My Valiant Knight

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

In the hands of New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell, the Scottish Highlands come alive with treachery, intrigue, and unforgettable love. . . Able to ride, wield a sword, and throw a dagger as well as any man, flame-haired Ainslee of Kengarvey is more warrior than lady. Yet even her awesome skill as a horsewoman won't help her outrace the knight who pursues her. An Anglo-Norman who has won favor with the King, Sir Gabel de Amalville must prove his loyalty by crushing the rebellious MacNairn clan. Seizing the youngest daughter of the chief gives him a necessary advantage. But having sequestered Ainslee in his isolated castle keep, he soon finds himself the prisoner of a passion he never could have foreseen. Now, as the shadow of war descends upon the Highlands, Gabel will follow his heart into battle--for the love of the sensual woman who has captured him, mind, body and soul. . . Praise for Hannah Howell and her Highland novels "The pages fly. . .escapades and sizzling love scenes to keep every reader satisfied." -- Romantic Times "Few authors portray the Scottish highlands as lovingly or colorfully." -- Publishers Weekly "Another classic." -- Romantic Times

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Scottish Highlands—1210

“The cast of that sky warns of a storm brewing, Ronald,” Ainslee MacNairn said as she scowled up at the rapidly darkening sky.

“Aye, mistress,” agreed her gray-haired riding companion. “Methinks we had best ride back to Kengarvey.”

Ainslee smiled at him. “Are ye afeart of a wee fall tempest?”

“Nay, lass, and weel ye ken it. Howbeit, we have wandered far afield, and I am afeart of the Scots or the Normans. They would think it a fine thing if they got their hands on you. They would savor the chance to do a bit of bargaining or exact some revenge, or a wee taste of both. And with ye being such a comely lass, I dinna need to tell you how our enemies would seek their revenge through you.”

As she turned her mount back toward the sturdy fortress she called home, Ainslee cursed softly and tightened the hood of her voluminous cloak over her dark red hair. “Will there never come a day when I can ride free of the fear of all our neighbors, Ronald? We are at odds with one and all of the nearest clans, at odds with the Normans our good king has set just o‘er the river, and at odds with the people in the lowlands. Do ye ne’er grow tired of all the fighting and the dying?”

“Aye, but ’tis the way of the world, lass. Someone is always thinking to conquer us. Someone is always coveting our lands. There is always some dispute, someone claiming a grievance or insult. And there will always be the English, the Normans, or the neighboring clans to contend with. If it isna a raid, ’tis a fueding.”

“Weel, I grow heartily sick of it all. I often wish to leave this place so badly I ache with it.”

“Ye will soon be wed, and then ye will leave. Ye will, howbeit, forgive an old mon for hoping that that day doesna come too soon, as I have had the care of you since I set you on your first pony, and I will sorely miss you.”

“Thank you, but it doesna appear too promising that I shall be wed and carried away to a better place, so I shouldna worry overmuch. I am eighteen, Ronald, and nothing has yet been arranged for me. By the time I was six, my sisters were wedded to men from our neighboring clans in the vain hope of increasing our laird’s power. My father clearly feels that I am too thin and too ugly to make a good bargain with.”

“Ye talk nonsense, lass.” He shifted his stiff left leg to a more comfortable angle, and then idly rubbed the scarred spot on his left hand where he had lost three fingers. “Ye arena too thin. Under that heavy cloak is a form many a mon would be eager to curl up with. Aye, ’tis slim and limber, but ye have all the curves a mon wants. Ye have slim hips, but they are rounded enough to promise a mon the children he craves. Ye have fine red hair shot with gold, and eyes as blue as a loch on a fine summer’s day. I could flatter ye more, but ye are blushing like fire now”

“Ye speak verra directly, Ronald.”

“Someone must, if ye are to shed the foolish thought that ye arena bonny enough for any mon.”

She smiled faintly as she slid her delicate, long-fingered hands up and down the reins she held. “Mayhaps I am not unpleasing to a mon’s eye, but I am not what a mon searches for in a wife.”

