by Julia Byrne
“Wait,” he ordered under the vicious hiss of steel sliding against steel. “Hugh doesn’t need to be distracted.”
“But de Beche is trying to kill him. We must do something.”
Ranulf looked into the hall, then motioned to the others. “He needs witnesses. We’ll go in. Stay near the door. Don’t get in the way, don’t interfere. Lady, you are not to enter. Keep her here,” he said to Herleve as the older woman caught up with them.
“Nay,” Annith said. “I swear I won’t make a sound. He won’t know I’m there, but I must see. I must be with him.”
“’Tis her right,” Herleve said.
Ranulf didn’t have time to argue with two determined females. “All right, but stay behind me.”
Annith nodded and they moved through the doorway. She and Ranulf to the right, Martin, Herleve, and the man-at-arms to the left. Her gaze went straight to Hugh in time to see him swing his sword in a deadly two-handed parry as he tried to drive de Beche back toward the high table.
De Beche bared his teeth as he slashed at Hugh’s legs. “I’ll cut you down, de Verney. And then I’ll take that little bitch right here on the floor as you die.”
“Save your breath,” Hugh grated. “You’ll need it in hell.” He ducked under another slice that would have taken his head off and came up, leading with his left fist and smashing it into de Beche’s face. Bone splinted under the impact. The blow sent the other man staggering. He lost his balance and fell, but despite his bulk, rolled out from under Hugh’s sword as he brought it slashing downward.
Annith almost felt the reverberations in her own arms as Hugh’s blade sliced into the floor with a resounding thud. She saw Ranulf wince.
De Beche swung his sword low, trying to knock Hugh’s weapon from his hand, but Hugh wrenched his blade free and leapt back. It was enough to give de Beche time to roll to his feet. He swiped at the blood pouring from his nose as they circled each other, watching for an opening.
“He’s so much heavier,” Annith whispered, fear for Hugh almost stealing her voice.
“Aye, and the bastard can fight,” Ranulf muttered. “But Hugh’s taller and has the longer reach. He’s faster, too,” he added as Hugh dodged another vicious swing at his head. “And battle-hardened. He’ll try to wear de Beche down.”
Annith clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp as de Beche’s reverse swing ripped into the sleeve covering Hugh’s left arm. Blood flowed, but neither man stepped back from the fight. This wasn’t a tournament. There would be no quarter because one faltered or was wounded. This wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead.
And she was not going to stand there, helpless, while Hugh fought for his life. She glanced around the hall, desperate to find something that could help him. The door at the other end was open now. Servants crowded into the aperture, watching, wide-eyed and terrified. They wouldn’t be any use. But light gleamed briefly on the knife held by the cook.
Annith glanced down. Ranulf’s sword was in his hand, but his dagger lay in its sheath at his left hip. His whole attention was on the fight. Carefully she drew the dagger out and held it by her side.
As she did so, Hugh went on the attack. Slashing at de Beche, he drove the other man back until he was almost up against the high table. But de Beche took one hand off his sword, grabbed the wine flask, and hurled flask and contents straight at Hugh’s face. Hugh dodged in time, but it gave de Beche the chance he needed to break free of the trap.
Sweat was pouring down his face now, mingling with the blood from his broken nose. Roaring, teeth bared with the effort, he swung his sword in a huge arc, the entire force of his body behind the blow. It was a wild gamble, aimed at slashing Hugh through the chest so brutally he would be killed or fatally wounded. But instead of trying to block the attack, Hugh leapt out of range and sheer momentum had de Beche wheeling so his back was briefly exposed. Hugh hurled his sword like a spear, the power in his arm sending the blade deep into de Beche’s spine, cutting through flesh and bone.
The man staggered. For a moment it seemed even that wouldn’t destroy him. Annith saw him try to turn, try to bring his sword up. She realized she was clutching Ranulf’s dagger as though about to throw it. But then de Beche reeled sideways and his foot came down on the wine flask he’d thrown. It rolled beneath his boot throwing him backward. He crashed to the floor, driving Hugh’s blade straight through his body. Blood pooled. De Beche jerked once and was still.
