“I will take both Lady Barklestone and her child with me when I leave Rockingham. Do not disappoint me, Barric.”
“I will not, Your Highness.”
It was clear that Lady Barklestone’s babe was in danger before it was even born.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Near the Village of Weekley
It was too late by the time Cullen saw it.
A wave of men and horses, hundreds of them, charging in from the west and north, and when he turned to the south, he could see them there, too, charging up from Weekley in a mounted brigade. Men with pikes and morning stars, hammers and flails. Cullen had only seen that kind of thing in a full-fledged battle, certainly not in an ambush on a small road.
He knew, from the start, that they were in trouble.
It was his own fault, really. The morning had been quiet and misty, and it had never occurred to him that while they were preying on a particular traveler, something much worse was preying on them. The mist lifted about the time the carriage, stripped down and with only a four-man escort, came into view, and his men had charged it, rushing onto the road. The escort had given up rather easily, almost too easily, but by the time Cullen realized something was wrong, it was too late.
They, in fact, had been ambushed.
Then, it all started to make sense – the mercenaries that had come to Rockingham were meant for them. That lazy, feckless Rockingham army had, in fact, called in reinforcements and rather than comb Blackthorn Forest looking for the outlaws, they’d set up a trap.
In truth, it had been brilliant.
In fact, Cullen almost laughed when he realized that he and his outlaws had been set up. He should have been smarter about the rumor of a rich traveling lord, but he hadn’t been. He hadn’t any reason to be.
And it was going to cost him.
He ordered his men to retreat, but they didn’t listen. Enraged that they were being engaged, they fired their arrows at the charging army, hitting a great many of them as they fled back into the trees. But the army had mounted archers and, soon, arrows launched by crossbows were flying into the trees and Cullen watched as at least four of his men were hit by the projectiles.
It was chaos, retreating back into the trees, and he bellowed at Owen and Jerald, who had engaged the four-man escort around the carriage, apparently not fully realizing that all of this had been a trap. Cullen raced back for Owen, grabbing the man and dragging him along, as the army swarmed the road. Most of them charged into the trees, chasing after the fleeing outlaws, but some of them were simply swarming the road and trapping those who tried to escape.
Killing those who fought back.
But it wasn’t in Cullen’s nature to surrender and his enormous broadsword came out, slicing into men who were foolish enough to try and engage him. He fought furiously, feeling naked without his mail, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d never fought a battle in his life without his mail, but here he was, wearing only a wet tunic and leather breeches, fighting mounted warriors on horseback.
If he didn’t get himself onto one of those horses, he knew he was a dead man.
When a fool with an elaborate helm leaned too close and tried to spear him, he yanked on the man’s weapon and pulled him right off his horse. It was a big, heavy-boned warhorse, and he vaulted onto the horse’s back, feeling much more confident now. He could see his men being engaged by the army, and being sorely outnumbered, so he charged the pockets of fighting, cutting off arms and heads and anything else his blade came into contact with. He was fighting so furiously that he didn’t see a very big knight ride up behind him but stop short of engaging him. The knight simply sat there for a moment before pulling off his great helm in disbelief.
“Cullen?”
Cullen heard his name, turning around to see Sean de Lara a few feet behind him, looking at him as if he were seeing a ghost. Equally astonished, Cullen faltered, reining his horse away from the fighting, coming face to face with Sean on the misty battlefield.
“Sean,” Cullen said. “What in God’s name are you doing riding with a mercenary army?”
Sean was clearly shocked. “And what are you doing fighting with outlaws?”
Cullen thought the answer to that should be quite obvious, but he never got to say so. Before he could reply, he was hit twice with two spiny arrows, one in his lower abdomen and the second one in his torso, plowing into his right side.
It was a harrowing sight but, to his credit, he remained upright. He teetered, but he didn’t fall off the horse. Sean began waving his arms at the men behind him, screaming for the archers to disengage. He had no idea who had hit Cullen with the arrows, but he called off his men, screaming all the way. But as he turned around to Cullen, he could see that some of the mercenaries were beginning to swarm on him, trying to yank him off the horse.
