Not mine, never will be. No copyright infringement intended. No money made. Bummer.

Ever since I posted "A Time to Live" people have asked for a sequel, but I have always refused to even contemplate writing one. To me, the whole point of the story was to see if Blair would "live" in the time he had left. I also didn't believe I could do justice to a sequel. However, one fan was determined to see the sequel made. Amazingly, I'm rather happy with the way this story turned out. Go figure.
So this story is for Pat, who never gave up hope.
I'd also like to thank debraC, Lilguppee and Pat for betaing this puppy for me.

A sequel to "A Time to Live." I would strongly suggest you read that story first in order for this one to make sense.

This story is a sequel to: A Time to Live

Blair watched in fascination as a small rivulet of blood gained momentum on its journey down his arm and cascaded onto the thirsty grass poking up between his thumb and index finger. He was dimly aware of his compatriots on the castle's parapet shouting encouragement down at him, urging him to gain his feet and he wanted nothing more than to comply, but at the moment all he was capable of doing was sucking air into his burning lungs.

Movement to his left caught his eye and he became aware of Brackett rolling over into a prone position in an attempt to push himself to his hands and knees. Blair knew if he allowed the movement his own life would be forfeit.

Digging deeper than he had ever done before, Blair pushed himself off his hands and knees and rose shakily to his feet, surprised to find that he still had a grip on the hilt of his sword. Lifting the weapon was out of the question, but in this battle there were no points for style as there were in the Highland games. Here, there was only life and death. Dirty. Cold. Brutal.

As he staggered, almost drunkenly, to Brackett's side, dragging his sword tip behind him, the cacophony of voices became deafening as each side roared, sensing the battle was nearing an end.

Brackett's hands scrambled for purchase, but he had no more strength to give. Resigned, he collapsed to the grass and turned over, his blue eyes showing nothing. "Teacher," he acknowledged.

"Well fought, Lee," Blair said softly. Without another word, he lifted his sword with both hands and dropped, more than plunged, it into Brackett's chest. A silence washed over Kincaid's troops as the warrior breathed his last.

Blair pulled the sword out of Brackett's body, then rested the tip once again on the ground and dragged it behind him, knowing the competition wasn't officially won until he left the battle circle.

The valley grew silent as he hobbled toward the castle, until all he could hear was his own labored breathing. He passed a lilac bush and wondered briefly if the red kit was hiding beneath its branches, praying that if it was it still had the good sense it had shown earlier in the day and would stay hidden.

His vision blurred and he stopped to get his bearings.

So tired.

"Guide," a strong voice from above called down, demanding his attention.

James.

"Your presence is required inside."

Blair found just enough breath to snort in amusement, although he made no effort to move forward. Few appreciated or even understood James' dry wit, but it never failed to cheer him. Despite the warmth infusing him, he listed to his right, but managed to catch himself before he fell, almost falling again when he overcompensated his balance.

"You're keeping me waiting."

Blair lifted his face to the parapet, even though he couldn't make out any of the blurry images through the sweat and blood stinging his eyes, feeling unexpectedly and absurdly shy.

His vow to James -- to take what was his.

Fire and stars!

He shook his head minutely, but stopped when dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. What had he been thinking?

"Guide!" James' voice boomed throughout the valley. His amused aggravation clear to anyone listening.

Taking a deep breath, Blair concentrated on lifting one foot and putting it in front of the other. The troops on the parapet shouted in triumph and he realized he had only just crossed the over the battle circle. His training was screaming at him to back toward the castle and keep a watchful eye on the troops behind him, but considering he couldn't see anything except vague shapes he decided to accept the consequences of his actions, no matter what they might be.

The shouts from above turned to outrage, then silence. The hum of an arrow seemed unnaturally loud as it shot over his head and landed in soft flesh behind him.

"Stand down," an angry command came from above him.

Kincaid, apparently, was already showing his hand.

Arrows swarmed over him like angry bees as Simon's troops laid down covering fire for him. His survival instinct screamed at him to run for safety, but his body refused to listen, simply continuing to plod one foot at a time toward the castle.

"Haste would be appreciated, husband." James' voice called to him, not from above him, but from in front of him. There was no mistaking the urgency in his sentinel's voice. He knew his window of opportunity for escape was quickly drawing to a close.

He moved unerringly toward James, even though he couldn't see the warrior. Warm hands clasped his shoulders and guided him the final few feet to safety.

"Double seal the portal," James commanded the shapes around them. "And bring a stretcher."

Blair shook his head. "No."

"Guide--"

"No," Blair said again, with more determination.

His sword was pried from his grasp. "If this is an attempt to get Henri to add another verse about how you strolled nonchalantly from the battlefield, I will be quite vexed with you."

