He did not see her. He quickly dispatched a man who challenged him, and looked again. His gaze lit upon two unmounted horses at the northeast corner of the field, and on a slender hooded figure facing off against an armored knight.
His vivid curses came out as a garble. He charged out of the battle, not caring whether he trampled foe or ally. He pushed forward, self-recrimination and fury mixing to a deadly boil. He knew, even as he watched for it, that Anna would not remove the hood and make herself known.
The knight struck. She deflected his sword with her own, twisted quickly, and broke away. It was a good defensive move, but it would not work again. Morvan gritted his teeth and pushed the horse harder. His stomach knotted as he realized that he would not get there in time. He heard himself yell as the knight brought a crashing blow down.
Only Anna's quickness kept her from being clove in two, but the sword connected nonetheless and she fell in a heap to the ground. The knight prepared to finish her.
He did not see Morvan coming. Suddenly the thundering bay was upon him with a sword extended straight out. Under the force of this soaring blade, the knight's head flew from his body.
Despite the armor weighing down his body, Morvan jumped off the horse and strode quickly to Anna's lifeless form. He threw off his gauntlets, sheathed his sword, and dropped to one knee, coldly afraid for the first time in his life. The battle, the field, the sun itself receded as he stared at her inert shape.
He lifted her head and slapped her face hard. A gasp of relief escaped his lips when her eyes fluttered open.
The sound of hooves made him battle-alert again, but it was Carlos bearing down on them, horrified worry on his face.
“She lives,” Morvan shouted. “Stay and cover us. I am bringing her in.”
Carlos wheeled his horse around to face the fighting, his bow ready. “Take her mount,” he yelled. “It will outrun anything on this field.”
Morvan grabbed Anna under the arms, forcing her to her feet. Blood flowed freely from her hip. It was a bad wound, but it appeared that no bones had been crushed.
He mounted and pulled her up sideways in front of him, making her cry out. The sound wrenched something deep inside him, but the pain, he knew, had been unavoidable. With his right arm grasping her shoulders, he took the reins in his left. As a last thought he reached up and pulled the hood from her head, and the golden curls tumbled out.
The pain had brought her to full consciousness, and she grabbed on to his armor for support as the horse galloped off. He spared an instant to look down at her. His glance took in the blood soaking her garments and staining the saddle.
The thought of how close she had come to death chilled him. An overpowering anger at her willfulness gripped him.
When they reached the gate they found the drawbridge down. He did not wait for the portcullis to rise completely, but charged in, ducking below its iron edge. He rode over to Gregory and slid Anna into his arms.
“She is sore hurt. Have her brought to Catherine and the women at once.” He gave her one last look before he rode back to the battle.
The pain was intense, but Anna felt less weak than at first. “Put me down, Gregory. I am too big for you and I can stand.”
He lowered her feet to the ground. She needed to lean against him for support, but her left leg held. “Help me up to the wall.”
“You heard him, my lady.”
“He is not my lord. I will go to the wall.”
He helped her hobble toward the stairs. “There will be hell to pay for this, I tell you. He's not a man what likes being crossed and you're losing a lot of blood.”
“Just tell him that I commanded you.”
He called for a guard and they managed to get her up to the battlements. She grabbed hold of both men and surveyed the field. Gurwant's army was being pressed back harder now.
She saw Morvan's helmet and Gurwant's blond head in the thick of it, slowly moving through the fray toward each other. As Gurwant pushed forward his battle-ax fell on one of her guards. Even from a distance she could see blood explode from the skull.
The battle came within range of the castle and the archers on the wall began taking careful aim. As the rear edge of Gurwant's army realized their position, panic set in.
“Get me a crossbow, Gregory.”
“My lady, the day is won. Go now and have that wound tended.”
She watched cold blue eyes that were fixed on Morvan. “A crossbow.”
She had no doubt of Morvan's skill. Yet Gurwant's strength and skill were great too. Morvan could be seriously wounded, perhaps maimed. Even killed. The very thought filled her with a desolation so bleak she couldn't bear it. In that moment she felt that if Morvan fell nothing else would matter, not the battle, not even La Roche de Roald itself. It was foolish, of course. He was but one man and not even kin. He had been bred for this as surely as the destriers that she raised. Still her heart could not, would not, let her risk him.
A guard put a crossbow in her hands. She tried to stand alone as she positioned it, but found her leg too weak. Gregory put his weight under her shoulders and propped her up from the back. She shook off a wave of light-headedness.
If you have to stop a man, go for his neck.
She had never aimed to kill before, but this time she did, and was coldly aware of her decision. She wondered briefly, absurdly, if the Mother Abbess would take her back if she knew.
She caught Gurwant in her sight and moved it with his slow progress through the melee toward Morvan. When he stopped, face-to-face against her brave knight, in that moment before they raised their weapons, she released her bolt at the blond giant's neck.
She missed. Before the arrow hit its mark, Gurwant raised his ax and his horse stepped back. The bolt imbedded itself in the unarmored underarea of his upper right arm. Morvan immediately looked to the wall, finding her blond curls there. She called for another bow, but Gurwant's arm fell lifelessly to his side and the ax tumbled to the ground.
