by Sarah Hegger
Roger crouched beside Aldous. “He breathes.”
Aldous might yet live. Any wound bled prolifically. So much blood. Gregory crouched beside Roger.
Roger glanced at him and shook his head. Roger lied. Gregory wanted to pound his fists against Roger and force him to recant.
A gaping hole winked its seeping maw at him from an inch below Aldous’s ribs—a gut wound, agonizing and fatal. How could God have let this happen? God could not be this cruel and unjust.
Aldous’s breath rattled in his throat. “Sword wielder.”
“Old man.” Gregory’s tongue swelled thick and dry.
Aldous watched him.
Gregory clasped the man’s bloody hand in his. He had strength in his limbs, enough to spare, enough to fill Aldous. God, the pain must be nigh unbearable. How had Aldous clung to life this long?
“They took her.” Aldous raised barely a whisper. “They took her and the boy.”
“Calder?”
“Aye.”
Roger shot to his feet. “Whoreson!”
Feebly, Aldous tugged on his hand until Gregory lowered his head closer to his mouth. “Listen with your heart, warrior,” Aldous whispered. A sweet smile spread over his face as his eyes dimmed.
Gregory closed the old man’s eyelids. Aldous looked as if he merely slept, peaceful and serene. Nay. The word built in Gregory’s chest wilder than the summer storm outside. He threw back his head and roared it to the heavens.
He bellowed until his throat burned raw, but still it grew within him in wave after wave. His voice failed him before he was spent. He clutched his friend’s hand in his. Aldous had been a good man, one of the best he had ever met. His beliefs may have been strange to Gregory, but his deep-seated respect for all things living came as close to God as Gregory had ever known.
“We need to ride for Calder.” William touched him on the shoulder.
Not trusting himself to speak, Gregory nodded. Carefully, he slid his hands beneath the old man. He hefted him into his arms and cradled him to his chest. Without his formidable spirit, Aldous weighed nothing in his arms.
“Shall we bury him?” William followed him into the brewing storm. Wind whipped across the knoll and battered them with the moist scent of coming rain.
“Nay.” Gregory placed the man on the ground beside the entrance to his lair. “He would desire to be burned.”
Roger looked startled, but instructed his men to gather wood.
Gregory returned underground and hunted through the debris until he located the old man’s staff. He wiped it free of blood and carried it out. Calder had Faye, but Gregory refused to leave Aldous for the crows and carrion eaters.
They built a pyre and placed Aldous on it.
Aldous had spoken of this and Gregory would see him honored thus. Carefully Gregory laid Aldous’s hands by his sides, straightened his legs and smoothed his robe over his ankles.
Gregory removed Aldous’s battered sandals and put them beside him. Finally he placed the staff close to the body and stepped back. Just as Aldous had desired.
Roger stepped forward with a lit brand and thrust it deep within the pyre.
As the wood caught flame, Gregory had no words for a prayer. Aldous would not have recognized their sanctity in any case. Thick, oily smoke and flames oozed around the old man, and engulfed him.
They rode out with the flames burning behind them.
* * * *
Faye turned to greet her husband.
Calder stood in the doorway. A triumphant smile spread in a flash of white teeth across his handsome face. He opened his arms wide as he strolled into the room. “Welcome home, my lady.” His movements contained as he walked forward, the anger in him leashed but pulsed beneath the surface. He had her and they both knew it.
Faye backed away as she inclined her head in greeting.
“No words of welcome, my lady?” Calder’s cocked his head. “No loving whisperings of how you have longed for me?” He stopped right before her, towering above her by several inches. His shoulders crowded the room from view.
She caught the scent of mint on his breath, the sickly sweet smell of the oils he used for his beard. A tremor began in her belly and spread to her legs.
Calder lifted his hand.
Faye tensed for the blow.
He grinned and slid his hand past her ear.
Faye breathed out, softly so as not to provoke him further.
