by Shea,Lisa
The door flew open, and Edward turned, snarling. “You know I am to be left alone!” he thundered out, his voice sharp.
Coll’s eyes swept down to Morgan’s battered face, his mouth twisting in anger for a moment, then his gaze jumped back to Edward’s.
“Edward, you need to get out here,” he alerted in quick staccato.
Morgan heard it then – the tone of the gambling den had changed. Where before it had been a steady throb of raucous laughter and shouts of encouragement and frustration, now there was a hard edge to the yells, the heavy clanging of metal on metal.
A swordfight. Sean had come for her.
Edward heard it as well, swept her up hard by her arm, dragging her out through the doorway to stand alertly, gazing at the maelstrom his domain had become. His fingers dug into her upper arm as he stared out, his eyes quickly cataloguing the situation.
Morgan looked as well, counting. Much of the gambling group had apparently fled, but there were at least ten burly men left standing, swords and daggers out, facing the invaders. Phil had already singled out Sean, and the two men were circling in the center of the room, slamming sword into sword with focused effort. Oliver, Roger, and Peter each had their hands full with two attackers each. Christian was a whirling dervish, spinning even as she watched, slicing his opponent across his stomach, opening him up, sending the man to a collapsed heap on the floor. Christian’s eyes swept the area, landed on Morgan, took in her rumpled clothes, bruised head, and the solid grip on her arm with one long horrified look.
“Morgan!” he cried out in shock, his voice echoing out across the room. Four heads turned immediately, and all five men began driving hard, to defeat their opponents and get to her side.
Edward’s eyes sharpened with understanding, and he drew his stiletto in a sudden move, pulling hard to bring Morgan in toward him. Morgan saw in a glance how this would play out. She would be taken hostage. Her saviors would be forced to drop their weapons, then would be slain outright. She would be raped, held captive, and if she were very lucky, killed sooner rather than later.
She could not let Edward get her as a hostage. It would be better to die quickly, to escape the brutal future which lay before her.
She twisted hard against his grasp on her arm, her skin burning as his grip tightened down. His stiletto came up and she drove hard against him, ignoring the sharp sting of the blade slicing along her ribs. Her move threw him off balance, and she pulled free, diving for her boot.
She was able to get a hold of one of her daggers with her right hand, turning sharply, carving across his chest. A stripe of red followed her blade, and Edward howled in fury. He threw her hard on the ground, then stomped his boot, aiming for her hand. She rolled, twisted, came up in a crouch. He slashed out with his blade and she jumped back, barely avoiding the razor sharp point. He came at her hard, driving his arm in at neck height, catching her in a fierce slam against the back wall.
The breath was knocked out of her; her dagger flew out of her hand and skittered beneath a bench.
He moved to grab at her again, trying to twist her around and get his stiletto at her throat, to get her under his control. She would not allow that to happen, even if it killed her. She snarled, grabbing with both hands onto his right arm, biting down as hard as she could. He let loose with a furious yell, drawing in his left fist, slamming it in a body punch deep against her kidney. The world exploded around her, horrific pain deluged her body, and she fell hard to her knees.
He dragged her upright again by her left arm, and she flailed desperately for her remaining knife, drawing it from her other boot, slashing fiercely across his face as she rose. She caught him on the forehead and he screamed in fury. He vaulted straight at her, his weight overbearing her, his body driving her down hard onto his polished wood table. She slid along its surface, struggling to raise her dagger, reseating it in her right hand for a better aim. If she could just …
Edward swung down with his stiletto, its thin blade impaling her right hand straight through its center, and her dagger flew free from her pinned hand, landing on the side bench. She lay flat on her back, her eyes staring wildly past her hand, secured to the tabletop, to the red handled dagger now just beyond her reach. There was no pain yet; her body seemed to be in shock. She had no sensation anywhere, it seemed that the world had gone silent, that she was in a pause between seconds. Edward slowly, almost leisurely, picked up her dagger from the bench, then took her left hand and stretched it out full length to the other side of the table, so she lay splayed out along it. Slowly, carefully, he placed the point of his dagger against her left hand.
She raised her head with a weary sense of resignation. The men had all frozen before her, staring at her with shock. The fighting had stopped; all swords were held up at guard, but there were no more cries of attack, no more clangs of sword on sword. At Edward’s harsh nod, Phil, Coll, and the three other dealers remaining on their feet moved to join him on the platform, their faces becoming more smug as they saw the hesitation on the attackers’ faces.
Edward nodded. “So you are not random thieves after all,” he commented, looking from their faces to the battered, bleeding woman who lay before him. “I should have known that someone as beautiful as Morgan would have admirers to come after her.” His eyes narrowed at he stared at Oliver. “Yet, if you were concerned for her, why let her come in the first place? You had plenty of money. You could have easily given her the five pounds if you had wished. Why allow her to come into danger?”
Coll looked amongst the men, catching his breath. His eyes sharpened, and he stared at Sean more closely. “That man, there,” he growled in growing understanding. “He is the one who has been meeting with Eli’s lawyer, settling the estate.” His eyes roamed the others. “Two of the other men were at the funeral as well.”
