The Northern Knights Series (Boxed Set)

by Amber Dane

  Looking back over his men he saw they were bloodied and bruised, but none from what little he could see with his one eye had sustained an injury so deep to produce that great amount of blood. Something stirred in his gut and Rourke tried to pull himself up to bring some sort of relief to his arms. But there was no room.

  By Thor, finally a blessing came to him and clearness came to his one good eye and thoughts. Turning to the soldier who'd whispered his name next to him, Rourke had to swallow a few times to get his throat to work. Thick stubble lined the young man’s upper lip and chin.

  "How long?" soreness throbbed in his neck.

  "A full moon or so has passed from what little I've seen through yon hole in the ceiling, my lord”

  Rourke's hands fisted or so he thought he curled them into fists. He could feel nothing in his hands from the crushing numbness and tingling. Nigh a fortnight in this hellhole! It couldn't be.

  "Our fine host?"

  "I did not recognize him, my lord. He has told us naught. But he is a nobleman, a Saxon. We have lost three of our men to him in this room. Their blood soaks the ground in which we stand. They met their deaths, my lord with honor and bravery."

  Rourke growled and although the muscles in his neck protested mightily, he angled his head so his good eye could fall upon the soldier.

  ‘Twas the young knight who’d ridden out at the start of the battle at his side. The young man's cheek was gashed open, crusted with blood, but his young eyes gleamed brightly with revenge.

  He read the question in Rourke’s eyes and continued, "You had a nasty wound on your skull and it took some time before the bleeding stopped. The nobleman was so furious over what that ogre had done he had him butchered.” Rourke’s head spun at the young soldier’s words. The soldier’s voice dropped to a whisper when he added, “My lord, the nobleman was not kind to your person when the fever kept you under.”

  Rourke’s eye met his and he had a feeling he did not wish to know anymore. His body ached and burned in too many places just to be the result from the mace and hanging from the wall. But he needed to know. “Go on,” he ordered.

  The young man licked his lips; a look of shame crossed his face as he looked away for a brief moment. “They beat and kicked you, my lord.” Rourke gritted his teeth and waited. “The three of our men had been chained loosely together and fought hard and valiantly to free you, my lord."

  Rourke closed his eye. They had lost their lives trying to save him.

  The sound of keys and muffled voices drew his attention to the wide double doors. He closed his eye and heard the door creak open. By the sound of the footfalls, he counted that five people had entered.

  "I thought you said he was awake?"

  Rourke stiffened at the familiar voice and his breath tightened in his chest. The voice belonged to a man he'd thought long dead. Rage grew in him anew.

  A memory came back to him. The familiar dark silhouette he’d believed he’d dreamt before he had succumbed to the darkness on the field. He opened his eye.

  The jailer crouched, cowering in fear at the man's feet from the heavy blow he'd just received as he babbled on about truth. The tall man beside him moved to cuff him again when another voice called out.

  "The bastard is awake."

  Rourke stopped breathing. It couldn’t be!

  The jailer's wide eyes lifted and his short and gnarled arm that he could barely lift, pointed in Rourke’s direction. "I told you, sire, I speak truth. His eyes are open."

  The tall man stepped forward and to the side to let the other man that had spoken come pass.

  "You mean eye, fool." The large nobleman dressed in too fancy an outfit to be wearing down in the filthy dungeon stepped to Rourke.

  Fisting a hand in Rourke’s long hair, the nobleman yanked hard and pulled Rourke’s neck back and to the side. Hate dripped from his venomous hiss, “Hello, Dark Axe."

  Rourke stared murder at both men.

  Two enemies.

  One that he’d seen cut down and left for dead, but obviously not dead enough. The scar was missing from the left side of his face, but the face was one he was familiar with all the same.

  Raven Renald.

  The other, holding his hair and who's fetid breath washed over his face...