“What have you done to your hair?” He toyed with the shorn ends of her hair. “I do not like it. You will grow it back.”
Calder ordered and she obeyed. Faye nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor. He did not like her hair. He would punish her for certain.
His hand, hard beneath her chin, forced her face upward. “This rebellion of yours is done, my lady.” His gaze burned into her, implacable and cold. Ice crept over her skin. Calder’s fingers tightened on her chin. She would be bruised come morning. His boots barked against her bare toes and pressed. “I want to hear you say it.”
She knew better than to cry out and she curled her nails into her palms. Faye opened her mouth to give him what he wanted, anything to spare herself the harshness of his hand. Her racing mind slowed. Her breath drew in and out of her chest. The steady thump of her heart sounded loud in her ears.
Calder’s face loomed in front of her, brown eyes, pale hair, square jaw, bold nose and chin, a man like any other. His mint breath wafted hot and moist on her face. She had thought him taller, larger. A man, vicious and twisted, but still just a man. Faye probed at the new place within her. Fear, aye, and near to overwhelming, but beneath that, a woman of strength and courage. A woman Faye had faith in. “You will not keep me here.”
Calder’s face tightened in anger. “Aye, I will. You are my wife before man and God.” He dug his fingers into her jaw until she cried out in pain. His delight in her pain spread over his face. “I see you remember.”
“You are hurting me.” His hand over her jaw made it difficult to speak. “Release me.”
Calder jerked his head back. Surprise bloomed over his features for a moment before he threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed against the stone walls and battered against her ears. Calder flung her away from him.
She tripped over the hem of her gown and tumbled to the floor. Her palms slapped against the stone floor and stung. Her knee went numb on impact. The steel tang of blood filled her mouth from where she bit her tongue as she fell. Whoreson. Faye eased onto her haunches.
“You have grown a spirit.” Calder crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “I like it.”
A blur out of the corner of her eye as Simon darted to her. He shook as he pressed his weight into her .
She managed a smile for him. “Are you all right?”
“Come here, boy.” Calder loomed over Simon.
Simon paled. His hands gripped hers as he shook his head.
Never. Faye crawled to block Simon from Calder’s view.
“Do not make me ask you again.” Calder’s voice purred with menace as he took a step toward them. His shadow fell over her.
“Leave him be.” Faye inched her hand into her boot. Her fingers touched sharp steel. She drew it into her palm, hiding her hands in her skirts as she struggled to her feet.
Simon clutched the back of her skirts.
Faye raised her chin and met Calder’s stare. “Your anger is with me.”
Calder’s glare glittered almost black. Color stained his cheeks as he advanced. His breath rasped loud in the still room. “I have not forgotten you, wife. I will deal with you once I have seen to my son.”
She circled to keep Calder in sight. The jewel on the dagger’s guard dug into the soft flesh between her thumb and her fingers as she tightened her grip around the knife.
Calder stopped. He clenched his hand into a fist and raised it. Slowly, he taunted her.
“Do not.” The blow snapped her head to t
he side and set her ears to ringing. Sweet Jesus, the man did not spare his strength with he struck. Miserable, cowardly swine.
Simon cried out and Faye grabbed his shoulder to keep him where he was. She spat blood at Calder’s feet. “Sodd—”
Heat exploded across her cheek with Calder’s next blow and she staggered to stay upright. The blade cut into the tender flesh of her palm.
“Do you see?” Spittle flecked the side of Calder’s mouth. Rage contorted his features. “Do you see what you have made me do?”
Faye pressed Simon behind her and away.
Calder lunged, and his arm lashed through the air. His fist caught the side of her head and took her right off her feet. Her hip cracked against the floor. Black spots danced in her vision and blood filled her mouth.
Simon was exposed, so slight and young as Calder stalked the distance between himself and her child. Faye grabbed the bed linens and scrambled to her feet. The whoreson would not touch her child. She lurched for Simon.
Simon stood frozen to the spot. His mouth worked soundlessly.
