Merciless

by Tamara Leigh

  England

  Past middle night. Were they coming or not? And if they came, were there any Normans in the wood to alert Cyr?

  Where Aelfled crouched against the wall, clouds overheard spotting her with cool drops, she pressed fingertips hard to her temples, then thrust fingers back through her hair.

  Cradling her head, she closed her eyes. “Lord, keep them from the blades of Normans. They but seek to take back their lives and country. Pray, aid me in keeping them safe from whatever foul winds blow this night.”

  A hoot sounded, and she so forcefully snapped up her head it clipped the wall behind. Was it of owl or man? Glimpsing no movement amid the scattered fruit trees between her garden and the wood, she waited.

  Now two hoots. Silence. Three hoots.

  She pushed upright, and as she moved along the wall toward the hidden door, saw movement.

  They trickled in, advancing tree to tree, perhaps as many as a score. As she had never sheltered so great a number, it portended much ill had been worked on Cyr D’Argent. Until the danger of him was past, she must keep Isa’s rebels here. If he came to her with questions and accusations, she would lie as she must for her lady, though had God in His heavens not entirely turned from her, she gave Him more cause.

  In that moment, she longed to clasp her lost psalter between her palms, press its spine to her lips, and seek comfort in repeating the prayers within—until she recalled the blood staining it.

  “Attend to the now,” she whispered. “Serve your lady well.”

  It surprised Vitalis was the first to appear. On nights she sheltered his men—and the occasional woman—rarely did Isa’s most trusted man present himself. Instead, he and others led their pursuers astray, and the next day or the day after Aelfled would begin receiving instructions as to which men should return to the encampment—two at once, at times as many as half a dozen.

  “What do you here?” she asked as Vitalis motioned forward those who followed him.

  “Too many D’Argents,” he rasped. “Though we struck hard and well, we are to exercise greater caution.” Then almost to himself, he muttered, “A risky venture this. Accursed Jaxon.”

  Then it was Isa’s first in command who chose to ignore Aelfled’s warning she was too closely watched to ensure the rebels’ safety. She was not surprised, nor that Vitalis was angered. Unlike Jaxon, he thought first of those under his command, whereas the former thought first of vengeance. Were Isa not so ill, surely she would put an end to Jaxon's disregard for the lives of those fighting to regain that stolen from them.

  “The one whom Baron D’Argent set to watch over the abbey met an unfortunate end,” Vitalis returned her to the present with tidings that stole Aelfled’s breath. “Though Sigward was under my orders to—”

  “Sigward?” she gasped the name of one she had no liking for, he who was not directly under Vitalis’s command.

  “Aye, as my scout took ill, Jaxon sent him.”

  Then Sigward had been in the wood hours ahead of the rebels’ arrivals to ensure they remained clear of the enemy.

  “I do not believe it was necessary to slay D’Argent’s man to quiet him, but the result is in our favor—no warning can he deliver his lord.”

  Ache lancing her breast, more certain than not the vicious Sigward had killed without cause, Aelfled whispered, “His death will reveal rebels were here.”

  “Sigward hid his body well. Thus, it will appear the man has gone missing. Who can say it occurred here or upon his return to Stern?”

  Cyr D’Argent, Aelfled silently answered.

  As the rain fell with slightly more enthusiasm, Vitalis motioned two of his men to enter the secret passage, then said, “Let us pray the silence of a dead man and the Normans having much to occupy them after what we wrought this eve keeps them from the abbey long enough for us to rest ourselves. God willing, we depart on the morrow.”

  Would God be willing? Aelfled wondered, then forced her thoughts from the murder of Cyr’s man to that which made little sense. Since even when she sheltered only five or ten their departures were spaced at least a day apart, she said, “Surely not all will depart on the morrow?”

  “If possible. Much depends on the reports of the scouts I send out.”

  She shook her head, and as two more men hurried past toward the passageway, said, “You underestimate Cyr D’Argent. I think he will come soon, perhaps this night, and he will think me a party to this.”

