Page 34 of The Handfasting
Anyone looking at Caimbeul would imagine he couldn’t defend himself. But even with his twisted frame, he could thrust forward with a dagger, cuff a man squarely on the nose, and kick an attacker’s legs out from under him.
Indeed, Laird Gille started to frown as Caimbeul managed to not only stay on his feet, but to knock a few of the knights off theirs.
It was then that Ysenda arrived.
But to No?l’s chagrin, the wide grin of triumphant pride and cheery salutation he gave her was withered by her scowl of pure fury.
Chapter 8
Ysenda’s heart had fluttered in panic when she’d awakened to find No?l gone. Had he decided it was too painful to say goodbye? Had he simply left without a word?
Even though that would probably be best—even better if he’d absconded with Cathalin—she hoped with all her heart he had not.
She scrambled to the window and peered out through the shutters. No?l’s men were still here, sparring in the courtyard below.
With a sigh of relief, she turned back toward the bed. Her gaze caught on the foolish prize she’d collected last night while No?l lay sleeping—the black curl she’d snipped from his head and tied into the red handfasting ribbon.
She tucked her lip under her teeth. She’d forgotten about that. It had been a childish gesture. But she’d wanted a memento of him.
Someone scratched at the door. With a little gasp, Ysenda snatched up the incriminating lock and stuffed it down the bodice of her leine. She opened the door to Cathalin and her maid, come to choose Cathalin’s attire for the day.
After they’d gone, Ysenda threw on her own gown and went downstairs. She meant to make one more attempt to convince her father to make things right. She grabbed a buttered oatcake in the great hall, and made her way outside to speak to the laird, who was watching the Norman knights practice.
Now she’d reached the edge of the field where her father was seated. She halted in her tracks.
What she saw made her jaw drop. She let the oatcake fall to the ground.
In the midst of the fighting stood Caimbeul. He was dragging a sword behind him as he hobbled toward two of No?l’s men.
He suddenly swung the weapon around. The first knight dodged it. The second shoved Caimbeul aside with his shield, pushing him off balance.
Caimbeul tumbled backward onto his arse. Beside her, her father snorted in laughter.
Her blood boiled.
Clenching her jaw, she strode forward. She shoved her clansmen out of her way, stealing a sword from one of them before he even realized it, and kept charging.
Caimbeul had recovered now and was back on his feet, hacking away at his attackers. But it would only be a matter of time before he fell again.
She elbowed aside one of No?l’s knights. He instinctively drew his blade. Then, seeing she was a woman, he sheathed the sword and backed away with his palms raised.
“To me!” she yelled at the knights attacking her brother.
Like most strangers to the Highlands, the French knights were unaccustomed to facing a woman with a weapon. Startled, they turned to her. One of them lowered his shield. The other was forced to raise his when she came at him with a blow forceful enough to lop off his head—had it landed.
Jarred by the impact of his shield on her steel, Ysenda staggered back a step. But she recovered quickly enough to intervene between the knight and her brother and took another swing.
From across the field, she heard Sir No?l shout, “Nae!”
Too late. She gave his man a punishing clip on the shoulder. He stumbled backward, clutching his bruised arm, while his companion quickly retrieved his shield.
But then she was caught around the waist from behind. Before she could squirm away, her sword was wrenched from her grip. An instant later, her captor swept her off her feet with a swift kick to the back of her heels. Instead of letting her fall, he caught her on his arm and lowered her with exaggerated care onto the wet grass.
She immediately rose on her elbows, scowling up in sputtering rage. But her anger vanished when she saw who had disarmed her.
“Caimbeul?” She blinked in astonishment.
He grinned down at her. “Good morn, sister.”
