Page 61 of My Warrior
Cambria felt sick as she watched the inevitable slaughter of her countrymen. Nothing could have prepared her for the horrifying spectacle. Hundreds of fine young Scots were slain in the first terrible moments, while there seemed to be no casualties at all among the English.
Holden scowled, unable to fathom what he was seeing. If the Scots’ first move was irresponsible, their second strategy was sheer lunacy. The remaining rebels began to ascend the hill held by the English. They apparently thought to intimidate the English with their bravado, but they did nothing but walk into the weapons of the enemy. He was disgusted by their rashness, aghast at the needless sacrifice of human lives.
The Scots who managed to survive the archers were easily dispatched by the foot soldiers and men-at-arms wielding axe, mace, and sword. In fact, Holden did little actual fighting himself, as the mounted knights were the last line of defense.
The battle was a massacre. The proud Scots refused to surrender. Within moments there were less than half of them left fighting the English.
Cambria dug her fingernails into the pine bark, so stunned by the dreadful carnage that she almost overlooked Owen’s furtive movement toward Lord Holden.
Holden and Guy had dismounted and were embroiled in combat with two desperate rebels. Guy had slain one of them and mortally wounded the other. Just as Holden claimed the soldier’s life with a merciful blow of his broadsword, Owen moved forward, dagger drawn. In that instant, Cambria stepped from the shelter of the trees and fitted an arrow to her bow.
She held her breath. She’d never slain a man, but she couldn’t stand by and watch Holden fall to this traitor’s blade. As Owen drew back his arm to strike, she aimed for his evil heart, pulled the bowstring back hard, and sent the shaft flying.
CHAPTER 12
The poorly fletched arrow dropped in midflight, missing its mark by nearly half a yard and lodging in Owen’s thigh. The shot had some effect—he screamed in pain and fell, glaring at her in furious disbelief—but he remained very much alive.
Sir Guy’s eyes widened as he beheld his fallen countryman. That arrow had come frombehindthe lines. He tore the helm from his head, then sought and found the culprit—a peasant woman. With a snarl, he charged the small, shrouded female, knocked the bow from her grasp, and threw her, face-down, to the ground. Anchoring her with his knee, he pulled her head back by the hair. The oxen nearby squealed and stamped, upset by the smell of battle. He held his dagger to the woman’s throat, sorely tempted to slit it at once, too enraged to question whose worthless life he held in his hands.
But Holden was calling him, waving wildly with his sword. Guy hesitated, and in that instant, Holden paid for his inattention to the battle, falling prey to a young Scotsman who had come upon him unawares. Guy cursed as the boy’s sword took a bite out of Holden’s shoulder.
The wench beneath him sobbed in protest. “The arrow missed its mark! Someone must stop him!”
Guy growled harshly. “Rebel spy! ThankGodyour arrow missed its mark! Had you slain my lord, I would have delivered you to hell by now upon my blade!”
Looking up again, Guy saw that most of the Scots had been routed. Holden had almost finished off the one faltering youth, despite his wound, and Owen had vanished, probably to tend to his injury. With the war essentially ended, Guy could leave the battlefield to take the handling of this traitor upon himself.
He pinioned one of his captive’s arms, wrenching her to her feet. Then he pushed her roughly along before him toward the haven of the trees, pressing his blade against her throat. His blood was hot from war, his ire roused, his purpose honed to a fine point. Thus, it was several moments before he realized there was something familiar about his quarry and the chestnut tresses spilling over onto his hands. He relaxed his grip fractionally as doubt flitted through his mind.
Suddenly, he seized his captive by the shoulders and wheeled her around to face him. She met the challenge in his eyes. He stumbled back awkwardly, dumbfounded.
“My lady…” he began in confusion, responding instinctively to her rank.
Cambria thought quickly. Perhaps she could take advantage of Guy’s doubt and play upon his indecision. She brought herself up to her full height, which was unfortunately still well below his.
“How dare you lay hands upon me!” she chided imperiously, trying to intimidate him. She saw with regret that her moment of victory was to be short-lived.
Guy recovered quickly from the shock. He evaluated the situation only briefly before advancing on her.
“Lady you may be, but I serve my lord first and foremost,” he informed her.
Cambria backed away as he came close, but not in fear. She’d been trained to resist, never to surrender. Besides, Owen was still loose. Someone had to stop him. Perhaps there was yet time to finish the job she’d begun. She turned and fled back toward the battlefield.
She hadn’t counted on traffic coming from Halidon Hill. She whipped her head around in time to glimpse the broad ebony chest of Holden’s steed coming straight for her.
Holden cursed. He was able to rein in soon enough to avoid a collision, just barely. Cambria skidded on the wet leaves and fell beneath Ariel’s hooves. He spoke sharply to the horse, effectively stilling its movements so the lass wouldn’t be trampled. Then he reached down a mailed hand to assist Cambria.
He didn’t like the rebellious look in her flashing eyes. Not now, he thought testily. He could ill afford to have the king witness this willfulness on the part of his new wife.
“Don’t make a spectacle of yourself,” he pleaded, towering over her atop his mount, for by now a few of the other knights had begun to take an interest in this woman who had so brazenly appeared on the field of battle.
“Spectacle?” she breathed, her mouth round with shock and hurt. In the next moment, her short temper charged in to rescue her. “You ungrateful cur!” she cried, coming to her feet. “I saved your life.” Then she made the deadly mistake of spitting at his bloody gauntleted hand, turning her back on him and walking away.
A few foot soldiers chuckled. Holden swore under his breath, and before Cambria could reach the shelter of the trees, he kicked his steed into pursuit. In a cloud of dust, the horse skidded to her side, and he scooped Cambria up unceremoniously to deposit her face-down across his lap.
Cambria screamed in outrage. How dare he humiliate her? She bucked in a frenzy to be free of him, nearly losing her balance and tumbling to the ground below. Then suddenly, beneath her kirtle, she felt the hard steel of his mail-covered hand against her naked bottom.
“I should thrash you for your disobedience,” Holden bit out for her ears alone. “Would you like it done publicly or privately?”
