Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Where are the blankets?” the man demanded.

  “They are coming,” Dera replied, her gaze never leaving Brend’s face. “The servants are warming them. I will have a brazier brought in, too.”

  “Good,” the physic said, his focus lingering on Brend. “I’ve done all I can for him, but I will return later.”

  “Are there many wounded?”

  “There are enough now that there is fighting inside the castle.”

  “No more… knights?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  That was huge relief to Dera. The physic headed out just as two servants entered with the first of the warmed blankets. Dera immediately took them, tucking them in around Brend. She removed his boots so she could tuck the blankets in around his feet. As she fussed over him, Brend began to come around.

  “Dera?” he said weakly.

  She knelt beside him, her arms around his shoulders to keep the warm blanket against his skin. “It is me,” she said, smiling at him though she felt like weeping. “I thought you knew better to stay away from flying projectiles.”

  Brend’s eyes were half-open and a flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “I tried,” he said thickly. “Do not be too angry.”

  “I am not angry. But I am going to take care of you so that you can make it back to Bella.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I have seen enough battle wounds to know that I will not make it back to Bella,” he said softly. “You know… how much I love her. You know.”

  Dera’s resolve not to weep was smashed and the tears began to come. “I know,” she said. “Bella loves you so much, Brend. You must fight. For her, you must do this. She will be lost without you.”

  “Dera?”

  “Aye, Brend?”

  “I love you, too. You are my sister. I am… sorry for the unpleasantness between us.”

  Dera’s face crumpled. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “You are a very good brother.”

  Brend closed his eyes, fading off to sleep. Dera watched him as he drifted off, letting the tears come freely as she lay her head upon his chest, sobbing softly for the brother she never knew, the one whose loyalties had been so terribly twisted by a legacy that had been drilled into him. Brend had never had a chance to know anything other than submission to the English.

  It simply wasn’t fair.

  “Dera?”

  She heard a voice from behind and her head shot up. Turning swiftly, she could see Cort standing in the tent entry.

  He was battered, beaten, and slashed. That heavy armor he wore looked as if it had been through a grinder. His helm was off, his long hair pulled to the back of his head with a strip of fabric, tied off to keep it away from his face. With a gasp, she bolted to her feet but stopped short of running into his arms no matter how badly she wanted to.

  “Cort,” she gasped. “Are you well?”

  He nodded, but his movements were extremely weary. “I am well,” he said. Then, his gaze moved to Brend. “How is he?”

  Dera turned to look at her brother, too. “He sleeps,” she said. “I told him that I would stay with him. The physic… he does not know if…”

  She trailed off, unable to finish, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. They came faster than she could wipe them away. As she stood there, Cort came over to her. Bending over, he kissed her gently on the head, but made no other move to touch her.

  “I know,” he whispered. “I am sorry you had to find out before I could tell you.”

  She sniffled, feeling great comfort from his kiss. “You needn’t worry,” she said. “Brend and I have spoken. I told him I loved him. I told him Bella loved him. All we can do now is pray.”

  Cort nodded, looking over her head to Brend’s sleeping form and feeling such devastation. “He is in God’s hands now,” he muttered. “Can you leave him for a moment? I must speak with you.”

  Dera was hesitant at first, but Cort gently convinced her to come out of the tent. He took her behind it, where they were out of the view of most people in the encampment. Under the light of the half-moon, they faced each other.

  “I wish I could hold you, but I cannot risk it,” he whispered. “It is bad enough if we are discovered here alone, but this is something I must risk. You must know what we discovered once we entered the keep of Mount Wrath.”

  Her eyes widened as her tears were momentarily forgotten. “Then you breached the keep?”

  He nodded, but it was with great effort. “Aye,” he said. “I searched the entire keep myself, Dera. Every floor, including the vault. You must be strong with what I am about to tell you. It is not pleasant.”

  She looked at him with some horror, but admirably stilled herself. “I am not a weakling,” she said. “Please tell me the truth.”

  Cort couldn’t help it; he reached out, gently touching her cheek before letting his hand drop. “Your father and brother, Ardmore, have not been buried. They were kept in the vault along with your mother and other two brothers, but your mother did not survive. Declan and Finn did. I found them among the corpses of the rest of your family. They are being brought back here and should arrive soon.”

  Dera stared at him for a moment, but that was as long as she could be brave. She broke down into gut-busting sobs and Cort forgot his reserve. He went to her, wrapping her up in his enormous arms, and held her tightly. He held her as she sobbed for a family lost, for the only life she’d ever known destroyed. His face was buried in the top of her head as he tried to bring her some comfort.

  “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Declan and Finn are on their way here. They are weak, but unharmed. I have given orders that your mother, father, and Ardmore should be buried immediately, so some of my soldiers are wrapping the bodies in whatever they can find. They will be bringing them back here, too, eventually, but I beg you not to view them. You do not need to distress yourself unnecessarily.”

  She wept deeply into his chest. “And Brend,” she sobbed. “What will become of Brend? Is he truly dying, Cort?”

