Warrior's Moon A Love Story

by Jaclyn Hawkes

  Kneeling beside her, whispering her name, his relief that she was alive didn’t last as he carefully pushed her cloak away to reveal the blood soaked shirt. It was torn around the pointed end of a short crossbow arrow that still protruded from her chest below her shoulder. The sight of it was more frightening than anything in his life had been and sickening as he closed his eyes against it. Shaking his head, he uttered a quick silent prayer and then opened them again.

  Pulling his knife from his boot, he carefully cut the shirt away around the arrow and swallowed the bile that welled. Placing a hand gently under her shoulder, he lifted her ever so carefully to see where the arrow had gone in and groaned aloud to see the other half of it still impaled her upper back. Her cloak and the straw below her were soaked with a huge amount of blood and he was truly surprised that she was still breathing at all. It looked a wound that should have killed her.

  It would soon. There was no doubt of it. There was simply too much blood. His heart contracted in utter pain at the sure knowledge. She was dying.

  As he gently let her back down, surprisingly, her eyes slowly opened and he noticed one was bruised. At first, she seemed confused and then she gave him the smallest of smiles. She struggled to speak, but it seemed to take her an eternity to get her lips to move. Finally, in the faintest of whispers, she said, “You came.” She gave the small boy beside him a weak smile and then to Peyton said, “I’m sorry, Pey. Please. Forgive me.”

  He shook his head in abject heartache. “Don’t Chantaya. There’s nothing to forgive. You do your best. Always. I know that.”

  Her blue eyes teared up and she struggled to whisper, “But, I am sorry. Truly. I wanted to marry you and live happily ever after.”

  Swallowing a huge lump in his throat, he couldn’t face telling her she was dying and instead he whispered back, “Me too, Chani. And we will. We still will. It just might take awhile to get you feeling well enough to marry.” He took her hand and bent and kissed it. “Just be strong, love. Be strong and I’ll get you out of here and to a physician. Be strong as you always are.”

  Turning to the boy who stood beside him, he asked, “When did this happen? When was she shot?”

  The boy shrugged. “Just after it started getting light. I think they were watching for her. They started to chase her as soon as she came up the road.”

  “Where did they go? How did you get away?”

  He suddenly looked concerned, “I don’t know where they went. They looked through here, but they missed us. Then they left. I don’t know where to.”

  Facing Chantaya again, Peyton asked, “Did you know them?”

  She barely shook her head, “They’ve been watching us at the manor. That’s all I know.” She suddenly became anxious and strained to look out the door as she said, “The king! Peyton, you have to go! They’re going to kill the king! On the way to the funeral! You need to tell them!”

  “I’m taking you to a physician first. We have to get you . . . ”

  She interrupted him and tried to sit up, wholly distressed. “No! You have to go! They’ll kill them! Peyton, go save them! Think what would happen to the whole kingdom if they’re all killed!”

  He tried gently pushing her back down as she was trying to sit up. She started to cough up blood and then to cry almost uncontrollably. He stopped pushing at her and leaned right down to touch her face tenderly and pleaded, “Don’t cry, Chani. Please don’t cry. That will only make it worse.”

  She shook her head, sobbing brokenly and struggled to speak, “Peyton, I’ve tried so hard. I did my best. Truly, I did. I’ve ridden all day and night. I’ve been hurt. I’ve put up with Lord Rosskeene. And Damian’s violence. I’ve been so cold.” She closed her eyes and sobbed, “I had to kill a person.”

  Her utter misery at that admission was heart rending as she went on hoarsely, “And now I’m giving my life. Don’t make it be in vain. Please. Please.” Her voice faded to the merest sound and she repeated, “Please don’t make me die for nothing. Go to the king. And his family. Stop Rosskeene. ‘Tis so much more important than watching me die. Daniel will stay with me. Go. Please go.”

  She began to choke again. The tears flowed out of her eyes and dripped down into her hair and Peyton’s heart ripped in half and began to bleed just like she was. How could he leave her like this? How could she expect him to care if the entire earth, moon and stars blew apart? Nothing mattered without her! How could she expect him to walk away from her right now? He couldn’t!

