Donnel's Promise

by Mackenzie, Anna

  The man, Fell, grinned down at Risha. Blood stained his teeth. ‘Not yet then. Gives us something extra to look forward to.’

  Shifting his weight he shoved her skirt up her thighs and reached to loosen his trousers. ‘Better watch how it’s done, Bodo.’

  Risha lay passive as he shoved her legs apart, her dagger out of sight beneath the small of her back. As the man lowered himself onto her she brought her arm upwards with all her strength. Her battered wrist screeched a protest as the blade bit and slid sideways.

  Fell cursed and pulled back. Risha stared at the knife in her fist, its blade smeared with blood.

  ‘Bitch.’ Fell dropped his hand to his side. ‘Bitch!’ He drew back his fist.

  The blow never came. Fell collapsed on top of her. Risha scrabbled away, kicking and shoving till she was clear of him. Bodo was staring at Fell. Risha crouched, her blade ready. Her torn bodice fell open and she held it closed with one hand. There was a shout from the road. Bodo ignored it, his face stretching in a slow smile. ‘I was happy to go second, but I like the idea of first better.’

  Risha turned and ran. She ran blind, heart pumping, knowing it was stupid, knowing it wasted energy. Knowing there was nowhere to go. A hand closed on her shoulder and she spun, flailing blindly through her tears, stumbling painfully to her knees. She’d dropped her knife. How could she have dropped her knife? And … and … there’d been a second blade in Fell’s body. Her stroke had only injured him, she’d missed her target; she’d barely grazed his side, her knife skittering off a rib. Someone had stabbed him in the back. Bodo? She stared wildly around.

  Two men were fighting a few feet away. As she watched, uncomprehending, Bodo stumbled backwards, his attacker driving him to one knee. She couldn’t watch the killing stroke, but heard it. A sob tore up from her belly. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t fight anymore. Closing her eyes against the horror of it, she bowed her head and wished herself back in the mountains, wished herself Pelon’s daughter, wished herself free of both Cattra and Donnel. Or dead.

  There was no sound. Risha opened her eyes. A few paces away Muir was doubled over, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, her limbs creaking as if she’d aged decades, Risha pushed herself up. Giving Bodo’s body a wide berth she walked carefully toward Muir. Hands dropping from the hilt of his earthed sword, Muir slowly sank to his knees.

  ‘Muir?’ She knelt beside him.

  Reaching a hand to her neck he snugged her in against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding against the wall of his chest. They stayed motionless like that, until his breath began to ease.

  She couldn’t keep the world at bay. ‘Are you all right?’

  A sound rumbled low in his chest. His hand moved to cup her head. Leaning back into his palm she looked up at his face.

  ‘Did they hurt you?’ His eyes burned.

  She shook her head, abruptly aware of the rent in her bodice and the bruises on her thighs. Her hand shook as she pulled the torn edges of her dress across her exposed breast. ‘No.’

  His hand dropped from her head. ‘Good.’ He drew a shuddering breath. ‘I thought we were too late.’

  Too late. Images spooled back through her head. Sitting straighter she turned to stare at the carnage on the road. ‘Where’s …’

  She stood up.

  ‘Wait.’ Muir levered himself upright as she began walking.

  She took no notice. Each step seemed to jolt up to her heart. Nine against two. Croft and Webb had never stood a chance. She’d seen Webb fall. Could he have survived that blow? And Croft—

  ‘Risha, wait.’

  Ignoring him, she kept on. She passed a horse, its reins dragging, and looked around for Mica. He was cropping on the verge a little distance away. Several of the militia’s horses stood nearer, two dripping blood. Someone moaned.

  Risha felt her gorge rise as she stared at the bodies that lay sprawled in the road. There were six.

  Muir was at her side. ‘Dangerous. Check first.’

  His breath was still uneven; she wondered, suddenly, if he was injured.

  The man who had moaned rolled his head toward them, his hands fumbling ineffectually at the wound in his belly.

  ‘Turn away,’ Muir said.

  She stared at him.

  ‘Turn.’

  She did as he said, and heard a wet gurgle, then nothing.

