The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death

by Brendan Carroll

  “Imagine this!” she said in mock surprise when he looked at her. “Where’s Merry?”

  “I would ask you the same thing,” he said and pushed himself up very slowly before leaning against the headboard. He moved the sword closer to him under the cover with his left hand.

  “I haven’t seen her since last night after you stole my horse,” she told him coldly. “I thought she was here asleep, but I see she has been busy again. I cannot believe that you would escape, steal my horse, circle back and go to bed with Merry. How clever. No one would look for you here, would they?”

  “That is not true.” He closed his eyes briefly. He wondered what the time was? How long had Merry been gone? And what, if anything, should he say to this woman?

  “I don’t know where she is,” he said simply.

  “I’m sure she’s around somewhere,” Valentino shrugged. “I guess we’ll just wait for her to come back. I want to hear her explanation as to why she did not tell me that you were up here. We’ve been chasing around the hills all day looking for my horse.”

  Apparently, she was not overly worried about being alone with him and he wondered if she had already summoned her watchdog. He was certain that Merry had not had the opportunity to speak to Cecile since their return. A twinge of panic stabbed his stomach next to the other wound. If Cecile had not seen her, where had she gone? Where was Beaujold by now?

  “You should have kept riding, cowboy.” She eyed him casually when he fell silent. “I have your friends… all of them.”

  “All of them?” He raised both eyebrows. How many had come? He remembered at least four. Maybe five. It was very difficult to maintain any semblance of control as he sat staring at her.

  “Yep. All four,” she told him smugly.

  He felt somewhat relieved to know that the Knight of the Sword was not still at large, looking for his head.

  “You know that Merry still thinks you’re as neat as cherry cheesecake,” she said.

  “I wasn’t aware of that.” He managed a smile for her. “Cherry cheesecake. Sounds wonderful.” Ironically his stomach chose that moment to growl.

  “But I know better,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You are an assassin and a rapist. And you will leave her weeping or dead. Probably all the same to you.”

  He drew in a sharp, involuntary breath.

  “I know a lot more than you think I do,” she continued. “You remember that I told you that I would die for Merry in an instant?”

  “Yes,” he answered and tightened his grip on the sword, wanting desperately to make it happen for her.

  “I believe that only something drastic will show her what you truly are,” she said and reached into the pocket of her slacks. She pulled out the small ceremonial dagger she had worn for the ceremony the night before. It looked remarkably like the one the Saracen woman had used to kill his Brother in Jerusalem, definitely of Eastern design. He shook off the image of the woman lying dead on the tiled floor in a growing pool of dark blood. “I have been studying the exploits of the Templars during the Holy Wars. I have read all about the atrocities committed in the name of your God. Atrocities committed by men like you, Chevalier Ramsay. How many women have you killed, Sir Ramsay? A dozen? Two dozen? Or have you lost count?”

  She twirled the point of the knife against the tip of her index finger, mesmerizing his beleaguered mind.

  “You are allowing your imagination to exceed your capacity for understanding,” he told her lightly. Her words were not helping the situation, which was growing more and more desperate. He could not afford to lie still and wait for Maxie to show up.

  “You're right. My imagination most likely does not do you credit,” she said. “You were not the gentlest of lovers when I came to your bed. I would say it was more like rape than a normal sexual encounter. And to think I wasted my virginity on the likes of you!”

  His eyes widened. What the hell was she talking about? He blinked at her and she laughed.

  “Oh, I see,” she said and her face took on an expression of disbelief mixed with amusement. “You thought I was Merry. Well, I fail to see what she finds so attractive about you. I thought it was quite disgusting. Perhaps she is just living out some ludicrous fantasy. She gets all her ideas from those stupid romance novels. Tall, dark strangers with long hair and equally long peckers, living in big, old drafty houses in the middle of nowhere and her playing the part of the innocent young orphan seduced by the big old, bad old peckerhead. Yeah, I know all about those stories.” Cecile smiled ruefully and leaned toward him slightly. “She keeps them in the coat closet under the galoshes.”

