Finally, he had enough of a grip to heave himself over to the ten-foot drop to the bailey on the other side. Carefully, he lowered himself down, dangling by his fingertips again before letting himself fall to the ground. Once he hit the dirty, he stumbled a bit. He was just managing to regain his balance when someone hit him squarely in the back of the head with a plank of wood. His helm flew off and he fell like a stone.
Dazed, Jamison ended up on his back but through his clouded vision, he could see something swinging at him again. He rolled out of the way, kicking out his legs to knock his attacker off balance. He heard a body hit the ground next to him and what sounded suspiciously like a female sound, a grunt. Rolling to his knees, he grabbed his attacker by the arm. A very small arm. It took him a moment to realize that he was looking at Amaline.
“Ammie!” he hissed. “Stop fighting, lass. Look at me! ’Tis Jamison!”
Amaline had been swinging her free arm and her feet, trying to kick him, but when she saw who it was, she immediately came to a halt. Her eyes widened.
“Jamison!” she shrieked.
He pulled her up off the ground. “Aye,” he said quickly. “I am here. I’ll help ye. Where is Havi?”
Amaline was in tears. “I do not know,” she said. She pointed to the gatehouse. “She was at her post the last I saw but… but there are Welsh there trying to open the portcullis!”
Seized with fear, Jamison looked over to the big gatehouse and could, indeed, see that it was swarming with men. He released Amaline.
“I must go help her,” he said. “Amaline, listen to me. There are too many men for ye to fight. I want ye go to the keep and stay inside. Bolt the door and dunna let anyone in ye dunna know. Is that clear?”
Amaline shook her head. “I cannot!” she said. “I must fight!”
He shook his head. “I dunna have time tae argue,” he said. “If ye stay here, the Welsh will take ye. Get inside the keep and stay there. Go.”
He meant what he said; Amaline could see that. She looked at the wall where men were spilling over. “But… but the wall….”
He spun her around, pointing her towards the keep. “Ye canna stop it,” he said, swatting her on the buttocks. “Get tae the keep!”
With a yelp, Amaline did as she was told, rubbing her buttocks as she dashed towards the keep. Hoping that she would, indeed, listen to him, Jamison made his break towards the gatehouse, unsheathing his broadsword as he moved. He knew Havilland was in that mess of men, somewhere, and intended to find her. It was all he could think of, all he could focus on.
As he came upon a mass of fighting, struggling men, he began to swing his sword at everything he recognized as Welsh. He’d been around the Four Crosses soldiers enough to know their manner of dress, and the Welsh were quite different. Heads began to roll as the enormous Highlander plowed his way through the fight at the gatehouse.
Men began to realize there was a devastating element in their midst and the English were evidently not the targets; the Welsh were. But men were still fighting and struggling as the Welsh tried to battle their way up to the second floor of the gatehouse where the great levers for the portcullises were. Already, the battering ram was doing damage on the first portcullis and, somehow, the inner portcullis had been raised about three feet, enough for men to go under it. Jamison ducked under it, too.
The first thing he saw was Tobias, backed up against the wall in a brutal fight with a Welshman. Tobias had been wounded, a nasty wound to his left shoulder, so much so that the arm seemed useless as he struggled to fight with his right hand. Jamison came up behind the Welshman trying to kill Tobias and gored the man in the back, straight through the torso so that his blade came out of the man’s chest. Tossing the body aside, he pulled Tobias off of the wall.
“Tobias,” he hissed, struggling to catch his breath. “Are ye badly hurt, man?”
Tobias shook his head. “I do not think so,” he said, his eyes wide with surprise. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
Jamison waved him off. “A story for another time,” he said. “Where is Havilland?”
Tobias pointed to the bailey with his good arm. “In the bailey last I saw her,” he said, his tone urgent. “She was fighting a man who was considerably bigger than she was. I couldn’t get to her. Find her, Jamie… find her and make sure she is well.”
Jamison didn’t have to be told twice. He plowed his way out of the gatehouse, ducking below the half-lifted portcullis again and emerging into the bailey where there were several groups of men fighting. He hadn’t noticed Havilland when he’d come into the gatehouse and even now, he couldn’t see her. His panic started to rise but he fought it. He had to keep a level head if he was going to do her any good at all.
Several long and painful seconds of looking around for her produced no results and it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain his composure. He was starting to move off to the north, towards the great hall, when he caught sight of a man on the ground, half-propped up against the wall. Almost immediately, he recognized the gatehouse sergeant he’d had dealings with. The man was bleeding heavily. He rushed to the man, dropping to a knee.
“Have ye seen Lady Havilland?” he asked. “I was told she was out here, somewhere.”
The sergeant pointed towards the kitchens. “That way,” he said, weakened. “He took Lady Havilland. I tried to stop him but he gored me. You must help her!”
Jamison could no longer keep his panic in check. “Who took her?” he demanded.
The sergeant continued to point weakly towards the kitchen yard. “A Welshman,” he said. “Go! Help her! He will kill her!”
Jamison took off at a dead run. Broadsword in hand, he blew into the kitchen yard only to be faced with more fighting and an open postern gate. Men were pouring through it and he turned in the direction of the bailey, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
“Breach!”