That set Sean into a panic.
Spurring his horse forward, he charged forward, kicking the mercenaries away from Cullen’s horse and grabbing the reins, tearing off across the road and into the fields to the east, racing into the trees to get Cullen out of the fighting, away from the men trying to kill him.
Unfortunately, Cullen was already in a bad way and as soon as they made it into the forest, he toppled from his horse. But what Sean didn’t realize was that Bradford and Anthony, having seen Sean race away leading a wounded man on a horse, had gone in pursuit. As Sean whipped his horse around and raced to Cullen’s side as the man now lay on the cold, wet ground, Bradford and Anthony burst into the forest in time to see Sean leap from his horse and race to Cullen’s side.
“De Lara!” Bradford boomed, pulling his horse up so it wouldn’t run over Cullen, lying prone on the ground. “What is the meaning of this?”
Before Sean could answer, men were coming out of the trees, drawing weapons on him as he bent over Cullen. It was chaotic and dark, and Sean drew his sword simply because he had no choice. He was being threatened. In fact, Jerald with his ham-sized fists was coming up on de Lara’s flank, preparing to brain him. But Cullen, who was still fairly lucid, threw up a big arm to stop the scuffle.
“Leave him alone,” he commanded. “He will not be touched!”
Confused, Owen and Jerald and the other outlaws backed off, but not too far. They weren’t going anywhere with Cullen down. In spite of the tense situation, and the bewilderment, Owen sheathed his sword and dropped to his knees beside Cullen. Jerald was right next to him.
“God’s Bones, Monty, they got you,” Owen hissed, ripping off his gloves and then moving swiftly to pull away Cullen’s tunic to get a better look at the devastation of the arrows. “Let me see the damage.”
Cullen was lying on his back, feeling weak and quivering. His body felt strangely warm and light, and his gaze found Sean as the man came up on his other side. Sean eyed Owen and Jerald, and Owen and Jerald eyed Sean. For a moment, the three of them simply stared at each other. It was enemy against enemy but, now, they had common ground. A man was down, one they evidently both knew, and they were forced to put their suspicions aside. Tunics and layers of Cullen’s clothing were ripped away by two men who knew a thing or two about battle wounds.
What they saw was serious. One arrow had penetrated his lower abdomen near his groin, while the other wasn’t quite so severe but it was in the side of his torso, near his right kidney. Sean leaned in close, trying to get a look at them without causing Cullen too much pain.
“Those are barb tipped heads, Cullen,” he said, lifting his head to look at the man. “I was afraid of this. They are tips used by the Teutonic mercenaries and they are meant to inflict great damage. If I try to pull it out, it will tear your insides out with it.”
Cullen, pale and pasty, looked at Sean. “Then you will have to cut into me to get it out,” he said huskily. “Do it now while the wound is still fresh, before it starts to crust over.”
Sean wasn’t a surgeon, but he knew where one was. “I cannot,” he said. “I am afraid I would do more harm than good. Let me send for a physic.
”
Cullen reached out, grabbing his hand tightly. “There may be no time for that,” he said. “I will bleed to death before he will arrive. Cut me, Sean.”
Sean held on strongly to Cullen, looking into the man’s eyes. But in truth, he could still hardly believe what he was seeing. William Marshal had told him that Cullen had fled London, so he had known that, but to find the man living with outlaws in Northamptonshire was a tragedy beyond words.
It sickened him to realize it.
Sean had known Cullen for several years and although they’d not been close friends by virtue of the missions assigned to them by The Marshal, they still knew one another and, at times, had worked in conjunction with each other. Sean knew that Cullen was a brilliant knight from a fine family, and he respected the man’s skills and character. Everyone in The Marshal’s stable of knights thought highly of him.
And now, this.
It was beyond shocking.
