by Wend Petzler
"All will be prepared for your arrival, Your Majesty.” Nicolas spared a quick glance at his wife before leaving the chamber. What did Edward wish to speak to Isabella about without him around?
Isabella wondered the same.
Edward took her hands in his as he gazed sadly down at her. “Must you call for the Demon Lord?"
"If Scotland makes a bid for a new king, we will be caught in the middle, especially with you seeking the French Crown.” Isabella's jaw tightened with the effort of not screaming the rage she felt at not having peace in her life. “If war comes, you will need the Red Dragon and the Demon Lord united."
"I know this is hard for you. I would not ask if it weren't imperative to my plans to keep England strong."
Infamous for her determination, Isabella arched a dark eyebrow. “Your Majesty, I swear the Demon will not fail you. Not ever.” She abandoned the chamber and strode outside to where her husband and men awaited her.
Edward chuckled, imagining Drago's face when the knight was faced with the truth. The poor man was in for one hell of a surprise!
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Chapter Fourteen
Glaring at the lead gray sky, Nicolas worried the road home would be muddy and tedious, desiring to be home at Blood Keep. Relieved when Isabella took her place by his side, Nicolas grew concerned by her pale and drawn features.
"What is wrong?"
"I fear we will meet with unwelcome company on our way home."
His eyes widened. “What makes you so certain of this?"
Placing her slender hands along his strong jaw, Isabella whispered, “Trust me. I am never wrong when it comes to these things. Guard your back and watch the road the closer we ride to Blood Keep,” Isabella warned before climbing inside the hated carriage.
"Isabella.... “Nicolas began, wanting to say those binding words, wanting to tell Isabella he loved her. Shaking his head at the incredible notion, he made to shut the carriage door when Isabella grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him to her, kissing him hard and swift.
Breaking off the kiss, she whispered fiercely, “Be careful.” Isabella forced herself to sit dutifully in the carriage, knowing her talents best served elsewhere. But until she was released from her word, she could do no other than bid her time.
Securing the door, Nicolas swung up on his waiting horse and signaled his men to move out. For one brief moment Nicolas had second thoughts about keeping Isabella in the carriage. He promptly shook it off. Isabella was better protected in the carriage if an attack was launched.
The journey was indeed dreary. Forced to go slow through the mucky roads, the days dragged on. He and his men grew weary from constantly on alert, feeling the bitter bite of exhaustion. Isabella steadily watched the wild countryside from the narrow windows of the carriage, never giving up her vigil. Nicolas began to doubt her, thinking she worried over naught. He allowed his guard to slip further as they rode closer to Blood Keep.
Late on the fifth day, ten miles from Blood Keep, Nicolas called for a halt at the fork in the road. A tall, stark tree next to the road seemed the perfect place to rest. The wind blew across the low hills. He flipped his helm's visor up, intending to speak with Ahmed when screaming men wearing kilts, rode hard over a hill, attacking him and his knights.
Nicolas roared, “To arms!” Freeing his sword, he split the nearest man's skull open. Attacking horsemen swarmed him, cutting him off from Isabella who sat helplessly in the carriage. Five Scots held their ground, forcing Nicolas to hack his way to her. Ahmed protected his back. Enraged, Nicolas roared in helpless fury, watching the carriage speeding recklessly over the hill. He reined to give chase when a club slammed his helm from behind, knocking him out of the saddle. Nicolas struggled to rise, falling down, vision blurring as he fell unconscious to the ground.
The wild-looking men climbed on top of the carriage. Alison screamed when the driver fell hard to the ground, his throat slit. A scarred, ugly face thrust in the doorway to be greeted by Isabella's fist. She grabbed the crude sword from his limp hand and drove the sharp point through his stomach. He stumbled back out of the carriage only to be replaced by another attacker. Alison did not know who to be more afraid of, the men attacking or Isabella's transformation. Hair flying, Isabella fought with fist and sword, meeting the enemy ferociously.
The carriage unexpectedly leapt forward, flinging Isabella backward into Alison. Scrambling to her feet, she looked out the window in time to see Nicolas fall from his horse and did not rise. Fear surged inside her. Screaming in rage, Isabella fought to get out of the damned carriage to run to his aid, finding the door jammed. Helpless, she watched Ahmed fly to his aid.