  He gently stroked her hair and felt his own tears while she quietly sobbed as she lay there in the bloody straw. He heard a sound and turned his head to find the boy crying as well. The boy scrubbed stubbornly at his dusty cheeks and said, “Sir Peyton, why are you not doing what she’s asking? She’s begging you. You’re hurting her. And she’s tried so hard. Can’t you at least give her her dying wish? Can’t you save the king? He’s the world’s greatest king. He loves us all. Even the orphans. She’s begging you, Sir Peyton.” The tears coursed down his face as he ended softly, “She’s begging. Can’t you let her die happy?”

  Peyton closed his eyes and struggled to channel the pain. When he opened them again, Chantaya was looking at him with the most tragic expression and he gulped back a sob and touched her face tenderly. “All right. All right. I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I go, but I’ll never forgive myself if I fail you either. I love you, Chani. No matter what happens, know that. I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you. Be strong, Chani. And please forgive me for leaving you.”

  He turned to the boy. “Watch over her. Do the best you can. Remind her that I love her, and watch over her, since I can’t. I’ll come back.” He put a big hand on the boy’s shoulder. “God bless you, son.”

  With that, he got up and almost violently slammed out the door, climbed onto his horse and galloped up the cobblestone road toward the castle, praying as if her life depended on it and hating himself with a passion for leaving.

  SSSS

  At the castle he wanted to kill the guard at the gate who hesitated for a moment to let him through, and he even wanted to strangle the priest at the castle chapel door who intimated that it was inappropriate for a fully armored night to interrupt the prince as he tried to comfort his father at such a time.

  When the prince noticed the commotion at the chapel door, he came over and must have known instantly that something was terribly wrong because he literally shooed the priest out and shut the door behind him before turning back to Peyton with absolute intensity. When Peyton told of the imminent attack, the prince spun on his heel and went to his father and had a moment’s whispered conversation before returning to Peyton and asking, “What do you think we should do, Sir Peyton?”

  Squaring his shoulders, Peyton said, “Forgive me for seeming cold hearted, Your Highness. But if it were up to me, I’d recommend that instead of your family getting in the carriage that will take you up to the cemetery, they be concealed here in the leper’s squint, and in your place, we load the royal carriage with warriors and precede it and follow it with more. Then, when they make their attempt, we deal with it militarily. Then return here to pick up your family to go bury your grandmother after all has calmed down. Forgive my lack of sympathy at this time, Sire.”

  The prince nodded thoughtfully. “An excellent plan, Sir Peyton. Please, step outside and find Sir Kendall and pick which knights you believe should be in the carriage. Have Kendall arrange it all. And leave us a number to discreetly guard the family here as well, in case Rosskeene suspects. I’ll have the carriage be drawn so closely to the door that our duplicity won’t be detected and I’ll let my father know. Thank you for your devotion, friend. With your help, we’ll all live to see the end of this dreadful day.”

  At that, the prince strode off toward his father and Peyton turned to go back out of the church to find Sir Kendall, feeling as if his heart had been hacked out of his very chest. If only Chantaya could have survived this dreadful, dreadful day.


  SSSS

  Lord and Lady Rosskeene, dressed in full impressive noble attire, stood respectfully at the front of the crowd that had been ushered from the castle church to allow the royal family a few moments before the final closing of the casket of their grandmother. Lord Rosskeene wore a suitably solemn face, but his eyes were as busy as his thoughts as he waited. These were the final moments before his dream of becoming monarch in the wake of the loss of the entire royal family came true. ‘Twas all he could do to maintain a measure of stoicism in the face of his inevitable success. He’d been waiting for this for years and could hardly contain his sense of victory.

  At last, the casket was carried out and loaded into the carriage and then a second carriage with windows shrouded in sheer black was drawn to the church door to carry the family. Rosskeene near gloated as he watched it too pull away into the solemn procession that would travel in a slow and stately manner to the cemetery more than a mile away from the castle gate. The cemetery that just happened to be beyond the ravine where his companies of men waited.

