Only then did he see her, his eyes widening inside his helm as he jerked back to avoid her blade. He snatched up her mother's chair just in time to avoid her second slash, which sliced open the fabric covering the precious chair, spilling out stuffing.
He threw the chair aside, knocking the knife out of her hand, and took a step toward her. His hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
Ursula swallowed, looking desperately around the room for another weapon she could use. Curse her stupidity for not thinking to keep a collection of swords up here. All she had was her father's chair – too hard to lift, let alone use as a weapon – and her own tiny stool.
She grabbed the stool by one leg, hefting it like a hammer, and whacked it against the man's sword arm.
"Ow!"
She laughed and advanced, whacking him with the stool when he got within reach to drive him out. What she'd do then, she didn't know – she could bar the door, but then how would she get out? She needed to get down the stairs, and this Vauquelin soldier was blocking the door.
She aimed her next blow at his head, but he ducked and the stool smashed against the wall, leaving her holding nothing but one leg. A leg that ended in a point. Wishing it were a dagger, she thrust it at the man's face and he jerked back. And kept going, down the stairs, until he hit the wall and was still.
Ursula paused, waiting for him to get up, but he didn't move. Surely with his leg bent at that angle, he should be screaming in pain. Unless the fall had killed him.
Serve him right if it had.
Cautiously, keeping to the inner curve of the staircase, she crept down to him. Even as she reached the steps where he lay, he didn't move. Dead, then. Which she would be, too, if he'd caught her, or if any of his fellows did.
She had to escape.
Ursula forced her feet to move down the stairs. The corridor was eerily empty when she reached it. Perhaps the invaders hadn't reached here yet, and the soldier she'd killed was a scout, or something. That was what they called the men who went ahead, wasn't it? Now she wished she'd listened to more of her brothers' talk of war, instead of drifting into her own daydreams.
Her brothers' room was first, the door already ajar.
She pushed the door open fully and whispered, "Gidie, Eudes! Quick, wake up, we must go!"
But the boys in their beds didn't stir. They always had been heavy sleepers.
She reached out and shook Gidie's shoulder. "Wake up!" she hissed, then wished she hadn't. Her hand came away sticky. Sticky and warm. Still, she shook Gidie again. Only then did she realise how boneless he felt, like she was shaking a rag doll instead of a boy.
Dead. He's dead. Her mind supplied the information, but she refused to believe it. She shook Eudes next, and felt the unmistakeable flow of blood over her hands. Someone had slit the boy's throat as he slept, and they'd probably done the same to Gidie, too. The boys had never felt a thing.
Her father would not go down without a fight, unlike his sleeping sons.
Ursula headed for the passage, and the door to the next room. A body lay across the threshold. She lifted her foot step over it, and a hand caught her ankle. Caught, and held.
"Invaders," the man coughed. "You have to get out."
"What do you think I'm doing?" she hissed, shaking her foot free. "I must see my father first."
"No, Ula, you have to get out. Go somewhere safe and hide. Father is dead."
Only her family called her Ula, which meant…
She stared at the man's face, blood bubbling over his lips like an obscene kind of carmine. "Geoffrey?"
"Father's dead, too. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't. You're Berehaven's only hope. Save yourself, Ula," he whispered, then slumped to the floor.
Dead, like her other brothers. And her father.
She stepped over Geoffrey's corpse, then took a deep breath and dared to look into Father's chamber. Short of the front door, her only way out lay through here.
And past Orson, Baron of Berehaven. Father had not had time to dress, but he had managed to seize a sword. That hadn't stopped his assassins, though, for she counted no less than half a dozen bloody slashes in the front of his nightgown, his flesh gleaming wetly beneath. He lay on the hearth, like his dogs did in the great hall below, but that's where the similarity ended. His blood pooled beneath him – some of those slashes had run him through before he could reach the secret passage she needed.
She wanted to fall to her knees beside him, begging his forgiveness for every uncharitable thought, every infraction, but she'd seen how many of Vauquelin's men entered the castle. One of them could return here at any moment, and she could not disobey Geoffrey's dying wish. Her father would want her safe.
Ursula found the fake panel beside the fireplace that opened onto the secret passage. She risked one glance back. "Forgive me, Father," she whispered as she closed the door, shutting out all light as she headed into the dark and the safety it held. Her future couldn't possibly be any darker than the slaughter she'd left behind.
Chapter 4
I'm a knight, not a nurse," Bernard heard a man grumble. He didn't recognise the voice, but then his father had many knights and Bernard had spent more time at court than under his father's roof.
His father's tone was unmistakeable, though. "You're my knight, unless you plan on breaking your oath, and I don't tolerate oathbreakers. You'll stay here with him until he recovers or he dies, and we'll return in the spring."
"The spring? My lord, your own physician said he could die before morning, and that it is unlikely he will wake at all. What if the boy's dead tomorrow?"
"Then you will see that he gets a proper Christian burial, as my son deserves. There's no one left alive in the castle, so he has already been avenged, no matter who did this to him." Father's dark tone lightened. "Or perhaps we will have a miracle, and my son will recover. When we return in the spring, I will be sure to reward you for your part in returning my son to me."
