Nicholas dragged a large hand over his face and grimaced remembering yesterday’s words. Was it just yesterday? How had he survived thus long? By the Saints, Rosecliff had best hurry. He needed word on Juliette posthaste.
“Indeed, help yourself,” Nicholas muttered having lost his appetite.
“My lord, I would ask a small favor,” Constantine requested between mouthfuls of bread and cheese.
“By all means,” Nicholas responded while massaging his temples.
“Perhaps I could wander your gardens. I fear I miss my father’s overmuch. It would soothe my sadness I have no doubt.”
Feeling a touch of relief, Nicholas thought this would be a grand idea. If he could just get her clothed.
“The gardens sound like a lovely idea. I am sure I can find two to help with suitable attire.” Nicholas scowled at two of the serving wenches huddled in a far off corner. They would not dare disobey. His foreboding look promised great retribution if they slacked in their duties.
“Wonderful. You will accompany me?” Constantine asked while still shoveling his food into her mouth. She reached her hand for Nicholas’s watered ale and then gulped it down heartily.
Nicholas took in her need to consume large quantities of food. No doubt to regenerate the fearsome noise she created. By God, he was aiding in his own demise. Nicholas snatched the trencher away. Had she consumed enough?
Constantine shot him a look full of surprise. She had eaten not at all yesterday. Did he think to starve her? Well fine, she would more than retaliate at his cruelty.
“Nay, my lady, I must needs train for battle,” Nicholas responded.
“Whose?” Constantine asked innocently enough.
It was on the tip of his tongue to reply her own yet Nicholas fought to contain any superficial animosity. “I seek only to hone my skill,” he answered.
“Perhaps you had best seek to be less fearful of battle cries, my lord,” Constantine offered innocently, lashes fluttering.
“Aye, and you should endeavor to be less fearful of heights,” Nicholas ground out before rising. He stalked off angrily.
Constantine could not help but feel smug. Lord Daft was indeed in a mood. Yet her thoughts were already focusing on the garden. She felt positive there would be many wonderful herbs to aid in her swift departure. If not she would devise a new plan. So little time, so many nasty noxious deeds to be done.
* * * *
It was with great hesitancy the two young maids assisted Constantine in donning her day clothes. The lord suggested they remain close during the day, yet one saddened ominous bottom-lip-quivering look from Constantine had them scampering off to other duties.
Constantine wandered the gardens and surrounding areas unencumbered looking intently at the vegetation. Her smile widened as she retrieved buckthorns. The berries, black and bitter tasting could be violently purgative. How delightful. That mixed with the few remaining buttercups she discovered should keep Lord Christopher’s castle very busy indeed.
Constantine found a quiet spot under a large tree and diligently mixed the two ingredients together. When finished she headed cautiously to the kitchen. On soft slippered feet, she glanced into the room. When no one seemed about, she added her concoction to the evening dinner. Once that mission was accomplished, Constantine grabbed up a large bowl and gingerly made her way back outside, but not before scooping up a conveniently left pair of gauntlets. Her loud lungs having reached the ears of everyone in the castle had all giving her a wide birth. She found it easy to slip into each room with a bowl of putrid dog, pig and chicken feces for each hearth.
* * * *
That evening Constantine sat by Lord Christopher’s side. He made a point of only offering her a small amount of bread and cheese. Though his guilt weighed heavily with him he just could not escape the feeling that too much sustenance would aid in her shattering everyone’s eardrums. He must think of the wellbeing of his people first.
Constantine accepted the food willingly enough and minded not at all everyone else partook in a delicious-looking suckling pig basted in a heavy fruit and herb sauce.
Nicholas ate well enough though glanced curiously about occasionally. Upon entering his castle he seemed to detect a certain unpleasant odor. He sniffed delicately at his dinner, his eyebrows downcast; he realized it was not coming from the trencher. He then hazarded a glance at Lady Constantine. She sat innocently enough and seemed not to notice anything was amiss. Thankfully, the putrid smell wafted not from her either; she wore a beautiful flower high on her dress and one behind each ear. The flowers were heady with aroma that was pleasing when he chanced a sniff in her direction.
