“Yes. We were together when Burnell gave me the news. What of it?”
“She said something to me, my lord, the night you were wounded. It might explain—”
“Speak up, man!” Guy demanded.
“Philip had just left the hospital, and Lady Leila pitied him, even though he had struck her. She said that Philip was only trying to protect you, and that if she believed someone she loved was being threatened, she would do the same. She would try to stop it.”
Someone she loved …
Henry’s words seemed to ring in Guy’s brain, flooding his heart with bittersweet joy.
Had Leila left him out of love? She had acted so strangely after hearing that he would fight Roger. Had she gone to her brother in hopes of somehow preventing the trial by combat? Surely she knew Roger would not be swayed by tearful pleas. She would have to give him something, promise him something. But what? All she had to barter with was herself …
“Mount up,” Guy ordered, his realization chilling him to the bone. “I have no illusions that Roger will release Leila if I make a formal demand for her return. Though she went of her own accord, she will be his prisoner now. And I have no patience to make preparations for a lengthy siege. By the time we reach the Gervais fortress, it will be dark, and there will be no moon tonight to betray our movements. We’ll scale the walls and take them by surprise.”
“And if Roger and his men already expect us, my lord?” Henry queried, his face clouded with doubt.
“Unlikely. After his mistreatment of Leila at Westminster, I’m sure Roger believes the last place I’d expect her to go would be to him. And he probably thinks I’m still too ill to get out of bed even if I did guess where she was, the bastard! I imagine that he and Maude are raising a goblet right now in honor of their unexpected good fortune.” Infuriated by the thought, Guy seized Griffin’s reins from his squire, adding grimly, “If the fortress does prove heavily guarded, we’ll just have to fight all the harder.”
As the two knights nodded in assent, Guy clenched his teeth against the pain and hoisted himself into the saddle. He pulled his restless war-horse hard about, then rode to the gatehouse, where he turned and faced the crowded bailey. Forty armored knights and almost a hundred men-at-arms stared back at him, silent and waiting.
“Prepare your hearts for battle,” he roared. “We ride against Roger Gervais! “
Chapter 27
Guy watched from the trees as a small force of thirty men-at-arms carrying hastily constructed scaling ladders crept stealthily across cleared ground toward the Gervais fortress. When they received his signal, their orders were to clamber over the curtain wall and open the massive gate to the remainder of his forces.
He took a deep breath and said another swift prayer of thanks that there was no moonlight. A cold drizzle continued to fall and a mist was rising from the river, but as yet it wasn’t thick enough to grant them extra cover.
“My lord, someone approaches along the road from the village,” came Henry’s tense whisper.
“Damn!” Guy hid himself behind a huge tree trunk, signaling for the rest of his men to do the same. Their horses had been left a quarter mile to the north as an added precaution against discovery. When they got inside the castle, theirs would be a battle fought on foot and hand to hand.
Guy peered around the tree, his gaze keenly piercing the darkness. He counted three men on horseback. Excitement gripped him as he realized they were headed for the castle, offering his forces an unforeseen opportunity. If they could take down these men, three of his own knights could proceed in their place and, when the gate was opened for them, the rest of his men could rush inside …
Guy gestured for five knights to follow him. Swords drawn, they crouched in the ditch at the side of the road until the unsuspecting travelers were almost upon them, then attacked with silent swiftness. The three men were yanked from their saddles so suddenly they had no chance to cry out, and their mounts were quickly calmed.
Only when the captives were dragged into the trees did Guy discover one of the men was dressed as a priest. As the two Gervais knights were mercilessly dispatched, their throats cut, the clergyman was propped up against a tree, a blade pressed beneath his fat double chin.
“Please do not kill me! I beg you—”
“Silence!” Guy hissed, towering over him. “Speak only to answer my questions. Is that understood?”
The priest bobbed his head, his wide eyes showing white in the darkness.
“Who are you?”
“I am Father Anselm, priest to Lord Gervais. My lord is expecting me at this very moment.”
