Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Gage ran off, leaving Cort alone with Brend. The man was still staring up at the trees overhead, the sky beyond.

  “Brend?” he said gently. “Can you hear me?”

  Brend swallowed. Then, he blinked. “I was just thinking.”

  “What about?”

  “I always wondered what it would be like to die. I suppose I am going to find out.”

  Cort sighed sharply. “Not today,” he said. “The physic will tend you and you will be fine by tomorrow.”

  Brend took his gaze off of the trees overhead, looking to Cort as if the man had two heads. He tried to laugh but couldn’t seem to do it. When he smiled that gap-toothed grin, his teeth were pink with blood.

  “It is a gracious lie,” he said. “It is fitting that I should die in the same place where I was born. But do not bury me here. Bury me in England, at Narborough.”

  “I told you that you are not going to die.”

  “Cort,” Brend said, suddenly bring up a hand and grabbing at him. “Listen to me. You must promise me.”

  “I will promise you anything.”

  “Promise me… Bella… Cort, I want to see her again. I love her.”

  “I know.”

  “I do not want to die without seeing her one more time.”

  “You will see her again, very soon.”

  Tears suddenly filled Brend’s eyes. “I want to marry her,” he whispered. “I want to go to France, to the de Winter properties, and I want to marry Bella. I have always loved her, Cort. Since we were children. Please… I do not want to leave her.”

  Cort was starting to lose his composure. “You will not leave her, I promise. You will see her again.”

  Brend blinked and tears cascaded down his temples. “She wanted to run away with me and be married,” he wept softly. “I would not do it. I told her I did not want to be a failure to my family, to my legacy, but I was wrong. She was the most important thing and I should have known that. You did the right thing, Cort. You married my sister because you loved her. I should have… done the same.”

  Cort was fighting back tears as he wiped away Brend’s. “You foolish old woman,” he said tightly. “Stop crying. You are going to make me cry and it would be most embarrassing. You are going to be well again very soon and you can tell Bella all of this yourself.”

  “De Russe?”

  The voice came from behind and Cort looked over his shoulder to see Damon standing there, looking down at Brend. There was enormous distress on his face.

  “My physic told me what happened,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Cort shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Thank you, my lord, but your physic said he would return shortly.”

  Damon looked over in the direction the physic had taken. “He went to get his medicament bag and cauterizing iron, I believe,” he said. “Those arrows did a good deal of damage. I’ve counted forty men down, at least.”

  A concussion suddenly rocked the air again as the bombard was set off once more, blasting a massive hole in the drawbridge. Cort could see it from where he sat, and the fragile wooden panel was already in pieces. Men were starting to move up the ladders and small bridges they had been building, preparing to storm the castle.

  “Are there any other knights down?” he asked Damon.

  Damon shook his head. “Not that I have seen,” he said. “But one or two more blasts and that drawbridge should be no more. I can stay with MacRohan if you wish to enter the castle with your men.”

  Cort simply nodded at the offer, returning his attention to Brend. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “The drawbridge is about to fall to pieces. Do you want me to find your mother and brothers? I will go look for them right now. If they are alive, I will save them, Brend. I promise. What do you want me to do?”

  Brend was still holding his arm. “Don’t leave me,” he begged, gripping him tightly. “You must tell Bella how much I love her. How much I have always loved her. I took her, Cort. I took her and I am not sorry. When she tells her father, you must protect her. Denys will be furious and I do not want him to punish her.”

  Cort sighed sadly, putting his hand on Brend’s head in a comforting gesture. “I will not need to protect her,” he said. “Denys will not punish her. He knows you have always loved her. There is no shame in that.”

  Brend coughed, bright red blood spraying onto Cort. “Nay,” he said, his lips and teeth bloodied. “There is no shame. I am not sorry I did. But I believed she would be my wife. I want to see her again. And my sister; she is here, is she not? I want to see her, too. Will you bring her? I am glad you married her, Cort. Do you truly love her?”

  “I told you that I do.”

  “Then I know she will be well taken care of after I am gone. She could not have a better husband. We are truly brothers now and I am grateful.”

  He was starting to ramble, the tears falling, and Cort could no longer keep his composure. Tears started to fill his eyes and he was quite conscious of the fact that Damon was still standing there, hearing everything. But he didn’t care. At the moment, all he cared about was Brend.

  “Aye, we are brothers,” he said, stroking Brend’s head. “But we always have been. Even when I struck you in the face, we were brothers. Sometimes brothers fight, but they still love one another.”

  It seemed to Cort that Brend was having difficulty breathing. Everything was coming in ragged gasps. “My sister hits harder than you do,” Brend said, a dull twinkle in his eyes. “Has she hit you yet? She could teach you a thing or two.”

  Cort grinned, but even as he did the tears came. “She already has,” he murmured. “But not about hitting. About other things. She is very wise.”

  “Brend!” Dillon was suddenly among them, falling to his knees beside Brend and looking at the man in a panic. “God, no! Brend, can you hear me?”

  Cort had to reach out to prevent Dillon from jostling Brend. “He can hear you,” he said. “Stop shouting. But do not touch him. We are waiting for the physic to return.”