“My lord, do you suppose the hounds have been running through the castle today?” One of Nicholas’s knights asked. He sniffed at the air and scowled at the pungent odor.
Constantine continued to shove her cheeks full of bread. When Nicholas became preoccupied with the knight she reached into his trencher and snatched up his own large piece of well-milled bread. This she deftly tucked into the folds of her gown for later.
“The air does smell a bit—un-seeming,” Nicholas replied. He returned to his dinner. Nicholas reached for his bread that was now gone and scratched his head confused. “I was certain I had bread.”
“But, my lord, you have already finished it,” Constantine replied. She nibbled delicately on her cheese.
“It would appear so,” Nicholas sighed. He ingested more of the pig.
“My lord, ’tis time I think to change the floor reeds.” Another knight on Constantine’s left suggested. His nose wrinkled. When he leaned down to give a smell to the ground Constantine quickly grabbed at his cheese and had it hidden when the man returned to his meal. The knight gave a bewildered look to his trencher then shrugged. He too made short work of the meat before him.
Not long after, the people began to disperse from the hall. Though dinner was usually a leisurely and somewhat long affair, they had all eaten quickly wanting to escape the now overwhelming stench of the room. Nicholas took Constantine by the arm and directed her to her chamber.
“When will you return me home, my lord?” Constantine asked him.
They walked down a large torch lit corridor almost companionably. Though Nicholas’s face seemed pinched, he took smaller breaths hoping to block out the terrible odor that seemed to engulf the halls.
“Soon, my lady,” he replied. What the devil was that?
“On the morrow?” Constantine asked.
“Perhaps not that soon,” Nicholas replied evasively. He was waiting on word from Rosecliff. He was certain Broc did not want his wife back. Why else had he not sent word? He must know Nicholas had her. Most certainly he would not trade dearest Juliette for Constantine’s safe return. He was uncertain what to do with her. If luck proved to be on his side, perhaps he could bribe her father to take her back.
“Buuurrrp.” The noise escaped from Nicholas’s mouth before he could stop it. “Pardon me, my lady, it would appear something is not settling right,” Nicholas exclaimed with deep embarrassment. Most assuredly his mother had taught him better manners.
Constantine ducked her head as if to acknowledge his apology, yet could not help the small laugh that escaped her lips. She covered it effectively and coughed delicately into her hand.
Nicholas was most positive the terrible odor in the hall was at fault for her sudden coughing. He hoped it would not make her ill. After this last thought, a tremendous rumbling could be heard coming from Nicholas’s belly. A look of almost abject horror crossed his face and he stopped in mid-stride.
“You must make your way to your chamber from here my lady without me. It would seem I have other pressing business to attend to,” Nicholas informed her hastily, hoping to make a quick retreat.
“Oh please, my lord, do walk me the rest of the way. I am ever fearful of the dark corners,” Constantine begged with spite.
“All right,” Nicholas all but squeaked. His tummy again rumbled and bubbled. Ni
cholas grabbed up her hand and he near raced her the rest of the way down the hall. Breathlessly, they arrived at Constantine’s door.
“Sleep well, my lady,” Nicholas said then belched, he held a hand to his belly.
“But my lord, you must check to see if all is safe inside,” Constantine replied. She looked up at him her eyes huge, her bottom lip quivering.
“All right,” Nicholas almost cried. By the Saints he had not soiled himself since he was but a babe and he vowed he would not now. Nicholas raced around the room frantically. “All is fine,” he bellowed, then fled wildly past Constantine in a rush and then down the hall at a frantic pace to seek much needed relief.
Constantine watched him flee. She curved her lips into a smile. Starve me do you? Smugly, she removed the bread and cheese from her gown folds. She took a healthy bite of the bread and closed her chamber door, her nose twitching. There really was a nasty smell about the castle. Thankfully it did not occupy her room that she had filled with flowers. Her clean hearth, filled with burning wood, shone brightly. She settled for the night.
