Page 2 of The Guardian's Witch

“You still believe your Scots are blameless.” Bryce passed back the skin.

“Bryce, this is more than a border raid and a few cows being taken—much more. And they are not ‘my’ Scots. Everyone at Glen Kirk has told me they have never had an incident with the border clans, so why now? You live here. Surely you know that to be true. But, if not the Scots, who? That is the question.”

“You do know most everyone at court suspects the Scots.” Bryce straightened in his saddle.

“I too heard the rumblings.”

“You were quite outspoken. The debate you sparked was lively to say the least.”

“You know where I stand on this issue. I clearly do not agree. The Scots are not involved in these raids.”

“How can you be so certain, Alex?”

“I’ve been dealing with them this last year and they’re just as concerned about these raids as we are. They’re worried the raids will move to their land. I know they are truthful. I can’t explain it more than that. You’ll not convince me otherwise, Bryce. We’re on different sides of this argument. Let’s leave this discussion for another time.”

It was good to see his friend talking again. Bryce had been preoccupied for a good part of the journey. He wasn’t certain what attributed to Bryce’s attitude. Perhaps it was the delay caused by his unexpected nuptials or Bryce’s private audience with the king, which apparently did not go well. Bryce didn’t offer to share what had happened, and Alex wouldn’t pry. He supposed the man was entitled to his mood. Over the last year Alex had grown to know Bryce and his father, Ramon, well. Bryce would seek him out to talk when the time was right. For now it was good to see the heaviness lifted.

“Well Lord Alex, this is where I leave you.”

Alex didn’t need to peer over his shoulder but rather knew Bryce’s small retinue approached.

“How long do you plan to stay at Glen Kirk before you return to Wales?”

Alex looked at the knight. “I’ve decided not to accept the king’s invitation. I’m certain he will understand.” He glanced at the castles towers in the distance. “Glen Kirk will do.”

Bryce followed his gaze. “Yes, I’m not surprised.” His men emerged from the forest and entered the small clearing. Bryce’s horse danced, eager to get under way. “We’ll wait here with you for your men and wagons,” said Bryce, easily bringing the horse under control. “They can’t be too far behind.”

“No need. The sun is mostly gone and you’ve another hour’s ride before you reach Ravencroft. We’re on Glen Kirk land. There won’t be any trouble.”

“As you wish. Then I will leave you to continue to gaze at your gift, m’lord, and contemplate your evening.” Bryce affected a mock bow. “Well done, Alex. You made me a pretty penny.” He wheeled his horse to the west.

“If I had known you had wagered I would have claimed half,” Alex shouted out after him. “Safe travels.”

Bryce raised his hand in salute and set off at a comfortable pace. His men fell in behind him.

Alex’s gaze slid back to the castle’s crenellated tower. Glen Kirk was anything but a gift. He had worked long and hard to make the castle prosper and to keep the people safe. He dealt well with the Scots through mutual respect and clear understanding. His eyes soaked in the view. He would never tire of staring at her graceful lines and majestic bearing. He never doubted his success. Something deep down told him Glen Kirk was his rightful place. He urged Prime, his destrier, forward.

Prime’s ears flattened. Alex, instantly alert, detected a change in the surroundings. The stillness was deafening. He heard not a sound. He glimpsed the west trail. Bryce and his men were out of sight. Relief his friend was out of harm’s way was only momentary. The rustling of the underbrush gave away the raider’s positions. Whoever it was had started to move. He knew his men and wagons were not far behind but they wouldn’t reach him in time. He would have to fend for himself. The crack of dried wood to his right drew his attention. A stout branch snapped back and struck him a hard glancing blow from the left. The combination of surprise and brute force unseated him and threw him to the ground.

His warhorse kicked and nipped at the raiders who broke through the trees. Prime stood defiantly by Alex and kept the attackers at bay.

Alex jumped to his feet with his sword drawn. He slapped the horse’s rump, a signal he was ready. The horse turned south, bolted and stampeded through the knot of men. The well-trained horse raced down the trail toward Alex’s advancing soldiers.

Alex quickly evaluated the field of attack. Prime had done a good job of thinning out the men. Many lay broken and bleeding on the ground. The advantage shifted to his favor. The few survivors who remained were dazed. He had to strike before they reorganized.

He swung his blade shoulder high in a wide arc. The men backed away. One slipped off to the right to circle behind him. Alex used the momentum of his swing to turn completely around and faced the lone attacker. He let his swing continue and drew his blade across the man’s throat. Blood spurted from the fatal wound creating large blotches on Alex’s tunic. The raider fell to his knees blood pulsing from his severed throat. His mouth opened and closed like a beached fish but he made no sound. He crumpled forward into the red mud.

Alex pressed forward. He bellowed his war cry and the seasoned warrior exploded into action. He slashed, sliced and skewered the less-proficient fighters with efficient and fluid swordplay. He progressed from one stroke to the next. His brown riding tunic and white shirt were splattered crimson. He continued his attack, now focused on the more senior men. His blade whipped through the air and whistled with a deadly cadence. The blows, in rapid succession, were marked by the ring of steel against steel a mere second or two apart.

The warm August air was thick with the pungent smell of battle. The coppery taste of blood permeated the rising mist in the small clearing. Alex advanced and pushed his attackers back toward the forest path. He would catch his enemy between him and his advancing men.

Someone approached from behind him, someone he knew and trusted. Alex didn’t stop. He was too busy with the attack in front of him. The sound of his men advancing up the trail reached him. One man after another fell until someone with a well-placed knife broke through his rear defense. With a single stroke white heat seared his side. He tried to turn and defend against the attacker but all went black.

* * *

“Lord Mitchell, he’s lain here for two days. I’ve sent John to fetch Lady Lisbeth.”

Through the pain, Alex overheard Ann, his housekeeper. She stood vigil at his bedside.

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