by Park, Elsie
“Yield, wench. Continue to fight and Sir Roland dies.” Doyle withdrew his sword from her neck, and she turned her head in the direction he indicated with a flick of his bloody chin.
Audri gasped.
The twins stood in Roland’s doorway, holding his limp body up by the arms. His hands had been tied behind him, and his head drooped forward, dripping blood onto the floor.
“And look what we found in his chamber,” Hammond announced, grinning. He propped Roland’s sagging body up with one arm as he handed the dungeon map and ledger to Doyle.
“Ah yes,” Doyle said. “I’ve been wanting these back. This personal favorite,” he paused to wave the ledger in the air above her, “I had pulled down for my own musings before I left to meet with the king. Imagine my annoyance when I discovered it, and my map, missing. After gaining a confession from the guards by way of a sound flogging,” Audri cringed at the man’s cruelty, but he continued, “they admitted to allowing Roland into my territory. I figured Roland was not only planning an escape for the prisoners, but that he intended to use the history in here against me. I couldn’t have that, now could I? Good work, Hammond,” he praised his smug knight.
Doyle tucked the articles into his belt.
Audri scrutinized Roland’s unmoving form. He wasn’t dead, or Doyle wouldn’t have made the threat to kill him. But she didn’t trust Doyle to honor his word to keep him alive should she go with him. He’d eventually kill him regardless of her actions, but if she didn’t go willingly, Doyle would kill him this second. She had no choice. She must go with Doyle. Her only hope now was to buy time, but she didn’t know to what end. She didn’t see a way out of this. She silently prayed for help as she yielded to Sir Doyle.
Doyle strutted past her and bent to pick up her sword.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She lifted her legs from atop Heath and brought them under her so she could kneel and then stand.
“Remove your scabbard and toss it here,” Doyle said, stepping to her open doorway.
She unbuckled the leather belt that carried her sheath and tossed it at Doyle’s feet. He picked it up and slid her sword into it.
“Watch her,” Doyle said to the twins before entering her chamber. Audri knew she could run, the twins having their hands full holding Roland, but she would risk them slaying him if she did.
“And what of this traitor?” Hammond asked his brother as he kicked the motionless Heath in the ribs.
Harold snickered. “Nice one. He’ll feel that for sure when he wakes up.”
“Leave him alone, pigs!” Audri shouted.
“You’re in no position to demand anything, wench,” Hammond sneered, kicking Heath harder in the side to emphasize his point.
“Leave him be,” Doyle ordered as he emerged from her chamber. He’d traded her sword for her cloak. He also held the thick leather belt that had previously been strung through her scabbard. “We’ll deal with him upon our return.”
The twins shifted Roland’s body in their hold.
“Put this on.” Doyle threw the cloak at Audri. She caught it and put it on as Doyle pulled Heath’s limp arms around to his back. He secured the unconscious knight’s wrists with the belt.
“Now move,” he commanded. Audri glared at him but turned, limping down the corridor in front of her captor.
Hefting Roland between them, the twins followed close behind.
Audri turned to where Roland’s battered body was lying face up on the rack. He moaned but didn’t wake up. His poor face was barely visible through the dried blood. Sir Doyle stood behind her as the twins cinched Roland’s wrists and ankles with leather bindings to the four corners of the massive bench. Audri glanced around the dungeon for something to grab and fight with, but all possible weapons were too far away. Doyle and his minions would be on her in a second if she moved anyway.
She saw Andrew and Autumn looking at her through their cell bars. She was relieved to see Andrew alive, but she sent both of them a remorseful look for not getting them out. Their plans had taken an unfavorable turn.
Doyle wrapped a bandage around the cut she’d made on his arm. The scratch on his chin had already clotted, the shallow gash now only a thick red line. He suddenly laughed with menacing amusement. “Do you know what I’m going to do to him when I return?” he said, smirking in Roland’s direction. “First I’ll test his endurance with hot irons. This I’ll do for several days. Then I’ll cut off all his fingers and toes, saving one for each day so he has something to look forward to. I’ll pull his limbs tight, stretching his muscles inch by excruciating inch until they all but rip from his body. After that, if he’s still holding on to life, I’ll hang him and burn his wretched corpse, reuniting him with his parents.”
