When sword drew from sheath, she peaked out from beneath her great cloak. Harold spun two black balls toward the bandit’s neck, chain wrapped with a snap, and he fell dead to the ground.
Both hands on his sword, Thomas maneuvered Demon so close their legs touched. A sword thrust down, blade slid across Thomas’ mail, and nicked her leg. She screamed. With eyes ablaze, he turned to her, and missed another raised weapon.
She shouted and pointed. “Look above y—”
Metal met metal, her horse reared, and her thighs lost their grip. The bright sun was followed by her mount’s rump, and all breath was knocked from her. She lay for a brief moment on her stomach, with chin in horse dung. Giant hooves pounded near her head, a bloodied arm fell to the ground, and swords clanged.
Mary, Mother of God, save me. On hands and knees, she scurried to the side of the road and scampered over the bank. At the bottom lay her salvation. She stood, lifted her tunic and ran for a small boat that bobbed half in the water. When she put one foot in, a course hand clamped around her other muddy ankle.
“Nooo …”
A leering man, with the countenance of the devil, tugged her back toward the bank and certain death. A thought of her son orphaned renewed her vigor. With drums pounding in her ears, she twisted out of his grasp, and lunged forward with all her might, landing in the vessel.
Taking the nearby pole, she pushed off the bottom until she reached the middle of the river. A rush of current made her lose her grip on her only means of propulsion. She watched it disappear as she plopped on her arse, exhausted.
Behind on the river’s bank, the villain who followed shouted, “Och lassie, I’m comin’ for you. Touch yourself in readiness. I want ye wet and open.”
The forest that they’d passed moments before, raced by. Already the clink-clank of swords, the shouts, and the grunts were almost inaudible. She knew better than to pray for Thomas’ life, for surely so vastly outnumbered, none would survive. Instead, she prayed for quick, heroic deaths, followed by heavenly bliss. Mayhap for once, God would grant her petitions.
Lady Ann would’ve known what to do next. Merry, not so much. As the world rushed by, she envisioned paddling back to shore with her hands, but the evil man’s words haunted her. Drowning herself wasn’t an option. She needed to find her way back to where Marcus kept her son safe and let him know what danger lie ahead.
Chapter 13
Thomas couldn’t spare even a glance to see where Merry ran. Gleaming metal overhead promised to deliver him to death’s door. He two-handed the hilt of his sword and cleaved the attacker in half. The torso with inferior mail dropped, while legs remained mounted.
Demon raised his front hooves at the next oncoming warrior and the attacking horse did the same. Ready, Thomas clamped his thighs and leaned forward. The opposing knight fell back onto the ground, looked up and screamed as Demon stomped his miserable soul to hell.
To his right and to his left, armored men lifted swords against him. Crossing his left arm over his chest, he pulled out his curved sword and cleaved off hands in one deadly arc. The stunned warriors gazed down as blades and limbs fell as one. They turned tail to run, but caught their final blows from Simon-the-Bear.
Thomas dismounted and jumped down the muddy embankment that ran beside the road. At the river’s edge, a small set of toe-prints dotted the mud next to thick drag marks from a vessel. A pole, the height of a man, stood sentry in the middle of the river. Horse tracks followed where the water flowed south and curved.
“Ahhgghh!” Thomas’ chest constricted. What had he done? Where was she?
Sticky blood oozed near the crook of his right arm and he let go his sword. He tested his injury by flexing his hand while staring impotently. The first crushing blow of the fight might’ve cracked one of his bones. The ache held no compare to the one clenching his innards.
She was out there and in danger. He howled, raised his good arm, and scrambled up the hill. Sorry the man who would again cross swords with him this day. The first lost a head so cleanly that the surprise stay pasted as the skull rolled.
When all lay dead or runoff, Thomas cleaned his sword, remounted, and scanned the gore. “Did we lose any of our men?”
Jacob, frowning, gave a sharp whistle and found his charger. “I count all of ours still standing.”
The rest of their small army mounted. With pennant raised, they gathered in the center of the road where they’d been traveling peacefully with the sun high in the sky.
