Defender of Hearts

by Tanya Bird

  ‘Presley, Rose,’ he called. ‘We need to leave—now.’

  Chapter 39

  ‘Stay close,’ Astin told Presley as he helped the girls onto one of the horses. ‘We need to get to the merchant gate as quickly as possible.’

  Presley nodded and tucked Rose against her chest before gathering the reins. The moment Astin landed in the saddle they were off, riding through the paddocks in order to avoid the roads where the fighting was underway. When they reached the gate, they found a crowd gathered there, women and children pressed against the portcullis, begging to be let through. The defender Astin had spoken to earlier stood on the other side, hand resting on the hilt of his sword and feet shuffling in the dirt.

  ‘Why is he not opening the gate?’ Presley asked as she pulled up their horses.

  That was a very good question. Dismounting, Astin pushed through the crowd until he reached the gate. ‘Raise the portcullis,’ he instructed the defender.

  The guard shook his head. ‘There are English soldiers in the borough. The gate remains in place.’

  ‘You can’t leave women and children trapped in a war zone.’ Astin punched the wood. ‘Raise it!’

  The defender still appeared conflicted until the warden’s voice sounded from atop the wall.

  ‘Get that gate up!’

  Astin let out a relieved breath as the portcullis finally went up. He returned to his sister and niece, shoulders clipping shoulders as people moved in the opposite direction to safety.

  ‘Astin!’ Presley called. Rose was still in her arms, clinging to her neck.

  He made his way over to them. ‘Stay inside until the borough’s secure. Understand?’

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, eyes searching his.

  ‘East wall.’

  She blinked and swallowed. ‘You’ll come back?’

  ‘Lower the gate!’ the warden shouted.

  Astin pushed his sister in the direction of the portcullis. ‘Go before it shuts.’

  ‘You’ll come back?’ she asked again, walking backwards as she waited for his reply.

  He nodded, then watched her turn and pass beneath the archway just in time.

  ‘Move back!’ shouted the defender on the other side.

  And just like that the girls were gone from his sight.

  Astin looked up, thankful to find the warden leaning on the embrasure, looking out over the borough. He moved closer, positioning himself beneath the man. ‘Cooper Brooke is the man you’re looking for. He let the English in via an unknown door on the east wall. Let me find it, sir.’

  Shapur’s gaze fell to him, but before he could respond, the sound of approaching horses had everyone looking to the road. Twenty mounted defenders rode into view, coming to a stop in front of the warden.

  ‘Half of you will travel to the east with Fletcher,’ Shapur instructed. ‘The rest of you will head north.’

  The commander on the ground turned to his men. ‘You heard him. Let’s move out!’

  Astin looked up at Shapur as he mounted his horse. ‘Cooper Brooke’s tied to a tree at the farm. I suggest you send someone to collect him.’

  The warden nodded.

  Astin dug his heels into his horse’s sides and rode off, the other defenders following behind. They galloped through paddocks, jumping fences they did not have time to navigate. Wind whistled in Astin’s ears, carrying the sound of weapons and dying men. Up the hill slope they rode, only slowing when they caught sight of merchants up ahead. There were around a hundred of them, fighting trained soldiers as though they had been secretly preparing for this moment their whole life. Even in their famished state, their hearts continued to beat as strong as ever.

  Astin looked past them to the wall, where archers watched them down their arrows. The enemy was out of shooting range. ‘We’ll approach from the west, see if we can push them closer to the wall.’

  He nudged his horse forwards, the collective sound of ten weapons being drawn the most comforting noise he had heard all day. They picked up speed, Astin swinging his weapon once, twice, before descending on their enemy. Merchants leapt out of the way of the horses, panting and bloodied from their efforts. The tiring soldiers could not stand their ground against fresh defenders. They were driven back by force and fear.

  Astin slid from his horse as he hit the fight, drawing his dagger in the same breath and throwing it at the soldier closest to him. It struck the man’s neck, stopping him in his tracks. Another was upon him a beat later, sword swinging at Astin’s head. He blocked it, steel screeching, then kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him flying backwards into the mud. Astin pushed forwards, slicing and stabbing and punching, The English worked to maintain the ground they had won—and failed.

