The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2)

by Rosamund Winchester

  So, he kept his problems and temptations to himself. That was why his shoulders and neck ached as they did. It was difficult to relax when his mind was ever on the woman even now lying in a bed, resting, gaining her strength so that she could welcome him into her bed.

  His rod twitched at the thought of pressing his length into her warm, welcoming body.

  He bit back a groan. He was surrounded by his men, dammit! Now was not the time for fantasizing about his charge.

  But she is no longer your charge. And that was the issue. Once he’d discovered what her uncle had planned for her, he realized that he was never meant to fulfill his mission. All along, Calleaux had been planning for Elric and his men to fail.

  Upon their arrival at Bridgerdon, Elric sent word to Keswick, to the Balliwich, where he knew the rest of his men would find respite before returning to Cieldon to report to Calleaux. There were six other men besides the four with him now, but he expected the others to join them within the sennight. Once the other men received word of Calleaux’s diabolical machinations, they would make haste to Bridgerdon to join up with the rest of the Homme du Sang. They would be a complete force soon enough.

  “Now what?” Glenn asked, his annoyed tone breaking Elric from his musings. “We canna just sit here like dead fish while Calleaux plots. Once he realizes that the man he sent didna complete his mission, he may send someone else. And not only that, he will be lookin’ fer the rest o’ us. He willna like our congregatin’ without his say so. He will ken somethin’s afoot.”

  “You are right, Glenn, but I do not like planning without the other men here. This includes them, as well. Calleaux is not just plotting against me, he is aiming to destroy the order altogether, and if he cannot, at least replace each of us with men of his choosing.”

  “No doubt bootlickers and buggerers,” Glenn sneered.

  Pierre grunted his agreement while Leon glared at Glenn, probably for his crude reference to sodomites. Bear leaned back, crossing his thick arms over his chest. He seemed the most contemplative of the four.

  “What will come of us if that happens?” Bear inquired, the question making the tension rise in the great hall. It was empty save them, but that didn’t lessen the heaviness surrounding them. “If Calleaux succeeds in turning the Church against us, what will become of us? No doubt, we will be excommunicated and hunted like dogs.”

  “Damn,” Glenn cursed.

  Bear continued, “I have given the last twelve years of my life for the order. I have missed my only daughter’s growth into womanhood. She learned to walk while I was gone fighting raiders in Blackpool. I will never get those years back, I know that, but I will be damned if I let Calleaux make those years for naught.” Bear’s voice carried, and Elric heard the anguish amidst the anger. He couldn’t understand what it felt like to leave behind a child, to fight knowing you might not return. But, he could understand what it felt like to fight for a cause that wasn’t his own. They all did. Over the years, Calleaux ordered them into villages and towns to arrest people he deemed in need of “God’s judgement”. Sometimes, he would order them to escort men of money and prominence that had nothing to do with the Church. And there were those times when he would order them to simply stand down during a skirmish between neighboring lords and reivers. They followed orders because it was what they swore to do when they took the oath before God.

  But Calleaux was no man of God. He was a man of flesh and blood who sought power over others, no matter who or what he had to sacrifice to get it. Including his own niece.

  “I promise you, my brothers, whatever happens, I will remain true and loyal to you. It is not Calleaux that made us the Homme du Sang, it was our own deeds. I will always be a man of blood, a man of steel, a man of honor, no matter who Calleaux sends after us.”

  It was as though he were admitting that the chivalric order of the Homme du Sang was nearing its end.

  Silence followed his words as the men all sat, contemplating the truth of what was to come.

  Glenn, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall beside the hearth, curled his lip.

  “Aye, ye didna have a doubt that I would remain loyal,” he drawled. “What would ye lot do without my daggers and winnin’ smile?”

  The group laughed, though the sound was hollow.

  “You can count on each of us, Commander,” Pierre said, stunning them all.

  “By God, the man speaks! I do believe I have died and gone ta Purgatory,” Glenn said dramatically, teasing the large, silent man as usual.