Audri wanted to cry, thinking of Roland being tortured and dying at the hands of Sir Doyle, but her anger stayed her tears.
Doyle threw the ledger onto the dirt floor. “I hate to do this to my favorite book, but I can’t have it incriminating me.” He leaned over and set it afire with a torch.
“NO!” she yelled. Without the proof of his crimes against the Fletchers, Doyle could never be charged with their murder.
In desperation, Audri sprung forward, stomping on the flames with her boots, but Doyle pulled her back. She struggled in his grasp, kicking at his shins and clawing at his arms. She managed to turn enough to drive her fist into his wounded arm. He grunted and threw her to the ground. She tried to stand, but his cruel palm struck her cheek, sending her to the floor again. She put a hand to her stinging face, knowing it would be bruised. A whimper escaped her lips as she slowly drew herself to her knees.
“Get her up,” Doyle ordered as he passed her hunkering form.
Sir Hammond picked her up off the floor, allowing her to get her footing before he shoved her in the back, goading her to walk to the back of the cave.
She limped behind Harold and Doyle.
“Faster, urchin,” Hammond ordered.
“I’m moving as fast as I can with a twisted foot,” she snapped, pulling her cloak tighter around her cold body. She’d faked the injury ever since the corridor to slow them down. If they inquired about it, she’d blame it on tripping over Heath’s body. So far, they believed her lie, but what slowing them down would gain her, she didn’t know.
Roland’s promise to come for her, though given in true sincerity, was but a pledge spoken with the hopeful sentiments of yesterday. Seeing his body on the rack, the reality of their situation proved it to be an impossibility.
“You could carry her on your back,” Sir Harold suggested. With a torch in hand, he looked back at his brother as they entered a putrid-smelling passageway. “Wouldn’t that feel nice? The warmth of a woman against your backside?”
As if walking through the horrid tunnel littered with bones and decaying bodies wasn’t awful enough, she had to put up with the crude comments of the twins.
“Shut up, you two,” Doyle barked. “We’ll be entering enemy territory as soon as we emerge, so best keep your minds on our surroundings and not so much on that female.”
She wished she had a weapon on her, anything at all. She was at the mercy of her captors to protect her should something happen. She didn’t like being at their mercy for anything, especially not her own safety.
The uneven passageway from the dungeon took them upward through the mountain. It led them to a locked gate which barred outsiders from entering the tunnel; a thick forest lay beyond the gate. Hammond turned a key in the padlock to open it and let them out while Harold snuffed out the torch and left it inside the entrance. Hammond closed the door.
“You going to lock it?” she heard Harold ask his brother as Doyle pulled her ahead with her arm in his bruising grasp.
Hammond shook his head. “No, it won’t be long before we’re back.”
They continued to walk up the mountainside
until they hit a trail of sorts that started them down in elevation again. The narrow track eventually leveled out as the trees thinned and turned to marshy wetlands, dotted here and there by a tall shrub or lone tree. They hiked for over an hour, and she had no idea how much farther they had to go. She was glad it wasn’t raining now, though the moist air held the scents of an earlier rainfall. For now, the clouds had moved off, allowing a bit of sunlight to warm her face. Doyle had let go of her arm, and she walked free of his grip.
“Why didn’t you send me by way of your messenger boy?” Audri posed, remembering Andrew eyeing her beyond his cell before they’d left the dungeon.
Doyle snorted a laugh. “Because I’m no fool. You’re too precious a trade to trust with anyone but myself.”
No, he wasn’t a fool . . . that’s what worried her.
