Page 79 of My Warrior
He maneuvered the battle so he could watch over Cambria’s head through the narrow slit of his helm. Aye, there had been movement! The great iron-bound gates of the castle were gradually opening.
He lightly batted at Cambria’s shoulder with the flat of his blade, and then blocked her sideswipe with his shield. Blinking his eyes to make sure he’d seen correctly, he looked again. A thatch of recognizably red hair poked through the crack of the gates. Robbie.
Fury bubbled up in him like boiling oil. Apparently Owen didn’t intend to fight fairly. He was sending the Gavin rebels out to slaughter him. Did the fool not know the de Ware knights would make minced meat out of the Scots lads? Or was that what he had in mind?
Cambria stumbled forward, and he caught her against his shield so she wouldn’t fall. Then he glanced again at the gates. Cambria’s maidservant, Katie, widened the breach of the door, and a second, third, and fourth face joined Robbie’s. They were unmistakably Garth, Guy, and Myles, looking none the worse for wear. A sudden rush of joy coursed through Holden’s veins. Bless the clever Gavins—while Owen was chortling gleefully above, someone had set his men free.
Holden turned his victorious shout into a snarl of rage and pressed his attack in order to distract any onlookers from what was afoot. Winning the hostages back, of course, did not in itself guarantee taking Blackhaugh without bloodshed, and he refused to spill the blood of innocent victims within the castle walls. He needed to send in a small party of men to reclaim the keep peacefully while Owen was distracted.
Cambria slashed wildly at his neck, and he deflected the blade. The solution came to him all at once. It called for a bit of drama and illusion on his part, playacting more suited to his brother Duncan. But such an unexpected twist might effectively draw Owen’s attention away. It might allow him to get instructions to his knights.
Cambria’s arm flagged again. He had to revive her spirits. His ruse depended upon her strength.
“Cambria,” he said softly, “I love you. More than life. But I want you to fight with me now. Fight with me as you’ve never fought before. Fight for the Gavin, and I swear I’ll help you save them.”
For a moment she stood stunned. He feared she wouldn’t be able to lift her blade again. Then she seemed to grow light, as if a burden had dropped from her shoulders. With renewed vigor, she lashed out at him like a sudden storm, her blade flashing like lightning as it attempted to strike anywhere it could. She advanced on him for the first time, and he retreated a few paces.
Cambria had prepared herself for Holden’s death blow. Scarcely able to gasp enough air in the close helm and with her muscles reduced to disobedient custard, she’d had neither the will nor the power to continue fighting.
But when Holden spoke to her, calling her by name, confessing his love, vowing to save her people, sweet hope filled her like a reviving nectar flooding her veins.
The hurtful words that had seemed so brutal before rang hollow in her ear. Of course. He’d used them as weapons to protect her. She understood that now. His offhand dismissal of her had made it easier for him to pluck her from Owen’s grasp.
Now he wanted her to fight him with all her might. Why, she couldn’t fathom. But she trusted him. When it came to warfare, she’d never seen a warrior with better instincts.
So she renewed her attack, and for a strange moment, seemed to take the upper hand. He cowered back. Then, in the blink of an eye, he lost his footing on the slick, dew-washed grass. By some horrible accident, he slipped onto her outstretched sword.
The blade severed the mail and slid over his ribs at the side. The sensation made Cambria suddenly nauseous. She couldn’t tell how deeply she’d cut him, but when she quickly withdrew her blade, it was stained with blood.
The cut hurt, much more than Holden had anticipated. He let out a cry of pain that was only half-feigned. But then he knew that believability was essential. The sting was a small price to pay for the safety of those he loved. He groaned again in pretended agony, stumbled, and fell heavily. He could hear the astonished squalling from Owen as the bastard’s plans were foiled.
Cambria faltered back, shocked. What had she done? Surely the turn of an ankle couldn’t have upset Holden’s keen sense of balance so completely. He’d virtually fallen on her sword. The thought made her stomach lurch dangerously. With the exception of Owen, she’d never seriously wounded anyone, and the sight of a man crashing to the earth by her hand dazed her. That her victim was her own beloved husband made her sink to her knees, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Holden’s blood smeared on her sword.
He was so still. Surely she couldn’t have slain him—the Wolf de Ware, who’d never been defeated in battle. Yet he lay horribly silent on the damp ground.
In the next breath, her view of Holden was blocked by his knights, who crowded around him in amazement and concern. Between their bodies, she could catch glimpses of his limp form as someone loosened and removed his helm. He looked groggy and weak, his lips trembling with each breath that rattled between them. Dear God, he must be hurt badly.
Stephen couldn’t understand at first what it was Lord Holden was saying as he bent his head close. He drew his brows together into a grim frown.
“Do not harm Owen’s champion,” Holden repeated tightly. Then, noting Stephen’s confusion, he said more distinctly, “Owen’s champion—protect Owen’s champion.”
Stephen wondered greatly at the lord’s words. Perhaps Holden was delirious from his wound. He cocked his head to look at Owen’s warrior, who knelt motionless on the sod. Then, turning back to Holden, he cradled his lord’s head in his arms and bent low to hear the balance of his instructions.
“It’s only a needle prick,” Holden whispered, “but you must let it be believed I am grievously wounded, near death.”
Stephen glanced at the slowly widening spot of blood staining Lord Holden’s tabard. He prayed the Wolf was right.
“The Gavins have breached the gates from the inside,” Holden continued. “Six of you steal into the castle and find Fitzroi. I’ll fight until you signal from the parapet.” He paused, gasping as a spasm of pain gripped him. “Then I’ll appear to lose the battle. And Stephen, you must take Owen’s champion into the forest, safe, away from the fighting.”
Stephen nodded, and then helped the fallen lord to his feet, fetched his sword, and replaced his helm. As soon as Holden steadied himself enough to face his adversary, Stephen began to pass a surreptitious message through the ranks, outlining the lord’s plans.
Holden took a shuffling step toward Cambria. “Arise, foe!” he called weakly. “I’m not yet finished with you.”
Cambria felt sick as she slowly got to her feet, as if she’d swallowed a great sack of sand. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, she would have been glad for the opportunity to skewer the Wolf and hang him from the highest tower of Blackhaugh, but now she had no stomach for his blood. Marking his flesh with her blade was like cutting out a piece of her own heart. She couldn’t do it. She lowered her sword.
“It’s nothing, Cambria,” he whispered, “only a scratch. One I gladly suffer for the Gavin. We’re honor bound to fight. We can’t disappoint the bastard.”
Though she was sick at heart, she lifted her blade with leaden arms, shuddering as she saw the crimson lacing its edge.