  Behind their enemy, arrows protruded from the ground, clearly marking the shooting range of the archers waiting atop the wall. Astin swooped down, plucking a sword from the hand of a dying soldier. Two weapons would hurry the process along.

  The soldiers began tripping over the arrows in the ground, then over each other. They seemed to lose their rhythm and confidence all at once. More arrows came, whistling through the air and sinking into the backs of their enemy, who could no longer retreat from them. Their fight was lost.

  ‘Hold!’ Astin called, not wanting his own men to be struck down in the process.

  The defenders stood their ground, fighting, until every English soldier lay dead or too injured to fight.

  For a moment, they were triumphant.

  For a moment, it felt like a win.

  But then the arrows stopped falling from the sky, and when Astin looked to the wall, he saw the archers vanish from the embrasures, their bows swinging in the other direction.

  ‘Shit,’ said the defender beside him.

  Astin’s gaze fell to the base of the wall, where English soldiers now spilled into the borough. At least that answered his question as to where the door was located. Whatever the archers were doing to stop them on the other side, it was not enough. Astin knew he had to get to that door, but he stood no chance with only ten men.

  He looked back at the merchants defiantly gripping their weapons with bony hands. The sight might have warmed him if it were not for the fact that they were all about to die fighting a war they should never have been a part of.

  Movement behind the merchants caught Astin’s attention. His body went rigid, and his hand tightened around his weapon, believing for a moment that they had been surrounded by their enemy. But it was Harlan who appeared on the horizon, behind him an army of defenders. The merchants separated, and the two men locked eyes.

  ‘Need a hand?’ Harlan asked.

  The corner of Astin’s mouth tugged up. ‘Several.’

  ‘Merchants to the back!’ Harlan shouted. ‘Archers to the front!’

  Astin looked to the men with him. ‘Fall back.’

  Chapter 40

  It was a strange thing to wash the corpse of the man she was supposed to marry, but Lyndal did it to help the woman who had tried to help everyone else. Yes, she had made mistakes along the way—they all had. The king’s mistakes had cost him his life.

  The queen mother brought her son’s hands together, laying them one on top of the other, then straightened. The maid picked up the basin of dirty water and left the room, leaving the two women alone.

  ‘Prince Becket is going to take some convincing to return to this place,’ Fayre said. ‘History always depicts second-born sons as resentful of their position in the family. My youngest has always been grateful for the fact.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll help him transition.’

  Fayre met her gaze. ‘I suppose I shall have to go about finding him a suitable wife.’ She lifted one eyebrow in question.

  Lyndal smiled. ‘Suitable being the key word there. I imagine he’ll be free to select a wife of his choosing.’

  ‘As long as I approve.’

  Lyndal bit back a smile. ‘Of course.’

  The queen mother pushed a lo
ose strand of hair off her tired face. ‘You would have made a wonderful queen. However, I must be content with a wonderful friend instead.’

  ‘Don’t forget superb chess opponent.’

  Fayre’s eyes creased at the corners.

  A confession sat on the tip of Lyndal’s tongue, one she was not sure she could live with. ‘There’s something you should know.’

  The queen mother looked in her direction, waiting.

  ‘I was with King Borin before he died. Some heated words were exchanged.’ She swallowed repeatedly. ‘I opened the courtyard doors. I was the one who let the merchants into the castle, knowing they were coming for him.’ It was so wrong to say those words to his grieving mother.

  Queen Fayre was still and quiet for a moment. Then, wandering over to the table by the window, she picked up the arrow sitting on it and turned it in her hands.

  ‘He threatened my life,’ Lyndal continued. ‘But to stand here and tell you it was an act of self-defence would be a lie. I think I would have done it anyway.’

  Fayre was quiet for the longest time as she ran her finger repeatedly over the fletching on the arrow. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  Lyndal’s brow creased at her response. ‘It’s an arrow.’