“Nay,” Calder roared. Cruel fingers fastened around her neck and jerked her to halt. Her head twisted, pain seared through her muscles and she grabbed for the hands.
The clatter of metal hitting the ground echoed through the chamber.
Calder stilled. His gaze flew to the knife.
It lay against the stone, the gem in the hilt blinking at them.
“Was that for me?” Calder’s inclined his head, his hand tightened against her throat. “Did you think to stab me?”
Faye flailed as his grip tightened on her throat. Her vision blackened at the edges. She gasped for air past the constriction in her throat, but it would not come. Calder’s face blurred before her.
He lifted her onto her toes. She clawed at his hand to get free, struck out with her legs.
He held her at arm’s length, his powerful shoulders bunched beneath his tunic.
She could not get air into her starved chest.
Calder laughed, cruel, jarring, as she dangled in his grasp like a poppet.
God, Simon watched this. Her boy stood there, face ashen and watched his father strangle his mother. Twisting against the hold, she lashed out with her legs. Air, she needed air or she would black out.
“Stop it.” Simon’s voice, tear logged and shrieking. “Let her go.”
Simon hurled himself at Calder, who jerked back a step
“Nay.” The word couldn’t escape past Calder’s fingers. Simon would be hurt. He must stop.
Calder dropped her. Her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to her knees. The dagger lay inches from her and she crawled for it.
Calder had Simon by the nape and shook him like a terrier with a rat. The man was so much bigger than the boy. Simon barely reached Calder’s waist. His thin chest worked like a bellows as he sobbed at his father to release him.
“Stop it.” Her scream was nothing more than a rasp. She scrambled toward her son, the knife in her hand. “Stop it.”
“You dare defy me.” Calder released Simon and spun toward her.
Simon froze.
“Run!” Faye forced the words past her damaged throat. “For God’s sake, Simon—”
Calder backhanded Simon.
The blow caught Simon on the side of his head and lifted him off his feet. He twisted through the air. Faye scrabbled forward to catch him. His cry filled her ears and then a sickening thump as he crumpled to the ground.
“You need to learn some manners, boy.” Calder stalked to her child.
Faye got there first. She wrapped herself around Simon, her back to Calder. Simon whimpered in her arms and she tightened her hold.
Calder grabbed her wrist, bone crunched as he forced her to open her hand. The knife fell out of her hand.
Faye tucked her head into Simon and braced for the next blow.
“You sicken me.” Calder hawked.
Wetness hit her nape. Faye shuddered and curled about Simon. The boy shook so hard, her entire form shuddered with it.
Calder stalked to the hearth.
The spittle slid down her spine and she retched. She could not let go of Simon.
Hearth flames flared. Simon sobbed as his wooden badger smoked and then caught fire.
“Let me show you what to do with a knife.” Malice lit Calder’s face as he bent to scoop up the knife. He raised it and tested the edge with his thumb, hissing as a small bright red dot of blood blossomed on his thumb. “Sharp, too. What a pity you will never use it.”
Calder twirled the dagger in his grip and held it as Gregory had taught her, underhand to deliver the most damage.
A sharp rapping at the door. “My lord?”
Simon burrowed deeper.
Calder wrenched open the door. “What?”
“You had better come,” Royce said.
“Now?”
“Right away, my lord.”
The door slammed shut and the bolt slid into place on the other side. Their footsteps receded, growing fainter and fainter.
Faye dragged in a deep breath. She had no time to weep and bemoan her fate. Hiding her winces, she uncoiled from Simon. Faye ran her fingers over his beloved, sweet face. She traced the angry red mark on his cheek. He had harmed her child. Her vision blurred and Faye shook as if she had the ague. The miserable whoreson had marked her precious child.
“You are bleeding?” Simon touched the corner of her mouth. “He hurt you.”
Faye wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the aches from Calder’s blows making themselves known. Knees shaking, she struggled to her feet. Her voice rasped from her raw throat. “I am fine.”
