by TJ Bennett
The two men trudged into the woods while the others waited, silent and watchful.
They heard the branches rustle while the men moved through the trees, and suddenly a sound like a groan. Then nothing.
The black-haired man rose slowly.
“Loys? Mattio?”
No reply came forth. Inés held her breath, looking desperately over at Fritz. His chest moved. He was still alive, thank the heavens, but for how long?
“Mattio?” the black-haired man repeated, the worry in his voice more apparent. He exchanged glances with the helmet-clad man still holding her other arm. A twig snapped. They jerked their heads toward the sound. A moment later, a pebble rolled toward them, several paces away from the first sound.
The helmet-clad man released her and pulled out his dagger. The men slowly circled, turning to face the sound, their swords at the ready. The air thickened with tension. Neither man spoke a word.
Suddenly, a berserker cry rent the night, and Günter rushed them from behind, swinging his blade in a vicious arc with both hands. The helmeted man went down first. The black-haired man raised his sword in a futile attempt to protect himself. Günter rendered his head from his body with the return arc of his blade.
He swung around and stood over Inés in a protective stance.
“Are there any others?” he asked her, his words clipped and precise.
Too shocked by her sudden salvation to respond, she merely stared up at him.
“Inés,” he repeated, his hard gaze sweeping the circle around them, “are there any others?”
“The—there were two,” she stammered. “They went into the woods a few moments ago.”
“They’re dead. Any others?”
She shook her head.
He nodded and lowered his blade. “Alonsa, you can come out now.”
Alonsa appeared from the edge of the woods where the pebble had been thrown and hurried to Inés’ side. She took one look at Inés’ face and murmured, “Madre de Dios.”
An icy cold possessed her body. Günter removed his cloak. Kneeling, he spread it gently over Inés and looked at her with concern.
“Fritz.” Inés could not say more. She could not make her lips function well enough, her teeth chattered so uncontrollably.
“I’ll see to him.” He rose and went to Fritz’s side.
Alonsa ran to the water’s edge, cut a swatch of linen from the hem of her chemise with Günter’s Katzbalger, dipped it in the water, and ran back. After helping Inés sit up, she pressed the cooling cloth to her face. It came away stained with red.
“Madre de Dios,” Alonsa whispered again, and pulled Inés close.
Inés trembled and stared over Alonsa’s shoulder. “Fritz?”
Alonsa looked at Günter in wordless query.
He laid his ear over Fritz’s heart.
“It beats strong,” he said, the relief in those three words evident.
Inés closed her eyes.
We are safe, and Fritz lives. Nothing else matters. Nothing else.
She fainted dead away.
CHAPTER TEN
“OPEN UP!” GüNTER BANGED ON THE DOOR OF THE old Cistercian abbey just outside the village of Broni. He had been banging on it for some time, and he would continue to do so until someone opened it. He knew it was late, and that it probably took time to unbolt the entryway leading to the visitor’s area, but he did not care.
He glared up at the pointed arches and flying buttresses of the three hundred-year-old brick façade. The stern stone saints perched alongside the bell tower glared impassively back.
Günter had no love of monks or their abbeys; what he had were wounded companions, and they needed help. He spared a glance at the cart where Inés huddled in one corner and Fritz another.
He smashed the door with the pommel of his
Katzbalger. The sound reverberated off the brick edifice and carried who knew how far. Every moment they stood outside made them targets. He banged on the door again.
“Open up, for God’s sake!”
A high portal in the thick, heavy-beamed door flew open, and a torch threw a halo of light behind a silhouetted shape. Günter assumed the monks had left a servant to watch the gate after they retired for the night.
A deep voice resonant with offense floated down through the portal.
“If it be God ye seek at this hour, ye might do it in a more respectful manner.” The voice spoke in a thick Lombard-accented French, the language of pilgrims and merchants.
Günter peered up at the portal, but the contrast between the bright flame and the surrounding darkness made it impossible to see.
