Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

No one replied right away but he could hear movement. He just wasn’t sure where it was coming from. He could hear voices, muffled, and shuffling around. It took him a moment to realize that there were men on the roof and he stepped back, raising his shield to ensure nothing came hurling down at him from that angle. He called up again.

  “Who is in command?” he bellowed. “De Royans wishes to speak with him.”

  A head leaned over the side of the keep, but only partially. There were other heads up there, too, but Maxton couldn’t really see them or make out features. The man nearly directly above him shouted down to him.

  “What does de Royans want?” he said.

  “To whom am I speaking?”

  A pause. “My name is Arthos. I have nothing to say to de Royans. If he does not abandon Bowes completely, there will be serious consequences.”

  From where Juston was standing, he could hear what the man said and he didn’t like that in the least. That threat had him moving towards the inner bailey already but Kress stopped him, forcing him to wait until his shield was retrieved. Once he had it in-hand, he held the shield high and took off at a run into the inner bailey.

  Maxton didn’t hear Juston until the man was upon him and it startled him so badly that he nearly drew a dagger on the man. Heart pumping as he saw who it was, he also knew why Juston had come.

  There will be serious consequences….

  “I am de Royans,” Juston called up to the keep. “I will not make an aggressive move against you, but I want to be able to reach a peaceful settlement. What is it that you want?”

  The rebel in command leaned further over the side of the roofline, exposing most of his head. He was an older man with long, dirty hair. “I told you,” he yelled down to them. “You must abandon Bowes. That is what I want.”

  “I cannot go against Richard’s order. He wants me to hold the castle. Surely you can understand that I have my orders.”

  More chatter and scuffling on the roof. Juston and Maxton looked at each other with some curiosity and apprehension. There was evidently some discussion going on up there. Abruptly, the rebel commander leapt up onto the wide edge of the roofline, exposing his entire body. But he reached down and, with help from a few of his comrades, pulled up another figure next to him. Juston was trying to see what they were doing without exposing his head too much, but he caught a glimpse of long, black hair blowing in the breeze.

  His heart sank.

  “Great Bleeding Christ…,” he hissed.

  Maxton, too, caught sight of Emera on the battlements next to the rebel leader. She was gagged and bound around the torso, with a great deal of rope wrapped around her body. In fact, she couldn’t move at all but she was propped quite dangerously on the edge of the roofline as the rebel leader held on to her arm. Beside him, Juston flinched and Maxton threw out an arm to prevent the man from leaving the safety of his shield.

  “Nay, Juston,” he said, blocking the man from moving. “They are trying to draw you out. They probably have archers trained on you this very moment, so do not move. It would be suicide.”

  Juston’s gaze was riveted to Emera, trussed and gagged, and his heart was breaking. He couldn’t even imagine what the rebels had already put her through and, in truth, he couldn’t think about it. As it was, he was barely holding his composure. As he struggled not to rush out and get himself killed, the rebel leader shouted down from the roof.

  “We have your whore, de Royans,” he yelled. “Take your men out of Bowes or I will throw her down into the bailey and all you’ll have left of her is pieces. Do you understand me?”

  Juston closed his eyes against the threat, as if to block it out. God, why? Why did this have to happen again? He’d found happiness. Aye, he’d found love again but now something was threatening to take her away from him, just as Lizette had been taken away from him. Here he was in a pivotal moment, a precipice from which there was no escape – he’d been unable to save Lizette. He’d never had the chance. But with Emera, he had the opportunity to save her. And he would, any way he could.

  Now, the rage was starting to build. These rebels had signed their own death warrants when they decided to use Emera has a hostage. Juston de Royans was a man of action. He rarely negotiated because he never had to. He was decisive in everything, correct in his decisions, and this would be no different. Now was the time to put that perfection to the test.

  He had to save Emera.

  “Max,” he muttered. “I will keep them occupied but you must find a way into the keep. Can you do this?”

