by Arms, Angie
Cyrille knew the sacrifice his brother made for him and for all his men by doing the things he did. Cyrille had never had to kill a man outside of battle. When Richard had sent them to ensure his control over England with a list of barons suspected of treachery Cyrille had not considered the implications, what would ultimately have to be done to ensure the King was victorious. He was thankful the lord of the keep had died in battle and his family fled. The order was not only to kill the rebellious lords and their soldiers but the lords’ families as well, in order to send a message. Here there had been four small children all under the age of 10, how could he have possibly carried out such an order? It was a small number Cyrille had to hang but each one he felt insured him a place in hell, while praying for forgiveness.
He considered sending for Roland again, and would have if it was the Roland he had grown up with. But the new Roland was far different and each life that ended at the end of the man’s sword did not help to end the man’s rage but fueled it. Cyrille feared the man was truly mad and he quickly shunned the thought for the question raced into his mind if Roland was mad what did that make his brother?
Cyrille stayed by his brother’s side throughout the night, remembering their childhood in between the prayers and pleas that God not take him. By dawn the next morning Cyrille gathered half his brother’s army and rode toward Featherstone to see their journey ended.
~ ~ ~ ~
The noise was driving him crazy. The steady sound of metal on metal drove into his brain and made him open his eyes. The light was piercing and Damien could only lie there and wonder where he was. He could feel little of his body, which seemed to be floating in a haze of semi consciousness. Was he dead? No, he didn’t think he would have the dull pain building in him if he was. He tried to move his head but the effort was too much. He sensed he wasn’t in danger so allowed for the extra time to get his senses about him. Richard had sent him to take control of those lands whose lords supported John. They had made it as far as Langley. No, that wasn’t right because that’s where Lady Keri was. He remembered Haltwhistle, being pulled from Phantom and she fought with him, at his side, saved his life even.
He tried to move again but his eyes grew heavy before he could. Later he shook sleep off again to see it must be nighttime. The sun was no longer washing everything in its light but a soft glow of a candle flickered off the high ceiling. “You are awake,” Roland said from somewhere beside him. He turned his head and found him slouched in a chair pulled up close to the bed. “I knew one sword wouldn’t take you out of this world.” Damien heard a great deal of the old Roland in his voice, a man who was concerned for his friend, a man with compassion.
“Ale,” he managed to croak out, barely able to open his mouth.
Roland scrambled to his feet and helped get a couple dippers of ale between his lips. Things seemed much better now that he could swallow and get the knot out of his throat. “Cyrille?” he asked testing his throat.
An uncomfortable silence fell between the two men. “Where is my brother?” he asked and was surprised to hear the authority of a commander echoed in his voice despite his weakness and the hammering in his head.
“He went on to Featherstone.”
“When was this?” Damien asked struggling to sit up despite the stabbing pain in his side and the flame that felt it was travelling up his thigh. He refused to look down, he had work to do and could not do it if he knew the cause of so much pain driving through his body.
“Three days ago.”
“Has there been any news?”
“No, he ordered us all stay here with you and he would be back as soon as the victory was his.”
With a roar as much for his anger at his brother’s foolhardiness and as a defense against the pain Damien swung his feet from the bed. “Get my horse ready,” he said as he teetered and the room tilted wildly. The man began to hesitate but one look at his commander reminded him who was in charge and he left the chamber. “Edwin!” he bellowed drinking another dipper of ale. The boy was immediately by his side, concern etched across his tawny brows.
“Get me my mail.” In the end Damien mounted Phantom without it and with only his squire at his side they thundered toward Featherstone. Concern mingled with anger. Not only had his brother foolishly put himself at risk but he had split Damien’s men, weakening them. Along with the anger was the concern that no news was bad news.
~ ~ ~ ~
The rats kept coming at her. She could hear them. How long had she been here? Time was meaningless but her hunger knew no bounds so she knew she had been here days. Was it days, or weeks? She focused on the skitter of little feet beside her as she kicked out. She felt the scrape of claws as the vile beast tried to defend itself before it was propelled away from her.
She panted, the exertion tired her. A pain stabbed through her shoulders and she called out in agony. Was she the only one still alive down here? She had heard many voices when she was first brought down but they had ended. Were they dead? If they were why didn’t these damn rats go to them she wondered as she kicked toward another.
What of Damien? He had to be dead. He wouldn’t allow her to stay here after she saved him. Or was she giving the man too much credit. What if the battle hadn’t been over when she was brought down here? What if it was the people of Haltwhistle who still held the keep and no one knew she was here. She fought the urge to scream. It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Her thoughts streamed from one into another as she tried to keep her sanity. If she stopped and allowed the sound of the silence and the rats entrance into her mind she would go crazy.
She slid herself up the wall behind her and forced her legs to hold her as she took the weight off her shoulders. At least when Damien had chained her he did so so she could fight the rats. She really had no defense except her legs but it felt as if they had cut them to pieces with their claws as she had kicked at them. When she slept she had nightmares she could see their beady red eyes but in reality she never saw them for there was no light at all down here. Anything could be creeping around in the dark and she would not know it.
