Page 7 of A Knight To Call My Own
Memories assaulted his senses of a beautiful lass he had had no right to fall in love with, but fall in love with her he had. She was beautiful beyond measure to any other; strong willed and stubborn to a fault; a fiery temper along with a calming demeanor, if she so wished it; and she could wield a sword better than most men of his acquaintance. Yet, her affection went to another, and he did not fault her for that. Nay, she was happy with her choice in a husband, and he was glad Amiria had found love.
As he put his horse into motion, his thoughts wandered to the youngest woman of the MacLaren clan. She had been a docile young girl of only ten and four summers when last he had seen her. Ian still remembered sitting in Berwyck’s garden after Amiria and Dristan had wed. He had been filled with despair of losing the one woman he would have taken to wife if circumstances had been different. Lynet had been so young that day when, with pleading clear blue eyes, she had spoken her heart to him. Her childlike kiss, given so freely afore she had fled his side, had surprised him.
Memories continued to assault him as he remembered Berwyck being under siege, yet again. Many a knight had fallen, but one had been felled by Ian’s own hand who had dared to touch the lass Lynet. He had saved her that day, and he had then foolishly given in to the moment by kissing her most thoroughly. By doing so, he had given her some measure of hope he would return for her, although such an act had never crossed his mind. He had not seen her since, except briefly, as she had waved farewell when he had left Berwyck, he thought, forevermore.
Crossing a river, they entered the village adjacent to the castle grounds. ’Twas a flurry of activity, more so than the usual happenings of its inhabitants.
“Berwyck must be preparing for a celebration,” Thomas proclaimed. “I wonder what the occasion is.”
Taegan gave a look of longing at the nearby tavern. “I just want a cup of cool ale in my fist to take the taste of the road from my mouth.”
Turquine laughed cheerfully. “So what else is new, brother?” You always want ale to meet your undying need to quench your unending thirst!”
Ian laughed with the men ’til they came to the outskirts of the village. Any further thoughts of merriment left him as he observed the sight afore him. Although the distance from the village to the walls of the keep was some ways away, the usually empty space was filled to capacity. ’Twas not hard to miss the tents set up surrounding the castle walls. From the looks of it, he would say Dristan had gathered all from near and far to partake in whatever event they were to socialize. Perchance his timing of returning to Berwyck was not at its best, and yet he had no alternative. He must needs return north immediately to assume his rightful position of laird of Urquhart, afore his Uncle and others usurped his inheritance…at least whatever was left of it.
They reached the barbican gate amid cheers from the guards high above, who stood at their posts. Word quickly spread of their return, and as lads came to take their mounts, Ian saw Killian making his way to their side. ’Twas good to see the man who had been an integral part of his training ’til he was appointed captain of Amiria’s guard.
They greeted each other with a hearty pounding of each other’s back in welcome. If the truth must be told, Ian had missed the older man, and his counsel, these many years.
“’Tis good tae see ye, laddie!” Killian beamed.
“Laddie?” Ian chuckled. “Will you never think on me as anything other than a boy, Killian?”
“Nay! Since I taught ye everything ye know about wielding that claymore o’ yers, I earned the honor o’ calling ye anything I wish, me boy!”
“Eh gads! ’Tis no wonder I stayed away so long.”
“Ye have been missed, Ian, along wit’ the rest o’ ye,” Killian stated looking over the group. “We are a might tight fer lodgings, but I am sure we can squeeze ye in somewhere in the Garrison Hall. Who is this wit’ ye?”
Ian gave a muffled laugh. “It seems my fate has changed, my friend, and I have become laird of Urquhart, now that my brother has met his demise. Angus and Connor of Clan MacGillivray found me and my company in Edinburgh. I am to head north once I leave here.”
“Well…’tis interesting news and good fortune, Ian. Have ye been issued an invitation from Lord Dristan tae come compete in the tourney, now that ye own yer land?”
“An invitation? Nay, I have not received such an invite, nor has there been time for information of this nature to be known to only but a few,” Ian laughed. “’Tis not as though I have not proved my worth in other competitions over the years without need of having permission to enter games of this sort. What is the difference in this contest over any other when there is gold to be won, along with the favor from a pretty lady?”
Killian stroked his beard and perused Ian over his bushy brows. “Then ye have not heard what yer prize will be.”
“I have heard nothing, Killian, since I did not even know Dristan was holding a tourney.”
Killian threw his arm over Ian’s shoulder and began steering him towards the Garrison Hall. “Then ye may find it in yer best interest not tae compete, lest ye wish tae find yerself wed at the end o’ the games, laddie boy.”
Ian’s step faltered, and he turned to look into the amused face of his longtime friend. He knew the answer afore he even voiced his question. “And just who, may I inquire, will be the lucky bride?”
“Who else would be eligible at Berwyck?” Killian chided. “’Tis the Lady Lynet, of course. Best get yerself cleaned up a mite tae make a good impression…that is if’n ye want yerself a bonny bride, along with the rest of the gents who have come tae claim her!”
God’s blood, this is not what I had planned!Ian followed Killian into the Garrison Hall in bemused silence as he realized that, perchance, taking Lynet to wife would not be such an easy task, after all.
~***~
Merciful heavens. Will this man never cease his babbling?Lynet stifled a yawn as yet another suitor stood afore her. She had lost count of those men she had been introduced to this past se’nnight. She felt her sister kick her shin beneath the table, and she tossed Amiria a glaring frown. Then she consciously forced another smile to her lips. Her sibling’s strike was a painful reminder for her to at least attempt to show some interest, but ’twas of no use. She would rather soon forget this whole humiliating predicament she found herself in.
She tried to pay attention, really she did. But what was there of merit in yet another knight full of himself, especially whilst he looked down his aristocratic nose at her, almost as if to see ifshewas worthy ofhim? She eyed him wearily. It took her no time at all to come quickly to the conclusion, yet again, there was nothing noble in this one’s character she could define, other than he claimed to be some distant kinsman of her father’s family.
The man all but preened in front of her, trying to display his dashing good looks. Aye! Sir Broderick of Lorn was a handsome fellow with blonde hair reaching to his nape, and yet, she had seen his kind at least a dozen times this day. She watched him bow to those at the raised dais and was thankful this latest bit of torture was at last at an end.
“I shall compete,” Broderick smugly announced. “I look forward to collecting my prize.”
His words hung in the air like a death sentence. She caught his eyes skimming over her ’til they lingered on her bosom.Is that a leering grin beginning at the corners of his mouth?Lynet’s brow rose in indignation that he would dare such an offense. He only gave the briefest of nods and left, calling for wine.
