by Jody Hedlund
At my muffled sound of pain, Edmund aimed his knife at the captain.
The man gave a low chuckle as though amused by Edmund’s display of valor. Then, as he jerked me again, he spoke to the two knights accompanying him. “Kill him.”
“No!” I screamed against my captor’s hand, thrashing now, heedless of the knife at my throat. I needed to free myself and come to Edmund’s aid.
But Captain Theobald yanked my arm behind my back, twisting it tightly. I screamed in agony, unable to see or think or breathe for several long moments. He hadn’t dislocated the bone, but it hung in the balance. And I had the feeling he’d done so intentionally. He was clearly the expert on how to instill fear and pain.
“You’ve given me quite the chase, Princess Maribel,” he said close to my ear. “If the king wasn’t anxiously awaiting your appearance at court so that you could marry the prince, I’d make you pay for all the men you’ve cost me.”
As he dragged me along with him, the pain became so excruciating I wavered on the brink of unconsciousness.
Edmund
As much as it enraged me to allow Theobald to drag Maribel away, I had no choice at the moment. If I acted too soon, he’d call for reinforcements, and then I’d be even more outnumbered.
His two men lumbered my way, knives and swords drawn, although the smirks on their faces told me they didn’t consider me a threat. Like the rest of the king’s elite guards, they were handpicked from among the largest, strongest, and most physically fit men in the land. At a young age, they’d entered special training for pages and squires. Upon knighthood, like Wade, they’d committed to serving the king with their lives, ready to die in the line of duty if need be.
I was neither large nor muscular the way they were, the way Wade had been. But I was still adept with my weapons. And quick.
Even so, I needed the element of surprise if I had any hope of rescuing Maribel.
I tried to reassure myself Theobald wouldn’t harm her the way he had my family. As Christopher had pointed out, Maribel was an important commodity in the fight over Mercia’s throne. If King Ethelwulf married his son to one of King Francis’s daughters, one of the lost princesses, he’d solidify his family’s hold on the throne and undermine Adelaide’s claim.
Even though I told myself Theobald wouldn’t dare harm Maribel, at least severely, his sneering face continued to flash in my mind—the same madman who had shown delight in slitting open my father’s abdomen and torturing him was the same one pressing a knife against Maribel’s unblemished throat.
I adjusted my grip on my knife and took aim at the weak spot in the right guard’s armor. My fingers twitched to toss the weapon, but I forced myself to wait.
“You better call upon your eagle to help you,” one of the soldiers said as he crept closer.
I’d considered it, but the bowman who had shot at Sheba before was likely still among the boulders and would take aim at her again the moment she appeared.
In the distance, Theobald rounded a tall wall of boulders. The instant he disappeared from sight, I sprang into action. First, I flung the knife. It rolled through the air end over end with a speed and precision the guards didn’t see coming. Before they could show their surprise, the knife sliced into the right guard’s throat, and he fell lifeless, his eyes still open but unseeing.
The second guard hesitated, his gaze following his dead companion’s path to the ground. It was the instant of advantage I needed. I charged forward with my sword aimed at the other weak spot in a knight’s armor, the slight opening in the armpit. When the guard raised his arm in self-defense, I jabbed low and hard, piercing sideways so the blade wedged between his ribs and into his heart.
He, too, dropped without uttering a sound. I prayed the lack of noise from the fight wouldn’t alert Theobald. I’d count on his arrogance and his belief that his strong and competent guards would obliterate me before I could protest.
I wasted no time in retrieving my weapons. As I rose, my gaze snagged upon the pointed ears and long snout poking out from a nearby clumping of stone. “Barnabas.”
The wolf perked up and yipped at me, chastising me for not responding to him when he’d called. I’d been too consumed with Maribel to pay attention to anything else.
At the thought of Theobald and any more of his men lurking nearby, I growled at Barnabas. “Go away. It’s too dangerous for you here.”
He growled back in a low, menacing tone that was laced with his frustration with me.
