The Price of Freedom by Carol Umberger Page B

later. For now, he must deal with Carleton.
    â€œCome, Sir Rodney, you’ve never been at a loss for words.”
    The nobleman drew himself up, not easy to do with a large man hanging on each arm, Bryan noted. Still, Rodney was always one to put up a good pretense.
    â€œYou will regret your actions today, Sir Bryan,” Rodney sneered. “This castle is mine, and the countess is my betrothed.”
    â€œAh. And if this is so why did the lady yield to me? To Bruce?” Why had the woman abandoned her betrothed and her king? Was she fickle and untrustworthy? Bryan grew anxious to meet her and take her measure. “Did you have a lover’s quarrel?”
    Carleton lunged, but the guards held him fast. “She is confused, a weak vessel. She and Homelea are mine, and I will have them while you share Wallace’s fate.”
    Bryan dismissed Sir Rodney’s threat with a wave of his hand even as he fought the images of William Wallace’s execution. He would never forget, nor forgive, Carleton’s part in the dishonorable affair.
    â€œLet’s see what the lady has to say.” Bryan dismounted, handing the horse’s reins to his squire.
    The countess emerged from the guardhouse, a young man at her side. Bryan drew in a quick breath. He’d heard it said she was comely, but even at this distance it was clear the woman was beyond comely. Tall and graceful, her curving figure was clearly visible in a modest but flattering gown. Golden hair in a thick braid drooped from the top of her head, barely held in place with a gold band.
    She stumbled and the man steadied her. Was she frail? Ill? Bryan dragged his gaze from her pleasing shape to her face. As he strode toward them he realized the man had a scar across the lid and brow of one eye and a bruised face. Bryan’s attention returned to the woman, and his gaze took in her pallor and swollen lip. Blood glistened from a scrape on her forehead.
    By the saints, someone had struck her. Bryan spun around to glare at Carleton. The man’s defiant stance and knowing look told him just who had done so. Bryan controlled his anger, willing himself not to walk over to Carleton and bloody the man’s face further.
    Instead, he stood before the lady. Scowling, Bryan removed his helm from his head and shoved it into the hands of the startled, one-eyed man beside her. The man defiantly shoved it back at him, and the expression on his face warned Bryan that he would defend the lady to the death.
    An unarmed man defied the Black Knight. Interesting. The lady apparently provoked staunch loyalty from her retainers. Bryan raised his arm to signal his squire to take the helm, and the lady threw herself in front of the man at her side. “Nay, my laird. Do not strike him, please. I beg you, punish me. I am to blame.”
    Bryan stared at them. The man seemed displeased at her defense of him, the woman desperate. Bryan’s squire now stood next to him and he handed the younger man the helm. Bryan pushed back his mail hood and said, “Lady, though I question his wisdom in challenging an armed knight, I took no offense. Indeed, I applaud your man’s loyalty.”
    She looked astonished and disbelieving. Bryan knew he must establish some semblance of trust if they were going to accept him as a leader.
    â€œWhat is your name?” he asked the man.
    The young man straightened. “Fergus, my laird.”
    The man looked Bryan in the eye, giving Bryan the notion that he wore his wound with a certain amount of pride. And that his lady’s defense had annoyed him, made him feel less of a man. As casually as he would have addressed any soldier Bryan asked, “How did you lose the eye?”
    â€œLord Carleton struck me.”
    â€œWhat did you do to anger him?”
    â€œHe was threatening Lady Kathryn, my laird, and I came to her defense. Which I have done today and would do again, should the need arise,” he pronounced