by Amber Dane
“He is but flesh and bone… like us. Therefore he can be wounded… like us. Trust me, I well know it.” Raven turned swiftly and pressed the hot iron into the exposed tender flesh under Rourke’s right arm.
Skin burned, popped and sizzled.
Red hot pain ripped through his body as the blade burned layers of his flesh away. Yet Rourke uttered not a word, breathing heavily in his struggle not to pass out or lose unconsciousness.
He knew the bastard wanted to elicit some kind of reaction from him, but he would not give Raven the satisfaction. He was no longer that youth whom Raven had aimed to kill years ago. He held on to the fact, that when he got out of these chains, he would relish killing him.
Boiling with rage that his action did not exact the measure he wanted, Raven reared back with a snarl. Removing the weapon, he turned on the jailer. He nodded to the two guards holding the shorter man and the jailer fought, but ‘twas futile.
Hot heat still clung to the tongs and Rourke watched through a searing haze of pain as Raven stuck the iron to the jailer’s cheeks.
The man’s high pitched wailing seemed to satisfy Raven and he motioned for his men to remove him from the room.
He handed the tongs to another guard and said, “To hear the Dark Axe yelp like that would be the best gift the almighty could bestow upon me. A lesson learned I am sure. Now the next time I expect to hear the same from you. Hmm?”
Rourke said nothing and only stared at him. Raven arched a brow and said to the nearby guard, “Put salt in his wound and rub it deep. I will be back in an hour or two to tear his flesh slowly from his bones.”
Rourke groaned in frustration when the soldier next to him yelled. “Bastard! You will never get away with this.”
“Nay,” Rourke said hoarsely through clenched teeth.
‘Twas too late. The smug grin Raven turned on the soldier told Rourke the boy had sealed his fate.
"Leave him be," Rourke said on a forced painful breath hoping to salvage the situation. "Your quarrel is with me. Take me down and do what you will."
"Mercy for your man, eh? What do you think of it, John?"
John, one of the guards, stepped forward. “He is awfully young, my lord.”
Raven shot the guard an offensive look and growled out, “Go see if there is word from the watchers.”
John left with another guard in tow. Raven turned back to him, “Worry not, Dark Axe, your time is coming. But not yet. As for this wet behind the ears whelp, I think time has come to teach him how to respect his betters. What think you, Rourke? Will he be a good student?”
A painful cough stopped Rourke from speaking again when Raven dragged the blade of a short dagger he’d pulled from his waist of miniature weapons and down the side of the soldier’s face, drawing a trickle of blood.
The remaining guards in the room laughed and egged Raven on.
Rourke gave a look to his other men to be quiet before he turned his eyes back to the young soldier.
He could see the fright in the soldier's eyes but he also saw the bravery there as well. The kid would face his death. Rourke could only hope it would be swift.
"Raven. I’m going to enjoy killing you." Rourke said with conviction.
"If I didn’t know better, I’d say you actually believe that,”' Raven laughed, adding sarcastically, "You and my brother tried that once and failed. You will fail this time too and rot in this hellhole. Your flayed carcass will be fodder for the crows and ravens.”
“He will come hunting for you,” Rourke’s dead calm voice broke through Raven’s cackle of laughter.
“That is the idea! After all he is next. I’m going to take and destroy everything my dear brother has right before his eyes, and then I will kill him slowly.”
“You tried that once and failed,” Rourke spit his own words back at him and took painful pleasure in watching Raven’s step falter, and the red color seep up his neck.
Raven shrugged his shoulders and said with a nervous laugh, “Your stalling is only going to make it worse for your man, Dark Axe. God knows I wish I had split you to your skull that day as well.” Raven motioned for his men to continue.
Rourke locked his gaze with the young soldier until they removed his chains and strapped him down to the table, blocking his view from him.
The guards held the struggling boy down and the ache in Rourke tore through him as he watched the heathens pour from a spout a stream of yellow liquid and excrement down the soldier’s throat.
The soldier fought not to swallow, but he had little choice as he gagged and coughed up the revolting mixture. The spray of filth flew all over the two guards as they held their large hands over the soldier’s nose.
Rourke roared, fought and raged against his chains like a madman, helpless and drawing blood at his raw wrists in agony over the torturous act. His heart ached for the loss of another young life because of him.
The guard’s laughter and Raven’s resonated off the dungeon walls as the young soldier fought for his breath, his body convulsing and struggled beneath them until he moved no more. They removed their hands and continued laughing, before their eyes turned to Rourke. He wanted to kill every single one of them with his bare hands.
Their laughter died.
The silence was deafening except for the sniffles of Rourke’s remaining men.
One of Raven’s guards swallowed so loudly, Rourke heard it through his haze of black rage. They must have read his promise in his eyes for the guards wiped their hands on their soiled tunics and averted their gazes. Raven growled over their cowardice and waved them out of the room as he followed. At the door he turned back and spoke to the rest of Rourke’s men.
“Well then. That will be the fate of the lot of you if you dare speak out to me again.”
Rourke wanted to be sick and he nigh choked on the bile as his eyes rested on the young soldier's still form.