I didn’t have time to fight with Barnabas right now. “Go on,” I commanded as I sprinted the way the captain had disappeared with Maribel, needing to catch Theobald before he reached the rest of his army.
When I rounded the bend, Theobald was only ten paces away, dragging Maribel by her arm, which hung at an odd angle—one that would allow him to manipulate her painfully but not cause any permanent damage.
Ahead was the bowman, climbing away with his back facing me. Evidently, the archer believed his companions would be able to kill me easily as well. I took aim with my dagger and released it. The knife impaled him and brought him down in an instant.
At the sight of his companion on the ground, Theobald spun. His eyes rounded with surprise as he took me in, unscathed and with my sword drawn. For just a heartbeat, he couldn’t mask his shock over my defeat of his elite soldiers. But then, his expression transformed into anger, even rage, at the realization I’d outwitted him.
He pinched Maribel’s arm tighter, causing her to moan in her half-conscious state.
Though I wanted to charge forward and skewer him on the end of my sword, I schooled myself into impassivity. If he learned I loved Maribel—that I cared for her even a fraction of what I did—he’d have absolute power over me. He’d use her to bend me to his will. And then I’d never be able to free her.
“Who are you?” he asked, studying my face closely, likely looking for any weakness.
I pretended to examine his face just as carefully, although I didn’t need to. His ugly scar and pointed black beard, the tightly woven warrior braids across his scalp, the dark bottomless eyes—I’d lived with the image of him embedded into my worst nightmares these many years.
“I am Edmund Charles Chambers of Chapelhill.” I waited for recognition to spark. But there was nothing, which only fueled the bitterness I held for this man. He’d slaughtered my family and didn’t even remember it. My noble father, my kindhearted mother, and my four older siblings had been nameless faces to him, mere pawns in a political game. They’d meant nothing except for the twisted pleasure he’d derived in hurting them.
“You have been the Princess Maribel’s guard all these years?” He slipped his hand toward his belt, no doubt to reach for his dagger.
In two strides I had my sword pointed against his heart. With his hold on Maribel, he was crippled, although I couldn’t underestimate this man. I’d be wise to kill him now before he could act.
But a part of me wanted him to know exactly why I was killing him. I dropped my sword to his hand and sliced through his glove, drawing blood. “Don’t move again or you’ll lose your hand.”
Maribel moaned once more. Even though I burned with the need to free her, I continued my ruse of impassivity.
“I can see you’ve had exceptional training,” Theobald said casually. He was using the tactic of stalling. It was one Wade had taught me as well.
“I suppose I have you to thank for my training.” The bitterness that had festered in my heart oozed into my voice.
His fingers twitched, and I pushed the tip of my sword deeper into his hand. The strain of the muscles in his neck was the only indication of the pain I was causing him.
“Yes,” I continued, “if not for you murdering my family, I wouldn’t have been an orphan, wouldn’t have been rescued by one of King Francis’s elite guards, and wouldn’t have been trained at the Highland Convent as both a warrior and Fera Agmen.”
If my words startled him, he didn’t give any hint. Like me, he was probably s
killed at hiding his true emotions. “Chambers of Chapelhill . . .” He spoke the name slowly as if trying to place it.
Then his lips curved into a cold, heartless smile, one that made his eyes darker and more dangerous. “I know why that name sounds familiar. Because I just recently executed your grandfather for turning against King Ethelwulf and giving aid to the rebellious Princess Constance.”
My grandfather? Although he’d been away visiting his smelters in Middleton when we’d been arrested, my father had learned through other prisoners that Grandfather had been killed upon his arrival home to Chapelhill.
Why, then, was Theobald speaking of Grandfather as though he’d survived? Was it possible he’d been alive all these years and I hadn’t known it? And now Theobald had murdered him too?
Rage swelled deep inside my chest. From Theobald’s widening smile, I guessed my expression was no longer emotionless, that my surprise and anger were written there, and that I’d given him the reaction he’d wanted.