“Move the torch, dammit,” he snarled in French at the servant. “You are blinding me.”
The figure hesitated, then obliged. A bald head encircled by a monk’s tonsure came into view. When he spoke again, his voice held a note of amusement.
“Good enough?”
“Oh. Yes, Brother, thank you.” Günter bared his teeth in a poor excuse for a smile and tried to appear congenial, though he was prepared to rip the door open with his bare hands if need be. “Do you speak German?”
The bald head shook in the negative.
“Spanish?” Günter asked. This time the head nodded.
Günter switched to Spanish. He could struggle along well enough in various dialects of Italian and French, and could even manage Greek if pressed, but he hadn’t the patience for it now. He motioned to his companions with the hand not gripping his sword in a stranglehold of frustration.
“We were attacked by bandits. We need your assistance. A place to stay for the night so that our wives might be safe.”
Günter deemed the lie about their marital status necessary because the monks would never allow unmarried women into the cloister. He raised one of the small purses he’d taken off the bandits and jingled the coins within. “We can pay”
The monk actually sneered at him. “Keep yer coins.” He glanced at Inés. “Need ye a physician?”
Mildly surprised, Günter hesitated. His glance flickered to Inés. They did not know if she had been violated. She had not spoken since she awoke from her faint. She sat unnaturally still, her auburn hair in tangled waves around her shoulders, her face bruised, dried blood on her split lip. She would need to be examined, and he suspected she wouldn’t wish it done by a man.
“A midwife, if there is one.”
The monk raised his bushy brows, a sharp contrast to his bald pate.
“A midwife in a monks’ cloister? What would she do all day, I wonder?” He looked past Günter to his companions and sighed. “We will see what we can do,” he said, slamming the portal shut.
Günter gritted his teeth and waited as he heard the sounds of shuffling on the other side of the door. Finally, unendurably, the door swung open. The monk, stooped and ancient, stood on the other side holding the torch aloft. He motioned with a gnarled hand.
“Come.” He turned and walked slowly away.
Günter had the impression intense pain burdened each step. No wonder it had taken the monk so long to answer the door.
Günter called after him. “Wait! What of the cart and horses?”
The monk motioned with his hand but neither slowed nor turned around.
“Bring them, bring them,” he said, his voice more ancient than the brick walls surrounding them.
Günter hesitated only for a moment, then hastened to the cart. Alonsa looked down at him with a question in her dark eyes.
“He says to bring them in,” Günter told her.
She raised an eyebrow at him, looking at the pristine outer façade of the building, but flicked the reins. The donkey started forward. Günter mounted his horse and led them in.
Inside, a large quadrangle lined with agricultural frescoes on the inner walls revealed itself beneath flickering torchlight. At its center lay a courtyard. A furrowed seedbed lined with dormant stakes of herbs and vines indicated a self-sustaining garden grew in warmer seasons. Heavy vines tr
ailed all around the walls and up the lacy, glassed-in windows. Stone benches faced the inner courtyard, and Günter could almost envision the monks pausing there for rest and contemplation. A sense of tranquility prevailed in this quiet place, and Günter took his first easy breath since they had left the disaster at the campsite. Guilt quickly followed, however, and he knew he would never forgive himself for placing those in his charge in harm’s way.
He glanced back at the doorway, which still stood open. It wouldn’t do to leave it, and it did not appear the monk had any intention of performing the duty again.
With a heavy sigh, Günter dismounted and shoved the wide door into place with a grunt, barred it, then stood back and stared at it in amazement. He looked at the shuffling form of the monk and wondered how he had ever managed to open it in the first place. Shaking his head, he led both horse and cart to the side of the courtyard, which held a tiny well and a bucket.
He assisted Alonsa down from the cart and then tied the donkey and horses up to a post. He would come back and water them later. Right now, Inés and Fritz were his first priority.
