Since the opponents were now only a foot apart, the man saw his chance, and swiftly went for the slim white throat of his antagonist. But the other stepped aside with the ease of a matador moving out of the path of a charging bull. The man’s knife slashed through open space, and a second later it was struck from his hand with a vicious blow and clattered across the room, out of reach.
The stranger was left facing Enid, who glared at him without pity. “You fool! Bren was but toying with you.”
He saw the truth of her words and paled visibly. And though it nettled him sorely to be bested by a mere boy, he now feared for his life. He faced the boy and prayed that the death blow would be swift.
There was no mercy in the cold gray eyes that regarded him, and the laugh that came from the soft, sensuous lips chilled his blood.
“By what name are you called?”
“Donald—Donald Gillie,” he answered quickly.
“And from where have you traveled?”
“Anglesey.”
At the mention of the name, the gray eyes narrowed. “And were you there last year, when the cursed Vikings struck Holyhead Island?”
“Aye, ’twas a horror to see such slaughter and—”
“Cease! I did not ask for an account of what the bastards did. Know you this, Donald Gillie! Your life rests in the maid’s hands.” The youth turned to Enid. “What shall it be? Shall I end his ravishing days here and now?”
“Nay!” Enid gasped.
“Then shall I maim him for what he has done to you? Sever an arm? A leg?”
“Nay! Nay, Bren!”
“Justice shall be done here, Enid!” The youth snapped impatiently. “My justice is more lenient than my father’s. Were it Lord Angus who had found him rutting ’atween your legs, he would have skewed him on a pole and left him for the wolves. I have toyed with him, yea, but his crime I have seen with my own eyes and he will pay for it.”
Enid looked on with wide, fearful eyes. Donald Gillie stood with his shoulders slumped, awaiting his fate. The youth’s smooth forehead creased in thought, then the gray eyes lit up with a solution.
“I have it, then. Would you take the man for a husband, Enid?”
The barely audible whisper was not long in coming. “Yea.”
“Will you agree to this, Donald Gillie?” Gray eyes pierced him sharply.
The man’s head snapped up. “Yea, I will!” the words gushed forth.
“So be it, then; you shall be wedded,” the youth spoke with finality. “’Tis a good bargain you’ve made, Donald Gillie. But know you this. You cannot say yea today, then nay on the morrow. Do not make me regret that I have let you off so easily. If the girl comes to harm, or if you have in mind to desert her, there will not be a hole deep enough for you to hide in, for I will find you and right the wrong with your life.”
The man could not contain his joy at having such a light punishment. “I will not harm the girl.”
“Good,” the youth replied curtly, then turned toward the door and yelled, “You women, off with you now. You have had your entertainment for this day. Leave these two to get acquainted.” He turned back and said, “Enid, wash him quickly before your father returns. You will have much to explain to that good man.”
“Your own father has truly raised a merciful son, my lord,” Donald Gillie replied.
The youth laughed heartily. “My father has no son.”
Donald Gillie looked after the departing figure, then appealed to Enid for explanation. “What did he mean?”
“’Twas no he.” She laughed at his confusion. “’Twas the Lady Brenna who spared your life.”
Brenna swung open the heavy, solid-oak door, letting the midday sun spill into the darkened hall of the manor. The hallway was empty, but voices drifted out through the double doors of the large receiving chamber to the right. Brenna could hear her stepsister Cordella and the cook discussing the fare for the evening meal.
Cordella was the last person Brenna cared to see now—or at any time, for that matter. Especially not now, though, when she was so tender from her fall—damn Willow, anyway—and not at her best.
Accustomed to dashing through the hall on her merry way, Brenna was sorely put out to have to amble along at a snail’s pace. She felt as if every muscle in her lower region ached, and the short bout with the stranger Donald Gillie had not helped any. She had been hard pressed to keep from flinching everytime she moved about in Enid’s cottage, but a strong will had kept the pain from showing on her delicate features.