  Jacqueline's father.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The years had not been kind to the aging warrior. Lord Richard Hartley looked well beyond his years and the wooden shaft he leaned his burgeoning weight upon only made it worse. White hair hung long and past his frail shoulders, a thick matching moustache and beard covered his wrinkled face. The large mass around his waist slowed his gait. ‘Twas hard to believe, this great man he’d once admired had let hatred and revenge run him to rot. In that moment, Rourke realized he would not let the same happen to him. It was time to let go of the guilt and blame he’d carried all these years over the loss of Jacqueline. No matter what he did, neither he nor her father could bring her life back and he told the man thus.

  “No one is to blame for what she did. It was her choice, Richard.”

  Rourke saw it coming. The thick butt of the shaft struck him in the cheek. His teeth rattled from the blow; still he kept his eyes on Richard. The man’s face ran even redder, mottled with his grief and anger.

  Spittle shot from his mouth as he spat, “Shut up you, filthy Norman scum! How dare you speak ill against my daughter? She was my life! She had my blood running through her veins. She was not weak, but strong and you robbed her of her life as you robbed me! She was my daughter!”

  Rourke knew there was naught more he could say to the man. The look in Richard’s eyes was one crazed beyond retrieving. As it were the man could barely form a word without visibly shaking and practically losing breath on each word.

  “Now I have the upper hand,” Richard was wheezing harder now and wiped at his drooling mouth with a fine piece of lace cloth he withdrew from his breast pocket. “William’s prized long arm of destruction into Saxon territory now chained to my wall like the dog and filth he is. I never wanted my daughter shackled to you. We, proud Saxon barons, had no choice but to do what that bastard Norman duke wanted. I am going to make you pay for each year I suffered the loss of my only child. And I do plan to enjoy every bloody moment.”

  Rourke’s jaw clenched in anger. William had formed some friendships with a few Saxon nobles during Edward the Confessor’s rule, most of which were very fragile to begin with. Not only because of the king's favor upon the duke, but the Saxon lords had done so out of fear and intimidation. After William had taken the throne, some of these same lords had tucked tail and run off. The ones that had not had still turned their backs on him when he’d needed them most. Like the filth in front of him now, Rourke snarled with disgust.

  “My head is clear and I will not go as easily as you think.” Rourke eyed him and Raven with dead calm, taunting them. “You know well who my teacher was. ‘Tis no secret. He stands right beside you. Do you want to see how well he trained me, Richard?”

  “But you are without your blade!” Richard choked on a weak incredulous laugh as did his men, except Raven.

  “I don't need my blade to demonstrate for you. Release my hands and you shall see firsthand that they are capable of providing you with the same end result. A bit messier, but I assure you, 'tis all the same in the end. Is that not so, Raven?”

  Rourke’s words sent another visible tremor through Richard and the old man raised the staff again high above his head. Rourke did not flinch when the blow came this time.

  Richard howled in pain at the movement and yelled, “Fool! I would kill you now had I no need to see you suffer and bleed slowly whilst I torture each and every one of your men. Raven! Which arm is it?”

  "I’ve seen him use both.” came Raven’s shrug of shoulders and aloof reply.

  "But you used your left," Richard was frowning.

  "Aye. However he was a most studious and apt pupil.” Raven’s eyes met his and Rourke wanted to kill the d
evil where he stood.

  "'Tis the mark of the devil’s hand is what it is, sire!" the jailer's outcry drew stares his way as he backed away crossing himself. Raven shot the jailer such a look of disgust it was a good thing the man had the sense to back away out of the reach of another heavy blow.

  "Your superstitions do not belong here. Speak of such again and I will show you what the true mark of the devil is.” Raven’s words came slowly and his hands went to the small axes he had strapped to his waist. “Anyone else wish to express their religious beliefs?”

  All in the room grew quiet and Rourke seethed when Raven turned back to him and winked. Richard foamed at the mouth having caught the action and turned an icy glare on Raven.

  "We are not here for your playacting and reminiscing, Raven. Get on with it. He is here because of my beautiful Jacqueline and me.”

  "Nay, Richard. He is here because of me. Without my help you'd still be locked away in some stink hole with that vengeance rotting in your gut.”