Alonsa opened the back of the cart and stared up at Fritz anxiously. The arrow point had entered his shoulder but had not penetrated to the bone. He bore a cut on his head from where he had fallen and knocked himself unconscious.
The shoulder wound had been shallow enough to remove the tip, but deep enough for the process to be extremely painful. Fritz bit down hard on his lip as Günter removed it with his knife, but he did not cry out. Afterward, his face ashen with pain, Fritz refused to meet anyone’s gaze, and indeed had said little during the journey to the abbey.
Alonsa turned to Günter. “Perhaps if we both helped, we could assist him down—”
“I can walk,” Fritz interrupted. “I can at least do that.”
Günter did not like the note of self-pity he heard in Fritz’s voice, but he decided to ignore it for the time being. He stood nearby as Fritz slid to the edge of the cart, cradling his shoulder. Fritz hissed in pain when he jumped down, but said no more.
Alonsa looked up at Inés, who stared blankly into the dark night surrounding them. She called Inés’ name. Inés merely blinked, then stared at Alonsa.
“You must leave the cart.” Alonsa’s voice was gentle, as though she spoke to a child. “Can you manage?”
Inés blinked again, and shook herself as if coming out of a trance.
“Yes,” she said briskly and stood up. She clutched Günter’s cloak around her and marched to the end of the cart.
Günter held up his hands to assist her, but she only lifted a brow and stared at him haughtily. “I am not glass. I will not break.”
Günter nodded, but did not lower his hands.
“I know.” He lifted a shoulder. “It will make me feel useful.”
Her mouth twitched. “Ah. Well, then.” She allowed him to help her down, smiling faintly up at him. “Heaven forbid you feel useless.”
Günter sighed with relief. This was the resilient Inés he had come to know, not that silent, vague creature who had huddled in the cart. She would be fine. He turned toward Fritz, who watched them both with a stricken expression.
“Yes.” Fritz’s mouth twisted. “Who needs a useless man?”
He swung away, clutching his injured shoulder, and followed the path the monk had taken out of the courtyard.
Inés bit her lip and hurried after him.
Günter cursed softly. “I did not mean—”
“I know.” Alonsa laid a hand gently upon his arm. She gazed after Fritz and Inés. “And so will he, someday.”
Günter shook his head. “But not today.”
“No,” she agreed with a frown, “not today.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with worry. “You might have been killed.”
“But I was not.”
“But you might have been. I warned you. You must take care. If something happened to you because of me …” Her voice trailed off.
“Nothing happened.” He swore, his voice soft, “Nothing will happen.”
Günter looked down at Alonsa’s hand on his arm, and even after everything—or mayhap because of it—he felt his longing for her rise again. She must have sensed it, too, because she quickly withdrew. He clenched his jaw and directed her to the arched doorway at the end of the path into which the ancient monk had disappeared.
They followed their companions inside.
In the small room with vaulted ceilings and burgundy colored wood, the monk had already laid out a round loaf of crusty bread, wine, and cheese on a massive wood-beamed table. He gestured, silently inviting Alonsa and Günter to join Fritz and Inés at the table.
Alonsa sat, but Günter remained standing. Fritz stared into his cup of wine but did not drink. Inés tried, but winced when the cup met her swollen lip.
“What’s this?” The monk’s deep voice rumbled. He shuffled over to her and lifted one of the flickering candles on the table, shining its light on her face as he peered down at her.
She looked away, color flushing her skin. “It is nothing.”
The monk motioned to her bruises. “If this be nothing, I would hate to see what something is to ye.” He shook his head and clucked deep in his throat. His wise old eyes traveled over Fritz, who shifted uncomfortably under his perusal, and then returned to Inés.
“May the Lord’s righteous vengeance strike down the men who did this to ye.”
Günter smiled grimly. “They are no longer His problem.”
The monk looked at him and tapped a bent finger against his thin cheek.