In spite of his pain, Blair tried to chuckle, although all he managed to do was smile.

"That's what I thought."

Blair's grin waned as he asked, "The battle?"

"Not yet joined," James assured him. "Kincaid has never lost a competition and is at something of a loss as to how to proceed."

"But he will," Blair said, his energy waning quickly.

"Aye, but the treachery shown on the field has convinced Simon to heed my advice. We will not stand down."

"The children?"

"Under Alec's capable care. They will not be called for until all has been resolved, although I have sent Joel after them for additional protection."

Blair nodded, barely able to stay conscious. "I should--"

A callused finger bridged both of his lips. "You have served your lord well, Teacher. Sleep. I have the watch."

Blair tried to respond, but was too tired to form the words. He was cognizant of being lifted off his feet before blessed darkness cocooned him.

As he swam toward consciousness, the thought occurred to him that he must have fallen asleep in a bed of stinging nettles, for there wasn't an inch on his body that didn't sting, burn or itch.

"Don't scratch," a voice told him in a no-nonsense tone.

He made an unhappy noise which was met with a scoff of amusement.

"Have I mentioned how much I enjoy payback?"

Blair sighed, but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

"I recall a time when you actually had the brass to swaddle me in order to keep me from moving and tearing the healer's stitches."

Blair couldn't stop the smile which grew over his face.

"As I recall, Henri composed a song in tribute to your bravery and sang it for Simon a fortnight later when I was finally able to join the men for dinner."

"He nearly choked on his chicken with laughter," Blair whispered, reliving the pleasant memory. He blinked his eyes open and noticed the amused grin on James' face. "Even though it took nearly five years to lose the moniker of Spyder after that, it was worth it as you never tried to scratch your stitches again."

"You realize it was only the fact that you were an equal that saved you from my wrath."

"Liar," Blair accused with mirth. "You were awed by my ingenuity."

"No, I was awed by the stealth required to pull off such a task; a skill, you may remember, that took you years to acquire."

They spent several seconds grinning at each other before reality reared its head and reminded Blair of why he was laying in bed in the first place. "The siege?"

"In its third day."

"No," Blair gasped in dismay.

"Aye."

"But the king--"

"Has no way of knowing. Kincaid has killed every carrier pigeon we've released."

"The tunnels?"

"Have all been sealed after Kincaid's troops tried to breach the buttery."

"Was anyone--"

James nodded. "Two of their warriors."

Blair could feel his eyes widen in shock.

"They surprised the kitchen staff, but were held back when Hilda and Beatrice rallied the help. It took our warriors nearly an hour to calm the birds down after they had successfully routed the attack."

Blair shook his head in amused awe.

"Of course, the priest is muttering curses in your name under his breath as he's been stuck hearing their confessions; however, the women are puffed up like peahens with all the praise Simon has bestowed upon them. They're crediting you with their victory."

"Me?"

"Aye, it seems several years back you were worried about what would happen to the women if we were ever overrun. They tell of several sessions spent with your teaching them to stay calm and using whatever they had on hand. In this case, hot cooking cauldrons."

"You don't say?"

"I do say." James was clearly amused. "The first attack was fended off not with our young men eager for battle, but by their sisters screeching and hollering as if the devil himself had made an indecent proposal."

Blair barked with laughter, then hissed in pain.

"Easy now," James soothed. His hands caressed Blair's chest and abdomen, gentling the convulsing muscles.

Blair nodded when his body finally unclenched, but his sentinel didn't remove his hand. "James?" he whispered, surprised.

"If you had expected to live, would you have shared your feelings before the competition?"

Blair dropped his gaze. "Doubtful."

"Why? I've known for years," James said softly.

"Known, but not reciprocated." James opened his mouth to speak, but Blair shook his head. "I am your right hand in battle, your shield mate, the voice of reason during fury, your guide--"

"And my heart."

"Am I, James? Am I your heart?"

"Yes. You have been since you were ten years old."

Blair smiled. "A lie, but a sweet one."

James took Blair's hand and squeezed it. "You have always held my heart," he repeated. "Although not with the same intensity with which you hold it now." James' smile was a little lopsided. "I was a warrior, born and bred for combat. Everything I've learned about my heart, I've learned from you. There was a time when such tender feelings frightened me as no battle ever did, for physical wounds I can deal with, but wounds of rejection--"

"I would never--"

James shushed him softly. "I know." Shrugging, he continued, "After a while, I simply contented myself with knowing. As long as you were by my side, words were unnecessary for your actions all but shouted your feelings for me daily."

Blair blushed hotly, then whispered, "As yours did for me as well."

"I know." James nodded. "But I've thanked God several times while you've been recuperating that you were brave enough to finally give voice to what we both knew to be true. I no longer wish to hide behind the veil of silence."

