The Red Fury

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Quiet, Josephine,” he whispered harshly. “Calm yourself, lest you distract Andrew. He has enough to deal with without listening to you scream.”

  Josephine’s eyes snapped to him, her oldest and dearest friend. He was the one person in the world who could make everything all right, ever since she was a girl. Sully had always been there for her, making her world safe and secure. Her eyes began to well with tears.

  “Oh… Sully,” she whispered. “He… he cannot…”

  He brought her hands to his lips. “I know.”

  “Help him, Sully!” she pleaded.

  “I cannot. Not right now.”

  She closed her eyes and the tears fell. “Oh, please,” she wept. “Do not refuse me.”

  “I cannot,” he repeated quietly. “Not… now.”

  It wasn’t time yet for him to do anything. There was still more of the flight to be played out. The trick would be knowing when to step in. The sound of clashing metal made all of them look in the direction of the fighting men, with the swords coming together so violently that Josephine could almost feel the concussion herself. The earl was saturated in his own blood, and Andrew was covered with his own, as well.

  Their blades came together and they struggled, each man grunting with supreme effort. As the straining reached its peak, Alphonse threw out his great elbow and smashed Andrew in the chest, causing his brother to grunt loudly in pain and lose some of his concentration. Then, in one swift move, the earl put his foot behind his brother’s heel and sent him crashing onto his back.

  Andrew was struggling to rise, but everyone in the room could see what was coming. The casual observers were disappointed to see that the gleaming challenger would soon be dead, and wondered if they would be witness to what the earl had in store for the maiden. It would seem that, this time, evil would prevail.

  Josephine watched, wild-eyed, as the earl advanced on Andrew, slowly raising his sword over his head in preparation for the death blow. She began to gasp, clawing at Ridge’s arm and was on the verge of complete madness. Sully’s eyes widened; he was sure this was the end and he had to do something. But the first thing he had to do was get Josephine out of there.

  “De Reyne,” he whispered hoarsely. “Remove Lady Josephine from this hall. Now. Get her out.”

  Josephine started to scream, a bone-chilling pain-filled howl straight from her soul. Ridge was sorry he had to slap his big hand over her mouth, but he had to get her out without attracting attention. That was imperative. Meanwhile, across the room, Thane was gripping a pylon with white knuckles, not believing what he was about to see and waiting for his moment to strike. He couldn’t wait much longer. Behind him, Donald was moving towards de Reyne, preparing to help him with Josephine, who was putting up a terrible fight. It was chaos all around as the worst of all conclusions to this battle was becoming evident.

  As Sully and Thane positioned themselves to intervene, Andrew saw his brother coming through his haze of pain and exhaustion. He saw the sword raised high and knew he had no time to get to his feet. But he was no fool, as his reputation proved. The end was, indeed, coming, but not for him. He was going to do what he had come to do, and that was kill his brother. Hell would have one more resident come this night. He smiled behind his faceplate.

  Alphonse was on him, the sword high. “Greet Father in hell for me, brother dear.”

  Fast as lightning, Andrew’s wicked sword came up from the floor and thrust itself into Alphonse’s unprotected chest. He pushed hard, grunting with incredible effort, shoving so hard that the blade pushed clean through to the other side.

  For seconds, no one moved. Alphonse was frozen to the spot, his sword still held high above his head, with Demon Slayer like a macabre skewer through his torso. Andrew was still on the ground, watching his brother in anticipation of his brother’s sword coming down on him, but it never moved. It simply stayed aloft.

  As fast as he could, Andrew rose on weary legs and knocked his brother’s frozen sword from his paralyzed hands. Looking Alphonse straight in the eye, he jammed the sword into Alphonse’s dying flesh again, so deeply, that only the hilt was visible from the front. When Alphonse still didn’t go down, Andrew kicked him in the stomach and sent him sprawling to the cold dirt floor.

