Sigimor gave the signal to attack, smiling with satisfaction as his soft blackbird's call brought two swift echoes. He quickly left the passage, immediately positioning himself in front of Jolene. He watched with pleasure and pride as twenty other Camerons suddenly appeared, encircling Harold and his men. Grim-faced and with swords drawn, they made a fine sight, he decided. When Harold's startled gaze settled on his, Sigimor smiled at the man.
"I fear your intentions are for naught, Harold,” Sigimor said. “Ye are going to die. Right here. Right now."
It pleased Sigimor when Harold suddenly screamed in fury and drew his sword. He had been hoping the man would not want to surrender. Moving away from Jolene, and sensing one of his men quickly taking his place to shield her, Sigimor stepped up to meet Harold's challenge before the man recovered his senses and withdrew it.
Jolene kept a wriggling Reynard's face pressed against her and flinched at the sound of sword meeting sword echoing through the stone chamber. She watched her husband and Harold for only a moment before she felt calm banish the chill of fear. Harold was good, but Sigimor was much better. Haroldwasgoing to die. Right here. Right now.
She looked around to see what else was happening. Martin and two of the other men had surrendered immediately. They stood unarmed near Liam watching the fight. Four others had made the mistake of drawing their swords. Two were already dead and, although she was no expert on fighting, she felt sure the other two soon would be. The Camerons had met these attacks one on one, but Harold's men were obviously outmatched.
Just as she turned her gaze back to Sigimor, the fight ended. Harold moved awkwardly, leaving an opening, and Sigimor took swift advantage, burying his sword deep in the man's chest. The way Harold died so quickly, barely gasping as the blade entered his body, told Jolene that it had probably been a clean thrust to the heart. The end of the other two men's lives was very nearly as abrupt and silent. She watched while Sigimor cleaned his blade on Harold's elaborately embroidered jupon and then resheathed it. Sigimor looked at her, then nodded when she smiled at him and turned his attention to Martin and the last of Harold's men.
"Since my woman is unharmed, I feel a wee bit merciful,” Sigimor said. “Get out. Dinnae pause to rob the dead, dinnae linger to e'en water your horses until ye are far off my lands. Keep running until ye are out of Scotland. My good mood could fade. Ranulph, lead them out so that our men set outside dinnae kill them. Tait, Gilbert, ye follow and if they e'en twitch, kill them."
This was Sigimor the warrior, Jolene thought as she listened to his cold, hard voice ring through the room. He even said the word mercy in a tone that offered none. Knowing the men Harold had placed outside were probably dead and having seen how easily and coldly he had killed Harold, Jolene suspected she ought to be feeling nervous. In many ways this man was a Sigimor she did not know, a man she had never met before. Instead, she felt only pride, in him and herself, for he was hers. She smiled at him again when he crouched in front of her and gently, tenderly, stroked her cheek with the very hand that, moments before, had wielded a deadly sword. It was hard to subdue the fierce urge to throw herself into his arms and kiss him.
"Ye arenae hurt?” he asked.
"Nay, Martin was trying to convince Harold that I would be very useful in dealing with you. Martin wanted to get out of this alive. At least he got what he wanted.” She glanced toward the wall where the bodies of Barbara and Clyde lay. “I fear Lady Barbara and her companion did not."
Sigimor winced as he saw the bodies, and quietly signaled his men to take them out. “Donald wants them, to take them home."
"I had the feeling he had guessed how dealing with Harold might end."
"Yet, he did naught to help you."
"He did help you, though, did he not?"
"Aye, after I guessed the right question to ask. Ye can smile at that?"
She smiled as Tait took Reynard from her and left with the boy. “Now, aye,” she replied. “I heard how very carefully he worded his promise to Barbara and thought it was done apurpose. I do not blame him for not helping as we were taken away. He was in some danger himself, I believe."
Sigimor nodded and helped her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms and held her for a moment, simply breathing in the scent of her hair. Slowly, the last of his fear for her faded away. Keeping an arm around her shoulders, he led her out of the chamber, grabbing a torch to light their way and leaving a few of his men to clear away the bodies and collect anything of value.
Jolene wrapped her arm around his waist and pressed herself close to his side as they walked. She told him all that had happened since she and Reynard had walked into Barbara's bedchamber. The only thing she held back was the news that, not very far away, was her cousin Roger. His presence meant a decision would soon have to be made, and, for the moment, she just wanted to savor being safe, free, and back with Sigimor.
"Oh, your cousin William, the priest, was the one who told Harold about our marriage,” she said as they stepped out of the passage and both paused for a deep breath of fresh air. “Harold said that he had to persuade the man to do so and that he beat him near to death afterward. He did not linger to see if the poor man actually did die."
"I will get a few men and go to him,” said Gilbert. “If needed, we can take the man to Scarglas and let Fiona and Mab tend to his injuries. They will soon put him back on his feet."
"Good lad,” Sigimor said and sighed as Gilbert hurried off. “I wouldnae be surprised if there are a few more along Harold's route who suffered at his hands, but there is naught we can do about it."
"Nay,” agreed Jolene. “Harold did have a skill at leaving a bloody trail where'er he went. Someone should have killed him years ago. There was ne'er any proof, though, and he was high enough born to make that be very important."
"Aye, the poor mon can get hanged on naught but a suspicion. The rich mon needs to be caught with a bloody hand and e'en then he may ne'er pay for his crime.” He set Jolene up on his horse and mounted behind her. “I still feel a wee bit merciful, so I will let Donald stay the night and toss him out in the morning."
"You are a true saint, husband,” she said and exchanged a grin with him.
She snuggled back against him as he started to ride, placing her hands on his arms. It was a little hard to believe it was all over, that Harold was no longer a threat. It had not been that long since she had fled Drumwich, but the weight of that threat had made the time go by so much more slowly. He was no longer a constant shadow at her back, a knife held at Reynard's throat, or the one who might actually be able to make her wish for death.
There was a new shadow, however, but she refused to study it just yet. Roger and the need to make a choice lurked at the edges of the happiness she felt right now. She had until the dawn. For a few hours more she would pretend all was well.
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Chapter Eighteen
Breathing deeply of the soft scent of lavender rising from her hot bath did little to ease the tension in Jolene. She had succeeded in ignoring what now faced her for as long as she could. It had insisted upon intruding into her mind for most of the time since returning from what was now Harold's grave, and all her attempts to push such thoughts away had caused her to be a little distracted. She was certain Sigimor had noticed that, but he seemed to accept that it was just a result of the things that had happened while she was a captive.
This was her last night with him, she thought, and fought the urge to weep. There really was no other choice for her. Reynard was a child, his needs greater than a man's or hers. She had sworn to her dying brother that she would care for his child. It could hardly be called caring if she simply handed him to someone to take back to Drumwich for her and never looked back.
