Wildewood Revenge

by B. A. Morton

  “Whatever happens next you must stay silent,” he breathed hoarsely and then lifted her by the waist and shoved her feet first into the nearest empty niche. “Move over,” he hissed as he grasped the stone work above the opening and swung himself in on top of her.

  “Ouch.” She stifled a groan as his elbows and knees dug into her and she wriggled out from under him as best she could in the narrow space.

  “Move back as far as you can,” whispered Miles and they both shuffled back into the darkness. Grace’s heart began to pound.

  If they were caught they would be killed. It was as simple as that.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  The door burst open seconds later and light pooled into the room. Six men at arms barrelled down the stone steps. As flickering torches picked out the shattered casket and spilled treasure, their faces displayed a mix of wonder and horror. This was not a knowledge they wished to be party to. Men had died for less. They glanced at each other and shuffled uncomfortably.

  Hunkered back in the darkness of the niche, Miles considered his options. The men were hesitant that was obvious, but could they be turned? He made to move but Grace gripped his arm and held him. She breathed against his cheek; her breath short and ragged. He may have taken a gamble with his own life, but not with hers. Pulling her close he bided his time.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but paused when a movement at the entrance drew his attention. Gerard had entered the crypt.

  Grace released a soft gasp that Miles recognised as confusion. He had created a vision of a monster in her mind, deliberately so, as he’d no doubt as to the man’s capacity for evil. But it was obvious by her reaction, that Gerard was not what she had expected. In fact, even he was distracted by the decline of the man. His memories were that of a young, arrogant Gerard, who employed subterfuge and trickery to get his own way, a spoilt brat grown to a spoilt man. But now, as he scrutinised him in the flickering torchlight, he appeared much older than himself. His hair was beginning to grey and although a tall and well-made man, his muscle was turning to flab. He cut an almost sad figure in his finery. He looked weary; tired of whatever game he’d been playing but unwilling or unable to desist. Gerard’s gaze swept the room, and Miles, with great relish, saw in his face, realisation that once again he had been bested. As Gerard turned and took in the armour and the helmets, Miles recognised confusion followed swiftly by fury.

  “Bring me the priest,” Gerard barked, his voice resonated within the stone chamber. The familiar, demanding tone brought Miles’ memories sharply back into focus. His gut churned with dark emotion.

  “And search this place inside and out, they cannot have gone far, I can still smell the torches.” Gerard paced back and forth as the soldiers jumped to his bidding. They swept light into every corner checking for the intruders.

  “There is no one here, my lord,” said the first soldier, warily.

  “Then look outside. I will have Miles and his witch before this night is out.”

  The soldiers eagerly took the opportunity to vacate the oppressive place, tripping over each other in their haste to leave.

  Gerard kicked at the treasure with his boot and glanced again at the English armour. “What has that fool Guy, done now?” he muttered sourly.

  Turning back to the treasure, he crouched, running his fingers through the scattered smaller items. Miles watched as he seemed to ponder for a moment before glancing up at the wall of the dead with a sly grin.

  “Little brother, I know you are still here,” he said softly. Rising to his feet he drew his sword and turned slowly. “Come out—come out—where ever you are.” He reached for one of the burning torches and held it out in front of him as he approached the wall of niches. Grace drew back fearfully and Miles tightened his grip around her, shushing her gently with a silent breath against her cheek.

  There were twenty four niches in total. Three rows of eight. Only six were empty. It did not require a genius to work it out, nor would it take long for them to be discovered. Miles tensed as Gerard approached the first and held the torch aloft.

  “Too high I imagine, for a little witch,” he mused and passed by that and its partner on the top level. He squatted slowly by the first of two on the lower level.

  “And too low I warrant, for a knight who does not bend easily to the will of others.” He moved slowly along the row until he stood alongside the two remaining empty niches on the middle row. He stepped back a pace and swung the torch between the two leaving a trail of sparks in the darkness.