Guy’s mind raced with this news. Obviously he would have to include this priest in his new plan if they wanted to get beyond the gate. “Do you always ride about with two armed knights as your escort?” he queried tersely, thinking it strange.
“No, no. They were sent out to find me,” the man answered in a nervous rush. “I-I was in the village paying a call. My lord Gervais wants me to prepare some special documents which must be sent to the archbishop by morning. I tell you, he awaits me with great impatience! He is sure to send out more of his men if I don’t arrive soon—”
“What kind of documents?” Guy cut in coldly, his intuition pricked.
“Annulment papers for his sister. She has left her husband, Lord de Warenne.”
An annulment, Guy thought grimly. If not for what Henry had told him, he might have truly believed Leila hated him. Now he could see her actions for what they were, all part of a desperate plan to sway Roger against fighting him in a trial by combat. If the annulment was approved, she would be free to marry whomever that bastard chose for her.
His heart filled with anguish. Ah, my brave, sweet love, did you so fear for my life that you would be willing to make such a sacrifice?
Guy lifted the priest’s trembling chin with his sword. “Hear me well, Father Anselm. I am Lord Guy de Warenne. There will be no annulment papers drawn up this night, for I have come for my wife. You are going to help us get into the castle.”
The rotund clergyman crossed himself several times, gulping air. “Wh-what do you want me to do?”
“I and one of my knights are going to ride with you to the gatehouse. You will act normally and say only enough to have the gate thrown open for us. When we are inside the bailey, get out of the way if you value your life.” His voice fell to a fierce whisper. “I warn you, Father. I am willing to risk hell’s eternal fire for my wife. If you give us away, your blood will stain my sword.”
“You need have no fear,” the priest blurted. “I will not betray you.”
“A wise decision,” Guy said, easing the blade slightly away from the man’s throat. “Now, I take it you know the castle well. Where will I most likely find Lady de Warenne? In the keep, or are there private chambers in the great hall?”
“She … she’s in the keep’s dungeon, my lord.”
Guy stared at the man incredulously. “In the dungeon?”
“Yes. Lord Gervais’s men told me she will be held there until she agrees … Oh, it is a terrible, terrible business, but what can I do? I have no sway in such matters. I know little else but that my lord wishes his sister to rid herself of the babe she carries in her womb.”
Guy’s initial shock that Leila was pregnant with his child was quickly swept away by blinding rage. It was clear Roger’s greed and cruelty knew no limits!
Sheathing his sword, Guy grabbed the priest by the cowl and shoved him toward the horses, calling over his shoulder, “Burnell! You will ride with us. Bring me one of the dead men’s cloaks and you put on the other. Langton, see that the men are prepared to storm the gate as soon as it is opened. Montgomery, take a half dozen knights with you to the curtain wall and tell the men waiting there to forgo the ladders and rush the gate as well. Go!”
A round of whispered “Ayes!” sounded in the darkness as he heaved the fat priest into a saddle.
“Remember what I told you, Father,” Guy h
issed, throwing the proffered cloak around his shoulders. He mounted and drew his horse alongside the priest’s. “One wrong word—”
“I-I have not forgotten, my lord.”
Guy kept his head down as they left the cover of the trees and rode up the barren incline to the gatehouse, he and Robert flanking the frightened priest. His fury intensified as they drew closer, and when they were almost at the gate, he tightly gripped the rains. His every muscle was taut, his blood running hot in anticipation of battle.
“Name yourselves!” a castle guard demanded from a lighted window in the gatehouse.
“Surely you can see who it is,” the priest cried, his voice quavering slightly. “Father Anselm! Open the gate. Lord Gervais has summoned me in great haste!”
Guy glanced at his knight as the immense timbered gate swung fully open, a look of grim understanding passing between them. Together they drew their swords and in the next instant, Guy’s enraged battle cry shattered the night’s stillness. He was answered by the fierce shouting of his men as they raced toward the gatehouse.