  Josephine, Ridge, Sully, Thane, and Donald were rooted to the spot, unbelieving that a situation that had looked so helpless had turned in the blink of an eye. Andrew was the only one left alive and standing, with the earl dead at his feet. It was absolutely astounding, a perfect tribute to Andrew’s determination and, for several moments, time stood still. No one moved and no one dared to speak. It was almost a sacred moment, one that had been a long time in coming.

  It was Andrew’s moment to savor.

  Clumsily, he reached up and tore off his helm, and flung it off into the darkness. His auburn hair was wet, sticking to his face, and rivulets of blood from the vicious head-beating ran down his cheeks.

  Finally, it was Josephine who moved first. When she realized that Andrew was still alive, that he hadn’t been finished off, she pulled gently from Ridge’s grasp and took several timid steps in Andrew’s direction. She wasn’t sure if she should and, at some point, she came to a halt. She would go no further.

  When he was ready, he could come to her.

  But Andrew wasn’t looking at Josephine, at least not at the moment. He was staring down at his brother, seeing for himself that the man was finally dead. Years of hatred, of angst, and of sorrow had come to an abrupt end.

  Strange that he felt no great satisfaction in the end of all things, only relief. No arrogant triumph filled his veins as he had expected it would. He had spent better than half his life preparing for just this moment and he found that victory, while sweet, was also somewhat sad. He only had one brother; now he had none.

  But he had Josephine. She filled his mind like an all-enveloping fragrance; sweet, overwhelming, and powerful. As his thoughts shifted to her, he turned unsteadily in her direction and his gaze devoured her to the very bone. Suddenly, he felt very weak and drained, and couldn’t call to her because of the lump in his throat. She was safe, and he was free of his obsession. He had to hold her. But somehow, he couldn’t seem to move.

  Josephine saw his expression when he looked at her and her face crumbled, with tears flowing and great sobs releasing. Andrew tried once again to reach and comfort her, but his legs were not working properly, and he plunged to his knees after a mere few steps. But Josephine closed the gap rapidly, reaching out her arms as she ached to hold him. She wanted to take his pain away, and to tell him how much she loved him, and how they would never again be apart. But instead of words, she could only cry.

  Josephine and Andrew came together in a climactic clash. She wound her arms around his head as he buried his face in her soft torso, inhaling deeply of her familiar scent. She cried into the top of his head and he held her so tightly that he thought he might crush her, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was his, now and forever, and nothing in heaven and earth would ever separate them again.

  His blood stained the white surcote a bright crimson, his blood all over the gown his brother had forced her to wear. It seemed like an eternity as they held each other, knowing that everything was finally right in the world again. They had come so close to losing one another that it was hard to believe they were together again, no longer in mortal danger. Andrew half-expected at any moment to awake from a dream.

  The four men that had come with Andrew now stood together, watching the emotional reunion. They didn’t dare look at one another for fear the others might see tears in their eyes. Donald wasn’t ashamed about wiping his away as Sully put a comforting hand on the young man’s head. It was a touching scene they had all hoped to witness but had doubts that they truly would. After watching the two lovers for several moments, Sully finally spoke.

  “We must tend Andrew’s wound before he bleeds all over the floor,” he said quietly.

  Ridge cocked a black eyebrow. “W
e may have to surgically separate them to accomplish that task.”

  Sully grinned. “Mayhap,” he said. “I will take her; you three tend to Andrew.”

  “True to form, Sully,” Donald quipped. “Taking the easier of the two.”

  Sully snorted, without humor. “Is that what you think? Then you take her and remember that remark as she’s kicking your groin in. She will not be happy to be separated from him in the least.”

  The three men looked at him. “We’ll take Andrew,” they agreed wholly in unison.

  Sully grinned at their reply, but he made no move to carry out his plan. He’s attention turned back to the couple. It seemed like a sin to disturb such a touching scene.

  “Well?” Donald finally said. “Lead on, my lord.”

  Sully waved his hand at him. “In time, in time,” he said. “They have waited a long time for this moment. Allow them just a little longer before we go in and break it up.”