Thomas glanced down at an attacker who lay moaning and cursing. “Take him and let’s be off. Leave the rest to the scavengers. We need to move more quickly than the water flows. She took to the river.”
“Smart girl.” Jacob’s eyes searched where the river flowed south. A flock of ravens circled overhead and landed, waiting for a meal.
“’Tis not as fortunate as it first seems. Tracks indicate one of theirs followed her along the banks.” Thomas groaned.
If she’d not fallen off the back of Demon, she’d be dead. Obviously, marriage destroyed a man’s ability to think clearly. He tore a piece of his bloodied tunic off with his teeth. Using it as both bandage and bind, he wrapped his weakened arm to his chest.
“Any sharp edges through flesh?” Jacob’s charger danced, whinnied, and pawed at the ground. Demon responded in kind.
It took a mighty effort for Thomas to speak through his clenched teeth. “Believe me when I say one hand will be enough to kill whoever planned this attack.”
Jacob gave a short nod. “Forward, ho.”
Eleven men moved out as one through the field of gore. Simon stayed back with the prisoner. When he caught up, the bound outlaw was tossed like a rolled tapestry over the back of his mount.
Jacob had to shout over the clopping of the horse’s hooves on the hardened surface of the road. “You noticed the Scottish lilt to their voices? This was no ordinary band of thieves.”
“If this is the best they’ve got, the battle is already won.” Thomas cursed and spat. The rain had caused a mighty current in the river, but with a good gait, he hoped to spy a little craft soon.
“All your heads will be upon pikes by week’s end and your woman’s opening bleeding from my brothers takin’ her.” The captive’s voice rang clear despite being upside down.
Geoffrey-the-Giant edged closer, raised a hammer high, and waited for Thomas’ approval to clump the man into oblivion.
With a quick shake of his head, Thomas indicated to stand down. Geoffrey lowered his arm. His men’s faces grew dark and their brows furrowed, but he needed to let the goat continue to bleat. Eventually, something of import would spew from its vile mouth.
“I was there at your keep when we took it. Your brother cried like a wee bairn when I slipped deep inside his goodwife, as did your mammy. We burned yer crops. We made haggis from the flesh of the dead.”
Jacob glanced over, concerned, but Thomas carried on as if nothing was amiss. What the man said intentionally was of no worth. What he implied was key.
The taunting grew louder. “Those lands nay belong to you, Norman. Best y’give up the fight.”
Thomas said to Jacob under his breath. “See to it that no man says a word in response. Coins for all who manage.”
His first-in-command slowed and let the word be known down the line and his men’s spirits lifted. They grinned and filtered out the rant, eager to gain a piece of gold. But none of this got them closer to Merry. Where in damnation was the woman? As they rode on, he scoured the bank with no sign of a little boat with a redheaded fairy at the helm.
“Anything near the wall is ours.” The prisoner’s mouth leaked like a skin of wine, held upside down.
For the first time, Thomas spoke, choosing words with care. “King Alexander and my grandfather reached an agreement, as did their sons. The land, the keep, and the people are mine.”
The upside down man laughed with scorn lacing his tone. “Alexander is without male heir. Who will rule th
en, Norman?”
Thank the Good Lord. That was what he needed to hear. Alexander hadn’t broken faith and war hadn’t been declared. The old Earl of Annandale was acting on his own. These were merely rogue outlaws from the far north, judging from the thick accents. But how many strong?
Thomas spit to the ground. Frankly, he cared not whether Scots or the English laid claim to his land. He’d take it back and give allegiance to whoever claimed to be King. It was no man’s land. Was that not why Edward’s grandsire had bequeathed it to the Normans? Regardless, Thomas wasn’t about to lose little Tom’s inheritance.
They traced back along the river’s edge until they found a tavern, but no sign of a small boat. They should’ve met up with her by now.
“My lord, your castle awaits to the north and your relatives may be held captive. We must turn back.” The words were spoken by Harold-the-Younger who would be forgiven, just this once, for his impertinence.
“And my wife is missing. Thank you for stating the obvious. If you can’t be more helpful, I suggest your mouth be best used for taking in breath.”
