Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  Perdu continued to bark, growl and bare his teeth.

  ‘I’m afraid not, my lady,’ Fitzwalter said, as his thin lips curled upwards.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘You!’

  ‘Your servant, my lady.’ Fitzwalter made a mock bow as Rolleston and his men laughed.

  ‘How dare you come into my castle and its chapel in the belief that you can intimidate us in this way!’

  ‘Oh, I dare, Lady Isabel, I dare very much,’ he sneered. ‘You speak with such fearless defiance behind your reprobate of a mercenary knight, but you are both outnumbered.’

  ‘Shall we put that to the test?’ Will thundered, as he drew his sword out from its scabbard. ‘I see you’ve brought your own brand of murderous mercenaries. Ah, Rolleston, we meet again at last.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine, Sir William,’ Rolleston scoffed.

  ‘Lower your weapon, Geraint.’ Fitzwalter brushed something off his shoulder. ‘Would you want to endanger the lady’s life so recklessly?’ At Will’s hesitation he raised a brow. ‘No, I didn’t think so.’

  ‘Why?’ Isabel muttered, knowing she had to keep the man talking. This would hopefully allow time for Will to think of something in this desperate situation. Or at least she hoped that he would.

  ‘I have waited a long time for this moment. A moment I believed I had lost all those years ago when you were presumed dead and buried…the pendants with you.’

  ‘You knew about the pendants?’

  ‘Well, naturally, your arrogant fool of a father was very careless about his secrets,’ he snarled, throwing her a disdainful glare. ‘Once I realised that both pendants had quite accidentally fallen into your possession, I had to get them back…by any means. Even if it meant orchestrating an ambush all those years ago.’

  Isabel felt the warmth of Will’s hand on her shoulder. ‘You’re quite mad,’ she whispered.

  The smile that spread on Fitzwalter’s face made her stomach turn in disgust.

  ‘No, not mad, merely shrewd enough to understand the true worth of what you hold in your hands, my lady. Now, if you would please hand it over?’ He held out his hand. ‘And get that infernal animal under control or I shall kick him to kingdom come.’

  Isabel picked up Perdu and put him on the ground near her. ‘Stay,’ she ordered before stretching to her full height. ‘Don’t ever threaten my dog.’

  Isabel schooled her features in the hope that she looked unafraid and assured—the opposite of what she actually felt. ‘As you were saying, sir, you believed that the pendants were lost. Your hopes of getting this gone.’ She nodded to the casket. ‘Why did you remain here, Sir Geoffrey? Did you…did you have something to do with my father and brothers’ deaths?’

  Isabel wasn’t certain that she really wanted to know, but she must have the truth for both her mother’s sake and her own.

  ‘Your father was as indolent as he was profligate. His dissolute sons no better,’ he spat. ‘These lands are littered with his bastards and I can tell you that many sighed a welcome relief when they learnt of his downfall.’

  Bastards?

  This man was surely lying. ‘It’s not true.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m afraid it is. What happened to your father and his sons was nothing short of justice.’ He took a step towards them. ‘Now, I shall say this one more time, Lady Isabel. Hand over the reliquary box to me.’

  * * *

  ‘No.’ Will moved forward, blocking Isabel from the obnoxious toad. ‘I don’t think so. Come any closer and I skewer you from here to here,’ he said, indicating the man’s neck to his navel with the sharp point of his sword.

  The short amount of time that Isabel had bought for him to come up with a solution meant that he had evaluated all their options and come up with very little. The only way out of this mess was to somehow get out of the chapel with the casket and with their lives intact.

  Damn…

  There were two entrances and one of them was blocked by Fitzwalter and his men, which meant their best hope was to aim for the side entrance. He jostled Isabel back and to the left of the nave, through the aisle towards it.

  Slowly, oh, so very slowly, they moved back. Will surveyed every direction, noting any possible attack in his periphery.

  Fitzwalter followed, prowling towards them as some of his men splintered off, moving around to the back to block their progress.

  ‘Have you got weaponry you can spare?’ Isabel mumbled from behind him.