"If he survives, he will surely be a cripple. Only half a man." Whoever owned the strange voice, he didn't have any problem sneering at Bernard.
"My youngest son will never live up to his brothers. I gave up hope of that a long time ago. But his death will give us a perfectly acceptable justification when I must tell the King what happened here. They killed my son, and I merely responded to their act of war. The King might even prefer things this way."
Bernard heard the scrape of a sword sliding out of its scabbard. "Why not just kill the boy now, and say they did it? I will do the deed for you, my lord."
"If you kill my son, Gosse, it will be the last thing you ever do. Whether he lives or dies is God's will, not yours or mine. That is why you will stay to care for him, while I lead my army home before we are snowed in for the winter."
Bernard felt a surge of bitterness. He'd been the one to tell his father about the threat of being snowed in, and that the Baron of Berehaven owed fealty not to their own king and his lords, but to a king and kingdom across the mountains no one had heard of for fifty years. The same king who'd sent a trade delegation to court. For days he'd laboured in the King's dusty library, sending the monks mad looking for records related to this mysterious vanishing kingdom.
But if he hadn't, he wouldn't have had anything to offer his father, to persuade him Bernard would be more valuable to him at home than at court. But then his father had found out about Dulcinea, and summoned him home anyway.
Now it seemed he was to die in this secret, snowy valley, that no one had thought much of for fifty years, much like the kingdom it guarded, across the mountains. But if he didn't die, he would have a whole winter without his father, without the King, in another kingdom. Bliss, surely. All he had to do to enjoy this paradise was live.
Live, and prove his father wrong.
The voices had fallen silent, so Bernard dared to open his eyes. He was lying in a bed, in a round stone room that looked very much like the tower where he'd met…it must have been some sort of harpy. Because no
woman he'd ever met would fight with such ferocity. Why, she'd pushed him down the stairs, and…he couldn't remember anything else, until now. Unholy strength, unheard-of ferocity…either she was a witch or some sort of demon. Or a witch who consorted with demons.
If she was so strong, then, why hadn't she finished him off?
Dread knotted in his belly. What if she'd already dealt him a killing blow, one that would kill him slowly, in agony, and his father and Sir Gosse knew, but he did not?
He lifted his arms and inspected them. They seemed well enough. He patted down his belly and chest, breathing a sigh of relief when he found no wounds or bandages. Where else could a man take a mortal wound? His head, perhaps. Gingerly, Bernard probed his scalp. Aside from one tender spot that didn't seem to be bleeding, his head was fine, too. He sifted through his father's words to the knight, and one closed its cold fist around his heart.
Cripple.
Bernard threw back the blankets and sat up. One leg was fine, sitting in all its hairy glory on the sheet. Oh, there was a bruise on his thigh where the harpy had hit him, but he'd suffered worse. It was his other leg that worried him, swathed in bandages that bound it to a plank of wood which went all the way down to his heel. He could just see his toes, peeping out at him like shy maidens. He gave them an experimental wiggle, then nearly screamed as pain shot up his leg.
He dimly remembered feeling the same pain on the stairs, before oblivion had claimed him. Passing out from the pain – if his father heard, Bernard would never hear the end of it. Half a man, indeed.
Well, no man he knew had ever died of a broken leg. Some of the King's courtiers walked with a limp – especially those who had accompanied him on his holy crusade. Bernard would say it was a war wound, and limp with pride. In fact, some of the men, himself included, had brought back some of their magical potion that was said to take away pain.
Father's physician must have already given him something, for his leg hardly hurt at all if he didn't move it. It would wear off, though, and he'd need more. Good thing he'd bought a plentiful supply of the stuff in the Holy Land, and brought it with him when he left court. But he'd left his things with the packhorses, not brought them with him. Had Father thought to…
Bernard scanned the room, hoping desperately for his things, but he saw nothing but chests and broken chairs, and a woman's shredded gown. The harpy's work, he assumed.
What if she came back to finish him off?
Bernard swallowed. He was naked and defenceless in bed, and he could not climb out to search for a weapon, either.
But surely if she'd wanted to kill him, she'd have done so while he was unconscious, he reasoned. He could see sunlight through the window, though there was no warmth to be had from the wintry light. She'd had hours, and he was still alive.
Taking a deep breath, Bernard swore that no matter what happened, he would survive. The day, the week, the winter – whatever it took. He would build his strength, so that when his father returned, he would have the courage to be the kind of man who would make his father proud.
Not the weakling half-man his father thought he was.
He'd better not tell his father about the harpy, though. His father would laugh himself sick at that.
His belly growled, reminding him that he had yet to break his fast.
He hoped someone would bring him food soon.
Chapter 5
Ursula sensed rather than saw the secret passage open up into a space so wide it could only be a cave. The escape route was older than the castle, for the current keep had been built on top of it. Her grandfather had told her that their people had once lived in caves, when the snow on the mountains was deeper, the river had flowed higher and they'd shared the valley with bears.
She'd believed the tales when he told them, but her brothers had only scoffed at them. Of course, Gidie and Eudes had promptly announced that if there were any bears left in Berehaven, they would hunt them and use their skins to warm their beds.
