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

by Rosamund Winchester

  Just as the morning sun broke through the overgrowth, a squat structure partially hidden in a hillside came into view.

  “There it is,” he whispered hoarsely, and a chill raced through her blood.

  They were there, and now she would die.

  Her heart racing, her mouth like sand, her gaze darted about, looking for anything or anyone that would help her survive. Trees, mossy boulders, squirrels, and utter silence.

  The man pulled his horse to a stop just outside the hovel and leaned into her until the visor of his helmet bit into the flesh just beneath her ear.

  “You move and this will be much quicker and bloodier than I intended. You will not escape me, Minnette. I am one of God’s chosen, and He has called for me to ease your suffering.”

  God’s chosen? Ease her suffering? The man was beyond mad! She bit her tongue and held her breath, her body thrumming with enough tension that the horse beneath her was growing restless from it. But the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  Without another word, the man gingerly slipped from the saddle, nursing his left side, sheathing his blade, and taking the reins into his hand. She gazed down at him, his face obstructed by the visor on his helmet. He must’ve sensed her sudden curiosity because he chuckled and raised his hands to lift the helmet completely from his head. He dropped the helmet and she peered at the face now revealed to her.

  She screamed. The man’s face wasn’t a face at all. It was a poorly woven tapestry of taut flesh, strung thickly over a hole in his left cheek. Sheets of sweat covered most of what should have been a face, plastering his matted brown hair to his skull. He was grinning, and she didn’t need to see him smile to know that. She could see his black teeth through the hole in his face.

  Demon. He is a demon!

  Frantic, her thoughts in chaos, she did the first thing that came to mind. She kicked out, her bare foot connecting with the side of the man’s head. With a grunt, he fell backward, hitting the back of his head on the helmet he had discarded.

  This was it, her only chance to get away. Still astride the horse, she grabbed for the reins now dangling from the bit. The horse sidestepped as if trying to keep her from gaining any control over it. She grabbed hold of its blank mane, holding on tightly as she once again grabbed for the reins, her heart ticking with the seconds as her chance for escape slid by.

  Finally! She took hold of the reins, straightening in the saddle. She looked down at the man with the twisted face, but he hadn’t moved. With a huff of relief, she turned the horse toward the path from where they’d come. She did not know where they were or where she was even going, but she knew she could not stay there. The more distance she put between herself and that man, the better off she was.

  She had no time to dwell on what might happen after, she just needed to get somewhere where she could send word to Bridgerdon.

  With her hands tight on the reins, the horse whinnied its displeasure. She loosened her hold, directing the horse onward. She gave his flanks a kick and he moved faster. She didn’t know how long it took to reach the edge of the forest but, once they were in the open, she kicked the horse once again, sending him into a gallop.

  Ugly horse or no, she was glad to have him.

  From what she could remember, Furness was to the southwest of Cieldon. That meant it was northwest of Bridgerdon. She wondered how far from Bridgerdon they had traveled. Looking skyward, she determined that she was currently headed south.

  That would not do. Even if she could figure out how far Bridgerdon was, she had no way of knowing if Elric and the other Homme du Sang were still there. They meant to escort her to Furness, but now that she was already out in the open where her uncle’s men could find her and kill her, her best choice was to make her way northwest and hope Furness was close. During their last conversation, Elric had made her feel as though she were simply a tool with which he could destroy Calleaux. Get her to Furness, have her tell the bishop about her uncle, and then leave her on her own. Now, she would get to Furness without him. She no longer needed him. Once she told the bishop about her uncle, her uncle would be forced to call off the man he’d sent to kill her, and that man would fade into her memories like a horrible nightmare. Then, she could go to Chatteris. Then she would find peace. Then she would live without the fear.

  Without Elric.

  Perhaps a sense of triumph would help drown out the sense of suffocating sadness that was filtering through her terrified mind.

  Slowing the horse, she made a turn away from the rising sun and then kicked the horse into a gallop once more.

  She had saved herself. She was her own hero. And she would never depend on another person ever again.