  Maxton felt Juston’s burden. He could see the panicked look in the man’s eye but he was doing an admirable job of trying to hide it. The knights had been worried that Lady Emera might somehow tear Juston down and perhaps this was the way she was going to do it. It was unintentional on her part, but still, Juston was willing to do anything to save her. That much was clear. If Maxton didn’t find a way into the keep, then Juston would make a run at it and more than likely get himself killed in the process.

  Now, Juston’s burden became Maxton’s.

  “I can try,” he whispered. “But do not do anything until I send you a signal of some kind. You must give me time to find a way in.”

  Juston didn’t look too confident in that request. “I am not sure how much time I can give you,” he said quietly. “But I will try. Max… I know it is a lot to ask of you, I truly do, but I must tell you that Emera means everything to me. Call it infatuation, or foolishness, or whatever you will. I do not care. I am telling you the truth when I say that I love the woman. I cannot let her die.”

  Maxton was hit by the sincerity in Juston’s eyes, nearly as astonishing as the confession itself. Guilt swept him. Had he thought wrongly about Lady Emera, then? Had they all thought wrongly about her? She was the enemy, that was true, but Juston de Royans wasn’t in the habit of making bad decisions. Perhaps they should have trusted his judgment when it came to the lady, for if she had been able to thaw out Juston’s frozen heart, then perhaps she was worthy of their faith. Perhaps, just this once, Juston needed a guardian angel to ensure that he didn’t lose another woman that he loved. One thing was for certain, however – Maxton couldn’t stand to see the agony in Juston’s eyes.

  He had to help.

  “You will not,” he assured him with renewed courage. “I will find a way in, but you keep the rebels distracted. Do what you must.”

  “I will.”

  At that point, they separated. Maxton could hear Juston calling up to the rebels again, gaining their attention, as Maxton fled the inner bailey. He was nearly to the entry in the inner wall when he happened to see something over on the corner of the keep, something white and lengthy. The wind was blowing a bit and whatever it was had apparently blown the other way, or so he thought. When the wind gusted again, he caught sight of it clearly –

  A rope made out of bed linens, hanging from an upper window.

  Perhaps that guardian angel was a reality, after all.

  Cowling knew he was dying.

  The fire poker that Arthos had rammed into his body had done horrific damage, but it hadn’t killed him immediately. After the initial injury, Cowling had fallen to the floor and passed out, but he emerged from that hazy blackness to find himself still alive and staring at the ceiling. He tried to move but the pain was tremendous and, from the odd buzzing sensation in his legs, he suspected his time on this earth was very limited. But he didn’t want to die here, in a nest of rebels, because his name would be forever associated with the fools who tried to retake the keep. That, he couldn’t stomach.

  He had to get out.

  But leaving the keep was impossible since the stairs to the entry had been burned. Over to his left, he could see the bed linen rope, coiled up where he had left it. If it was good enough to lower Lady Jessamyn to the ground, then perhaps he could use it to escape from the window, too. His strength was waning and he knew it was more than likely an impossible task, but he had to try.

  Slo
wly, he dragged himself across the floor, towards the linen rope, smearing blood across the wood floor as he went. It was pure agony to move but he was determined to escape. Grasping the rope, he tied it to the leg of the bed, hoping the bed was heavy enough to support his weight as he climbed down to freedom. All he could think of at the moment was getting clear of the keep and not necessarily of his safety in doing so. He was a dead man, anyway. All he wanted to do was get out of there.

  But his fingers wouldn’t work properly. Deprived of blood, it took him several tries to tie a knot that could possibly hold. Then came the matter of standing up; he was still on the ground and he used every last remaining bit of strength he had to sit up, using the bed as leverage.

  Breathing heavily, and in excruciating agony, he paused for a moment, digging deep to summon more strength to stand and go to the chamber window. He found himself looking around the chamber, wondering where Lady Emera had been taken and praying that whatever they did to her, she was dead before they did it. The men he saw this day were not the men he’d known for the past several years, men he’d fought with and lived alongside. They were desperate animals. He was ashamed to have been a part of their madness.

