Suddenly, the door flew wide to crash against the wall. Nicola stood in the doorway, her hair in disarray and dirty charcoal streaks across her face. "Maeve has set the house afire and run. Your brother has breached our walls and is storming across the bailey killing everyone he sees. Even his own men cannot stop him. Hurry, he has sworn to kill my father. Here"—she handed him his sword— "now, come and make good on your vow. You must protect Papa." Then she was gone.
Rannulf leapt to his feet, dragging Rowena up with him. "There is not time for you to dress," he said brusquely, jamming his feet into his shoes, then struggling into his shirt. "Damn, I am stuck, help me. And she left me no shield."
His wife dropped her gown and whirled to help him with his shirt. "You are still too sore to use one if she had. Now, go. The fire is getting closer. I can smell it."
He went quickly down the stairs ahead of her, sword at the ready. First, he would see his wife safe, then lend Ashby what help he could. But by the time they'd left the stairs and entered the hall, the room was already thick with smoke and with the screams and shouts of the folk trapped within it. Flames leapt in the roof above them, nibbling at the rafters. The fire rumbled in the thatching as it consumed the dry reeds; its ravenous hunger would barely leave them time enough to save themselves.
Servants were massed in panic at the backs of Ashby's men. These soldiers had opened the barred door to escape the burning building only to meet Gilliam's forces. Steel flashed and flew as those inside sought to break out, while those outside fought to hold them within.
There was no escape for them in that direction. Across the room a small group of serving men were hewing themselves a new doorway. Suddenly they broke through. The chunk of severed wall dropped to the bailey far below them.
The building drew a roaring breath, its death rattle, as air rushed into it. Fire exploded through the thatch, sending down bits of burning reed to set alight the rushes on the floor. In that brief instant, flames appeared in a dozen places along the walls.
He took two steps toward the new exit, but Ashby's folk turned, enmasse, and surged toward it, blocking their route. Flames appeared above the hall door and licked their way down with incredible speed. The portal became a ring of fire, driving Ashby's soldiery back inside. Those still outside the door retreated. Save one.
Taller than all the rest, he entered the room with his sword flashing about him. He chopped his way into the panicking crowd. "Gilliam," Rannulf called to him. The young knight did not hear him, so intent on murder was he. He swung his blade with grim efficiency, felling one man, then another, then a woman, oblivious to the danger around him.
"Wren, nay," he bellowed. She had stepped away and instantly froze at his scream. A whole section of flaming roof dropped to the floor before her feet. Now they could not reach either the door or the open wall.
"Come," he said, and grabbed her by the arm to limp as quickly across the room as he could. He went left along the tower wall to where the master's chamber lay. Within that room was a window. It would be quite a leap, but better broken bones than death. And there would be just time enough to make use of it.
The smoke grew denser as they crossed the hall. Another area of reeds fell away, and he saw that flames were well progressed into eating away the rafters. There was a peculiar squealing sound, and the wall near the door crumbled. Above him a huge timber groaned in agony.
If the roof fell in on them, they would have no chance at all. His breath seared in his lungs and made him cough. Suddenly Nicola appeared out of the smoke. She was dragging a coil of rope with her. Then there was Gilliam, almost within hand's reach and nearly on the girl's heels. He tried to call out, but could only cough.
The smoke swirled again, and his brother was gone around the corner. He stumbled after them, still holding his wife firmly by the arm. Here, in the ell, there was neither fire nor smoke, but it would be only moments before it reached them.
The clash of steel to steel brought him to sharp attention. "Stay behind me," he barked hoarsely to Rowena. She coughed her answer. He pushed open the half-closed door in time to see John, swathed in bandages and barely able to stand, much less to firmly close his hand around his sword hilt, fall to Gilliam's blade.
"Traitor," his brother ground out, his words colder than ice, "you've died like the scum you are."
"Nay," Nicola screeched, and launched herself at her father, but not to kneel beside him in mourning. She grabbed the man's sword and threw herself in bold attack against the big knight. His brother's sword was already drawn back for a killing blow.
