A Walk in the Black Forest

by K. A. M'Lady

  Darkness was a fully encompassing blanket as they climbed to the top of the cliff. When they reached the ground where the rocky edges left off and the plain began, a trail was spotted.

  “Two horses, milord,” Simon, his best tracker, advised. “One carrying that of a lighter weight, possibly that of a woman. The other heavier, leading the second close behind. They go in the direction of the forest.”

  “Aye, Simon, then into the forest we follow. We should meet Sir Richard and his men along the way as they double back towards us,” Damon said.

  They rode off into the darkness like a band of midnight demons traveling the road to hell. Their horses turning the dust of the plain like the smoke of Hades. Damon’s one hand stayed at his sword, the other on the reins as he spurred his horse on. He was close. He could feel it in his blood.

  Simon rode ahead, keeping an eye on the trail. He would turn back if the trail was lost or faltered in any way.

  They rode on for at least an hour before the thunder of a single horse rose in the distance. Damon signaled for his men to slow their pace until they could see the rider. As Simon approached, Damon rode ahead. “What is it?”

  “The trail leads into the forest. It appears that Sir Richard’s men have found the trail as well, and have gone in after her. However, there are no guards posted at the forest edge.”

  “Something is beginning to truly stink of betrayal.” Damon scowled in the direction of the forest.

  “Aye, milord. It would appear so,” Simon agreed.

  Signaling his men forward, he advised them of the situation. They would be evenly matched if Richard had indeed betrayed him. And if he did—then God have mercy on his soul.

  Kicking his horse into a gallop, they rode over the last expanse of the plain and into the forest. They rode slowly through darkness, blending into the darkness, silent and as one with death. This night would bring an ending, and each man felt it as they pulled their swords from their scabbards. Felt the silent zing pulse through their skin as they searched the night for their enemies.

  Just beyond a mass of fallen trees, in a small clearing, they found them. Sir Richard stood congratulating Smedely for a job well done as he held Gabriella by the hair. Her hands tied before her, Damon could see by the light of the moon the bruises that marred the whole left side of her face. His hand gripped his sword so tightly that the jewel embedded into it cut into his skin and blood pooled in the palm of his hand.

  Smedely held Tanak at sword point. “And what do you wish me to do with this heathen?” he asked.

  “Kill him,” Richard replied coldly.

  His indifference brought a gasp from Gabriella.

  Richard tightened his hold in her hair and said, “Hold your tongue, milady, or I will gladly cut it out.”

  “Damon will kill you for this,” she boldly stated, her eyes boring into his with enough hate to kill him where he stood.

  “Damon,” he laughed. “Your precious Damon will be dead before he leaves his keep. And the most amusing part of all of this is that your dragon has paid for this little war from his own coiffeurs. Every piece of gold from his war chest. Every death on his hands. And,” he continued boastfully, “he has been bested by his own steward, and has had his whore stolen by his best friend and has known of none of it. None of it, milady,” he yelled into the darkness. “And to make this game even more fun, his pathetic worm of a cousin is going to be blamed for all of this. While we walk away rich, free men. So tell me,” he said, pulling her against him and stroking her face with his glove-covered hand. “What do you think that Damon will do?”

  “I will kill you, of course,” Damon said into the silence of the forest, his voice as deep and merciless as the darkness itself. He stood but a foot away from Richard and his men. Damon’s men had totally surrounded them, swords drawn and ready for battle.

  Startled, Richard threw Gabriella to the ground. “Kill that bastard,” he yelled to Smedely, pointing to Tanak.

  Smedely turned and, with a quickness one wouldn’t expect from a steward, stabbed Tanak through the chest.

  Gabriella hit the ground hard, unable to catch herself with her hands bound in front of her. She watched in horror as Damon stood his ground, waiting for Richard to face him.

  “You will die this day for the crimes that you have committed, Sir Richard of Woodmir. I stand before you as champion of King William the Conqueror and charge you of murder and high treason. For this there will be no trial, no hanging. Just death.”

