The man was awake and on his feet in a heartbeat. He roared and reached for the hilt of his blade. Madeline seized the only chance she had and jabbed her knife into his eye.
He bellowed in rage, then swore. He staggered backward, blood streaming from his face, and Madeline nearly lost her grip upon the keys.
“Who is there?” Rhys shouted from behind the locked portal. “What happens out there?”
Madeline heard him pound upon the portal in frustration. She snatched up Rhys’ sword and threw herself across the chamber. “Which key?” she shouted.
“The longer one,” a woman replied.
The jailor lunged after Madeline, blood streaming down his face. She shoved the key into the lock, turned it hard, and jumped out of the way as Rhys flung the door back on its hinges.
“Anwylaf!” he said in evident amazement, then took one glance across the chamber. He seized his blade from Madeline’s hand, and drove it into the jailor’s chest just as that man leapt toward them.
The jailor’s blade clattered to the floor.
Madeline leaned against the wall in her relief, astonished to find her knees shaking. Rhys grimly ensured that the other man was dead, then turned to face her. A light danced briefly in his gaze, and Madeline stared at him, her heart bursting.
If only he would say something, if only he confessed himself glad to see her, then she would know she had not done this deed in vain.
But Rhys could not make sense of her presence. He even frowned when his gaze danced over her. He pulled his tabard over his head, then cast it in Madeline’s direction, his manner so dismissive that she flinched.
“You had best cover yourself, Madeline, lest all think you offer more than is your intent,” he said, then pivoted to study the chamber anew.
Madeline realized then that her chemise clung to her flesh so wetly that she might as well have stood naked. She sneezed again, then pulled his thick tabard over her head. It hung to her knees and was warm with Rhys’ heat. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, even as she watched Rhys pace the chamber. He stood at the base of the ladder and listened.
“Anwylaf,” a woman mused. Madeline glanced up to find an older woman in the portal to the cell. She looked amused, her one brow arched and her lips curved in an affectionate smile as she surveyed Rhys.
He ignored her.
“You did not say that Madeline was your anwylaf,” the woman teased. The back of Rhys’ neck turned an unmistakably ruddy hue.
“It is scarce of import,” he said gruffly.
“He always calls me as much,” Madeline said. “For I am his wife.”
The woman chuckled and offered her hand with grace. “As I am his mother, Adele. I am delighted to meet you, Madeline.” She drew closer to Madeline. “But you are mistaken, my dear. Anwylaf does not mean ‘wife’. How curious that Rhys did not make the distinction clear.” She laughed lightly then, as if not finding the matter curious at all.
Rhys pointedly ignored this discussion. Indeed, he seemed intent upon listening to some noise from above that Madeline could not discern.
Madeline was confused. “But what does anwylaf mean, then?”
“It means ‘dearest one’.” Adele’s smile broadened. “In my family, we use it only for our beloved. You must understand, my dear, that I am even more happy to meet you, now that I know my son calls you his beloved.”
Madeline could not halt the answering smile that curved her lips. She had desired a sweet confession from Rhys, unaware that he had been making it all along.
There had to be worse things than having his mother surrender the secrets of his heart to his wife—who was determined to have their marriage annulled—but in this moment Rhys could not think of what those things might be.
He had no time to ponder such whimsy, and truly, there would be no need to ponder it if they three did not survive.
Madeline sneezed, drawing his gaze to her sorry state. She was soaked and she smelled, but there was a stubborn gleam in her eyes that made him proud. She was a rare treasure, this woman with a valor to match his own. They suited each other well, to Rhys’ thinking, and he knew he had perceived as much when first he glimpsed her at Ravensmuir.
She watched him and he dared to hope that she had returned for more than duty. “I pledged to open the gates for the others,” she said.
“How many?”
“Only five. Cradoc ap Gwilym, the sheriff, met Rosamunde on the road and kept her from riding on to Caerwyn. He was trying to warn you, for he feared the intent of Robert Herbert.”
Rhys nodded. “Cradoc is a good man and a fair fighter. Then there is Rosamunde and who else?”
