Dark Warrior (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  She stopped struggling, but couldn’t seem to stop the pained, almost animal whimpers being ripped from her throat. The pain in her shoulder was so great, she was certain it was dislocated and her arm was broken. His grip on her wrist was savage, grinding her bones painfully together.

  “’Tis a shame I don’t have time to give you a good fuck before we go upstairs. I cannot tell how much I enjoyed pounding that virgin ass of yours.” He leered at her. “But, fret not, my lady. As soon as I’ve disposed of your husband, I’ll see to it that you get plenty of fucking—in your ass, your cunt, your sweet little mouth…and I’d better not feel any teeth, bitch.” Between words, his thick tongue was swirling across her skin, slobbering down her neck, along the line of her jaw.

  She didn’t bother to repress her shudders. His repulsive body pressed against her back. She could feel his erection poking against the cheeks of her bottom. Another wave of nausea swept over her, threatening to send the remnants of the meal she had eaten earlier spewing all over her and the floor.

  Then, all of a sudden, he released her, twisting her arm so violently she nearly fell to the floor. With a cry of anguish, she grabbed her mangled left wrist, cradling it in her right hand, sobbing and struggling to catch her breath. The pain was agonizing.

  “Fetch me that candle,” Walford ordered, waving the knife toward the sputtering tallow candle on an iron stand in the center of the table. She bent and picked it up. Giving her a hard shove between her shoulder blades, he said, “You first.” He pushed her behind the tapestry and into the tight spiral of the stone staircase leading up to the roof. The icy draft in the tiny chamber flattened the candle flame, making it gutter, threatening to blow it out and leave them in the dark. The cold knifed through her, chilling her to the marrow of her bones. She stumbled over something lying on the floor and realized in horror that it was the body of Matthew Vyne. She sucked in her breath, but before she could say aught, Pemberton gave her another hard shove.

  “Keep moving.” She felt something sharp prick the skin on the back of her neck.

  Holding up her heavy skirts with her right hand to keep from tripping, she gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain as she held the wildly guttering candle aloft with her left. Slowly, they climbed up through the gloom. The trap door at the top of the stairs was already open, explaining the icy draft that was being funneled down through the narrow, enclosed space into the solar below. No wonder she’d been so cold. Walford withdrew the knife from her neck and she felt his hands on her buttocks as he pushed her up through the opening and followed her out onto the top of the tower. A stiff breeze immediately extinguished the candle flame, plunging them into darkness lit only by stars.

  “What are we doing up here?” she demanded hoarsely, trying to inject as much steel into her voice as possible. “’Tis freezing! Why have you brought me here?”

  He wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, sliding the blade of the knife across the front of her neck. “Why, to witness my triumph, of course.” He was practically slobbering on her. He kept the knife pressed unwaveringly across her throat. As he pushed her forward, his erection pressing against her buttocks, she had to walk very carefully. If she stumbled, she would wind up cutting her own throat.

  “How did you know about the hidden entrance?” she asked curiously.

  Walford chuckled, a harsh, evil sound. “The old Duke, Roger Herron, bragging about the extent of his holdings, brought me up here, thought I’d be impressed. Stupid old fool.”

  Gradually Kathryn became aware of all the noise coming from the south. Chains clanking, wheels creaking, men shouting…

  “Listen.” His tone was gloating. “Hear that? My war machines are moving forward, getting ready to attack. They will take this castle apart stone by stone.” He pushed her inexorably with his body toward the south wall. Every step brushed the obscene hardness of his stiff penis against her bottom, until her belly bumped against the crenelated stone wall of the parapet. She put out her hands to steady herself. The scene below made the blood run cold in her veins.

  A long row of catapults, trebuchets, and mangonels were lined up across the flattened hilltop, mirroring the entire length the south wall of the castle, each one being attended by a couple of dozen men. Wagons loaded with stones the size of Persian melons lined up behind them. The Duke of Pemberton rubbed his hands, unable to contain his excitement. “Is that not a sight to stir the blood,” he chortled gleefully. “Watch, little whore. Watch my army vanquish your husband and destroy this castle. By the time this fight is over, the lot of you will be on your way to Newgate and the name of Herron will be wiped forever from the map.”