Ronald’s weathered face creased into a grimace as he softly cursed. “ ’Tis true that, as the youngest of all your siblings by near to seven years, ye have grown to womanhood alone. Your friends and teachers have been those of us who serve the castle and the MacNairns. Your sisters were wed and gone, and your brothers were busy learning the ways of men. I was the one given the honor of raising you, and I fear I didna do it verra weel.”

“Ye did verra weel indeed, Ronald. I learned a great deal from you.”

“Aye, to ride as weel as any mon, wield a sword adequately, and be nigh on deadly with a knife. A bow is no stranger to those wee hands either, and ye have set many a beast of the forest on the tables of Kengarvey. Ye can read and write and even cipher a little, since ye blackmailed your brother Colin into teaching you when he returned from the monastery. Howbeit, ye have only a meager skill with a needle, unless ye are stitching a wound. Ah, but ye can play the lute and sing sweet enough to make even this hardened old mon weep. In truth, I dinna ken all ye can do or what skills ye have gathered in your unfettered life, but ye would make any mon a fine wife, one who can stand beside him and not cower behind him.”

Ainslee smiled and shook her head. “That isna what a mon wants, Ronald, and weel ye ken it. A mon wants a wife who will kneel before him, heed his every command with blind, smiling obedience, and never, never complain. I dinna think that will change be the mon a Sassanach, a Scot, or one of those Normans our king so assiduously courts.” She frowned when she realized that Ronald was no longer listening to her. “What is wrong?”

“Dinna ye hear that, Ainslee?” he asked as he stood erect in his saddle and looked around.

After listening carefully, Ainslee tensed and nodded. “Aye, I hear it. ‘Tis the sound of horsemen, and they are coming up hard from behind us.” She glanced down at the motley, huge gray wolfhound that trotted beside her and saw the fur bristle down his back. “Ugly hears it too, and by the mean look he now carries, ’tis not our own people who now approach.”

Ronald signaled her with one sharp movement of his hand. She spurred her horse into a gallop at the same moment he did, and they raced toward Kengarvey. At the crest of the next rise, she saw a band of Normans clear the thick wood behind them. A cry cut through the chill fall air, announcing the dire fact that the Normans had espied her and Ronald. The chase was on. She could only hope that their enemy would be slowed by the weight of their armor, for there was a lot of distance between them and the safety of Kengarvey.

Gabel de Amalville shifted wearily in his saddle. He hated leading forays into the wild area of the Highlands. At times he wished he could slaughter the whole ragged collection of clans and reivers, sweeping the entire area clean for miles around. Even if he was allowed such freedom, he doubted he would succeed, however, for the troublemakers he sought were hard to catch. One glance at the twenty heavily armed men who rode with him told Gabel that they were as ill-pleased with the duty as he was.

“Gabel, look there,” cried his cousin Justice Luten, tearing him from his disgruntled thoughts. “We have flushed out a pair.”

“So we have, cousin, and, if we do not stop them, they will alert Kengarvey.”

Gabel spurred his horse into a full gallop, and his knights were quick to follow. The pair of riders they sought were just disappearing over a small rise. They looked to be a young rider with an old man for an escort. It was not to Gabel’s liking to put such people to the sword, but he steeled himself for the distasteful chore. If Kengarvey was forewarned, his journey there would be for nothing, as he could never storm the alerted keep. It was not until the distance between him and the fleeing Scots was closed slightly that Gabel had the disturbing thought that one of the riders could be a woman.

He hastily shook away that idea. It was inconceivable that any woman could ride so well, or do so while riding astride such a powerful mount. The rider appeared completely unafraid of the speed of the horse and controlled the animal with an astounding skill. All of that told him that his prey could not possibly be a woman, yet his eyes continued to tell him that it was. He wanted the heavy dark cloak the rider wore to fly open, so that he could have a clearer view and end the confusion he suffered. Then, suddenly, Kengarvey rose into view and he reined in, too stunned to chase his prey even though they also reined to an abrupt halt. Kengarvey was in flames, and the harsh sounds of battle were easy to hear.

“ ’Tis the MacFibh clan,” cried Justice. “I recognize the banner. They have set upon the castle.”

“Aye. It would appear that the castle was as weakly defended as we were told it was,” agreed Gabel. “Watch our game, cousin. They now find themselves between two enemies. There is no way to guess how they will move next.”