  Muir placed the point of his sword at each man’s throat and checked for a pulse. There were no others alive. Risha found Webb and dropped to her knees in the dirt. At least it had been quick. She closed his eyes.

  ‘Can you ride?’ Muir asked.

  She gazed up at him, her eyes blurred by tears. ‘Croft’s not here.’

  ‘We need to go, Risha. Can you ride?’

  He extended a hand and she let him help her up, though he seemed in equal danger of falling down himself.

  ‘Mica — my horse.’ She pointed but quickly lowered her hand lest he see how much it was shaking. ‘Some of them are missing,’ she added. ‘Their captain and another man.’ The one whose fingers she’d severed.

  ‘A couple decided they didn’t like it when the odds changed to something a little less in their favour.’ Muir blew out a pained breath and spread his hand flat across his chest.

  She touched his arm. ‘Muir, are you injured?’

  He made a breathy sound. ‘Ribs, I think.’ He drew a slow breath. ‘Nolan went after them.’

  She blinked. ‘Nolan’s here?’

  ‘We tracked you as far as Deeford; later found the camp by the lake. Got harder after that. The woman who let you use the barn was our first real piece of luck.’

  And she’d thought the woman must have given them away to the militia. But then maybe she had. Maybe she told anyone who asked whatever they wanted to know, in the hope of being left in peace. Remembering the feel of Fell’s hands on her body, she shuddered. ‘What about Croft?’

  ‘Went after Nolan.’

  She couldn’t get a clear picture of the course of events. Muir was staggering toward his horse. It took him three attempts to get his foot to the stirrup and several more to heave himself into the saddle. He groaned as he did it.

  ‘Come on. We’ll get your horse.’ He bent to offer her a hand then swayed upright with a grimace. ‘Not sure I can lift you.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ll walk.’ She took hold of his stirrup and they made their way in silence down the road.

  Mica proved skittish, but when Muir proffered a handful of barley from a sack strung behind his saddle he snuffled forward. Risha snared the trailing reins and leant in against his neck, the smell of horse a welcome respite from the reek of ugly death.

  ‘Need to move,’ Muir said.

  She set her foot in the stirrup and swung onto Mica’s back. Her legs ached. Everything ached. She glanced sideways at Muir’s grey face. Perhaps not as badly as Muir.

  They gave the bodies on the road a wide berth. As they passed, a crow lifted into the air. Risha winced. ‘I don’t like to just leave him.’

  ‘Later,’ Muir said.

  They’d gone half a mile when they heard horses approaching fast along the road. There was nowhere to hide. Muir wet his lips with his tongue. ‘If it’s not them, let me do the talking.’

  Risha said nothing. Her heart had begun to leap like a jackrabbit and sweat prickled down her back.

  She recognised Nolan but not the man with him. Both looked battered, though Nolan considerably less so.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, as he reined in before her, then faltered, staring, so that she began to wonder at her own appearance. ‘Risha?’

  ‘I’m—’ she swallowed — ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Told him it’d take more than a couple of ruffians to get the better of you.’

  She gaped at Nolan’s companion. It was Croft. A Croft so battered that she hadn’t recognised him. When he grinned only half his face moved, revealing broken teeth behind bloody lips. His nose had been reshaped and both eyes were a
puffy mess of swelling flesh. Blood stained his chest and arms, some, at least, his own.

  ‘Croft.’ Her throat thickened, blocking her words, but there were none anyway that would have helped.

  ‘You stopped them?’ Muir asked.

  Nolan gave a terse nod. ‘Webb?’

  Risha shook her head.

  ‘We need to get some distance from this. Anyone coming upon it, and us, wouldn’t wait to ask questions,’ Muir said.

  ‘Merren Bay is two days’ ride, but it’s safe.’

  ‘I’m not leaving Webb with those curs.’ Croft kicked his horse past without waiting for a reply.

  Nolan hesitated only briefly before following. ‘We’ll meet at those trees.’

  Following the line of his arm, Risha nodded dully and urged Mica forward. Muir rode in silence at her side.

  The cloud had given way to gentle sunlight — it was hard to believe that it was only hours since they’d sheltered in the barn. Risha eased her position to reduce pressure on her inner thigh. If Muir hadn’t arrived when he did … ‘Was it you who killed the one who—’ she faltered — ‘the dark-haired one?’

