The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  Another of Graistan’s men screamed as he took a bolt in the neck. He fell as Ashby’s men surrounded the mounted men. One by one, Graistan’s might was dragged from their horses. Some men died beneath flashing blades, while others rose to defend themselves as best they could.

  Again, her husband’s warhorse rose, striking out at those surrounding him. It trampled one man while Rannulf used his sword just as effectively, taking another man’s arm and yet another’s head. John threw himself forward, intent on pulling his lord down. "He’s mine!"

  "Stop, Papa," Nicola screamed from behind Rowena, but her female voice made no headway against the noise of battling men.

  Rowena’s heart ceased to beat as Sir John rushed forward. Time slowed. The bay thrust forward in attack. Ashby's sword drove deep into its neck. As the horse jerked away from the pain, Sir John was pulled upward, vulnerable for that instant. Rannulf leaned forward and swung his sword in a great arc. He caught his vassal at the midsection with the full length of the blade's honed edge. The powerful blow lifted the man, snapping ribs and cutting through his mail.

  Screaming in pain the horse reared. Its movement freed Ashby from its master's blade. The wounded man dropped to the ground, but the archers above had seen their opportunity. Another volley of bolts flew. Rannulf arched in pain as he was struck in the back. Although only one penetrated his closely woven metal shirt the attack was enough to unbalance him, and he reeled in his saddle. His horse leapt forward, still striking out as its life ebbed. Rannulf dropped to the bloody earth as the bay fell to its knees beside him.

  "Papa," Nicola screamed, this time her cry piercing the now ebbing clamor of the battle. The girl tore around Rowena to race to her father's side.

  Rowena didn’t waste her breath in words as she sped across the space to Rannulf. Her husband lay on his side, blood washing his face from where his head had hit the ground. With a trembling hand, she touched his throat and felt his heartbeat against her fingers. She turned him slightly to touch her mouth to his and felt his breath against her skin. He lived. Never had she known a greater relief.

  "There are four more coming." Maeve’s voice sailed down from the hall porch to ring about the now silent bailey. "I can see them in the distance."

  Rowena leapt to her feet, stumbling back a step to watch the fair woman in her pale and pretty gowns descend the hall stairs. Maeve surveyed the bleeding men sprawled across the bailey, then loosed a sound of frustration, seemingly completely unaffected by the carnage around her. She strode to her fallen husband, now being tended by his daughter.

  "Fool," Maeve snarled to the wounded man. "It’s punishment, not murder that I sought. Now you've left me no choice but to finish what you started."

  Fear tore through Rowena. Maeve would do it. She glanced back at Rannulf. If she wanted her husband alive, then she had to keep this bitch away from his throat. And, that she could do, for she had weapons against which Maeve had no defense.

  She pushed her way through the crowd of men who surrounded Ashby’s fallen master. Nicola was pulling up the tails of her father’s mail shirt. "There, now, don’t fret," she murmured to him when he groaned in pain when she moved him. "Hush, Papa, it’s not as bad as it feels. Lucky for you, you’re so fat, or you'd have been sliced in twain. He's broken your ribs here, and this gash is deep, but you’ll heal."

  John paid no heed to his daughter as he gazed up at his wife. "I know you bid me stay my hand, but I couldn’t bear to look upon him, knowing what he'd done to you." His voice was a thready whisper.

  "And what had he done to her, Sir John?" Rowena demanded, startling those around her. "Tell me, for I dearly wish to know."

  "One of you," Maeve waved at the soldiers around her, "take that creature away from here and end her life."

  "Nay," John countermanded, shaking his head at the men who reached for her. "I’ve saved you, too, my lady," he gasped out to Rowena. "You don’t know what your husband has done, for he's hidden his true nature from us all. He raped and used my wife, and when she bore him children, he murdered them. He took"—John paused a long moment to catch his breath, then started again on a different tack—"he beat her and abused her."

  "Would you like to hear a different version of this tale she's spun for you?" Rowena focused her entire attention on the only man who could save her husband's life. "I can tell you how she used Lord Graistan’s treasurer and how she robbed him of his wealth."

