by Arms, Angie
“If we dig under the wall here,” he said pointing to the location on the map hanging down from his hand then tracing back upward to the center of his palm. “We will have to dig a considerable distance but we can come out here behind Donalds and his men. This hill we will dig out plummets down into the marshes but that is the only guaranteed place we know there will be no men.” He paused, his eyes studying her as she took in every word of his plan. “What do you think of it?”
“How long do you have?” she asked.
“Two days.”
“Then you’ll have to be out by tomorrow night,” she replied matter-of-factly as if they plotted strategic battle movements together often.
“So we will,” he said with a grim satisfaction. He took the map back to the table and placed it carefully there. He raised his head to look at her, then without a word he turned and left the chamber.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Edwin, gather all the men at the western wall by the wood bin. Roland you’re with me.” For the next hour the two men recruited the stable hands to gather every shovel, pick and mattock. They also gathered every bucket and barrel to move the dirt with. It wasn’t long before the hole was under way.
Steadily the walls grew into a tunnel. The men braced the walls as they went but always there was a constant stream of buckets of dirt and rocks moving out of the hole as the chain of men moved with purpose. One of their own was in harm’s way, it would not be long before the blood would begin to flow and his men were just as eager as he. By dawn they had made it beneath the walls and were tunneling toward the marsh.
Damien stood on the battlements looking out over the men that surrounded them. They were a wild looking bunch. What had his brother suffered at their hands? If it were up to Damien he would open the gates and let them have Haltwhistle. But first and always he was a knight sworn to the crown’s service. If he did not honor his word what kind of man would he be? The day wore on and Damien’s temper with it. His mind shifted to Keri as it seemed to do throughout the night and day despite his determination to stay focused on the task at hand. He told himself it had been wise of him to seek the approval of someone who had actually planned to tunnel out of a keep. She had strategized battles, her worthless husband could not have held out for four days. The cowardly bastard probably would have surrendered the first day but he knew from all accounts it was Keri who managed and defended Langley as well if not better than most men. He knew that was not why he had asked her. Damien wasn’t really sure why he did ask her approval of his plan. Perhaps it was merely to give her back some of the dignity he had stripped from her. That made no sense and he was having no luck figuring out why he would do such a thing. He found that mingled with his brother’s plight was a bit too much for his mind to carry as his mood darkened with each passing moment.
When her intelligent fawn colored eyes had looked up at him giving him her approval he knew in that instant he was on very dangerous ground with this woman. He imagined her and her master-at-arms bent over a similar map plotting the digging of a tunnel. Jealousy rushed in on him as he pictured the handsome young man with his head next to his lady’s, listening to the soft lilt in her voice she used when speaking to everyone else but him, smelling the scent of her. How had he not grabbed her and lay her out on the table on top of the map and forgotten all the troubles in her soft curves? He turned to do just that but reality slammed in on him, and he knew he could no more go to her than his brother right now. But soon, things would be right and he could deal with her.
Dusk was quickly approaching by the time Damien climbed to the battlements again. He looked down at the man demanding his attention and patiently waited for the moment he could take Donalds’s life for threatening his brother.
“Have you an answer?” the man yelled up to him.
“We have until tomorrow to give you an answer,” Damien replied irritably. “How do I know you have my brother and this isn’t some sad attempt at deception?
“You mean the great Sir Damien Le Forte will not take me for a man of my word?” Donalds asked with a great deal of dramatic sarcasm as he clenched his hands to his breast.
“Show me my brother,” Damien demanded his patience long since at an end.
Donalds turned to one of his men, spoke to him and the man hurried off. “It takes a hell of a man to come in plundering and destroying then doubt someone’s word.”
“Your word means nothing to me,” Damien snapped.
“How’s that little wild cat you came dragging in. You get her tamed yet?” the man asked gesturing rudely.
Damien remained silent as the man continued to try to get a rise from him, from insulting his king to his own person but Damien was well trained and waited like a predator would its prey. Finally a commotion to the left of where Donalds was standing drew everyone’s attention. Six men came over the rise with one surrounded by the other five. They progressed slowly as Damien inwardly strained to see his brother but outwardly he showed nothing of his anxiousness. There was no sign of the turmoil that would make him slower to defend against a sword thrust or inattentive to a pulled dagger for he was always a commander. The little group made the rise and separated to reveal Cyrille.
His brother, so tall, so proud, loyal to a fault because he never blamed Damien for his scars, for his limp, for his young life that was destroyed, stood in the waning sun of the evening looking up at him. He tried to stand straight, tried to show that he did not hurt but Damien knew him well enough. He favored his right leg, his shoulders appeared straight but he could see the slight bow to them as his brother hid the pain. It didn’t mean Donalds’s men had been the ones to hurt him, anything but a soft bed and a warm bath at the end of the day was enough to cause the man’s shattered body to ache.
“Are you well brother?” Damien called.
“Well enough you should not give in to these curs,” Cyrille replied with defiance. After the torture that had been dealt him there was no fear of death residing in his brother, perhaps there was even an eagerness for it.