  Gripping the bed, he rolled to his knees, saving his last remaining strength to crawl to the window because he couldn’t seem to stand. He had the end of the rope in his hand and he gripped the windowsill, pulling himself up as he tossed the end of the rope through the window. He fed the rope through until there was no more rope to feed, and with the hope that he could climb down the rope without falling the entire way, he hoisted himself into the windowsill.

  But it was too much for his dying body to take. Cowling was in the windowsill, preparing to take the rope in hand, when his vision dimmed. He tried to hold on to the windowsill but he couldn’t, his body giving out as he fell back into the chamber, crashing to the floor in a heap of blood and bones and flesh.

  For a brief moment, he felt the disappointment of not being able to climb out of the window, but that disappointment soon faded. A warm light enveloped him and the last thought that crossed Cowling’s mind as his body gave out was that death wasn’t such a horrible thing, after all.

  It was the warm, white light that finally helped him escape for good.

  Maxton wasn’t sure if the rebels on the roof of the keep had seen him move, but no one seemed to be shouting or pointing, or drawing attention to him. He considered that a small victory of sorts.

  After seeing the linen rope blowing in the breeze, Maxton had casually made his way back into the inner bailey but he’d stayed to the south side of the keep, away from the northeast side where Juston was yelling to the rebels. Maxton could hear talk of a great battle lord in the north, Ajax de Velt, and monetary compensation to the rebels, and he knew that Juston was simply trying to keep them busy. It was a negotiation tactic, of finding a common ground with an enemy to ease a volatile situation, and Juston was very good at it.

  Keep them talking!

  Pressed against the keep on the south side, he was out of the line of sight of the rebels on the roof. He could still see the linen rope blowing in the breeze but he realized that the end of the rope was several feet off the ground, perhaps even beyond his reach. He began to inch towards it when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye; Kress and Achilles were at the entrance to the inner bailey and they could clearly see him as he pressed himself up against the keep. Maxton held up a hand to prevent the two of them from coming to him but, loyal friends that they were, they ignored him, darting across the inner bailey and into the shadow of the keep. Maxton was furious.

  “Why did you come?” he hissed. “God help us if those rebels on the roof saw us.”

  Achilles was pressed against the cold stone. “We could not see them from where we were standing,” he said. “Juston is up by the northwest corner of the keep, speaking to the men on the roof. I think I saw Lady Emera up there with them.”

  “You did,” Maxton said. “They have her as a hostage and are threatening to kill her if Juston does not leave Bowes and take his army. He is trying to distract them while I find a way into the keep, so we have little time. We must save the woman. But the angels must be smiling upon us because someone has lowered a rope for us to use.”

  Kress and Achilles strained to see what Maxton was talking about. The wind was picking up now and dark clouds were starting to blow in, undoubtedly a foreshadow of the bad weather to come. But the wind had one advantage; it blew the linen rope around so they could see it swaying gently in the breeze.

  But if they could see it, chances were the rebels on the roof might be able to see it if they shifted position. Quickly, they began to move.

  With speed and stealth, the trio rounded the side of the keep and came face to face with the rope, hanging from a third floor window. It dangled about seven or eight feet off the ground and Maxton had Achilles boost him up so that he could get a grip on it. With his great upper body strength, he climbed the rope up to the window it was hanging out of, peering inside to make sure this wasn’t some manner of trap. He didn’t see anyone, nor did he hear anyone, so he hoisted himself through the window and leapt out into the chamber beyond.

  The first thing he saw was a dead man lying on the floor of the chamber with a fire poker through his midsection. Obviously, there had been an altercation in the chamber and his senses were attuned to his surroundings. Since he knew the wounded of Bowes held the keep, at last count there were under fifty of them, which meant somewhere in this keep – or spread throughout it – were almost fifty men. As good a knight as he was, and he was one of the best, even he wasn’t sure he could take on fifty men. Therefore, he waited for Kress and Achilles to follow.