  His mind flashed back to the strange encounter she was referring to and everything fell into place. She had tricked him and made a fool of him and this revelation only added to the rage growing in his head. He felt his face flush and nausea washed over him momentarily. How dare she defile him with her filthy accusations and lilting superiority? She knew nothing of him. Nothing of what he had seen. Nothing of why he had done what he had done. Nothing of duty. Nothing of war. Nothing of honor. And she had stolen something sacred from him! Sacred? He closed his eyes and shook his head. Perhaps sacred was the wrong word, but she had stolen it none-the-less. She sat twirling the little blade, looking smug and self-satisfied. All of this was her fault. She had killed Anthony, or had him killed, just to serve her own greedy purposes. And perhaps the dagger she handled so carelessly now in front of his eyes was the very weapon she had used. History was repeating itself and he would not stand for it. He would not permit it.

  “The company of women is a dangerous thing,” he said more to himself than to her.

  She turned suddenly and put the blade against his throat. “Is this how you killed them? Did you cut their throats?”

  He looked at her blankly at first, unblinking and then reached up with his right hand to take hold of her wrist and slowly, deliberately twisted her hand around in a manner in which it should not twist. She dropped the knife to the floor.

  Like taking a bottle from a baby, with very little additional effort, he yanked her completely across his body onto the bed on her back, ignoring the pain that the jarring caused him. Before she could cry out, he was up on his knees with the golden sword lying across her neck. She stared up at him in shocked dismay and touched the edge of the blade gingerly with her injured hand.

  “Perhaps it is your fantasy that you speak of and not Merry’s. Is this what you wanted when you came to my bed uninvited?” he asked her. “You asked me then if I like things rough? You have no idea, lady.” He slid back in the bed and put the point of the blade against her chin. She opened her mouth and he nudged her chin ever so slightly with the blade. “Shhh! Now take off your clothes.”

  She closed her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head minutely.

  “It’s not a request, Madame,” he said.

  “Get off me, motherfucker!” she cursed him through gritted teeth.

  “Not what you expected, is it?” he asked. “Things have a way of working themselves out, do they not? Now, off with the clothes. I’d do it myself, but we don’t have time.”

  “Fuck you!” she hissed, but began unbuttoning her blouse with shaking hands. She wiggled out of it, keeping herself carefully below the blade, then held the blouse clutched in front of her. She was wearing a decidedly manly safari blouse and hiking shorts. She wore no bra, but instead a small undershirt of thin, stretch material.

  “Drop it on the floor.”

  “Ass hole!” she cursed him again, but complied with his instructions.

  “Foul language will not help you, lassie. No, no, don’t stop there,” he told her. “Go on with it.”

  She slipped out of the flimsy black tanktop and dropped it over the side of the bed with the blouse, still keeping her eyes closed.

  “Hmmm. Not bad in the light,” he said more gently. “All right. Now these. I see you are in the Sir Valentino mode today. Let’s see if you have all the equipment to go with the atti
re.” He flicked the brass, military style belt buckle with the tip of the sword and moved back a bit, allowing her to slip off the shorts while he pulled off her sandals and dropped them in the growing pile on the floor.

  “Almost done now,” he resisted the urge to laugh at her as she began to cry. “No tears!” he said with mock surprise and nudged her chin again with the blade. “No crying. Real men don’t cry.”

  She sniffled and opened her eyes.

  “A brave Chevalier does not cry,” he told her again. “Now the rest.”

  She pushed her cotton briefs down and finally dropped the last bit of her pride onto the floor with them.

  “There now,” he told her and pretended to inspect her critically while she cursed him. “I must say I am relieved, Miss Valentino. Now, there is nothing left between us. We are truly equal and there is only the one thing left to do. It seems that you have the lock and I have the key, no? The one thing you were so concerned about. Didn’t you tell me yourself that I possessed some key or something?” He glanced down at himself and was greatly relieved to find that he was not prepared to carry out the ‘key thing’.

