The Red Fury

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Not far from Dewey was Josephine, kneeling beside a soldier as she gently removed his armor. Sully felt a sense of contentment sweep over him at the sight of her, and his heart lightened as he approached her. She always had that effect on him. She stood up as he approached, wiping her hands on her tunic.

  “My lady,” Sully greeted.

  Her eyes flew up to meet his; she had not seen him coming. Her eyes locked with his, as each saw that the other had survived yet another battle. After a moment, Josephine smiled.

  “Good, Sully, you are here,” she said with relief in her voice. “Tell me of the situation of my fortress.”

  Sully followed her over to one of the giant hearths so they could take their business away from the men.

  “I have Etienne on the outer wall blocking in the gaps, and Burl and Albert are on the main gates, although I cannot guarantee their repair anytime soon,” he told her. “It seems that most of the damage is confined to the outer bailey this time.”

  She nodded, some relief in her expression. “Good,” she replied. “But what will we do tonight about the open outer entrance?”

  Sully didn’t hesitate. “I will order the gates to the inner bailey secured and double the guard,” he said evenly. “I will post as many men-at-arms at the entrance as we can spare, while the work proceeds through the night.”

  “Archers?” she inquired.

  He crossed his arms. “They shall be tripled.”

  Satisfied, she nodded. “Very well. Then I shall leave you to your duties.”

  Sully could see how exhausted she was from the way she carried herself. He reached out and put a gentle hand on her arm. “You are weary, my lady,” he said gently. “Why do you not retire to your chamber?”

  Josephine shook her head emphatically and almost lost her balance. Her beautiful hair was secured in a knot behind her head, and tendrils came loose and tumbled free to her mid-back. Irritated, she pulled out the remaining pins that stuck in the tangle. Sully watched her; God’s Bones, how he longed to run his hands through that hair!

  “I cannot, Sully, you know that,” she said insistently. “I must make sure that every man is tended for the night. Then, perhaps, I will retire while Justine and Dewey keep vigilant watch.”

  Justine. Sully’s ears twitched at the sound of her name. Ever careful, so as not to offend his mistress, he chose his words.

  “My lady,” he said evenly. “I am well-aware of Justine’s… uh… powers but, mayhap, she should retire when you do. The men should sleep and not be distracted by Justine’s… skills.”

  Josephine’s eyes flashed for a split second, and Sully feared he had upset her. But he soon discovered her anger was not directed at him.

  “Justine’s only skill is annoyance,” she said. “But she is learning much from Dewey, and I wish for her to continue learning. And as for her powers… ha!”

  Sully choked off a laugh at her last word and the expression accompanying it. Then they both glanced over at Justine, who was in the middle of the room sitting on the rushes between two wounded men. What she was telling them had their undivided attentions, as they watched her with intent awe.

  “… and distilled rose potion will attract the woman you long for,” Justine was saying with great exaggeration.

  “Aye? Is that so?” one of the soldiers said.

  “Absolutely,” Justine said emphatically. “And then, root of mandrake will increase your virility once you have her. It never fails!”

  Josephine shook her head at the topic of conversation. Justine, at seventeen years of age, fancied herself a physic as well as a mystic. She lacked any sort of modesty when it came to her knowledge of herbs and potions, as she was displaying with her open discussion of love potions and male virility. Her honesty and forthrightness were redeeming qualities in a girl who could quite easily be perceived as a lunatic.

  But she had little tolerance for her sister. Josephine rolled her eyes in exasperation as she turned back to Sully.

  “God’s Bones,” she muttered. “The woman has no shame. Fear not, Sully. She will retire when I do. Mayhap even before.”

  Sully bowed graciously, but a grin was playing on his lips. “As you wish.”