* * * *
Constantine wandered about the castle alone the following morning. She had remained in her dress of last eve knowing instinctively none would be aiding her come daybreak. Even the kitchen was empty. She helped herself to the sweetmeats and an apple. With a mug of watered wine, Constantine went to the table in the great hall. Nicholas sat slumped, groaning, and resting his head on his arms. For one brief second Constantine actually felt sorry for him.
“My lord, you look unwell,” Constantine commented.
“I am dying,” he groaned.
“I think not, my lord,” Constantine replied.
“How fare you?” Nicholas asked, somewhat hazily.
“Oh, I am quite well, I assure you,” Constantine said.
“’Tis a mystery how you have escaped this plague,” Nicholas groaned.
“Nay, ’tis no mystery, my lord. It must have been the suckling pig that I was not allowed to partake in,” Constantine said.
Nicholas raised his head and gazed at her foggily. Did he detect a touch of smugness to her tone? She glanced back innocently enough.
“You did this,” Nicholas ground out.
“How could I, a helpless female, do damage?” Constantine chuckled, eyes wide.
“Helpless, my ass,” Nicholas exclaimed on an attempted rise, then groaned once more settling to the bench, his tirade squelched before it began.
Nicholas did not know why, when, or how she managed to render his castle harmless. A terrible thought entered his head. What if Broc knew he would seek to kidnap Constantine? What if he sent her here willingly, with the intent of her dispatching the lot of them? He could attack without retribution from the king. He would claim it was all Nicholas’s doing and seize his lands. By God, he had been duped twice. He must return the vicious little vixen immediately and cry mistake...but first he must relieve himself. By God, his belly had danced all night. It would seem it was not finished as yet. By the Saints, he was also positive he smelled like his fetid castle.
Chapter Six
Upon his return to Braven, Rory noticed something was amiss. The castle guards would not return direct looks. Mary scampered away terrified of him. Everyone seemed too preoccupied to even spare him a moment. Rory entered his hall with a sinking feeling. His suspicions and disappointment mounted as even Constantine was not there to greet him.
“Mary,” Rory boomed. The woman was huddled in a far off corner. “Fetch me my wife.”
“I cannot, my lord,” Mary all but whimpered.
Rory looked at her astounded. Would she dare to be so insubordinate? Obviously he had been too lax in his discipline of the servants. He approached her angrily, his intent clear.
“Does my sister hide to escape your wrath?” Juliette demanded. She became positive by his dark and somewhat sinister looks the rumors must in fact be true.
“Hold your tongue.” Rory snarled. He cared not Juliette cowered back. He wanted his wife. His ill-fated look returned to Mary. His eyebrows narrowed ferociously. “You will produce my wife.”
“She cannot, my lord,” came a deep calm voice.
Rory spun about to seek from whom it came. He stared intently at a large knight who stepped before him. The large man stood unafraid. Mary turned and fled from the room as Rory became distracted.
“Why can she not?” Rory asked with soft menace. He was familiar with this knight. Though Rory bested him on the field the man was a worthy opponent.
“Your wife, our lady, appears to have been kidnapped,” the knight replied.
“What treachery is this?” Devon demanded of the man.
“’Tis not treachery, my Lord Devon, ’tis justice,” the knight replied.
“What mean you justice?” Rory asked.
“We grew tired of the animosity you threw at our lady. We sought only to defend her,” the man responded arrogantly. Though he cared nothing for the lass’s wellbeing, he only wished to anger Rory as he had the help of the others behind him. This should drop the all-powerful and legendary Lord Rory Broc down a peg or two. His wife had been stolen right out from under his lordly nose.
Rory’s thoughts raced. His animosity? He loved Constantine with all of his being. Now she was gone. Yet where? Her father would have returned her, of this he was positive. Who had his precious wife? Was she safe? Damnation, she must be terrified without his protection. She had no way to defend herself. She must be so frightened and alone, curled in a corner whimpering for him to save her, and sobbing gently as threats would have been cast at her howling. A tiny hand pressed to her quivering mouth to quell any noise. Silent tears trailing their way down pale silken cheeks. Rory’s chest near burst as his reasoning left him. He threw back his head and howled out the most blood curdling battle cry of his life. He then launched himself while taking flight at the smug-looking knight whose eyes widened in shocked surprise.
