Feinting to his right, Josce whirled. His blade rang against the shield of the soldier trying to slip behind him. As his sword rebounded, he gave the weapon a twist, then smashed the flat of the blade against another man’s helmeted head.
The soldier’s eyes rolled back in his head. He collapsed. His shield, the item Josce so needed, dropped from his arm.
With his eye on that precious piece of weaponry, Josce brought his sword down on another man’s arm. It was a poorly executed blow. Rather than remove the limb, he but broke bones.
As his arm snapped, the soldier shrieked and reeled into two of his mates. All three tumbled together to the ground.
A flick of Josce’s wrist relieved the youth of his weapon. The lad fainted as his sword flew from his fingers and fell to the side. The man beside him tripped over him.
In the confusion, Josce lunged for the shield. He missed. From the corner of his eye he caught a glint. He jerked to the side. Not far enough.
The blow, meant to sever his arm from his shoulder, landed on the outer edge of his left arm. There was no pain, that would come later, but there was damage. His fingers numbed and he could feel the trickle of blood down his arm. There’d be no picking up that shield now. Josce retreated into the safety of the gateway.
“He’s mine,” du Hommet screamed, following Josce, his sword at the ready. At their sheriff’s command, his disordered troop fell back a step, leaving their master to battle his foe on his own.
Josce and du Hommet’s swords met, then met again until the clash of metal was a steady rhythm. Hoarding his energy, Josce worked only to deflect the sheriff’s attack. Not so du Hommet. Each stroke was made with all his strength. Weight, age and the day’s heat all took their toll. Sweat rolled down the sheriff’s brow. His cheeks darkened in exertion. His mouth gaped as he sucked in great breaths of air. When the lift of his arm began to slow, Josce recognized the time to exploit another weakness.
With a grin, he said, “Your daughter brought me the spices that damn you.”
It worked. Du Hommet’s eyes widened. Determination died under rage’s rebirth.
“That betraying bitch!” the sheriff trumpeted, then swung wildly.
Josce stepped back out of the weapon’s reach. When du Hommet didn’t find the resistance he expected, the sheriff staggered into an awkward circle, following the trajectory of his blow. It was the opportunity Josce craved.
Before du Hommet caught his footing, Josce hammered his sword against the man’s shield, again and again. He kept his blows rapid, giving du Hommet no opportunity to use his sword. Each blow drove the heavy sheet of metal against du Hommet’s arm with bruising impact. Josce knew from experience how each thrust tore at the shoulder’s sinews. When du Hommet could take no more, he cried out and reeled to the side, out of Josce’s reach.
Even as Josce sprang back to reclaim the safety of the gateway, the soldier to his right attacked. Josce dodged the blow. At the same time he slammed his blade into another man’s exposed side. The man fell.
Then the others closed in on him. Beneath the brims of their helmets their faces were hard. They lifted their weapons for attack. Where in God’s hell was Nick?
Adelm threw open the door to the prioress’s office. Above the blithering of the portress, who shrieked on about unarmed knights, Elianne’s death and the sheriff, he heard the sounds of battle. His father roared in rage.
He almost smiled. The prioress was right. God was going to grant him a chance to redeem himself before he died. Aye, and he wouldn’t have to prostrate himself before some sham of a holy man and spew their ritual words to do it.
Down the stairs Adelm went. When he reached the hard-packed earth of the courtyard, he lifted his heels to run. His legs refused him. He hadn’t eaten enough this day to sustain him, and his body was over-worn by his travels. The best he could manage was a slow jog.
The clatter of feminine footsteps rose from the steps behind him. “Stop, Sir Adelm,” the prioress shouted after him. “You have sin enough. Don’t do this.”
Adelm ignored her. Their business, hers and his, was finished. She had more than she expected out of it, while he’d gotten exactly what he needed. Amusement tugged at the edges of his thoughts. Despite the prioress’s vow to have no more to do with du Hommet or his men, all it had taken to open her door to him had been the mention of his mother’s name.