I couldn’t restrain the bitterness I’d harbored for this man. With a roar that contained my hatred, I swung my sword toward his throat. I wanted him to pay for all the hurt he’d caused my family and me.
Before the blade could make contact, Theobald kicked my feet from beneath me, knocking me sideways and throwing me to the ground.
Even as my shoulder and arm landed, a sickening realization pooled in my gut. Theobald had known mentioning my grandfather’s death would tempt me as nothing else would. I’d let down my guard. I’d allowed my feelings—namely my need for revenge—to cloud my judgment. And now, I’d most likely lost Maribel in the process.
Though the impact of the hard earth jarred my wounds and took away my breath, I rolled and sprang up. Before I could straighten, Theobald shoved me down and pressed his knife against my throat. A piercing pain was followed by the warm trickle of blood over my collarbone.
I grasped for my sword, but I’d lost it during my fall, and it lay too far away.
Even as I strained, Theobald’s blade sank deeper, burning hot. His grin inched higher, and his eyes probed mine as though to see into my soul. “It’s always a pleasure to take care of unfinished business. I’m not sure how you escaped the punishment your family deserved, but you’ll escape no longer.”
He released his knife from my throat and lifted it in readiness to plunge it into my heart. It was my only chance. As he brought the knife down, I threw him off balance and rolled sideways so that the weapon clanked onto the rocky ground where I’d lain seconds earlier.
I scrambled toward my sword. But before I could reach it, Theobald screamed out. I spun to see that Maribel had plunged a dagger into his back. Somehow during my struggle with Theobald, she must have regained consciousness enough to crawl to the bowman, pull out his dagger, and now had used it to help save me.
She took a quick step away from Theobald, her face filling with horror, her eyes wide upon the weapon protruding from him.
Theobald’s pain seemed to turn him into a rabid animal. He bellowed, then swung out and slapped Maribel’s face with the back of his hand. She cried out and fell to her knees, blood spurting from her nose.
I used the moment of his distraction to pick up my sword and leap toward him. As I raised my weapon against him, he pivoted and met it with his own. Even with a dagger in his back, I only needed one parry to realize his sword-fighting skills surpassed mine. Although I could defend myself well enough, I sensed I wouldn’t win this battle unless I wore him down. With his blood loss and injury, it was my only hope.
I heard Barnabas growl before I saw him. I didn’t have time to tell him to stay away. He attacked Theobald from behind. At the moment the wolf sank his fangs into Theobald’s thigh where he lacked chainmail, I realized my animal friend was offering up his life for mine, for he would surely sustain mortal wounds unless I disarmed Theobald.
With a shout of protest, I lunged toward Theobald just as he pivoted to strike Barnabas. The momentum of my hit forced Theobald’s sword out of his hand. It clattered to the ground and skittered away from him.
I sliced my sword into Theobald’s fighting arm and then gorged his other, incapacitating him. All the while, Barnabas dug his fangs in deeper.
As I withdrew my sword and prepared to strike another blow, Theobald buckled to the ground and tried to crawl away. But he was weakening from his injuries and couldn’t get far before Barnabas growled and tore into Theobald’s thigh in a different spot, causing the captain to cry out again.
“I’ll have the wolf rip you apart in little pieces!” I yelled. “It will be a slow, agonizing death, just the kind you deserve after the way you tortured my father.”
“No, Edmund!” Maribel stared at Barnabas and Theobald, her face pale, almost sick.
“He deserves it,” I said bitterly. I growled low in my throat and told Barnabas to feast upon Theobald’s flesh.
The wolf growled in response and began to tug at Theobald’s leg, wrenching it back and forth as though to cleave it from his body.
“Edmund, please!” Maribel turned her eyes upon me with the full weight of her revulsion. “You are a better man than this, than him.”
I watched as Theobald writhed with agony, his blood pooling on the rocks beneath him. I was justified in seeing him die this way, wasn’t I? He’d brutally killed my family. And he’d admitted to murdering my grandfather. Surely, he was better off dead so he could no longer inflict his terror upon innocent people.