A terrible hush fell over the hall. Annith put a hand to her stomach, wrenching her gaze from de Beche with an effort. She couldn’t breathe. She was trembling all over, yet unable to move. Hugh was just standing there, blood trickling down his arm, his hair damp with sweat, as if waiting for de Beche to get up again. Then he leaned forward, his head bent, his hands braced on his knees, and suddenly sound was restored. She heard the harshness of his breathing, the servants’ high-pitched exclamations, Ranulf’s satisfied grunt as he slid his sword back into its scabbard. And as if the return of sound freed her, she flew across the hall toward Hugh, crying his name.
He raised his head, straightened in time to catch her in his arms.
“Oh, Hugh. Hugh, you’re wounded. Oh, let me see. Let me bind it up. Let me—”
“Hush,” he whispered. “Hush, sweetheart. ’Tis naught but a scratch.” He looked up as Ranulf strolled toward them.
“You might want to take that dagger away from her,” Ranulf advised. “We already have one body with a blade in it.”
“What?” Hugh prised Annith’s arms from around him. He looked from the dagger in her hand to her face. “Where the devil did that come from?” he asked very quietly. “And just what were you planning to do with it?”
Ranulf peered closer. “That weapon looks familiar.” He glanced down at his empty sheath.
Annith felt a guilty flush heat her face. She had to think fast. By the look on Hugh’s face he had realized she hadn’t just arrived on the scene, but had been present during the fight.
“I thought it might come in useful,” she said airily. “Keep still.” Before anyone could ask why, she seized a handful of Hugh’s ripped sleeve, inserted the tip of the blade into the hole and sliced through tunic and undershirt to lay bare the wound on his arm.
She made a small sound when she saw the gash, her own flesh quivering in sympathy.
“Hmm, shallow, but ’tis going to start hurting like a pitchfork in hell any minute,” Ranulf observed cheerfully.
After one narrow-eyed glance at Annith, Hugh gave him a rueful grin. “The bastard could fight.”
Annith felt no inclination to share their male humor. She whipped around toward the servants. “Someone fetch hot water and clean cloths. Now!” she ordered, waving her hands at them when no one moved.
They seemed to be transfixed by the body of their master, but there was a jostling in the doorway and Auden pushed his way through the crowd.
“I will see to it, lady,” he said, hurrying toward them. He spared one shrinking glance at de Beche’s body as he sped past it. “My lord, are you badly hurt? There are salves and such in the men’s quarters. My liege always had them fighting each other. Wounds are common here.”
“I’m fine,” Hugh growled.
“Fetch whatever you can find,” Annith said at the same time. She avoided Hugh’s gaze as she looked around. “Herleve, do you think you can get those servants moving, please?”
“That I can.” Herleve answered. “You see to his lordship.” She was a little pale, but she crossed the hall without flinching and started giving orders in her usual brisk tones.
Annith turned to Ranulf. “Sir Ranulf, thank you for the loan of your dagger.” She handed it to him with a flourish.
He bowed with equal elegance. “A pleasure, my lady. Shall I rid your hall of that corpse?”
“Thank you,” she said with heartfelt gratitude. She took a deep breath and decided it was time to face Hugh. “My lord, if you sit over there by the high table, I will wash and bandage
your arm as soon as I have what I need.”
“I think I can just about manage that,” he said in ominous tones. “Do you have any more orders, madam?”
“Only if we’re going to spend the night here,” she murmured, taking his good arm and trying to turn him toward the table. He didn’t move so much as an inch. “And I suppose we will have to,” she added in dismay, looking up at his set face.
“That shouldn’t be a problem for someone who just witnessed a fight and an execution when she wasn’t supposed to,” he bit out.