Spurring his horse forward, Guy cut down with mighty strokes the astonished guards who rushed at him while Burnell slew the men who frantically attempted to close the gate. Screaming in terror, the priest slid from his mount and took off running toward the great hall. He began to wave his arms hysterically and yell that the castle was under attack.
Guy decided not to waste his time on Father Anselm. The man’s cries of warning came too late. Already his own knights and men-at-arms were streaming through the gate, trampling the fallen guards and almost slipping in the slick blood that covered the ground. It was clear from the meager forces upon the battlements that Roger had not prepared for a surprise assault. Blessed fool!
“Strike down any man who will not surrender!” Guy shouted as his men surged with brandished swords across the torchlit bailey to meet those Gervais knights who were just now running from the hall. Still other de Warenne men forged up the stone steps to the battlements, holding high their shields as arrows began to rain down upon the castle yard.
Guy chose a different path, riding hard for the towering rectangular keep. His only thought was to find Leila.
Jumping down from the horse, he cursed as pain shot like hot flames through his leg. He shoved open the arched door to the keep and stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the hazy light cast by a single hanging lantern. He was about to descend a flight of stone steps which he believed led to the dungeon when a side door crashed open and Roger Gervais rushed into the room. The sword he carried was dripping blood.
“So my priest saw fit to assist you and your men through the gatehouse,” Roger said harshly, his narrowed gaze full of hatred. “My dead priest. He will not betray me again. Before I struck him down, he told me you had come for your wife, de Warenne. How did you know to find her with me?”
“Suffice it to say I know Leila’s heart.”
“And suffice it to say you will not be taking her with you. Stand away from those stairs!”
Guy held his ground, his back against the wall and his sword poised in front of him. “You would do well to surrender, Gervais. This battle has already been lost. Our sudden attack has overwhelmed your forces. Throw down your sword.”
“Surrender is a word unknown to me, my lord.” Roger’s blade swiped menacingly at the air as he edged closer. “To fight to the death has always been my creed, and so it is for my men as well. I think you will find if you step outside the keep that the battle still rages.”
“I will not leave this place as long as my wife is in your dungeon, Gervais.”
“Then die here!”
Cold steel rang out against steel, Roger’s enraged curses echoing all around them. The ferocity of his attack forced Guy to retreat into the middle of the room and then onto the circular stairs which led to the keep’s upper floors. He backed up step after excruciating step, pain ripping through his leg and sweat drenching him as he deflected Roger’s vicious blows.
“You should be the one to surrender, my lord de Warenne,” Roger sneered, his breath coming harder as he drove Guy relentlessly up the stairs, around and around. “You’re weak. I can feel it. I can see it in your face. That poison must have sapped your strength. Give up now … while I might have a mind to let you live.”
“And let you drive your sword through my heart when I lower my weapon?” Guy demanded, responding with a wild thrust that Roger barely managed to dodge. Swearing vehemently, Roger clutched his arm where Guy’s blade had sliced into his flesh, although he continued to swing his sword in a wide, deadly arc.
“You were never the fool,” Roger muttered through clenched teeth. “These stairs make as fitting a killing ground as any jousting field. My revenge … has been a long time in coming, de Warenne. Perhaps you would not have despoiled our friendship so readily … if you had known it would one day lead to your death.”
“If by honoring Ranulf’s dying wish I spawned your hatred, Gervais,” Guy countered, grunting with exertion as he parried a fierce blow, “then ours was no true friendship. I think … it was not Christine you loved but her rich dower. My supposed betrayal has not ruled your actions so much as your own jealousy and greed! You forget that I, too, have a score to settle!”
Roaring in fury, Roger attacked him with such a vengeance that Guy was forced to retreat still higher up the stairs, passing the fourth floor. Fiery sparks flew as hard steel struck and scraped against rough stone walls. Guy’s ears rang from the clamor of battle. Ducking a savage swipe, he swore loudly when he backed straight into a stout wooden barrier, and he realized that there were no more steps to climb. They had reached the roof.