  “Nay, my lord,” she retorted venomously, “you watch. The only army being defeated this night is yours, and the only name wiped from the map will by your own!” She had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when the entire line of deadly machines began rumbling noisily toward the castle. Aghast, Kathryn watched as they rolled across the ground like a sideways-moving snake, until suddenly, inexplicably, the front wheels of one of them, which happened to be just a little bit ahead of the others, seemed to begin sinking into the ground, as though it had suddenly encountered a treacherous bog. Watching it, Kathryn wasn’t quite certain what she was seeing. It sank a few inches, paused for a brief instant, and then toppled forward so ponderously it seemed as if time itself had slowed or come to a stop. One by one several others along the line began the same, slow, forward topple and Kathryn finally realized that they had fallen into a ditch!

  Aha! So that’s what Nicholas’s villeins had been doing with the hay and shovels! They’d been digging a long ditch, just deep enough to prevent any siege engine that fell into it from being pulled back out. And they’d filled it with straw and covered it over with a thin layer of dirt. Then they had scattered straw all over the ground to conceal the presence of the trench. Oh, Nicholas, my very clever husband! When you say you have a plan, you really have a plan! Shaking her head in admiration, she watched Walford’s soldiers scurrying around like beetles around a dung heap as they frantically tried to prevent more of the heavy machines from falling into the ditch.

  At that very moment, three hundred and thirty-four archers atop the outer battlements touched the tips of their arrows to the small campfires at the base of every other merlon. Secured behind the barb of each arrow was the small crockery pot filled with Greek fire. As one, the archers stepped into the crenels, took aim and released the arrows, lighting the night sky with streaks of fire. The entire line of war machines was set ablaze as the pots broke, spewing their flammable contents all over the wooden surfaces, even as the second volley of flaming arrows soared toward their marks. Followed swiftly by a third, fourth, and fifth volley. The wooden war machines were in flames. The sixth volley set the straw-filled ditch between the enemy and the castle wall ablaze as well, sending a sheer wall of flames leaping higher than the heads of the enemy soldiers. The night air was filled with their agonized shrieks as they were consumed in the conflagration that seemed to swallow them whole. It was a total rout. And it had taken less than a minute.

  An enormous cheer arose along the ramparts of the south wall even as Robert Walford pushed Kathryn aside so roughly that she fell heavily to the stone floor of the parapet. He stumbled forward, staring in disbelief at his soldiers trying desperately to flee the carnage.

  “Stop!” he bellowed, shaking his fist at his fleeing army. He’d forgotten Kathryn completely. “Come back, you bastards! You sniveling cowards! Damn you, victory is ours! Come back and fight, you whoresons!”

  While his back was to her, Kathryn stood and tip-toed up behind him. Closing both hands around the hilt of his broadsword, she yanked it from its sheath and laid the blade across the side of his neck. Wisely, he held himself still, his hands lifting in a placating gesture. “Now, now, my dear,” he licked his lips nervously, “let us not do anything hasty.”

  Moving around to face him, the sword never wavering, she
smiled at him coldly. “I would advise you not to make any sudden moves, Your Grace,” she said almost conversationally. “Or you might accidentally wind up with a sword through your neck. And that would be a pity, because it would deprive me of the pleasure of seeing that neck in a noose when they hang you at Tyburn.”

  He could not resist opening his mouth. “You think you’ve won, don’t you, bitch?” He spat at her. “Go ahead,” he commanded in the shrill, high tones of utter insanity. He was practically foaming at the mouth. “Kill me. But that won’t stop my army! Even now they are preparing for a second assault!” Fumbling with the dagger at his belt, he drew it and raised it as if to strike at her with it, but seemed to freeze in place, unable to complete the motion.

