Page 56 of A Knight To Call My Own
Ian pretended he was seriously wounded from the punches he had received in order to get closer to his enemy. He began to finger the hilt of the dirk hidden from Calum’s view. The fool was too focused on a clear victory, and leaning his head back, Calum let out a wicked laugh. ’Twas just the moment Ian was waiting for, as he pulled forth the dirk at his waist and drove the blade into the pit of Calum’s stomach with a twist, for good measure. Calum fell backward with a howl of pain as Ian staggered to his feet. He retrieved his sword and stood over Calum’s dying body.
“Just like that,” Ian spat out his answer. With as much force as he could muster, Ian swung his sword forward in a wide arch, severing Calum’s head from his body. He did not bother to look down at the now dead man, or what he had done, but wiped away the remnants of blood from the sword afore taking the stairs.
Ian was panicking about Lynet’s whereabouts as he made his way to the lower level of the keep. He saw the girl called Nessa down a deserted hallway. When she saw him, the little girl ran to him immediately.
“Me laird,” she squealed. “I ’ave tae tell ye something important.”
Ian picked her up and set her on the window seat so he could face her better.
“You said something about the Lady Lynet,” he started to say calmly, wishing he had listened to the young lass afore.
The girl nodded. “Aye.”
“Where is she, Nessa?” Ian’s head was pounding, but he was determined to find out where his wife had gone.
“She was taken me laird,” she said, spinning a thread of her shawl around her fingers as she looked at him with big eyes.
“Taken? By who? What did he look like?”
“’e was a tall man, but ’e wore a hood, me laird,” she gave a nervous reply. “I did not see his face.”
“What else, girl, what else?”
“’e put her in a cart, wrapped in a tapestry.”
Ian thought but an instant about Nessa’s words afore he realized his own foolish mistake. Unknowingly, he had let that very same man escape with his wife. He had unwittingly, let the culprit walk straight out of his own damn front gate.
Knowing with each moment that passed Lynet was being swept farther away, he strode with a determined purpose. As he reached the Great Hall, he espied Angus coming from the opposite side of the room where the dungeon was located in the lower levels of the castle.
“Angus,” he called out as the Scotsman rushed to his side.
“Aye, me laird,” he said briskly.
“There is something offensive in my keep, and it can be found in the passageway on the floor where my chambers are located. Fetch it, and follow me outside,” Ian ordered.
Angus’s brow raised in question. “He is dead, then?”
Ian smirked, waving his hand towards the stairwell. “You doubted my skill? Go see for yourself. But hurry with retrieving what I asked of you.”
Whilst he awaited Angus’s return, he saw his mother entering the keep. A look of anguish appeared on her face afore she took up the fabric of her dress in order to hasten to him with tear-filled eyes. “Son, I must beg your forgiveness for acting so rashly towards Lynet and listening unwisely to my brother’s council. I just learned Lynet has been taken, and we must needs find her.”
Ian wrapped his mother within his arms and was thankful to at last see the woman he had cherished in his youth. He laid a kiss upon the top of her head afore he held her once more at arm’s length. “There is nothing to forgive, my lady mother, and unfortunately, your brother met his demise at the hand of our enemies. Be at ease, and see to our people. Lynet will be returned to us shortly.”
“But what of the throng of armed men about to storm the barbican gate?” she asked in fright.
Ian’s gaze took in the people within his hall, knowing they were in his care. With Angus returning and carrying a sack in his hand, he was confident the enemy army would disperse.
“Let me worry about those who wish to take what is rightfully ours,” Ian answered with a grim line of displeasure. “Angus…follow me.”
Ian and Angus made their way from the keep and into the baily. Standing afore the gate, Ian motioned his men to raise the portcullis. With steady feet, they walked the short distance beneath the metal spikes that would be the demise of anyone foolish enough to fall beneath them. They waited just outside of the gate to witness the small army Calum had amassed. To Ian’s practiced eye, there appeared to be just over two score of men.
Ian held up his hand, even as the men prepared to charge. He gave Angus the briefest of nods, afore his man made his way to the end of the wooden bridge. In the sack, he carried Calum’s severed head. Angus strode but a few more yards to where he placed the atrocity on a pike afore proceeding to remove the sack. A mighty roar of outrage emitted from Calum’s clan.
“This is what is left of your leader,” Ian shouted for all to hear his words. “This is the man who chose to trespass into my keep and attempt to steal what is rightfully mine. As you can now undoubtedly surmise, you will not be granted such easy access into the interior of my castle.”
The bravest of the lot stepped forward. “Where be our two clan members who traveled with our laird?” he hollered, his anger barely contained whilst witnessing the offense of his dead laird.
’Twas then Ian heard his clansmen take their places behind and above him. They took aim at the intruders from above, upon the battlement walls, arrows knocked into their crossbows. Other arrows appeared through the narrow slits in the walls of the keep. Only someone with no common sense would dare attack, for he would lose more than half of his men in such a foolish confrontation.