  “Eeny...meeny...miny...mo.”

  Inside their niche, Miles and Grace lay trapped, unable to move any further back. Miles gripped Grace to him, her fear was palpable. He tried to reach his sword but the tightness of the chamber made it impossible for him to manoeuvre. He silently cursed his stupidity in delaying when they could have left with John. He would not be caught like a rat in a pipe.

  He felt then, a small hand at his groin. Good God! What was she up to now? This was neither the time nor the place. He felt his sword slide against his thigh as she gently worked it free and pushed it out of its scabbard and up towards his out stretched hand. He squeezed her gently with the arm that held her against him, and readied himself.

  Gerard thrust the torch into the first of the niches, dust and cobwebs flared instantly and spiders scuttled for cover. The void was empty. He moved to the last niche and called for his men. Three of them crowded through the small doorway and stumbled down the stone steps.

  “Miles, you can climb out like a man - or be dragged out like a rat? The choice is yours, it matters naught to me.” He gestured to two of his men to position themselves either side of the entrance.

  Miles had no intention of making it easy for them. He crept forward, sword outstretched before him and when next the torch swung by he reached out and slashed wildly at it, knocking it from Gerard’s hand.

  Light danced around the crypt as the torch bounced to the floor and Miles took advantage of the momentary chaos, to dive from the niche and roll onto the hard stone floor. Two soldiers pounced, knocking the sword from his hand and the air from his lungs. The third soldier quickly reached into the blackness. He yelped when his hand was stung by the very small but very sharp knife in Grace’s hand. Staggering back, he gripped his hand to stem the flow of blood. Miles grimaced wryly as he was dragged upright by the soldiers and held tightly with his arms pinioned behind him.

  “Be careful who you back into a corner, Gerard,” he hissed. “She has claws and can use them.”

  Gerard studied him, and Miles met his gaze defiantly. It mattered naught that he was cornered, outnumbered and well and truly beaten, he still managed to exude an air of victory, of righteousness. It was important he didn’t back down and that Gerard understood he had more than met his match.

  “So I understand,” replied Gerard shortly. “Guy, has recounted the highlights of your last encounter. I am afraid he does not speak highly of you or your witch. He is still smarting from the outcome.”

  “He’s lucky to be alive,” growled Miles. He flexed his shoulders testing the soldiers grip but the more he resisted the more painfully the pressure was applied.

  “Yes. Lucky for Guy, perhaps, but not so fortunate for you, Miles. You should have killed him while you had the chance. As we speak, he imagines every evil thing upon you and your witch. He is a man beset with fury and bitterness.”

  “He is a man with a broken leg and shattered pride. I have nothing to fear from him.”

  Gerard cocked his head. “Then you are a fool. There is nothing more dangerous than wounded pride. So, you claim you hold no dread for Guy, but what of me, Miles? Do you not fear my retribution? You break into my sacred property and desecrate the final resting place of these poor souls. Are you a thief, Miles, or is there more to this?”

  “You are misguided, Gerard. It’s you who should fear me. I will have justice for the death of my mother and demand you recog
nise what has already been made so by royal decree.”

  “I did not murder your mother, Miles. You were merely a child, and your memories of the situation are warped by time and emotion. Do you imagine if I had committed such a crime the king would have left me unpunished these last twelve years?”

  “I know what I saw, Gerard, and when the king hears my account he will believe me.”

  “Oh, yes of course, because the king is such a good friend of yours now isn’t he, Miles. Now why is that I wonder? Is it something to do with, Reynard perhaps?” He stepped nearer, pressed his face close and curled his lip into a smirk. “Why did Edward take Wildewood from my holdings and decree it to you?”

  Miles narrowed his eyes, refused to give an inch despite his inclination to break Gerard’s nose with a swift thrust of his head. “I was of service in the Holy Land, when Edward was but a prince in waiting for the crown. He gave me Wildewood in payment.”

  “But Wildewood is mine, Miles.”

