by Amber Dane
The years had not been kind to the aging warrior. Lord Richard Hartley looked well beyond his years and the wooden shaft he leaned his burgeoning weight upon only made it worse. White hair hung long and past his frail shoulders, a thick matching moustache and beard covered his wrinkled face. The large mass around his waist slowed his gait. ‘Twas hard to believe, this great man he’d once admired had let hatred and revenge run him to rot. In that moment, Rourke realized he would not let the same happen to him. It was time to let go of the guilt and blame he’d carried all these years over the loss of Jacqueline. No matter what he did, neither he nor her father could bring her life back and he told the man thus.
“No one is to blame for what she did. It was her choice, Richard.”
Rourke saw it coming. The thick butt of the shaft struck him in the cheek. His teeth rattled from the blow; still he kept his eyes on Richard. The man’s face ran even redder, mottled with his grief and anger.
Spittle shot from his mouth as he spat, “Shut up you, filthy Norman scum! How dare you speak ill against my daughter? She was my life! She had my blood running through her veins. She was not weak, but strong and you robbed her of her life as you robbed me! She was my daughter!”
Rourke knew there was naught more he could say to the man. The look in Richard’s eyes was one crazed beyond retrieving. As it were the man could barely form a word without visibly shaking and practically losing breath on each word.
“Now I have the upper hand,” Richard was wheezing harder now and wiped at his drooling mouth with a fine piece of lace cloth he withdrew from his breast pocket. “William’s prized long arm of destruction into Saxon territory now chained to my wall like the dog and filth he is. I never wanted my daughter shackled to you. We, proud Saxon barons, had no choice but to do what that bastard Norman duke wanted. I am going to make you pay for each year I suffered the loss of my only child. And I do plan to enjoy every bloody moment.”
Rourke’s jaw clenched in anger. William had formed some friendships with a few Saxon nobles during Edward the Confessor’s rule, most of which were very fragile to begin with. Not only because of the king's favor upon the duke, but the Saxon lords had done so out of fear and intimidation. After William had taken the throne, some of these same lords had tucked tail and run off. The ones that had not had still turned their backs on him when he’d needed them most. Like the filth in front of him now, Rourke snarled with disgust.
“My head is clear and I will not go as easily as you think.” Rourke eyed him and Raven with dead calm, taunting them. “You know well who my teacher was. ‘Tis no secret. He stands right beside you. Do you want to see how well he trained me, Richard?”
“But you are without your blade!” Richard choked on a weak incredulous laugh as did his men, except Raven.
“I don't need my blade to demonstrate for you. Release my hands and you shall see firsthand that they are capable of providing you with the same end result. A bit messier, but I assure you, 'tis all the same in the end. Is that not so, Raven?”
Rourke’s words sent another visible tremor through Richard and the old man raised the staff again high above his head. Rourke did not flinch when the blow came this time.
Richard howled in pain at the movement and yelled, “Fool! I would kill you now had I no need to see you suffer and bleed slowly whilst I torture each and every one of your men. Raven! Which arm is it?”
"I’ve seen him use both.” came Raven’s shrug of shoulders and aloof reply.
"But you used your left," Richard was frowning.
"Aye. However he was a most studious and apt pupil.” Raven’s eyes met his and Rourke wanted to kill the devil where he stood.
"'Tis the mark of the devil’s hand is what it is, sire!" the jailer's outcry drew stares his way as he backed away crossing himself. Raven shot the jailer such a look of disgust it was a good thing the man had the sense to back away out of the reach of another heavy blow.
"Your superstitions do not belong here. Speak of such again and I will show you what the true mark of the devil is.” Raven’s words came slowly and his hands went to the small axes he had strapped to his waist. “Anyone else wish to express their religious beliefs?”
All in the room grew quiet and Rourke seethed when Raven turned back to him and winked. Richard foamed at the mouth having caught the action and turned an icy glare on Raven.