“Alexander, Vivienne and Elizabeth.” Madeline smiled at little at his disappointment. “Unless you count the fairy that only Elizabeth can see, who she calls Darg.”
“It is no small thing to have a fairy on our side,” Adele said with favor. Her tone did not dispel the fact that odds were decidedly against them.
“What of our own men? Were they captured, or killed?” Rhys asked.
“They pledged to serve Robert,” Adele said, “for they declared their loyalty was to Nelwyna.”
“Do you think it true?”
Adele smiled. “No one is truly loyal to Nelwyna, Rhys. They lied, the better that they might be able to aid you. Robert guesses as much, for he has separated them and scattered them amongst the ranks of his own company.”
“But they might take your side, given the chance,” Madeline said, before she sneezed again.
There was nothing for it. They had to leave the chill of the dungeon, and do their best. Rhys pulled Madeline’s blade from the jailor’s eye and wiped it on the man’s tabard. He handed it back to her, then spoke quickly.
“I will lead. Mother, you will follow close behind me. Madeline, you must guard my back. We must endeavor to remain together, for if we are separated, I will not be able to defend you both. We must capture Robert and Nelwyna, and hope that will cool the ardor of the others for battle.”
“They will be in the solar,” Adele said, crossing her arms across her chest. “Nelwyna spoke bluntly of what she offered to Robert, and I have heard the men complaining that he never leaves her bed.”
Rhys nodded. One excellent thing about Caerwyn was the simplicity of its design. There was one staircase which clung to the inside of the tower’s wall. The hall was immediately above the dungeon and filled the ground floor. Above were two chambers, one facing inland, which had been that of Nelwyna and his father, one facing sun and sea which had always been his mother’s. Crowning that, was the solar, Dafydd’s chamber, which filled the uppermost floor of the tower.
There were few places to hide in Caerwyn’s tower, which would make it easy to find Robert and Nelwyna.
It might also work against Rhys, for there would be no refuge once they were spied.
“What about the gate?” Madeline asked.
Rhys shook his head, unable to see how he could achieve this, as well. He did not want to hurt her feelings, but he doubted the others would provide much aid against the dozens of mercenaries. “We shall see what we can do.” He nodded once to the women, then climbed the ladder with no small trepidation.
Rhys had had no notion of how much time had passed in the dungeon, so he was surprised to find the hall dark. Night had fallen and the smell of meat told him that the men had eaten. They slumbered, stretched out on pallets that nearly covered the hall floor, while half a dozen torches burned fitfully on the wall.
He had time to hear his mother exhale in surprise, then he spied a flicker of movement. Adele strode away from him with purpose, lifting her skirts carefully as she crossed the room. She winked before she opened the portal to the courtyard, and slipped out of view.
Rhys gaped after her. Surely there must be sentries afoot? But there was no sound, no hue and cry, no alarm. He imagined his mother striding across the bailey, lifting the key from the sleeping gatekeeper’s hand and opening the gate.
Madeline seemed to be fighting a smile. Rhys shrugged, then turned for the stairs, thinking this might prove more readily won than he had dared to hope.
After all, no one knew that he had been loosed from the dungeon. Perhaps his fortune changed! He leapt onto the bottom step, reaching back with one hand to ensure that Madeline was close behind him.
They reached the second floor and stood back to back in his mother’s chamber, circling slowly while they both sought signs of life. There appeared to be no one in the chamber, though the light was more dim here than in the hall below. The gem on Madeline’s breast glowed, illuminating a little space around them.
Their gazes met and Rhys saw Madeline’s nose twitch. He snatched at her, covering her mouth with his hand and burying her face in his chest just as she sneezed again.
They froze as one, but there was no movement beyond the racing of their own hearts. Rhys exhaled, caressed Madeline’s cheek, then indicated the door to Nelwyna’s chamber. She lifted her blade grimly and nodded agreement.
The door was unlocked and swung open silently. The chamber beyond was dark, too dark for Rhys’ taste. He thought he could hear breathing, as if someone slept in the shadows beyond. He stepped cautiously into the room, his blade held high, and his mother screamed from far below.