  Cort sighed deeply, his hand on her head, holding it against his chest. “I do not know, sweetheart,” he said softly. “He is badly wounded. The physic has done what he can. I suppose time will tell.”

  Dera couldn’t stop her tears. She’d always been the strong type, always strong for everyone else. She’d never needed comfort because it wasn’t something she’d ever really known. She didn’t know what she was missing.

  But now, she did.

  Being cradled in the arms of the man she loved was the most glorious comfort she could imagine.

  “And Bella,” she wept. “She should be here, with him. We must send for her right away.”

  “We cannot,” Cort said. “It would take her weeks to get here and by then, Brend’s fate will be determined. Either he will live or he won’t. Bringing Bella here will not change that.”

  “But she could at least say her farewells to him,” she said. “I know that I would move heaven and earth to say my farewells to you if anything happened. Nothing could keep me from your side.”

  “I know,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “And I love you for it. But it would not be reasonable to bring Bella here. You will have to give Brend as much comfort as you can.”

  “I will try.”

  With that, she took a deep breath, stilling her tears and wiping at her face. Cort let her go, standing back from her and using his thumbs to clean up the tears on her chin. When she looked at him, he smiled bravely.

  “That’s a good lass,” he said. “Go back in and sit with Brend. I will come to you when I can.”

  “Will you let me know when my brothers arrive?”

  “I will,” he said. “Go, now. I will see you later.”

  Dera nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she headed around the side of the tent. Cort stood there a moment, greatly troubled by her distress, by Brend’s wound, and struggling not to let it drag him down too terribly. There was much more he had to d
eal with that needed his full focus.

  The tribulations were not over yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It had been a long night.

  Trenton was feeling his exhaustion as the sun began to rise, seeing the sides of his tent become illuminated as a new day dawned.

  He hadn’t slept all night, directing the clean-up of Mount Wrath and making sure the fortress was as secure as they could get it. The rebels who had been bottled up in the keep had surrendered for the most part and he was dealing with about two hundred prisoners, now tucked in behind his camp and being heavily guarded by English who weren’t particularly kind to them. He’d personally broken up a couple of beatings, angry English soldiers pounding on unarmed Irish.

  But there had been other things, too. Dillon had taken Brend’s wounding hard and he hadn’t been terribly effective at managing the aftermath of the battle, which had fallen entirely to Trenton even though Damon was there and part of the de Winter family.

  Damon essentially looked upon his role in the entire event as being over with, since it was his bombard that had breached the castle and made it so Mount Wrath was recovered. But he had been furious that his tent had been given over to the wounded and he’d taken over a Wellesbourne tent, leaving William without a roof over his head. William had moved his things in with Boden and Gage.

  In fact, the three younger knights had proven admirably responsible in helping Trenton mop up the battle, but under Cort’s guidance. While Trenton supervised everything, it had been Cort out in the field making sure everything was completed.

  Trenton couldn’t have done it without him.

  Now, as dawn broke over the green and wild land, those who had cleaned up the battlefield and secured Mount Wrath were starting to trickle back. A small force of de Winter men were now stationed in Mount Wrath and Cort had put them on rebuilding the drawbridge, or what there was left of it. He’d yet to return to camp, nor had Dillon, but Trenton could see men returning from their duties.

  Denys had his castle returned to him, but it was in shambles. His legacy knight was hovering near death, and half of the MacRohan Clan had been wiped out. Trenton wasn’t entirely certain if Denys would view this as a victory.

  Perhaps the cost had been too high.

  As he stood there, watching the men wander back into camp, he heard someone behind him.

  “Westbury?”

  Trenton turned around to see Damon standing behind him. He scratched his head wearily. “It looks as if some of the men are returning,” he said. “I should have a report on the status of Mount Wrath shortly.”

  Damon came to stand beside him, watching the men return also. “Some of my men have already returned from it,” he said. “They tell me that your brother has the drawbridge patched sufficiently that they will be able to raise and lower it. It is semi-passable.”

  Trenton nodded. “Good,” he said. “Cort has a way with men that drives them better and faster than most. He works alongside them. The men respect that.”

  “It is about your brother I must speak to you.”

  Trenton looked at him curiously. “Cort?”

  “Aye.”

  “What about him?”

  Damon gestured to the empty de Russe tent behind them. “In private, please.”

  Interested, Trenton followed. They ended up in the darkened tent with a brazier in the middle throwing off some heat. Damon went to it, holding up his hands to warm them.

  “I understand you have your reasons for keeping it secret, but even de Russe is not above the law,” he said. “Does Henry know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Of your brother’s illegal marriage?”

  Trenton had no idea what he was talking about. “Cort’s illegal marriage?” he said, trying to clarify. “I do not know what you’ve been told, but you are mistaken. Cort is not married.”

  Damon’s gaze lingered on him. “That is not what I heard,” he said. “After Brend MacRohan was struck by the arrow, he told Cort that he was glad the man had married his sister. Cort did not deny it. In fact, he told Brend that he loved her. I heard every word. Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you did not know this?”

  Trenton didn’t have a clue, but he didn’t like Damon’s tone. Nor did he like what he was being told.