As he neared the gateway, Adelm reached for his sword’s hilt and missed. Cursing himself and what this meant for his purpose, he tried again. This time, the weapon left its sheath.
A few yards ahead of him stood Elianne. She was half turned away from the gateway as if she meant to run farther into the convent. Terror held court upon her features. The angle of her body let him see the fold of dark brown fabric she clutched close to her.
Adelm recognized what it was. To his surprise, relief washed over him. That she held what he’d hidden meant nothing would be left undone when all this was finished.
Again swords clashed on the other side of the priory’s walls. A moment later and the noble bastard retreated into the convent’s doorway. He was unarmed, save for gloves and sword. The left shoulder of the big man’s tunic was torn, blood seeping from a wound. Aye, but what stained the rest of his attire hadn’t come from his own body.
Adelm looked past the knight. Seven soldiers ringed Haydon’s son. Another five lay upon the cobbles. Aye, the bastard was every inch his noble sire’s equal, if not Lord Haydon’s better.
Reiner, his sides heaving, his face red with exertion, staggered into view, taking a stance before Haydon’s son. Satisfaction stirred in Adelm. His sire was as worn as he. Somehow, that they should meet while equally exhausted made what he intended feel just.
So deep was Elianne concentration on what went forward on beyond the gate that she didn’t hear him approach. Adelm laid his fingers on her arm. She jerked in surprise and took a backward step, then realized it was he. Emotions flashed through her eyes, affection, gratitude, trust, all the wondrous, startling emotions she reserved for him.
In the next instant it was love for the man outside the priory’s portal that replaced what she bore for him. So great was her need to save her noble bastard that she didn’t question her brother’s presence here, when he should have been far to the south.
“Help him. He’s all alone against them,” she pleaded, despite that Adelm, as the sheriff’s sworn man, should have aided their sire.
There was no need for her to ask, but then she didn’t know that. Once again, acceptance of his own death rolled over Adelm. This time there was naught but peace in its embrace. At the onset of this journey, he’d planned to spend his life for vengeance. No longer. What he did now he did solely for his sister, the only person in all this world ever to care for him.
He smiled at her. “Take heart, little sister. I’ll shield your love from our sire,” he told her gently, then strode through the gate.
Once again du Hommet came for him. Josce readied himself. The sheriff could no longer hold his shield high enough to protect his shoulder. Another opportunity to exploit.
Just as another man had tried to do to Josce, Josce did to du Hommet. His blade crashed down onto the sheriff’s left shoulder. Iron rings gave. The metal blade bit through the thick padding worn beneath that armor, then into flesh beneath that.
Bellowing in pain, du Hommet’s left arm dropped. His shield clattered onto the cobbles. His left hand hung uselessly at his side.
Only then did Josce catch the jangle from behind him. In that sound he heard his own death. However impossible, there was a knight behind him. With a shout, Josce sprang to the side.
Even as he cursed himself for having to do it, Josce put his vulnerable back to the priory’s wall. Leaving the gate meant he had no longer had room to maneuver. All the soldiers could now crowd around him and bludgeon him into oblivion.
It was Sir Adelm who jogged out of the convent’s gate, his sword lifted for the attack. The dirt of travel streaked the kn
ight’s surcoat. Exhaustion lay heavily in the creases of his harsh face. Set deep in their sockets, his dark eyes seemed dull, as if he were tired beyond living.
Josce raised his blade. Tired though the captain might be, he was still a younger, stronger man than the sheriff. Aye, and if the man had killed Lord Haydon, far more skilled than any of these soldiers.
Rather than attack Josce, Adelm jogged past him. A startled murmur left the sheriff’s soldiers as they recognized their captain. Astonishment owned du Hommet’s face.
“What are you doing here?” the sheriff squealed, fear lurking beneath his surprise.
Rather than reply, the knight swung his weapon. Du Hommet had to hurry to lift his own blade to stop the blow. Their swords rang as they met, then both men staggered back from the other. Again Sir Adelm raised his sword in preparation for attack.
“Stop, I say!” the sheriff commanded, terror now threading in his voice. “Stop him! Help me,” he cried to his soldiers.