"We are not here for your playacting and reminiscing, Raven. Get on with it. He is here because of my beautiful Jacqueline and me.”
"Nay, Richard. He is here because of me. Without my help you'd still be locked away in some stink hole with that vengeance rotting in your gut.”
"Why you ungrateful whelp!" Richard stumbled toward Raven with the shaft raised.
"Ah, ah ahh, old man. You don't want to get yourself all riled before the games begin. We agreed-"
"I agreed to nothing! You were paid handsomely for your part in this." Richard lowered the shaft.
"Aye. True is that. I was indeed. However, there's been a change in plans. Your ruthless days are over, you old bitter fool.” Raven chuckled as he slowly pulled off his gloves.
Rourke watched the two men argue amongst themselves. Fools! Mad the both of them.
The argument was soon interrupted by a loud keening wail and sudden gasp. The sound came from Richard. Rourke watched the old man clutch at his chest, the shaft dropped to the ground as he stumbled backwards with a look of surprise and horror etched upon his weathered face. The jailer shrieked and jumped out of the way. Raven did not help. He looked at the falling Richard with an expression of grim satisfaction upon his face when the man fell. His eyes returned once again to Rourke.
“Hmm, seems you have yet again robbed another member of the Hartley family of their breath, Dark Axe.” Raven’s boot came down hard on the old man’s chest and held him down.
Rourke said nothing as he watched Richard twitch and jerk on the ground, a bit of foam bubbled from his mouth as the last breath rattled from the old warrior’s body.
Raven moved his foot away. “Poison does the trick every time. No one tells me what to do. I was sick and tired of his slowness in getting rid of you. Now, to speed things along. Take the old man’s carcass out of here.” Raven instructed the guards as he stepped over the body and reached out to grip a fistful of Rourke’s hair. “Why Dark Axe, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. I imagine you might be wondering how about now, hmm?” he threw his dark head back with a deep chortle and released his hold on him. Raven strutted in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back. "Had you or my brother bothered to climb down and check for a body, you would have seen I’d fallen upon a ledge that opened to a cave."
His elaborate retelling grated on Rourke's nerves and his anger built. Rourke stared at him hard and wished he'd done so. Raven must have known his thoughts for he reached out with the back of his hand and caught a good hit against his mouth. Rourke tasted blood in his mouth and Raven turned from his icy glare first.
"Ever the bold and disobedient one. I will have your full attention! The nights and days I spent hiding in that cold, dark and wet place, plotting my revenge until I believed it was safe enough to escape were murder. I ask you, something like that cannot be good for one’s soul, right? Had it not been for my brother’s wife nursing me back to health, your goal to see me dead would have come true.”
"What sentence given to you, Raven, you brought upon yourself. ‘Twas you that turned your back on William.”
Raven let out a shout, "Aargh! Had he not turned his first on me, 'twould not have happened!”
"William was good to you. He never turned any of us in that group away.”
Rourke remained still when Raven swiftly brought his face level with his own. Pain and hatred screamed from those crazed and startling blue eyes.
"Lies! He did it twice. He forgave me not when I tried to gut you for your lack of loyalty to me. I created you, his precious weapon. Then, aye, again…when he chose my brother over me."
>
Rourke said nothing. Raven could and never would be the proud man Darc had grown into. Even back then, the difference between the two brothers had been noticeable and Raven had shown signs then of his brain unraveling long before his dark days in that cave.
"Live the life of a libertine, pay the price of one,” Rourke spoke coldly.
"Heathen filth!" Raven's rage erupted and he struck him again. Rourke spat the blood his action had drawn into his face and couldn’t help but smile when Raven shrieked like a madman and danced away from him wiping frantically at his face. William had chosen well when he'd chosen Darc over his crazed brother.
"Bastard!" Raven howled. “Your time has come for the table. I will be back, friend. I needs retrieve a special tool to complete the job I was so rudely interrupted doing many years ago.”