  ‘Try not to think of it,’ he said softly.

  ‘Was it?’ she persisted.

  He nodded. ‘Would that I’d got there sooner. I heard you cry out, but when you weren’t with the others … it took a few minutes to reach you.’

  Her eyes slid from his.

  They reached the trees.

  ‘He was … he …’ Her body had begun to shake.

  Muir nudged his horse alongside and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right now. Ssh.’

  She gulped her tears down, dragging harsh little hiccoughing breaths. If she gave way to crying now, she was afraid she might never stop.

  With a grunt of discomfort as he turned, Muir tugged a shirt from his saddlebag and dampened the edge. Gently he wiped her face. ‘That’ll bruise, most likely.’

  ‘He liked to hurt women. He said so. He said he’d—’

  ‘Leave it. It doesn’t help.’ He lifted the torn edge of fabric at her breast. ‘Is there some way we can fix this?’

  A flush spread up her face as she stared at the tan of his fingers, so close to the white of her skin. ‘I’ve a pin.’

  She hunted through her saddlebags till she found it then fumbled the torn edges together. It was less than perfect, but better than nothing.

  Muir, meanwhile, had torn his spare shirt into strips that he’d knotted into a crude bandage. ‘I need you to strap my ribs.’

  He made a noise in his throat as she wound the bandage around him and knotted it tight. By the colour of his face she wasn’t sure whether she had done more harm than good. ‘It’s not too tight?’

  His reply was indecipherable. Nolan and Croft arrived soon after. Risha looked determinedly away from the lumpy bedroll tied over Webb’s horse.

  ‘We need to put as much distance as we can between us and this place. Come nightfall, we’ll take stock,’ Muir said. No one disagreed. ‘Nolan, can you keep us in the right direction and off the roads?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘All right then. Let’s ride.’

  They buried Webb in a glade overlooked by ash and beech trees.

  After, and a decent distance away, Nolan lit a fire and Risha cooked a stew of potatoes and onions. She felt too empty to eat. Leaving the others to their meal she walked back to the grave. She hadn’t known Webb well; didn’t know whether he had a family who would mourn him, or friends who would weep. She touched the stone that lay above his head. Of the ten men who had died, Webb had surely been the best.

  The fight had not been like the siege of LeMarc; it had been close, and personal. Perhaps worse, it had been men from Havre killing others from Havre. Her stomach heaved and she bent forward, battling nausea.

  Vormer was to blame. By killing Athan, splintering the guard, Vormer had turned good men into renegades, had set town against town and neighbour against neighbour. And for what? She smeared the tears from her cheeks. Webb must not have died for nothing. Goltoy and Vormer must be stopped.

  Behind her, a throat was cleared. She spun around. It was Croft. She stared, mute, at his mashed face.

  ‘He was a good lad,’ he said. ‘A good fighter and better scout.’

  ‘If I hadn’t insisted on riding west, he’d still be alive.’

  Croft shook his head. ‘It serves no purpose thinking about the things we might have done. Whatever decisions we take, good and bad happens just the same. He was a guardsman, lass. He knew what the job was, and he wouldn’t have changed it.’

  She picked at the blood that had dried around her thumbnail. ‘I saw him go down. He was fighting two when another clubbed him from behind.’

  ‘Big brute, blackthorn club as long as your arm?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Caught your friend Muir in the chest later on. Barely slowed him at the time but he’ll be feeling it now.’ She stared at him bleakly. ‘Was that what happened to your face?’

  ‘This? No, that was their captain. Had a couple of his men hold me while he proved how brave he was.’ The sound that came from him was something less than a laugh. ‘He didn’t take kindly to being unhorsed. Shame I didn’t finish him then.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Ah no, lass. I brought it on myself: the odds were never good. It was just what they said about you — I knew I’d be no help to you once I was tied.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you … they didn’t …’

  ‘I’m fine, Croft. Truly.’ Her hand slid over the dagger at her hip. She shook the memories from her head. ‘I’m truly sorry about Webb.’

  He sighed. ‘You and me both.’