“So, that’s the way of it, eh?” He thought for a moment. “I be ordained in the Holy Order, as well. Have ye come seeking absolution?”
Günter set his teeth. “We have come seeking shelter, as I said.”
The monk raised one bushy eyebrow at Günter’s terse reply.
For some reason, Günter felt the need to defend himself. “Since when does a man need absolution for protecting the helpless?”
The monk tilted his head to one side and smiled a knowing smile, revealing a healthy set of teeth for a man his age.
“There is that,” he said with a nod. Clutching the candleholder, he shuffled off without another word, but not before making the sign of the cross over each of them. He exited through a door at the rear of the room, and they heard his voice drift back from the other side of the threshold.
“Ye will be needing lodgings.”
They heard his shuffling feet pass down a hidden corridor; the light from the candle he carried followed him out. They exchanged quizzical glances.
Günter, reverting back to German, spoke first. “I wonder if that means he will provide it.”
“I do not care,” Alonsa answered with a heavy sigh. “I am so weary I could sleep on this table tonight and be content.”
As if to prove her point, she laid her head down on her folded arms. Günter, drawn to her side, put his hands on her shoulders and gently kneaded the taut, fine muscles there. She groaned with relief.
The sound, husky and compelling, penetrated to his core, and desire flooded through him. He stilled, acutely aware of their surroundings, but he couldn’t bring himself to release her. Just then, in this quiet place and after so much death, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted her before. Wanted to feel the life pulsing in her warm body, taste the sweetness of her soft flesh. He wanted to bury himself inside her, rejoice in her glory.
Alonsa lifted her head in inquiry. His expression must have revealed his sudden lust, for she blushed and her gaze skittered away. She straightened, effectively removing herself from his touch.
“I am fine, now. Thank you.” Her voice, soft and breathless, denied her words.
He took a deep breath. Now was not the time.
Now never seems to be the right time, his body grumbled.
He took a step back, away from what he wanted most, refusing to indulge in self-pity.
The battle is not over yet. And the time will
come.
“Soon,” he said softly, for her ears only.
She glanced up at him, startled, and their eyes met. The word hung in the air between them. She stared at him, her dark eyes filled with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He knew then she understood.
Soon.
He promised it with his eyes while he gazed down at her with quiet hunger: he would not wait much longer. Heat burned across the distance between them, and she touched her tongue to her upper lip in an absentminded gesture of desire.
He smiled tautly. Oh, yes … she understood him at last.
Inés’ soft moan of pain broke the fragile silence. As if jerked from a waking dream, Alonsa blinked several times and peered anxiously at her friend.
“What is it?” she asked with concern.
“I cannot bite this bread.” Inés clutched a piece of the crusty bread in one hand and the side of her jaw in another. “I fear that black-haired bastard broke my jaw.”
Alonsa gently examined Inés’ jaw with her fingertips.
“I feel no break. It is probably only bruised, though I am sure it feels worse to you.”
Fritz stared at Inés from across the table, a dull flush evident on his cheeks, and reached for the bread. He winced a bit, but managed to pull out some of the soft inner parts of the bread and drop them in the wine in her cup.
“Here,” he said, handing it to her.
Inés waved the cup away. “No, I do not—”
He cut her off, his tone irate. “Drink it. You’ve had nothing since we began. How do you expect to get well with no food in your body?”
She glared at him.
“I will eat when you do,” she said, her chin tilted up.
His nostrils flared. He broke a chunk off the crusty bread with an angry gesture and thrust a piece in his mouth, chewing with rapid, grinding motions. He held the cup out to her again.
“Take it,” he ordered, his clear blue eyes hard as steel.
In mere hours, the look of innocence that had once shone from his face had disappeared.
Inés grabbed the cup, drops of wine sloshing unnoticed over the rim. She drank the way he ate, the movements tense and angry. They stared each other down, neither of them speaking a word, and finished the meager meal in silence.