“Stay where you are,” Sir Adelm countermanded. “This is between him and me.”
Lost in uncertainty, the sheriff’s soldiers lowered their swords. Stopping where they stood, they watched as, thrust by thrust, the younger man drove his superior back toward the guest house. Du Hommet barely managed to fend off each strike. At last the sheriff’s back was pressed to the guest house wall. His only defense was to hold his sword above his heart.
Once again, Sir Adelm lifted his sword, this time for a killing blow. Du Hommet’s foot shot out. The younger knight toppled, hitting the cobbles with a clash of metal and the thud of flesh. His sword spun from his fingers.
This time it was du Hommet who raised his weapon to deliver death. Before Josce considered what it was he meant to do, he started away from the wall to rescue the captain. The sheriff’s sword arced downward.
Sir Adelm rolled. The sheriff’s blow caught him across the back. Bones snapped. The knight arched in pain, then sprawled onto the cobbles, his shoulders heaving at the injury. Josce halted, then edged back and to the side, reclaiming his place in the open gateway again. If that hadn’t been a death blow, du Hommet’s next one would be. Aye, and when Sir Adelm was dead, the sheriff would return to finish him.
Panting, du Hommet stood over the fallen knight. “Worthless bastard,” he gasped out. “I wasted my seed when I made you.”
On the cobbles, Sir Adelm whipped around to snatch his sire’s leg out from beneath him. With a scream, the sheriff fell. His head met the paving stones with a sharp crack.
Dragging his legs, the sheriff’s captain rolled atop his sire. The two men grappled a moment, then the captain was on his side, his father’s head trapped in the crook of his arm. Half stunned and caught in this lethal embrace, du Hommet shifted weakly, his fingers prying clumsily at his son’s metal clad arm.
Blood trickled from the bastard knight’s mouth. A dagger flashed in his hand. “Today you will pay, Father, just as I have,” he wheezed out, spitting blood as he spoke. “Let me show you how they died.”
Adelm stroked the dagger across his sire’s throat. Du Hommet gagged. Blood pulsed from the cut, flooding his neck. Knabwell’s sheriff stiffened, fighting death’s inexorable approach only to shudder into stillness. His sire finished, Sir Adelm collapsed to lie upon his back on the cobbles, his father’s corpse sprawled across him.
From the bottom of the lane came the thunder of racing horses. Shouts pierced the rumbling as men urged their mounts on to greater speed. To a man, the sheriff’s soldiers dropped their swords and shields. They retreated to stand with their backs against the priory wall, their hands raised to show that they were disarmed.
It was over.
The icy emptiness that held Josce in thrall parted. His gamble hadn’t been mad, but calculated. The proof was that he still owned his life. Aye, and proof of his continued existence was the searing pain that coursed down his left arm. Then quiet satisfaction overtook him. He had all the answers he’d come to Knabwell to find.
“Josce!” Elianne shrieked.
As Nick and Haydon’s men thundered into the yard, Josce turned toward the gateway. Elianne streaked toward him. Dirt stained her face. Wild strands of hair escaped her plaits. Her hems were torn. No woman had ever looked finer.
It didn’t matter that he was wet with exertion or foul with blood, his own and others. He tossed aside his sword and opened his arm to her. She caught him around the waist. Even though her embrace sent another round of pain rushing through him, he pulled her closer still. She smelled of the spices they’d discovered. Her mouth found his, her kiss as greedy for their future as he was. A moment later, he raised his head and laughed.
“I live!” he shouted to the heavens. A fortnight ago he’d never have believed this fact would give him so much pleasure.
Elianne shoved back from him with a start. “Adelm!” she cried.
Whirling, she rushed to the fallen knight’s side. Against all Josce had learned these last moments, that his future wife might show such affection for his opponent meant nothing. He turned to follow her, as Nick sprinted from his horse to halt before Josce. The master soldier’s face was black with rage.