Even as he spoke the riders turned. Gabel shared the surprise of his men when the pair suddenly rode straight across their flank, racing back toward the shelter of the forest. His men loosed a few arrows, even as a cry went up from the MacFibhs and they sent a messenger out. Gabel wanted to race after the fleeing MacNairns, but was forced to wait.

“If ’tis the MacNairn ye seek,” said the Scot as he reined to a halt before Gabel, “ye are too late. The bastard has fled with his four sons. The battle nears an end here. Those who arena dead or dying have fled, and the keep burns.”

“Then we shall face MacNairn on another day. Hie, men, I want those two,” Gabel cried to his men, even as he turned and spurred his mount after the two fleeing toward the forest.

Gabel was acting on impulse and intuition. Instinct told him that the pair of riders now barely in sight were of some importance. There was a chance that the MacFibhs were wrong, and not all of MacNairn’s sons had fled at his side. If his instincts proved correct, he could demand a hefty ransom for the boy’s return, a ransom that might well force MacNairn to at least confine his troublemaking to his own lands and those of his immediate neighbors like the MacFibhs. Gabel knew that this attack would not be enough to end MacNairn’s reign. Kengarvey had been put to the torch numerous times over the years, and MacNairn had always risen from the ashes.

Any sort of truce with MacNairn would be a balm of sorts for the king, Gabel decided, and it was very important that he placate the king. Not only had he sworn allegiance to the Scottish king, but he was very comfortable in the keep and on the lands that pledge had gained him. Now that his elder brother had sired a third son, Gabel knew he had little chance of inheriting the English lands William I had given to their great-grandfather, Charles de Amalville.

The grant of lands from the Scottish king David was vitally important to Gabel, for he had no desire to live and die leaving nothing to the sons he craved. Neither did he wish to waste away his life as a mercenary, or join the priesthood. His time of personal service to David was nearly at an end, and, if he satisfied the king, the lands would be his. It had worked for others. If he could end the troubles stirred up by the MacNairns, he could then rest awhile, supporting the king by less demanding means. He could finally marry and begin his family.

Even now his manor was being prepared for a wife. Gabel decided it was not truly vain to be so confident that he would find one with ease. Women had never shied from him. Many a man had also indicated a wish to have him become part of their family. All he needed was the land, and the two riders now disappearing into the wood could well help him secure that largesse.

Minutes after they entered the forest, Gabel and his men had to slow their pace because of the thickness of the trees. When they lost sight of their quarry, Gabel ordered his men to halt. Justice dismounted and studied the ground. As he moved along, his mount trailing behind him, Gabel and the others gave their horses a well-deserved rest. Gabel refused to accept that he had lost the race. If Justice could find the trail, then they could catch their prey where the pair had gone to ground.

“One of them took an arrow, Gabel,” Justice called. “The trail of blood is clearer than any of the hoofprints.”

“Then they shall soon need to halt. Let us dismount and follow on foot for a pace,” Gabel said as he slid out of his saddle. “Our horses need to rest. My backside could do with a respite from the saddle as well.”

“See here, Gabel, they turn westward by this tree.” Justice pointed at the gruesome markings when Gabel moved to stand beside him. “This bloody trail tells me that, whichever one of them is wounded, he will not be able to stay in his saddle for very much longer. Even now he must be growing very weak from loss of blood.”

“Then we shall have them.”

Ainslee turned to speak to Ronald about stopping at the small brook they crept by, and gasped. Ronald was as white as the cleanest linen. Even as she reached out to him, he swayed and slipped off his horse. Swallowing a cry of alarm, Ainslee flung herself from her saddle and rushed to his side. She cursed when she saw the arrow wound in his right leg.

“Why did ye keep silent about this?” she demanded. “Aye, but ye have lost a great deal of blood. The arrow?”

“I pulled it free, lass,” he replied, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper as he clung to consciousness with grim determination. “Ne’ermind tending to me. Flee this place, ere those Normans catch you.”

“And leave ye here to be captured, killed, or bleed to death? Never.”