  She opened her mouth to speak again and he fell on her bodily, quickly covering her mouth with one hand, leaving the cold, golden sword between them. It served as a most apt substitute for the one thing that was thankfully missing between them. He could feel the cool blade against his skin. “Don’t you want to know what it is like? Don’t you want to know what it is really like?” He caressed her ear with his lips. She shook her head. “No? But you’re sober now and I’m in the mood for love, not war.”

  He raised up again and looked down at her. “You should have cut me into little pieces when you had the chance. Be careful what you wish for, Chevaliere Valentino, you might get it.”

  The disgusted Scot climbed out of the bed and wrapped his discarded towel around himself before sitting down wearily on the edge of the bed. He winced in pain, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm himself against the flood of pain and emotion assaulted his mind. The golden sword felt heavy in his hands as he pushed the dagger about with it. “I should do us both a favor and kill you here and now. Make the crime complete.” He was in a better frame of mind now to deal with anyone who might come through the door, not to mention a better position and he was certainly glad that Merry had not chosen the wrong moment to return.

  He had beaten the rage this time and he knew in his heart that it was the first time he had ever overcome the uncontrollable urge to kill once he had passed a certain point. Valentino had no idea how fortunate she was to be alive. The realization that he was indeed some kind of monster made his stomach churn.

  “You’ll have to come back some other time,” he told her over his shoulder. Turning his back to her was the height of insult. “Get out before I truly lose my temper,” he said quietly.

  Valentino bolted from the bed and reached for her clothes. He slapped her hand away with the side of the sword. “Uh, uh. Leave them. I may want to wear them myself.”

  She paused momentarily and then ran from the room, trying to cover herself with her hands. He jumped as the door banged against its frame with a resounding thud. He pushed her discarded clothes under the edge of the bed. No need to start rumors at this late date.

  He didn’t care what she did or where she went. He was ruined. His life was a complete wreck. She was right. He was a murderer and a rapist. Nothing could ever change that. He had to get back where he belonged before something happened to Merry. Something he could not prevent. Easing himself back on the bed, he drew the hilt of the sword up to his chest, clasped both hands over the hilt and crossed his feet, closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would truly be like to be dead. He felt that his life was over and wondered if he would even resist, should anyone come now to kill him.

  “Let their eyes be darkened, that they see not,” he spoke the words of the scripture aloud to the empty room.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  The big house was strangely quiet as Maxie entered the side door and made his way through the kitchen and down the hallway past the library. The door was open and he stopped briefly, wondering where Valentino was. The sound of sniffling and the crash of some object being thrown across the room made him decide against going inside to see who was there. Most likely Valentino, throwing things was another of her famous trademarks. He had other things on his mind. He would finally get the chance to do what he had wanted to do, although it wouldn’t be that dipshit Ramsay. It didn’t matter. This other one looked and acted enough like him to serve the same purpose. Maxie hefted his favorite shotgun in the crook of his arm and walked quietly down the hall toward the stairs.

  It had not been easy taking the three idiots from the basement up to the old fallout shelter on the hill. The ugly one had scared him shitless with his ranting and raving. The only reason he had agreed to do it was the promised bonus from Valentino’s generous checkbook, along with her promise not to interfere with his plans for the Italian. Knocking out the young one and making the other two carry him had made the odds more even, and now he could relax a bit knowing they were out of the house. There was no way they could escape from the limestone cavity carved in the hillside behind the house. The chains on the big door had almost given out as he’d struggled to lower the slab into place, effectively cutting off their only exit. The old bomb shelter tunnel had been pitch black in, making it seem more like a cave and he hated caves. The wiring, plumbing and ventilation systems had long fallen into disrepair and nothing worked anymore. Better them than him.