  As the weary captain of Torridon’s forces walked away, Josephine gave her sister a second glance. Justine’s hair was a rich brown color and her face was pleasingly oval. Her eyes were unspectacular in a shade of blue and her lips were sweetly curved. She was, at best, almost pretty. But she was skittish, selfish, and could be exceedingly odd. Yet, she made a superior chatelaine, in that she was a consummate perfectionist, and demanded the same from the servants. The servants, in turn, feared her because she was a self-proclaimed white witch. None wanted to find out on their own if she truly possessed the power.

  But Josephine avoided her sister, at least at the moment. She hadn’t the strength to deal with her. With a weary sigh, she made her way over to Dewey to ask him the general condition of her men. It seemed she was always asking that question, always asking after the condition of men who were tested time and time again. She’d lost so many, but she hadn’t lost count. She still remembered their names and their faces. Knowing the cause of their death was something of such great waste, it made those deaths more difficult to bear.

  But bear it, she did.

  The long day was about to turn into a long night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was well after midnight when Josephine retired to her room. Justine almost had to help her up the stairs, but ever-independent Josephine would not allow it. Her thirty pounds of chainmail felt like one hundred pounds as she reached her heavy oak door. She pushed it open as she bid her sister a good night.

  Inside, the comfortable room was lit and warmed by a blazing fire in the hearth. Her maid, Ola, had already filled the large iron tube with steaming water, and she could smell her precious rose oil emitting from it. It filled her senses and with the implication of great relaxation and cleanliness away from the horrors of the day, she couldn’t wait to get her clothes off.

  Ola came in through the door, her arms laden with linens. She was surprised to see her mistress in the room.

  “Oh!” the plump little maid cried. “My lady, let me help you!”

  Josephine was too tired to even utter a word as Ola dropped the linens and began to strip her mistress of every scrap of clothing. The chainmail landed in the corner with a loud clank, followed by the tunic, undertunic, and breeches. Finally, Ola helped her weary mistress into the huge tub.

  It was a routine they went through quite often, a bathing ritual that Josephine relished. But as she allowed the hot water and precious oils to steam away the sorrow and weariness, there was envy in the heart of the little maid. There always had been.

  Ola had been with her mistress a very long time. As she oiled and scrubbed the woman, she found herself wishing for her mistress’ perfect body. Josephine wasn’t tall, only of average height, but she possessed a shape that would make God himself lustful. Her slim neck gave way to soft, white shoulders and well-shaped arms. Her breasts were round, full, and perfect. A taut torso blossomed into shapely hips and a deliciously rounded bottom. Oh, how Ola envied her mistress!

  But it was a quiet envy, something she’d always kept to herself, as one does when one admires something unattainable. Finally, when every inch of Josephine’s body was scrubbed clean, Ola gathered her things and vacated the chamber.

  Oblivious to her maid’s envious thoughts, Josephine lay back in the tub, her eyes closed. For the first time in over a day, she was alone, with no sounds of battle or anguish filling her ears. It was quiet and peaceful. But, God’s Toes, she ached to the marrow in her bones. Even her aches had aches. But the warm water soothed her tired body and made her incredibly sleepy. So before she fell asleep, she carefully pulled herself out.

  Ola had left a large piece of drying linen warming by the fire, and Josephine quickly dried off. Over on the bed lay her white lamb’s wool robe, and she pulled that on. The rob
e was soft and sensual with the way it clung to her feminine curves as she went back over to the fire to dry her hair. Laying crosswise in a sling-back leather chair, with her neck resting on the armrest and her damp hair cascading down to the floor in front of the warm fire, Josephine meant to dry her hair that way. But she was asleep before she took two breaths, unable to hold off the exhaustion that was clutching at her.

  And this was how Sully found her.

  He had come up to tell her of the progress on the damaged section of wall and found her door slightly ajar. Upon entering, he could see the back of the chair and the hair spilling over one side. Rounding the chair, he was hit with the vision of the peacefully sleeping Josephine, her lips moistly parted in slumber. With stolen minutes, he watched her sleep and allowed himself the luxury of exploring his feelings for her.