  After moonrise they went on. Risha was glad not to camp beside Webb’s grave, though she had to steel herself to climb back into the saddle.

  When they finally stopped for the night she fell asleep so quickly she barely heard Muir’s grunt of pain as he knelt to spread his bedroll, or Nolan’s offer to take first watch.

  The men must have crept up while she slept. A knife flashed. She opened her mouth to cry out but too late: a hand closed over her face. Other hands tore at her dress. She tried to kick but she was pinned, a weight crushing her legs. Biting and scratching she wrenched her mouth free and cried out. Hands trapped her flailing arms.

  ‘Risha! Wake up!’

  Her eyes flew open.

  ‘You’re safe, Risha. It was a dream, a nightmare.’

  She was panting. ‘Nolan?’ The moon was behind him, his face in shadow. ‘I … it seemed real.’

  ‘It’s over. No one’s going to hurt you. Do you understand me? I’m here, and Croft and Muir. You’re safe.’

  Her heart was pounding hard enough to shake her. ‘Did I … did I wake you?’

  ‘No. Go back to sleep now. Everything’s fine.’ His fingertip brushed her cheek. A moment later he moved away.

  Dry-mouthed, Risha stared into the darkness. Something rustled to her right. She turned her head but could only make out the broad shape lying a pace away. Wrapping her fingers around the hilt of her dagger, Risha turned on her side and curled her knees to her chest, blanket pulled tight to her ears.

  After the nightmare she slept only fitfully, and rose before dawn to change into the trousers and jerkin that had served Guardsman Rush. Lyse’s torn dress — her best dress, once — she bundled roughly into a saddlebag.

  Muir tsked disapproval when she again refused food, and insisted that she chew a leathery stick of jerky. She did as he asked, but only to please him. Her belly felt cramped and tight.

  In the early afternoon Nolan led them onto a promontory that jutted like a pointing finger into the lake. ‘Caledon lies directly north,’ he said, pointing across the sun-shimmered water.

  Risha raised a hand to her eyes but couldn’t make it out. East and west the lakeshore wrinkled away in bays and headlands of green and ochre. With the sky a cloudless azure above, it was if the thunderstorm of yesterday
had never been.

  ‘There’s a sheltered cove just below us, if I can find the path down,’ Nolan said.

  ‘When will we reach Minna’s?’ Risha asked.

  ‘Day after tomorrow.’

  ‘We should go on.’

  ‘Half an hour won’t hurt,’ Muir said. ‘Any fish in that lake?’

  Croft caught three silvery trout that they cooked over a small fire and divided between them, burning their fingers and mouths on the sweet flesh. Risha’s belly bucked, but the food stayed down.

  After, ignoring the heat it brought to her cheeks, she asked the men to turn their backs while she waded into the lake. The grazing on her thigh was an angry red around dark stains of bruising like dirty fingerprints. There were more on her shoulders and breasts. She washed herself quickly, ducking beneath the surface to rinse the accumulated sweat and dirt from her hair.

  The men took a turn when she was done. Muir approached afterwards, shirt in hand, to ask that she restrap his ribs.

  She studied the depth of bruising across his torso and went to find Nolan’s salve, smoothing it as gently as she could across the blood-blossomed flesh. Muir winced.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He shook his head.

  She dropped her eyes from his. A thin line of scarring tracked around his side. She traced it with a fingertip. ‘Is that from when I accidentally cut you?’ His flesh shivered beneath her hand.

  ‘The least of my scars, but my favourite.’

  She kept her eyes lowered, returning the lid to the pot of salve, studying the tattered bandage. ‘These knots will be uncomfortable. Wait.’

  Retrieving Lyse’s dress, she slit the seam with her knife and began tearing a broad strip from the skirt.

  ‘You’ve ruined it,’ he protested.

  ‘I don’t care to wear it again.’

  Their eyes met briefly. She shied from the sympathy his held. Briskly she began wrapping the fabric around his ribs, knotting it off when she was done. ‘There.’

  Muir’s hand caught her fingers against his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. ‘Thank you.’

  Looking up into his face, she felt, for a brief moment, as if everything might somehow be all right.