  “Be that as it may, I pledged my sword to Tristin before you, and now it is yours,” Pierre admonished.

  “I have lived many years and I have served the Church longer than I have called myself a knight, but I cannot condone what Calleaux has done. I will not stand by while he tarnishes the title of Prince of the Church with his unholy, selfish deeds. You can count on me to remain at your side, Commander.” Leon raised his hand in a stiff salute, making Elric sit up a little straighter. It was a decided honor to have such fine men at his back.

  I will not fail them.

  “How is the fair Lady Minnette?” Bear asked before taking a mighty swig of his flagon of ale. “I heard she has awoken.”

  The fair Lady Minnette is eager to feel what it is like to be possessed by me. The vision of her, lying on her back, arms wide, legs spread, her pink and moist womanhood bared to his eyes made his blood sing the song of longing. Of desire.

  Of hope.

  He cleared his throat of the strange emotion lodged there. “She has,” he replied. “Bell Heather is with her now.” As he spoke of Bell Heather, her husband entered the room, his face grave.

  Alarmed, Elric shot to his feet. “What is it?” he asked, which made all heads turn toward Tristin.

  “I have received word from Martin,” Tristin announced, coming to stand beside the table near where Leon was seated.

  Leon stiffened, his face growing pale. “And what does my cousin say?”

  “Cieldon is hosting a retinue of men from Glidden’s army.”

  If Elric hadn’t already been standing, he would have launched to his feet at that announcement. Trouble was at their threshold. “That bastard!” he ground out.

  His brow furrowed, Bear asked, “What does this mean? Were we ordered to go north because Glidden could not spare the men to come collect his betrothed.”

  “Do not dare call her that. She was never meant to be his,” Elric snapped, and all eyes clapped on him. He knew he sounded possessive and jealous. But what did that matter when he was so very close to losing her? Sucking in a breath, he held it for a moment before exhaling, hoping it would take the edge off his rage. It did not. “This means that Calleaux and Glidden were working together.” At the confused looks on Bear and Leon’s faces, Elric explained, “Glidden knew we would not make it to him with Minnette alive. So in a preemptive move, he sent his men, probably more than a fortnight past, to arrive seeking the missing party. Since Minnette was to die en route, when we failed to arrive, Glidden would seem the wounded, outraged party, and Calleaux would be there to act as grieving uncle, seeking justice against the Homme du Sang for his murdered niece.” Speaking the words aloud made them all the more terrible. Calleaux’s sinister plot had many coils and venomous heads.

  “My God,” Leon murmured, his face ashen. “We were meant to take the fall for all of it.”

  Elric nodded, his head heavy.

  “I am afraid so,” Tristin remarked, his proud shoulders slumped. “I cannot help but feel that this is partly my fault.”

  Elric opened his mouth to protest but the piercing look Tristin sent him kept his mouth closed.

  “If I had not chosen my wife over my duty, Calleaux would have no reason to seek vengeance against the order.”

  “You cannot mean that you regret taking Bell Heather as your wife?” Bear asked, disbelief etched into his expressive eyes.

  Tristin’s face turned red, hardening as his expression darkened. “Neve
r. I regret nothing I did for my love, but what I did took an axe to Calleaux’s pride. I am afraid he has never recovered.”

  “Pride goeth before a fall,” Leon muttered, ever the priest.

  “So, what ye’re sayin’ is that because Calleaux’s arse end is still burnin’ from the paddlin’ he got from Tristin and Bell Heather, he is workin’ ta destroy the Homme du Sang altogether?”

  Elric nodded. “And if he cannot destroy the order, he can at least attempt to fill it with his own men.”

  “Aye, the buggerers,” Glenn retorted, his gaze on Leon who glared at Glenn for his wicked tongue. But Glenn was far too happy in his misdeeds to seek forgiveness. Glenn grinned at Leon, though it held no humor.

  There was no humor in their circumstances.