Raven’s evil laughter filled the chamber as he exited. Rourke gave into his fury and even though the chains held him tight, he fought like a madman, bleeding from each extremity. The only thought in his head was to kill Raven before he’d let that devil cut him again.
Chilly nights had turned into frosty days and Alexa had grown sick with each passing one that brought no news of Rourke. Over and over the memories of their last night together resurfaced and the pain of the discord between them was now a forgotten memory. Goran had returned yet again just yester eve empty handed. Darc Renald had yet to return. But he'd sent a messenger back with word of his search and word from William to let him know when and if they found his Dark Axe alive or dead.
Alexa wrung her hands with worry over the possible danger Rourke might be in.
Goran had alluded briefly to the fact he may have been captured and tried to keep assurances up that he still lived, but his grim expression told Alexa otherwise. She would keep the faith even if others did not.
She knew Rourke still lived for she felt it in her heart. If he’d taken his last breath, she told herself she would have known.
Wouldn’t she?
Aye, for her own heart would cease to beat.
Tears burned the back of her lids and she looked out the open archway once again. She stood in the room off the hall because it gave a better view of the great doors.
She ignored the guard watching her. All eyes had been on her every move these past few days. Had she wanted to escape to search for Rourke, his guards truly could not have stopped her. She could escape them if she chose.
But for what?
She did not know where he was, let alone where to look any more than Goran and Darc Renald did.
A Norman servant that had arrived with her husband’s caravan entered the room. Margaret, the name came to Alexa. She was pleasant enough, quiet and worked hard. Alexa spent most of her days till darkness fell in this room.
Margaret tried hard to get her to eat, drink and draw her into conversation but Alexa did neither.
When not in the room, she paced about the manor or strolled outside in the cold. Rourke’s men dogged her every step. Aye, the number of men that guarded her had increased tenfold since Goran’s last return. She barely spoke to him but she was aware of his ever watchful and concerned gaze following her too, wherever she went. But she said nothing of it.
The fight in her had been swallowed by the weight of her grief and the foreboding she'd felt the day Rourke had received that message. Sick was too kind of a word to describe how she felt.
Days and nights she touched her cheeks to find them wet, not even conscious she cried.
She looked to the horizon, hilly marshes with each passing day for sight of his return. Yet her prayers produced naught.
Margaret’s soft voice and hand reached out to her again and Alexa remained lost in her despair staring at the front doors. Margaret blinked back tears of relief when she managed to steer her lady to the bench so she could smooth out the tangles in her amber hair. Then a smile spread when she watched her lady pick up the cup she'd just filled with water and brought it to her lips to drink. Finally. The lady had made a move to succor herself and bring her back from that dark place.
It didn’t last long for loud voices coming from the front of the manor broke the silence.
“My lady.”
Alexa heard Margaret call after her as she dashed out toward the great doors in the direction of the ruckus. The sight that greeted Alexa halted her in her tracks. Hope shot to her throat and choked her and then despair immediately followed.
Rourke’s horse had returned.
Black looked wild, snorting heavily as Goran and stable hands tried to calm the large warhorse. Seeing the dried blood spattered over the horse tore a tortured cry from Alexa’s breast and she barely felt the guard catch her as she stumbled sideways. Straightening, she called out to Goran when he instructed the horse be removed from her sight.
She needed to see.
To touch
"My lady, please,” Goran pleaded
Alexa shook her head. Her fingers crumbled the splashes of blood into fragments that fell to the dirt. The big horse, his wild breath calmer now, had let her touch him. Goran pulled her away when she remained staring down at her hands.
“We don't know that 'tis his blood, my lady.” Goran tried to sound reassuring.
Alexa felt herself nodding but she was not sure. Nay! It could not be Rourke's blood. She would not believe it. He had to return to her. He had to.
She let Goran guide her back inside the manor and Alexa did not care that all in the yard witnessed her odd behavior. Angry, grief and fear kept her tears at bay.