  He simply couldn’t help it.

  Sully had loved Josephine for as long as he could remember. Even if she hadn’t been the earl’s daughter and had simply been a peasant girl, he would have loved her. There was something about her that had always drawn him to her. But now, it was a difficult situation. He knew her feelings were not the same for him, simply because she considered him her very best friend. She’d told him so many times. It had been Sully who had always protected her, Sully who had comforted her when her favorite horse died, and Sully who lied to Hugh on Josephine’s behalf when she snuck out of Torridon disguised as a boy to attend the faire in the village. He had been with her through the good and the bad, and that only made him love her more.

  But there had been dark times in that one-sided love affair. Josephine had almost been betrothed two years prior to the fat, old Earl of Kilbrennan, but it was Sully who saw through the old bastard’s façade and convinced Hugh that the earl would have treated Josephine less than desirably. There had always been rumors, but it was Sully who had done some digging. He had discovered that Kilbrennan had a deviant sexual streak. The earl used to like to watch his now-dead wife and daughters as they engaged in sexual acts with more than one man at a time, and sometimes with objects of the earl’s choosing.

  It had been a disgusting discovery and Hugh had been exceedingly grateful to Sully for that information. Josephine had never known about it, of course. But yet again, Sully had saved her from a horrible fate.

  He was always there for her.

  Josephine stirred in her sleep, disrupting him from his thoughts, and a portion of the robe fell away, revealing one shapely leg and a portion of the other as they hung over the side of the chair. Sully was only human. He would have liked nothing better than to run his hands up the silken limbs, but he knew he couldn’t. His main duty in his life was to protect Josephine, especially from himself.

  There was something in him that wanted to nurture and pamper her. Even take care of her. Like now, he knew she would sleep much better on a bed and not a chair, so with infinite tenderness, he picked her up and carried her over to her bed. Gently laying her down, he pulled the coverlet over her, and Josephine snuggled down in her sleep and sighed contentedly. Sully smiled at the sight, wishing with all of his heart that he could have crawled into the bed next to her.

  But he couldn’t. She was an heiress, and he was not of her station. Josephine was as she always was – unattainable.

  Quitting the chamber, Sully shut the door quietly behind him, leaving his mistress her well-deserved sleep.

  *

  The next morning

  Josephine sat at the head of the massive oval table in what used to be her father’s chair. The chamber was the Knight’s Haven, a long, rectangular room that was located off of the great hall where Hugh would meet with his knights. Now, it was the place where Josephine met with the very same men, men that had become her knights.

  The room was rich with the heritage of Torridon Castle. The de Carron banner of two black serpents facing each other against a field of white hung high above the head of the table. It smelled of smoke, of rushes, and of the special aromatic wood her father had liked to burn in the hearth. Josephine always felt closest to her father here, and today that feeling was especially important. She prayed that Hugh would understand what she was about to say.

  She’d come to a decision.

  It wasn’t an easy decision, but a necessary one. She’d been mulling it over for months. But after yesterday, she knew she had to do something. She could no longer sit back and watch the Dalmellingtons destroy her beloved home.

  Dressed in a rich surcote of emerald silk over a white underdress, Josephine’s beauty hid the power of her distress. The dress hung low on her shoulders, revealing their tempting lines and a hint of cleavage. A gold linked belt hung low on her hips, and her thick hair was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck and was secured with a golden ribbon. It was a beautiful picture, deceiving to the men who were now entering the chamber.

  There was something on the wind.

  The knights entered the room in a group, taking their usual places about the table. Josephine sat straight in her chair, waiting until all were seated before she spoke. But first, she glanced at the faces of her most loyal knights – Sully, Burl, Albert, Henly, Simon, Rickard, and Bruce; sitting on her right. Etienne, Severn, Geoffrey, Stephen, John, Quig, and Christoph were to her left. There were fourteen of them, a rather large number, but the Earl of Ayr’s estate demanded such skilled protection. Hugh had made sure his lines were well-fortified with expensive knights. It was something that he could afford. Each one of the knights looked at Josephine with unquestioning loyalty, which made what she was about to say more difficult.