The bolt must have broken the bone. He pulled his sword from his saddle and threw that to the ground too.
Morvan flipped up his visor. His fury at having his foe surrender was visible all the way to the wall.
“Hell,” Gregory muttered. “With all respect, my lady, you'll be laid up all safe as can be in your bower when he gets back in here, and I'll be explaining this on my own.”
The world began swirling. She sank into Gregory's arms. “Perhaps you should take me there now.”
CHAPTER 11
MORVAN STOOD BY THE GATE watching the prisoners and the wounded being brought into the castle. It had been a bloody few hours, but Gurwant's army had seen the worst of it. Gurwant himself was already resting in the dungeon and others were being led there now.
He walked over to the keep and up to the hall. The wounded from both sides had been laid out there and several of the women servants tended them. He summoned two men to help him remove his armor in his chamber. Finally he threw on a long tunic and went in search of some food.
One long table in the hall had been piled with bread, cheese, and meat. He took some food and poured some ale, then stood near the hearth and ate his meal.
A young servant girl approached. “Pardon, Sir Morvan, but do you know where Father Ascanio is?”
“What do you want him for?”
“Lady Catherine told me to fetch him. It's my lady Anna. Catherine be needing the father for her.”
His heart sank. “Lady Anna needs a priest?”
“Oh, it isn't for shriving. Lady Catherine needs his strength with her.”
He drained his cup and threw the last of his bread into the fire. “If it is strength she needs, I should do.”
As he approached Anna's chamber, he heard an argument within. He made out Catherine's annoyed voice and Anna's low responses.
They did not notice him when he entered. Four women surrounded the bed and Catherine sat beside it with a box of salves at her feet. The women were trying to hold Anna
down and she was fending them off with strong arms and stronger threats.
“I say it must be sewn,” Catherine said with exasperation.
“And I say it is but a flesh wound. Bind it closed with a bandage and it will heal.” Anna landed a sound blow on one of the woman's arms.
They all jumped back from the bed at that, and Morvan was suddenly seen. For a few moments everyone just stared at him, leaving an unobstructed view of Anna lying naked on her stomach. He glimpsed long elegant curves and pale skin, and damp curls falling over her startled face. His mind became branded with the quick sight of her back, more beautiful than any he had ever seen, tapering to her waist. Her bottom rose high and round and firmer than most women's, and her hips and thighs had a lean tension. Her body looked even more glorious than he had imagined it.
The women suddenly found their senses. They jumped in front of the bed like a line of guards.
“Oh dear saints,” Anna groaned, burying her face in her folded arms. “Catherine, how could you?”
Catherine walked around to the other side of the bed. A sheet billowed up behind the servants and floated down. “I called for Ascanio.” Her tone indicated she was past caring what Anna thought about anything.
“Ascanio is with the dying,” Morvan said, advancing on the bed. “What do you require?”
“I require a strong man to hold her down so that I can sew the wound. She is too much for us.”
Anna twisted to see her sister. “It needs but a bandage!”
“How would you know? You can't see it. I say if it isn't sewn it might heal amiss and pull at you forever. Furthermore, the scar will be hideous.”
“What do I care about damn scars.”
Morvan pushed the servants aside. He flipped back the sheet and uncovered her body. The wound was high on her left back flank and formed a ragged thin mountain over a handspan long. The skin had been fairly flayed from her body and at the base of the wound some muscle had torn. A bad bruise was already forming from the sword's impact and her fall. There would soon be many other bruises too.
He glanced over to where a tub stood with damp towels and puddles around it. They had bathed her and she wouldn't feel too stiff now, but tomorrow would be hell.
“My lord,” one of the servants admonished as she grabbed the sheet and draped it more modestly around the wound.
“He isn't your lord,” Anna said stiffly.
“Aye, if I was the lord the marks on you would be from my hand and not from a sword, and Catherine would not be sewing this warrior's wound. I don't like Haarold and it is hard to admit he was right.”
He began unfastening the belt on his hips. Anna rose on her elbows and glared at him. “You wouldn't dare.”
“Not while you are abed with wounds, unless you refuse to obey. It will be sewn. This is for your mouth so the pain does not make you bite through your lip.”
The servants cast meaningful looks at each other. He regretted his words. He suddenly understood Anna's rebellion. He gestured to the girl who had fetched him. “You stay here. The rest of you go down and tend the men in the hall. There are many wounded there.”
With obvious reluctance, the three women obeyed him.
He turned to Catherine. “Let us do it now.”
Catherine began lining pillows along her side of the bed. “It will be best if I turn her. I will be able to see the wound better. Face away while I do it.”
He touched Anna's shoulder. “They are gone and will not watch you now. Will you obey your sister?”
She nodded, and he turned away. When Catherine finished not only was Anna angled on her back against the pillows, but she had also been gowned in a thin shift. The sheet modestly draped all but her wound. He could see bruises forming on her right shoulder and arm and a slight reddening on her cheek under one eye.
He sat beside her on the bed, then instructed the servant girl. “You are to sit on her legs, just below the knees. Use all of your weight so that she cannot move them.”