  "Why you ungrateful whelp!" Richard stumbled toward Raven with the shaft raised.

  "Ah, ah ahh, old man. You don't want to get yourself all riled before the games begin. We agreed-"

  "I agreed to nothing! You were paid handsomely for your part in this." Richard lowered the shaft.

  "Aye. True is that. I was indeed. However, there's been a change in plans. Your ruthless days are over, you old bitter fool.” Raven chuckled as he slowly pulled off his gloves.

  Rourke watched the two men argue amongst themselves. Fools! Mad the both of them.

  The argument was soon interrupted by a loud keening wail and sudden gasp. The sound came from Richard. Rourke watched the old man clutch at his chest, the shaft dropped to the ground as he stumbled backwards with a look of surprise and horror etched upon his weathered face. The jailer shrieked and jumped out of the way. Raven did not help. He looked at the falling Richard with an expression of grim satisfaction upon his face when the man fell. His eyes returned once again to Rourke.

  “Hmm, seems you have yet again robbed another member of the Hartley family of their breath, Dark Axe.” Raven’s boot came down hard on the old man’s chest and held him down.

  Rourke said nothing as he watched Richard twitch and jerk on the ground, a bit of foam bubbled from his mouth as the last breath rattled from the old warrior’s body.

  Raven moved his foot away. “Poison does the trick every time. No one tells me what to do. I was sick and tired of his slowness in getting rid of you. Now, to speed things along. Take the old man’s carcass out of here.” Raven instructed the guards as he stepped over the body and reached out to grip a fistful of Rourke’s hair. “Why Dark Axe, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. I imagine you might be wondering how about now, hmm?” he threw his dark head back with a deep chortle and released his hold on him. Raven strutted in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back. "Had you or my brother bothered to climb down and check for a body, you would have seen I’d fallen upon a ledge that opened to a cave."

  His elaborate retelling grated on Rourke's nerves and his anger built. Rourke stared at him hard and wished he'd done so. Raven must have known his thoughts for he reached out with the back of his hand and caught a good hit against his mouth. Rourke tasted blood in his mouth and Raven turned from his icy glare first.

  "Ever the bold and disobedient one. I will have your full attention! The nights and days I spent hiding in that cold, dark and wet place, plotting my revenge until I believed it was safe enough to escape were murder. I ask you, something like that cannot be good for one’s soul, right? Had it not been for my brother’s wife nursing me back to health, your goal to see me dead would have come true.”

  "What sentence given to you, Raven, you brought upon yourself. ‘Twas you that turned your back on William.”

  Raven let out a shout, "Aargh! Had he not turned his first on me, 'twould not have happened!”

  "William was good to you. He never turned any of us in that group away.”

  Rourke remained still when Raven swiftly brought his face level with his own. Pain and hatred screamed from those crazed and startling blue eyes.

  "Lies! He did it twice. He forgave me not when I tried to gut you for your lack of loyalty to me. I created you, his precious weapon. Then, aye, again…when he chose my brother over me."

  Rourke said nothing. Raven could and never would be the proud man Darc had grown into. Even back then, the difference between the two brothers had been noticeable and Raven had shown signs then of his brain unraveling long before his dark days in that cave.

  "Live the life of a libertine, pay the price of one,” Rourke spoke coldly.

  "Heathen filth!" Raven's rage erupted and he struck him again. Rourke spat the blood his action had drawn into his face and couldn’t help but smile when Raven shrieked like a madman and danced away from him wiping frantically at his face. William had chosen well when he'd chosen Darc over his crazed brother.

  "Bastard!" Raven howled. “Your time has come for the table. I will be back, friend. I needs retrieve a special tool to complete the job I was so rudely interrupted doing many years ago.”

  Raven’s evil laughter filled the chamber as he exited. Rourke gave into his fury and even though the chains held him tight, he fought like a madman, bleeding from each extremity. The only thought in his head was to kill Raven before he’d let that devil cut him again.