Barnabas again tore viciously at Theobald, this time lower in the leg. The captain arched up in agony, his breath and moans gurgling in his throat.
Maribel’s blue eyes pleaded with me. Tears streaked her cheeks, along with the blood that trickled from her nose. “I understand why you want to hurt him. But giving in to revenge will not release the bitterness. Revenge only feeds the hate until it grows like mold, turning your heart black.”
I didn’t care about my heart turning black. All I wanted was for Theobald to die a torturous death. But Maribel’s tears moved me. I didn’t want to disappoint her, didn’t want her to look at me with revulsion any longer, didn’t want to lose her trust and faith—not when I needed to win her love.
My muscles tightened with resistance, but I somehow managed to order Barnabas to pull back. He ceased his slow torture and glanced up at me, his sharp teeth still deep into Theobald’s calf. Blood covered his snout and fangs. His eyes were wild, and he growled a protest. He’d already gotten the taste of blood and didn’t want to let go of his prey.
His instinct mirrored mine, but I issued another command, this one sharper than the last.
The wolf reluctantly released Theobald, who now lay motionless on the ground. If he wasn’t unconscious yet, he was close to it and would soon die, whether Barnabas killed him or not. The captain had already lost a great deal of blood, his injuries were severe, and he was alone and separated from his men.
Barnabas raised his head toward me. I praised him for saving my life, for helping to protect Maribel, and then I gave him the freedom to return to his family.
The wolf hesitated. I appreciated his loyalty and friendship. But he’d done more than enough for me over the past week. It was time for me to discharge him from any further obligation so he could live at peace. If he continued with me into Norland, I feared what might happen to him.
With a final good-bye, Barnabas trotted off and disappeared among the boulders as if he’d never been there.
Chapter
18
Maribel
Edmund scooped me up like a rag doll. I didn’t protest since my legs felt as if they were made of flax. Though I’d readjusted my arm and shoulder, the area still burned as did my nose, which thankfully wasn’t broken. I was also weak with relief—relief that Edmund and I were safe and relief that he’d stopped Barnabas from torturing Captain Theobald to death.
Perhaps the captain did indeed deserve to die for his crimes. However, torturing him wasn’t the answer. If Edmund had continued, his ac
tions would have caused a stain upon his conscience that would have haunted him forever.
When we returned to the sight of the skirmish, Christopher and Adelaide met us, their faces creased with worry. Edmund explained what had happened, and Firmin and several of his strongest guards rushed off to retrieve Captain Theobald, but upon finding him dead, they left his body for the vultures.
After wiping the blood from my face, I set to work cleaning and stitching Edmund’s neck. When I finished, I moved on to doctor the other soldiers who’d sustained wounds. With Adelaide’s medical man, Darien, injured, no one complained or resisted my ministrations.
From what I gathered, Sheba’s warning of the impending assault had allowed our rebel group to take an offensive position. They’d been able to attack King Ethelwulf’s men first. The unexpected frontal assault had pushed the king’s men back until finally the few soldiers who hadn’t been struck down managed to escape.
“He is not one of ours,” Adelaide called to me as I knelt in front of a wounded soldier who had propped himself against a rock. His ankle was twisted at an odd angle, and blood had pooled underneath. One of his arms also appeared to be broken, and he had a large gash on his forehead.
The soldier eyed me warily. Beneath the grime of travel and battle, his features were boyish, and I guessed he was my age or younger.
“Leave him,” Adelaide said from where she and the others had begun to ready their horses. “His own will come back for him eventually.”
“Then I shall staunch the blood flow to ensure his survival.” I was already rifling through my medical bag for the supplies I would need.
I glanced to the battle area where a handful of enemy soldiers moaned in pain. Then I returned my attention to the young man in front of me. “Have no fear,” I said gently. “I only want to help you.”
I worked quietly for a few moments, feeling the boy’s eyes upon me. When he stiffened, I glanced over my shoulder to see Adelaide standing behind me, her knife drawn. “You are disregarding my orders, Maribel.”