  “We can disband, hide among our kin,” Bear offered, his great body tense. “It would mean that we give Calleaux what he wants, but it would also mean we have a chance to live out the rest of our lives without a target on our backs.”

  “Not necessarily,” Tristin interjected. “Calleaux is still out for blood. Since he cannot have mine, he will come after Elric.” Tristin’s concerned gaze landed on Elric. “I am sorry, my friend.”

  Elric didn’t reply. What could he say? He had known the moment he’d taken the commission that he would be tasked with something that would test every ounce of strength he had. His men did not deserve Calleaux’s wrath. They were honorable, noble, and selfless. They would lay down their lives for the innocent and for each other. There were no men alive who were as deserving of praise as the men he called brothers. But praise was not what Calleaux was offering.

  “I will surrender myself to him,” Elric stated, his voice firmer than he expected. His chest burned with the acid from his stomach, and his body ached from keeping his hands from trembling. He could not look weak now, not when his men were counting on him for their lives.

  No one said anything at first. The room rang with the discordance of the silence in a room meant for festivity.

  “No,” Pierre growled, rising from his seat to glower at Elric face to face. “You are the commander of the Homme du Sang, a chivalric order meant to fight for justice and the glory of the Church. Tell me how you giving your life for us is meant to offer justice to those Calleaux has wronged. Explain to me how this will bring glory to the Church of our Lord.”

  Stunned, Elric stared at the man before him, a man who had just spoken more words in one sitting than probably the whole of the years they’d been together.

  “He is right,” Glenn agreed, pushing up off the floor to stand. Leon followed suit, as did Bear, until they were all standing, surrounding Elric like a turret made of men. “If ye give yerself ta Calleaux, what’s ta stop him from still comin’ after us? He is a man possessed. He’ll not be satisfied with one death, he will want every last one o’ us hangin’ from Cieldon’s keep by our necks.”

  For the second time in a few short minutes, Elric was stunned. When did Glenn become such a bloody wise man? Despite Elric’s shock, he realized that both Pierre and Glenn were correct. Even if he surrendered to Calleaux, there was no guarantee Calleaux would leave the rest of the men alone.

  “So, we are to accept that we will be hunted for the rest of our lives? This is damned unbelievable!”

  “Aye,” Glenn replied, sullenly. God, Elric hated how these once proud men were laid low by one man’s thirst for power. The injustice was sickening.

  “I will write to Archbishop Checheley. There must be something he can do,” Leon offered.

  “Aye, the least the bloody archbishop could do is pull the reins on his pet cardinal,” Glenn grated.

  “And my father is already corresponding with the king. King Henry might not have a stake in this directly, but he will want to know what is occurring in the outer reaches of his kingdom. Lorne is far from London, but the border skirmishes are taking their toll on his ready supply of wool. And if Glidden is too busy conspiring with Calleaux, he is not doing his job of keeping reivers at bay.”

  There were grunts and snorts of agreement, then a long pause as they all digested all that had been said.

  Leon broke the silence first. “I hate to speak the obvious, but…” Elric stared at the man who seemed to have gotten even paler, if that were possible. “Why do we not tell Calleaux and Glidden that the Lady Minnette is still alive? Surely that would curtail their plans?”

  Elric’s heart collided with his ribs, beating at them violently. “Absolutely not,” he exploded, his body vibrating with anger—not at Leon but at the God who would offer Minnette such a terrible fate. “Just as my surrendering would fail to stop them from hunting us down, neither would offering them Minnette. Obviously, the assassin, this Stringer, has not informed them of his failure in capturing and killing her, so they are operating on the assumption that he has succeeded. If they discover her still alive, they will panic, unwilling to let their plan fail so close to their supposed victory. They will send an army to get her, and though Bridgerdon is well fortified, we cannot sacrifice the lives of the people here on the altar of Calleaux’s vanity.”

  “Agreed,” Tristin said, nodding solemnly. “These people should not be caught in the middle. We must keep Glidden and Calleaux from marching on us here.”