Annith swallowed, but held her ground. “Well, that monster didn’t defeat me while he was alive, so I won’t let him win now he’s dead. I loved this place when I was a child, and I won’t be driven out. What’s more—”
Hugh clamped a hand around the nape of her neck, hauled her against him, and smothered the rest with a kiss that held such a chaotic brew of male outrage and possessiveness she couldn’t tell which was uppermost. And there was something else, she realized, stunned. Something desperate in the bruising force of his mouth on hers. Not desire. Not even relief that they were safe. ’Twas an almost savage need.
She didn’t have time to wonder at the feeling. Hugh released her, his eyes glittering with a seething cauldron of emotions that sent shivers down her spine.
“I am glad to hear you won’t be driven out, lady,” he said in a low growl that rasped over her still shaken nerves. “Because we will definitely be spending the night here. There is much to do. And when those tasks are done, we are going to have a long conversation about what it means to disobey my orders.”
“In that case, my lord,” she managed breathlessly. “We had better get started as soon as I have bound up your arm.”
“I have what you need here, my lady,” Auden piped up behind her.
Annith nearly leapt clear of the floor. She had to get her nerves under control, she thought, as Hugh turned on his heel and stalked over to the table. He started removing his tunic and undershirt. At the same time, a servant hurried into the hall with a basin of steaming water and several cloths.
Summoning up a smile and motioning Auden to follow her, she approached Hugh as she would a large wounded animal. She had no fear that he would lash out at her, but the aftermath of the fight with de Beche seemed to have temporarily disturbed his senses. She would show patience and understanding. In truth, she knew how he felt. She had to take several deep breaths before her hands stopped trembling so she could bathe his wound properly. She still felt slightly ill. But ’twas no use falling apart now; that would have to wait until later.
“Do you have a salve that contains sage or St. John’s wort?” she murmured to Auden.
“Aye, lady.” He chose a stoppered flask from the collection in his arms.
Hugh was watching her with a piercing glare that would have cowed the legendary basilisk into submission, but at this exchange he looked at Auden.
“You served my lady well, Auden, those three years ago, and at some risk to yourself. Now that her lands have come under my writ, I could use a man of your loyalty.”
Auden’s jaw dropped. “You…you could? My lord, I would be honored to serve you.”
“Can you write as well as convey messages?”
“Aye, certainly.”
“Then you will make a useful assistant to my steward, since your work as a courier will not be taxing. I would require your oath of allegiance, of course.”
Auden dumped his flasks and jars on the table and fell to his knees, hands outstretched. “I am willing to give it now, my lord,” he said with fervor.
Hugh glanced at Annith. “As soon as my lady has done fussing with this insignificant scratch, you shall.”
Annith finished winding a bandage around his arm and fastened it. “Insignificant scratches can fester,” she said, giving him a sweet smile. “Be grateful it didn’t need stitching.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Begone to your other tasks, lady. I expect you will want to clear out everything that belonged to your deceased guardian.”
“Indeed,” she said, shuddering. “I intend to have the castle scrubbed from the top of the tower to the dungeon. And I am sure Herleve is already seeing to it that the cook is preparing enough food for everyone. Also, we must find out what happened to my people. Aye, there is much to be done. I daresay you have your own tasks, my lord.”
“I do,” he growled, his expression even more dangerous.
She smiled winningly, patted his arm, and left the hall through the door leading to the kitchens. Somehow she managed not to flee, despite feeling as if she had just prodded an extremely annoyed bear with a very sharp stick.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Annith entered the kitchen, it was clear that de Beche’s servants were not inclined to co-operate with anyone. Herleve had been obliged to call Martin in to reinforce her commands. His terse tones clashed with resentful grumblings.
Annith took a deep breath and held up a hand for silence. Despite Hugh’s anger, he apparently considered her capable of managing the household. Indeed, ’twas what she had been trained to do, and mayhap if she kept busy she could put the fight out of her mind.
“Do I have to ask my lord to restore order here?” she demanded. The threat worked. Just as well, because she had no intention of asking Hugh for help. “All of you gather up your belongings and go out to the bailey. You shall be returning to your master’s manor.”