A horn blew, signaling the retreat. The enemy broke and fled, following the racing carriage. They had snatched their prey and now sought to cross the border before word was sent to Blood Keep for help. The Scotsman who drove the carriage screamed and whipped the horses, acting as if the very Devil was on his trail. The carriage careened precariously over the rocky terrain, Alison and Isabella held on for dear life.
Dear Lord, please let Nicolas be well, she silently prayed, and make him listen to Michael's wisdom. An open attack would give the Scottish border lords what they wanted, war.
Several hours later, the reckless pace slowed. Isabella warily peered out the window. McLeod fortress! Alison grabbed her hand, her eyes wide with fright. Isabella squeezed the pale woman's hand reassuringly. “Remember what I told you. Do not worry about me, I'll be fine.” The carriage passed over the lowered, rough-hewn wooden gate. “Put your game face on, we are about to go on stage."
Before Alison could question Isabella's motives, she watched in stunned amazement as the fiery blonde transformed into a sobbing mess. The sweating, weary horses were pulled to a stumbling halt, and a moment later the door flung open, admitting a dirty man with blackened teeth.
"Yer ladyships, if you please?” The man held a grubby hand out to assist the bruised and battered women out of the carriage.
A terrified Isabella clung to Alison who tried to sneer at her cowardly actions. Men leered, shouting insults at the women as they were shoved inside the castle. Blue smoke filled the interior, causing their eyes to water. The stench of unwashed bodies assailed their senses. At the end of the hall sat a stocky, hairy man, clad in a brown kilt and grease-stained linen shirt, upon a wooden throne. A crude, golden crown perched upon his head as if he were a king.
William McLeod rubbed his hands gleefully. Lady Isabella was in his greedy grasp at last! When she stumbled to a halt before him, William grew puzzled at the tears falling unchecked down her dirty, beautiful face. He envisioned the woman with spirit and fire, ready to spit in his eye, not this frightened lass who clung to her companion. William fancied breaking her after all the trouble she caused him. He had dreamed of mounting the bitch, imagined her fighting him while he had his way with her. Well, other games could be played, William giggled. Isabella's body appeared strong enough to handle his perverse delights.
"Welcome, Lady Isabella, to my humble home. I hope you will enjoy your stay. I know I will.” William chuckled at his warped sense of humor. His muddy brown eyes focused on the woman beside her. “Ye must be Lady Alison. I was informed by Lord Alden to treat you with exceptional care, and I shall.” He gestured to the men behind her. They grabbed the woman, dragging her kicking and screaming from the hall. William turned in time to see some obscured emotion flit over Isabella's drawn features before she covered her face and crumbled dejectedly to the floor. Shooting to his feet, he reached down and yanked Isabella yanked to her feet. William roughly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Do not worry about Lady Alison. We won't play with her until we hear from Lord Alden. I canna allow ye to be in the same room. Now to business, where is the Demon Lord?” When she refused to answer, William chuckled evilly as he ran a hand over her breast, causing Isabella to shudder with revulsion. “That's all right. We have plenty of time to talk about the
Demon and his whereabouts. And yes, ye will learn to accept my touch, I swear it!” He motioned for two men to take her away.
The shaggy bearded men dragged her up the stairs and threw her inside a small chamber. One of the men struck a flint, lighting a stubby wax candle before they left. Isabella quickly grabbed the only chair in the chamber and shoved it under the doorknob. Scanning the room, she frowned at the dried grass mattress set upon a simple, wooden frame. Isabella grew heartened when she gazed out the only window. Her chamber could be seen from a hill top half mile away. A calculating gleam burned in her eyes. The Demons could easily slip into the fortress, if Nicolas listened to Michael. She glanced worriedly at the door, anxious what plans William had for Alison and herself.
Time was not on their side.
* * * *
Nicolas squinted painfully, the ground shook as the Black Knights and the Demons quickly formed a protective line of defense. Groaning, he held his throbbing head from the deafening sound of hooves pounding and armor rattling.
"Drago, are you injured?” Gabriel bent one knee on the ground to better inspect the fallen man.
