The Northern Knights Series (Boxed Set)

by Amber Dane

  She did love him so.

  He turned and looked up in that moment. Alexa let out a breath. The feeling in her stomach told her his gaze had found her.

  She stared at him long and hard. His emerald gaze impaled her where she stood. The moment seemed suspended in time as she shook under his hard glower. Then she watched as he pulled his great helm down over his head. He remained looking up at her for another moment before he finally turned away and followed after the troop.

  She wanted to scream for him to come back.

  She watched him long after the forest had swallowed him whole with each step of Black taking him farther and farther away from her. Knives cut into her heart.

  A school of raven birds squawked and came from the top of the trees where he had entered. Alexa watched the birds as they flew toward the manor.

  One swooped down and landed on the pole that stood at the high end of the wall walk; its glassy eyes looked down at her before it turned to clean its shiny wing. Alexa’s hand flew to her chest, a gasp escaped her lips and she shivered with a prayer ‘twas not a sign of a bad omen.

  She did not realize that tears streamed down her face until they ran down her neck and inside her gown. Stepping away from the wall, she slid her hands down over her belly. She'd thought she would not miss him. But her heart yearned now, longed for him to turn back now.

  She had wanted to scream for him not to go and stay here with her. Now, as she moved back toward the steps, her gaze on the preening raven, she cursed herself for her stubbornness and willfulness since meeting him.

  She had a feeling Rourke rode toward a faceless foe worse than northern Saxon barons.

  Would he fight hard to come back to her?

  He may not love her, but he wanted her, that she knew. Her head hanging low, the raven forgotten, Alexa went to their chamber overcome by the depth of the misery that assailed her.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Unease did not come to Rourke until several days later as they crested the rise. Something in the trees far off to the side drew his attention. They weren't a few miles yet from the river when he’d spotted the approaching small army to his left. He held up his hand and stopped his men.

  Sneaky Saxon bastards.

  As he'd suspected, they’d been tracked. He’d spotted two riders a few miles back over an hour ago.

  The splash of color flitted through the trees once again before the first enemy emerged. Rourke cursed.

  He’d done what he'd sworn never to do. Let a woman get under his skin again and in doing so he'd carried thoughts of one into battle. A dire distraction that caused him not to trust his judgment.

  Alexa had ensnared and won his heart and Rourke only hoped that he could make things right when he returned from this tiresome journey. Her face up there on the walk came back to him.

  He’d wanted to take her into his arms, hold her against his chest and never let her go. Lose himself in her tender embrace and let her lick his wounds.

  She was the only one fascinated and bold enough to have asked how he’d gotten his largest scar. He had wanted to ignore it then, nay!

  He had not wished to see it then, the wounded look in her amber eyes when she’d listened to his tale. She had not looked at him with disgust. She had gazed at him with eyes that said she’d been stricken too.

  Her eyes had wanted to take his pain away. And how had he’d repaid her?

  He’d turned her away and acted a fool.

  She was beautiful and at the mere thought of her smiling face, warmth filled his chest. ‘Twas just now in all his thirty-one summers, he was ready to settle down and be done with all of it.

  This was his last year, his debt of military service paid above and beyond. And not a moment too soon, for he was more than deeply fond of Alexa.

  He was falling in love with the hellion.

  Absently he rubbed a large hand over his heart through his chain mail, just as the first wave of combatants emerged from the trees.

  Rourke was not worried. His estate and peasants huts were just over the rise. The bloodshed would remain here and away from his people.

  Their weapons held high and flags waving in the brisk wind as their horse’s hooves kicked up dust as they moved into formation.

  Just by looking at their small number, Rourke cringed. The battle would be quick and many of the fighters were on foot, swords drawn. He sat, feeling his men behind him awaiting his directive.

  He would not give it ‘til the gap was nigh closed. He wanted the poor soul’s deaths to be quick and merciful. These were turbulent times and he could only hope that the bloodletting would soon end.

  He was tired of war.

  Jeers came from the idiots on foot.

  Rourke remained where he was, then a moment later; he straightened and rolled his massive shoulders back when more infantry rebels poured out from the forest.

  This ambush indeed had been well thought out.

  Anger swept over him like a prickly blanket and any mercy he had vanished.

  Black stirred, restless as the jeers of the enemy increased, Rourke’s thighs tightening quieted the large warhorse.

  In measured steps, Rourke urged Black in front of his men and gave his directives.

  "Let them come to us. Out in the open and fight here. Although there are many, they are ill armed with more on foot than horse. Arms!” His orders fell from his lips clear and rapid. He made a motion to the young soldier to lower the war horn. They would not need it.

  The clink of mail and horse breath filled the space as the men did as bid, soon followed by an eerie quiet.

  Rourke’s eyes narrowed, never leaving the enemy as more rebels continued to pour from between the oak trees.

  Fools.

  Completely exposed the rebels let out a war cry, splitting the quiet and charged.

  “Stand! Bring this fight to us!" Rourke hissed loud enough for his own men to hear.

  His plan worked well and the sounds of battle filled the dusk falling sky with the poor souls cut down in quick succession at Rourke’s feet and those of his men. The rebels had fought without direction and many died within minutes.