It was the battle cry and Four Crosses soldiers began to shift in the direction of the kitchens; Jamison could see them moving. But that wasn’t his concern; his concern was finding Havilland. Looking around the kitchen yard in desperation, he didn’t see her anywhere. As he ran towards the postern gate to see if she had been taken outside of the walls, he heard a faint scream.
He recognized it.
Havilland!
Jamison propelled himself through the postern gate only to see that the wall in this section was crowded with men trying to enter the gate. It was a narrow passage so only one man at a time could pass through and he shoved men back and out of the way so he could pass. More screams down the path towards the river caught his attention and he bolted down the trail, slipping and sliding in the darkness as the trees covered most of the bright moonlight. Beneath the canopy, it was dark and eerie.
Jamison ran as much as he could without tripping and killing himself, sliding down the hill, hearing more screams. As he neared the river, he heard sounds of fighting. It spurred him forward. As he neared a bend in the path, he caught movement off to his left. Two figures were battling in the darkness, one of them decidedly female. He could hear Havilland grunting as she battled for her life, swarmed upon by a man who was trying to subdue her.
Rage filled Jamison. It was rage like he had never experienced before, something so black and horrific it was as if his soul had been taken over by the devil. Anyone who would touch Havilland so, or worse yet, hurt her, deserved all of that rage and more. He didn’t hesitate to bring up his sword but it was difficult to see in the darkness. He wanted very much to gore the man assaulting her but he was gravely concerned he might strike Havilland, instead.
Therefore, he had to get closer so he could see the figures more clearly, but as he approached, there was so much struggling and blurred lines of bodies that he knew he couldn’t use his sword. The bodies were too close together and he couldn’t chance hitting Havilland. Therefore, he sheathed his sword and marched up on the pair in a necessary move. He had to get that close to discern them i
n the darkness.
He had to see his target.
But it was still difficult to see. In desperation, he reached out and grabbed someone. He didn’t care who it was at that point but he had to separate them. As soon as he grabbed a head, he realized very quickly that he had the man in his grasp. Now, he had a fight on his hands for the man was strong. He didn’t take kindly to be grabbed. Fists began to fly in the darkness but that was what Jamison did best; fighting with his fists. He began landing a series of powerful blows, knocking his opponent off balance in the darkness.
Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see Havilland as she began to run away. She was terrified and rightfully so, but he didn’t want her to return to the castle and back into the fray. Therefore, he had to give himself away. As she ran, he bellowed.
“Havilland!” he boomed.
Several feet away, and in nearly complete darkness, Havilland came to such an abrupt halt that she tripped and fell to her knees. Having spent the past several hours in battle, and the last several minutes in the fight for her life, she was in battle mode. Everything she did was to preserve her life, including running away when someone challenged her attacker. She was positive it had been another man who wanted to claim her, someone intent to steal her away, but the sound of a familiar voice had her astonished to the bone.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
“Jamison!” she gasped.
There was a good deal of grunting and punching going on in the darkness and realizing that Jamison had returned fueled Havilland with unimaginable joy. It also fueled her with determination. He had come back, God only knew why, but that didn’t matter now. Questions would have to wait. At the moment, she had to help him in his fight to save her. Now, she had to save him.
Havilland still had a small dagger strapped to her leg, hidden beneath her tunic, but in battling with her abductor she hadn’t been able to get a hand free to retrieve it. Now, she had the opportunity and she fumbled with her tunic, yanking the razor-sharp knife from its sheath. Holding the blade offensively, she rushed to Jamison as he battled with the Welshman.
But she had much the same problem as Jamison had in that it was very dark and the men were fighting very closely. But she could see which was one was Jamison, purely from his size, so when the pair swung in her direction again, she leapt onto the Welshman’s back and plunged her dagger into the man’s back, right at the base of the neck. She did it four times before he finally fell to the ground.
As he went down, she went down with him, leaping from his back, stumbling sideways before regaining her balance. The man lay at her feet, groaning, and she kicked him for good measure.
“I hope you die a slow and painful death, you bastard,” she hissed. “I hope you pay in eternity for what you have done!”
Jamison, winded from the fight, could see that the struggle was clearly over. He caught a glint of the dagger in Havilland’s hand and imagined she had used it quite effectively. Her victim wasn’t moving much and he was certain the man wasn’t going to rise again. With the immediate threat over, he took a deep breath and crouched down beside the man who was clearly dying.
“How many men have ye brought?” he asked. “Tell me what I need tae know and I’ll end yer life mercifully.”
The Welshman gazed up at Jamison, unable to move, but the hatred in his eyes was unmistakable. “You may win this fight but the war is not over,” he said haltingly. “There will be more of my kind coming. We will come until we cannot come any longer. This is not finished.”
Jamison well understood the mentality of the Welsh. It was very similar to that of the Scots in their fight for independence against the English. In that sense, his people and the Welsh people were quite similar. Therefore, he understood the mentality well.
“But ye are finished,” he said quietly. “And yer death was in vain. Four Crosses shall not fall this night, not while there is breath in me body.”