  Dillon was beside himself. “Oh, God,” he breathed, the tears coming even as he tried to stop them. He reached out to hold Brend’s hand. “Brend… you will be well again, I know it. I have seen men with worse. You will be well again, but you must fight. Do you hear me? You must fight!”

  Cort had to put a hand on Dillon’s head to calm the man because he was growing hysterical. As Dillon struggled to get control of himself, Trenton came running up with Boden and Gage beside him.

  For a moment, Trenton simply stood there, drinking in the situation. Sorrow rippled across his features, but he couldn’t let himself get overly emotional about it. Men died in battle. That was the nature of the beast. His gaze moved to Cort.

  “Cort,” he said quietly. “A moment, please.”

  Cort didn’t want to leave Brend, but his brother was crooking a finger at him, so he stood up and Gage took his place. He made his way over to Trenton.

  “How is he?” Trenton asked quietly.

  Cort shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “I think the arrow penetrated his spine, but I cannot be sure. The physic should return momentarily and remove the arrow. I would like to be here.”

  Trenton wasn’t unsympathetic. “I understand, but I have just lost Dillon,” he said, glancing at the young knight by Brend’s side. “He will not leave his friend. I need knights on the east wall and knights on the destroyed drawbridge. If we are to regain Mount Wrath, I need you. I am sorry to pull you away from Brend because I know he is your friend, but I need you as a knight. Do you understand?”

  Cort did. He nodded, but his heart was breaking. “I will take the drawbridge,” he said hoarsely. “Where is Willie?”

  “He is over at the wall, with the de Winter men. I moved him away from the archers.”

  “Then put Boden with him,” he said. “I will take the frontal assault on the drawbridge with Gage and East Anglia.”

  “I will go with you,” Trenton said. “We must move. The
time is almost upon us.”

  A final blast from the bombard shook the area and they looked over to see the drawbridge disintegrate into a million shards of wood. Cort nodded.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “But let me say farewell to Brend first.”

  Trenton simply nodded. Cort returned to Brend, pushing Gage out of the way as he forced Brend to look at him.

  “I am needed to breach the castle,” he said. “I will return, but I wanted to bid you farewell for the moment. I will find your mother and brothers, I swear it. And I will see you again. Do you believe me?”

  Brend had an ashen pallor, blood running from the corners of his mouth. “I do.”

  Cort took Brend’s face in his hands and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, my brother,” he said. “Be strong. Be brave. We shall meet again.”

  With that, he stood up, tears streaming down his face as he collected his shield and walked past Trenton and headed towards the front lines. Trenton watched him go, feeling a good deal of sadness for him, but it couldn’t be helped. This was battle. Terrible things happened in battle; they’d all seen it. They’d all experienced it.

  But that didn’t mean they were hardened to it.

  With a heavy heart, Trenton ordered Gage and Boden with him and they moved out, each man going to his assigned position as the ladders and small bridges were stretched across a moat that wasn’t more than twelve feet from one side to the other. With the drawbridge in pieces, the English armies began to move, infiltrating the bailey and meeting with resistance from the rebels inside.

  From the outset, it was a bloodbath.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Dera knew these woods.

  She’d grown up here, with Mount Wrath less than a half-mile away, and she’d spent many hours wandering through the trees near the river or finding the blackberry vines that would produce fruit in the summertime. As a child, she’d ridden her white pony all over these meadows, a sturdy little beast that was still alive, still in the stables of Mount Wrath, although she couldn’t ride her any longer. Her name was Snow and with all of the other worries Dera felt, she found herself praying that Snow had survived the siege.

  Funny how she should worry about an animal as much, if not more, than people.

  The fields surrounding Mount Wrath brought back a multitude of memories as the battle raged not far away. Dera wasn’t hard pressed to admit that when she and Cort returned to the encampment by the beach to find it empty, she had a sick feeling in her stomach. The armies had moved out and were even now engaged in a fight. The first blast of the bombard nearly had her jumping out of her skin, knowing the demolition was aimed at Mount Wrath.

  It had been a difficult thing to stomach.

  So, she waited with the rest of those who weren’t actively involved in the fighting – the quartermaster, horse handlers, various pages and servants. Everyone else was up on the front line and although she had been in ambushes and skirmishes, she’d never been in a full-fledged battle with highly-trained English knights and frightening tubes of iron that belched out explosive devices.

  It wasn’t something she wanted to get involved in, mostly because she didn’t want to anger Cort or even her brother, who were both up at the front. There wasn’t anything she could do to help those inside the castle and, in any case, she didn’t want to. Men she had fought beside and bonded with over their love for their country had turned on her. They’d turned on everything MacRohan. It was a difficult pill to swallow, knowing that she could no longer trust her countrymen, nor could they trust her.

  And with good reason.

  She was married to a Béarla now and there was no regret. She had never loved anyone so much in her entire life and she’d never felt part of someone as she felt part of Cort. Her big, strong, handsome husband was someone every maiden dreamed of, but she was the fortunate one. Those dreams had come true.

  And he loved her, too.

