Chapter 12 #2
“Ye’re no’ on MacDougal lands, old man,” the guard replied, his mocking tone gone. “Best ye mind your tongue. I dinna see any request from the king, and I'll no’ open no gate for the likes of ye MacDougals. Turn these nags around and ride back to MacDougal lands.”
Bernard sighed heavily and rubbed his gloved fingertips against his forehead. They had ridden much of the day, and he was tired and wanted a meal and a tankard of mead. He was not in the mood to deal with this guard who believed himself larger than his lot in life.
“Ye are a petty man. I can forgive ye for trying to impress your chieftain by bringing us in unarmed, but I can’t abide ye insulting good MacDougal horseflesh.”
The short guard flapped his hand at the MacDougals. “Ride away, old man, before I teach ye what it means to stand before ye betters, making demands like ye think ye’re still on your own lands.”
Bernard’s hand came down to rest on his horse’s neck. He was done with these fools.
“William,” Bernard called out.
The creak of leather came again, but slower this time, and from all three horses behind him as William, Robb, and Iain dismounted.
Bernard watched as the guard’s eyes shifted to William, the tallest of the three dismounted men.
As William walked forward and reached for his sword, Bernard pulled on his mount's reins, bringing the beast to the right, blocking William.
“None of that,” Bernard commanded. “We’re here to deliver a message, not to draw blood. Just get his attention and teach him some manners. Nothing more if ye please. Robb and Iain will hold back.”
Bernard waited until William nodded and shoved his sword back into its sheath.
“Aye, Father,” William said in a tone of disappointment.
Bernard tugged on the reins to the left, and his horse moved out of William’s way. William pulled the skin of water off his saddle horn. He uncorked the skin and took a sip, then pushed the cork back in place. Swinging the water bag by the thin rope, he walked up to the guard.
“Apologize to my father for your words,” William instructed. “Do as he asks or stand ready to answer for your poorly contrived insults.”
The guard hesitated at the look in William’s eyes, but when he heard the laughter of his three comrades, his face tensed.
Backing down now was not a choice, and William saw it as much as sensed it with their laughter.
Unfortunately, the guard would pay the price of the dark cloud of expectation that hung over him.
“A game of picks then,” William said brightly.
The guard’s brow furrowed. “Game of what?”
William rolled his wrist, wrapping the thin rope once around his hand as he swung the water bag and struck the guard across the left side of his face. The guard stumbled to his right and backward but managed to hang onto his sword.
The guard’s three companions rushed forward, as did Robb and Iain, who drew their swords. They blocked the guard on the left as Bernard kicked his mount into action, running into the other two and knocking them to the ground.
The remaining guard decided he did not care to face two MacDougal swords and stopped in his tracks, raising his hands. The other two men rolled on the ground, dazed, and did not hurry to their feet as Bernard, Robb, and Iain held them away from the fight.
William did not give the guard in front of him a chance to recover and swung the water bag against the right side of his face, knocking him the other way.
The man floundered before catching himself on the stone wall.
In desperation, he swung his sword blindly in William’s direction, forcing William to jump back to avoid the blade tip.
The guard shoved off the wall, moving towards William and extending his right arm fully in a sword thrust. William raised the water bag to block the tip of the sword, and it ripped through the water bag, spilling its contents onto the ground between the two men as the blade tip stopped a foot away from William’s chest.
William jerked the water bag and yanked the sword out of the guard’s hands, flinging it several feet behind William. The guard scrambled to grab his knife and lunged forward, knife blade first.
With a sidestep, William grabbed the man’s tunic and shoved him to the ground. The guard slashed out with the knife at William’s leg, but William raised his right leg, and the blade swung under his foot. He snapped his foot forward, kicking the man in the nose.
The guard rolled onto his knees and tried to stand when William moved forward again.
The man kicked out like a mule. The guard’s foot struck the side of William’s right knee, hard in a lucky hit.
William grimaced and crumpled to his side.
Then the guard charged. William had put all his weight on his left leg, and when the guard ran into him, he took them both down into the patchy, damp earth.
William twisted and rolled the smaller man onto his back with William on top. He swung a hard right hand, but the guard lifted his arms, and the strike glanced off his left forearm. William swung again, putting all his strength into another punch for the man’s left jaw.
This time, the unprotected area took the full force as William threw his whole body into the punch. The man’s head snapped to the right as William’s body lurched over the unconscious man.
Pushing himself up to stand over the guard, William turned, grunting as his right knee gave out on him. He caught himself in a crouch on his left leg, and Robb rushed to his aid.
“William?” Bernard called out, his voice heavy with concern.
“I’m well,” William answered. “Naught but minor pain. I’ve been hurt worse falling off my horse.”
Bernard, Robb, and Iain kept a keen eye on William as he stood, leaning on Robb, and limped towards his horse.
William’s lips were tight, and his entire body tensed as he put his weight on his right foot to position his left in the stirrup.
Once that was done, and with a helpful shove by Robb, William managed to bring himself up and into the saddle, panting from the exertion.
His forehead, neck, and underarms were coated in sweat.
Bernard’s guilt of not letting his son draw his sword was written on his face, but they all knew that if William had drawn his sword, he most likely would have killed the man instead of leaving him senseless.
Then Malcolm might have never allowed them entrance into the keep.
And without entrance, there would be no delivery of the king’s message.
As it presently stood, no life had been lost, no blood had been drawn, and the unconscious guard would soon wake with a bastard of a headache.
Taking a deep breath, Bernard dismounted his horse and bent down on one knee in front of one of the men still on their backsides in the mud. Bernard pulled out the scroll and pressed the tip of it under the man’s nose.
“As I said, lad, we've a message for your chieftain. Open the gate and lead us to him, or join your friend.”
The wide-eyed man in front of Bernard nodded his head. Getting to his feet, he moved to retrieve his sword.
“Nay,” Bernard said in a commanding tone. “Ye men thought it humorous to have us go in without our swords, now ye can leave yours where they lay. Your friends will keep it for ye until ye return.”
The man looked from his sword to the gate and back to his sword, thinking about what his chieftain might say if he noticed that his sword was not in its sheath.
Bernard read the man’s thoughts. “I can see your dilemma. Ye should have thought of that before ye tried embarrassing the MacDougals. Now get up and open that gate before ye have to explain a bruise on your face as well.”
The man nodded again and moved to the gate as Bernard mounted his horse. William moved his own horse next to his father’s.
“Are ye sure ye’re no’ hurt?” Bernard asked William, glancing at William’s leg.
“I’ll be fine, Father,” William answered as he brushed clinging mud off his braies and tunic. “But I may need to stay in the saddle a little longer until my knee halts its throbbing. The little shite kicked me like a horse, but ‘twill feel better in a few days, I’m certain.”
Robb turned his face to William before mounting his own horse. With nimble fingers, he grabbed William’s right leg and carefully probed his knee. William grumbled at his ministrations.
“I canna tell how bad ‘tis,” Robb commented. “Does no’ feel broken, but we should wrap it tight with linens first chance we have.”
“After we meet with Malcolm. Robb can bind it tight tonight,” William replied.
Bernard nodded his head in agreement, but his face was rigid.
“Stay on ye horse and dinna put any weight on it until we can get a healer to look at it. As late as ‘tis, we shall have to ask Malcolm, and I fear we’ll have to stay here for at least a day. Malcolm is one for feasts. No matter if he receives the king’s request well or no’, I’d wager my left ballock he’ll want a feast tomorrow eve. ”
He kicked his horse to ride through the now-open gates, and the men followed.