  “He might wish to come, but when he receives word of what happened in the north, as he shall shortly has he not already—”

  “North?” This time Aelfled interrupted. “You speak of Balduc? Was it not the lord’s hay upon Stern referenced in your message?”

  “It was, and that was set upon as well.” She caught the shadow of his smile. “Though not by us.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “If ever there is a time and place for you to understand, it is not now and here.” He considered the sky. “The Lord is gracious to only now send rain.”

  It being too late to reveal the trickery worked on the conquerors, she reflected. By now, the fires had consumed all evidence.

  Vitalis looked behind, called low, “Make haste.” The men did so, and when they were past, Vitalis returned his attention to her. “The only things with which you must concern yourself are doing your duty and preparing to depart Lillefarne.” At her startle, he said, “Your time here is at an end.”

  Was she to join the rebels? Of course she was. There was no other place for her upon Wulfenshire. Then what would be asked of her?

  What I cannot do, she silently answered and sent her thoughts in the direction of Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire where it was possible she could begin again—providing her grandmother could be persuaded to accompany her. She could not leave Bernia behind. But what of the word given her lady?

  “You are to return to Wulfen Castle,” Vitalis said. “Once more you shall serve Lady Hawisa.”

  She gasped. Was she forgiven sufficiently to be restored to her position? Might she once more be fast at her lady’s side? Caring for her? Returning her to health?

  As much as she longed to believe it, it seemed impossible, especially considering her most recent meeting with her lady. Her reception had been so chill she had not expected her betrayal easily forgiven or excused—if at all.

  Perhaps it is not, fear whispered. Perhaps you were lulled into proving yourself loyal only that you give aid this night. Perhaps the same as Cyr’s man in the wood, you shall go missing. Perhaps the silence of a dead woman will be your fate as well.

  “Aelfled?”

  Through tears, she saw Vitalis frown.

  “Are you not pleased?” he asked. “She believed you would be, as did I.”

  She swallowed. “Of course I wish to serve my lady as before, but…”

  He beckoned forward two more rebels, and when they went behind the hedge, prompted, “What?”

  She nearly shrugged off the question, but she wanted an answer of which, hopefully, she might discern the truth. “Is that truly my destination, Vitalis? Or am I no longer of use to my lady?”

  His brow grew weightier. “Have you betrayed us again?”

  “I have not.”

  “Then as told, Wulfen Castle is your destination.”

  She did not believe herself gifted with reading well another’s face and body, and it was all the harder to do by the light of the moon forcing its way through the clouds, but had she to decide one way or the other, she would name him sincere.

  “Let us get the rest of these men inside and settled,” he said.

  She nodded, asked what she should have earlier, “Are there injuries?”

  “Blessedly, we met little resistance, and those who sought to interfere with our work were quickly subdued.”

  Then not dead like Sigward’s victim. Bound and easily found come morn, albeit arrayed in humiliation.

  “Beyond a few minor hurts and strains,” Vitalis said, “we ha
ve only to deal with a self-inflicted injury.”

  “Self-inflicted?”

  “As ever, Gerald ignored my warning to retreat as soon as the flint yielded flame and this time paid the price for his love of fire. I do not think his burns serious, but to his end days he shall carry on his person proof of this night we inflicted much damage on our enemies.”

  Much? It sounded more than the lord’s hay upon Stern, but there was no time to discuss it. “There are bandages and salve aplenty to ease his pain,” she said.

  He inclined his head, and over the next few minutes beckoned forward the remainder of his men. As the last one crept across her garden—nay two, a rebel with a limp bringing up the rear—Vitalis preceded them into the passage.

  Hoping the last man’s injury was no more than a twisted ankle, Aelfled followed him inside. Though the latch engaged when the door settled in its frame, as ever she lowered the bar into place lest the abbey’s hidden entrance was discovered.

