“Do not presume to know what I should do,” Matthew snapped back. “Do you serve this house?”
“I do, Milord,” the armorer said. Matthew looked straight on at the heavy armor and at the visor on the helmet, the deep black eye sockets in the steel.
“Then, help me with this,” Matthew said. He turned and looked at the armorer, giving him a stern glare. “I will not ask again.”
Jacob had been caught in the rain, and he frowned as he plodded along at a slow trot, pulling his steed into a grove to wait out the worst of the storm. Night was falling fast. He had hoped to reach Castle McGowan before nightfall, but it was clear that he would not make that journey in time.
“Ruddy weather,” he muttered, dismounting. His horse gave a snort and a shiver in the downpour, only a bit mediated by the scattering of tree cover. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said to the horse. “I’m wet too.”
He fished a small piece of salted pork from the saddle bags and hunched down to chew it, the rain coming down and some lightning flashing above. It was a proper storm, and he cursed himself for being caught so in the open.
“Now what?” he asked himself in between bites. He pulled his riding cloak up over his head and leaned against the trunk of a tree, the sound of the rain pelting down drowning out everything but his horse’s obstinate snorts. “I know,” he said to the horse. “Shut up about it.”
Hours passed as the knight came on, and eventually, the rain began to slacken, and the clouds drifted apart to reveal a bold moon, lighting up the grove. Jacob crawled out of his riding cloak and stood, stretching the cramps out of his legs from his hiding position. He had fallen asleep at one point and was unsure how long he had been out, but from the looks of the moon, the night was nearly over.
“Best for us to get on the road,” he said to his horse. He tightened the saddle's straps and shook much of the wetness from his cloak and the saddle’s seat. Mounting up, he felt stiff and sore, but he knew he had to persist. Laila was out there, and she was in danger. That was motivation enough to ignore all sorts of discomfort.
He rode out of the grove and kept to the road at a slow pace, being careful not to traverse any sections that had been sunken further than normal from the flood of rain. After a while, the moon began to give way to the sun, and the day turned to that murky stage of early dawn, where everything seemed to be a dream.
“Oi, Englishman!” a thick, rugged voice called out, and Jacob whirled about to see a Scotsman on the road behind him. Where had he come from?
“Good morrow,” Jacob said. He was suddenly nervous, but he tried to keep a bold face in the face of potential danger.
“Bit north aren’t ye,” the Scot growled, taking another step closer, and as he did, a number more Scots began appearing all around him, in a wide circle. They all looked beaten and ragged as if they had been living in the hills for years, and Jacob felt his stomach turning. How had he been so careless? He had not paid enough attention to his surroundings in his hurry, and now, he was surrounded.
“I come in peace,” Jacob called out, turning his horse about to look at the men appearing. There were about eight of them, and Jacob felt his odds shrinking by the second. His hand moved to his sword hilt.
“That’s nice, isn’t it,” the first Scot laughed. “We don’t.”
They began inching in, step by step, the ring around Jacob closing closer and closer. Jacob drew forth his sword, feeling his heart racing.
“Stay back!” Jacob called, leveling the point of his blade toward the nearest Scot. “I warn you!”
“And we are terrified,” the Scot laughed back. “Take him!”
They came at him in a blitz. Jacob swung his sword down, and it clashed against the man’s ax with a terrific wring. He pivoted in his saddle and slashed out at another, but they were coming too fast, and suddenly they were all around him, grabbing hold of his horse and his legs, and before Jacob could strike again, their hands were all over him, yanking him down from his saddle as others struggled to contain his horse.
With a crash, Jacob hit the dirt, feeling the wind leave his chest, and the Scots began crowding around him, their hands all over, stripping away his sword belt and his blade, holding him down, and Jacob’s eyes widened as a long dagger came forth, bearing down toward him.
“Say goodnight, Englishman!” one of them laughed, and Jacob saw his death approaching in a way he could have never imagined.
“Look there!” someone said, pointing to something out of Jacob’s view. Everything stopped. Jacob strained against their strength to crane his neck upwards, and his heart fluttered with hope.
Sat atop the hill, a hundred yards away, was a knight, fully clad in elegant armor, his visor down and a savage long lance in his arm. The knight spurred his steed on, and as he closed in, kicking into a full charge, the lance leveling, Jacob saw his shield, and his hope soared. It was the crest of Willby, and Jacob knew he had not been abandoned.
The Scots broke immediately. A lone rider at a full stop was someone they could deal with. Heavy English horse at a full charge, on the other hand, was a Scotsman’s worst enemy and greatest fear.
“Run!” someone shouted, and they began to scramble. Jacob leaped to his feet, scrambling for his sword as the knight bore down, and the thunder of the horse’s charge echoing out over the green plain, and the lance struck true in the back of a Scot, ripping open his torso, followed immediately by the impact of the steed’s broad chest, sending the man in a horrid ragdoll down into the grass.
The rest of the brigands scattered, disappearing fast into the tall grass and the distant trees, and Jacob heaved in relief as he regained his posture, looking up at the knight as the rider pulled his horse around, bright red blood dripping from the end of his lance.
The ride stopped a foot away from Jacob and looked down. Jacob grinned from ear to ear, his legs still shaking from coming so close to death and the bewilderment of the sudden rescue.
“I had not thought to see you here,” Jacob said up to him, sheathing his sword and taking his horse’s bridle. The rider lifted his visor, and Matthew’s grim grin stared back at him.
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” Matthew asked. “Got yourself into a bit of a situation, didn’t you?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Jacob said back, excitement welling up in his chest and hope fast replacing the fear that just moments ago had dominated every drop of his being.