She fetched the small bag she always hung from her saddle. Ronald had taught her to travel prepared for any trouble, no matter how short a journey. Since she had been a small child, there had always been Ronald and his small bag of assorted necessities. As she had aged, she had begun to assemble her own. In it were scraps of linen to bind his wound, and a mixture of herbs to use as a salve. All she needed to fetch was the water to clean his injury.

“Curse ye twice over, ye fool lass,” Ronald muttered as Ainslee removed her mantle, folded it, and placed it beneath his head. “Will ye favor me by fleeing, while ye still can?” He started to curse fluently when she ignored him.

Ainslee knew what concerned Ronald the most. Without her mantle and its concealing hood, her sex was no longer a secret. She also knew that her now uncovered hair, free of braids and any other restraint, could act as a beacon to their enemies. Ronald was her only concern for the moment, however. If fate brought the Normans to her, then she would deal with them as best she could.

She gently bathed his wound and tried not to show her fear for him. He had bled freely, and that could prove dangerous. As she applied a paste of herbs, she prayed that the wound would not fester. Poor Ronald was crippled enough. He did not need his right leg becoming as stiff as his left. She bound the wound, then sat back on her heels, pondering what she could do next, for herself as well as for Ronald. He could not remount to flee with her. Their horses badly needed a rest as well, and even her gray wolfhound had collapsed beside them, his sides heaving.

After a moment’s thought, she decided they had to take a risk, stay where they were and try to recoup their strength. They had taken a torturous route through the thick wood as they fled the Normans. It should follow that the Normans would find it very difficult to locate them. The Normans did not know the forest as well as she and Ronald did.

Not able to completely trust to luck and fate, however, Ainslee collected her and Ronald’s swords. She knew it was a futile gesture, if the whole force stumbled upon them. Even more than two would be more than she and Ronald could deal with. Nevertheless, she also collected her bow and arrows and checked that her knives were in place. She was not one to swerve from a fight, nor did she mean to surrender meekly. If she and Ronald were fated to die, she intended to take a few of the cursed Normans with her.

“Lass, flee while ye still can,” Ronald ordered in a fading voice.

“Nay, Ronald. Ye wouldna leave me, would ye?” She sat down next to him.

“That be different, and weel ye ken it. No mon with any sense of honor or a drop of courage in his veins would leave a wee lassie to defend herself against a foe.”

“I can defend myself near as weel as any mon, and weel ye ken it, as ye yourself taught me such skills. Skills no mon will expect a woman to have.” She smiled faintly. “I shall be a great surprise to those Norman dogs.”

“Aye, ye will at that,” grumbled Ronald. “Lass, ye are no fool. Canna ye see what those Norman swine will do to ye, if they catch ye? Ye, more than any other woman, must ken how a fighting mon’s thoughts turn when he sets his hands on a lass.”

“Aye, I do. I suspicion that the devils will think on raping me,” she replied with a hard won calm. “Howbeit, if I see that fate has deemed that to be my lot, I shall kill myself.”

“Nay,” he cried, shock giving him a brief surge of strength. “ ’Tis a mortal sin to take your own life, to die by your own hand. Ye could ne’er be buried in consecrated ground.”

She shrugged and decided it would be best to divert his attention from that dark subject. “I believe the Normans may consider asking a ransom from my kinsmen for me. In truth, ’tis a very great possibility.”

“Aye, a vena big one. Ye may weel be right in that, lass.”

“Why, thank ye kindly, Ronald.” She grinned, and he managed a weak one in return. “Now, ye are to rest,” she ordered him in a stem tone of voice. “I can keep watch for our pursuers. Ye need to regain your strength, at least enough of it to continue on. Although, where we shall go is a great puzzle to me. My father and brothers have been most successful in assuring that we are surrounded by enemies.”

As he closed his eyes, Ronald murmured, “We shall find some safe place and stay there a wee while, lass.” He sighed. “My weakness is forcing me to obey your insolent command to rest. Dinna fret, sweeting. We will find a safe haven to crouch in, until we can learn the fate of your family.”