  "And I thought only to protect you, sister," Maeve cried in the pretense of sweet outrage, then turned toward her husband. "You cannot listen to her when Lord Graistan so obviously controls her."

  "Nay, I must hear what she says." John closed his eyes and swallowed, then slowly refocused his attention on Rowena.

  "But, not now," Maeve insisted, her voice soothing and warm as she knelt down, staining her gown and hands with her husband's blood. "You’re so injured that I fear for your life. We’ll take you inside, and you can listen to her later." She pressed her lips to his forehead.

  John ignored her to ask of Rowena, "He does not abuse you?"

  "Nay," Rowena replied, also kneeling beside him. "But, you shouldn’t have to ask me that. You know him. Your wife uses you, twisting your affection for her to make you her weapon of revenge against Rannulf for some slight he did her. See how her tale has inflamed in you this unnatural hatred for your lord? See how she has no response to my charges."

  "Husband,” Maeve protested, but Rowena spoke on, her voice overriding the other woman's words, finally forcing Maeve into silence.

  "Know I speak the truth when I tell you he didn’t rape her. Nay, it was he who locked his doors to keep her from crawling into his bed. She bore him no babe. But even if she had, you must only think on Jordan to see the truth here. Would a man who so loves a serving wench's get kill any other babe of his?"

  Rowena took John’s hand. "He loves you, Sir John. He came today to see that all was well with you. When you left so suddenly from Graistan he feared he’d slighted you in some way." If they lived, she would confess and do her penance for the lies she told.

  "How could you let this woman pollute your vows to him?" she persisted. "You betray him without even giving him the chance to speak in his own defense."

  John stared up at her, his brown eyes glazed in pain. With his rage now spent she saw him mentally recoil in the horror against what he'd done. Understanding filled his gaze. Maeve recognized it just as Rowena did, for this time the fair woman cried out in very real concern.

  "She lies," Maeve accused. "She’d do anything to save Lord Graistan, for without him she will lose the prestige she so values."

  "John," Rowena went on, again speaking over the woman as she aimed her final thrust at Maeve, "he trusted you, just as his father before him trusted you. Aye, you’ve betrayed him, but he lives still. It’s not too late. Spare us, and I vow on my soul that your daughter won’t be stained by what happened here today."

  "Nay," Maeve screeched as she watched her husband slip from her control.

  "Nicola," John breathed, his gaze moving slowly to the girl who bound his bleeding back and side with strips torn from his gown.

  His daughter lay a hand against her father's leathery cheek. "You were wrong to attack him, Papa, without hearing how he answered Maeve's charges. Even she tried to stop you. Sometimes, that temper of yours," Nicola’s voice trembled. "Oh but Papa, if you must die, let me die with you. You need do nothing to save me."

  John’s attention returned to Rowena. "There is a thread from St. George's cloak within my hilt. Swear that you will spare my daughter upon it."

  Rowena lay her hand upon his bloodied sword. "I swear it will be so."

  "Richard," Ashby’s master called out, then coughed at the effort it cost him. His man leaned down to hear him. "At all cost Lord and Lady Graistan are to be preserved. They must not die. Swear to me that you will see this done."

  "I vow it, Sir John," the man said.

  "Fool!" Maeve screeched, leaping to her feet.
"You stupid fool. Four more of them come. If you kill them all there will be none to bear witness to what happened here today."

  Her protest came too late. John slipped into unconsciousness. "Fool," Maeve screeched again, her face twisted in rage.

  "Damn you, you will not destroy me."

  She whirled on Richard. "Do as I say or the might of Graistan will come crashing down on this place. Kill those four who come; kill all who remain alive of this party. When they are all dead, we’ll bury them in the forest and claim they never arrived."

  Richard of Ashby gave her a scornful stare. "How many witnesses must we also kill to still their mouths? Nay, you cannot hide what happened here today."

  "Do as I say! I am your lady," Maeve screamed.

  "I don’t serve you," the man retorted. "My oath is to Sir John and I’ll do as he commands."