Roland groaned. So much pain. Opening his eyes to view his surroundings, his blurred vision perceived light in front of him. The crackling sound suggested it was a torch. He tried to lift a hand to his aching head, but it wouldn’t move. Alarmed, he tried again and felt the resisting pull of something tied to his wrist. He tried to move his other arm, but it resulted in the same opposition. He moved his legs. They matched the immobility of his arms. He was bound, hand and foot. Cool, rough planks bit into his naked back as cold air sent shivers across his chest.
He was in the dungeon, strapped to the rack. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly to calm his sudden panic. Recollection of the ambush entered his cloudy mind.
He had just washed up in his chamber and donned a clean pair of chausses. He’d retrieved the dungeon map and ledger out from under his bed so he could examine them again, placing them on the table along with his sword and crossbow. He had been reaching for his tunic when he heard Sir Heath through the cracked door outside his chamber. “Ro-land,” Heath had said, his words slurred. “Help.” The urgency in Heath’s voice made Roland immediately open the door in time to see him sink to the floor, a goblet of wine spilled on the wooden planks. Roland immediately suspected a tainted drink, and he had no doubt that Doyle was behind it. That meant Audri was in danger. He’d turned on his heel to grab his sword from the table, but the sound of boots rushing into his room made him turn before he reached his weapon.
He’d received a fist to his face by Sir Hammond, sending him reeling. Sir Harold had rushed past and kicked the table over, knocking Roland’s weapons to the floor and out of his reach. But he guessed they hadn’t come to kill him, or they would have entered in with swords drawn. No, it had just been a distraction so Doyle could get to Audri.
He’d looked at the door as another punch connected with his side. He’d felt the overwhelming need to get to Audri before Doyle did, but there stood the evil man himself, his pompous grin sending ripples of fury coursing through Roland’s body. Doyle had watched as the twins continued to beset him, but Roland put up an immense fight—more than they’d expected, he was sure. A bottle had smashed and broken against his door frame, causing Doyle to duck away. After hearing Audri’s voice in the doorway and warning her about Doyle, he had been hard-pressed to get to her as he heard the subsequent sword fight in the corridor. But the twins had kept him engaged. He’d increased his resistance, trying to get at his weapons and finish the twins off so that he could aid Audri. However, the assailing knights overwhelmed him, eventually pounding him into unconsciousness. As his world darkened, he knew in his heart that Audri would be overtaken by Doyle.
Now imprisoned, he knew there was little hope of his escaping on his own. And he could look forward to the same atrocities that were wrought upon his parents.
Where is Heath? Have they killed him? How long have I been down here? Minutes, hours . . . days? He felt anxious just lying there, feeling an overriding need to get to Audri but knowing he was helpless to do so.
He let out a guttural roar of frustration, the sound echoing off the cavern walls and reentering his ears several times over. Clamping his hands into fists and gritting his teeth, his muscles strained as he pulled at the attachments holding him. Maybe they’re old and crusty, he thought, ready to snap if I can just pull them to their limit. He felt the warmth of blood drip out from under the bonds, mocking his efforts and urging him to abandon the exploit.
He closed his eyes, thoughts of Audri’s fate devastating his mind. Oh, Audri, I don’t know where you are, but I will find you. I won’t give up on you, so don’t give up on me. He silently prayed for strength beyond what he felt he had.
With renewed vigor, Roland gritted his teeth and, this time, only concentrated on pulling the strap holding his right arm. He heard the telltale crackling of weathered material beginning to tear.
“You can do it, Sir Roland,” a female voice from a cell to his right urged.
“Pull harder,” a male voice came from the same direction.
Roland turned his head, his eyesight clear now, viewing his allies: Autumn and Andrew.
Gathering strength from their encouragement, he relaxed for a second before pulling again. More crackling. He rested, then pulled again. He did this for several minutes, his breathing labored from his efforts, but he pressed on. He pulled with all his might until the strap finally snapped, almost sending his fist into the side of his head.
Shouts of triumph resonated not only from the siblings but from other prisoners.