Rhys glanced over his shoulder in fear. In that heartbeat, he felt motion beside him. Madeline lunged forward and stabbed her knife into the assailant who had been lurking in the shadows. That man’s blade was mere inches from Rhys’ throat.
The man was only stunned, but Rhys swung his blade and ensured he would surprise no one again. The man fell. Rhys pivoted to face the chamber again and his heart sank to his toes. The light from Madeline’s gemstone was reflected in the blades of a dozen men who had leapt to their feet. They dove as one toward him.
“Stay fast behind me!” Rhys bellowed, as if he meant to leap into the chamber. Instead, he leapt back and slammed the portal into the chamber. The men fell heavily against it and several swore.
Madeline smiled at him, then she sneezed again. Rhys seized her hand and fled toward the stairs to the third floor. They were not so quiet now, for they had need of speed. They were only halfway up the stairs when the men tore open the door of Nelwyna’s chamber and roared at the sight of Rhys.
A sentry was awakening at the summit of the stairs, but he was not quick enough to evade the bite of Rhys’ blade. Madeline’s gem revealed the man to be a stranger, probably one of Robert’s most trusted men.
Rhys lifted Madeline’s knife from her grip, bent and slit the man’s throat. There was a gurgle, no more, then he was still and silent. Rhys wiped the blade and returned it to her, then kicked open the portal.
Another dozen men roared for blood at leapt at Rhys. They were trapped beneath the two groups. Rhys bellowed and charged into the chamber, Madeline fast behind him. Rhys swung his blade and felled two men so quickly that they seemed astonished, even in death. He bent to finish the deed.
“On your left!” Madeline cried and Rhys straightened with his blade swinging. He heard her grunt as she drove her own blade into some sorry soul, then she pressed the hilt of a knife into his left hand. They fought well together, for though she could not match his strength, the gem ensured that she could see more.
A mercenary leapt at Rhys, swinging his blade with such fury that Rhys had to jump out of its path. Footsteps pounded on the stairs, but he dared not glance that way. He circled the mercenary, Madeline fast behind him, and heard the clash of blades on the other side of the chamber.
With each success, the battle became more complicated. There were many bodies and the light was not good. The floor was slick with blood and Rhys had to use care not to lose his footing. He dispatched the mercenary with a grunt, then realized he had lost something else.
Madeline was no longer at his back.
Rhys spun, seeking her, and found instead the glimmer of light from her gemstone. None other than Robert Herbert was lit by the stone’s glow, the blade of his sword glittering against Madeline’s throat. He wore no more than his chemise, his feet were bare, and he held Madeline by the hair. He stood beside the curtained bed.
Rhys froze. He straightened and spread his hands in surrender, letting his blade dangle from his hand. He did not drop it, though, for he saw Alexander easing ever closer to Robert. It must have been Alexander’s arrival he had heard earlier, and the younger man who was responsible for killing some of their foes.
“You can have Caerwyn,” Rhys said. “I know that is your desire. I ask only that you release the lady.”
Robert sneered. “You have nothing with which to bargain.”
“I bargain with my life. Kill me instead of her.” Rhys put the tip of his blade against the floor and leaned both hands on the pommel. “Unless you are the kind of man who is only confident in the killing of women?”
“I have not lived so long because I am fool enough to rise to such bait,” Robert said smoothly. He let the tip of his blade slide down Madeline’s throat. “Perhaps I have another scheme for the lady, one that does not require her demise.”
“You would not!” Nelwyna shouted from the bed. “You made a pledge to me, you wretch!”
She leapt from the bed in naked fury. Robert turned, and Rhys knew he would have to see Alexander. Indeed, Robert shouted then swung his sword at Madeline’s brother. Rhys leapt across the chamber, fearing he would be too late to save the younger man. Alexander raced toward Nelwyna, perhaps hoping to use her as a shield.
Madeline guessed Rhys’ plight. She jumped upon Robert from behind, and wrapped her arms tightly around his face.