Edward’s face widened into a smile. “Wait, this gets even better,” he chortled. “You are here to avenge Eli the gambler? Eli, the man who willingly entered into a series of loans which destroyed him? Believe me, if he had not come to me, he would have gone to someone else just as willing to lend him the money.” He shook his head, looking down at the bleeding woman on the table. “I could understand the action of friends avenging their dead ally. Certainly I have been known to do that once or twice myself. Still, to bring a woman into your plans? To send a woman in as bait?” He laughed in merriment. “You call yourselves men of honor?”
Morgan could see as their shoulders slumped, as they accepted the charge as just. Her strength drained out of her, her hope faded as the five men were ordered to their knees. Phil and the other two ruffians moved to stand around them, swords drawn.
Christian’s voice was hoarse. “The sheriff will be here soon,” he warned. “If you leave Morgan alone, you might get mercy.”
Edward laughed, shaking his head. “That dark haired one must be Sean there, in your center,” he mused half to himself. “I know of Sean and his reputation. His presence means you are trying to do this without disgracing Eli or his family. I doubt you have told the sheriff anything about your activities. You are here on your own, and now you are completely in my hands.”
Edward glanced dismissively down at Morgan’s limp form, turning away from her to look out at his men, nodding to Coll to join him. Coll moved in close, keeping his face turned from the men arrayed on the main floor.
“Coll,” whispered Edward, his voice low. “Get out to Cassandra right away. She is at Lady Donna’s keep. Find out from her which she would prefer – Sean alive or dead. The others will be slain, but if it serves her purposes better to keep Sean around for a few weeks, I would hate to interfere with her plans.” He chuckled cynically. “If she wants him dead, I imagine for her sake that we can ensure he dies ‘nobly’, defending his honor as a soldier should.”
Morgan, her left hand now released, curled up in a fetal position around her impaled right palm, making an ineffective dam around the wound with her fingers. The thin blade had seemingly missed bon
e on its way through, but the blood pouring out was profuse. Sensation was returning to her injured hand, and throbbing also burgeoned to life in her head, her kidney, the countless other wounds her body had borne. She lifted her head slightly, looking out at the five men who knelt in the center of the room. Their eyes were fixed on hers, holding a mixture of sorrow and fury and resignation.
Morgan had no doubt that, whatever message Cassandra sent back, four of her friends would die tonight. She could see her own life’s blood flowing out of her. Soon she would not have the energy left to take any action at all. It was best to go out fighting, to go out striving for what was right. It was best to do something, even if the action was completely hopeless.
The only reason her friends waited motionless is they did not want to see her further hurt. If she could get free – or even if she got herself killed – her friends would be free to act, to escape.
Coll turned from the platform, walked down the room and out toward the main door. This was her chance. It was her one and only opportunity to make things right.
She raised her sticky fingers from where she had been pressing into the wound, and the blood began flowing again, the pain seeping into her consciousness. She did not have long. She knew from experience that soon the agony would overwhelm her, would make all conscious thought impossible. She had only a few moments. She grasped the stiletto which stood up from the table with her left hand, gritted her teeth, then lunged upwards with all her might.
The weapon stuck … it stuck … it slid … it came free in her grasp. Blood sprayed from her open wound, the pain slicing in at her from all sides. She screamed out in torment, in fury, in a final gasp at life, and whirled around, driving the blade hard into Edward’s chest.
He gasped in surprise, looking around wildly to see where the assault had come from. His eyes went glassy as they met hers, and then he was sliding down to his knees, down to his back, and he was sprawled on the ground, dead.
Morgan stood, weaving, looking down at him, and then the floor was racing up to meet her. She threw out her hands, screaming, and the world slammed into blackness.
Chapter 15
Morgan groaned, every inch of her body racked in agony. She turned her head. Her splitting headache cascaded on itself and she fought a tsunami of nearly uncontrollable nausea. Her hand felt as if it were roasting in a baker’s oven. She pried her eyes open, turning to see Daniel sitting at the chair beside her, his eyes creased with worry. He held a mug in his hands, offering it to her with a steady hand.
“It is my own concoction,” he offered quietly. “Lavender, chamomile, a few other things. It will help you heal.”
Morgan looked around her bedroom slowly in concern, cautiously pushing herself up to a sitting position with her one good hand. She bit her lip to hold back the throbbing pain. “Where are the others?” she ground out, her throat feeling as if it were filled with gravel. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Over twenty four hours,” he answered, pressing the mug into her left hand, “and everyone is fine. A few cuts and bruises, but nothing nearly as bad as the wounds you bear.”
Morgan’s heart glowed, and she let out a long, shuddering breath. They were all right. It had all been worth it – they had been saved, had made it home in one piece. She took the mug from Daniel, drinking down the warm liquid with a grateful smile.
“Where are they?” she asked, finishing and handing him back the mug.
Daniel looked away, his face tense. “They are down with the sheriff right now. He and his men arrived about ten minutes ago; it was probably Donna’s departure which woke you. She has been by your side since you arrived.” His eyes remained downcast, and his voice grew more serious. “It is said that men were killed.”