  Now, Dera found herself in the strange position of worrying over someone who was fighting in a battle. She wasn’t a worrier by nature, but Cort was dealing with deadly things up at the front and she wasn’t in a position to help him.

  That made the wait more difficult.

  The battle raged on all afternoon, with the great concussions of the bombard echoing off the hills, and she busied herself by helping the quartermasters build big bonfires to boil water for the wounded, trying not to let the sounds of explosions rattle her.

  Closer to sunset, the wounded began to trickle in.

  Mostly, it was the walking wounded, those who had been hit by arrows or injured in the fight but were still able to walk. Dera immediate set about helping those men, organizing them by the degree of their injury. She confiscated two big tents, both belonging to de Russe, to put them in because night was coming and she didn’t think wounded men should be exposed to the cold and the elements.

  Most men were simply exhausted and mildly injured with puncture wounds or gashes or broken bones. There were three physics, but they were all busy at the front, so she took charge of the wounded in camp, bathing dirty wounds, wrapping up broken arms. She didn’t even stop to think how ironic it was that she should help wounded English. It was something she would have never imagined herself capable of. But then the stories on the fight at the castle began coming out and Dera struggled not to be horrified by them.

  The rebels, she was told, were holed up in the keep while the rest of the castle belonged to the English. Animals from the stables of Mount Wrath began making their way back to the encampment, including the old and shaggy Snow, and although Dera was very grateful for her little pony, the men returning the animals told tales of the big trebuchet being repositioned to hurl giant stones inside the walls, aiming for the keep.

  The bombard itself had been brought right to the edge of the moat and had been aimed at the keep, and even now they could hear it being set off. She was told that the goal was to collapse the keep, or at least damage it enough that the English could get inside, so as she listened to the cannon fire in the distance, she tried to focus on helping the injured. She tried not to think of Cort being right in the middle of the fight for Mount Wrath.

  It was a struggle not to panic about it.

  Dera was helping an injured man sip some beef broth with very soft vegetables in it when one of the quartermasters came for her.

  “My lady?” he said. “They’ve brought in some seriously wounded men. Where do you want to put them?”

  Dera helped the man sip the last of the soup and then aided him in laying back down. “The more seriously wounded men are in the other tent,” she said. “Is there room?”

  The quartermaster with dark red hair that stuck out like straw nodded. “There is,” he said. “But the men they’ve brought in will probably not survive. There is a smaller de Winter tent we can use.”

  “Then put them there,” she said. “I will come and see to them.”

  The quartermaster rushed out of the tent, into the torchlit compound. Servants bearing blazing sticks of flame for light were leading the way as soldiers carried severely wounded men between them. The first one Dera saw was missing an arm and part of his face, all wrapped up heavily in boiled linen.

  “Why were these men not brought here sooner?” she asked the soldier lugging him.

  The soldier was weary and grimy. “The physics wanted to treat the wounds first before moving them,” he said, grunting under his burden. “The knight back there had an arrow through his chest. The physic had to remove the arrow and cauterize the wound so he wouldn’t bleed to death.”

  The knight with an arrow to his chest.

  That was all Dera needed to hear as panic seized her. As the severely wounded were shuttled over to a smaller de Winter tent, she rushed back in the line of approaching men only to see four men carrying an armored body between them. Each man had a leg, trying to keep the knight level, as the physic walked alongside to watch his patient.

  As Dera rushed up, she could see that the downed
knight was Brend.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out as she rushed to Brend’s side. He was unconscious, thankfully, for he surely could not have withstood the pain had he been conscious. Trying desperately not to cry, she looked at the physic.

  “How is he?” she asked tightly. “Will he live?”

  The physic’s gaze never left Brend’s face. “The arrow went all the way through him,” he said. “It punctured his lung and nicked his spine. I will not know how badly yet until he awakens, if he awakens. He has lost a good deal of blood.”

  Tears were forming in her eyes as she gazed down at her eldest brother, a man she hardly knew. They’d had their difficulties, but that didn’t mean she didn’t admire him greatly. He was the de Winter legacy knight, a position of great respect. Or, at least, it had been, once, but to Brend, it still was.

  She should not have made it seem otherwise.

  As Dera looked at Brend’s ashen face, her more pressing concern was Arabella. She loved Arabella and she knew the woman would be absolutely devastated by what had happened. The man she’d loved most of her life was wounded, perhaps mortally. It was tragedy beyond measure.

  Already, Dera’s heart was broken for them both.

  “What would you have me do for him?” she asked the physic. “Can anything be done at all?”

  The physic shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “He needs to lie flat and be kept warm. Will you do that?”

  Dera nodded eagerly. “What else?”

  “If he awakens, have him drink water with some salt in it. He needs it.”

  “I will.”

  They had reached the smaller tent by this time and the four men and the physic took Brend inside. Dera found one of the servants and told the man to find four or five blankets and warm them by the fire before bringing them to her. As the man ran off to do her bidding, Dera went inside the tent.

  They had laid Brend on a nice traveling bed that had been set up, probably for Damon or one of his knights. It was comfortable and a little small for Brend’s bulk, but it would do. Dera came up beside the physic as the man tightened up the bandages on Brend’s chest.