Jacob pointed down the river. “There. What’s that?”
Thomas’ heart sank. A flat bottomed boat lay bobbing upside down against the bank of the river. A woman’s body lay beside it in a pool of blood. He swallowed hard and dug spurs into Demon’s side. His charger tossed his head, snorted, and veered, but Thomas gained control and raced toward the grisly scene.
A dog chewed at a headless mass of flesh and snarled. He kicked the animal away, squatted, and cursed. Pieces of Merry’s bloodied tunic twisted among the innards. He dropped to his knees and shouted with first raised into the air. “Be ye damned forever.” Part of the curse was for whoever had just killed her, the other for God, and lastly for himself.
Assessing the gore was the hardest thing he’d ever done. What was left of the flesh had the length and breadth of his wife. One arm was cleaved at the wrist. His soul refused to acknowledge the scene in front of his eyes and he refused to mourn. Not yet. He’d find the bastard who’d done this to her, cleave him in to small bits, and let the vultures feed.
A horse whinnied behind him and Jacob’s flat voice spoke, “The head is gone.”
“Let me be. I’ll bury her. Alone.” He gathered stones and placed them beside the body.
“It’s way too opportune that the poor woman’s head and hand are missing. I smell a ruse.”
The blackness that threatened to devour his soul wouldn’t let in one ray of hope. “Do as you will. I’ll bury what’s left of her.”
Thomas scoured the flood plain for a sign of her. Was it possible? Crows circled above, but other than that, the land lay bare. All signs and tracks around the body had been swept away. The coward was clever. About a mile beyond, a forest loomed. Perhaps the woman-slayer trembled there.
Having no shovel, but many a stone, Thomas moved the body parts to a central area and covered them. With none to watch, tears came unbidden as he placed the last round stone atop what was left of her body. He gasped for air, knowing not how to go on, but knowing he must for his little son.
“What say you, lass? You were right. Better that I should’ve stayed dead.”
Memories, detecting the flaw in his mail, attacked without mercy. Six years ago, he’d spied her across the room with the devil in her eyes. She’d smiled boldly at him and giggled with her friends. The first time they’d sat together at table, he’d fed her like a baby bird and cut her food. All in the great dining room watched, knowing that in the doing so he’d claimed her.
He recalled that fateful night, when they’d hand-fasted before God. She’d begged him to take her and he’d been too weak to resist completely. He’d promised to come back after trading in London and marry her. How was he to know that Marcus would send him abroad at the king’s request? His soul howled, never to be consoled again.
He sobbed, falling upon his knees, with his hands covering his face. Forgive me. He’d loved with her that night as much as he’d dared. So beautiful her lovely sighs, so bountiful her breasts. She’d opened her legs and accepted his hand until she’d come undone. Mayhap a holier man could have resisted her offerings, but oh no, not him. Nay. He took all but her virginity and remembered how sweet the agony to spew his seed between her legs.
He allowed one more moment of self-pity, planted the final rock upon her grave, and squeezed his eyes as they burned. He apologized for his blasphemy and prayed God to take his angel into heaven and allow him to meet her there anon. First, he would seek revenge and see to the welfare of his son.
His eyes popped open when the grasses rustled in front of him and the ground opened up. A muddy black demon arose with shiny eyes and yellow teeth. Grinning, it exited the hole with a most ordinary sword held high. Then there was naught, but darkness.
Chapter 14
Unable to move, Merry continued to clutch onto the rough sides of the boat while the filthy-mouthed bandit followed. She hoped his blade’s edge would cleave straight through her neck so she’d not know pain when her head dropped into the river. It was only a matter of time.
Bright sunlight surprised her as she emerged from the forest and she shut her eyes. When she opened them, a field of bleating sheep ran in circles and a dog barked incessantly at the heels of the evil man’s charger.
The river widened and had less depth, less current, and the horse tested the spinning swirls. It whinnied, shook its mane, and refused to go further. When the outlaw spurred its sides, it nickered, but complied.
