CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #2
Long moments passed, and all the while he held her spellbound in a fixed gaze, the force of which emphasized what she’d known for some time now—that they were bound to one another, husband and wife. Galen and Laoghaire.
“Don’t you know?” he said at last. “I would rescue you from the depths of hell itself.”
Although the avowal was quietly spoken, Galen’s beloved gray eyes gleamed with fierce emotion.
“But I fear that you are weakened from your illness and—”
Galen pressed a silencing finger to her lips. “Fear not, Laoghaire. If I win, we will live out the rest of our days with one another. And if I lose, we will soon be together for all eternity.”
Laoghaire nodded forlornly, unable to fault what she knew to be true.
“I dreamt of you last night, and we were locked in a lovers’ embrace,” she told him in a hushed whisper. “In that dream, our hearts beat as one.”
Galen tenderly cupped one side of her face with his hand. At feeling the warmth that radiated from him, overcome with longing, she impetuously turned her head and pressed her lips against his palm.
He feels it, too, she realized in the next instant when she saw Galen’s chest expand with a hard, indrawn breath.
“Let the combat begin!”
At hearing that harsh command, she bit back a sob, events unfolding much too rapidly.
As Galen removed his hand from her cheek and made a move to descend the ladder, she frantically shook her head to forestall his departure. “Wait!”
Although he dutifully came to a halt, Galen raised a quizzical brow, clearly perplexed by the unexpected command.
“Do ye remember the vision that I had of yer death?” When he wordlessly nodded, Laoghaire continued and said, “Under no circumstance are ye to look at me while ye are engaged in combat. If ye do so, Blàrach will seize that moment to strike the fatal blow.”
The warning met with a disapproving frown. “I thought the point of this contest is to prove you aren’t a sorceress,” Galen muttered before he descended the ladder.
Seconds later, Laoghaire’s heart began to pound with a palpable, almost painful force while she watched Galen don his helm before he snatched his shield from where he’d left it propped against the pyre.
He then grasped his sword by the hilt and yanked it out of the scabbard.
The scrape of steel made a distinctive sound, one that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
Her prophetic vision was playing out as she watched, and there was nothing she could do to stop the deadly, calamitous tide from sweeping over them.
By now, a large area had been cleared, and though the deputies used their spears to hold back the teeming crowd, there were more than a few men elbowing roughly as they struggled to get closer to the front of the pack.
Armed for battle, Galen took his place beside his adversary, both men going down on bended knee in front of the abbot. They were armed similarly with shield, sword, helm and dagger. Both outfitted in chain mail.
As Abbot Theodore made the sign of the cross over their bowed heads, he uttered a prayer in Latin.
Once the benediction was concluded, Galen and the sheriff simultaneously rose to their feet.
Neither spoke a word to the other as they strode toward their designated starting positions on opposite sides of the arena.
All of a sudden, Laoghaire’s heart thumped in horror as she watched Blàrach turn on Galen and savagely charge his backside, proving in that instant that he had no intention of abiding by the rules of fair combat.
“Galen! Lunge to the right!” she cried out in warning.
Not only did Galen lunge, but he dropped to one knee and, turning toward his adversary, he raised his shield just in time to deflect what might have proved a lethal blow.
Blàrach gave an angry grunt, but before he could land a second swing, Galen had already sprung upright.
He then came at his foe with a decisive thrust of his sword, his attack coming fast and hard.
Unprepared, the sheriff raised his shield with his left hand while he feebly attempted to block the swing. But Galen’s blade struck with such force that the upper half of Blàrach’s shield was severed in one mighty slice, the carved piece hurtling through the air.
En masse, the crowd shouted in fury—not at the sheriff for his ignoble actions, but at Galen for his successful counterattack.
Cursing aloud, Blàrach flung aside the hacked shield. “Had it not been for your bitch from hell, you would now be a dead man.”
“For insulting my wife, I intend to run you through like a hare on a turnspit.” To emphasize the avowal, Galen rotated his sword with a deft twist of the wrist, the blade making a deadly swishing sound as it cleaved the air.
Even though Blàrach responded with a contemptuous snort, Laoghaire was able to detect a momentary flash of fear in his muddy brown eyes.
If he has the wits God gave him, he will quit the field while he’s still among the living. It was not without reason that Galen was once known as the Dark Knight, the most feared warrior in all of Christendom.
Grasping hold of his sword pommel with both hands, Blàrach came at Galen, his charge accompanied with a bellow of rage.
While he clearly intended to overpower with brute force, by the time his blade thrust downward, Galen had already pivoted to a new position, from which he executed a series of flawlessly executed swings.
The sheriff gracelessly fended him off; although it was obvious that he was quickly tiring, his breathing having become as loud as an oliphant’s blare.
As the court’s champion began to falter under the relentless pummeling, the crowd fell noticeably silent. No one moved, no one cheered, no one so much as fidgeted.
All of a sudden, Blàrach backed away from Galen.
Wondering if he meant to surrender, Laoghaire watched as he rushed over to the nearest deputy, who stood afore the crowd with a spear held horizontally at waist height to keep the bystanders at bay.
The sheriff ripped the spear from the other man’s hand.
Grasping it in his left fist, he charged back toward Galen.
At that moment, Laoghaire experienced a horrible premonition. Like a bitter brew that she’d been forced to imbibe, she could taste the fear in her mouth.
Proving to be more agile than she had originally credited him, Blàrach swung his sword toward Galen’s head, while at the same time he swiped at his legs with the spear.