"Gilliam," Rannulf shouted in warning, "do not hurt her."
"Murderer," Nicola screamed, as his brother whirled in disbelief to face him.
"Drop that sword, girl," Rannulf snapped, his own blade flicking out. But, instead of sending the weapon flying from her fingers as he had expected, she met his movement with a well-honed turn that nearly cracked his wrist. "What—" he cried out more in surprise than pain.
"You are alive," Gilliam bellowed in joy.
"Behind you!" he yelled as the tall girl swung the long and well-balanced weapon with a precision he could not comprehend. "Disarm her and hurry with it, or we will all die."
The young knight turned with incredible speed and met his attacker's blade. Although he pushed her back, she thrust out again, displaying skill and considerable training in her smooth movements.
"Wren, get that rope," he commanded, as his brother gave an unholy roar of laughter and met the girl's blade once again.
His wife dashed across the room and grabbed up the rope. Gilliam gave his sword a careless twist to tap the tip of it against his opponent's ungloved wrist. She screamed in pain and rage, but loosed one hand in reaction. Another small movement of his hand, and her father's blade flew across the room.
"Here goes the roof," Rannulf shouted above the ever growing thunder of the fire. By the time he'd taken the few steps to the window, smoke was billowing down at them. To Gilliam he said, "I want the girl," to his wife, "tie it to both handles. That way if it comes after us, it will be too wide to pass through the window. Quickly now, or we will all be roasted alive."
His brother's mailed hand snapped shut about Nicola's arm as he glanced above him and saw the smoldering ceiling. The girl writhed and screamed against his hold, but it did not affect him in the slightest. There was a low creaking, tearing sound from the hall as yet another section of roof collapsed. Again, that rafter groaned.
"Nay," Rannulf commanded Rowena, "loop it to the left through the other handle and then back again. If it makes the rope too short, we will drop."
"Murderer," Nicola raged against Gilliam's hold, her free hand scratching and clawing at his mailed glove. When she realized the futility of it, she dropped to the floor, making herself a dead weight. "Nay, I will not leave. Let me die with him. Murderer! He could barely rise and yet you killed him. Oh, Papa," she cried, her free hand clutching at her father's fingers. "Let me stay."
Rannulf yelled back at his brother as he tossed the now fastened rope out the window. "Do not let her go, Gilliam."
"You are fortunate, traitor's daughter," his brother said, grabbing the tall girl up by the waist. She kicked and writhed, but he only threw her over his shoulder. Her fists beat against his steel-clad back.
"Go," he said to his wife, who stood atop the trunk. He opened his mouth to reassure her, but she only nodded and slipped down the rope with amazing agility. Above him the roof exploded in flame. A burning bit floated down to rest atop the tangled bedclothes. They smoldered just an instant, then a tongue of flame appeared. "Go," he said to Gilliam. "Do not argue, you must bear her as you do it."
His brother shot him a broad grin. "I can manage, old man, now that I know you are alive." And he was gone.
Rannulf felt the blood trickle from his thigh where he'd torn his wound afresh. He grabbed up the rope, threw his sword to the ground below, then turned to lower himself out the window. He had only dropped beneath it
s sill when there was a massive explosion. Great, blazing daggers of flame shot out of the window and through the low-hanging roof. He was thrown away from the building. Rather than hit the wall, he released the rope and dropped to the soft turf below. Stars blinked into life before his eyes at the impact.
"Jesus God," he heard Gilliam say. "What was that?" When he turned his head to look, he saw that the concussion from the explosion had knocked his brother back and sent Nicola sprawling next to him. The girl lay facedown sobbing into the grass.
"Rannulf," his wife cried, scrambling over to him. "Sweet Mary, you are bleeding again."
"Aye, but I still live, and nothing has been broken, although I will now have bruises atop my bruises," he gasped out. "Let me lay here just a moment and catch my breath. Where did you learn to climb like that?"