  But the time had come.

  “My faithful friends,” she began. “I realize the hour is early and you have your duties to attend to, but thank you for coming at my summons. I wanted to say that you were all magnificent yesterday in the latest Dalmellington attack, and you have my undying gratitude. But the damage we sustained yesterday was beyond anything we have seen up to this moment and the task of rebuilding is sorely stretching our resources and our subjects. I fear that it will only get worse.”

  Josephine paused a moment, watching their reactions. Everyone seemed to agree. Folding her hands, she collected her thoughts and continued.

  “I love Torridon with all of my heart, and to see it and my loyal subjects so badly assaulted pains me deeply,” she said. “Therefore, I beg you to understand what I am about to say. We cannot take any more of these barbaric attacks. We are losing men-at-arms by the tens and, very soon, we will have no one to defend our walls. And you, my brave knights, I fear I will lose one or more of you at any time. And that, I cannot bear. My reason tells me to fight until there is nothing left for Colin Dalmellington to take, but my heart says to save Torridon any way that I can. I choose to listen to my heart.”

  Sully stiffened in his seat. She had said nothing to him about this, but he knew she’d been agonizing over the situation for quite some time. Yesterday’s battle had been particularly bad. Now, a warning bell went off in his mind.

  Good Lord, he thought. What is brewing inside that pretty little head?

  She didn’t keep him waiting.

  “I have decided to travel to Burnton Castle and discover what will pacify Colin Dalmellington,” she said firmly. “Whatever it is, within my power, I shall give it to him.”

  The knights bolted to their feet, all loudly protesting her decision and declaring their intention to fight until there was no breath left in their bodies. Josephine had expected this and she stood as well, holding up her hands for silence.

  “Gentle knights, please,” she begged. “There is no other choice, as I can see it. But if any of you have suggestions, now is the time.”

  They quieted somewhat as if contemplating alternative plans, looking at each other in discussion or yelling across the table. Only Sully was silent, watching his fellow knights in their animated conversations. Still, his mind was working swiftly – he truly wasn’t surprised to hear of her decision, and it wasn’t as if he entirely disagreed. It was o
bvious that she meant to do something to spare her castle and her people, but what would be the least dangerous option for her? Would walking into the Dalmellington lair be her best choice? He didn’t think so.

  “Dalmellington will demand a marriage,” Albert, a burly and younger knight, was almost yelling. “The bastard will marry her to some lout-headed relative!”

  “No, no,” said fair-haired Severn. “He’ll demand all of Torridon’s riches and her title!”

  “Ye’re both wrong, laddies,” Quig, the ruddy Scotsman, cut in with his usually calm fashion. “He’ll demand her maidenhead. He never could keep his eyes off our mistress.”

  Josephine’s bile rose at that thought. Oh, Sweet Jesus, would he really? Would the man be low enough to demand such a thing? She stepped away from the table as her men argued and wandered to the wall where the swords and shields of her father hung. She was still so young, never having any true responsibility in life until Hugh died. She’d never had to make a serious decision in her life.

  And that inexperience was showing.

  Josephine had awakened in the dead of darkness last night, her mind churning with worry. That happened often but, this time, it had been different. She had had a dream that her father stood on the drawbridge of Torridon, looking at his devastated fortress with such sadness that Josephine sensed he believed all of Torridon’s problems were her fault. She had taken his once-magnificent castle and run it right into the ground.

  Naïve as she was to the ways of the world, somehow Josephine believed that reasoning with Colin Dalmellington would solve the situation. Sweet Jesus, she had tried! She had tried so hard to keep Torridon running as smoothly as her father had, but she had one thing to contend with that her father hadn’t – Dalmellington attacks.