  A hush settled over the hall, with most people turning to leave now that the show was over. It was eerily still and completely dark, except for the soft glow from the distant banks of candles. A peace filled the room as the knight and his lady clutched each other, the spoils to the victor.

  But Andrew was growing weaker and paler, and Sully decided the time had come to separate his sister-in-law from her fiancé and tend the man’s considerable wounds. But as he and the others moved towards the pair, something horrific happened.

  As if from a child’s nightmare, a horror straight from the mouth of Lucifer, Alphonse twitched violently and rolled to his knees, bleeding entrails down his legs. His ghostly white face was twisted grotesquely and his huge, icy hands extended towards Josephine and Andrew. He moaned, and unearthly sounds that should have been coming from a hellish demon rather than a man echoed in the chapel. Those still left in the chapel froze in horror at the sight of the dead returning.

  Josephine saw him first. Startled by the sight, she screamed at the top of her lungs, a cry of absolute terror. Andrew, jolted by her screaming, turned to see something he could hardly believe. His brother, in fact, was still alive. Although Andrew was pitifully weak, he drew on an inner strength, a strength he never knew he possessed, and struggled to his feet as fast as his damaged body would allow.

  All the while, his mind was screaming to protect Josephine, to get her out of harm’s way. Yet only when he reached his feet did he remember he had left his sword embedded in his brother’s torso. And it was still there.

  Alphonse was moving amazingly well for a dead man. There was only time for Andrew to push a screaming Josephine behind him before the earl was upon him, his hands clutching at him with deadly intentions.

  Andrew braced himself for the fight, preparing to sacrifice his remaining energy to protect his lady. He prayed to God that he would have the strength to do battle just one more time, so he raised his good arm to ward off the initial blow, but it was a blow that never came.

  There was a hollow thump and, suddenly, the hilt of a dirk was protruding from the earl’s throat. Blood streamed down onto his already soaked tunic and his black eyes opened wide in surprise. For several moments, Alphonse tottered dangerously before finally toppling over onto the stone, never to rise again. The Earl of Annan and Blackbank was dead, this time, for good.

  Josephine, clutching Andrew about his torso, stared down at the dead earl as her breathing came in ragged gasps. She could see the dirk protruding from the man’s throat, but she had no idea who had thrown it. It was too amazing to believe that it had been anything less than divine intervention, but she and Andrew turned in the direction from whence the dirk had come.

  Ridge de Reyne stood several feet away, his right hand still slightly extended from where it had been the moment he had released the dirk. When he saw that Andrew and Josephine were looking at him, shock on their faces, he gave them a victorious wink.

  “I do believe I have fulfilled my vow to you, my lady,” he said quietly. “But please, do not hesitate to call on me again should the need arise.”

  Josephine shook her head in wonder. “And I extend the same offer to you,” she replied softly. “You have more than fulfilled your vow, Ridge. I feel as if, now, I owe you.”

  “Friends do not owe each other. There is simple joy in doing. Now, Lord Blackbank,” he addressed Andrew by his new title for the first time, “the time has come that we must tend your wound.”

  Andrew gazed down at his left arm and shoulder; the mail was covered with red stain. He blinked, seemingly dazed, as if he was seeing the wound for the first time. Sully and Ridge moved to help him, but he put up his right hand to stop them.

  “Nay,” he said. “We are not leaving as of yet.” He began to look around the chapel as if searching for something. “Where is the priest?”

  Ridge marched a few steps into the center of the room. “Priest!” he bellowed.

  Sully and Donald and Thane fleetingly wondered what in the hell Andrew wanted with the priest. Last rights? They thought. No one seemed to be sure but, soon enough, the fat little priest with the dirty robes emerged from a small alcove behind the altar. His eyes darted about nervously, appalled at the destruction of the chapel. When Andrew saw the man, the same one he’d given the coins to, he grabbed Josephine’s hand and stumbled towards him.

  “I am now the Earl of Annan and Blackbank,” he said wearily. “You will marry my lady and me.”