She shot him a look both shamed and proud in the same instant. "When I was young and still at Benfield, I enjoyed climbing trees. I especially liked hanging upside down from the branches."
He laughed out loud. "With your gown hanging down over your face as well?"
"Nay, it does not do that if you wad it up and stuff it between your knees." Her grin was smug.
"Wren, I cannot even envision you doing something so frivolous," he said, his laughter making him cough up all the smoke he'd taken in. He grabbed her to him, holding her atop him in an embrace that was amusement, love, thanksgiving, and joy in one. "By all that is holy, I am glad I lived long enough to discover that about you."
"So, things have changed since I left Graistan, have they?" Gilliam looked down at him with a broad grin on his face, his helmet now tucked under his arm. Then he suddenly looked away, raised his hand, and gave a piercing whistle. "We are here and well," he called in response to the question. "Is all in hand? Good."
Rannulf freed his wife, who came lithely to her feet. He held out his hand to his youngest brother. "Help this old man up, will you?" His sibling easily lifted him to his feet, only to be lightly cuffed in return. "What in God's name were you doing running full tilt into a burning building? If you'd wanted to kill them, you only had to wait outside and they would have come to you."
"I was not thinking well. I was sure you were dead," the young knight said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "And without having heard me tell you how sorry I was for what I'd said." He put his hands on the shoulders of the only father he remembered, as if he wished to embrace him but feared to do so.
Rannulf had no such hesitation. He stepped forward and threw his arms around the bigger man. "Stop," Gilliam cried, his voice thick with emotion, "my mail will cut you to ribbons, and you are already hurt."
"It is nothing," he said, stepping back. "What little healing remains will go quite quickly now that I am free. And now that I once again have you at my side. You will stay?"
"You would want me back?" It was a hushed and disbelieving question.
"Temric said it was good we'd lanced the boil between us, and he was right," he said. "You came for me when I had no cause to expect it."
Gilliam's eyes clouded with emotion, but he could only shrug as though it were nothing. In his embarrassment, he turned to his sister by marriage. "My lady," he said, smiling at her. "It is a pleasure to find you yet in one piece."
"I am so glad you came," she said.
Gilliam managed a quick bow. "Shall we retire to the south wall, my lady? My tent is across the moat. Rannulf, what would you have me do with her? Do you want her bound or guarded?" A jerk of his head indicated Nicola, who yet cried her heart out at his feet.
Suddenly Rannulf's heart went out to her. For all her odd ways, the tall girl looked like just what she was: a child who had just seen her father killed and her home destroyed in a very bloody fashion. He knelt at her side.
"You promised," she managed to gasp out, "you swore."
"Nicola, I am so sorry," he said, stroking her hair, "I was too late to stop my brother, but mayhap that was for the best. Your father was already dead. I killed him with that blow. No matter your skill, in time, it would have taken him."
"Nay," the little girl in her cried out, but he hushed her and went on.
"You would wish it to be otherwise, but it is not. Gilliam ended quickly what you would have prolonged. And, even if my brother had not done it, the fire would most surely have."
Again she denied his words, jerking back from him as if to be free of his comforting touch and soothing words. "Nay, I could have lowered him out the window."
He drew the girl up to a sitting position until Nicola leaned her head against his broad shoulder, tears now trickling down her face, although she no longer sobbed. "Child, he weighed more than twenty stone. You could not have done it, nor would he have allowed it. He would have commanded you leave him. He had lived his life, while yours is just beginning." Nicola's eyes closed again and, although her tears still fell, she was much calmer. "Hush, and be easy," he said, stroking her hair. "You are not alone. I am vowed to care for you and so I shall." When he tried to draw her to her feet, she resisted. "Stay here until you are ready. We will not leave without you."
"You do this for a traitor's daughter?" Gilliam held his comment until his brother had moved away from the girl.