  ‘Not this again,’ he hissed as he surreptitiously passed his dagger to her. ‘Take it, but try not to use it unless you have to.’

  Their movement towards the side entrance was curtailed as two of Fitzwalter’s men catapulted themselves at Will from either side of the aisle.

  ‘Watch out, Will!’

  He engaged one of them with his sword, dispatching him to the side with a handful of swipes before quickly tackling the other, who was also no match for him. ‘Take care, Isabel,’ he bellowed as he motioned towards the side entrance with his head. ‘Move behind me.’

  More of Fitzwalter’s men came forward, their swords at the ready.

  ‘This is all so unnecessarily futile, Sir William.’

  ‘Just so. You can still do the honourable thing, Fitzwalter, and let us leave.’

  ‘Sadly, that’s not possible. Come now, hand me the casket and give yourselves up.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Sir Geoffrey. Sadly, that really is not possible either,’ Isabel muttered from behind him, throwing the odious man’s words back at him.

  God, but Will loved her! And he would do everything in his power—even give his life—to protect Isabel de Clancey. His life was expendable. Hers was not. And the moment to prove that, it seemed, was drawing closer. As long as he could get Isabel out of this perilous situation, then that was all that mattered.

  They both kept walking backwards as Fitzwalter and his men swarmed around them from every direction. Will’s eyes darted around the chapel, trying to weigh up their chances of success, but, no, it did not bode well. He still could not think of how to get out of this hole they were in. They were simply outnumbered and Fitzwalter’s damned men were closing in. His heart was drumming a march. God’s breath, but it had come to this…

  ‘We’re up by the side door, Will,’ Isabel whispered from behind him. He could hear the little dog scratching his paws against the wooden frame.

  ‘Good.’ He maintained the positive note in his voice even though he was beginning to doubt their chances. ‘See if you can open it. I’ll keep them at bay,’ he said under his breath.

  No sooner had he uttered those words than he had to counter more strikes from sword blades from different directions.

  ‘The door’s stuck!’ Isabel muttered in anguish. ‘It won’t open.’

  ‘Try again,’ he roared as he defended another onslaught. ‘Quickly, Isabel.’

  ‘Come now, you are hemmed in.’ Fitzwalter’s voice reverberated from the hallowed walls. ‘All I want is the casket.’

  ‘Is that so?’ a familiar voice bellowed from the rear of Fitzwalter’s barricade.

  They turned to find that another set of guards had streamed into the small chapel behind their leader—Hugh de Villiers.

  Will’s shoulders visibly sagged with relief at the sight of his friend standing proudly in the middle of the maelstrom, his commanding presence creating the necessary shift of advantage.

  Thank God!

  Will caught Hugh’s eyes and made a single nod of gratitude, a lump forming in his throat at the expediency of his friend’s arrival.

  Fitzwalter finally spoke. ‘Who are you, sir, and what are you doing here?’ His obvious shock at this intrusion manifested in outrage. ‘You are unwelcome. Take your men and leave.’

  Hugh didn’t look at the man, but spoke to all of them. ‘I come at
the behest of my friends, Sir William Geraint, Lady Isabel de Clancey, chatelaine of this castle, and William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke and Lord Protector of England. Throw down your weapons and surrender…or face the consequences.’

  Will knew, from the way Fitzwalter’s jaw had set, there would be little chance of that. The man would not yield and intended to fight to the death. Which meant only one thing—the unpredictability of hand-to-hand combat.

  ‘You are surrounded by Lord Tallany and his men, Fitzwalter. Submit now.’ Will was astounded by the man’s singular ambition and greed. ‘As for you, men of Castle de Clancey, your fealty should be to your lady here and not to this man posing as lord. He is nothing but an imposter.’

  His words had the desired effect of causing a murmur of uncertainty among the castle guards.

  Isabel stepped to his side, addressing the assembled group. ‘I swear to those of you who return your loyalty to me that you’ll receive a full pardon. Please do this. There is no need for fighting.’