Anna grimaced when the servant did as she was told. Morvan offered the strap and with a scowl she bit the leather. Then, as gently as he could, for he knew not what other sores she bore, he laid his left arm across her shoulders above her breasts and his right hand on her belly.
“Do it now.”
With the first touch of Catherine's fingers Anna bucked hard. He pressed his weight down. Her hands flew up and she grabbed his arms, at first to fight him but then to release the intensity of her pain. He knew each time the needle probed from the way she bit the strap and moved her head.
In his anger he had told himself that she deserved it. If she was going to fight a warrior's battle, she should be ready to take a warrior's pain. But as he watched her small white teeth gritting harder and her eyes brimming with tears, a heartfelt anguish gripped him.
“Can't you be faster?”
“We do this right or there is no point in doing it,” Catherine said.
It was true, and since she was sewing a long gash it would not be quick at all. He knew the agony too well. The slow sewing of brutalized tissue created its own special kind of hell.
He bent toward Anna. “Open your eyes. If they are closed you feel it worse. Look at the ceiling, or the weaving of my clothes. Count the threads.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and streams flowed down her temples from their corners. Instead of the ceiling or tunic, she chose to look in his eyes. He let her, and tried to absorb some of the pain with his gaze.
“Shall I tell you how I came to have Devil?” he asked. “He was a gift from Edward, for my valor at Crécy. When I asked to be released from the siege at Calais to take service in Gascony, he presented him to me. Devil was one of his own destriers. I have been thinking,” he continued, all in an effort to distract her, for in fact he had never thought of it before. “You have admired him, and he comes from good stock. Perhaps we should breed him here with some of your mares. I will take one of the foals in payment. That is customary, nay? Or a palfrey. It is awkward not having one.”
She nodded and a smile began to form, but just then Catherine must have probed an especially bad spot, for her mouth flew open and she cried out.
She momentarily looked wild-eyed. He found himself fighting to maintain his composure. “I would take this onto myself if I could, Anna. In God's name I would,” he whispered, holding her body more firmly as she rebelled.
The worst must have passed, for she calmed and sought his eyes again. “You know that this must end,” he said. “It cannot go on. When you are well you must go to England and see your duke. You must have this settled.”
A sad look passed over her before she slowly nodded.
“I know people at the court who will aid you. I will give you letters for them.” He tried to ignore the sick feeling the notion of this settlement gave him. He had a vision of her walking away through a gated wall, her brown convent gown flowing gently around her as a door closed forever. But it was preferable to other visions that had plagued him the last few days, of her butchered on the battlefield or frozen in terror under Gurwant's body.
“I am done,” Catherine said.
He loosened the pressure but did not move his hand and arms. Anna breathed easier and the strap fell from her mouth, but her hands still clutched his arms.
He looked into blue eyes clearing of pain. “I have held down seasoned knights who were not so brave.”
“Before you came they were saying it was a punishment from God that I was wounded. For daring a man's deed. Not Catherine, but the others. I would not let them take their satisfaction in seeing me suffer.”
He had suspected as much. It had not occurred to him before that while the men accepted Anna, the women did not. They resented one of their own living as she did. How long had they been waiting for the sign from God that her independence was unacceptable, even for a saint? All the more reason for this to end.
“If you would leave us now, Morvan, I will bind the bandage on. Then she must rest,” Cather
ine said.
Anna dropped her hands. He brushed the damp curls from her face. She grabbed his hand. “Gurwant?”
“He awaits your pleasure. Sleep now. We will talk later of him.”
He left her and went outside and down to the door that led to the keep's ground level. Torches lit a narrow passage flanked by prison cells. Even in winter the foundations were damp with the smell of the sea.
He walked to a door and ordered the guard to unlock it. Three knights sat inside on floor pallets.
Gurwant stood, clutching his right arm to his body. His blond head nearly touched the ceiling, as Morvan's did. The cold blue eyes measured him.
Morvan remembered his fury when Anna's arrow had robbed him of the chance to kill this man. His only goal this day had been to free her from Gurwant's threat. Her mercy had not angered him so much as the insinuation that she doubted his skill. The thought still rancored him.
“Someone will come to tend your arm.”
“And then?”
“That is for the lady to decide. For my part, I will advise that she hang you.”
“She cannot do that. It will bring my whole family here to avenge me.”
“Maybe not. They must know what they have in you. A weak offshoot who loses an army to a woman. Even her wound is less than yours.”
Gurwant's eyes grew colder. “She was on the field? What kind of men serve her that she must fight for them?”
“Outnumbered men who beat you.”
He glanced down at his useless arm. “I am told she is an archer. I think that this work is hers.”
“She saved your life.”
“Nay, the life she saved was yours. But I think that someday we will find out for sure.”
“If you leave here alive and ever come back, I will be waiting for you.”
Gurwant smiled. “Who are you, knight, that you protect her so? Kin? I don't think so. Surely you know that you can never have her. She is mine. She has been mine since she was a girl. I put my mark on her then.”
“It looks to me that she put her mark on you.”
Gurwant's hand stroked the scar on his cheek, and he grinned. “Child's play. She was wilder then, and not too willing. But sweet in the end.”
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