  Richard’s bark of laughter rang out through the clearing as he circled. “Always the great and mighty Dragon. Executioner. Just like you were with Therese. Tell me, Damon, how did it feel to know she loved another?“ He continued to circle.

  Damon clenched his sword tighter, following Richard’s lead, never taking his gaze from him. His men had already overtaken Richard’s men without a true battle ensuing. The true battle was between their leaders. For those who truly resisted their punishment, certain death was eminent.

  “She was an extraordinary woman.” He continued to bait him. “Wasted on you, if I say so myself. Oh, but how she felt in my arms when you were away.” He lunged forward, catching Damon off-guard and slicing his left arm.

  “You truly are a bastard of the deepest form,” he told Richard, swinging his own blade in a counterattack. The fire of hatred grew in his belly as the years washed over him, and Richard’s words fermented like decades-old wine left in the sun to rot. He slashed and hacked as fury spurred him on.

  Rising to her feet, Gabriella could only watch helplessly as Richard continued to taunt him with tales of his deceit and his affair with Damon’s dead wife. Damon fought Richard back and forth in a constant battle, attack and parry as both men were equally matched. Damon struck Richard as he stumbled over a rock, cutting him across his right cheek, blood quickly rushing down his jaw.

  Richard touched his hand to his face and glared at Damon, obviously incensed at the wound. “You will pay for that mark,” he vowed, and turned sharply towards Gabriella. “Mayhap she will die just as your family did. ‘Tis a pity, really.”

  Gabriella instantly started taking steps backward, looking around for a direction to flee. Tanak was still lying on the ground, one of Damon’s soldiers trying to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. Smedely was being tied up and led away by another of the guards. There was no one else close enough to protect her from Richard but Damon, and even he wasn’t close enough.

  “Your sister truly was a beauty,” Richard continued as he stalked towards Gabriella.

  Damon froze in fury. “I swear to God, Richard, if you are responsible for the death of my mother and sister as well, I will kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Really? Did you know your sister was a screamer?” he taunted. “She screamed beneath me as I took her over and over again. Of course, then I had to slit her throat. The screaming really was becoming tiresome,” he added nonchalantly.

  Damon looked at Gabriella and said, “Run.”

  She blinked, stunned, too shocked and too frightened to move.

  Damon’s words shook her resolve as he yelled at her again, “Woman, if you love me at all, run. Run, goddamn it!”

  Richard lunged for her and she staggered back, all but tripping on her dress. Pulling up the front of it quickly, she took two steps and was out of his reach as Damon jumped on Richard, tackling him to the ground.

  Gabriella took off straight into the forest. Her feet kept moving as her fear propelled her on.

  When she could run no farther, she staggered to the ground and fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She lay on the ground and wept for all she was worth.

  Damon could hear her cries as he searched the forest for her. He had told her to run, so afraid that Richard would reach her and kill her where she stood. He had made true of his vow to kill him with his bare hands, beating him until one of his soldiers had to pull him off him. He had beaten him to a bloody, ruined mass, completely unrecognizable except for th
e strands of blond hair that weren’t covered in blood.

  From there, he staggered through the woods, searching for Gabriella, calling out for her. Needing her in his arms as he had needed no other person before her. He found her by a fallen tree, with Smedely and a dagger to her throat.

  His sword in its scabbard, he was basically unarmed. He had no idea how the man had gotten free, but he’d be damned if he’d allow him to hurt her again. Reaching for his sword, he froze when Smedely angled the point into the flesh of her neck.

  “Uh-uh. I’d not advise it, milord,” he said as his bravado made him fearless.

  Gabriella was clenched in his arms, her face bruised and her body battered, weariness marring her every movement. She stared at Damon, begging him to do something, her hope and faith in him filling her eyes.