  Isabel’s heartfelt speech gave Will ample time to motion silently to Hugh. He gave him a sign by flexing his thumb and forefinger, receiving a small nod of acknowledgment in return. Good. He understood that the most strategic way to get Fitzwalter to concede defeat was to surround him and his men. They would also have to allow them to strike first.

  ‘Any turncoat would do well to remember that you, your family and anyone associated with you shall be wiped off the face of this earth should you decide to take that course of action,’ Fitzwalter jeered. ‘Is that not right, Rolleston? Le Jeniquens? Canerue?’

  ‘You’ve lost, Fitzwalter. Yield and surrender.’ They were outflanked and the blasted man knew it, meaning he could pose more danger than even before. Will skirted around the edge of the chapel, his sword at the ready.

  ‘Never!’ Fitzwalter lunged, engaging him with his sword. Will turned on his heel as he made a defensive swipe, using his superior height and strength to his advantage. ‘I’ve come too far, and for too long, to yield now.’

  Will knew from the clatter of movement and clashing of swords that Hugh and his men were also now immersed in the fray. He just hoped that Isabel was safe and tucked out of harm’s way. ‘Then on your head be it, Fitzwalter.’ He scowled before stepping forward and pushing the man back with a quick succession of attacking strikes. He deflected the man’s attempts, countering them with potent thrusts that Fitzwalter had difficulty matching.

  Without even turning, he knew Hugh was now beside him, engaged in his own personal combat with Rolleston, who was hardly a match for his friend.

  ‘You took your time.’ Will’s lips curled faintly.

  ‘Is this the thanks I get for rushing to your aid the moment you get back to England?’

  This felt a little like old times when they would fight side by side, looking out for one another in combat.

  Will smirked as he lunged forward, striking Fitzwalter’s sword again and again. ‘I’ve missed you, old friend.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Hugh leant back against the bench and kicked Rolleston in the stomach, winding him. ‘And less of the old, if you please.’

  ‘Well, you seem a little out of practice. I thought it may have something to do with your happy situation, which reminds me…how is Eleanor?’

  Hugh grimaced as he pushed back against Rolleston’s sword. ‘She is with child again and plagued with the sickness curse.’

  ‘I cannot imagine your formidable lady being cowed by any affliction.’

  ‘Ah, but she is. Especially as your godson, William, is a handful.’ Hugh shrugged. ‘The little mite takes after his namesake.’

  Will grinned as he swiped at Fitzwalter’s sword. ‘Good to know.’

  Their two opponents were sweating profusely at their exertion, getting more and more fatigued during this exchange. Good. This was exactly how to wear the bastards down.

  Fitzwalter stood on a step in an attempt to allow himself more leverage. The man had gumption, Will would give him that, but then he was also desperate—which made Fitzwalter all the more dangerous. He had nothing left to lose.

  Will flicked his gaze around to find Isabel also doing her bit to help with the situation. Her plucky dog was valiantly defending his mistress by growling and yapping relentlessly if anyone dared come too close. Thankfully, she had sensibly stood on the sidelines and was seemingly acting only when threatened. He noticed her smack the metal hilt of the dagger he’d given her on the skull of a man who had ventured too close.

  She was nothing if not brave, but Will had to get to her—she wasn’t adequately protected as she continued to fend off assailants on her own—but he had to subdue Fitzwalter first. Will lunged forward, attacking him with sharp blows of the sword, but the older man managed to defend himself, even as his sword licked the side of the man’s face and again his arm.

  ‘Give in, Fitzwalter, you’re not going to thwart me.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Fitzwalter grabbed a small youth and pushed him out in front to act as shield before hurling the lad towards him. Will checked that he was unharmed before he pursued Fitzwalter, but it was too late. The man had taken Isabel by surprise and now held her from behind. The point of the dagger—his dagger—pressed into the delicate skin at her neck.

  Will tried not to betray a flicker of emotion. He could not show this man how enraged he felt as his heart roared in his chest, threatening to erupt. He vowed to himself if anything happened to her… No, he couldn’t think in that way. He had to keep a clear head and appear outwardly composed when what he actually wanted to do, was to tear Fitzwalter limb from limb.