Something brushed her ankle and she screamed. Relief washed over her it was just a rat and she realized she had reached a level she did not think was possible. If she had the use of her hands would she be able catch one of them? How long had Damien and Cyrille been kept in their dungeon? She should have asked more questions but she never dreamed she would ever need to know how to survive in one.
“I’m here!” she called, as a light appeared down the corridor. “Help me!” Did her voice carry far enough? The light didn’t move. “I’m here.” She called again watching it coming toward her. Was it coming toward her? Yes. No. It was gone. Just gone. She turned and with the last of her strength she struck the wall and sank to her knees, her hands once again above her head but the pressure on her arms was not as painful as her mind playing tricks on her. She was going mad.
The brush against her cheek brought her awake. She was free, in a room full of light and there was Damien in front of her, rubbing her cheek with a gentle stroke. His gray-green eyes looked softly at her, his lips smiled. She reached for him but her hands wouldn’t move. She tried to speak but no words escaped and a vile smell invaded her senses. Her eyes snapped open to darkness and for a muddled moment she had no idea where she was. Then she shot to her feet, the rat on her shoulder clinging to her. Her hands were too snug for her to pull it off. She slammed her shoulder into the wall and felt it release its hold.
Pain exploded through her body as she fell back to a crouch. Was she only dreaming of the rat she wondered as she shook off the fog clouding her mind? A light appeared down the corridor. She refused to call out to it. It grew, bigger and bigger. She blinked, no, it was small again. She closed her eyes and prayed it would stop. She opened her eyes again and saw it was still there. Could it really be someone looking for her? What if it was a spark from the fire and the walls above were burning. Was that smoke she smelled? It burn
ed her eyes and she found it difficult to breath. She staggered to her feet, staring at the light. It was coming closer; it was a torch, ever closer. Her eyes burned as she strained to see it and then it was gone.
“Damn it!” she screamed at the top of her lungs but if no one was close they would not have heard it. Damn Cyrille, she thought slamming her back into the wall and sliding down it. Damien would have another rebel to count to their precious King. Damn him too she thought. Damn them all, everyone that moved throughout time to put her here now in this dungeon. Her chest filled with sobs she was too tired to release.
The light, there was more than one. Dear God! She could smell the smoke now, it was choking her. She coughed, her lungs filling with it. She could feel the heat, it burned right over top her. She jumped to her feet, gulping in great gasps. Where was the heat, the smoke? For that matter where were the lights, the sparks. Where were the damn sparks? “Set it on fire,” she urged them above as if they could hear her pitiful croaking voice. She banged the manacles against the stone. “Set it on fire,” she called again and again until her voice dried up and she collapsed exhausted.
The slicing pain in her shoulders awoke her. She raised her head but no longer had the will to ease her pain. It just took more strength and she just wanted to sleep until the end came. She closed her eyes again but they shot open immediately. Was that a scraping sound? It wasn’t a rat. Her heart pounded in her chest, in her ears to the point she feared she would not hear what was coming. The light, it was coming at her again. In her mind she screamed at it to go away, to leave her alone and let her die. In the short time she had been here she had learned God was not a merciful one and it was no different now for it didn’t go away but pretended to grow again. It grew to cast her in its light and she smelled the acrid stench of the pine burning.
She heard scuffling but could care less that the rats were moving in on her. Her time was near. She prayed it was near but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it still had not been long enough. Her shoulders sagged down, pain wrenched through them as her hands fell into her lap, the manacles gone. Her cheek fell against the cool stone and she willed the light to go away again as it surrounded her, driving into her skull.
“Keri,” the voice broke through her haze. Something was touching her and she had the urge to surrender to it. Hands, hands had her by the shoulders straightening her. She lifted her head and saw Damien with his gray-green eyes looking into her face with concern etched on his brow. He draped a cloak around her, pulling it around her shoulders. The-man-on-the-gray-horse came for her she thought joyfully as he lifted her from the ground.
He took a couple of steps and faltered. She saw then why the light had been so bright. Cyrille and Edwin had come with him. Cyrille reached a hand out and Damien knocked it away straightening again with her in his arms. Damien made it nearly to the steps when he staggered again. This time a second set of strong arms scooped her up and she found herself looking up at Cyrille’s hooded face. She tried to struggle against him but it was useless. “Lead the way Commander,” Cyrille said to his brother once Damien had straightened and the color had returned to his face.
The procession continued with Cyrille following Damien and Edwin bringing up the rear. The bright light of day greeted her, threatening to pierce her skull, making her parched throat ache even more if it were possible. Up the steps, into the keep, up the steps, along the corridor and into a chamber where Cyrille sat her down by the hearth pulling the cloak he had draped around her closer about her before he moved away.
He followed Damien and Edwin back out the door and it was just a matter of minutes before a flood of servants came into the room. Some carrying a tub between them and others were carrying steaming buckets of water. They cast weary glances her way but no one spoke and soon the room was empty all except her and the inviting bath. She was on her feet and taking shaky steps toward it when the door opened and Lottie came in.