“This isn’t a social call,” Donalds said as he motioned the men to take Cyrille away. They moved in the direction they had come and now Damien had an idea where to search for his brother. “At dawn Sir Damien,” Donalds said mockingly bowing with a flourishing wave of his hand then turned and left the hilltop. “At dawn indeed,” Damien muttered staring after the man for some time. “I will find you.”
Chapter 9
Damien stepped from the tunnel and the ground rolled underneath him as the soft wet dirt gave way under his weight. He managed to keep his feet as he slid downward quickly, the clumps of damp earth he turned up raced him down the incline to splash in the waters of the marsh.
He landed with a muffled sucking splatter. He quickly moved to the side before Roland landed on him. Four more landed behind them before they pushed forward. The mud sucked at their feet making each step a struggle. Despite they had most of the night to complete their task they had far too much to accomplish before dawn lit the sky to be slowed down in the marsh. Damien tried to pick up the pace but it made them flounder more which seemed to slow his small group to snail speed. So Damien kept them to a slow and steady rate. An excruciating speed that grated on his nerves, shot his temper sky high to plunge back to the pit of his stomach with the next step.
He cast a weary glance toward the dark sky. The sliver of a moon was hidden by the black clouds that threatened to let loose a torrent of rain. The thick blackness made the journey even slower but helped conceal them.
After what seemed hours Damien pulled his feet from the mud and led his men onto dry ground. They took a moment to empty the mud and water from their boots so they did not squish as they walked into camp. The journey through the woods was every bit as difficult with the uneven ground and obstacles in the way they could not see until they were right upon them. Though Damien was in his element as were the rest of his men who joined him this night it all seemed exceptionally excruciating as he anticipated wh
at was to come. Through the thickest part of the forest they traversed. How long had they been moving to reach the edge of the forest and look out onto the enemy’s camp?
Damien surveyed the tents, the canvas flapping in the wind that was picking up. Cyrille was being held somewhere in this section of camp. A quick look showed no prisoners in the area so he assumed he was being held inside one of the tents. Stealthily he moved his men from the cover of the forest. The camp was quiet as the men moved into it. Fires were banked but they were mindful of the random night guard, disappearing into the shadows as they came near. The men ever so quietly stepped up to each tent and peered into the interior. The outline of the soldiers sleeping against the light of the fires showed them easily enough who occupied the tents. They searched each one, long after the drizzle began falling from the sky.
Moving quietly Damien barely breathed, his mind feared the rescue would not go well. He feared he would get his brother killed. He beat himself up many times throughout the long trek for listening to Keri. Then he berated himself for she had come up with the most feasible plan, the only plan to get his brother back. After Cyrille was back inside the walls the next move would be all his, it was a maneuver his heart beat strongly for, one he anticipated with great eagerness.
A tap on his shoulder brought his attention to the tent Roland stood outside of, the canopy held back to allow him entrance. Quickly Damien entered the darkness even deeper here. He waited for his eyes to adjust. It was Cyrille, tied with his ankles to his wrists behind him. The position looked uncomfortable for even the healthiest of men but he could not imagine the pain it must cause Cyrille’s injured body. His head lay against the ground, his body motionless against the canvas illuminated by the banked fire behind it. Damien moved closer, crouched in front of him and quickly pressed his hand down across his mouth, breathing a sigh of relief feeling his brother’s breath fan across the back of his hand but keeping it clamped there following the motion of his head as he came awake.
“Shh,” Damien whispered ever so quietly leaning over him.
Immediately the tense body under his hand stilled. Despite it all his brother was a formidable man. His body stayed honed as well as his sword with the daily rigorous practices, the pain did not stop him. He was surprised Donalds’s men were able to take him alive.
Quickly he cut the ropes from Cyrille and ever so carefully helped him move to a sitting position allowing him to pick his pace. He felt his brother flinch against the pain as limbs were straightened and blood flow began suddenly back into them. Damien bent, helping rub life back into his feet. They had little time to spare if his plan was to succeed and they were to live, they had to move out just as quietly as they moved in. As the need to flee built inside him a torrent of rain outside opened up.
Finally Cyrille moved, his body stiffly rising from the ground using Damien to get to his feet. Without a word spoken between them they joined the men outside and together they moved back through the camp. The rain came down like a river onto them, nearly blinding them as it ran down their faces. The rain was their enemy for though it muffled their progress and helped obscure them it did the same for the enemy who could be right upon them before they knew. He breathed slowly, quietly but it was still too much with his heart hammering in his head he thought he might go mad as all sound was wiped out but that of the torrential rain.
It seemed to take twice as long to retrace their steps. Cyrille slowed their progress a great deal, Damien half supported him as much as his brother would allow. There wasn’t much that would make Cyrille ask for Damien’s help, his rescue was no different. The small struggle Damien had trying to get his brother to let him help him could have escalated and woken the entire camp if Roland had not stepped in and put an end to it. Once in the marsh Damien could feel his own fatigue as the muck sucked at his legs and the rain weighed down his clothes, soaking and chilling him. He knew the man struggling beside him felt the same tenfold but he never faltered nor complained.