He closed his eyes and made a vow. He would get vengeance for the many lives lost here and would see that their families were seen to if he made it out of here alive.
His own painful groans drew him from his dark dreams and Rourke opened his eyes to darkness. The single lit torch shed little light inside the reeking dungeon, but he could make out his men huddled together and asleep on the floor. He let out a sigh of relief when his eyes fell on the table to see that they had removed the body of the young soldier.
Rourke dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Doubt set in.
He had to come to the realization that they may not make it out of here.
He’d no way to reach the knives in his boots, he wasn’t even sure if they still remained intact and hidden. Even Raven didn’t know his little secret. Were he to get even one hand free, Rourke knew he would be able to get free.
He banged his head back against the wall in frustration. His mortality hit him like a crushing weight and he was not ready.
His heart burned, strained for his wife.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled and swore he smelled her scent and working his tongue, he tasted the sweet taste of her flesh on the tip. He let out a small laugh.
He was going mad.
He whispered aloud into the darkness, “Alexa.” Like a chant her name went over and over in his head until he drifted off to sleep with the memories of her.
Rourke woke shivering and delirious later, the stinging pain in his side itched like a hundred hornets were attacking him. His men were groggy, but awake and greeted him.
He opened his mouth to ask how far any of them may have gotten with their chains when the keys were heard and Raven entered with his troop.
Immediately Rourke knew something was wrong.
Raven burst in and instructed his guards to grab his remaining soldiers. His men fought wildly for their lives, but Raven’s men had weapons. Raven came and stood near Rourke.
“The watcher sent word that William’s men and yours are coming from the east. Ah, what your liege will not do for your rescue, bastard.”<
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Who was running the lead Rourke wondered. Had Goran made it back and sniffed out the trail? But now, Rourke was concerned about his men fighting Raven’s in the corner. Goran and the king’s men would not make it in time to save them.
Rourke hung his head as the guards ran his soldiers through, their cries of pain would haunt him for many nights to come and he glared death into Raven’s eyes.
“Take him down and get him to the table! Quickly!” Raven ordered with a snarl just as the guard John and his partner entered the room.
The tension in the room grew even thicker when all eyes fell on what John carried.
Rourke's axe.
The guard threw it to the dirt floor. Raven's face morphed into one of black rage and curses flew from his mouth before he faced John and spoke each word slowly.
"What the hell is that doing here?"
The air in the room shifted ominously and Rourke felt it.
These men weren’t the fools Raven had thought. Their fears and superstitions had gotten the better of them. Facing the wrath of a powerful overlord was one thing, but to suffer William’s swift and ruthless justice had obviously given them pause and Rourke knew the instant Raven noticed.
Too late he reached for the axe at his waist when the first man, John’s partner, swung his dagger, cutting the back of Raven's hand. Then John swung his long dagger across Raven's back, slashing deep and he fell to his knees with a shocked cry of bloody outrage at the mutiny.
The other guards ran from the room, but John and his partner remained and quickly unlocked the poles holding the manacles in place. Rourke’s arms dropped as though weighted down by stone to his sides. He was too weak to fight and thought they sought to end his life too.
But they surprised him when John’s partner spoke over him, not too close, but close enough for him to hear.
"You remember 'twas me and Johnny here that set you free. My horse is out front tied to a big tree. Take it and go. Don’t go forgetting, Dark Axe, 'twas us that set you free."
Rourke could say naught for a paralyzing coughing spasm seized him as he tried to draw in a painful breath. When he next lifted his spinning head, not only were the two men gone.
So was Raven.
Rage filled him anew as he struggled to his feet with the chains dragging like lead across the dirt. It took a bit of effort to pick up his axe, but once it was in his hands, Rourke felt a pulse of adrenaline pump through his veins.
He spotted blood droplets leading out the door. The cuts they'd delivered to Raven had not been enough to kill him. Had the men dragged him out or had the Raven escaped death once again?
Rourke considered the two men could have easily been lying to him, but he was in too much pain to worry of another ambush as he dragged his aching body, axe in hand out of the hellhole and through piles of debris of the rundown wood and mortar manor to the outside.
When he saw the horse tethered to the tree Rourke expelled a painful breath and hope filled his chest. He’d only one thing on his mind.
Get back to Alexa.
Rourke’s prayers continued to work in his favor when he saw what he believed were more of either Raven’s or Richard’s men sacked out front. The fool’s lost in cheap drink lay flopped over barrels and the ground in their own piss and snores.
Clucking his tongue to the big horse, Rourke managed to untie the beast and climb up onto its back after a brief struggle. The horse was skittish at first from the sound of the irons at his wrist and the large axe. The horse was not as strong or as big as Black, but sturdy enough to get him hopefully where he needed to go. Leaning down, Rourke felt along the top of his boots with numb and stinging fingers and slid the last two blades from their hidden compartment and tucked them into the top of his breeches.
In the dark, with his sight still not all that great and his strength weakening by the hour, Rourke knew he would need the small knives to be at a closer reach if he ran into any surprises. He was still too weak to swing his axe.