“I cannot cut it out,” he murmured, leaning forward to look Cullen in the eye. “Cullen, I cannot do it. I know of a fine physic who can heal you, but we must get you to safety and stop the bleeding. You will have a better chance of survival if I do not touch you.”
Cullen’s mind was quickly becoming muddled as shock set in. He was losing a great deal of blood and he wasn’t thinking clearly, only he didn’t realize it. As he looked at Sean, perhaps confused that the man wouldn’t use his dagger to cut into him, he could see another warrior coming up behind him. Through the mist, through the trees, the knight came closer and his gaze traveled to the second figure.
It took him a moment to recognize Bradford de Rivington.
He thought he was seeing a ghost.
“My lord,” he gasped unsteadily. “De Rivington? Is it really you?”
Bradford stood over the downed knight, looking at him in utter shock. “De Nerra?” he whispered. “My God… Cullen?”
Before Cullen could reply, Sean turned to Bradford. “Send one of your men back to Rockingham for Chadwick,” he ordered quietly. “Send him with all due haste. There is no time to waste.”
Bradford was looking between Cullen and Sean. “Send him where?” Bradford asked. “Here? Out in the middle of the trees? We would do better if we took de Nerra back to Rockingham.”
“Take him back to Rockingham where the king and Barric are?” Sean snorted. “Are you mad? They would like nothing better than to see him dead. We cannot take him to Rockingham.”
It was then that Bradford began to recall what his daughter told him, how de Nerra had fought off the king when the man tried to assault her and gored Fitz Hammond in the process. Clearly, de Lara knew of the incident, too, but as Bradford looked at Cullen, he also remembered that his daughter told him the man had been killed by the king’s men, yet clearly, the man wasn’t dead, at least not yet.
Confusion bloomed.
“I was told of that,” he said, looking at Cullen. “But I was also told that de Nerra had been killed by the king’s men.”
Sean looked at him, puzzled by his statement, but Cullen let go of Sean’s hand, reaching over to grab Bradford’s boot.
“My lord, forgive me,” Cullen said, his lower lip purple and trembling from shock and blood loss. He was dying, and he knew it, so all of the pent-up emotion he’d been feeling for the past several months began to come out. He had to say what was necessary before he passed on. “Forgive me for not being able to protect your daughter better than I did. It is the greatest failure of my life and I must sincerely beg for your forgiveness.”
Bradford could see the sorrow in the man’s face. “Protect her from what?” he asked. “Her husband? I knew your lord was a beast when I agreed to the betrothal. You are not to blame. It is I, lad. I am to blame.”
Cullen stared up at the man and a lone tear trickled from his right eye. “It is a regret I have,” he whispered. “It is the greatest regret of my life. May I ask a favor, my lord?”
Much as Cullen did, and probably everyone else, Bradford believed the knight was dying, too. He’d seen enough battle wounds to know that the arrows protruding out of the man put him in a very bad position. Therefore, to Cullen’s question, he nodded firmly.
“Of course you may,” he said. “I shall honor it if it is within my power.”
Cullen swallowed hard, more tears coursing down his temples. There was such pain in his expression that it was difficult to comprehend; pain at a life that could have been, of a reputation squandered.
So much pain radiating from a wounded man’s eyes.
“My lord, could you find it within your heart to bury me next to your daughter?” Cullen whispered. “She was not only my liege’s wife, she was my lady and I loved her with all my heart. I had hoped to visit her grave at some point, but if I cannot visit her in this life, then I pray you allow me to lay beside her for eternity. It would be a great mercy you would give me.”
I had hoped to visit her grave at some point. Bradford’s brow furrowed in confusion. The man was talking as if Teodora was dead. He stood there a moment, dumbfounded, as Sean spoke to Cullen.
“You will not be buried anytime soon if I have a say in it, de Nerra,” he said firmly. “Stay with me, man. We’ll get you out of here.”
