by Sarah Hegger
She tried to form words, but they were nothing more than sobs.
“I have lain awake and agonized over what I must do.”
“I am sorry, I . . .” Buy time, distract him—
“You must die, Nell. There is no help for it. I cannot keep what I cannot trust.” He smacked her against the rough wall, hard, scraping her tender flesh, painfully jarring the back of her head.
Her breath came harsh and ragged as terror clawed through her, turning her limbs to water. Her mind went dark; she couldn’t think beyond the growing certainty that he would kill her.
“Bess was too weak to be bothersome, but you, Nell, you are a bird of a different feather.” His thighs pressed against hers as he crushed her into the unyielding barrier at her back. “I could have shaped you.”
Her head thumped against the wall as he shook her again. “I could have moulded you, but now . . .” Another thump forced a soft whimper of pain from between her lips. “Now you are useless to me. Spoiled, wilful.”
Black spots danced before her eyes as he used her head to punctuate his speech. “Headstrong, deceitful, bitch,” he rasped harshly in her ear.
She would gladly beg for mercy but she had not the strength or breath.
Cold as the grave, he stared down at her. “But first, I will have what was denied me.” He kicked her feet apart and Helena almost fell, but his body was there, pressing against the juncture of her thighs. “See, how I am between your sweet thighs, you haughty trull. You will know before you die how all your machinations were for naught. I still took what was mine.” He released her jaw and his fingers scraped against her thigh as he pulled her skirts up.
Her mind stopped working. Instinct took over and she struggled in earnest. As he pinned her hands to the wall with one hand, she tried kicking out with her legs, but he was too strong and she flailed uselessly.
A scream tore from her throat. She could do nothing. Nothing.
His body held her captive, her arms wrenched painfully as she struggled to get away from his rough grasp. His breathing grew ragged and hot against the side of her face. Raw terror shook her as his fingers fumbled with the ties to his braies. The smell of his sweat nearly choked her. Her mind locked on his hand, trying to open his clothing.
The low keening of a creature in distress filled her ears as if it came from someone else and not her.
Then, Ranulf jerked to an abrupt halt. His brow slammed into hers and everything went dark for a moment. Blood seeped into her mouth where she bit the inside of her cheek.
His entire body went rigid and another jolt rippled through him.
Helena screamed and ducked as moisture doused her face.
Ranulf slid to the floor. His weight nearly dragged her down. She swayed, the wall against her back the only solid thing in her world as she stared at the body draped over her feet. She scrabbled to pull her skirts out from beneath him.
Rosalind staggered before her, the battered remnants of the water bucket hanging limply from her fingers.
“Make haste.” A body pushed past Rosalind, causing her to stumble.
Through the open door, Ranulf’s men ran toward them. The stranger she and Rosalind had tended, unsteady on his feet, jerked Ranulf’s sword from its scabbard as the first invader breached the doorway. He raised the sword in a jagged arc, both hands on the pommel, his jaw set in grim lines.
There was a brief flash of realization on the invader’s face before his momentum carried him into the path of the blade that sheared through his gut. A heartbeat later, he crumpled into a heap over his fallen lord.
Godfrey stepped into the hut. Oh, Jesu, he was a big brute as he approached, his blade in hand.
The stranger staggered back two steps, freeing his weapon. His face was deathly pale and the sword shook in his grasp as he turned to face his adversary.
Godfrey grinned triumphantly as he raised his own sword. Almost contemptuously he knocked the blade aside. The stranger held on, but the blow sent him struggling backward. Godfrey stepped in for the kill.
Helena launched herself at Godfrey’s back.
Losing his balance, he stumbled forward, flinging Helena clear. Her teeth rattled as she hit the floor. As she rolled and staggered to her feet, their man gave a great shout and thrust the sword forward, impaling Godfrey between his neck and shoulder, pushing his weight behind the blow to drive it home.
The silence in the cabin was deafening. Blood seeped out from around the sword and onto the floor. Godfrey made a small, gargling noise, his hand clawing helplessly at the blade before he slumped onto the packed dirt and went still.
Rosalind sank to her knees with a soft moan.
The stranger panted hard as he leaned against the wall, before the effort became too much and he slid onto the floor.
“We need to do something with him.” His hand trembled violently as he pointed toward Ranulf.
Helena dragged the first man off Ranulf. He was heavy and it took too long.
Beneath him, Ranulf gave a hitching groan.
“Kill him,” the man urged. “Kill him.” He seemed spent, his lips bloodless against his pale face.
Helena’s feet slid in the growing pool of blood. She retched as she grabbed Godfrey’s sword. It was heavy and slick with gore as she brought it up to drive into Ranulf’s back. For Bess.
Here was her vengeance at last. For Guy and for Roger, for Peter and for Flora, she would end this now. Her arms shook with the effort.
Ranulf twitched and stirred.
She could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. Dear God. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take a life.
The sword dropped to her side and hung limp. Impotent fury lashed inside her. She couldn’t make the killing blow. The blade slid from her grasp to clatter onto the floor.