  As the tears threatened, she wiped them away. She had no time for emotions. She had to get somewhere safe, and then, she could begin the soul-shattering process of forgetting about Sir Elric Gadot.

  Sir Elric, I find myself in the company of a young woman who has a rather interesting story to tell. She arrived at my door just this evening in a most shocking state. I realize this missive will take some time to arrive at Bridgerdon, but know that she will be safe until you can meet with me.

  God’s Servant,

  Bishop Norton

  He kicked at Bellerophon’s flanks, the bishop’s elegantly scrawled words etched into every corner of his mind. He had to get to Furness with all haste, and Glenn was close behind him.

  Minnette was alive. She was safe. In Furness.

  How had she gotten there, and what had Norton meant about Minnette being “in a most shocking state”?

  The morning after their rather turbulent conversation in her chambers, he’d received word from Mina, Minnette’s maid, that Minnette was not in her bed when she’d gone to awaken her. Upon that news, he’d raced up the stairs to her chambers. He saw her bedclothes in disarray, her trunk was still full of her belongings, even her dratted satchel was still there. It seemed as though she’d escaped without anything, even her slippers. She was barefoot, unprotected, and alone wherever she’d gone.

  She had left him, finally succeeding in escaping him. And he couldn’t stop the sense of betrayal. He’d protected her, vowed to see her safe to Furness, with him, and she’d gone on without him.

  “I will no longer be your burden to bear,” she’d said, her beautiful blue eyes flashing with pain and determination. He’d done that to her. He’d made her think she was a burden when what she really was was a treasure to be held close and cherished. When he’d gone to her that night, he’d been determined to show himself the consummate commander, the man who was strong enough to protect her even though everything he stood for was falling into ruins around him. He wanted her to feel safe with him, that she could trust him with her body and her heart. He’d wanted to tell her what she meant to him, and that he wished for a future between them once Calleaux had been brought to justice. But the thought of Calleaux had soured every good intention. Once he’d arrived in her chambers, he had seen the look of happiness and trust on her face. He knew that it was better for him to put aside thoughts of the future, until there was a future assured.

  He couldn’t be the man she needed until he could give her all that she deserved.

  You deserve Hell. He was a murderer of innocents. He was bound for Hell after years of following the orders of a man who mocked God’s laws. He would not taint the lovely, innocent Minnette with his filthy, bloody hands, not until he had done penance, seeking forgiveness through the wielding of justice.

  Pulling Bellerophon to a halt at a small brook, Elric dismounted to give his horse a rest. They had been traveling since first light, and it was nearing midday. He could use a rest himself. He hadn’t slept at all since he’d last seen Minnette, seen the look of shock and hurt on her beautiful face.

  Glenn and Sluagh came to a halt beside them, and Glenn jumped down easily.

  “I have ta piss,” he announced before tossing Sluagh’s reins over the saddle and striding to a clump of trees. Elric furrowed his
brow. Glenn didn’t care who laid eyes on his rod, he was no wilting Scottish flower to hide himself away when he needed to make water. So why was he even now moving into the shadow of the trees?

  Sighing, Elric smoothed a hand over his forehead. What did he care if Glenn was becoming modest? The man was more mystery than man. What was one more to add to the heap?

  Smoothing Bellerophon’s neck, he patted the horse and noticed the way the sun glinted off the rich chestnut color. He was a beautiful, faithful horse. He’d had Bellerophon since he’d met Tristin, and he and his horse had been unbreakable since. Through all the sinful acts he’d committed over his years as a Homme du Sang, Bellerophon had been with him.

  “Good thing you have no soul, eh, old boy?” he murmured into the horse’s cheek, a slight smile creasing his face.

  From behind him, the rustling and snapping of twigs sounded, and his body tensed with alarm.

  Glenn would not have made a sound. Someone else was there.

  His hand on the hilt of his sword, he turned, ready to draw, to find Glenn. But Glenn was not alone. There was a man behind him. No, not a man, a hideous monster with a twisted face and glittering black eyes and a wicked-looking blade pressed to Glenn’s neck.