"I'm fine, just took the back swing of a damn club. They have Isabella. We must prepare an attack on McLeod.” He accepted Gabriel's offered hand. Standing unsteadily, the earth continued to move under his feet. Ignoring the queasiness of his stomach, Nicolas carefully made his way to his horse and barely managed to swing up in the saddle.
Michael reined his horse next to Drago, halting him. “We cannot ride in full force to rescue Isabella. It will start a war, and that's exactly what McLeod wants."
Fury warred with helplessness. Nicolas snarled, “What the hell do you propose we do, wait until they rape her or when they send a ransom note?"
"Drago, we have not the time to tell you all our secrets. The one I share must never be spoken to anyone outside our men.” At Drago's cautious nod, he continued, “The Demons have a special purpose in Edward's armies. We were formed to infiltrate castles and seemingly impenetrable fortresses to either assassinate the target the king wished dead or rescued, depending on the situation. We are sent first into battle to inspire fear for we are rumored to be inhuman.” Michael explained in a tone harsh with pride.
Stunned by the revelation of the Demons’ true purpose, Nicolas asked in a calmer voice, “What are you suggesting?"
"Trust in me, Drago, to return Isabella to us.” Midnight eyes misted, Michael desperately took hold of his warring emotions. “Isabella is the only family I have. In fact, she is sister to our Demons and Black Knights."
Gabriel urged his horse closer to Drago's. “Isabella has given many at Blood Keep a second chance to have a decent life. She single-handedly made Blood Keep a home for the unwanted when the world spit on them. We all owe our lives to Isabella and wish to bring her home safely. Let Michael go and bring her back!” He grasped Drago's arm firmly, his eyes beseeching the furious knight to listen.
Sagging in exhaustion and defeat for a moment, Nicolas squared his broad shoulders, once more in command. “We ride for Blood Keep and make plans in private. I fear we have a traitor in our midst. Signal the knights to form ranks, we head home.” He rode over to his wounded knights, followed by Gabriel and Michael.
Upon entering Blood Keep's courtyard, the injured men were quickly helped inside the castle and taken care of. Nicolas dismounted, holding onto his horse as his world spun dizzily. Ahmed took the reins, handing them to Miles and assisted him inside. Collapsing in a chair by the fireplace, Nicolas accepted the cup of wine from Aggie and downed the cool contents.
"Michael, I want you to send a couple of men to McLeod's castle, investigate the situation. Also, find out if we have anyone in the Keep who left McLeod's in dissatisfaction. Either they can aid us or reveal themselves as traitors."
Michael left to do his bidding, Gabriel remained. “Do you think Alison had anything to do with the ambush?"
Frowning ominously, Nicolas answered the worried man. “Isabella warned me something might happen on the road home. Whether or not Alison knew of the attack, the question will have to be asked of her when we get them back.” He wearily got up and climbed the stairs to the solar.
If Alison was guilty of treason, Gabriel swore, he would personally deal with the woman. Isabella had been betrayed to many times, he could do no other than stand by her side, no matter his feelings for Alison and her son. His duty was to the Baroness of Blood Keep.
In all his years, Nicolas had never felt the pain of loss as intensely as he now suffered being separated from Isabella. He had bedded more than his share of women, but none ever came close to the woman who had rode out of her castle to meet him as an equal.
The scar above his heart began to ache. Nicolas rubbed the mark where he and the Demon Lord were joined by the fateful arrow at Halidon Hill. Sitting down heavily in the chair by the blazing fire, he thought of the first time he laid eyes on the Demon Lord nearly two years earlier.
The campaign in Scotland was fairing poorly. Edward's armies were successfully being held back by David II's Scotsmen. Edward was sitting behind a desk with maps laid out before him, raging at being pushed back into England again when Nicolas and other commanders strode inside the tent, covered with blood and grime from a recent ambush, reporting more losses.
King Edward leaned back in his chair. “Gentlemen, I have taken your reports into account and have decided to change our tactics. In fact, Hell is on its way as we speak.” Edward's mouth curved in grim satisfaction as the ground under their feet shook as the rumble of heavy hooves closed in.