  “Do we leave, then?” Leon asked, the weariness from his face seeming to envelope the whole of him. He was a slight man, though still deadly with a sword, but he was getting on in age. Father Leon should have retired from the order years ago to tend a small parish in some bucolic hamlet in York. “And what of my cousin? Martin is not fool enough to think anything Calleaux tells him is not tainted with lies. He is in danger.”

  Tristin moved to Leon and gripped his shoulder as a brother would. “Worry not, Leon. Martin has been with Calleaux for over a decade. He knows to communicate with us through a third party. He supplies us with information gleaned from trusted sources and not just what the cardinal speaks directly to him or within his hearing. He knows Calleaux would seek to feed him false information. Also, I am almost certain that Calleaux keeps Martin on as his acolyte because Martin does not hide his hatred for the cardinal.”

  Glenn chuckled. “Keep yer enemies close, aye?”

  Though he felt no mirth, Elric couldn’t help but smile. “Aye, but keep your brothers closer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wiping the blood from his dagger, Stringer stared down at the body of the guard he’d just killed. Beside it was the body of the first guard he’d killed. It took some doing but he’d been able to sneak up on them while the first one was pissing. His death was quick and bloody, and if he hadn’t already pissed, the bastard would have loosed his bladder upon his death. The second guard was a little trickier. He saw Stringer coming, but not before Stringer was too close for the man to draw his sword before Stringer struck, thrusting his blade into the man’s neck, severing the connection between mind and body.

  “Tis a shame,” Stringer grumbled. He would have liked to have taken his time with them, bleeding them slowly so he could get information about the patrols, the inner workings of the castle, and the current location of Lady Minnette. His Lady Minnette.

  Over the last several nights, she had appeared to him. Always silent, always beseeching him to come to her. To show her what it meant to have his blade slide into her flesh. He knew that she knew it would be painful at first, but once the blood began to pour from her body, the numbness and cold would set in, and she would be free. And he would be victorious.

  But she hadn’t appeared to him last night. He had waited for her, beside the campfire, until the fire died to sickly glowing embers. When she didn’t come, he knew it was because someone had kept her from him.

  Elric had kept her from coming to him.

  That morning, he’d spied the two guards and knew it was his chance to get inside Bridgerdon. With them dead, he could use their armor as a disguise with which to gain entrance through the heavily-guarded gates. Once inside, he would hide until nightfall,
when he would make his way to her chamber and rescue her.

  And once she was in his keeping, he would take his time with her. Calleaux could wait for his prize, Stringer refused to rush. One did not rush the joy of total control over another being. And he would control her, and he would bleed her, and he would know the utter bliss of her blood on his hands.

  With renewed vigor, Stringer removed the armor from the guard closest to his size and donned it, the metal rubbing against the pussy, festering opening in his side. It was slow going because he’d never worn armor before, and his arms weren’t as strong as they had been, even the day before, but he made do. Once he was covered in steel and chainmail, he mounted Digger, thanked him for taking on the extra weight of the armor without complaint, and began his ride to the gates of Bridgerdon.

  “I am coming for you, Lady Minnette.” His excited voice was snatched away by the wind as his galloped toward the woman who’d been haunting him.

  It had been nearly a week since she’d made her offer to Elric and he’d accepted. A week of being bedridden by order of Bell Heather, who visited Minnette’s chamber often to check on her and offer her company.

  Elric had been conspicuously absent over the last five days.

  He is not here to nurse you. He is here to protect you. Besides that, she could tell from the murmurings of the servants outside the door that there was something else going on. Something that had the household buzzing with tension.

  She couldn’t help but feel that it was because of her.

  A knock sounded on the door before it opened to reveal Bell Heather, her usually glowing countenance murky. Immediately, Minnette rose from the chair by the fire and tensed.

  “What has happened?” Minnette asked, her voice squeaking as she forced it from her throat. “Has something happened to Elric?” Suddenly, panic speared her heart, making it bleed into her already twisting stomach.