Within moments, the only sounds Ainslee heard were the trickling of the brook and the chattering song of the many birds secluded within the trees. She sat cross-legged, as close to Ronald as she dared to without risking waking him, and laid her weapons across her lap. Ears trained for any sound of approaching danger, she tensely waited. Fear was a knotting coldness inside of her, but even that would not shake her from Ronald’s side. He was her friend, her only friend, as well as her teacher, and had been more of a father to her than the man from whose seed she had sprung.

A soft sigh fluttered from between her lips, and she ran her hand along the sword resting in her lap. It would be a completely futile gesture to take up her sword against a knight trained and battle hardened. She hated futile gestures, yet knew she would do it, if she was forced to. Ainslee knew she could never simply sit quietly by and let her enemies do whatever they wished to Ronald and to her. She had spoken the truth when she had told Ronald that, if the Normans tried to sate their lusts on her unwilling body, she would kill herself. It was yet another futile gesture, but it carried the satisfaction of depriving the Normans of their brutal sport. The moment they tried to rape her, she would make certain that they held only a corpse.

The mere thought of rape caused a flood of fearful memories she had never successfully purged from her mind. She could still feel the bone-chilling cold of the dark, soggy hole her desperate mother had thrust her into, when the battle with one of the MacNairns’s many enemies had turned against them. The piercing screams of her mother and the other women still rang in her ears. The sight that had greeted her young eyes when she had finally crawled out of that hole was still seared into her mind. It had all been more than a child of five could bear, and it had stilled her tongue for two years, before Ronald’s loving care had freed her of terror’s grip. Their enemies had taken their pleasure of every unfortunate woman who had fallen into their grasp, and then cut their throats. They had not bothered to cut her mother’s slender white throat, for their ravenous lusts had killed her. Ainslee swore that that cruel fate would never befall her.

“Shall we give up the chase, Gabel?” asked Justice. “ ’Tis almost as if our quarry has been swallowed up by these accursed trees.”

“Soon,” replied Gabel. “We had best look for some water and make camp nearby it. ’Tis far too late to journey back now.” He scowled up at the rapidly darkening sky. “I but pray that we may find shelter as well, ere that brewing storm bursts over our heads.”

“There is a surfeit of rocky hillside about this area. We may find a cave or, at least, a suitable ledge to huddle beneath.” Justice abruptly halted and everyone immediately did the same. “Can you hear that, cousin?” he asked Gabel.

“Aye. Your sharp ears do not deceive you, Justice. ’Tis the sweet beckoning sound of water.”

“And the sound comes from just beyond that thick grouping of trees. Do we leave our horses here?”

Gabel nodded. “ ’Twould be wise. Our game may well have gone to ground here. Michael,” he called to his other cousin, “you and Andre keep our horses still and quiet. The rest of us shall approach the stream as silently as we can. Shed any armor that may make noise, thus give you away,” he ordered the rest of his men. “ ’Twill not increase the danger to yourselves, for our prey wore no armor.”

In moments Gabel and his men began a stealthy, annoyingly slow approach toward the sound of water. Stripped to their braies and deerhide boots, they made no sound at all. Gabel did not wish to battle with his quarry, just to capture the pair. Instinct told him that the ones he sought were not simple peasants. When he reached the edge of the clearing the brook trickled through, he came to a sudden halt, stilled by disbelief over the sight which greeted his widening eyes.

Ainslee tensed, abruptly yanked from her dark memories of the past. She heard nothing, yet every muscle in her body was taut with a sense of danger. Her eyes widened and her heartbeat increased to a painful speed when she saw the men step out of the disguising shadows of the deep wood into the clearing. There was no time to use her bow. She might loose one arrow, but then they would be upon her. Slowly, she rose to her feet and took a protective stance over Ronald, her sword held securely and threateningly in her small hands.

Gabel stared at the girl and, realizing he was gaping, quickly closed his mouth. She was taut and prepared to do battle, her thick red hair sweeping around her slim shoulders, stirred to life by the increasing wind. Like some wild thing cornered, she faced them with the bravado of desperation.