  ‘Not any arrow. It is the arrow that killed my husband. Borin was quite determined to find his killer, as you well know.’

  The merchants had been locked up and starved as a result. It was not something she would soon forget. ‘Grief is a strange beast.’

  Fayre nodded thoughtfully. ‘I understand why you did it, why you opened that door. Sometimes we queens have to make difficult decisions for the greater good.’

  Lyndal looked at the ground. ‘Well, I’m no queen.’

  ‘No, but hopefully I taught you to think like one.’ She paused, eyebrows drawn tightly together as if pained by whatever memory she was reliving. ‘I had to be a queen, not a wife, that day.’

  Lyndal was lost. ‘What day?’

  Fayre met her eyes. ‘The day I ordered my husband’s assassination.’

  At first Lyndal thought she had misheard, but then the queen continued.

  ‘I remember sealing that letter and handing it to the messenger with a trembling hand. I was certain he knew what was written inside.’

  Lyndal was speechless for a moment. ‘You?’ Her voice barely carried the short distance between them.

  Fayre placed the arrow on the table and looked her in the eyes. ‘Sometimes one must throw open the courtyard door and help history run its course.’ She attempted a smile, but it did not stick. ‘I do not judge you for your actions today, despite the personal cost to me. And I hope you will not judge me for the things I had to do.’ When Lyndal did not say anything, she added, ‘I have shocked you.’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘A lot.’

  Lyndal nodded. ‘Did you tell me to make me feel better? Or did you tell me to ease your conscience?’

  The queen mother thought for a moment. ‘Both.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Might I suggest this conversation not leave the bedchamber?’

  ‘I think that’s probably very wise.’

  A knock at the door made them jump.

  Fayre smoothed down her dress before calling, ‘Enter.’

  Shapur Wright stepped through the door, his helmet tucked beneath one arm and blood covering his hands. He looked from the queen mother to the bed behind her. ‘I am sorry for your loss, Your Majesty.’ He paused. ‘I ordered all but a handful of defenders north—’

  ‘Stop,’ Queen Fayre said, cutting him off. ‘This is not on you, Warden.’ Her eyes moved over him. ‘I gather from your appearance that King Edward’s army breached the wall?’

  Shapur glanced at Lyndal. ‘They appear to have been let into the farming borough via a secret entrance. The borough has since been secured and the English troops have withdrawn. The merchants insisted on joining the fight.’

  Lyndal’s heart lodged in her throat as she waited for a mention of his name.

  ‘Who let them inside?’ Fayre asked.

  ‘Cooper Brooke. A farmer.’

  ‘The farmer my son was conducting business with?’ the queen mother asked.

  Shapur nodded. ‘He has confessed to working with Lord Roger Mortimer. He awaits sentencing.’

  ‘Do you know if Fletcher got his family out of the borough?’ Lyndal asked, unable to hold the question in any longer.

  Something in Shapur’s expression made her nervous.

  ‘I believe his sisters are safe.’

  His sisters. No mention of his mother. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He was last seen at the east wall.’

  ‘Last seen?’

  Shapur’s face hardened. ‘The dead and injured are still being retrieved. There are many families waiting for news.’

  ‘Of course.’ Lyndal looked to Queen Fayre. ‘Your Majesty, I wonder if I might—’

  ‘Go,’ Fayre said. ‘There are no locked doors, I promise.’

  One corner of Lyndal’s mouth lifted as she lowered into a curtsy. ‘Much appreciated, Your Majesty.’

  It was strange to see the gates between the merchant, royal, and farming boroughs open, people wandering freely back and forth between them. Lyndal knew the most sensible thing to do was to go to the merchant borough, because that was where she had told Astin she would be. But her gut was telling her to go east to the farming borough.

  ‘I’ll tell Birtle to open the shop up for anyone who needs it,’ Blake said as they headed for the merchant borough. ‘Assuming he hasn’t done it already.’

  Lyndal stopped walking.