  When Rourke felt it was safe enough to pause, he dismounted and continued to use his sword, although his axe was strapped to his back. One of his men called out to him against it as most of his men were on the other side away from him and fallen trees and the piling dead separated them.

  Slain and for what purpose?

  The death around him sickened him and wiping his dripping blade on the cape of a slain man at his feet, Rourke wondered who was behind the attack.

  He’d made many an enemy on and off the battlefield over the years. But he had thought most of his enemies lay long dead now.

  He surveyed the remnants of the blood bath. Fury raged through him at the senseless lives lost for this ill planned ambush. He heard a rebel behind him make the mistake to laugh alerting Rourke to his presence.

  "Ye bastard heathen spawn. Say your prayers for yer days of infamy end this hour."

  Rourke turned to see a snaggletooth man with a bloody stump as he used his good arm to raise a heavy broadsword from a slain body nearby.

  One blow of his axe and the man would join his fallen comrades, Rourke thought. Blood already bubbled from the man’s mouth. Weary and ready for this to end, Rourke exhaled a tight breath.

  "If you tell me what I want to hear and who is behind this attack, you are free to go without your limb. Know this, I grant you passage only once."

  The man gnashed his rotted teeth and choked on blood as he dragged the sword up. "Mercy from ye, sir knight? I'd rather die under yer blade than his." As ever, ignorance won out and the crazed man rushed him.

  Rourke turned, easily deflecting the weak blow with an arc of his own sword. The man fell and let out a whoosh. Rourke bent near to see he'd fallen on the up end of the same broadsword he'd planned to use on him.

  Just then a shrill blood-curdling roar rent the air, the likes of which Rourke had
never heard before and sent a ripple of unease through him.

  He turned at the sound and hesitated but a moment.

  A giant of a man- ungodly in size- was almost upon him. Rourke blinked a trickle of blood out of his eye to clear his vision.

  The giant stomping his way was ugly, shaggy blond hair hung around his broad shoulders and he was round like a barrel from leg to chest and carried a large club mace in one hand and a battle axe in the other.

  Rourke, seeing the man blast with rapid speed through five of his men who jumped in the space between them to slow the man down, braced himself and motioned for the next group of his soldiers to back away.

  He’d not lose more of his men to this large beast of a man.

  The giant crashed forward swinging with agility and skill. A shaft loosed from a longbow whizzed through the air, catching the giant in one shoulder, still the man charged forth.

  For one so big himself and lauded for his moves on the battlefield, Rourke wheeled about and threw his body at the giant's head before the ogre could even react to the surprise move.

  After a struggle, Rourke brought his axe down in one mighty hack, tearing through flesh and bone of the giant's right arm. The giant let out another eerie roar when his arm that carried his own axe fell to the ground.

  Rourke felt the violent shudder ripple under him just before the giant, with a snap of his neck, sent him flying from his shoulders.

  Rourke felt himself sailing through the air. Dead bodies cushioned his fall when he landed, but, he'd still fallen hard enough to be winded and long enough for the giant’s swift approach.

  The giant leaned over him with the great club mace arced in a swing, level with his chest.

  There was naught Rourke could do to deflect the blow.

  Were he to raise his right arm that held his axe, he would lose to a crushed and useless arm. A blow to the chest- he could die.

  Either way he had a split second.

  Turning his body to take the force of the blow, he relaxed at the last minute, taking the blow square in the middle of his chest just as the mongrel spat.

  “I'm going to bleed ye like a stuck pig.”

  Rourke's body went airborne like a rag doll and landed on a pile of more bodies. He managed to turn his head. The strain of drawing in a breath tore a ragged wheeze from him. He caught sight of the tall familiar silhouette of a man walking toward him just before darkness snatched him in its crushing and painful tentacles, pulling him down.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Commotion outside the hall drew Alexa from her worried state and turning from the hearth she cried out with relief when she watched Goran enter the hall.

  Finally! He had returned.

  Then she halted when she spotted the fierce looking man enter behind him.

  Although he walked beside her husband’s man, Alexa still found herself taking a step back to place one hand on the table behind her to still the quaking inside.

  His very presence commanded attention and was intimidating.

  A formidable force to reckon with - Rourke was indeed, but this one- ‘twas easy to see how the Normans had won. With a countenance as the one he bore and with such size, the deep scar that ran the length of the left side of his face made it even worse.

  Goran noting her reaction, waved the man closer with a friendly gesture and announced, “Baron Darc Renald, my lady. Your husband and I fought under his regimen. There we called him lieutenant. He is a friend I assure you, my lady.”

  Piercing blue eyes met hers and Alexa feared she'd not be able to return the slash across his mouth that she guessed was a smile. His accent was richer than Rourke’s when he addressed her in her Saxon tongue.

  "No reason to be so formal among friends. Call me Darc, my lady.”

  Alexa swallowed with a nod. Fierce and dangerous was what she thought.

  Still she returned his greeting. More important things were at hand.

  Days had passed and she’d gone out of her mind waiting for Rourke and Goran’s return. She wished it were her husband whom had returned alongside Goran instead of this blue-eyed dark-haired looking devil.