Alarm shot through her body. The sheriff would hang Sean, would hang them all for their parts in the deaths. She had to speak out in their defense. If she did not move quickly …
She struggled to swing her legs around, ignoring Daniel’s hoarse pleas. Her right hand was swaddled in a thick cloth, and her head had several bandages on it, but she pushed through the intense pain, pulled open her closet and drew out a brown dress to pull over her chemise. Daniel gave up on holding her back and put his arm beneath hers to support her, moving out down the hallway and slowly, carefully, step by step down the main stairs into the great hall.
It seemed that the entire keep had turned out for the meeting. Lady Donna sat at the center of the table, along with Sean, Cassandra, and the four men. Soldiers moved amongst the throng, their eyes sharp and serious. The rest of the castle folk and servants milled around in interest, eager to learn what was going on.
The room went dead silent as Morgan and Daniel entered the room. Sean and Oliver were out of their seats in a heartbeat, then pressed back down to sit by the soldiers who stood nearby. Morgan felt every eye upon her as she struggled to move across the room, to draw to a stop before the sheriff. She looked over his wrinkled face, his graying beard, all so familiar to her.
“Laurence. I hear you wish to see me,” she bit out hoarsely, the pain beginning to edge in on her more seriously. She prayed for the strength to make it through this interview.
“Morgan, we meet again,” agreed Laurence readily, standing. He looked over her injuries, and his eyes gentled. “You really have done it this time, Morgan,” he added softly. “Sit down, at least, before you fall over.”
Sean’s voice was a growl. “She should not be up,” he insisted. “This can wait another day or two, surely.”
Laurence shook his head. “We run a tight ship in this county,” he instructed Sean, “and we do not brook interference by strangers. Morgan and I are well acquainted, and I know she can play fast and loose with rules when she sees fit.” He sat down on the chair next to her, turning it to face her straight on. “Get her a mead, I am sure she needs one.”
The drink was brought and Morgan barely looked at the mug before tossing it back down her throat. The flavor was good, smooth, helped to dull the pain if only for a moment.
Laurence leant back. “I know you to be a truthful woman; do not disappoint me now,” he encouraged her, looking over her injuries with an appreciative look. “I had only just begun to question the men, but we might as well hear the news straight from your lips.”
His eyes swiveled to meet Lady Donna’s. “To fill you in, M’Lady, yesterday morning we heard reports from several wives that their husbands had returned home with injuries, claiming to have been waylaid by ruffians. Given the locations of the homesteads, Edward’s gambling den seemed a likely enough place to begin our questioning. We rode out there, and discovered the place had been turned upside down. Six men dead, including Edward himself, stabbed through the heart on the center of his own throne area.”
Lady Donna’s face went pale, but she held herself with steady calm. “Why would you feel Morgan or my men had anything to do with this situation?”
Laurence lowered his hand into the leather bag by his side, withdrawing a scroll and laying it before her. “We have a document at the scene which indicates Morgan had, just that very night, taken out a loan from the gamblers for five pounds.”
Lady Donna gasped in disbelief, her eyes turning to latch onto Morgan’s. “Morgan, if you had needed money, you should have come to me!”
Laurence waved a hand at her, gently silencing her. “We also found these, stained with blood.” He motioned to a soldier, and the man came forward emptying out a large cloth bag. Morgan’s three red-hilted daggers came clattering down onto the table. She winced at the noise, her eyes unfocusing then slowly refocusing again.
Laurence’s eyes were steady on her. “We have already brought these by your father,” he added. “Asa has identified them as the blades he made for you for your eighteenth birthday.” The sheriff paused for a long moment. “One of them was found in Edward’s bedroom.”
Morgan’s voice filled with fury. “You spoke with my father?” she shot out, latching onto the only important par
t of his statement. She half rose without thinking. Pain shafted through her as if a knife attack had hit her in the spine. She moaned, sinking back down into her chair. Sean’s face creased with worry, but again the soldiers held him in place.
Laurence sat back, lacing his fingers together. His eyes remained cool.
“Oh yes, your mother had some interesting information for us. She said she saw you leave the Rusty Nail – willingly – with a gambler named Coll. Said that Coll was the worst type of lowlife imaginable, and that you had disgraced her by taking up with those sorts.”
Morgan held her breath. Had her mother mentioned Oliver as well? Maybe her mother’s distress over her own behavior had caused her to forget Oliver’s part. She could only hope that was the case, that the others would not be dragged into this mess.
Laurence suddenly leant in. “Were you at the riverside gambling den two nights ago?”
It seemed useless to deny it, with so much evidence already gathered. “Yes.”
“What happened?” asked Laurence, his voice rich with curiosity.
Morgan kept her eyes lowered. If any of the other men were implicated, then the nature of their business would be drawn out. They would be implicated for a premeditated act of revenge for Eli – exposing them to the possibility of hanging, and Eli’s family to humiliation. On the other hand, if she took it on herself …
“I wanted to go gambling and drinking,” she murmured. “I did not want to get the money from Lady Donna. When I ran into Coll at the Rusty Nail, and heard about Edward, I immediately knew I had found what I sought.”