  Miles twisted again and pain lanced up his arms. “You never wanted Wildewood. I’ve been away for twelve years and in all of that time no one has lived there. The place was deserted and in a state of disrepair when I returned. Why can you not let it go?”

  “My family has held this land for generations I will not let any of it go, not to a bastard usurper such as you.”

  Miles railed against his captor’s despite the pain and spat his disgust in Gerard’s face. The crippling punch delivered to his stomach in return was small price to pay for the reward of Gerard’s outrage. Miles gasped at the blow and doubled up.

  “Time to take a look at your little witch, I think,” said Gerard as he wiped his face clean. “Guy was rather enamoured until she used her whip on him.” He turned to the niche entrance. “Come out, Mademoiselle. I wish to make your acquaintance.” Grace stayed as she was, crouched like a feral animal in the back of the void.

  “Come out or I’m afraid Miles will pay the price.” He delivered another punch and Miles’ knees buckled under him. The soldiers held him up but only at the expense of his shoulders and he swallowed the pain beneath a string of muttered curses.

  Grace crawled hesitantly to the edge of the entrance. She twisted her legs around in the tight space so she could hang them over the edge and then she let herself drop to the ground. She landed in a heap at Gerard’s feet and he reached out his hand and gently pulled her up.

  “Good evening, Mademoiselle,” he said, dragging her reluctant hand to his lips for the briefest touch.

  Miles bristled and Gerard smiled and studied his captive. She was a tiny thing, Miles realised, as he too watched and awaited her reaction. She had a dirty face and dusty clothes and in the torchlight her eyes seemed larger than they probably were. Her short hair stuck up on end and she chewed nervously at her bottom lip. It was true she was no lady, but nor was she a witch no matter what Gerard might choose to tell the bishop. She pulled her hand from his grip and rubbed the back of it against her clothes. Miles noticed then the little knife in her other hand and she brandished it fiercely, as she turned slowly and backed away from Gerard.

  “Let him go now!” she demanded of the soldiers, and even Miles smiled at that. The soldiers grinned and looked to Gerard.

  “Or else?” asked Gerard, patiently.

  Grace took a breath and jutted out her chin. “Do not underestimate me...I have a blue belt in Judo!”

  Miles shook his head.

  Gerard shrugged. “And this means what, exactly?”

  “It means if you come too close, I could have you flat on your back in an instant.”

  Gerard laughed. “So that’s what Miles sees in you, I can see how that could be an interesting trick.”

  Grace scowled. “You won’t be saying that when I slit your throat from ear to ear.”

  Gerard nodded slowly. “No, I agree that would be difficult, but you see my dear there is a flaw in your delightful plan.” He paused and Miles held his breath and watched as Grace struggled to maintain her stance. She was shaking and yet she stood her ground. It was easy to show bravery when you had no fear, a different matter entirely to face an opponent who you know you cannot hope to beat.

  “You see, supposing you get me on my back and supposing you succeed in slitting my throat, how do you then intend to overpower my men and free your lover?”

  Grace looked from him to his men and back again. She looked from Miles to the door and back again. Miles recognised the tell tale threads of panic as she chewed at her lip once more to stop it from quivering. One hand strayed to her fringe, the strands tangled mercilessly between shaky fingers. He desperately needed her to do the right thing, but he doubted she would choose sensible over reckless. She glanced at him questioningly but held tight as he was, he could do little to help. Her knuckles were white around the handle of the knife and it was taking some effort of concentration to keep her arm straight out in front of her. She swallowed nervously. Miles knew her head would be full of all the terrible things he had told her about, Gerard and her fate should she be caught. He wished now that he’d held his tongue. Could Gerard tell, he wondered, did he realise how scared she was, how easily he could have taken the knife from her.

  Gerard interrupted his thoughts.

  “We could stand here all night until one of us falters, but to be honest, and I think even Miles would agree, you my dear would fall long before any of the men before you. Give me the knife or would you prefer me to take it from you?”