  She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Not so, Your Grace. Your so-called army is in total rout! Look up! See that flag up there?” She pointed to the large red flag fluttering in the breeze from a flagpole high above the tower. Thank God Matthew Vyne had managed to raise it before he’d been killed. “’Tis a signal to the Earls of Lyndsley and Fairbourne and the Duke de Brienne to close their armies in behind you. You’re surrounded, Your Grace. I’ll wager your army is surrendering even now. You thought my husband was alone. But you are the one who is alone, Your Grace. You are defeated, Robert Walford. And you are now my prisoner.” Just to drive her point home, she pricked his skin with the sharp edge of her sword, sending a tiny rivulet of blood flowing down his neck.

  She stared at it, transfixed, feeling her muscles begin to tighten as the tide of memories from the night of his brutal attack swept through her with gale-driven force.

  “Release me at once, you whey-faced whore,” he snarled.

  And all of a sudden something snapped inside her. All of a sudden it was all she could do not to send her blade scything through his thick neck, severing tissue and bone and sending his head bouncing and rolling along the stone floor like some grotesque child’s toy.

  “Release you, my lord? Release you? Like you released me?” Trembling with rage, nearly blinded by the tears stinging her eyes, she could no longer hold back her hatred of the man standing before her. “I’ll release you into Hell, you spurgalled bastard!” she screamed in a voice hoarse with anguish. “You villainous, bawd-born traitor, I should kill you where you stand! You raped me! You beat me. You nearly killed me! You had no right to do that, no right—” She broke off to drag in a deep lungful of air before continuing. “You think that makes you a man, you worthless pile of goat dung? Preying on someone smaller than you? Weaker than you? You are no man, Robert Walford. You are nothing more than a craven coward! A maggot feeding on the death and destruction you create!”

  A bestial growl left his throat and for a moment it seemed as if he would leap forward and attack her, but he didn’t move. In fact, he hadn’t moved since he drew his dagger and raised it to strike her. He seemed to have frozen.

  “Kathryn! Kathryn!” It was Nicholas’s frantic cry coming faintly from the solar below. At the sound of his beloved voice, all the fight drained out of her, leaving her so limp, she staggered, nearly dropping the sword.

  Quickly she righted herself, getting right in Walford’s face, which looked strangely twisted all of a sudden. “Bad news, Your Grace,” she taunted. “’Twould seem your problems have just begun. That is my husband down there. He’s going to make you pay dearly for your actions this night. Indeed, he is going to make you wish you had never been born.”

  She could already hear heavy footsteps thundering up the iron staircase.

  “Kathryn!” Nicholas burst up out of the opening, sword in hand, followed by Rolf, Jack Montague, and Geoffrey Sanford, all with swords drawn. They quickly closed in around Robert Walford, who simply stood there, dagger still lifted over his head, eyeing them defiantly. His left eye started to droop, and his left hand began shaking uncontrollably. The entire left side of his face started to sag. It was as if he were a statue made of beeswax and half of him was…melting! Kathryn stared at him in horror, unable to tear her gaze away.

  “Drop the knife.” Nicholas’s tone was lethal. The tip of his broadsword pricked the back of Walford’s neck.

  At first it seemed as though Walford was going to refuse. But the additional swords pressing against his throat and the sides of his neck had him releasing his hold on the knife, sending it clattering to the stone floor.

  “You cannot kill him, Nicholas,” Kathryn said as Jack and Geoffrey stepped forward to grab Walford underneath his arms. “He appears to have taken leave of his senses.”

  “Nay, beloved,” Nicholas responded, eyeing his adversary critically. “He’s ill. He seems to be having some sort of apoplectic fit.”

  The two young knights moved Walford off toward the twisting stairs, a difficult job made even more difficult by the fact that the older man seemed unable to assist them by moving his legs. As soon as Nicholas, Rolf, and Kathryn were alone, they turned to each other.

  At once she dropped the sword she’d pulled from Walford’s belt. Nicholas dropped his and they closed the distance between them, throwing their arms around each other. He lifted her up off the floor, his lips pressing against hers, sweeping his tongue into the sweet haven of her mouth, ravishing her with his kiss. Rolf moved in behind her, wrapping his arms around both of them in a hard embrace.