  It had nasty implications.

  His first reaction was to order Damon out of his tent because he was too weary for the man’s nonsense, but that wouldn’t solve the issue. Damon was accusing Cort of something that had been illegal in England for over one hundred and fifty years, ever since the Statute of Kilkenny had been enacted by the Duke of Clarence preventing intermarrying of Irish and English. The punishment could be severe.

  He took a moment to think carefully.

  “I did not know this because it is not true,” he said. “What you probably heard was my brother comforting a friend he believed to be dying. Surely you realize Brend MacRohan and his sister have lost most of their family in this siege. With Brend’s injury, I am certain it was simply my brother trying to comfort the man, as misplaced as it was. I will speak to him and get to the bottom of it.”

  Damon eyed him for a moment, his hands still lifted above the brazier. His focus moved back to the glowing coals.

  “Let us hope that was all it was,” he said. “If your brother married an Irish lass, then the procedure is clear. Men like that are brought before justice to spend their lives in prison. It is considered treason.”

  Trenton stiffened. “My brother is not going to prison,” he growled. “Make a move against him and you will put the House of de Russe against the House of de Winter, historical allies. Is that what you want to do?”

  Damon backed down a little. “Of course not.”

  “Then still your lips and do not repeat what you have heard. You do not know the truth. Don’t gossip like an alewife.”

  That was enough for Damon. Insulted, he fled the tent, leaving Trenton stewing with fury. Jaw ticking, he headed out of the tent. He was going to find Cort and straighten out the situation before rumors started to spread. He couldn’t be sure Damon hadn’t told others what he’d heard, or what he thought he’d heard, and he didn’t want any animosity turning on Cort.

  He was just heading out of the encampment when he caught sight of Dera MacRohan coming from one of the smaller tents where the more seriously wounded men had been taken, including her brother.

  Trenton really hadn’t paid much attention to the woman on their journey to Ireland. He wasn’t the kind of man who inspected other women, especially since he was already married, but he had noticed that Dera was quite a beautiful woman. She had pale skin, a pert nose, and long reddish-blonde hair.

  Just the kind of woman who would turn Cort’s head.

  With that realization, his walk towards Mount Wrath came to a pause as he passed her by.

  “My lady,” he greeted. “How is your brother this morning?”

  Dera turned to him, forcing a smile. “Good morn to you, my lord,” she said. “Brend is sleeping, but he took some water last night.”

  “That is a good sign,” he said. “If I have not yet conveyed my sorrows on what has become of your family, then allow me to do so. You have my sympathies.”

  Her smile faded. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “This has been… difficult.”

  “And your brothers? The ones who survived captivity, I mean. How do they fare?”

  She gestured towards the tent. “They are sleeping next to Brend,” she said. “Declan will not leave him and Finn is actually sleeping under Brend’s bed. He simply lays there and… weeps. I realize it is no secret that he aligned with the rebels, but he feels foolish and betrayed. We all feel very much betrayed.”

  Trenton didn’t have the energy to get into that part of the conversation because it would be delving into hurts that should have never been there in the first place. Rebels got what they deserved, in his opinion, but even knowing what he did about Dera, who had made no secret of
her loyalties according to Dillon and Brend, he didn’t wish such misery upon her. She seemed like a pleasant enough woman.

  Maybe his brother thought so, too.

  “Hopefully, time will heal the wounds to a certain extent,” he said, his thoughts shifting to Cort. “Good morn to you, my lady.”

  With that, he was gone, leaving Dera standing in the entryway of the tent as he continued down the road towards Mount Wrath.

  From where the camp was situated, the very top of Mount Wrath’s keep could be seen in the distance, over the treetops, so it wasn’t a far trek to the castle itself. The road was rutted from the burden of the siege engines, which were being deconstructed by de Winter’s men and made ready to haul away in their big wagons. Trenton was about halfway to the castle when he saw men heading in his direction.

  He couldn’t miss Cort, riding that high-strung blond stallion, so beautiful to look at but clearly young and in need of obedience. Even now, Cort was riding the horse with a heavy hand. Trenton could tell because the horse’s neck was arched and its mouth open, an indication that Cort was doing his utmost to control the big beast. Coming to a halt, Trenton waited for Cort to come to him.

  When Cort drew closer, he spied Trenton standing along the side of the road and waved wearily at the man. Boden and Gage were with him, on foot a safe distance from the foaming horse, and the three of them came alongside Trenton.

  “The drawbridge is secure, for now,” Cort said, reining the horse to a halt and slapping the animal’s neck affectionately. “Only one section of it will support a man’s weight, but it is raised and secured for now.”

  Trenton nodded. “Good work,” he said. “What about the rest of the place?”

  Cort climbed down off the horse, wringing his right hand, which told Trenton just how hard he’d been holding on to the reins.

  “The bombardment was aimed at the keep, so that sustained the most damage,” he said. “The walls on the first floor have holes in them. Some outbuildings sustained damage, but I would say overall, the damage is repairable but it will take time. That will have to be explained to Denys. We were able to recapture his castle, but not without serious damage.”