  Glenn, the roue, looked more annoyed than fearful, which meant he had little doubt he could best the man. Which meant Glenn had allowed the man the upper hand in the first place. He must’ve known he was there, hiding, which was why he’d gone into the woods in the first place, to give the man the opportunity to “capture” him. Elric almost laughed. Almost.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, doing his best to sound affronted rather than slightly humored by the scene before him. “Unhand him, sirrah, or I will be forced to dispatch you.” Damn, he sounded as pompous and flatulent as his father. Though he loved the man, he couldn’t stand the way he’d lord his position over all and sundry. It was one of the reasons his sons had been taken prisoner. The scoundrels not only wanted the money, they wanted to bring the arrogant and self-inflated man to heel.

  Instead of that, though, they’d succeeded in ruining his life.

  Refusing to give space in his thoughts to those memories, he focused on the misshapen thing before him. No doubt, he was Stringer Black. The look of the weeping, oozing mess staining the fabric of his tunic told him that the wound he had delivered to Stringer that night, weeks ago, had festered. It smelled of rot and sick.

  “Where is she?” Stringer spat.

  Elric sneered. “Where is who?”

  He pressed the point of his blade into Glenn’s chin, and Glenn flashed a look at Elric that told him “finish it before I do”.

  “Minnette!”

  The blood drained from Elric’s face and an unshakeable chill took hold of his chest.

  “What of Minnette?” he bellowed, taking several steps closer to the thing holding Glenn captive. Before Elric could grab at the man, Glenn took hold of the man’s wrist, twisting it until it snapped, and the knife fell from his useless fingers. The man howled, holding his wrist to his chest as he looked between Glenn and Elric with an expression of bilious hatred in his eyes.

  “You cannot keep me from my Minnette,” the man said.

  “She is not yours.” Elric growled low in his throat, a threat.

  Stringer spat at Elric, taking a step away from them to put his back toward the woods.

  He means to escape. Elric wouldn’t let that happen. The man had much to answer for.

  With a signal to Glenn, Elric drew his sword just as Glenn threw his dagger, landing a perfect blow into Stringer’s shoulder. Stringer grunted, spinning from the impact, before stumbling to remain on his feet next to a tree trunk, the hilt of Glenn’s dagger planted deeply into his flesh and muscle. Glenn was a wonder when it came to disabling foes.

  And he enjoyed it far too much. Glenn’s lopsided grin would have seemed maniacal to anyone else but, to Elric, it was typical.

  “You were a fool to try and kill Minnette. Cardinal Calleaux is no man of God, and anything he has ordered you to do will be held against you,” Elric said, though he wondered why he was trying to speak to the man logically. From what he’d heard from James, Stringer Black had been born evil.

  “It matters not what you believe,” Stringer ground out, his voice strangely tight. “She is mine, and I will have her. She will not escape me again.”

  Elric chuckled though he found nothing humorous. “Escape? The time in the cottage that I allowed you near her, you ran from us like the coward you are. How is your wound, eh? Does it sting? Does it ache? The mark you left on Minnette has all but healed.”

  Almost as though he’d been struck, he reeled back, then blinked, and then a slow, terrible smile spread over his mangled face.

  “You do not have her,” Stringer snarled, laughing. “If you had her, you would know. But you do not know, do you?” He cackled, and Elric shook off the sickening sensations cascading down his back.

  “What do ye mean? O’course we dinna have her. She is at Furness. Safe.”

  Elric grunted, rage searing his emotions. How dare Glenn give away vital information to such a dangerous and obviously mad man?

  “Enough, Glenn,” Elric snapped, but Glenn simply grinned, his black beard giving him the image of a devil. He was a devil, but Elric was glad to have him on his side. At least he had been.

  Stringer continued laughing, having heard nothing that had passed after his cryptic words.