They couldn’t wait for Calder’s next brutal act. The chamber offered no hope. The casement stood open, but it sat high above the bailey. That way would bring certain death. They were locked in. Calder had her knife.
Her hip ached as she stumbled toward the food tray from earlier. She dipped a cloth napkin into the wine and motioned Simon over. Water would be better, but this was all they had.
Simon stood for her while she bathed the mark on his cheek. It would bruise for sure. Her hand shook and wine slopped over the table on the floor. Faye drank straight from the flagon. Wine stung her broken lip and spilled down her chin. The inside of her bruised throat screamed in protest.
The stench of Calder’s power crept into the room. It seeped into the furnishings and hangings and hung in the air over her head. Faye kissed Simon on the forehead. It could not end like this. She would not allow it.
The tray held the remains of their meal. Some meat, bread and fruit. No knife or anything else of use.
Simon trembled and she clutched him close to her, running her hands in soothing motions over his back. She needed to think. There must be something in the chamber she could use as a weapon. Calder would not lay another hand on her child. The chest at the end of the bed held linens. All weapons were secured in the armory. There had to be something, “Search.” She squeezed Simon’s shoulder. “Search for anything we can use to defend ourselves.”
Chapter 19
Gregory rode with Sir Arthur and Roger at the head of the army.
Calder Castle rose from the forest in all her majesty, a beautiful keep of massive proportions standing guard over the land for miles. What a pity she housed such a craven dog. Faye and Simon were in that keep. Gregory would take it down stone by stone, with his bare hands if he must, but he would get them back.
The army passed through the eerily still town of Upper Mere. Doors remained shut fast, windows shuttered. They traveled with colors flying in full view of the battlements. See us, the pageantry of the army yelled. See us and tremble before this might. Only Bess stood in her tidy yard and waved.
Gregory nodded to her as they passed.
“Set up the camp.” Sir Arthur spoke to his son. “They know we are here.”
Sir Arthur’s men moved out of the forest lik
e wolves, wary and alert to the possibility of archers. They stopped outside of bow length, but these men took nothing for granted.
“What is your plan?” Sir Arthur’s gray destrier shifted beneath him.
Gregory turned to stare at the older man. “My plan?”
“Your plan.” Sir Arthur swung his head back to the keep. “How are you going to get my daughter and her son out of there?”
“We need to present the writ.” Calder wouldn’t honor the writ. Gregory’s blood surged in imminent victory. And when he didn’t, Gregory intended to relish every moment of exacting the king’s justice. “When that fails, we attack.”
Sir Arthur grunted and crossed his arms over his pommel. “Ever attacked a heavily fortified keep before?”
“Nay.”
“I have.” Sir Arthur leant forward on his arms. “It is going to be a sod to get in there.”
“Aye.”
“So be it.” Sir Arthur nodded and straightened. “And then what, Sir Monk?”
“Eh?”
“After we get my daughter free and make that sod sorry he ever laid a hand on her, what then?”
“We free Faye and Simon and return them to Anglesea.”
“And then what?” Sir Arthur posed the question that had haunted Gregory since he’d first laid eyes on Faye. The answer rang clear in his brain. So clear it almost unseated him. He would not be returning to the Abbey. Sometime in his frantic search through the night, or even before then, something had changed for him. Leaving Faye at Anglesea a year ago paled before a life in which Faye no longer existed. Aldous’s last words to him made a ringing sort of sense. His heart might have known all along what his head refused to accept.
Sir Arthur’s glare bored straight to the heart of him, the eyes of a father demanding answers.
“Faye is mine.” The admission resonated through Gregory. It fit. The old, familiar battle stilled inside him.
“Make sure of it.” Sir Arthur clucked to his horse. “Because that is my daughter in there, and she deserves all I would wish for her. I gave her to a man who did not cherish her before and I will not do so again.” He moved off to join Roger.