  Behind him, the bed suddenly shifted, startling the hell out of him, but he realized that it was because of extreme tension on the linen rope. Guessing his comrades were both on the rope at this point, he threw his weight into holding the bed steady as Kress first appeared in the window and then Achilles. They both entered the chamber, seeing the dead man on the floor, and looked at the surroundings as if they were on the hunt.

  Or being hunted.

  “What happened?” Kress hissed, pointing to the body on the floor. “Did he attack you?”

  Maxton shook his head. “He was dead when I arrived,” he said. “These two chambers are empty but if my calculations on Bowes’ remaining wounded are correct, there are close to fifty men in this keep as part of the rebellion. We must proceed carefully.”

  Kress and Achilles nodded, their bodies coiled with caution and anticipation. “Do we have a plan?”

  Maxton nodded as he made his way to the chamber door. “Make it to the roof and save the lady,” he said dryly. Then, he glanced at his companions. “I am going to assume that not all of the rebels are on the roof, which means we must prevent any of them on the floors below us from reaching it. Achilles, that will be your task. Kress, you come with me. Between the two of us, we should be able to fight off whoever is on the roof and reach the lady. She will be my target, Kress. The rebels are yours.”

  Kress cocked an eyebrow. “Fifty men in this keep, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “This should be simple.”

  He meant it with great irony, something that was keenly felt by all of them. Three knights, fifty men… no problem, indeed.

  “What weapons do we have?” Achilles asked.

  Maxton shook his head. “None that I know of,” he said. “Unless you want to take the fire poker from that corpse.”

  Achilles didn’t hesitate. He yanked the bloody fire poker from the body and wielded it like a sword. “Let us proceed,” he said.

  Maxton made Achilles go first since he had the only weapon between the three of them. Emerging into the master’s chamber, they noticed the shattered door immediately and there were several large, sharp pieces of wood lying on the floor, heavy wood that was perfect for a weapon. Maxton selected a big, sharp piece and Kress picked up another. Now, all three
of them at least had something to use should it be needed.

  And they had no doubt it would be needed.

  The spiral stairs were dark and quiet. The men paused, listening for voices or sounds, anything to give them any indication where the rebels were. They thought they heard something down in the great hall but they couldn’t be sure. Regardless, their target was on the roof and Maxton and Kress moved for the roof hatch while Achilles covered their back.

  The roof hatch was ajar. The closer Maxton and Kress came to it, the more they could hear shouting. It was ajar enough that they could see what was happening and what they saw wasn’t encouraging; a rebel had jumped on to the crenellation of the roofline and Lady Emera, bound hand and foot, had been hauled up beside him. He was holding on to her and another man stood behind her, supporting her also, while no more than fifteen rebels wandered around on the roof. In fact, a pair of them were heading towards the hatch and Maxton quickly motioned Kress and Achilles down the stairs and into the master’s chambers, where they pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the broken door.

  They could hear the rebels coming down the stairs from the roof, talking between themselves, and they lay in wait until the pair came to the landing in front of the master chamber door. Then, they ambushed them, pulling them into the chamber and killing them, stealing their weapons. Both of the rebels had been armed with short swords, which were infantry weapons used for close quarters fighting. Now, Maxton and Kress were properly armed.

  “Hold this stairwell at all costs,” Maxton instructed Achilles. “But if you hear too much commotion on the roof, come up and help us.”

  Achilles nodded. The three of them went back out to the stairwell again as Maxton and Kress, once again, moved to the roof hatch. It was fully closed now so they had to take the chance to raise it slightly so they could see. Still, the scene on the roof showed the lady on the battlements with a rebel beside her. The rest of the rebels were gathered up around them, looking over the side of the keep. Maxton turned to Kress.