  He made his way quickly to the third floor bedroom where Dipshit II waited for him, an ugly smile fixed to his face as he stepped into the hallway. The tattooed wonder was almost to the service stairs when he brought up the shotgun and shouted a warning at him.

  Dambretti stopped and threw his hands up, before turning slowly to face him. He had taken too long apologizing to the lady for tying her up. She had refused to tell him where Mark Andrew was hiding and judging from her condition, Ramsay had suffered some serious injuries and could very well be in need of Simon’s services, but the young woman had refused to cooperate.

  Maxie pushed the bedroom door open and motioned him inside, relieving him of the hammer as he passed. Merry sat in the chair in front of the desk with her hands tied behind her back. When she saw Maxie, her nerves snapped and she screamed one of those ear-splitting Psycho screams he hated so much. Dambretti turned and lunged across the floor at the man’s feet. Maxie brought the butt of the shotgun down on his head and he fell flat on his face.

  The big man looked at Merry with renewed surprise. What was she doing here? What a little whore she was! And she had never allowed him to do anything more than watch when she went skinny dipping in the stock pond and when she had her little fling with Dipshit I in the orchard, but he’d gotten his own sneak previews with his hidden cameras. Another thought crossed his perverted mind and he grinned at her. This was perfect. He owed her one… or two… or three. Now she would pay for playing with him. For treating him like a fool with her exhibitionist teasing. He would give her the chance to watch him for a change.

  “Let me go, Maxie!” she shouted at him and then screamed louder. “Cecile! Help me!”

  “I don’t think she can hear you. She’s down in the library… bustin’ up the rest of your crystal collection,” he told her smugly and laid the shotgun on the dresser. He picked up the unconscious Knight and dragged him to the bed, dumping him unceremoniously onto the mattress. The ugly man removed a pillowcase from one of the pillows and turned toward Merry.

  “What are you doing, Maxie?” she asked hysterically as she watched him twist the pillowcase into a long roll. “Let me go! Cecile!”

  “Not just yet, Your Preciousness.” He grinned at her. “You like to put on shows for me. I thought I might return the favor.” He crossed the room and wrapped the pillowcase around her head, covering her mouth just as she was about to scream Mark Andre
w’s name. It came out a muffled “Mmmm!”

  “Yeah, mmmm mmmm. Just what I thought, too, but I wouldn’t want you to get carried away cheering for me, though. Our little friend here will be the real hero.” She shook her head and pulled on the ropes, her blue eyes wide with fear and astonishment. Where was Valentino? The man was crazier than she had thought.

  He went back to the bed and pulled on the Knight until he had him stretched out on the mattress just so. He rounded up the rest of the rope that he had used to tie Mark Andrew in the same chair Merry now occupied. Merry made the chair hop in a desperate attempt to break loose, but stopped before she fell over. She watched in horrified fascination as Maxie pulled off the Knight’s boots and tied his feet to the foot of the bed, then he dragged her chair to a more opportune spot for viewing.

  “Now keep your eyes open, little girl,” he used Valentino’s favorite term of endearment for Merry. “I don’t want you to miss anything.”

  He picked up the hammer from the floor and looked at it curiously before climbing onto the bed. He sat on Dambretti’s stomach and pulled something from his pocket.

  Merry craned her neck to see what he was doing and then let out another loud “Mmmmm!” and a muffled scream. She thought she heard someone else screaming with her and then there was nothing.

  “Wake up!”

  She felt water in her face and blinked up at the ugly, scar-faced man as he stood over her, flicking water in her face from a plastic cup. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Sweetie. I’ll be right back. I gotta get my stuff.”

  Merry frowned at him and wiggled her hands again. What stuff? Her stomach lurched and the nylon rope cut into her skin. She looked involuntarily at the bed. Both of the Knight’s hands were pinned to the head board with cheap, glittery daggers. Blood ran down his arms and his arms obscured his face. She could hear him breathing above the sound of her own heart beating in her ears, but she could not tell if he was awake or unconscious.