“I cannot.” Blood from the sword stained her hands and she wiped them against her bliaut. “I cannot.” Tears ran down her cheeks and over her chin. She had wanted this for so long and now, when her opportunity was before her, she had failed.
Their ally pushed himself to his knees. Helena gaped when he dragged himself over to the sword and gripped it.
“Lend me your strength, lady, and I will lend you my purpose.” His eyes bored into hers, willing her to aid him, but Helena backed away.
“I cannot.”
Rosalind hissed with frustration from behind her. “Do it,” she cried. “Or we will not live this day.” The baby gave a wail, harsh and discordant in the silent hut. “Do it for her.” Rosalind silenced the child against her breast. “And for Guy, because he surely would if he were here.”
Anger resurged through Helena as she gazed at the babe. In this place of death, new life struggled for the right to survive. Guy wouldn’t hesitate to make the hard choice.
Neither would she.
Stepping forward, she clasped her hands around the stranger’s and they raised the sword together.
Chapter 30
“Whist.” The man stopped suddenly. Their hands still joined on the pommel of the sword, they listened intently to the forest for sound.
Horses. Helena’s heart gave a hard leap. The thrum of hooves shook the ground. More men were coming.
“Now, lady,” the stranger panted. “We must act now, before it is too late.”
She wouldn’t be captured again. Ranulf would not put his hands on her again. If she were to die, then so be it, but he would die with her. With a surge of strength, Helena brought the sword down across the back of Ranulf’s neck.
The steel jarred against bone and then drove deeper with a sickening crunch. Helena wrenched her hands from the pommel. Gorge rose swiftly in her throat as she stumbled away from the body. There was so much blood. It spurted from his neck seemingly with a will of its own.
A shout
from beyond the door. Helena leapt forward to grab the sword again, still stuck in Ranulf’s neck. She tugged it free, tearing it from the dead flesh, jarring the sword through the pommel. She gagged at the sound as she stumbled backward. Outside, the jingle of harness rang like clarion bells as more shouts broke the air. The stranger scrabbled across the floor. Feverishly he worked to free the dagger from Godfrey’s belt.
“Helena?” The cry rang harsh and raw through the clearing before the hut.
She trembled on her feet. It was nothing more than her imagination.
“Helena.” A figure towered in the doorway.
The sword weighed heavy in her hands and she dropped the tip to the floor. Her eyes turned to the figure sluggishly, her feeble brain unable to make sense of what she was seeing.
In two long strides, Guy was before her.
“Jesu.”
Her fingers still gripped the pommel of the sword. She should release it, but her hands refused to obey.
“Make sure they are dead.” Guy’s voice came from a distance. More men crowded into the hut behind him. “Helena?” Strong fingers gripped hers and worked the sword free from her grasp. The faint scent of sandalwood teased her nostrils. Rosalind cried behind her, soft sobs that shook through the air in the hut.
“Guy?” she whimpered.
“It is over, Helena.” His beloved voice.
Her knees buckled and he caught her, supporting her weight against his strong body. Warm hands covered her back, stroking and soothing her as he would a child. Her fingers clung to Guy’s hauberk, afraid he would disappear if she released her hold.
“Take me home, Guy,” Helena whispered into his chest.
His arms tightened about her and his lips touched her temple. “Aye, my lady.”
Ranulf’s body was dragged from the hut. Rage had churned in Guy’s belly to discover who lay dead on the stinking rushes. He’d been robbed of the right to kill the bastard.
As Guy prepared to leave, his wife held in his arms, Crispin stopped him. “Wait.”
He turned with a soft snarl. Helena wanted Lystanwold and, by God, he would see her returned to her home. He would make the king listen. He clasped her tighter.
A man stood beside Crispin, his face one that every man in Stephen’s army would know on sight. Guy had seen it across the battlefield more than once.
“I need to go south, with all haste.” The man’s eyes bored into Guy, daring him to state what they both knew. “Will you aid me?”
“How came you to be here?” Crispin asked quietly.
The man motioned to Ranulf’s body. “He thought to use me as a bargaining tool.”
“You make a powerful weapon,” Crispin observed.
“You have a choice, Guy of Lystanwold,” the man said. “Use me to gain favour with Stephen, or aid me to find my way back to my people.”
Helena stirred and opened her eyes. “He saved us.” Her gaze was haunted with shadows Guy ached to chase away.
There was no decision to be made. He had Helena with him now, thanks in part to this man. “Take one of the horses and two of my men to ride with you. They will see you safe and then you will do the same for them.”
“I swear it.” The stranger’s relief was palpable. “I pay my debts, Guy of Lystanwold. You and your lady will be remembered.”
The man touched his fingers to his lips and placed them on Helena’s hand. “Guard her well, Sir Guy. She is a lady to be treasured.”
Guy gathered Helena closer to him. The feel of her body in his arms almost brought him to his knees. She was safe. He had her. Moisture teased the corner of his eyes and he turned quickly, shouting orders. His men fell to with the loyalty he had come to expect of them.
