through the tight battle line of Normans and stumbled over to face her. A grim smile curved his bloodied mouth. He had not come through the line unscathed, but clearly believed that she was not to be feared. Ainslee braced herself, crouched into a fighting position, and prepared to prove him wrong. As she raised her sword to meet his blow, the force of the clashing weapons ripping through her muscles, she wondered if she had been a little too confident. Ugly sent up a howl as he trotted around them, eager to help her, but trained not to interfere in such a fight unless commanded to. Ainslee felt her fear ease somewhat. If and when the time was right, she only needed the strength to utter one command, and her enemy would discover himself attacked from two sides.
Gabel cut down the man before him. The outlaw’s scream had barely gurgled to a halt when Gabel heard the wolfhound’s agitated barking. He ordered his men to stand fast, not to chase the now retreating Scots for fear of a trap, and turned to see what danger Ainslee had gotten herself entangled in. A vile curse was all he could utter when he saw her fighting with one of the outlaws, a burly man who far outweighed her and stood head and shoulders above her.
“She is armed again,” said Michael as he stepped up next to Gabel.
“Aye. The foolish woman thinks she is a man.” A quick glance around revealed that the battle was as good as over, and Gabel cautiously moved toward Ainslee. “ ’Tis clear that we did not secure her weapons well enough.”
“I can understand her need to face the enemy with a sturdy weapon in her hand. ’Twould not be to my liking to stand helpless when these dogs attacked, my only defense being to hide or flee.”
“ ’Tis the defense most women are content with. Do not try to soothe my anger. We will gain nothing if the foolish girl gets herself killed.”
Gabel ignored his young cousin’s knowing glance. The ransom was indeed the very last thing he was concerned about at the moment, but he had no intention of confessing to that. He began to circle the ill-matched combatants, hoping he could find some way to nudge Ainslee aside and end the battle himself. She would soon tire, and he realized he was terrified of the possibility of seeing her wounded or killed.
“Curse the girl,” he muttered. “If I draw any closer, I could easily cause her death rather than save her.”
Before Michael could reply, the man Ainslee faced stumbled. Ainslee did not hesitate to take advantage of her enemy’s sudden vulnerability. The death stroke she inflicted was swift and clean. The Scot fell with barely a sound. She stood, her sword still slick with blood, and stared down at the man she had just killed.
“Ainslee,” Gabel called as he tentatively approached her, unsettled by her ashen complexion and the look of stunned horror on her small face. She spun around, facing him with sword in hand. “Do you mean to skewer me as well?” he asked, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.
“ ’Twould free me,” she said, her voice thick and husky.
“Nay, ’twould get you killed, right here, right now.”
“Your men would hesitate to kill a woman.”
“Not if that woman’s sword was sticking out of my chest.”
A sigh shuddered through her slim body as she handed him her sword, watching morosely as he cleaned the blade. “I probably would have cut your throat, not impaled you.”
When Michael stepped up beside her, Ainslee meekly handed him the rest of her weapons, hesitating only briefly before giving him her second dagger. Her stomach clenched painfully, but she was unable to fully quell the nausea churning inside of her. She had never killed a man before. It was possible that one of the arrows she had loosed at an enemy had found its mark, but she had never stared into a man’s eyes as her sword plunged into his flesh, spilling his life out onto the ground. She felt weak, sickened, and horrified.
“You have ne’er taken a
Gabel cut down the man before him. The outlaw’s scream had barely gurgled to a halt when Gabel heard the wolfhound’s agitated barking. He ordered his men to stand fast, not to chase the now retreating Scots for fear of a trap, and turned to see what danger Ainslee had gotten herself entangled in. A vile curse was all he could utter when he saw her fighting with one of the outlaws, a burly man who far outweighed her and stood head and shoulders above her.
“She is armed again,” said Michael as he stepped up next to Gabel.
“Aye. The foolish woman thinks she is a man.” A quick glance around revealed that the battle was as good as over, and Gabel cautiously moved toward Ainslee. “ ’Tis clear that we did not secure her weapons well enough.”
“I can understand her need to face the enemy with a sturdy weapon in her hand. ’Twould not be to my liking to stand helpless when these dogs attacked, my only defense being to hide or flee.”
“ ’Tis the defense most women are content with. Do not try to soothe my anger. We will gain nothing if the foolish girl gets herself killed.”
Gabel ignored his young cousin’s knowing glance. The ransom was indeed the very last thing he was concerned about at the moment, but he had no intention of confessing to that. He began to circle the ill-matched combatants, hoping he could find some way to nudge Ainslee aside and end the battle himself. She would soon tire, and he realized he was terrified of the possibility of seeing her wounded or killed.
“Curse the girl,” he muttered. “If I draw any closer, I could easily cause her death rather than save her.”
Before Michael could reply, the man Ainslee faced stumbled. Ainslee did not hesitate to take advantage of her enemy’s sudden vulnerability. The death stroke she inflicted was swift and clean. The Scot fell with barely a sound. She stood, her sword still slick with blood, and stared down at the man she had just killed.
“Ainslee,” Gabel called as he tentatively approached her, unsettled by her ashen complexion and the look of stunned horror on her small face. She spun around, facing him with sword in hand. “Do you mean to skewer me as well?” he asked, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.
“ ’Twould free me,” she said, her voice thick and husky.
“Nay, ’twould get you killed, right here, right now.”
“Your men would hesitate to kill a woman.”
“Not if that woman’s sword was sticking out of my chest.”
A sigh shuddered through her slim body as she handed him her sword, watching morosely as he cleaned the blade. “I probably would have cut your throat, not impaled you.”
When Michael stepped up beside her, Ainslee meekly handed him the rest of her weapons, hesitating only briefly before giving him her second dagger. Her stomach clenched painfully, but she was unable to fully quell the nausea churning inside of her. She had never killed a man before. It was possible that one of the arrows she had loosed at an enemy had found its mark, but she had never stared into a man’s eyes as her sword plunged into his flesh, spilling his life out onto the ground. She felt weak, sickened, and horrified.
“You have ne’er taken a
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