  What’s wrong? Eda signed, looking back.

  Blake sighed. ‘You’re going to look for him, aren’t you?’

  ‘The warden said the borough’s secured. I’ll be fine. You go ahead, help people. I’ll follow shortly.’

  Blake exhaled. ‘Be careful.’

  Lyndal hugged them, then watched them until they reached the merchant gate. When they were gone from sight, she headed east to the farming borough.

  The first thing she noticed when she stepped beneath the unguarded archway was smoke rising in the distance and the smell of burning flesh. Covering her nose and mouth, she walked the empty road that led to Astin’s farm, passing stray sheep, chickens, and ox along the way. It was strange seeing livestock unaccounted for, but many of the fences appeared to be damaged.

  Lyndal was almost there when she came upon a corpse on the road. She walked right up to it, eyes moving over the unfamiliar armour. He looked around twenty. Someone’s son, brother, perhaps husband.

  Another life wasted.

  When it began to rain, she stepped over the blood splashed across the road and kept walking, passing a wagon travelling in the other direction. It was full of bodies. Her eyes met the defender’s briefly, and then she picked up her pace.

  Finally, she arrived a soggy mess at the farm, and her spirits lifted when she spotted Rose seated on a small stool next to a milking cow. Rain was a normal part of life for a girl her age who knew no difference. The sound of a hammer pulled Lyndal’s attention west, and she spotted Presley pounding away at a fence post. She made her way over, calling out so as to not frighten her.

  ‘Only me.’

  Presley paused, looked in her direction, then resumed hammering. ‘He’s not here.’

  Lyndal stopped a few feet away, blinking against the rain. ‘Are you all right?’

  Presley wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. ‘Fine.’

  Her tone reminded her so much of Astin. ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘Dead.’

  Lyndal closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Presley continued to pound the wood. ‘The soldier was aiming for Astin. Then she…’ The hammer slipped from her hand and fell to the ground.

  Lyndal closed the distance between them, pulling Presley into her arms.

  Presley went limp against her. ‘She was a terrible mother in so many ways, ex
cept today. Today she was perfect.’ Her shoulders shook. ‘Astin got us to the merchant borough, then went in search of the entrance on the east wall. I haven’t seen him since.’

  Lyndal could not think about that. Letting go, she said, ‘The man has proven to be thoroughly unkillable in the past.’ She forced a smile and looked around. ‘Now, what can I do to help? Where are all the animals?’

  Presley pushed her palms to her eyes. ‘Lost. Stolen. Dead. I don’t really know. We returned as soon as we could and found the place like this. I can’t even go into the house because that’s where she is.’ Her face crumpled. ‘And I’m supposed to be strong’—she gestured to Rose—‘for her.’

  Lyndal glanced at the young girl milking the cow. ‘I passed a few animals on the way here. Perhaps they’re yours.’

  Presley drew a shaky breath. ‘Hundreds? Did you pass hundreds?’

  No. She had not passed hundreds.

  Presley licked rain from her lips. ‘Our bull is gone. And that’s a strange thing to care about when your mother is dead in the house, I know.’

  Lyndal tilted her head. ‘I’m not sure whether Astin told you this, but I happen to be very good in a crisis. So this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to go inside and tend to your mother. You and Rose are going to stay out here and make sure you have at least one secure paddock. Your cattle are branded, which means they’ll be brought here when they’re found wandering about the borough. Then I’m going to feed you both, even though you’ll insist you’re not hungry. Only then will I leave, because if I don’t, my sisters will come looking for me.’

  Presley was silent a moment. Then she bent and picked up the hammer. ‘Rose,’ she called. ‘Come and help me with this fence.’

  Chapter 41

  Presley had not been exaggerating when she described it as a secret entrance. The door had been covered with stone so it blended perfectly with the rest of the wall. A defender walking by would have no idea of its existence except for the tracks in the mud giving away its location. By the time they reached it, hundreds of English soldiers were already inside. So Astin captured a young soldier, broke his nose, then sent him back through the door with a message for his commander.