They reached the bank below the tunnel and a whistle brought the rope down and they one by one were hoisted up.
~ ~ ~ ~
The door banging open sent Keri scrambling to her feet. She drowsily stood watching the torches and lanterns around the room lit then a tub was hurriedly drug into the chamber followed quickly by servants rushing in to fill it with steaming water. The line was halted as Damien entered the room followed by Cyrille. The two brothers stood in the doorway covered in mud from the marsh, their clothes drenched, their faces darkened by fatigue. Her heart started pounding and she told herself that it was because she did not want to fall into the hands of Donalds. She gulped in a steadying breath of air and schooled the emotions that flooded her at sight of her captor.
From the corner of her eye she saw Damien scowling when her face brightened upon seeing his brother. She rushed forward, the end of her chain tripping her as if she had forgotten all else when she saw the man limping into the room. By the time she pulled her eyes from the scarred brother it was to see the handsomely beautiful brother openly glaring at her.
Cyrille plopped himself into a chair near Keri and leaned back his face etched in exhaustion. One glance to Damien showed a rage that froze her to her very core. Damien grabbed a passing servant and commanded her to tend to Cyrille. The woman was blonde and fair skinned her eyes the palest of blue and she looked like she might faint as she drew nearer him. He did not have his hood on and she could see even despite his fatigue it made him uncomfortable. The girl was quaking as she tried pulling one boot off, her feeble attempts with her limbs trembling did nothing more than cause him added pain as she twisted back and forth in an effort to not come in contact with him. After the third groan escaped his brother Damien sent the girl away sobbing in fear of Damien’s wrath.
Damien moved in to do the woman’s task. Cyrille’s boots finally came off with a thud that splattered mud over the floor. Both men left a trail of mud and water she would guess all the way across the hall, up the stairs and to the chamber. Wasn’t that typical of men who were not tasked with the cleanup to not think how much easier it would have been to clean themselves up below stairs.
Despite her turmoil of feelings where her captors were concerned Keri found she was mesmerized by the gentleness Damien used to tend to his brother. She saw his love and concern for Cyrille on his face as he removed pieces of his garments one at a time. Finally Cyrille stood stark naked and she saw Damien’s scarred image before her. What would life be like for Damien if he had received the punishment Cyrille had? The thought did not bare thinking about for she already knew the men were as different as night and day. Damien was a killer, he was the dark image of Cyrille, somehow Cyrille’s soul had not been so tainted and she knew Damien could be far worse than Cyrille could ever be. She shuddered at the thought.
Too late she realized both men stared at her and mistook her reaction. Cyrille looked hurt but Damien appeared angered by the reaction he thought was directed at his brother.
“Does the princess not like the face of war?” Damien asked disdainfully.
Keri raised her chin a notch. “It is not the sight of your brother that sickens me but you,” she declared returning his glare.
Damien reached for his brother only to have the man shove his hand away. “I’m not some helpless child that can’t get himself around,” he declared in his grating voice moving out of his reach.
Unable to offer a helping hand to his brother as much as he appeared to need it, Damien rounded on her instead. “What is it about me that sickens you?” he asked stalking toward her. He stopped just outside her reach, taunting her.
“Well my lord,” she said offering a mocking half curtsy, the derision heavy in her voice. “It could be that you keep me chained like a dog. It might be because you whore’s son took my children from me. It might be because you take off to battle and you leave me chained helpless here. What if you had not come back?”
Dark brows shot together. “Do you think me such a warrio
r that I will lose to a commoner like Donalds?” he asked angrily.
“I think you are a man who wouldn’t have his brother sitting in that tub if you didn’t have me to show you the way.”
Damien’s face turned red before her. “You’re not just any dog chained to my wall but a bitch whose tongue I am ready to cut out.”
“You coward, you don’t dare come near me.”
Damien pulled his dagger and Keri’s heart hammered in her chest. What was she doing, she asked herself glaring at the big man in front of her.
She watched Damien’s head cock sideways and she wondered if he smelled her hesitation. He cast a glance to his brother who lounged in the steaming water taking in the show. Turning his attention back to Keri he re-sheathed the knife. “I will address your unruliness later,” he said turning to his brother.
~ ~ ~ ~
Cyrille felt panic begin in his chest because he knew his brother was going to go for revenge. “What are you going to do?” Cyrille asked uneasiness in his voice.
“I’m going to finish this.”
“I will go with you,” Cyrille said. His body screamed as he rose from the tub. White spots of light floated before his eyes but he quickly straightened, for the pain was nothing in the grand scheme of pain.
Damien held up a hand. “No brother. I can handle this on my own. Since the lady here doesn’t believe in my abilities you will stay here to protect her should I fail.” He glanced to Keri for a brief moment then was gone.
“Damien!” Cyrille yelled as he tried climbing from the tub. His legs so fatigued he nearly succeeded in tripping over the brim and bashing his head on the floor. Damn it, he screamed at himself for the worthless man he had become.