  He could tell by the look on her face that she had reached her limit of all she could take. She was planning to make a move, and expected him to follow through on it. She was his warrior woman. The other part of his soul. His equal and other half. He gave her a subtle nod, neither saying a word. Neither wanted to wait to hear any other demands of any kind from Smedely. This would end, and it would end now.

  Gabriella rammed her elbow into his midsection as hard as she could. Slammed her head up and back into his jaw and Adam’s Apple, then Gabriella threw herself so hard to the ground that her arms jarred from the force. She was on an incline and rolled down the side over tufts of foliage, small rocks and tree limbs. Her hands still bound, she was unable to catch herself quickly and continued to roll, bouncing down the incline into another downed tree, smacking her head against its side where a branch had been broken off.

  Damon charged forward, sword drawn. He drove it deep into Smedely’s midsection, tearing up and across before coming out one side.

  Smedely fell where he stood.

  Damon came crashing down the side to get to her. “Gabriella,” he whispered, getting down beside her to hold her in his arms. She was bleeding down the side of her head and struggled to keep her eyes open.

  “Damon,” she said.

  “Aye, my love. I’m here.”

  “I love you,” she told him.”

  “Aye. And I love you.”

  “Take me home.”

  Damon held her in his arms and felt a small jolt rush through him. He stared in awe and fear as Gabriella started to fade. “No,” he whispered. “No, Gabriella, do not leave me. You cannot leave me.”

  “Damon,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I love you.”

  Gabriella evaporated in his arms like the mist rising off the ocean as it fans against cliffs. Damon’s roar rent through the forest like a thousand dying warriors searching for the light.

  Epilogue

  The sweltering heat of August in New York was a bit more than a nine-month pregnant woman could bear. At full term and scheduled for delivery in two days, Gabriella couldn’t wait to get it over with. She just wished Damon could be here with her to experience it. But she knew that her warrior would never be able to handle modern-day New York.

  The thought made her smile, thinking of her barbarian in Manhattan. She had made it home in time for Christmas, and it was the most horrible holiday she had ever experienced. When she wasn’t bawling, she was eating herself into a frenzy.

  She had sold her parents’ house and everything in it; keeping nothing of sentimental value, knowing that she couldn’t take anything with her when she left. She still had her little flat, but even that would eventually be going, along with everything in it. Once the baby was old enough to safely travel, they were going back to England. She prayed with all her being that they would somehow, by some miracle of God, go back to Damon.

  In the meantime, she was studying everything she needed to learn how to survive the middle ages. Even things she didn’t think she wanted to learn. She had been studying to be a master herbalist. Taken CPR and safety classes, learned to sew in case she needed to stitch someone up or make clothing. She learned how to make herself dresses, and clothes for her baby. She’d even made Damon a few tunics and learned to crochet a shawl for Rosalynn.

  The two days passed quickly as she finished packing the rest of her belongings, sending almost everything off to Goodwill that she wouldn’t be using until her and her baby left. She spent the rest of her time cleaning and sewing. She was rushing around, practically in a frenzy to have everything prepared and ready for her trip back to England. Before she knew it, she was hailing a taxi, heading for the hospital.

  It was eight a.m. and already a blistering eighty-seven degrees outside. Thank God for central air, she thought. She spent an hour at admissions before she was led upstairs to the maternity ward. From there it was another three-hour wait before her doctor came into her room.

  “So...” Dr. Patel came through the door in a rush. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid and her dark eyes smiled brightly. She reminded Gabriella of Tanak, with her unassuming nature and her kindness. “Are you ready to have this babe?” She began to check over Gabriella.

  “I have never been more ready for anything in my life,” she assured her.

  “Then we’ll get you prepped, and I’ll see you in surgery.”

  Gabriella winced at the reminder that she’d have to be cut open to have her baby. She knew that there was no other way. She was too small for natural birth, and the son that she carried was simply too big. Dr. Patel estimated that he already weighed between ten and eleven pounds. The doctor teased that she carried a barbarian, the child was so huge. If she only knew, Gabriella laughed to herself.