  "Nay!" Maeve pressed her fingers against her temples. "Nay, I won’t die because of this man's stupidity." Then Maeve caught herself. Rowena watched as her expression calmed and her body curved into her most feminine posture. "Aye, Richard, you’re right. You cannot break your word. But think of this. If those men out there were dead, no one will survive to carry back word of this day’s deed. This can buy us some time, perhaps only three days, but that could be enough for your master to regain his wits. When he’s stronger, he’ll be able to resolve this matter with no further bloodshed. But," she leaned forward just a little. Richard stood stonily beneath her assault. "But if they warn Graistan Sir Gilliam will be here tomorrow, and we’ll all die, your master as well as you, when you could have saved us all."

  Richard studied his new lady for a long moment. "All that I do from now on I do to serve my lord the best I can. Just now your words make sense so I am listening. But you take warning. I can only die once and if I must die it won’t be to suit your needs."

  It was her sweetest smile Maeve offered him. "I don’t care if you do it for the Devil himself, as long as you do it. Only make sure you see all four of those men dead, even if you have to chase them all the way to Graistan's gate."

  Walter's anxious voice floated over the wall to them. "My lord, what goes forward in there? Call to us so we know all is well with you. Why are we being kept out?"

  Rowena threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs. "Run to Gilliam, Walter, to Gilliam." But she knew even as she voiced the words he couldn’t have heard her. There was a sudden pain that melted away into darkness.

  Rowena groaned; her head throbbed so badly that she squinted against the pain. That only made it worse. She breathed in dust from the wooden floor beneath her face and coughed, then raised herself just far enough to look around her. Wherever she was was so dim, she could barely see.

  "Rannulf?" she cried in the start of panic, only to find his form in the dimness of this small chamber, stretched full-length and face down on the floor.

  She came to her knees, but her vision swam so viciously that she nearly fell again. It was another long moment before she attempted to rise any farther. This time, her senses held true.

  "Oh, my sweet love," she sighed as she came to kneel beside her husband. Her fingers sought for, then found, his pulse. She closed her eyes in a brief prayer of thanksgiving, then touched the torn skin on his brow. Her husband jerked in reaction.

  "Quietly, my heart," she said, gently stroking his hair as she looked around her, finally taking stock of their prison. The chamber was empty, four walls of stone and a wooden door. That meant this could be no other place than the upper room of the stone tower.

  Rannulf shifted slightly, then murmured, "Wren, you’re still alive." There was great relief in his voice. "Are you hurt?"

  "Nay." In reaction to his question her hand lifted and she touched the bruised spot on her head. It hardly seemed worth mentioning against the gravity of their present situation.

  "Where are we?" he asked.

  "I think it’s the keep’s upper chamber as it’s a stone room."

  "Are we locked in?" Again, a breathless question.

  "I don’t know," Rowena replied in surprise. It hadn’t occurred to her to try the door. Why, when even if it’d been open she wouldn’t have left him?

  Rising now, she crossed the room in a few short steps. The door had no handle; only the insertion of a key would free the latch. "Aye, we’re locked in."

  "Damn," Rannulf groaned, then rolled cautiously to his side. Rowena returned to sit beside him and pillow his head upon her thigh.

  "I remember nothing after dealing John that blow," he said. "You must tell me everything that’s happened since then."

  Rowena sighed. "Maeve told John tales of rape and abuse at your hands, and he believed her. That simple man was no match for her cunning words and sweet lies. Only after you’d both fallen did he open his ears and see how she used him, turning him into the instrument of her revenge against you. When he understood that he made his master-at-arms swear to preserve our lives."

  "And that is why I lie, mailed but swordless, my wounds untreated, in a locked storeroom with no pallet between me and the bare floor?" Rannulf managed sarcasm despite his pain.

  "I don’t know why we’re here," Rowena replied, frustration thick in her voice. "Truly, he made his man swear to hold us safe." Although she hadn’t intended to chide him, the words tumbled from her lips. "Rannulf, we should have sent word. Our unexpected arrival caused John to impulsively strike out at the man his wife named a monster. Even Maeve hadn’t planned murder and tried to stop his attack. She only meant to hurt you by destroying John's loyalty. Now her mischief explodes in her face, and she knows full well what it will cost her. If she must die, she’ll try to take us with her when she goes."