"So the feelings--"

"Are still here, as I told you they would be."

An alarm sounded from the courtyard of the keep and James was on his feet before either of them could blink.

"Now is a hell of a time to tell me you love me, James."

James smiled down at him with such affection that Blair's heart missed a beat.

"Be prepared, husband," James said with a jaunty smile. "Unlike some, I will take what is mine when I come back."

James strode to the door but stopped before going through. Turning, he moved quickly back to the bed, leaned down and put his hand behind Blair's neck, supporting and lifting him as he took deep possession of Blair's mouth. When both of them were breathless, he whispered over Blair's lips, "A promise of things to come." He then guided Blair back onto the mattress and left.

Bemused, Blair wondered if their timing would ever get any better.

"Teacher, you must awake. Teacher." Frantic hands shook his shoulders, making Blair gasp as he blinked his eyes open.

"Tell me," he demanded as soon as the face of one of the Baroness' ladies-in-waiting came into focus.

"The Baron believes one of the outer walls will soon be breached. We are to gather the wounded and women and move to the dungeons. The walls are solid and there is enough food to hold out until a rescue can be mounted. Come quickly."

Blair shook his head.

"Teacher--"

"Megan, please, fetch my pants and my chain mail shirt."

The woman paled, but quickly did his bidding.

"Go now," Blair said, gently pushing her toward the door.

At first Megan looked relieved, but then she shook her head and frowned. "No, my lord. I will not leave you in your time of need."

"And I will not risk Rafe's wrath by seeing harm come to you," he countered.

"Then you best make sure no harm comes to me." Her smiled wobbled, although she bravely maintained it.

Knowing he had no time to argue or to see her to the castle depths, he nodded. "Go to the cabinet and see how many quivers of bolts and arrows I have."

When she moved to do his biding, he got out of bed and pulled on his pants and boots.

"There are four quivers of arrows, my lord, and two of bolts."

He moved beside her and handed her his chain mail shirt. "Put this on over your dress."

"What?"

"Don't question me, Megan. Just do it."

She nodded nervously but complied. Blair pulled out a long bow and two crossbows: one heavy and one light. He grabbed another chain mail shirt, although he didn't take the time to put it on. "Gather the quarrels and follow me."

Blair damned his weakness as they climbed the stairs, knowing that each second lost was potentially a precious one.

"This is the Baron's bedroom." Megan gasped, hesitating a moment, as Blair barged into the empty room.

Blair moved straight for the balcony. "So it is."

Looking over the balcony to the courtyard below, Blair could see that the portcullis on the front gate was still strong, and watched as the keep's warriors stood at the ready in a large semi-circle in front of the smithy to the west.

"They think the heat may have weakened the mortar over the years," Megan supplied nervously.

Blair nodded distractedly. "Do you know how to load a crossbow?"

"Aye," she said softly. "Rafe insisted on my knowing."

"Are you strong enough to pull the prod on the heavy one?"

"Aye."

Blair nodded, then positioned her in the doorway. "Stay behind the stonework, and load them as fast as you can."

Blair could hear the screams in the distance as Simon's men poured hot oil on the first wave of Kincaid's troops brave enough to attempt to push through the wall's weakness. Arrows were shot without guidance over the wall in an attempt to catch those on the ground unaware, but James' men were more than ready for the nuisance. Their own archers rained arrows and bolts down on the intruders with such ruthlessness that Blair wondered if any would be left to actually attempt the wall.

Minutes passed as Simon's forces successfully repelled each wave, but as Blair feared would happen, the wall gave under the stress of such a concentrated attack. A rallying cry grew from outside the wall.

"Be ready, Megan."

Blair watched, feeling helpless, as warriors poured through the small doorway leading into the courtyard. James' troops did an excellent job of stemming the tide, but like water were unable to keep the sheer numbers back.

"James, four enemy are making their way along the wall by the stable," Blair said in a loud voice.

Moments later, two of their own troops were dispatched to take care of the problem.

Blair spent the next fifteen minutes giving similar reports and shooting soldiers who managed to breech their defenses and stray within his range. Megan dutifully accepted the empty crossbows and reloaded them in a quick and efficient manner which impressed Blair.

The battle pushed further and further into the center of the courtyard and several times Blair found himself a target as enemy troops spotted him and took aim. After each volley, he checked to make sure Megan was unharmed. Although pale, the lady-in-waiting was stoically continuing to perform her task.

Blair looked toward the breach and spotted Kincaid as he strode through the smithy doorway and surveyed the chaos around him.

"James, Kincaid is within the walls. By the Smithy. Take the son of a bitch down," Blair commanded loudly during a lull in the battle.