“And good riddance,” Herleve muttered as de Beche’s servants shuffled out of the kitchen. “But what are we to do now, my lady?”
Annith turned to Martin. “Martin, about half a mile along the road beyond the gates there is a village. Would you go there, please, and tell them de Beche has been killed and that their lady needs their help at the castle.”
“My lord has just sent men out to cry the news across your lands, lady. I warrant your people will be flocking to the gates before we can blink.”
Annith smiled. “No need for formality, Martin. You and Herleve saved my life. I will always be Annith to you.” As I am to Hugh, she thought wistfully, and wondered if he’d calmed down yet.
She shook off the question. If she had to put off falling apart until later, worrying about Hugh would also have to wait.
“Annith, then, in private,” Herleve said, smiling happily. She wagged a finger. “But you will have a mind to your position now, my lady.”
Annith laughed. “In that case, I suppose we had better see what food there is in the larders. If Martin is right, we’ll have a crowd to feed.”
Martin’s prediction proved accurate. By late afternoon, word had spread across the estate that the Lady Annetta had returned to her lands, bringing with her a powerful husband who had killed the evil lord responsible for visiting misery and terror upon them.
Her father’s old steward was the first to turn up at the gates. He peered timidly into the bailey and was promptly taken to Hugh, who was closeted in the lord’s solar going through a pile of deeds and parchments.
The castle servants followed, a few familiar faces among them. Annith greeted each in turn, to be told again and again how de Beche had replaced them with servants whose loyalty was only to him. He had also worked the serfs into the ground regardless of age. Tenant farmers had had their rents raised far in excess of what was fair, and been threatened with eviction if they refused to pay.
Annith listened, promised restitution, and silently gave thanks that de Beche hadn’t had time to do more damage.
The best thing for everyone, herself included, was work. Thankfully, because they’d had to ride that day, she was wearing her borrowed grey gown. She rolled up her sleeves and started issuing orders. Buckets, mops, and brooms were fetched. Two women started scrubbing away the bloodstains in the hall. Children were sent to gather fresh rushes for the floor.
“And we will need sweet-smelling herbs to scatter among them,” she called after the excited youngsters. She turned back to the group awaiting direction. “I want de Beche’s ch
air, the high table, his bed, his clothing and everything else in his chamber to be put outside, ready for a bonfire. We are going to obliterate every sign of that fiend from this keep.”
Several men stepped forward to the task, a grizzled serf ahead of the others. “Amen to that, lady. And we’ll fetch trestles, boards and benches out of storage, so you will have seating here in the hall.”
“A happy notion, Wat. Thank you. If the rest of you will follow me, I shall set teams to cleaning the other chambers while I see what linens can be found and put out to air. And, Joan,” she said, turning to an elderly woman who had once worked as a maid. “Would you take a couple of women and gather all the clothing in the lady’s solar. Take everything to the village church to be distributed among the needy when the priest returns.”
“Gladly, my lady.”
Annith started the others on their tasks before making her way to the small chamber where the linens had been stored. They were still there, some yellowed with age, but all were clean and in good condition. She seized a large pile of sheets and began distributing them around the various chambers, where they could be aired in front of the fires that were being lit to banish the evening chill.
When she returned to the hall it was well on its way to being transformed. Seeing Wat struggling to drag a bench into place, she rushed to help him. She had just lifted her end of the solid wood, when Hugh strode into the room. He immediately had to dodge to avoid being mown down by servants carrying trestles and boards across his path. He swept the hive of activity with an impatient glare and advanced on her with ominous intent.
“What the devil is going on here, madam? While your steward and I are trying to make sense of your father’s deeds, endless lines of people are traipsing in and out, removing furniture and wielding buckets and mops. The din is worse than a battlefield.” He glanced down. “And what the hell are you doing lifting that heavy bench?”
Annith mentally rolled her eyes and put the bench down. She nodded at Wat, who dropped his end and prudently removed himself from danger.