  The priest looked uncertain at first, but with a whole host of heavily-armed knights standing about, he nodded in agreement. The whole situation was most confusing, but he would do as he was told. As he headed for the front of the altar, Josephine suddenly turned to Sully.

  “The dungeons are in the gatehouse and there is a cell at the bottom of the stairs with a woman in it,” she said quickly. “Bring her here. Hurry, Sully – bring her now!”

  She sounded almost panicked and Sully wasn’t willing to question her, not when she had that look in her eye. He took off at a dead run as Josephine turned to Andrew, catching a look of confusion in his eyes. She smiled.

  “I did not think you wished to be married without her,” she murmured.

  He had no idea what she was talking about. “Without who?”

  “When you see her, you will know.”

  Andrew was too weak, too injured, to realize what she was meant. He should have realized it, but he simply couldn’t. His mind wasn’t working very well at the moment, from fatigue and loss of blood. As Josephine put her arm around his torso, holding the man tightly, Ridge, Donald, and Thane gathered around the couple. Although Josephine wanted to wait for Sully to return, Andrew was weaving dangerously and she didn’t think he’d be able to wait too much longer, so she asked the priest to go ahead with the mass.

  With Alphonse lying dead several feet away, the man made the sign of the cross and began the wedding mass for the second time that day.

  The service was in Latin. The last time Josephine had heard Latin was the day her father was buried. Somehow, she always associated the language with death. But this was her wedding, an event she had waited a lifetime for. She listened, trying to understand what the priest was saying as she clung to Andrew’s good arm.

  He seemed to be growing weaker by the moment and she was desperately worried for him. She knew she should have insisted that he have his wound tended to immediately, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. It was stupid and she knew it, but he seemed so urgent to marry her now, this very second, that she couldn’t delay any longer. With everything they had been through, she understood urgency. She, too, felt the same urgency.

  Halfway through the mass, Andrew’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor. Thane and Ridge, nearest to him, rushed to his aid but he angrily waved them off.

  “Continue!” he boomed to the priest.

  The priest, poor man, nervously and quickly finished the mass, ending with the benediction prayer. He was so glad to be done with this ceremony, with his frayed emotions. This entire event had been an absolute ni
ghtmare, one he was more than happy to forget, and the fact that the five knights who had told him they were friends of the earl turned out to be men with a vendetta against him, well… that was quite a tale. Not that he had any great love for Alphonse d’Vant; no one did. Now that the wicked earl was gone, perhaps the village would know joy and prosperity again in an unexpected twist of fate. One could hope, anyway.

  With a sigh of relief, he smiled weakly at the newly married couple.

  “Lord Blackbank, you may kiss your bride,” he said.

  Andrew unsteadily rose to his feet. He would not kiss his new wife on his knees but, God help him, he was so weak he could hardly stand. For the first time that day, his focus was where it should be – completely and utterly on Josephine’s lovely face.

  He cupped her face with his good hand, drinking in the features he loved so much and had fought so hard for. She was finally and legally his wife, and he was nearly delirious with joy and fatigue.

  Josephine gazed back at him, loving him so much she was sure her heart would burst from the sheer joy of it. They were husband and wife now, and the name Lady d’Vant was music to her ears. As his head dipped low, she caught a glimpse of a sly smile on his lips before they closed over her mouth in the sweetest expression of love she had ever experienced. It was a kiss of unconditional love, of surrender, and of loyalty. They were all to each other, and would be until the end of time.

  Never again would they be apart.

  It was dark but for the glow of candles as the newly married couple slowly made their way from the chapel. The priests were taking charge of Alphonse’s body, which was a good thing considering Andrew didn’t care in the least. The man could remain there to rot for all he cared. With Thane applying pressure to his wounded shoulder to shore up what bleeding there was, Ridge and Josephine were helping the man walk as Donald brought up the rear. Just as they were emerging from the church, they could see Sully approaching from the direction of the gatehouse.