will know what happened. He’ll know what to do. Send him to Tyneburn Hall if he wishes her returned.” He shrugged, moving his chainmail with a slight clink of sound. “Most don’t. Now, give her over. Now.”

      Although it was getting darker by the moment, Aislynn saw the other knights move a step nearer, closing in. Now she knew how terror felt. The earlier episode with Donald had been just a harbinger of it. She watched as one by one, they lifted their lances from the sides of saddles, until each one had it held, ready to pierce flesh and bone. Her heart was going to launch right out of her bodice with the pounding of it.

      “You have to run, Aislynn.” Donald’s whisper had little sound. She nodded slightly. Then, he spoke aloud. “You make a mistake, My Lord. The lass is na’ even a maid. She may already be carrying another man’s seed…or the pox. See reason.”

      “She is not a maid, you were not kissing her, you were not courting her, and yet you walk with her in the woods? I would not consider him as a husband with the words he spouts,” he replied, looking directly at Aislynn.

      “My Lord—” Donald began, only to be interrupted.

      “My needs do not slacken, and I weary of words! Give over the wench or risk your arm.”

      It occurred to her that he might not have believed Donald’s tales, but she had gone from being addressed as maid to being called a wench. That wasn’t a good thing, either.

      “Your brother shall hear of this, ’ere you continue,” Donald stated in a loud, bold fashion.

      “My brother? Ha! He’s wearied from his continual battle with your kind and too weak to stay me. Go ahead, tell him. If you live to do it.”

      Aislynn had seen the man’s real reaction before he could staunch it. He had a brother, and despite his words, the threat meant something she could use.

      “Run, Aislynn!” Donald hissed it into her ear.

      Run? she wondered stupidly.

      “Perhaps you should wait until I have enjoyed the wench before you go telling tales to my brother. I should be granted the sin before I pay the penance.”

      Aislynn didn’t realize Donald’s arm had slackened. She was in shock. She had to be. Enjoyed the wench? she repeated to herself.

      “Aislynn! Run!”

      Donald shoved her from him, and that was all the encouragement she needed. She knew these woods. She knew the way home. She only wished she could outrun a man on horseback.

      Chapter Four

      Anger has a way of changing everything, Rhoenne decided, sometime into his second tankard of watered-down ale. It enhanced the scene before him until it was crystal clear and colored strangely about the edges with a reddish-gray haze. He’d ordered a boar quartered before it was put into the fire pit, to speed its preparation. He’d ordered the rushes changed and the linens aired out while it cooked. He’d even had to order water warmed for the knights’ baths