  Rowena freed a bitter laugh. "Mary, Mother of God, I thought she’d choke on her rage when John's man refused to finish us."

  "What of Walter?" Rannulf asked, grasping for the only hope left.

  "Well,” Rowena hesitated, the certainty that her cry had been for naught filling her, "I think they’ve been killed. This man of John's means to delay news of his master’s treachery escaping Ashby in the belief that his lord might recover enough in the next days to settle the matter with you. He thinks they have less than a week's time before we’re missed by Graistan. If only that were true! What will Sir Jocelynn do when we don’t appear in a few days?"

  "Nothing, but wait. He has no cause to suspect that we've fallen foul here at Ashby. Nor will any at Graistan miss us." Rannulf groaned quietly. "If Walter is died, I fear we will die as well, for I cannot believe John will survive that blow. Now, what of the wound in my shoulder? I cannot bear to reach around to touch it."

  "You have no wounds there. Your thigh yet seeps, and your head is cut." She gently touched her fingers to his shoulder. "I don’t know if you broke anything in your fall."

  He struggled to sit up only to gasp. "Help me remove my mail. If we die here, then I’ll do it in as much comfort as I can purchase."

  A key scraped in the lock. Rowena, caught holding Rannulf’s weight as she levered him into a sitting position, could only shift on the floor to stare in surprise at the door. A moment later it groaned open and Nicola stepped swiftly and silently inside. A bucket hung from the girl’s arm, and she carried a tray. A tiny lamp sat at the tray’s center revealing what looked to be medicinal supplies.

  As the tall girl turned quickly to shut and lock the door behind her once again, Rannulf craned his neck, trying to see who came. "Who comes?” he demanded harshly of his wife, his voice yet no louder than a whisper.

  "Nicola," Rowena replied and smiled at the girl, only to receive a glare in return. "She's come to help," she added, with little hope that saying so might actually prod John’s daughter to it.

  "Aid you?" the girl retorted, her tone filled with harsh emotion. "Why should I aid the man who laid my father at death's door?"

  "Because your father betrayed his oath to his rightful overlord and attacked him," Rowena returned, throwing the seeds of logic at a field determined to
bear no fruit. "If my lord hadn’t defended himself your father would have killed him."

  "True, my father did wrong," Nicola replied, "but what of Lord Graistan? He knows my father as well as any man." She swept around the prostrate nobleman to stare down at her fallen overlord. "Why did you wed my father to that evil woman? You know my father’s temper and how single minded he can be. Maeve used her words to goad a good and loyal knight until he hated you and exploded in rage when you appeared unannounced at our gate."

  "My fault," Rannulf told her, once again struggling to lift himself and once again falling back with a groan.

  "Please, you must help him," Rowena cried, concern for her husband overwhelming all else.

  "You’re no better." Nicola glared down at her lady, her words now trembling with tears. "You dared use me, bartering with my life to save yourself and your husband. You used my father's love. But now it’s my turn to do the trading. I’ll treat your husband's injuries and thwart my stepmother's plans for your death, but only if you don’t hold Papa accountable for the evil you both laid upon him. If you wish to live, Lord Graistan, you’ll swear to spare my father."

  Her lady nodded for Lord Graistan. "He swears," she said.

  "I cannot give what he has already forfeited," Rannulf said drawing himself up, his words halting as he gasped in the effort. Where worry and concern could not move him, outraged honor could. "He broke his oath and attacked me, meaning to do me mortal hurt. His life is no longer his, but mine."

  "You hold your tongue," Rowena snapped at him, her voice grim and hard. "Your stubbornness led to this ill-fated wedding, just as it brought us here without a word to smooth our path. Now for pride’s sake you’ll doom us to death. Well, I won’t let our child die because you are too stubborn to see beyond your honor."

  Rannulf shifted his head on her thigh to look up at her. Despite his pain, the corners of his mouth lifted. He managed a pleased huff. "I was wondering."

  "Well, wonder no more," Rowena returned, her voice trembling with emotion.