Ankle deep in water, the man laughed and his evil eyes glistened. “You’re only making this worse, lassie. If you dinna give up the chase, I’ll bang you like a hound in heat until you cry for mercy. Come to me now and I may spare your life.”
A little squeak came out of her mouth as his mount edged closer to the boat. What if she just allowed her heavy tunic to drag her to the bottom? Oh, dear God. She’d almost forgotten Tom. She must survive for him. Her boat slowed in the broadening river.
Grinning, a gap showing in his yellowed teeth, the wicked man grew close. His pock-marked face was spotted with blood from battle. Beyond, a brightly painted sign with a giant keg and three blue wavy lines swung by a rope. Behind that, stood an old wooden structure, crisscrossed with white planks; the River Tavern. Certainly, there would be people there willing to help.
Fortitude, Meredith. The words came from her mother’s mouth the day she’d learned to swim in the lake behind her father’s fortress. The day after, she’d almost drowned. A prayer came out from her lips. If you but save my life, Dear God, once Tom is grown, I swear I’ll join a nunnery and praise your holy name forever.
With one eye upon the approaching bandit, she disrobed, and threw her cloak over the horse’s head. When it reared, the knight cursed as he tumbled off with a great splash. She jumped into the frigid water with drums pounding in her chest. Praying, kicking, and clawing, she swam for the opposite shore. Faster. Twice, she reached her foot down to find bottom, swam a few more feet, then finally sunk toes into mud.
Never looking back, she scrambled on all fours up the bank and dashed across the meadow. Burrs stung her feet and cool air chilled her almost naked body. Finally, in a small copse of trees, she stopped and wheezed, waiting for her throat to stop burning. The outlaw’s curses, once so close, dissolved to where she could no longer distinguish his awful words.
When it got louder again, she ran further into the woods. No doubt he’d mounted and was tracking her. Her small toe marks in the dirt were as plain as day. Damn, damn, damn. She pulled out her knife and cut a branch off from a low bush. Using it like a broom, she swept clean her prints into the forest as she backed away. Perhaps it would be enough.
The stream gurgled at her, chiding. Climbing down the bank, it soothed her wretched feet as she urged them along the wet stones. Hurry, hurry, he comes anon.
Memories of the battle tried to resurface, but she held them at bay by focusing on her son. One foot in
front of the other, she slipped and slid over flattened stone in the river until she was deep into the woods. Only when the sun shone directly overhead did she venture out of the water to walk upon the uneven bricks of the ancient Roman road. On and on, she traveled throughout the afternoon until she stumbled. She’d no idea how far she’d come, but a thin pink line above a gap in the trees warned that it’d soon be dark. She needed to stop, sup, and rest, but dared not.
A flock of sparrows cheeped and chirped as they flew up and away. Hooves clomped upon stone and a familiar nicker broke the silence. When Demon’s nose rounded the bend, it took all her composure not to shout out. Thank God she held her tongue. Her hopes fell from the heights of heaven and into the depths of hell.
With a curse, she jumped into the muck of the riverbank and hid behind a scratchy thorn bush. The thumping in her chest missed a beat. It could not be, yet it was so. Atop her husband’s horse, the accursed barbarian with the foul mouth muttered to himself with hands twitching. Thomas was tied down behind the saddle like a stag. His head was upside down with his face turned back toward her. And Lord have mercy, he winked.
Merry scampered up the bank, studied the road, and gritted her teeth. Hoof prints led the way to him. Rocks and stones cut into the soles of her feet until blessedly they fell numb. He needed her and she’d not fail. Every so often, she bent over to find fresh U-shape markings and each time she thanked God to find them.
When it grew so dark she could barely see her feet, the path divided. Was he still alive? She shuddered as she imagined the awful man torturing him. With her next step, her ankle wrenched and she collapsed onto the ground. A hare at the river’s edge twitched its ears, stared for a moment, and drank unmindful. Merry inched her hand down to the sheath at her leg and hurled her knife with deadly accuracy.
“Blessed be me.” She smiled for the first time since the battle this morning. At least she wouldn’t starve, but would she be hungry enough to eat uncooked rabbit? She hoped so, because she had no fire-starter ring.
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