  His demeanor nearly cracked as the procession disappeared and the crowds began to disperse. How he loved being a military genius. What great things he was going to be able to do when he took the reins to the entire kingdom. Turning to survey all he now considered his, he suddenly frowned. That was Sir Mordecai standing near the walkway between the buildings. Rosskeene wasn’t sure why he would find Sir Mordecai’s presence troubling, but he did.

  Glancing further, his frown deepened. Sir Kendall stood not far from Mordecai, as did a number of the most highly esteemed knights. That was strange. Why would the bravest and best have been left at home to guard an empty castle, when the entire royal family was traveling elsewhere with those not so highly respected?

  Something smelled of a rat here. That didn’t make sense.

  Trying to appear nonchalant, Lord Rosskeene tucked his wife’s hand over his arm and began to stroll toward one of the castle rose gardens. The roses were mostly dead at this time of the year, but he didn’t need the roses, he needed a moment to think.

  Chapter 22

  The funeral carriages were long gone, and the tension was rising in the leper’s squint behind the stained glass window of the royal chapel. The king and both of his children stood absolutely motionless, appearing to almost listen for the sounds of the battle that they suspected was being fought at that very moment a mile or so away.

  Positioned directly in front of the door to the tiny room that had long ago allowed lepers to partake of services even though they weren’t allowed to mingle with the congregation, Sir Peyton Wolfgar stood at attention. He was trying with every bit of mental and emotional control he had to keep his head on protecting these people instead of bowing into his shaking hands over the loss of his beloved sweet, beautiful Chantaya. He was trying. But his heart and mind were slowly breaking into a hundred thousand pieces. He couldn’t control the image in his head of her exquisite body lying there with a bloody arrow protruding from it. ‘Twas the most ghastly of nightmares.

  A sound from outside the door brought his head up. The chapel there had been empty and silent, and it still was. Mostly. Someone had quietly opened a door and entered and was now, ever so slowly and stealthily, walking up the aisle toward the pulpit. The sounds were nearly undetectable, but Peyton had been trained by Mordecai. He could almost read those sounds like a book. Someone was slipping through the chapel toward the leper’s squint.

  Peyton silently placed his hand upon his sword. It may only be a lone mourner, come back to pay their last solitary respects, but the hair on the back of Peyton’s neck told him otherwise.

  The royal family was watching him and when another sound came from outside the door, the prince stepped in front of his father and sister and touched his own sword. The tension in the room became suffocating.

  Almost silently, the door of the squint moved ever so slightly and began to swing in. When it finally did emit a slow, coarse grating, it sounded unnaturally loud in the thickness of the angst.

  The revelation of who was opening the door, when it came, was almost anticlimactic. Lord Rosskeene himself stood there, his own sword drawn. Quietly, almost conversationally, he said, “Sir Peyton, how good to see you, here in the defense of your crown. How quaint and thoughtful. And foolish. Did they truly leave only one of you here to protect them all?”

  He clicked his tongue in disapproval as he calmly stepped inside the door and to the side, taking a stance in front of Peyton as if they were engaging in a polite fencing contest at a village fair. Peyton moved to contain him, staying always between him and the others and wondering who else had made it past the knights stationed outside the church. Peyton was to be the final layer of protection for the king, but Rosskeene didn’t appear to have engaged in any prior battles. He was too calm. Too sure. Too relaxed. Except for the beaded perspiration on his upper lip, Peyton wouldn’t have thought him tense at all.

  Rosskeene continued his seeming stroll and Peyton drew a mental line on the floor. He determined at exactly what moment he was going to attack and slay this monster.

  A sound from out in the chapel brought Rosskeene up. Another had stealthily entered the church and was headed their way. From the hesitation in Rosskeene’s stance, Peyton deducted that it wasn’t someone Rosskeene had arranged to be here.

  Rosskeene took another step toward the line in Peyton’s head and whoever was outside the door took another step toward the leper’s squint.