Keri wanted to cry when she saw her old friend. The only thing that was left before Bryson had come into her life and it had become a nightmare. The woman had supported her and tried to hone her to be an obedient wife but Keri was not as forgiving and tolerant as Lottie. The robust woman rushed toward her and probably would have thrown her arms around her if she hadn’t been so filthy and bruised.
“How are the children?”
“They’re just fine. It’s about time they let me see you,” Lottie said not missing a step as she prodded Keri toward the steaming bath.
Once she got the younger woman settled in the tub Lottie filled her in on the children, how they were doing after being displaced from their home and watching their father die. The children had been allowed free run of Haltwhistle since Cyrille had secured the castle. Little Waverly was won over by the dashing young squire Edwin and tried to put herself at his side every chance she got. Kennet however had not forgotten his mother had fought against these people and was still missing her from his life. He had softened somewhat but Lottie reported he still worried over his mother’s safety. She reported no rumors had followed them from Langley and Keri thanked God for that favor, perhaps the largest of all.
The older woman helped her lady to wash, dry then bandaged her hands and tended to her other wounds before brushing out her hair finishing by pulling the sides back to keep it out of her eyes since she couldn’t brush it from her face herself. After her task was accomplished Lottie excused herself, letting her know she was sent only to see to Keri’s needs then she was to return to the children.
Exhausted she lay down on the bed and burrowed underneath the covers. Her eyes had just closed when the door opened and she turned to see Cyrille standing in the doorway. In his hands he held a gown, not as extravagant as a lady of a house would wear but it was far better than that of one of the servants. He shoved the door closed behind him. Juggling the gown he reached a hand up and pulled the hood from his head. He hesitated before advancing to the bed as she slowly set up, her body at an end of the torment it could take.
The man came all the way to the bed and laid the gown across her lap then stiffly stooped beside her on the wooden floor. “If I had known you were protecting my brother I would have treated you like a queen,” the deep voice said. His gray-green eye pleaded with her to forgive his transgression. She ventured a weak nod and then sighed, taking her hands in his large scarred ones Cyrille kissed the backs of them. He then stood and helped her to don the dress.
The brown dress was meant for someone larger than herself. Cyrille did the best he could with strips of leather but she felt like a child by the time she took his arm for support and allowed him to lead her from the chamber.
As soon as they entered the hall her vision was filled with her children. They saw her, screeched and made a mad dash to her, nearly knocking her over in their excitement. It took a few moments to realize the support of Cyrille’s arm was no longer there and he had faded into the shadows of the hall. Damien, who had been sitting beside her children on the dais stood and walked toward her. He plucked Waverly up and sat her on the crook of his arm and she giggled with glee.
“The food has just arrived. Please join us at the table,” Damien said holding out his free arm.
Kennet skipped beside them and around them excitedly chatting about all the exciting new places at Haltwhistle. Damien sat Waverly down first then helped Keri into the chair beside her.
“Edwin tells me you saved Sir Damien’s life,” Kennet declared bluntly standing before her.
Keri did not know exactly how to answer her son. She had indeed saved Damien, the man who had burned her home, the man who had killed the father of her children.
“I did,” she finally replied.
“Isn’t he the enemy?” Kennet persisted.
“Yes,” Damien quickly answered for her. “There is always a winner and a loser, and no matter what side you chose you fight against the enemy. But when you do not have to fight you do not have enemies”
Brows the same brown a
s his mother’s scrunched together in confusion. “Think on that while you eat,” Damien ordered her son who happily complied and skipped over to the squire’s table.
“I told you your children were safe,” Damien said, his eyes looking over his men who crowded into the small hall.
“I thank you for your mercy.”
Stone cold eyes bore into her when he turned her way. “It is not merciful to spare children. It is right.” He turned away to pull his plate closer.
“What happened to your hands?” Waverly asked slipping over into Keri’s lap.
“They just have some cuts on them, they’ll be okay,” she assured her, settling her daughter more comfortably in her lap.
“My Lady,” Damien said offering her a chunk of meat. Her stomach lurched in anticipation as she devoured the piece of venison. Lottie came to collect the children and Damien paused in his own eating to feed her.
Keri ate of the extravagant meal until she thought she would burst. She listened to the conversation buzzing around her as she drank her ale, her eyes growing heavy. She found herself sagging against Damien twice before he stood and helped her to her feet. His hand stayed on her elbow, supporting her all the way to the lord’s chamber. All the way up to the bed he pulled the covers back and guided her underneath them. She was asleep before he closed the door behind himself.
Chapter 5
“Keep your sword up,” Damien coached when Kennet dropped his wooden sword under Damien’s light blow. The boy brought his sword up again and faced off with Damien and the wooden one he held.
Around them steel sounded on steel, as his men pitted their skills against one another. He didn’t know why the boy’s plea to fight with him had made him smile. The boy laughed and squealed in delight as they pared and his reaction spurred Damien on to encourage more from him.