  “Stringer,” Elric growled, and the man finally stopped cackling and whimpering, his deeply scarred hand gripping the hilt of the dagger in his shoulder. “What do you mean? What is it that we do not know?” It seemed he was trying to climb an unclimbable wall, but finally the man replied.

  “You think she escaped from Bridgerdon, did you not?”

  Suddenly, his words pulled the breath from his body. “You took her?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rife with death.

  Stringer grinned that ugly grin, and Elric was there with his hand around Stringer’s neck before the man could flinch. Cackling, Stringer hissed, then answered, “The patrols were not ready for me. I killed them, took the armor, walked through the gates.” He snickered. “Whoever that gate guard is, he should be hanged. He believed my story and just let me go right on past. I hid then. And when it was dark, I found her in her chamber.”

  “You took Minnette from her bed?” It made sense now, the messy bedclothes, her not having taken any of her belongings or her slippers. “Where is she?” he screamed, tightening his grip on the man’s throat until his dark eyes nearly popped from his sockets.

  Elric remembered then, that Tristin had seemed troubled that one of the patrols had not reported in at the designated time. When he’d sent men to search for them, they had found two bodies, one naked and the other still wearing his armor.

  They were the men Stringer had spoken of.

  There was a hand on his shoulder and, suddenly, Glenn was pulling him back.

  “Commander,” Glenn drawled languidly. “He canna speak if ye kill him.”

  Sucking in air, Stringer leaned to the left, toward his shoulder wound, apparently crumpling beneath the abuse. With two wounds now, one that obviously made him weak and feverish, the man wasn’t long for the world.

  Good. He deserves death for what he has done.

  “He took Minnette,” Elric spat, and Glenn nodded.

  “Aye, that’s what he said, but I canna help but think she got away.”

  The letter from Norton. She was at Furness. Relief sucked the heat from his rage.

  He snapped his attention to the man now sunken to the ground, blood pouring from his shoulder.

  “You took her but she escaped you, did she not?” he asked, knowing the truth already. And the truth was that his brave, beautiful, and utterly amazing Minnette had been abducted in the dead of the night by a man bent on killing her, and she’d escaped him to Furness.

  Stringer’s head lobbed to the side. He was losing blood and he wa
s weakening. Glenn pushed Stringer’s shoulder with the tip of his black leather boot and Stringer grunted.

  “She escaped me, aye, but that was the last time. She will never escape me again.” His breath caught then let loose on a shudder. “For as long as I live, I will hunt her and once I have her, I will take my time with her.” He sucked in a shallow breath. “And I will peel every inch of flesh from her body, slowly. And then I will watch as she bleeds to death.”

  He will never give up. He will never stop hunting her. She will never have peace.

  His sword in hand, gripped tight, he took a step forward, planting the heavy blade into Stringer’s chest. No sound escaped as he died.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Minnette curled her hands into her lap and waited in her chamber, her heart racing more than when she’d run for her life more than five days ago.

  Elric was there.

  She’d been standing at her window, watching in the distance for riders. And when she’d finally spotted two riders on two horses she recognized, she felt the world tip. Elric was coming. She knew Bishop Norton had written to Elric at Bridgerdon, but she had no way of knowing if the missive would reach him before he departed. Would he have already left to confront her uncle? Would he be looking for her? Would he quit England altogether and start a new life in Spain? Now that he was rid of her, of the burden of protecting her, would he just wash his mind of her as well?

  If he can, then I can, too. She would forget Elric Gadot. But first, she had to finish this business with the bishop. When she’d told him about her uncle and his lies, the bishop had turned red in the face and clamped his mouth shut around words he probably would have been excommunicated for uttering. Then, the man signaled for someone to show her to a bedchamber where she could wash and rest. She hadn’t left her chamber since that first day. She was still shaken by her near-death experience at the monster’s hands. And he was still out there. Also, the abbey was a monastic order, with cloak-shrouded men shuffling about quietly. The man who’d shown her to her simple, utilitarian chamber had asked her to remain within her chambers to aid in the “continued integrity of the order”. As a woman, she knew he meant that her presence was a strain on the celibate men.