  Amid darkness that allowed no telltale light to shine from the passage outside or inside the walls, she instructed, “Stand to the left.” Though most knew from past experience what was required to negotiate the narrow space, among their ranks could be one or more for whom this was their first time joining those who worked havoc in the night. Too, sometimes the rebels who had shared this passage before were too fatigued or injured to think clearly.

  Despite her warning, her shoulder bumped that of the last man who entered and she stepped on his foot.

  As he quickly drew back, she whispered, “Forgive me,” then set a hand on the right-side wall to guide her forward. “Follow me,” she said once she was past all.

  Their boots scraping the packed, earthen floor, she led them toward the far end and around the corner into a passage twice as wide where she had amassed all required to sustain them until they could safely return to their encampment—medicinals and bandages, drink, food, blankets, and candles they would light with the same flints used to make fire this night.

  Fire that had destroyed another crop. Or so Cyr D’Argent would be made to believe.

  Hastily laid plans make for hastily severed limbs and lives, Hugh’s warning returned to Cyr as he and ten of his men surged out of the wood toward the abbey’s eastern wall. Unfortunately, there had been no time to lay better plans when, what was on the cusp of being deemed a fruitless wait bore fruit upon the discovery they were no longer alone in the wood. And were nearly outnumbered.

  Cyr and Maël’s men had held until the rebels determined it was safe to approach Aelfled’s garden. Then Cyr and his cousin’s plan was set in motion, though not that toward which both first leaned—attack before the rebels entered the abbey’s hidden passage.

  Lest they scatter amid the wood, yielding up fewer of their numbers whether by escape or death at the hands of their pursuers, it was determined that, even at the risk they claimed sanctuary within Lillefarne, it was better all were trapped inside walls they must leave eventually. But if everything went to plan, they would come out this night.

  Praying Dougray’s hatred of the Saxons did not unveil one whose appearance made him the best choice to slip unnoticed among the rebels as they moved from wood to garden, Cyr bent low and came out of the wood’s shadow into moonlight diluted by clouds that loosed gentle rain.

  Praying the long-haired, bearded D’Argent could open the door surely barred from the inside, providing access to Maël and his men who even now surrounded the garden, Cyr glanced left and right at his own men negotiating the open ground.

  Praying he could prevent Aelfled from admitting the rebels into the abbey so they could be taken ere claiming sanctuary, once more Cyr searched the walls for a watch that would be required were this a fortress. No movement. No watch.

  Praying the missing young man set to observe Aelfled’s movements outside the abbey was but remiss in his duty, Cyr slowed as he and his men neared the wall and was grateful they made little sound, all having divested themselves of chain mail. Still no movement above.

  God willing, soon the rebels would be had and good use made of them. And Aelfled…

  He thrust her from his thoughts. When he was done here, he would make time aplenty to decide what to do with his little rebel.

  There being only the barest of shadow in which to conceal themselves at the base of the abbey wall, all moved into it save the one who had assured Cyr he could send the hook-ladened rope over the wall and secure it. Having padded the hook before departing the wood, he stood twenty feet back from the wall, twirled the rope with increasing speed, then sent it soaring high. And over the wall.

  Hoping the thud was as barely perceptible to those inside the walls as outside, Cyr watched the man reel in the rope until it tautened and a light scrape sounded.

  With a low chuckle of satisfaction, the man strode forward. “It is secure, my lord.”

  Cyr took the end of the rope. As he tested it, he beseeched the Lord to forgive him for breaching the walls of this holy place, of which even King William might not approve. Thus, another problem with hastily laid plans, but he could conceive of no better time or opportunity to deal a blow capable of bringing the rebels to heel. And if by some small miracle he was able to take them without disturbing the abbey’s inhabitants, surely he would be more easily forgiven.

  Looking to those on either side of him, Cyr said, “One at a time. Once you are in position on the walls, remain out of sight until you hear my signal.” He nearly smiled. “As there are owls about this eve… One hoot, you go back down the rope. Two, you give my cousin the signal to proceed. Three, you descend to the courtyard and aid me.”