He followed Edward outside as did the other knights. The sun was setting blood red behind an army of knights clad in black armor riding black warhorses, all perfectly uniformed and matched. Riding in front of the long columns of knights, three riders rode abreast. The two flanking knights, one on the left and right carried banners of red silk with a she-demon screaming her rage, pulled their horses to a halt. The third rider urged his horse forward. The stallion he rode rose on his back legs, screaming his defiance at the armored men before him. The dark knight brought his horse to a trembling halt. An unholy helm, sprouting steel batwings, bent in greeting to Edward.
The two flanking knights removed their helms, exposing one man who was golden as the other was dark as sin. An angry mutter rose from the gathered commanders and knights standing near Edward when the leader failed to lift his helm and acknowledge the King.
Edward just smiled patiently as he raised his hand for silence. “Lord Demon, I welcome you and your troops with open arms. I respect your need for privacy as those in my command will. Direct your men to camp over yonder, further ensuring your seclusion.” Facing the men gathered around him and in a booming voice, he made his orders absolutely clear. “No one is to step one foot in the Demon Lord's camp! Any who disobey my orders will be executed on the spot."
The Demon Lord inclined his helmed head in acceptance. Edward continued, “I will join you for a private supper and bring you up to speed on the campaign."
The magnificent stallion wheeled about and the Demon Lord led his troops to their indicated camp area. Nicolas later found there were well over three hundred knights, squires, and archers in the Demon Lord's command. When his eyes met the King's, he couldn't help questioning Edward's motives.
Aware of Nicolas’ doubts, he answered, “I know what you are thinking. Why do I bring such an evil company amongst our honorable knights? The answer is quite simple, the Scots are not nearly as afraid of me as they should be. After tomorrow, they will know what fear truly is!” Edward growled grimly, though a momentarily look of regret crossed his proud features.
"What do you mean, Your Majesty?"
Edward pointed at the black armored knights, carrying black lances held aloft. “They are known as the Black Knights and the others, riding with bared serrated-edged swords, are known as the Demons. The Black Army is merciless and will stop only when I command it. No force in the world can hope to survive against their
single-mindedness."
Nicolas remained doubtful until the next morning when Edward unleashed the Black Army onto the field of battle. The victory was complete! In all his years, Nicolas had never seen a force like the Demon Lord's. The merciless black knight, his Archangels by his side, fought with such ferocity it caused fear to pool in the pit of his stomach. Nicolas was extremely glad the Demon was on their side and not their enemy.
In the next several battles, the Demon Lord and his men fought side by side with Drago and his knights. Word spread quickly of Edward's two champions, the Red Dragon and the Demon Lord. The war slowly turned, but a major victory was needed to settle the question of Edward's rightful presence in Scotland. Halidon Hill was the last battle he and the Demon fought together, the very same which almost ended both their lives.
Rubbing his eyes from the slaughter he witnessed and had personally committed as the Scots kept on coming in droves. The Demon Lord was twenty feet away, fighting two men at once. Nicolas worked his way to help when a wave of cavalry rode hard at them, catching them on foot. He faced the new threat when he heard someone scream his name. Startled, Nicolas saw the Demon Lord racing towards him. The black knight launched himself in front of him, grabbing him.
An arrow ripped through the left shoulder of the Demon's armor, burying its sharp tip deep into his own, narrowly missing their hearts. Nicolas faintly heard Gabriel shouting for aid. The Demons and the Black Knights swarmed the attacking Scots, protecting the pinned pair. All he could really remember was holding the silent figure and felt the shallow breathing from a man suddenly a lot smaller than he expected. Michael ran towards them with bolt cutters as the surgeon examined the entwined knights. When the man nodded his consent, the arrow was cut.
The scent of roses haunted him, out of place on a field of blood and smoke. Half-dazed, Nicolas watched Michael gently lift the Demon Lord in his arms, placing the unconscious knight on a canvas stretcher. Two Black Knights rushed away, carrying the unconscious man to his tents. For a brief moment, his eyes met the midnight ones of the feared Michael. He frowned at the man who stared at him accusingly as if it were his fault the Demon Lord was injured. Nicolas never had the opportunity to thank the Demon for saving his life, or ask why the man would risk his own to save his.