  Pausing, Rosskeene chuckled. It was an abrasive and absolutely belligerent sound that nearly broke Peyton’s fragile control. This man had taken the only thing that mattered to Peyton in the whole of the universe and destroyed her. And now he was laughing.

  He was sick. Sick and monstrous and as Rosskeene lifted his foot to take another step he crossed the line.

  Feeling the enormity of his loss, Peyton loosed all the latent anger and pain and heart break in one raging roar as he pulled his sword and fair exploded into Lord Rosskeene.

  To his credit, the nobleman thrust and parried most admirably in the face of the onslaught. But in only several seconds Peyton had drawn blood any number of times and had backed him right up to the doorway in a fury fueled by the unsurvivable pain of Chantaya’s loss. As Peyton pushed him to the entrance, Mordecai appeared in the doorway behind Rosskeene.

  Inexplicably, his presence both helped Peyton to become inwardly strangely still, and yet caused the pain of his loss to swell until it threatened to consume Peyton’s very core. Mordecai too would be devastated by Chantaya’s death.

  Not realizing that Mordecai was standing right behind him, when Peyton paused for the sparest moment, Rosskeene actually smiled and foolishly began to verbally spar with Peyton as well. In a tone that was insanely confident under the circumstances, Rosskeene prodded, “You have no business being here, Wolfgar. You’re nothing but an oversized peasant boy, trying to dabble with men.”

  He smiled and wiped a bloody sleeve across his forehead that left him gory. It only amplified Peyton’s bitter, churning fury. Feinting, Rosskeene went on, “After today, when the others learn what a pitiful farce you’ve been, even your parents won’t mourn the embarrassing loss of such a son. Oh, and in case you haven’t heard, I raised your parents’ rents forty percent after the ball last week. You shouldn’t have acted so smug with your beautiful friend here the other night. It irritated me. And one shouldn’t irritate someone as powerful as I.”

  Mention of Chantaya made the blood rush to Peyton’s heart and he tried to focus on Mordecai’s presence to quell the mad desire to maim Rosskeene before taking his sadistic life. This blood letting leech on society wasn’t worth Peyton losing his higher sense of humanity. Peyton knew that, but the natural man in him wanted to annihilate Rosskeene anyway.

  Then Rosskeene went much too far, when he said, “Once I’m king, I’m going to take your friend to wife, you know. I decided it the moment I saw her the other day.”

  Something insid
e Peyton broke and he gave in to the ancient warrior’s berserk. In a mere moment, he’d sliced both of Rosskeene’s arms beyond use, flipped the older man’s sword up and shattered it into pieces, and had him up against the wall with his blade at his throat.

  In a voice awash in rage, Peyton snarled, “She’s dead! You killed her! You hounded her mother heinously! You allowed your beast of a son to attack her! And then you set your blood dogs on her with crossbows! You killed her!”

  Rosskeene seemed confused, even as he was obviously fearful as Peyton raged on, “The sweetest, purest, most precious girl in this world! She’s dead! All so you could be king!” Peyton leaned in close and roared in complete disgust, “King!” Then he lowered his voice to an ominous quiet and said scathingly, “You’re no king. You’re nothing but an animal.”

  With that, he spun and with a mighty slash, all but severed Rosskeene’s leg at the thigh. The nobleman went down in a gasping, bloody pile and Peyton lowered his sword, turned to King Dougal and with infinite sadness asked quietly, “Shall I kill him here, Sire? Or would you prefer to hang him publicly?”

  Appearing deeply shaken, the king shook his head. “Leave him, Sir Peyton. He deserves hanging. And if his son assaulted your betrothed, I’ll hang him as well. Leave him.”

  Suddenly tired beyond belief, Peyton nodded, “Thank you, Sire. I’m sorry he got in. Please, stay here for a moment and I’ll go see if there are any more of his men out there.”

  As he went to go out the door, two of the other knights appeared, wondering what the ruckus had been and were shocked to realize that Lord Rosskeene himself had made it past them and into the leper’s squint. Peyton looked on woodenly, staying only because word hadn’t come back yet about what had happened to the carriages on the way to the cemetery.