“Hurry, Sir Roland,” Andrew hollered. “Sir Doyle and two other knights took Lady Gibbons through a tunnel leading into Scotland.”
Gaining more fervor, he tugged at the left side, pulling on the worn strap to the chants of his onlookers. The second one broke quicker than the first.
He sat up and set to work untying his legs. He hoped the cheering prisoners wouldn’t bring the guards in to investigate.
“How long ago did they take her?” Roland shouted over the voices.
“About two hours ago, maybe a bit less,” Andrew estimated.
“That’s quite a head start,” Roland said. But I’ll catch up . . . if I can get these obstinate straps off. “Do you know where they took her?” he asked.
“My guess would be to the Bargaining Bridge just beyond the border, in Scotland. It’s where I delivered Sir Doyle’s last message.”
“The Bargaining Bridge?”
“Yes, that’s what Sir Doyle calls it, though I don’t know its actual name.”
“Could they have reached it by now?” Roland asked before cursing under his breath. His cold, tingling fingers made untying the straps more difficult, but these he couldn’t pull apart. They were newer, not as brittle as the others.
“Not likely. It’s a good seven miles in, meeting with rocky and marshy footing some of the way. I made it there in about an hour, but I ran most of the way.”
“And they’re likely not moving as quickly with Audri in tow,” Roland surmised, hoping that was the truth.
“Yes, especially with her limping as she was.”
Roland’s head whipped around to Andrew. “She was injured?”
Andrew nodded. “Her foot, I think.”
Roland’s teeth ground in anger over the thought that Doyle had hurt her, but he put his rage into his labors, digging deeper into the tight binds and working his fingers raw to untie them. The process was entirely too slow and he wanted to scream his frustration.
Clashing metal beyond the prison entrance quieted the prisoners. Roland’s head jerked to watch as the prison door swung open. A sentry stumbled in holding a hand against his side that was soaked with crimson. He fell on his face, unmoving. The other guard had fallen to the floor just inside the door. A large knight in chainmail stepped through the opening, stepping over the guards’ lifeless bodies, his bloody sword poised in front of him.
Blessed saints! Heath is alive!
Little Bryant entered after his knight, carrying a crossbow, and behind him followed Gail Pritchard. Someone else he couldn’t see stood be
hind Gail. He momentarily sat in awe of the greeting party before he found his voice.
“Heath!” Roland called. “Over here!”
Heath ran to his side, replacing his sword and brandishing a dagger. “Move your hands fool.”
Roland smiled despite himself as he withdrew them. Heath sawed through the remaining ties with the dagger. Roland swung his legs over the side of the raised platform and slid his sore body to the edge so he could lower his feet to the ground. He winced, pain racking his body from head to toe. He probably had broken ribs to go with his numerous cuts and bruises, but thoughts of Audri in danger dulled the throbbing.
“Don’t you look lovely?” Heath joked, bringing a chuckle to Roland’s lips despite the circumstances.
Roland could only guess how horrid his battered face appeared.
“Yes, sir. Best face to ever come from a beating,” Heath declared as he bent down with his own painful grunt and picked up a wooden bucket filled with water.
“You’re hurt, too,” Roland stated.
“Aye, my side feels quite bruised,” Heath said, lifting the bucket up and setting it on the rack. Roland dipped his hands in it and scrubbed his face. Red-stained water fell back into the bucket. He did this several times.
“Here,” Heath said after replacing the bucket on the floor. “You forgot these.” He took something from Gail’s arms and placed it on the rack.
Roland was impressed at Heath’s foresight. It was not only his tunic but his gambeson and chainmail hauberk.
“Thank you, friends,” he said to Heath and Gail as he picked up his tunic and started dressing. His movements were sluggish with his pain.
“You’d better be grateful,” Heath said to Roland as the large knight nodded toward Gail. “Those weren’t the lightest things for a petite lady to carry as I fought our way into the dungeon.”