  Nicholas ripped his mouth from hers, pressing her head to his shoulder, holding it in place with one big hand while Rolf stroked his hand up and down her arm. “Christ! Kathryn! We feared we had lost you!” His words spilled from him in a frantic rush. “When Eric came and told us you were missing, we were frantic!”

  “Eric!” she cried, jerking her head back to look into her husband’s eyes, studying his expression, hardly daring to hope. “He–he’s alive?”

  “Aye, yndling,” Rolf said, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders, tilting his head to place a string of kisses along her neck and shoulder. “Sir Richard is tending to him. He’s lucky he has such a hard head.”

  “But Matthew,” she said, her eyes welling with tears, “Matthew is…” She finished with a shudder, unable to bring herself to say the word dead.

  “Aye, beloved,” Nicholas said, putting his arms back around her and just holding her. “He was a fine young man and I will miss him sorely. His father will be devastated. I just praise whatever gods there be that you are all right. When Eric told us Walford had you, I feared my heart would burst from my chest! The thought of you in the clutches of that bastard—” He shook his head, unable to finish the thought. “Then we realized that the only place that hadn’t been searched was the roof.” He stopped, tightening his arms around her convulsively, while Rolf did the same from behind. They both held her for a long moment before Nicholas grabbed her by her upper arms and stepped back far enough to look into her eyes. “Are you all right, beloved. Did he hurt you? God’s teeth! Your ear is bleeding!”

  She reached up and wiped her finger across the mark left by Walford’s teeth.

  “’Tis naught, my love. Just a slight nick.” Almost giddy with relief, she reached up and held her husband’s face between her hands. “Calm down, Nicholas, I’m fine. He just frightened me, that’s all. And when I realized he was completely mad, I knew I had the situation in hand until you got here.” She smiled up at him, then craned her neck to look back at Rolf. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered, touching first Nicholas’s, then Rolf’s lips with the tip of her finger, all her love for them shimmering in her eyes. “I knew you would save me.”

  Rolf chuckled. “Seems to me thou saved thyself, min skat. Thou hadst complete control of the situation before we ever got here.”

  “Only because he was too weak and sick to give me any trouble,” she argued. “By the way, husband” she added breathlessly, “that was quite an impressive display of archery back there.”

  Nicholas grinned, thrusting his fingers through her hair and cradling her cheek against his palm. “I told you I had a plan.”

  He bent his
head and their mouths met in another soul-destroying kiss. Their tongues dueled frantically as he pulled her hips into an erection so blatant she thought it would rip through his hose.

  “Aye,” she said with a breathless little cry, “so you did.”

  Panting heavily, he somehow managed to force himself to break off the kiss before he lost control completely and took her right there on the cold roof. “Come, my love.” His voice sounded strangled, strangely breathless. “This night is not yet over. We must allow the rest of the drama to play out.”

  They descended the tight spiral staircase back down to their solar. As soon as their feet touched the floor, Rolf swept her up into his arms, twirling her around as his mouth sought hers in a kiss so filled with hunger she was ready to surrender to him on the spot. “By all the gods, yndling,” he groaned, his eyes glittering with a relief so powerful he was shaking with it. “We were so frightened for thee. Promise me thou wilt never put us through aught like that again.”

  She laughed. “I think that is a promise I can make quite easily,” she said, curving her fingers around his cheek and placing her lips gently against his. He carried her over to the doorway before finally setting her on her feet again.

  The hallway at the bottom of the stairs was alight with blazing torches and swarming with men milling about and talking in small groups. At the sudden appearance of Nicholas and Kathryn in their midst, they ceased what they were doing to bow to their Duke and Duchess. Nicholas shook hands with everyone he could reach. As the three of them emerged through the screens passage into the great hall, they were met with thunderous applause, shouts, and raucous whistles. Hundreds of knights and archers were crammed into the massive chamber, ablaze with spluttering torches and flickering candles.