  She glanced at Miles and he gave a barely discernible nod, far better she gave it willingly, he did not want Gerard to take anything from her. Slowly she pulled back her hand and the knife hung slackly by her side.

  “I think I’ll just hang onto it while we discuss this situation.” Her voice shook but she maintained her position and hung onto the knife, “and then you can let us go and we’ll all be on our way.”

  Gerard considered her for a long moment, flicking his gaze between her and Miles thoughtfully. Finally he turned, nodded to his men and they released Miles, causing him to stumble to the ground, his upper arms numb from being held. He flexed his shoulders and grimaced as the blood came rushing back in a wave of pins and needles. Gerard inclined his head to Grace and stood aside so she could join Miles. She crossed the room on shaky feet with her head held high and slipped her hand in his. Her gentle warmth within his strong grip renewed his resolve and he pulled himself to his feet and squared up to Gerard.

  “Miles, it pains me to admit it, but if this girl is your chosen one, then you have chosen wisely. Her courage in the face of the inevitable is quite impressive.”

  Miles stayed silent. Now free from restraint they had a chance. He glanced quickly around the room, noted the position of the soldiers in relation to the steps and the doorway.

  “Gerard, the king will want his treasure, what do you hope to achieve by keeping it from him?”

  “Edward knows nothing about it, and never shall.”

  “But why? You don’t need this, you have wealth and land. Why do you align yourself with the likes of Guy de Marchant? Look about you. Do you not see what he’s done?” Miles gestured to the English trophies. “This is the work of a madman, if you do not condemn this and him, then you condone it and the king will finish you.”

  “I do not condone this,” growled Gerard. “I know nothing of this and I will not pay the king’s price for Guy’s actions. I will deal with Guy, but Edward must remain in ignorance.”

  Miles shook his head in frustration. “Listen to me. You say my mother’s death was an accident, if that is so, why do you resist my title to Wildewood? My mother was a de Frouville’ she was originally gifted Wildewood by your mother. Why do you deny me my birthright?”

  “Wildewood was never gifted to your mother. It was simply a convenient place to put her when it was no longer possible for her to share my mother’s roof. You have no rights to de Frouville’ land,” stated Gerard flatly.

  “What about the rights as my father’s son?”
hissed Miles?

  “A bastard has no rights.”

  “The king thinks differently, and when he discovers what has transpired, I have a fancy he’ll ensure you change your mind. Gerard, for God’s sake think man; you risk losing everything, everything your forefathers have fought hard to retain, and for what, some ridiculous childhood hatred?” Miles shook his head “You know Grace is no witch and yet you instigate investigation, send for the Bishop, bay for her blood...why? Gerard, what threat does she pose to you?”

  “She is connected to Reynard, is she not?”

  “What has Hugh to do with any of this? What is he to you?” This was the second time Hugh had been suggested as an answer to the current situation. What was it that both Alex and Gerard knew and he did not.

  “If you have to ask the question then you know less than you think.” Gerard narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, “Considerably less than you think. I almost pity you, Miles. The people around you, whom you believe you can trust, have not been entirely truthful. Ask Hugh to explain it to you...although on second thoughts perhaps it’s better that you don’t. The king arrives at Alnwick in three days. It is in all of our interests, that you do not reach the king or Reynard for that matter. Which of course leaves me with a dilemma... what shall I do with you?”

  Miles tightened his grip on Grace’s hand and she sidled closer to him.

  “I could just kill you both now and be done with it, but I’m impressed with the courage of your lady and when all’s said and done I may have use of you both yet. So I think, on balance, I will leave you both here with the dead until the king has gone. If you still live by my return then we will reconsider your future. If you do not then you will unfortunately be remembered as an irreverent thief. An inglorious end for such a noble knight, the king will be disappointed, and Reynard, well he will wonder if the time spent teaching you the chivalrous arts were worth his effort.”