The Welshman continued to hold his gaze but the man was fading fast. “Mayhap not tonight, but there will be other nights,” he muttered. “Remember me when that night comes. Remember Morys Preece when the last Welshman drives his spear into your heart. It will be my spirit behind that spear.”
Havilland, who had been listening to the conversation, dropped to her knees beside him. “Morys?” she repeated, shocked. “Your brother is Evon. That is why you were asking for him!”
Morys couldn’t move his head but he tried to look at her. “I asked you where Evon was,” he said. “Where are you holding him? Is he inside the castle?”
Havilland lifted her eyes to Jamison, who was gazing at her in the darkness. She wasn’t sure what to say so Jamison took charge. He did it with the confidence of a man who knew he had won, who knew he had triumphed at the end of a long and hard-fought battle.
“Yer brother is dead,” he said. “I had the privilege of watching the last o’ his life drain away as I killed him, as I will have the privilege of watching the last o’ yer life drain away. Ye canna beat me, little man, and ye canna beat the fierceness of the people at Four Crosses. A lioness lives there and ye tried tae tame her, but she killed ye in the end. I hope that is the last thing ye remember – ye were killed by a woman.”
Morys’ eyes widened and his mouth worked as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t permit it. As Jamison and Havilland watched, the light left Morys’ eyes and drained away. His body relaxed and the life went out of him completely. Such was the death of a rebel, much as it had been in the death of his rebel brother.
It was over.
Havilland’s gaze lingered on Morys’ body a moment before she looked up at Jamison to see that he was staring at her. As she looked at him, so many things came to mind to say to him, all of them rushing over each other, wanting to be heard. There was so much emotion in her heart and in her soul, that she could hardly contain it.
“You… you came back,” she finally said.
He nodded faintly. “I did.”
“Why?”
A hint of a smile crossed his lips. “That’s a good question,” he said. “Mayhap it was because I wanted tae convince ye tae reconsider yer decision. Mayhap it was because a foolish Scotsman found me and told me he was recruiting men tae join the Welsh in their siege against Four Crosses Castle. Mayhap I came back tae take ye as a prize in battle and then ye canna refuse me.”
Because he was smiling, she dared to smile in return. Out of that somewhat humorous explanation, she discerned something of the truth.
“You were recruited to fight with the Welsh?” she said, puzzled. “Is that really true?”
He nodded. “We were staying at an inn not far from here when a man came, looking for men tae fight in tonight’s attack,” he said. “Ye know I couldna return home knowing ye were facing danger. I had tae come back and make sure ye survived.”
It was a very touching thing to say and her emotions, struggling to come forth, finally burst the dam of her composure. She knew what she had to say. In looking at him now, she knew that she could never again be parted from him.
“I am so sorry if I was cruel to you,” she whispered huskily, the tears forming. “I truly felt I was making the best decision for both of us but I’ve since realized that I was wrong. It is a miserable existence I have sentenced us to be without one another. Would I rather have you alive and without me? I would. But I have come to the conclusion that I am very selfish, Jamison. I do not want to be without you and I do not want you to be without me. You just referred to me as a lioness… I am your lioness. I will always be your lioness. And I cannot live with the thought of living my life without you. It was horrible for me to try and convince you that was for the best and I pray that you can forgive me.”
He watched her, struggling with her regrets, and his heart, so broken by their separation, now swelled with joy. He was hoping he hadn’t dreamed her words because if he had, it would surely kill him.
“I forgive ye,” he murmured. “But w
hat do ye want? Ye know I must return home, Havi. Will ye come with me as me wife or did ye simply say those words tae satisfy yer guilt at having said them?”
She wiped the tears away that were falling. “De Lohr will be here soon,” she whispered. “He will take over the castle. I am no longer needed here. But you need me. You need me to fight off those damnable MacKenzies. I will kill every one of them, I swear it.”
He grinned, so very touched by her words. “Ever the lioness, aren’t ye?”
“If you are The Red Lion, then being your lioness is my destiny.”
Those words filled him more than he ever thought they would. His lioness. Now, he felt whole. He felt complete. He’d never known that words, simple things, could make such a difference in his life and how he looked at it. A dreaded return home would be a triumphant return home now. With Havilland’s love and support, he was the strongest man who had ever lived.
He was invincible.
“I love ye, lass,” he said with more feeling than he’d ever shown. “More than all the stars in the heavens, I love ye.”
“Still?”
“I never stopped.”
Havilland’s smile grew, knowing now that all was well between them. Her decision hadn’t cost them anything but longing and a little time. The love they had for one another, the devotion, was still there. It was stronger than ever. He would have never come back to Four Crosses has it been otherwise.
“Then we shall face life together,” she said, her eyes glimmering at him in the weak light. “Your father’s anger, the MacKenzie’s vengeance, and everything else life brings us. There will be nothing so great that we cannot surmount it together.”
He loved her confidence, her strength. He reached out, touching that sweet, dirty face that he loved so well. “With ye by me side, I can face anything at all.”
She kissed his hand as it came near her lips. “As can I.”