“God damn these townsmen. We had to run them down before they’d let us pass through their green,” he shouted, then rage gave way to amazement as Nick at last calmed enough to see what lay around him. “Jesus God, but you did your lord sire proud this day. I’d swear my oath to you in a heartbeat.”
Josce laughed at that. Aye, his father would have been proud. Not only had his son wreaked the appropriate vengeance, but he’d survived to take up all the duties and responsibilities that Baldwin expected him to accept. And Josce’s first duty was to see to the resolution of this day’s work.
“Nick, we have no further quarrel with the shire’s soldiers, not now that their sheriff is dead. Send them back to their castle. After that, see if the prioress will allow her healers to tend to the injured.”
“Aye, sir,” Nick said, and turned to call out orders to his men.
Content to leave all that needed doing in this man’s capable hands, Josce turned to where Elianne knelt beside her fallen sire and brother. Her shoulders shook in grief. He joined her, crouching at her side.
Elianne held her brother’s hand, while her other hand was pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs. The injured knight stared up at his sister. As he died, more life filled the man’s harsh face than Josce had ever seen. His expression was astonishingly gentle.
Josce shoved the sheriff’s body off of Adelm in an attempt to ease the knight’s pain. As for inspecting the sheriff’s captain for injuries, it wasn’t necessary. Blood crept out from beneath the man’s back, spreading into an ever widening puddle. The damage du Hommet had done his son was fatal; Elianne’s half brother didn’t have long.
When Josce’s gaze shifted back to Adelm’s face, he found the knight watching him. The peace that filled the man’s dark gaze was awesome. Reaching deep within himself, Josce tried to summon up anger or hatred. Because of this man, his sisters and sire were dead. Aye, but because of this man, he lived to wed Elianne and see the birth of their child.
“It was you,” Josce said at last, his voice low, his tone without judgment.
It was all he needed to say. Grief and self-loathing drove away Adelm’s peace. A sigh shuddered from the knight.
“Your sisters recognized me. They called my name to your sire,” he wheezed, the frothing blood at his mouth saying his lungs were damaged. Sadness replaced all else in his gaze. “I loved them.”
Elianne moaned at this. She sagged. Josce slipped an arm around her to support her.
Adelm watched this, then his gaze shifted to Josce. It was a brother’s care and affection for a cherished sister that filled his look. Then Adelm’s brow creased. In his eyes lurked the same question he’d set at Coneytrop. Adelm needed to know his fellow bastard’s intentions for his sister.
“We will be wed,” Josce answered.
With that assurance, peace o
nce more took possession of the knight’s gaze. Adelm turned his attention back to Elianne. “Sister, know that if not for you, there’d have been no good at all in this wretched life of mine.” It was a bare whisper, then all his breath sighed from him.
“You cannot be serious! Women don’t make these sorts of decisions for themselves,” Mother Gertha protested.
The prioress stood behind her table in her office. Gone was any pretense of serenity. Instead, a scowl creased her brow. A single fold of parchment lay upon the surface before her. Lady Haydon sat in the churchwoman’s chair not far from her.
Gertha had delayed this confrontation until Beatrice’s arrival from Coneytrop, no doubt expecting support from her patron. Instead, Beatrice, once more wearing her linen riding attire with a fine veil upon her head, slumped in the massive chair. Her fingers worked at her temples as if her head ached.
“Nay, such choices are rightly left to their male relatives,” Gertha went on, her tone sharp. “In this case, your half-brother stated specifically that he wished you to join our house.”
Elianne caught her breath in pain as Adelm’s image rose before her. Her friend was in truth her half-brother, her father’s bastard. He was also the man who’d stolen and done murder on their sire’s behalf. He had killed Josce’s innocent sisters. Aye, but Adelm had valued her so deeply that he’d saved the man she loved for her.
Again, emotions roiled in her, tears rising. Elianne struggled to control them. If life had taken root in her womb, she owed that wee babe better. To weep through her pregnancy was to guarantee her child a melancholy temperament. Aye, but God help her, how was she to feel anything but grief and panic when, on top of all else, this churchwoman meant to steal the future and her child from her?
The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2) Page 25