  Receiving nods, Cyr released the rope and positioned himself before it facing the wall. He jumped high and grabbed a length one hand over the other. Engaging the muscles of his arms, he raised his body, drew up his knees, and hooked a foot around the rope. Having fashioned a rung beneath his boot, he pushed upright and gripped the rope higher. So it went until he reached the top where he paused to confirm none were on the wall. Then he swung over and, crouching low, searched for movement amid the buildings below whose layout he knew from his reunion with Aelfled.

  All was still.

  Those of the abbey slept the sleep of the innocent—all but Aelfled who made much of the night by harboring rebels amid the godly. As there appeared no others present to aid her, that which he hoped for might prove possible. The abbess and her charges unaware of what went in the night, likely Aelfled would confine the rebels to the passage. When it was believed danger was past, they would slip out by way of the garden.

  How many times had she performed this service following the destruction they wrought, making it appear they vanished like the smoke of fires they set and for which their own suffered? Often. The abbey being nearly at the center of Stern, Balduc, and Wulfen, the majority of rebels had only to reach the walls of this place whilst their pursuers were led astray by others. For this, Aelfled dwelt here.

  “Not much longer,” Cyr rasped, then hearing the soft grunts of the man climbing the rope after him, went in search of her.

  As it seemed the best way to locate the passage’s inner door was from atop the wall, he bent low and, rain flecking him, moved in the direction of the garden. At the joint between eastern and rear wall, just past steps that accessed all below, he stopped and searched beyond the roofs of buildings and bare stretches of wall. All remained still.

  In the space between Cyr leaving the wood and ascending the wall, had Aelfled exited the passage this side of the wall? Worse, had the rebels? Of such great numbers were the latter, it did not seem possible.

  Show yourself, he silently prodded the infuriating woman. Show me where to find the door.

  As if she heard and was of a mind to obey, a gowned figure emerged from a small shed built against the eastern wall almost directly below him. She eased the door closed, and he smiled at the realization rebels were beneath his feet in this section of wall twice as wide as the rest to accommodate steps built into it an
d of greater length than necessary other than to disguise its hidden purpose.

  If it fell to him to set Stern in stone—as seemed more possible the nearer he drew to recovering Guarin—he would see the same incorporated into his castle.

  He straightened enough to be visible to his men on the walls, raised a staying hand, then from his vantage watched Aelfled’s progress toward what he guessed was the convent. Once certain she was distant enough she would not hear his descent nor see him if she looked behind, he moved down the steps.

  Shortly, he entered the shed. Leaving the door open to allow moonlight to turn the black gray, he considered barrels stacked two high on both sides of a narrow aisle. Knowing what he would find behind them, he took two strides to the stone wall. The barrels touched it on the right. As solid and immovable as they were, their purpose was not purely concealment.

  Not so those on the left where there was space enough for one the size of Aelfled to slip through sideways. Too, the barrels were easily shifted to accommodate Cyr’s greater bulk, allowing him to enter a relatively wide, empty space. It being nearly pitch black here, he had to feel for the door and found it in the far corner—low, fashioned of iron, a bar laid across it.

  Though much Aelfled risked in harboring rebels, of which Cyr could not believe Abbess Mary Sarah would approve no matter her loyalty to Saxons, she was not remiss in protecting those of the abbey. Providing Dougray had been able to unbar the other door, the rebels could be taken without overly disturbing the residents and, quite possibly, none the wiser their inner walls were breached.

  Cyr exited the shed and quietly closed the door. Though he meant to ascend the steps to give the signal and join his men and Maël’s in bringing out the rebels, there was movement where there should not be. Aelfled had returned.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A man where there should be none. And no mere mortal this. A warrior.

  It mattered not whether it was the one she knew, though in this moment she feared him more than any. On no night was it permissible for a man to be inside Lillefarne. And what it portended this eve…