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He reached out and grabbed for her.

She buried her dagger in his forearm.

She might have been pleased with herself, but when he, howling, pulled his arm back, her dagger went with it.

But before she could commence praying, or screaming for aid, she found herself pulled around a very large form she recognized quite readily.

“We meet again,” Colin said pleasantly. “Any more of your lads to see to, or is it just you left?”

Sir Etienne snarled out a curse. “You’ll find me work enough, I daresay.”

Ali looked behind her and saw nothing but things the farmer would most certainly not be pleased about having to clean up.

Eleven bodies were scattered across the field.

There were no other signs of life save Jason of Artane, who leaned on the hedge, looking faintly interested.

And beside him, Blackmour’s three healers, wearing various looks ranging from alarm on Magda’s face to amazement on Nemain’s.

“Can’t believe he managed to wed her,” Nemain said, with an elbow thrown in Jason’s side. “Did you brew him a convincing potion to use on her?”

“He did it, if you can believe it, all on his own,” Jason said dryly.

“Well, I don’t believe it,” Nemain said. “You’ve been experimenting without my permission.”

“I have not.”

“Aye, you have, lad, and I’ll have all the details or you’ll regret it.”

“Aliénore,” Berengaria called, “perhaps you’d care to watch from here.”

Ali did care to watch from there. Colin made a shooing motion with his hand and flashed her a brief, happy smile, so she had no qualms about leaving him to his business. She joined Jason and his companions safely out of the field.

“Oh,” Magda said, tapping her spoon nervously against the hedge, “I do hope he doesn’t trip over any of those bodies.”

“He’s accustomed to that,” Jason said.

“Powerful fierce, that one,” Nemain agreed. She fixed Aliénore with a steely glance. “How is he at his, you know, husbandly duties? Adequate?”

Aliénore spluttered, but found nothing to say.

“I could brew him a potion, you know,” Nemain offered.

“Nemain, cease,” Berengaria chided. “Aliénore looks happy, Colin looks his normal self, and I daresay all is well with their marriage. You’re distracting me from the swordplay.”

Ali couldn’t tear her gaze away from her husband.

Jason had it aright. The corpses cooling behind him didn’t seem to bother him.

Nor did the pair of blades Sir Etienne threw at him.

Colin batted them away with his sword as if they’d been annoying flies.

But as interesting as that was, it wasn’t nearly as riveting as what Sir Etienne was spewing as he fought.

“I’ll have your gold,” he boasted. “I deserve it. I deserve to be lord of a fine castle.”

“Do you indeed?” Colin asked pleasantly.

“More so than you.”

“And how is it you intend to buy your castle?” Colin asked. “Or do you intend to murder someone and set yourself up in his place?”

“It’s been done before.”

“Aye, quite successfully,” Colin agreed. “And with whom by your side? The lovely and always fatal Marie?”

Sir Etienne shook his head. “She’s dead.”

“Is she?” Colin asked in surprise. “How’s that?”

“Found her a few days ago being attacked by ruffians.”

“Didn’t you offer her aid?”

“She fell into the fire. I put out the flames before I left.”

“Kind of you.”

“She betrayed me. I didn’t like that.”

“No one ever does.”

Ali felt a wave of relief sweep through her. If Marie was dead, then Sir Etienne was the last one who wanted her dead. Or in his thrall, as it were. Unless, of course, Colin had enemies.

But Ali couldn’t imagine that.

After all, they were likely all dead as well.

“It grows hot,” Jason called. “Finish him quickly, won’t you?”

“I have a few things to repay him for,” Colin said pleasantly. “You needn’t stay to watch if you’re too feeble to do so.”

Jason looked at Ali. “I have a wound.”

“So you’ve said.”

He scowled at her, then turned back to the fray and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be Sir Etienne.”

“I don’t think he wants to be himself,” she mused.

“How so?” he asked.

“I think he’d much rather be Colin,” she said, looking at him with a faint smile. “I daresay he’s a little jealous.”

“And who wouldn’t be with you as his wife?”

“If you can’t stop slobbering over my wife, Jason,” Colin bellowed, “go back to the hall!”

“No hound ever created has ears like he does,” Jason muttered. “The things I’ve regretting muttering over the years . . .”

Ali smiled, then felt her smile fade. Aye, Sir Etienne deserved his fate, but apparently Colin was deeply in earnest about exacting revenge for Sir Etienne’s treatment of her.

What a lengthy and thorough revenge it was.

The sun slipped down, yet still they fought. Sir Etienne bled from dozens of wounds, but still he wouldn’t concede. Concede to what, was perhaps the question to be asked. It wasn’t as if Colin would let him live; of that Ali was certain.

“You will,” Colin said finally, his chest heaving, “never be the swordsman I am.”

Sir Etienne spat at him.

“Because there is no mercy in your soul,” Colin finished.

“And there is in yours?” Sir Etienne panted.

“Aye. I know when to finish my opponents.”

And, apparently, he did. Ali watched as Sir Etienne fell to the ground, twitched, and then was still.

Colin stood over him for several minutes, then leaned down and closed his eyes.

Then he straightened and walked across the field.

He was as covered in blood as were the rest of the men lying there, but Ali suspected very little of it was his.

“A poultice or two?” Berengaria asked mildly. “For the scratches, of course.”

“A bath,” Nemain advised.

“A proper soothing draught,” Magda promised. “I’ll see to it myself.”

Colin walked through the gate, stopped before Ali, and looked down at her gravely.

“I daresay, my lady, that you can now rest easy.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“We could, however, still hone your skills with a sword.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “I did not show well today.”

“There were many of them and few of us. You’re allowed a bit of fear your first time in battle. You’re still standing. That is enough.”

Jason snorted so hard, he coughed. “What is this?” he demanded. “I’ve never had such kind words from the man.”

Colin spared him a brief glance. “I’m not wed to you—the saints be praised. Besides, Aliénore hasn’t had your training. I expect less from her.”

“And you also want a place to sleep tonight that isn’t with the monks,” Jason groused.

“That too.” Colin nodded toward the monastery. “My lady, if you will? Perhaps there is actually something on the cooking fire that we might ingest. I daresay we deserve it.”

Ali took his hand despite his hesitation, and walked with him back to the guest hall. She spared a final glance over her shoulder and found herself quite glad she would never have to trample over that bloody field again.

But equal with that feeling was the gratitude that the terror was over. Marie was dead and so was Sir Etienne. She could sleep in peace, walk outside the gates with no fear, look forward to many happy years with her husband without worrying that her two foes might appear and end her life.

She squeezed Colin’s hand. “Thank you.”

He looked down at her and smiled briefly. “For you, lady, gladly.”

“It has been a very long road to this place, hasn’t it?” she asked, feeling rather wistful all of a sudden.

“Aye,” he said, squeezing her hand, “but the end has certainly been worth the journey. Wouldn’t you say?”

Aye, she certainly would.

And now such a happy and peaceful road before them.

She wondered what she possibly could have done to have deserved it, but she wasn’t going to argue with Fate. She would take that peaceful road with her husband and walk it gratefully.