Shirtless, Rourke did not know if he shivered from the cold, the pain or the fever coming on from the blistering wound under his arm. Ignoring the blazing hot pain that caused his teeth to chatter, he took the reins and turned the horse round and rode into the trees crouched over the horses’ neck with a prayer that he rode east.
THIRTY-SIX
Dawn had come cold as ever, but the sun beat brightly through the windows lighting up the chamber and warming her heart. The healer’s words from last night came back to Alexa.
She would not suffer her mother's curse.
She was not barren after all.
Quickly dressing, she left the chamber with the guards behind her. She didn't go to the room she had gone to for the past sennight. She walked through the manor to outside and crossed to the end of the wall walk.
The cold snap of the morning turned her cheeks red, and she loosened the cloak she wore around her shoulders and let the cold seep deeper into her flesh. The guards watched her.
her hair unbound, loose wild and the wind had its way with her and whipped it around her like a whip, across her torso and long legs encased in the breeches she had donned. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She heard a commotion near but ignored it. The cold was like a cleansing of her soul and when she next opened her eyes, Alexa stared at that spot she'd looked to for a fortnight. The hilly marsh.
Turning she saw that Goran had joined her husband's men.
He gave her a curious and concerned look. "My lady?"
"Ready everything. He still lives. We shall ride out and meet him."
Goran's concerned expression changed quickly to deep anguish.
Alexa tied her hair into a fast and sure knot and gave him a smile. "I am not mad, Sir Goran. Come, ride out with me. All of you."
Goran made to protest, then decided against it and held a hand up to quiet the upset that ran through the men. "As you wish, my lady."
Alexa smiled and walked past him.
Goran sighed. Sadness clung to the deep grief he carried as he watched her.
His friend’s wife had gone stark raving mad.
Looking out over the hilly marsh, Goran sighed. No rider was visible other than the watchers.
Alexa felt free as the cold wind stirred her bones under the long cape she wore. She knew Goran did not believe her, thought her quite mad. She could feel the burning looks of sadness he threw her way as he rode beside her up the grassy knoll. She did not care.
By the end of the day she would prove her feeling true. Or at least she prayed she would in the coming days.
When she'd awakened, something she could not explain had burned wildly in her heart. The acceptance of the babe was one, the other-
Had drawn her out of a deep sleep during the night and she would not tell Goran what it was. He would believe she’d dreamt it. She could still hear it in her head.
Rourke had called her name.
It had been so clear as if he'd been standing right in the room with her. But when she'd woken, expecting to see him standing there beside their bed, he was not. Yet his voice had been so real, sounded so loud and pained in her ear. She did not question the possibility of how.
But she knew he lived.
She felt it.
And she still did later as by midday they came to a stop on the grassy knoll.
Goran was silent and she was glad. She’d no wish to engage in conversation. Alexa took in the sight of the fields and green plains. She would sit here every day if she had to if it meant Rourke’s return and she would be right here to greet him.
It took a while but eventually Rourke figured out the pounding in his skull was that of hoof beats. Many coming in his direction. His body was on fire and his head lay against the horse’s neck. He swore he heard someone shout his name. With his strength near its last Rourke struggled and managed to lift his head.
‘Twas dawn.
He saw the figures on horseback bearing down on him at great speed. But it was the rider in front h
e focused his blurry vision on. The riders reached him just as he felt himself slipping sideways from the horse.
Strong arms and thighs stopped his fall. The man who had caught him shouted something over his head and Rourke blinked back the waiting darkness.
He needed to say something before his last breath left him to this man.
“D-Da-” Rourke damned his parched throat.
“Do not speak. Wait. Water!” Darc Renald shouted again over his head.
The coolness of the water brought little relief and it came back up. Rourke clutched fiercely at Darc’s hand that held the sheepskin.
“The R-Raven.” Rourke choked out.
“He is dead, Rourke. I’m going to get you home, my friend.”
“Not de-dead. I saw his face,” Rourke managed on his last strangled breath.
Darc stared down into Rourke’s bruised, swollen and bloodied face.
He knew his friend was delirious with the fever set upon him. But in the moment he'd spoken of their mutual enemy, his green eyes had been bright with clarity and free of fever.
The Dark Axe had spoken truth.
The moment Alexa spotted Darc and his men coming over the rise a raw cry of anguish erupted from her lips and she felt herself sliding off the gray gelding. The scene before her spinning and she felt sickness in her gut. She vaguely heard Goran’s shout as she ran past him as if the hounds of hell were gnashing at her heels. She was already off and running toward Darc's horse, her breath ragged.
God, nay! Alexa cried or thought she did as the burning started in her chest. She needed to breathe, but could not. The limp form on the pallet could not be Rourke's.
He lay so still.
His chest did not rise or fall with breath. Someone was speaking to her.
Darc Renald’s deep voice cut through the high pitched roar that burst from her burning lungs.
"My lady, he is gravely wounded, but he lives. We wrapped his wounds as best as we could," said Darc.
Alexa’s gut clenched. The lieutenant lied. Too much blood not only matted her husband's golden hair, but the wool blanket in which he was wrapped was soaked in it.