He slowly looked over every slender, well-shaped inch of her. Her tunic was of a light gray hue and fit snugly over her strong slim arms. The bliand was of a bright woolen plaid, and the three-quarter-length overtunic was slit up both sides and laced tightly onto her shapely form. He expected that beneath that feminine attire, she wore long loose trousers of a heavy linen and hose of an equally thick cloth. That and the soft leather boots which reached to her knees and were held in place by cross gaitering were why, when he had seen her riding, he had thought that she was a he. Gabel briefly wondered if she wore a man’s braies as well. Since she wore such heavy clothes beneath her gown, he suspected that she was also far more slender than she appeared.

His attention was drawn back to her hair, and he understood why she had worn a snug hood. No braids held the thick dark red hair in check, the fading light picking out the strands of gold in its depths. Her hair was like some glorious beacon, hanging beyond her waist in heavy waves, and he was not surprised when the sight stirred his blood. He doubted that any man could view such beauty and remain cold. As his desire quickly surged to a crippling height, Gabel looked at his men. They clearly felt as stunned and as moved as he did. The situation needed to be smoothed over and swiftly.

“M’lady,” Gabel called to the girl in a light, friendly voice as he stepped to the fore of his men. “You cannot believe that you can take us all.”

“Nay, my fine knight, I am not such a fool,” she replied as she crouched into a fighting stance. “Howbeit, I shall leave ye sorely aware that ye have faced a MacNairn.”

“Sweet heaven,” murmured Justice as he edged closer to Gabel. “That bastard MacNairn breeds some very fine women.”

“So, you believe she is that laird’s spawn?” Gabel did not even glance at his cousin, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the girl.

“Aye, Gabel. She wears the MacNairn brooch at her shoulder. You could see that for yourself, if you would but tear your eyes from her hair.”

“Glorious, is it not? I have a craving to wrap myself in its thick waves. I will see if I can hold her gaze upon me, whilst you edge up to her from the left. Tread warily, cousin. She may well be able to wield that sword with some skill. It looks to have been made specifically to fit her small hands.” Gabel smiled at the girl as Justice inched away. “There is no need for bloodshed, m’lady. We do not seek to harm you.”

“Oh?” Ainslee briefly glanced at his men. “Ye brought a score or more fighting men with you so that we might exchange court gossip? Stay back,” she hissed when she saw him edge toward her, Ugly’s low growl of warning a confirmation of her suspicion that the man tried to sneak up on her. “Watch Ronald,” she ordered the dog, and the animal adopted an unmovable stance by the unconscious Scot.

“Do not urge your beast to the attack, m‘lady, for my men will quickly cut him down.” Gabel knew he had judged her right when her eyes widened; she glanced nervously at the dog and then glared at him. The animal was trained to command, and eager to protect her and the man. It meant she had spent time and affection on the grotesque beast. “Give over, m’lady, and you will come to no harm.”

Ainslee studied him closely and realized that she wanted to believe him, but she suddenly did not trust her own instincts. The man was too handsome, and she was far too aware of that despite the tense confrontation they were engaged in. He was taller than most of his men, his long body lean and muscular. Since he wore only his braies and boots, she could see that his complexion was naturally dark, not browned by the sun. His somewhat angular features could not really be called handsome, but they intrigued the eye and demanded respect. An aquiline nose was framed by well-defined, high cheekbones and led to a firm, slightly thin-lipped mouth. Straight dark brows crowned rich deep brown eyes so heavily lashed that Ainslee was certain they had caused some women to suffer sharp pangs of envy. His jaw was firm, implying a strength she had no doubt he possessed in full measure. His broad chest was smooth and hairless, a hint of dark curls finally appearing just below his navel and lightly dusting what little showed of his long, well-shaped legs. Both her mind and her body found the man far too intriguing, and she fought hard against that ill-timed interest.

She made a sharp, scornful noise in response to his claim that she would come to no harm. “Do ye mean to escort me home then, Norman?”

“I mean to hold you to ransom,” Gabel replied.

There was such a strong tone of honesty in his voice that Ainslee almost submitted, but she suddenly espied one of the Normans stealthily approaching her from the side. Swiftly, not allowing herself time to consider what she was doing, she pulled her dagger from beneath the wide girdle at her waist, and hurled it at the man. Confident that her weapon had found its mark, she fixed all of her attention on the man facing her, for she knew there would be swift and lethal retribution.

“Justice,” cried Gabel when his cousin. . .