The miles blurred in a frenzy of speed and urgency, Helena responding like a puppet to Guy’s gentle urging. Night gave way to daylight once more and still they rode hard. When they stopped, she rested, ate; did as he instructed. The babe grew fretful, but for the most part it slept. They stopped for Rosalind to nurse, but Guy pushed hard. Helena’s body ached, even as it obeyed her demands.
None of the party spoke much. They just pressed for home, every sinew and muscle straining to reach its walls and safety, at last.
The gloaming was closing in by the time the crenelated battlements of Lystanwold appeared before them. Men and horses were near to dropping.
“Almost there,” Guy whispered against her temple. Helena nodded listlessly.
The sound of the bridge beneath the horse’s hooves clattered through her skull. Guy drew the horse to a halt. He leapt to the ground and reached up for her. Helena dropped like a stone into his strong arms.
There were faces everywhere. People pressed closer to look at her. Helena sensed the silent weight of their eyes on her and fear clutched her chest. They must not see her like this.
“‘Tis our lady.”
“Sir Guy has our lady.”
“Stand aside.” Ewayne cleared a path through the gathered crowd. The faces moved back, giving her space, and Helena drew breath once more.
“The king?” Guy queried.
“This morning he received word that Henry’s army is moving in the south again. He is on his way to Wallingford. He took a goodly portion of your men with him.”
She sensed Guy’s nod of acknowledgement, but he didn’t stop. The dimness of the hallways closed about her. More faces appeared and disappeared from her vision as he strode forward.
There was a strange comfort in the numbness that seemed to have invaded her spirit. Her mind refused to dwell on the raw place deep within.
Guy reached the solar.
Willie was there and beside him, Geoffrey. A smile trembled on his lips and died. “My lady,” he murmured. “Are you hurt?”
“A bath,” Guy snapped at the boys. Willie flew into action.
“Geoffrey?” Something stirred within the dead place inside her.
“My lady.” His young face was creased with concern.
“You are recovered?”
“I am, my lady. We are prodigious glad to have you home.” He followed after Willie at a slower pace.
Guy laid her gently on the bed. He arranged the covers over her tattered dress.
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God, he found you.” Bridget’s voice sliced through the air. “I knew he would.”
“Bridget?” Guy shifted and Helena tightened her arms about him to keep him beside her.
“The worry you have caused me! I should box your ears.” Bridget touched her knee carefully. “Are you well, sweeting?”
Helena didn’t trust her voice and she nodded.
Bridget sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. She compressed her lips tightly together as she struggled for composure. “I shall see to that bath.” She got hurriedly to her feet again.
The solar fell silent around them. Guy rose and stripped off his accoutrements of war. He struggled with his hauberk and Helena longed to go to him and help, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. He seemed suddenly too far away and fresh fear crowded into the corners of her mind.
“Guy?” The hard knot of emotion buried in her chest unravelled. She was safe. They were all safe and the tears would not be kept at bay any longer. “I must warn you,” she sobbed. “I believe I am going to cry.”
Guy crossed the room in two long strides. Scooping her up, he laid her tenderly across his lap. The tears refused to stop, flowing ceaselessly down her face. Guy tightened his hold.
People moved about the chamber, but she could do no more than cling to Guy. Here she was safe and more tears choked her throat. He held her until there were none left.
“Come, sweeting.” Guy lowered her to the floor. Her legs buckled beneath her and he steadied her with his arm.
She stood like an obe
dient child as he removed her bliaut. Her chainse was so ripped and torn, it was nothing more than a tattered remnant.
Guy hissed through his teeth as he took it from her.
They had brought in the bathing tub and Guy helped her settle within. The heat of the water surrounded her. Her tears had run dry and she sat and stared at the edge of the tub.
“Forgive me, Helena.” Guy choked out the words. His face was as set and stern as always, but his eyes blazed with emotion.
“Why are you sorry?” she whispered.
“I let that . . .” Guy’s jaw worked. “I let him take you.”
“Nay.” She could spare him this guilt. “It was Colin.” Her voice caught on the name. “He led me to where Ranulf was waiting. I should never have gone with him.”
Silently, Guy knelt beside her at the tub. There was a ritual thoroughness he followed as he dipped the washing cloths in the water and began to wet her body.
“Colin is dead,” he murmured gently.
Helena couldn’t rouse herself to care.
“We believe Ranulf killed him.” Guy palmed the soap as he spoke. “We found his body just on the far side of the clearing.” He worked lather over her dirt-stained skin slowly, all his concentration bent to his task.
“Why would he do that?” Helena asked. “Why did he have to kill Colin? Rosalind believes Colin loved him.”
Guy rubbed the cloth over her arms before he replied. “Ranulf cared for naught but himself. It is not a question of right or wrong, but more one of expedience.”
Helena shuddered and he paused a moment in his washing before he resumed his ministrations.
“You did not let him take me, Guy.”
He ran the warm cloth over her shoulder. “You were mine to protect and I failed you.”
“Colin betrayed me.” Just to say the words started a dull throb in her chest. “You could not have known that would happen.”