During the second week, Barnett manor had become an even more somber place and Alexa paid little heed to the morning sickness that assailed her. Had it not been for the healer and the attentive Margaret at her side forcing what little broth they could down her, she'd not eaten at all.
Ever since the day Black had returned, she had withdrawn into herself even more.
But this particular eve the cold snap was the strongest since deep winter had set in and the shivers that shook her frame became unbearable as she practiced hard and long with her wooden sword. Her sore body finally drew her to the bed she and Rourke shared and Alexa climbed in and lay on her side in the space he usually lay his large body.
She was asleep by the time Margaret later entered with Goran to lay more logs to the fire and pile more furs around her.
Goran watched her with an aching heart that bled for her and his friend. When he turned to the moonless sky with a glance out the window, he wiped a tear that had slipped from the corner of his eye and did what he' not done in many years.
He knelt on one knee and prayed.
THIRTY-FIVE
It had been some time since Raven and his henchman had returned to the dungeon or so Rourke thought. He’d lost all sense of time and was not sure if hours or days had passed. Dizziness kept the room spinning and lack of water had him gasping for each harsh and painful breath. His right eye had opened slightly, but ‘twas useless to him, for the milky film that covered it, left him nigh blind. The ache in his chest had eased somewhat, but not enough that he was able to muster much sensation and feeling back in his limbs.
His men worked together on their manacles and had loosened them to a great degree. The soldier next to him, after a few more twists would soon be free.
Rourke’s thoughts whirled with images of Alexa and he tried to push her face away, but he could not. It was what was driving him. The thought of her energized him and he held onto her image in his struggle not to succumb to the weakness taking over his limbs. Before he drew his last breath he prayed he'd survive any wounds Raven inflicted upon him long enough to make it back to her so he could tell her that he loved her.
His mouth turned down in anger when he heard the jangle of the keys in the lock. Mayhap it was the jailer returning once again to give water to his men.
Rourke’s anger ballooned into rage when Raven’s dark head appeared. The man looked drunk, which could be a dangerous thing for him and his men.
Rourke made a sound to
the young soldier next to him to stop working at his links.
The room was quiet outside of heavy breaths.
Raven stood in the middle of the room and stared at him. Rourke knew immediately what he was planning to do.
"Come to exact your pound of flesh, Raven?"
Raven's response was the slow curl of his lips into an evil grin as he replied, “Ever the arrogant bastard. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this.”
His guards rushed in and started a fire in the wall pit. Rourke couldn’t see what else they did, but he heard the metal scraping of tools. The gasp from the young soldier at his side told him what he already knew.
The torture weapons.
Raven walked further into the room and made a slow show of pulling on his leather gloves. Rourke knew all too well how deep and dark Raven's barbaric depravity ran, he'd seen it firsthand and had survived it years ago. Now, Rourke prayed he'd survive it once more.
When the jailer came over and handed the long tongs out to Raven, Rourke sucked in a deep breath.
The tongs would sear his flesh and be painful, but bearable Rourke knew. He’d bite off his own tongue before he’d cry out. He just hoped he remained conscious.
The jailer's hands holding the red hot steel tongs shook badly. Rourke waited for the torture weapon to fall on Raven’s foot.
“What are you waiting for fool? Do it!” Raven shouted at the man.
The jailer looked on in incredulous fright from Raven to Rourke and stuttered out his response, “I-I cannot. The Dark Axe- he can reach from anywhere to get at us.”
Enraged, Raven cracked the jailer against the side of the head with the back of his hand. “Imbecile! Do it or find yourself chained to that wall next to him.”
The jailer, reduced to a blubbering mass, dropped the tongs just missing Raven’s booted foot and backed away. Raven gave orders to two guards and they each grabbed the jailer by an arm. Raven bent and picked up the tongs and waved them under the jailer’s nose.
Rourke knew his intent and gritted his teeth.