Juliette screamed in terror. By God, she had thought Constantine the only one to possess such mutated vocal cords. His lord’s own had her dear sister’s pale in comparison. No wonder she feared him so. Juliette watched in horror as Lord Broc pummeled the huge man before him. Two other men tried to offer aid to the knight to no avail, Rory made short work of them, they were also given a sound thrashing as Rory smashed his head into one and fists and foot into more.
Still he continued his rampage of the huge knight. One smash to his nose had blood splatter in all directions. Rory lifted his foot and kicked into the belly of another who sought to aid the knight. He downed a new man with one solid blow to the head knocking him senseless. Rory was beyond reason. He battled as no other had seen him battle afore, his strength an awesome and frightening sight to behold.
“Do something,” Juliette cried to Devon, her small hands clutched at his tunic, she was half hidden behind him.
“Why on earth for? Rory is in no danger,” Devon replied with a touch of smugness. Most certainly they had it coming. They really should not have allowed his wife to be taken. Most assuredly they should be grateful Rory had not pulled his sword.
“He is killing his own men,” Juliette cried.
“Nonsense. Look, that one still moves,” Devon replied. Sure enough when Juliette looked a poor man was crawling away in defeat. Yet a solid blow to his belly from Rory had him huddled over now motionless.
“Who else seeks my wrath?” Rory growled, his facial features twisted into a hideous scowl of rage. All could tell the next one to be downed would never breathe again. Juliette was positive every long strand of hair on her head was now standing tall. By God, she had never encountered such a man. He prowled the room as though stalking his victims. His motion sheer stealth, every movement calculated. His people shook as one, their eyes widened in fear. The knights lay sprawled upon the floor. The large knight who had first challenged him lay slumped. Rory grabbed him up by his bloodied tunic and lifted him up off his feet as though he were but a small child.
�
��Where is my wife?” he growled into his face and shook him roughly.
“’Tis no wonder Constantine fears you so,” Juliette whispered on an awed breath.
Rory dropped the knight and spun about to face her. “The only thing my beloved Constantine feared was her separation from you. Now she is gone. But God as my witness, I will retrieve her. This I vow.”
Juliette sucked in her breath at his agonized expression. Lord have mercy, he, Lord Horrible, loved her sister. As surprised as she was, none was more shocked than his own people. Rory glanced about the room in disgust. He had tried so hard to win them over. They had failed him. Yet he had failed Constantine. It would never happen again. Saddened, though his shoulders were held high, Rory stormed from the room. He would go to his chamber and deftly search for clues.
Once gone, Devon’s own anger exploded. “Do you realize what you have done? Can you even comprehend the consequences of your actions?” His furious gaze was then leveled on the huge knight now struggling to stand. “Get you gone from my sight and never return.”
Once upright the knight retrieved his fallen man from the ground and both limped out of the castle. Devon glared at each other man individually. “Any who wish to join them may do so,” he ground out coldly in disgust.
The others slumped, sat or lay feeling solemn. Perhaps their actions had been a tad hasty and judgmental. The harsh coldness of winter would soon be upon them. ’Twas not a good time of the year to have no home. They dispersed shortly, not quite sure how to rectify the situation.
“Why did you not seek to aid your brother?” Juliette questioned astounded.
“Why did you not? You kick like a mule and no doubt would have been of great help,” Devon replied.
Juliette’s look became enraged. “You liken me to an animal?”
“Nay, not all of you, just your legs, perhaps your teeth,” Devon said smiling. Juliette launched herself at him, yet Devon had been prepared for the attack. He captured her easily, shifting her bottom half to the side. “Calm yourself, my little berserker. My brother did not need my help, of this you must be certain. His own people turned on him for nothing. He does care a great deal for your sister. If you know of her whereabouts I would be very grateful if you would but tell me.” Devon set her right and gazed into her eyes.
Battle Cry and The Berserker Page 10