  “Any news from your husband?” Darc asked.

  “Did you not cross paths with him on your way here?” Alexa questioned looking only at Goran.

  Goran's shoulders straightened and he spoke in a tone she'd never heard come from him before.

  "What do you mean, my lady? The guard your husband sent told me my lord wanted me to come here straight away."

  The bad feeling that had plagued her since Rourke had left crept up her spine. "I thought he went to retrieve you before he carried out the king’s order."

  Proper etiquette cast to the wind, both men closed the distance and were in front of her in seconds.

  "On his way where?” Goran pressed with urgency.

  Alexa's eyes shifted between both men as alarm filled her gut. "The king's missive-"

  "What missive?" this exploded from Darc and it rattled her nerves even more.

  His blue eyes darkened and Alexa stepped back from the fire shooting from them as he reached inside his cloak. When she saw the parchment, she nigh fainted.

  "What-What is that? Nay!" she said in a hoarse cry before her eyes fell on the king’s seal.

  Both men shouted simultaneously, "My lady!"

  Alexa had sprinted from them and they followed swiftly behind her across the hall to a room there. When she held out the rolled parchment, her hands shook.

  Both men frowned and Alexa stood next to them watching as they carefully compared the documents.

  After a while, Darc lifted his head, his striking blue eyes shifted to Goran and the men shared a knowing look.

  "Treachery’s afoot." Darc’s angry tone started Alexa’s heart pumping again.

  His long fingers flitted over the seal Rourke had broken on the parchment he'd opened. Curiosity caused her to stare longer than she should have and drew those blue eyes back to her.

  “Is that one not from the king?” Alexa heard the quaver in her tone as she asked what she already knew the answer to. She had told Rourke something had been off about that herald. Aye. He’d known but had gone nonetheless. Alexa’s brows knitted as an angry chill enveloped her.

  "William has returned to Normandy. I crossed the channel with his message and reached your husband’s estate to retrieve twenty five trained men. I met Goran en route to gather the remainder ten here. Seems these maggots think to play a game they will surely lose. Do not fear, my lady. Those responsible, William will see dead as shall I. ‘Tis a foe your husband knows, I am sure of it- to go through such lengths to get him and risk William's wrath. We will find him, on that you have my promise, my lady.”

  Alexa could barely nod with the terror that ripped through her heart.

  The memory of the ravens swooping down came back to her. It had indeed been a bad omen.

  She knew 'twas what Darc had not said that made her want to run. Aye. They would find Rourke and bring him back to her dead or alive.

  Goran added, “They brought me his message and were gone by the time I rode out. I thought they had set out before me. Now we know different.”

  Alexa recalled the scrawny soldiers her husband had sent out.

  "Aye. Traitors under this roof. Round up the rest of the men out front and we shall see who knows what. If any disloyal ones remain...” Darc stopped short and looked away from her, his hand on the hilt of the thick sword at his waist.

  Goran spoke, "My lady…”

  "Sir Goran, I’m going.” Alexa told them.

  Both men looked at her as if she were crazy.

  Darc was the one to respond. "Considering we do not know who this faceless enemy is we've yet to confront. I’m sorry, my lady I cannot allow it. Besides, your husband would have both Goran and my head on a platter were I to even think it. You will remain within these walls. When we are done with your husband’s men, my men will keep watch.”

  Alexa would have protested, but the loo
k in those gleaming blue eyes told her it was unwise.

  He was as bad as her husband and at the thought, Alexa’s heart wrenched painfully in her chest. He was right. She could hear Rourke’s booming voice reprimanding all three of them if she were to go. If it meant they could get to him all the sooner, she’d do nothing to slow it down. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and said firmly. “Then bring him back to me.”

  Both men nodded and left her.

  A groan of agony slipped from between his dry and cracked lips and Rourke cursed. Something cold splashed his face again. The few times the cold water had hit his face drawing him from deep darkness, followed by a thud, he now knew was a bucket. The sound of it hitting the floor beside him usually had the splitting headache rob him of alertness.

  But not this day.

  He blinked and tried to focus with the one eye that was not swollen shut. Distorted moans to his left filled his water logged ears. A low whisper to his right drew his attention when it said his name.

  Rourke bit back another groan of pain the movement caused and prayed this time he remained awake long enough to see where he was.

  The pressure and wheeze in his chest told him he’d more than bruised his muscles.

  The mace had broken bones.

  Within seconds he tested his sore extremities and knew both his legs and hands were bound and he hung just an inch or so off the ground. The way he had been strung up was often used to not only render the victim helpless but to cause nonstop pain. A torture tactic. Burning pain radiated the length of his body and he threw his chained arms and shoulder forward.

  Vision limited by cloudiness, he was able to make out the small dungeon.

  It held two long tables, a rack and about six of his men. One on either side of him chained too and sat on their rumps unlike his torturous pose. The other four were chained near the rack.

  Blood spatter dotted the dirt floor and Rourke’s gaze followed the trail to a table covered with weapons and other odd instruments. A shudder shot through him when he saw the larger pool of blood under it.

  Instruments of torture.