  Chilly nights had turned into frosty days and Alexa had grown sick with each passing one that brought no news of Rourke. Over and over the memories of their last night together resurfaced and the pain of the discord between them was now a forgotten memory. Goran had returned yet again just yestereve empty handed. Darc Renald had yet to return. But he'd sent a messenger back with word of his search and word from William to let him know when and if they found his Dark Axe alive or dead.

  Alexa wrung her hands with worry over the possible danger Rourke might be in.

  Goran had alluded briefly to the fact he may have been captured and tried to keep assurances up that he still lived, but his grim expression told Alexa otherwise. She would keep the faith even if others did not.

  She knew Rourke still lived for she felt it in her heart. If he’d taken his last breath, she told herself she would have known.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Aye, for her own heart would cease to beat.

  Tears burned the back of her lids and she looked out the open archway once again. She stood in the room off the hall because it gave a better view of the great doors.

  She ignored the guard watching her. All eyes had been on her every move these past few days. Had she wanted to escape to search for Rourke, his guards truly could not have stopped her. She could escape them if she chose.

  But for what?

  She did not know where he was, let alone where to look any more than Goran and Darc Renald did.

  A Norman servant that had arrived with her husband’s caravan entered the room. Margaret, the name came to Alexa. She was pleasant enough, quiet and worked hard. Alexa spent most of her days till darkness fell in this room.

  Margaret tried hard to get her to eat, drink and draw her into conversation but Alexa did neither.

  When not in the room, she paced about the manor or strolled outside in the cold. Rourke’s men dogged her every step. Aye, the number of men that guarded her had increased tenfold since Goran’s last return. She barely spoke to him but she was aware of his ever watchful and concerned gaze following her too, wherever she went. But she said nothing of it.

  The fight in her had been swallowed by the weight of her grief and the foreboding she'd felt the day Rourke had received that message. Sick was too kind of a word to describe how she felt.

  Days and nights she touched her cheeks to find them wet, not even conscious she cried.

  She looked to the horizon, hilly marshes with each passing day for sight of his return. Yet her prayers produced naught.

  Margaret’s soft voice and hand reached out to her
again and Alexa remained lost in her despair staring at the front doors. Margaret blinked back tears of relief when she managed to steer her lady to the bench so she could smooth out the tangles in her amber hair. Then a smile spread when she watched her lady pick up the cup she'd just filled with water and brought it to her lips to drink. Finally. The lady had made a move to succor herself and bring her back from that dark place.

  It didn’t last long for loud voices coming from the front of the manor broke the silence.

  “My lady.”

  Alexa heard Margaret call after her as she dashed out toward the great doors in the direction of the ruckus. The sight that greeted Alexa halted her in her tracks. Hope shot to her throat and choked her and then despair immediately followed.

  Rourke’s horse had returned.

  Black looked wild, snorting heavily as Goran and stable hands tried to calm the large warhorse. Seeing the dried blood spattered over the horse tore a tortured cry from Alexa’s breast and she barely felt the guard catch her as she stumbled sideways. Straightening, she called out to Goran when he instructed the horse be removed from her sight.

  She needed to see.

  To touch

  "My lady, please,” Goran pleaded

  Alexa shook her head. Her fingers crumbled the splashes of blood into fragments that fell to the dirt. The big horse, his wild breath calmer now, had let her touch him. Goran pulled her away when she remained staring down at her hands.

  “We don't know that 'tis his blood, my lady.” Goran tried to sound reassuring.

  Alexa felt herself nodding but she was not sure. Nay! It could not be Rourke's blood. She would not believe it. He had to return to her. He had to.

  She let Goran guide her back inside the manor and Alexa did not care that all in the yard witnessed her odd behavior. Anger, grief and fear kept her tears at bay.

  During the second week, Barnett manor had become an even more somber place and Alexa paid little heed to the morning sickness that assailed her. Had it not been for the healer and the attentive Margaret at her side forcing what little broth they could down her, she'd not eaten at all.