Beds that were cold now, and would be forever, for her brothers' boasting had been silenced by some foul hand.
Ursula dashed away tears, glad no one could see them in the dark. There was no one left to see them. Better to think about bears than her brothers. Her grandfather had said she would know when the secret passage brought her to safety, because the bears would guide her.
What bears she'd see in the dark, she didn't know, but she did know she'd been walking most of the night, and still she didn't feel safe. If only she could transform herself into a bear – not the man-sized ones she'd heard lived in the mountains, but the huge ones that her grandfather's tales told about. Three times the size of a man, and weighing three times that again. Such a bear would have to live in a cave, for he wouldn’t fit through the door of a house.
A cave like this one.
Ursula quickened her step, wanting to get out of this huge space to where she could touch the walls again. Somewhere safer, where no one and nothing could come at her out of the dark.
Was there light up ahead? She headed for it instinctively, never considering that the lightbearer might be one of Vauquelin's soldiers.
Luckily for her, the tunnel she entered was empty. A hole in the rock above sent down a shower of watery daylight – dawn, Ursula realised. She'd been walking all night. No wonder she felt like her body had turned from flesh to stone, almost too heavy to drag another step.
The dimly lit passage walls had a reddish tinge to them, like dried blood, but a closer examination revealed that the red was patchy. If Ursula squinted at it hard enough, it almost looked like a herd of horses, running in the same direction as she was headed. Following the horses seemed like as good an idea as any, so she did.
There were more holes now, some in the ceiling above, and some in the walls, so she could see when horses gave way to deer and some sort of large, shaggy cow. All running away from something, like she was. Running to safety and not death, she hoped fervently.
Her tunnel opened out onto a wider passage. One way led into the dark, while the other headed toward daylight. Ursula chose daylight, but she hadn't gone three steps before she came face to face with a bear.
She let out a whimper of fright before she clamped her lips together, praying that no one had heard. The bear certainly hadn't, for it was just a picture on the wall. How anyone could draw a bear on a wall that looked like it was snarling at anyone who approached, Ursula didn't know. Another three steps carried her past the picture, and she turned to look again.
Now the bear didn't look fearsome at all. It appeared to be staring down the passage into the darkness expectantly, sniffing the air. Behind him, more horses galloped toward her, heading into the cave, not out of it.
Whoever had painted these pictures wanted her to take shelter down the dark passage, and not leave the cave. Her grandfather? Or someone even older, for who knew how old these tunnels really were?
The only bear who wanted to guide her was painted on the wall, and he made it clear she should stay in the cave. Perhaps…she should. At least she could lie down and attempt to get some sleep. After a rest, when the sun had climbed higher in the sky, then she could see what lay outside, and whether it would be safe to go home.
Decided, she trudged into the dark. As she rounded the corner, so the bear vanished from sight, the air seemed to grow warmer with each step, like she was approaching a chamber with a fire. But a fire would give light, and the only light came from behind her, so she stuck her hands out in front of her to feel the way.
Her fingertips touched cold stone, and finally, Ursula stopped. The wall curved here, as far as she could reach, and she was too tired to take another step. So she lay down on the ground, tucking her cloak around her as closely as she could, and closed her eyes. Sleep was waiting.
Chapter 6
Excruciating pain in his leg woke Bernard from his uneasy doze. He lashed out with a fist, and felt the satisfaction of hitting flesh.
A voice down near his feet said, "I
told you to keep the patient still."
The pain in his leg, impossibly, grew worse. Bernard risked opening his eyes.
His father's physician bent over his leg, hiding it from Bernard's sight.
"He was still," the man to Bernard's left muttered, giving him a dark look. "Until you woke him up. Dumb luck he hit me at all, really. He wouldn't be able to land a blow on me in a fair fight."
Bernard hated to admit it, but the man was probably right. He'd had precious little arms training at court, for the King kept his pages far too busy to let them take their turn in the practice yard. Bernard had sneaked a few sessions in, anyway, until the King had noticed his bruises and put a stop to it. He'd tried training with his father's men, but after the story had spread throughout the camp that Lord Vauquelin's son could scarcely keep hold of his sword, let alone fight with it, his father had commanded him to stop making a fool of himself. Something Bernard seemed doomed to do, no matter what he tried.
The physician did something to Bernard's leg that made his vision go black, just for a moment, wrenching another agonised cry from Bernard's throat.
"If I couldn't see his cock, I'd swear he was a girl," the other man mumbled.
Bernard yanked his tunic down to cover himself. The last thing he needed right now was some stranger staring at his cock. "Have either of you seen my things?" he demanded.
"If you mean your fine court clothes and womanish shoes, they're over there." The man pointed.
Bernard stretched up until he could see his saddlebags sitting on the floor, beside the bed. He prayed that no one had stolen his potion, for he'd need all its pain-curing properties to survive this torture.
"Fetch them, please," he said.
The physician held up a hand. "I need you to stay still until I am finished. Sir Gosse, hold him still, for this will hurt."
So this was the man Father had been speaking to, Bernard mused, shooting a sideways glance at the man. A knight for a nursemaid.
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 3