Cullen’s attention was back on Sean but his consciousness was fading. “And you,” he murmured. “I must ask you a great favor of you, as well. Please… please tell my father that I love him. Tell him I am sorry for what has happened, for the shame I have brought upon my family. And tell The Marshal… tell him that Owen the Black is in reality a man known as Lord Geddington. Barric stole his lands and he deserves to have them restored. Will you do this? Will you send for The Marshal to help him?”
Sean was nodding, simply to ease his mind and quiet him. “I will do all these things, Cullen, but you must be still.” Then, he looked across Cullen to Owen, still crouched on his other side. “We cannot return him to the castle, as there are those there who would kill him on sight. Do you have some place we can take him to tend his wounds?”
Owen didn’t hesitate. “Aye,” he said. “You said you have a physic at Rockingham?”
“A very good one.”
Owen looked him in the eye. “Then swear to me, on your oath as a knight, that if I send a man to lead your physic to my village, that no one else will follow. It will be the physic and the physic alone.”
Sean nodded. “I swear it,” he said. “You have my word.”
Behind Sean, Bradford piped up. “Anthony,” he snapped softly. “Run for Rockingham and the physic. And I think… I think mayhap you had better bring Teddy, too.”
“Nay,” Sean stood up. “I shall go. I will have to face Fitz Hammond and the king for this venture, so I will return and take the army with me. But I will send the physic back as quickly as I can.”
“And Teddy,” Bradford said seriously. He pointed to the downed knight. “Did you hear what de Nerra said? He said that he loves her and wishes to be buried next to her. Something is happening here that I do not understand – de Nerra sounds as if he believes she is dead. Why would he think that?”
Sean didn’t know, but he had heard that, too. Although it was confusing, it also explained why de Nerra had ruined a great career by preventing the king from assaulting the woman.
He was in love with her.
Now, the mysterious actions and disappearance of Cullen de Nerra were starting to make some sense.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “I will bring Lady Barklestone, too. Mayhap she can clear up the situation.”
With that, he turned away, fleeing back the way he’d come and being followed by one of Owen’s men as they raced through the trees. Bradford watched them go before returning his attention to Cullen, who had, at some point during the past few moments, drifted away into unconsciousness.
Already, Owen and Jerald were using whatever field bandages they had on them, small strips of boiled linen that fighting men kept tucked in at their belts to stanch blood flow in bat
tle, to stabilize the arrows so they wouldn’t jostle and create even worse wounds. Jerald was even whispering words of encouragement, from one old warrior to another. More men were gathering around, preparing to lift Cullen, which was no small feat considering how big the man was. In fact, Bradford pushed his way to the man’s head to lend a hand.
“Lift at the same time, lads,” he said. “Careful of his wounds.”
It took eight men to carefully lift Cullen and begin the long and dangerous trek back to the outlaw village. The rest of the men followed, including Anthony, who was leading the horses and wondering how they ever ended up amongst this motley group.
He wondered how, and if, they were going to survive.
She was an adorable little thing.
Chadwick stood over the baby as Norma fussed over the child, cooing to her, making sure her swaddling was tight enough. The baby had been screaming intermittently since birth, and what a swift birth it had been.
Chadwick was still whirling with the speed in which the child had come.
From their quick departure from the solar and by the time he’d brought Teodora up to her chamber, Chadwick had put the woman on the bed and tossed up her skirts in time to see a little head trying to push its way into the world. Shocked that the child was, literally, on the threshold, he’d coaxed Teodora through a few strong contractions, telling her to push when the time was right and, soon enough, a tiny baby girl popped right out into his hands.
It had been just that fast and, as births go, very easy.
Norma and Willa had heard the grunting and gasping, and they’d come in from the adjoining chamber just about the time the baby was born. Seeing the child had sent them into fits of astonishment, but they’d kept their wits about them enough to follow Chadwick’s instructions and gather a few necessary items. A bowl of warmed water was brought to him, a dagger, a piece of fabric from Willa’s underskirt that Chadwick used to tie off the baby’s birthing cord. After that, Chadwick had cut the cord off from the mother and handed the baby over to the very eager, very surprised maids.
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 39