  ‘Lay down your arms!’ the man screamed. ‘Do it, now.’

  Will turned and nodded to Hugh, his jaw rigid with tension. Only Rolleston, the pock-faced assailant and one other were left standing—the rest were either restrained by Hugh’s men or had fled the scene. That meant nothing, though, as Fitzwalter had Isabel.

  ‘We surrender.’

  One by one, they slowly threw down their weaponry, the sudden silence broken by the noise of the metal hitting the hard stone floor. ‘Now, don’t do anything rash. Just let the lady go.’

  ‘All I wanted was that,’ Fitzwalter said between breaths as he motioned with a tilt of the head towards the casket tucked under his arm. The other was closed tight around Isabel’s neck. He stepped back, dragging Isabel with him. ‘I want your word that I can leave here with a mount. My men and I should be allowed to leave the castle. Only then can you have your whore back.’

  Will noticed Isabel visibly flinch at the words, but she didn’t say anything, knowing as he did that it was best to hold her tongue.

  ‘Give me your solemn word as a man of honour, Sir William.’

  ‘You have it,’ Will said quietly. ‘Now, let the lady go.’

  The chapel was deathly still except for Isabel’s dog. It was jumping and yapping furiously, sensing that the man meant his mistress harm.

  ‘If that dog does not shut up, I swear I shall run it through with this,’ the older man hissed. ‘Now get me a horse and we’ll be away.’

  Perdu bared his teeth, growling, and then it happened. Perdu’s teeth sunk into Fitzwalter’s ankle just as Isabel leant to the side and punched him in his unmentionables, the way Will had shown her. As Fitzwalter lost his grip on her she elbowed him hard in the stomach for good measure.

  Will quickly pulled Isabel into his arms as Hugh and his men retrieved their blades from the ground and pointed them at Fitzwalter, Rolleston and the handful who were left.

  It was over, thank God.

  ‘Well played, my lady.’ Hugh grinned at Isabel before addressing Will. ‘It seems your lady is as formidable as mine, old friend.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Isabel watched in bemusement as Will glared at his friend. They certainly seemed as close as brothers. And after
all his difficulties of the last few years, it was good to see Will esteemed by his friend, and accepted for who he was.

  Hugh inclined his head, his grin still pasted on his face, before leaving the chapel, followed by his men dragging the prisoners out.

  Isabel was now once again alone with Will.

  Without their quest and the mystery of the pendants to unravel, she suddenly felt shy, not knowing what to do or where to look. So she stared at her hands, instead.

  Will curled a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her jaw and down the side of her neck. ‘He didn’t harm you, did he?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘My throat feels a little sore, but otherwise I am well.’

  He hissed an oath under his breath. ‘A small mercy because if anything had happened to you, I swear I would have—’

  Isabel’s hand reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘I’m perfectly well.’

  He exhaled, shaking his head as the tension faded from his eyes, replaced by humour. ‘I’m glad, but, in truth, you were perfectly wonderful.’ He leant forward. ‘I believe you have now mastered that move, but promise me that you’ll only ever use it when absolutely necessary.’

  Her lips twitched. ‘I promise.’

  ‘And never reveal who taught you how to do that.’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’

  He returned her smile and for a moment they stood facing each other at the side of the aisle. After a moment Isabel broke the silence. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘After you, my lady.’ He motioned with an outstretched arm.

  He took a step towards the front entrance, but she stopped him. ‘The side entrance…well, it can open now.’

  ‘Of course it can,’ he said wryly, holding the door open for her and Perdu. ‘Come.’

  They walked out to the side of the building, to be welcomed by the glow of the morning sunrise. Isabel blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. She breathed in the heady scent of the herbs in the garden, enhanced by the morning dew. There was sage, mint, dill, comfrey and blueish-purple-topped, spiky-stemmed, hyssop—the herb that she’d used when tending to Will’s wound all those weeks ago with its blue petals that she had later scattered in the chamber after their night of intimacy in La Rochelle. She swallowed uncomfortably at the memory.