He cried out in dismay and stumbled. “The stench! I cannot breathe! Get off me, woman!” Only then did Rhys recall that Madeline’s chemise was soaked with sewage.
Her diversion granted Rhys the time he needed.
Rhys flung Madeline behind him and struck Robert across the face with his fist. That man staggered, then swung his blade at Rhys’ groin. Rhys danced out of its path.
The battle erupted on all sides again, and Rhys realized that all of the others were here to aid him. On the far side of the chamber, a fallen mercenary lifted his head and surreptitiously reached for his blade.
Vivienne cried out a warning then struck that man in the head with a poker. Elizabeth swung a pair of flaming torches, setting fire to the garb of any man fool enough to come close to her. Rhys watched as she drove one torch into a man’s face despite that man’s screams.
“These Lammergeier women are wrought of stern stuff,” Rhys muttered, even as he backed Madeline into a corner. She chuckled, then sneezed, so he knew where she was without risking a glance her way. She must be growing tired, after her ordeal of this day, and he was determined to ensure that she had no more need to fight.
Robert fought like a man half his age, and Rhys was glad of Elizabeth’s torches. The pair dodged and feinted, nicking each other with cursed frequency. There was blood on Rhys’ hands and a cut on his brow that was determined to bleed into his eye. Their blades clashed again and again and again, neither willing to cede, each as well matched as the other.
Alexander and Nelwyna struggled on the far side of the chamber. Nelwyna’s generous size and her anger made their battle a more even match than it might otherwise have been.
“Men!” Nelwyna cried. She looked as if she intended to wrest Alexander’s head from his shoulders. “You are all liars and scoundrels, louts one and all. You think of nothing beyond your pricks and your ambitions and your ale!”
“Ow!” Alexander shouted, and kicked her in the knee.
“Ow!” Nelwyna cried, and kicked him back. Alexander darted backward and lifted his blade against her.
“You will not kill a woman old enough to be your grandmother, will you?” Nelwyna crooned. She stooped so that she looked older and more feeble than she was. Alexander’s blade wavered. “I am old and wrinkled and you are too honorable a knight to kill an old woman devoid of defenses.”
; “So long as you have your tongue in your head, you are scarce defenseless,” Robert muttered.
Nelwyna turned, hatred in her gaze. “You cursed vermin! I offered you my all...”
“And it was precious little, for it had been well savored afore.”
“Oh!” Nelwyna gasped in outrage. She dove toward Robert and Rhys saw his moment. He jabbed his blade into Robert’s gut with such force that the tip of the blade might have erupted from Robert’s back. Rhys pulled out his blade and Robert staggered, though he did not fall.
He turned and gave Nelwyna a savage blow across the face. “I should never have heeded your lies,” he spat as she lost her footing. “I should have guessed that Caerwyn could not become my own that easily.” Then he fell to his knees and Rhys struck him again. Robert landed facedown amidst his fallen mercenaries, though Rhys kept his blade pointed at him.
Nelwyna stumbled from the impact of Robert’s blow, her hand raised to her face. Alexander straightened behind her and lifted his sword. He swung the blade so forcefully that his blow should have been fatal.
Or it would have been, had it struck the older woman.
Nelwyna clearly tripped. They all saw her trip, although none of them ever agreed later as to what could have tripped her. The floor was barren there, but she tripped all the same.
Alexander’s blade whistled past her and the weight of the blow buried it in the wooden floor. Rhys heard a strange gleeful cackle, and saw Nelwyna’s expression of horror as she tumbled over the sill of the window and disappeared from sight.
Nelwyna screamed as she fell to Caerwyn’s bailey, and then she screamed no more.
“Ha!” Rhys smiled at the sound of his mother’s triumphant cry in the bailey. “Now, there is a deed well done!”
Rosamunde could be heard to laugh along with Adele, those two women obviously hale enough.
Rhys backed Madeline further into his corner, staring all the while at his fallen foe. He dared not lower his blade or avert his gaze, not until he knew for certain that his avaricious neighbor lived no more.
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