  Taking Gabriella’s hand, her doctor comforted her. “All will be well, my dear. Have no worries. We do this every day, all day long. Your son grows strong and healthy within you, and is ready to face the world.”

  Gabriella nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Soon she would hold her son. Damon’s son, in her arms, and she would feel his warmth and love once again.

  Three hours later, she had a healthy baby boy weighing in at eleven pounds eight ounces, and he was an amazing twenty-six inches long. He was a chunk, and Gabriella laughed tears of wondrous joy as she held him in her arms for the first time, knowing that the wait wouldn’t be much longer before they would finally try to go home.

  * * * * * *

  Damon sat at his table in the great hall with a cup of mead in his hand, watching as the last of his servants scurried off to bed. Rosalynn continued to warn him about yelling at his servants. Telling him continually that it wasn’t their fault that Gabriella was gone. Telling him that he’d become entirely too surly and mean even for her to deal with and that if he didn’t get it under control, he was going to push even her too far.

  He wondered, as he downed the contents of his cup, if she’d make him a toad. A toad indeed, he snorted. It had been nine months and more since Gabriella had disappeared like mist in his arms. His heart lay shattered in a million pieces, and he no longer cared for anything in life. He had returned to his castle a different man.

  Where Richard and Smedley had been unable to break him or best him, fate had taken his life and, in two seconds, ravaged it. Torn it completely asunder and beyond repair. He was nothing without her, and he did not wish to exist without her by his side.

  He had freed his cousin from his dungeon and despite Pasquel’s threats, thrown him out of his keep with the warning that if he ever returned or crossed his path, he would die where he stood. Pasquel gathered his men and stormed from the bailey in a cloud of dust.

  Since then, Damon had watched over his friend, Tanak, as Rosalynn nursed him back to health. His wound should have killed him. A lesser man surely would have died. But with Rosalynn’s care, he was finally on the mend and actually able to take short walks around the castle; going no further than from his room to the great hall, or out to the bailey to get some well needed sunlight.

  But for Damon, it was as though a part of him had died and he wished that he had died right along with it. He barely ate, didn’t want
to practice in the lists with his men, leaving the training to John. He only spoke to Tanak or Rosalynn. All he could think of was Gabriella and the child that he would never see. He prayed that somehow she made it home safely and that she and his babe had thrived.

  Tipping back another cup, Damon wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his arm and rested his head in the palms of his hands. He was tired of this life, and he was tired of living it. With every thought focused on an end, he passed out on the table.

  Rosalynn found him there the next morning as she came into the great hall from checking on Tanak. It was the same every day since Gabriella had gone. Her heart ached for this man, and yet she knew there was nothing she could do. Fate was still in control. The waters this morning showed her a child running through this very castle and hope sprang in her breast for the first time in months. But she knew she could say nothing of it to her lord. She, like him, would have to wait for gods to choose the way. “Get up, you oaf,” she said, shaking him.

  Damon stirred beneath her bony fingers. Pushing her hand away, he groggily warned her, “Old woman, if you do not cease your bellowing, I will throw you from this hall myself.”

  “As if you could,” she countered.

  In the midst of their morning ritual of arguing, a guard came running into the great hall.

  “Milord,” he panted.

  Damon sat up and slanted open his eyes, squinting at the amount of light pouring in the open door. “Well, what is it man?” he asked, as the guard stood there unspeaking.

  “A…a…a...rider,” he stuttered.

  “A rider? A simple rider has worked you up into this blather, man?” he questioned, clearly annoyed by the disturbance so early in the morning. “Get me a drink, Rosalynn. My guards are driving me insane.”

  “No,” she replied tartly.

  “Not just a rider, milord,” the guard continued. “A woman. It looks like, at least as far as the guard from the watchtower can tell, that ‘tis your woman, milord.”