As his voice carried over the courtyard, several of Simon's warriors turned toward the position in question. James led the pack, knocking aside Kincaid's fighters who had heard the command as well and sought to protect their leader.

In his arrogance Kincaid moved deeper into the keep rather than retreating. It was that pride that was his ruin as his warriors were whittled away and he found himself alone and surrounded by Simon's senior warriors. Simon, however, refused to give the killing order. Kincaid's crimes would be punished by the King.

Exhausted, Blair leaned forward and rested his head against the balcony railing.

"Teacher, have you been injured?" Megan asked, her voice full of concern.

Blair straightened in order to reassure Megan that he was fine, but as he stood up his gaze fell upon James, who was staring up at him, worry marring the handsome face. "No, Megan," he said, never taking his eyes off the warrior. "I'm just tired. Perhaps it would be best if I went back to my room to rest."

James nodded once in acknowledgment and turned back into the mayhem swirling around him. As Blair turned to leave, he couldn't help but wonder if, like the waning chaos of battle, the strong emotions he and James shared might quiet as well now that they had achieved peace.

Surprisingly soft lips caressing his roused Blair from his slumber. Fingers languidly explored his shoulders and chest. He arched up into the warm touch before he was fully cognizant of what he was doing.

"James?" he murmured, blinking awake and looking up into the face of his sentinel.

"You were expecting someone else?" the warrior teased.

"Only you."

James' fingers caressed his cheek and chin, then stood beside the bed. "Come. Simon seeks your presence."

Blair nodded, gritting his teeth as he pulled back the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed. James placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, then bent on one knee and helped him into his trousers. While James had assisted him in preparing for battle countless times, his touch had always been quick and efficient. Now, it lingered and caressed. Blair found his breath quickening.

"Our lord awaits," Blair said aloud, in an effort to remind himself that they should not tarry.

James smiled at him knowingly as he tugged Blair's jerkin over his shirt.

They walked in silence through the halls, side by side, as they had for so many years, and yet the undercurrent buzzing between them was like a living entity, shy yet brimming with hopeful possibilities.

"Master!" Alec shouted once they entered the main hall. All chatter stopped as those in attendance watched the boy race toward Blair. Alec dropped to one knee in front of Blair, seemingly not even noticing James' presence by his master's side.

"Alec," Blair said joyfully. He bent and tugged on the boy's shirt until he stood. "The children?"

"All safe, sir, with nary a scratch on a one of them."

"Well done, squire."

"You have served your master well," James said, grinning at the boy.

Alec swallowed hard, nervous at being the center of James' attention, but nodded his head respectfully at the compliment. "Thank you, sir."

"The children haven't stopped singing his praises yet," Simon said, joining their small group. He caught Alec by the elbow to prevent the boy from going down to one knee again. "My niece is quite taken with him."

Alec blushed from head to toe.

"He is a credit to you, Blair."

"Thank you, sir."

"As you are a credit to James' teachings."

James inclined his head. "Thank you, sir."

"What boon can I possibly grant to three of my bravest warriors for protecting that which I consider most dear?"

Alec's mouth dropped open in shock when he realized he had been included in the esteemed group.

"I wish nothing more than to continue to serve," Blair said quietly.

James nodded. "As do I, sir, with Blair by my side as he has been in all things."

Simon nodded approvingly. "Very well." The Baron looked between his two vassals and smiled. "I trust there will be a ceremony soon?"

"Aye," James said quickly, before Blair could speak. "Before the next day of rest."

"It will be the highlight of our victory celebration," Simon declared, clapping each of them on the shoulder, then left mumbling something about working up an appetite.

"Teacher," a squeaky voice demanded attention.

Blair turned and watched as a dirt-encrusted child strode arrogantly toward him.

"Are you the one who bested three of Kincaid's warriors?"

"I am. And what can I do for you, child?"

"I'm not a child. I'm ten years old and I demand you teach me to fight."

"And why do you wish to fight?"

"Because Kincaid's men killed my father and I refuse to be at anyone's mercy ever again."

"Where is your mother, girl?"

James started beside him.

"Also dead."

"Do you know what I require of my trainees?"

"Yes. Discipline. Honor. Education."

"Do you expect special treatment?"

"I expect to be taught by the best."

"Very well. Alec, clean this whelp up and bring her to me in the morning."

"Aye, sir," Alec said, as he tugged on the girl's sleeve, despite her protest.

Blair turned to face James.

James raised an eyebrow over his unconventional decision. "The legacy will continue?"

"Yes."

James nodded approvingly, then held out his hand. Without hesitation, Blair gripped it.

"To the legacies we'll forge together," James said quietly.

"To the legacy we will become," Blair answered, leaning in and sealing the promise with a kiss.

~End~

End Legacies by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com

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