Swinging his sword violently at Roger to buy himself a few precious seconds, Guy slammed his full weight against what proved to be a door behind him. The wood splintered and gave away, and he tumbled onto a graveled surface. Groaning in pain, he rolled out of the way just as Roger’s sword came down where his head had been only an instant before, and he hauled himself quickly to his feet.
It was dark, but Guy could faintly make out his opponent’s massive silhouette from the light cast by torches far below in the bailey. As he bettered his stance, he dragged in great lungfuls of cool air and fought against the weakness that was plaguing his limbs. A warm wetness was oozing down his leg, and he knew that his wound had reopened, that blood was soaking through the bandages.
“Come on, de Warenne!” Roger shouted, his blade whistling as he swiped viciously. “So far this battle has been no contest but a game of cat and mouse. Strike like a man, damn you, or I shall feel I’ve killed a green youth and not a trained knight!”
Guy did just that, taking the offensive now that he had ample room with which to maneuver. Their swords met again and again in the darkness, grunts and curses and ragged inhalations of breath melding with the sharp ring of clashing blades and the dim sounds of battle still raging below in the castle yard.
Just when it seemed neither man could gain the advantage, both being so well matched in skill and size, Roger again took the upper hand, driving Guy almost to the battlement with his furious blows.
“Say a fast prayer, de Warenne! Death is upon you!”
As he fended off a mighty swing, Guy’s sword was knocked from his grasp and clattered upon the stones a few feet away. He ducked and lunged for his weapon at the same moment Roger rushed at him with a bloodcurdling cry of victory. But with amazing swiftness Guy swept up his sword and rolled free just as Roger’s arm descended in a brutal downward thrust. In an instant Guy was on his feet and smashing Roger’s weapon from his grasp in a blow so powerful that his arm reverberated with the impact. Then, without thinking, bloodlust coursing through his veins, Guy clamped his massive hands around Roger’s surcoat, lifted him bodily, and, as Roger’s screams echoed in his ears, pitched him headlong over the battlement… The abrupt silence seemed deafening to Guy.
Heaving for breath, he picked up his sword and went to the parapet, where he leaned on
the cold, damp masonry for support. Sweat dripped onto his hands as he peered down into the bailey at Roger’s broken body. He felt no great sense of triumph. He knew it could have easily been he lying still and lifeless upon the ground.
As Guy wiped the sweat from his face, his gaze swept the bailey. It appeared his men had subdued the bulk of Roger’s forces. Many of his knights, Robert and Henry among them, were busy rounding up prisoners near the great hall.
His eyes were drawn to the slender figure of a woman running toward the keep, her long blond hair flying behind her, and he recognized Maude. She collapsed to her knees beside Roger and began to rock his body back and forth as if she sought to rouse him. Suddenly she shrieked in anguish at the realization that he was dead.
Staggering to her feet, Maude raised her clenched fists at the keep. Her face was twisted in crazed fury as she shouted at him, “Murderer! I curse you, de Warenne. Curse you! Your precious wife shall die for this deed!”
Oh, God. Leila.
Guy’s stomach roiled as Maude grabbed a blazing torch from a bracket and disappeared into the keep. He rushed to the roof entrance, and in his desperate haste, he nearly tripped as he vaulted over what was left of the door. He began to run down the winding stairs, his blood pounding in his ears, his heart battering against his chest. The pain in his leg was so acute it felt as if sharp spikes were driving into his flesh with each step. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Leila.
He was only to the second floor when he heard terrible screaming, shrill and high-pitched. The piercing sound sent chills down his spine and filled him with dread. By the time he reached the ground floor, acrid gray smoke was flooding up the narrow flight of stairs which led to the dungeon.
As Guy took the steps three at a time, the smoke grew thicker and he began to cough, his eyes stinging. The agonized screams grew louder, more horrible. At the bottom of the stairs, the smoke reflected the fiery orange of flames shooting out from an open cell. Terrified rats skittered and squeaked around his feet. He raced to the door but was pushed back by the intense heat. Then he saw a sight which flooded him with stark horror. He could have been staring straight into hell.
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