"You will be good to her, boy, for she has saved our lives. If I had been a moment earlier, we'd have saved John's as well." He lifted a hand to forestall the complaint he saw in his brother's sudden wild and angry look. "It is a long story. Let her lie here and grieve. Where will she go? Now come." He gathered his wife close, and together they walked with Gilliam toward the wall. "Gilliam, tell me, how did you get in so quickly?"
His brother's response was matter-of-fact. "When I was here in March at your lady's behest, I noticed the mortar in that corner of the south wall had gone soft with moisture. I told—him about it as he left Graistan after his wedding. When Walter came to me with his tale, I knew he'd not had time to fix it." He grinned, his handsome face twisted in grim satisfaction.
"I used the ballista to drive a hole right through the already soft foundation, and a whole section came tumbling down. After that I lay a bit of planking across the moat, and we walked right in."
Rannulf stared at the young man in amazement. "God's blood. You will tell me what you've seen in all my other keeps, will you not? This was far too simple for you. We'd better have something stronger here when it is rebuilt."
His wife suddenly gasped and released him to hold herself tightly. "Sweet Mary, I think I will be sick," she breathed. "I need to sit." She was white with her pain.
Rannulf leaned down and grabbed her up in his arms. "Put me down," she gasped out, "you are hurting yourself."
"Nay, not in the slightest," he said. With his wife in his arms, he stepped through the breached wall and outside to freedom once again.
Chapter 23
"You must put me down," Rowena insisted as they crossed the moat. "I am hurting you."
"I will not and you are not. Gilliam's tent is only there"—he indicated with a nod of his head the mess of wains and beasts of burden, armed men and servants that massed at the forest's edge—"just across this bit."
With no further argument, she wrapped her arms more tightly about his neck. She doubted she could have walked even that short a distance. The dull ache of this morn was gone, replaced by a far worse twist of pain that set her teeth on edge and made her want to cry with the hurt it caused her.
When he turned slightly, she gasped, but not in pain. Behind him, and in her line of sight, lay the crumbling ruin of the south wall. Framed in the breach was the still burning manor house. Roofless now, and with only ashes for walls, the supports were still engulfed in flame. One of the massive cross beams had fallen, piercing the floor to enter the grain storage bins that lay below the hall. Fire, fed by the burning stores, shot up its long length.
Smoke also poured from the top of the tower. If Nicola had not released them—she caught her breath and could not even complete the thought.
All too many others had
not been as fortunate as they. Around the foundation of the house lay the house servants and men who lived there.
The carnage had spilled out of the bailey and into the moat. Her husband now picked his way through the bodies of the men who had fallen in the battle to hold the wall. Some were Gilliam's, but most of them wore Ashby's armor. She recognized Richard floating in the muddy, reddened water.
Once again Rannulf turned, and she saw the village. What, five days ago, had been so lovely and serene was now a charred ruin. Not one house still stood; dogs and fowl sifted through the wreckage for whatever they would find. But there were still sheep grazing in their meadow, and the cattle—were in the barley field!
"Rannulf," she cried, tensing in his hold, "send someone to chase those cows from that field. That is our crop they are eating."
Her husband laughed. "Only you would think of barley when we've just battled for our lives and barely won by a hand's breadth.
"We will need every bit of what is ours this coming winter," she retorted tartly. "This place is fertile and well managed, and it could supply much of what we need now that it no longer has as many to support. I hope he's not killed them all or who will get the harvest in?"
Rannulf only shook his head and turned so they could both face the village. "He's not killed the peasant folk. Look, look closely. Show me a body lying there." Rowena looked. Unlike the bailey and the moat, there were no bloody, crumpled forms within the remains of the cottages. "He knows better than to cut his nose off to spite his face. If I'd been dead, this would have been part of his inheritance, right, my boy?"
Gilliam only grimaced as they walked past the giant crossbow that was the ballista and the pile of stones that would have been its missiles. "I do not wish to talk about it." He stopped at a large tree beneath which stood his tent.
Winter's Heat Page 29