Although Galen managed to use his shield to protect himself against the blade, there was nothing he could do to parry the spear, the wooden shaft catching him behind the knees.
His feet pulled out from under him, Galen fell heavily onto his backside. The impact of the fall was so severe that his sword was knocked out of his hand. He stretched his arm to retrieve it, but came up short, the blade having landed too far away.
The throng, having gone mad with bloodlust, roared their approval.
Hit with a burst of dizziness, black spots danced before Laoghaire’s eyes, her vision blurred with tears. She wanted to turn away, to avert her gaze, but could not bring herself to do so.
I do not want to watch him die!
Incited by the cheering crowd, Blàrach flung the spear aside and thrust his balled fist into the air in a triumphant display.
To Laoghaire’s horror, Galen suddenly turned his head and peered directly at her . . . exactly as he had in her vision.
“No!” she screamed.
But Galen continued to maintain eye contact with her until—in a blur of motion—he unexpectedly rolled to one side at the very instant that Blàrach’s sword swung downward. The lithe maneuver saved his life, causing the sheriff’s blade to plow harmlessly into the ground.
Immediately seizing the advantage, Galen vaulted to his feet, his movements as nimble as an acrobat.
Rearing back his foot, he forcefully kicked the sword out of Simon Blàrach’s hand.
The blade glistened in the sunlight as it flew through the air and ended up embedded in the piled kindling beneath her.
In the next instant, the point of Galen’s drawn dagger was pressed firmly against his opponent’s meaty jowls. Cowering, Simon Blàrach fell to his knees, knowing full well he was a doomed man.
There was a shocked stir in the crowd as everyone suddenly realized that their champion was not long for this world, the sheriff having made a fatal miscalculation.
“I yield,” Blàrach rasped on a ragged breath, his voice barely audible.
Having been on the verge of jabbing his dagger into Blàrach’s throat, Galen suddenly withdrew his blade. “By my right of victory, I spare your miserable life. Use it well.”
Reprieve issued, Galen spun on his heel and stormed over to where the monks were huddled on the far side of the arena, more than a few of whom recoiled in fear at his approach.
“I trust that I have successfully proven my lady wife’s innocence,” he said to the abbot, his chest heaving from his exertions.
Although he looked none too pleased by the outcome, Abbot Theodore nodded curtly. “I release her to your custody.”
With the dagger still grasped in his hand, Galen made his way to the pyre. That they both survived the ordeal unscathed made Laoghaire wonder if she was ensnared in a dream.
How can it be that Galen eluded his death, when I’d seen it so clearly in my vision? She could only assume that she’d been right in refusing to believe that the events foretold in a taibhse were written in stone.
God endowed us with free will so we can choose our own destiny. But even as she thought that, Laoghaire recognized that love also played an integral part in what just transpired.
Her vision blurred with joyful tears, Laoghaire watched as Galen climbed several rungs of the ladder. At feeling the ropes give way under his dagger, her relief was so great that she swayed slightly. Galen put a gloved hand to her waist to hold her steady while she navigated her way to the ladder.
When, a few moments later, her bare feet touched the ground, she slumped against Galen, unable to hold herself upright.
“’Tis ended,” she murmured.
Galen gazed intently at her, and on his face there was a look of deep longing. “In this ending, I pray thee that we find a beginning.”
“I, too, yearn to begin anew,” she whispered, burying her face against Galen’s broad chest.
Oblivious to the crowd of gawking onlookers, they stood there, locked in a tight embrace.
Laoghaire felt Galen clench and unclench a fistful of her hair, felt him shudder against her.
When she pulled her head back, she saw that there were tears glistening in his eyes.
She framed his face between her hands, and in the next instant their mouths came together in a hard, passionate kiss.
“Make way for the king!”
“The king!” she and Galen exclaimed in unison as they instantly pulled apart from one another.
Catching sight of Robert the Bruce—his fur-trimmed mantle flowing behind him as he entered the forecourt—her eyes went wide with surprise.
She then peered at the crowd and watched as the clustered bystanders began to disassemble in an unruly fashion.
With great haste, people moved to one side or the other amidst a flurry of excited gasps and heated whispering, even as they snatched caps off of their heads and made awkward attempts at bowing as the king walked past them.
Their almost comical reaction made Laoghaire suspect that none of the locals had ever laid eyes upon Robert the Bruce. Or any king for that matter.
One brave soul called out, “God save King Robert!” An exclamation that seemed to please the Bruce immensely.
Directly behind the king, Laoghaire caught sight of her brother and cousin, both men pushing back the crowd to keep the jostling bystanders at bay.
“My brother’s swift arrival was nearly the death of us,” she deadpanned.
Given the contentious history between Galen and Iain, she was surprised when her husband shrugged and said, “The Bruce has a fondness for rescuing damsels in distress. However, I suspect that having the king in tow may have slowed your brother’s progress.”
Although he made a valid point, Laoghaire was still annoyed with her brother’s tardiness. “Unless his horse went lame, there’s no excuse for his—”
The king’s sudden appearance prevented her from continuing, Laoghaire clamping her mouth shut while she respectfully bowed her head and dipped her knees in deference to the monarch.
The Bruce greeted her warmly. “Lady Angus, I am glad-hearted to see you.” Then, clapping a hand onto Galen’s shoulder, he said, “Now, what is this talebearing that has come to my ears about your countess having bewitched you?”
Pulling Laoghaire close to his side, Galen grinned broadly and said, “Sire, I fear that rumor is all too true.”