The Overlord's Bride

by Margaret Moore

  By the time Raymond and his men arrived at the farm, the byre and house were ablaze. Chickens flapped around the yard in a panic. Inside the byre, an ox bellowed.

  Raymond spotted the tenant’s body face down in the dirt, an arrow protruding from his back. He recognized the man. His name was Dennis, and he had a wife and children.

  Turning his gaze away from the terrible sight, Raymond surveyed the yard. The attackers were long gone.

  “Put out the fire,” he commanded Hale, who immediately sent his men to form a line between the well and the house.

  “Get the ox,” he ordered another soldier close to him. The man hurried to obey.

  Then, covering his mouth with his hand and squinting against the smoke, Raymond ran into the dwelling.

  The woman lay beside the hearth where she had fallen, an arrow through her throat. Nearby, lying with their heads upon the table as if asleep, sat two children, a boy and a girl.

  Their small throats had been cut.

  Raymond had seen many dead people in his years, but no sight ever sickened him as this did.

  He stumbled back outside, silently vowing that he would find the men who did this and they would face justice. He would prove who was behind this. Then he would see them all executed for murder.

  A mounted patrol arrived. Every man looked horrified, and new worry creased their faces.

  The leader quickly dismounted. “We saw a group of mounted men riding off toward Montross’s land five miles off and gave chase, my lord,” he said, his eyes full of sorrow and remorse. “They made it off your land, so we turned to go back. It was then we saw the smoke. They must have done this.”

  “When were you last here?”

  “This morning.”

  “You saw nothing amiss then?”

  “No, my lord, but we tried to talk Dennis into going to the castle for safety, him being so close to Montross’s estate. His wife was all for it, but he said he wasn’t going to be chased off by that…well, he called him that sorry bugger, my lord.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he called him, now that he is dead.”

  “No, my lord, I don’t suppose it does,” the man replied grimly.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “We went on our way, to the west.”

  “And these men, what did they look like?”

  “Tough, my lord, and well-armed. Pretty clear they were up to no good. They led us a merry chase.” His gaze faltered. “I know now they was leadin’ us away from here. I wish we’d come upon ’em before, not after. I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “I am sorry, too—but it would have been better if Dennis had listened to you. He did not.” He regarded the mournful soldier intently. “Would you recognize any of those men again?”

  “One of ’em I would,” he said firmly. “Big ugly brute with a scar.”

  “Good.”

  “My lord!” one of the soldiers cried, pointing east over the trees toward another plume of thick dark smoke rising in the sky.

  “And there!” cried another, gesturing to the west.

  After the instant of shock had passed, fierce and righteous anger surged through Raymond. Montross had to be behind a series of attacks and by God, he would pay!

  “You, take your patrol to the west,” he commanded the leader of the second group to arrive. “The rest, with me to the east.”

  They mounted and rode, and Raymond hoped they would not be too late to prevent more bloodshed. Please, God, he silently prayed, let me not be too late—and let Montross be there!

  But Montross was not at either farm.

  He was headed elsewhere.

  Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open as another pain assaulted her body. The pangs were too strong and came too regularly, albeit far apart, for her to think she was not in labor. She clenched her teeth and waited for the pain to pass.

  The babe was ready to come into the world, whether it was a good time or not, but perhaps not for some hours yet.

  The midwife had told her first labors usually took a long while. These days, Raymond was happiest—or at least the least troubled—when he was patrolling. Let him come home in his own time. There was no urgent need to summon him yet, surely.

  There was a noise outside, like the rushing of the wind, or rain falling.

  “My lady!” Greta called out as she pounded on the bedchamber door. “My lady, they’ve attacked the outlying farms.”

  Beside the bed, Cadmus got to his feet and barked.

  “Attacked the farms?” Elizabeth repeated as the pain ebbed. “Quiet, Cadmus.”

  He stopped barking as she eased herself to her feet and made her way to the door.

  Greta looked too frightened even to cry. “They’ve attacked at least three farms, my lady,” she exclaimed. “You can see the fires.” Her whole arm trembling, Greta pointed at the window.

  Elizabeth slowly went to look, grabbing the sill to steady herself. Greta was right; smoke from three fires rose in the distance. And the noise she heard was the babble of panicked voices as equally frightened villagers and their livestock streamed into the courtyard.

  Where was Raymond? And the patrols? Had they been attacked? Lured out of the castle and set upon by Montross and his mercenaries?

  As Greta started to weep, Elizabeth made a decision. No one must know she was in labor. Not yet. Not while this was going on. She had plenty of time before the baby would come. The midwife had said so.

  Elizabeth wanted to speak to Barden and do what must be done to protect Donhallow and its people; when all was as secure as possible, she would summon the midwife, who might even be here already, with the others.

  Reassured by that thought, she turned toward Greta.

  “When were the fires spotted?”

  “A moment ago. Barden sent me here right away to tell you.”

  “I must speak to him.”

  Greta looked at Elizabeth’s swollen belly, then her face. “My lady, are you sure? He can come—”

  “Take me to the hall, then send for him.”

  Greta, calmer now, did as she was told and helped her to the hall, one wary eye on Cadmus all the while.

  Once there, Elizabeth sent a soldier to ask Barden to come to the hall.

  Another pain struck her while she waited and she struggled to betray no hint of her agony. She had hidden her pain many times before in the convent; she would do so now until things were under control.

  When he still did not come, she said to Greta, “Help me to the door. I will go to Barden. No doubt he is too busy to come to me.”

  They reached the door just as Barden dashed up the steps. The noise in the courtyard was overwhelming as frightened people milled around uncertainly. More were rushing through the gates, carrying bundles and leading animals, so that the gate was jammed.

  “Are all the patrols still out?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Have you sent out any reinforcements?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Do so.”

  Barden shook his head. “I regret, my lady, that Lord Kirkheathe told me that under no circumstances was I to send out more men. We are to guard Donhallow, no matter what.”

  Elizabeth chewed her lip in frustration. The patrols were twenty men at most; if Montross sent a large force against them, it would not be good, even if Raymond’s men joined together to fight him.

  Yet Raymond had given this man a direct command that she was sure Barden would not disobey.

  “How many more people are coming to the castle?”

  The commander glanced back. “Too many. We cannot close the gates, my lady, and we must.”

  “Not yet,” she said, thinking of the families desperately hurrying to get inside. “Surely the patrols can hold the attackers away from the village.”

  Even if they all died.

  Even if Raymond died.

  She mustn’t think of that. Her duty now was to see to her people in their hour of need, and save as many of them as she could.
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  “My lady, we must close the gates.”

  “A little more time,” she insisted. She sucked in her breath as another pain hit her.

  “My lady, are you—?”

  “I am fine. Send some of your men to hurry the people. Tell them no more animals. Oxen are too slow.”

  “What if they won’t leave their livestock?”

  The pain ebbed, replaced by a different sort of ache as she felt the full impact of what it meant to be the chatelaine of a castle at such a time. “Tell them that we must close the gates at once and the courtyard is too full as it is. If they still refuse, give them this choice: leave the animals, or stay outside to die with them.”

  Awe flared in Barden’s cool gray eyes. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Go now, and give the orders.” She made a small, compassionate smile. “I think most of them will decide to live.”

  He turned on his heel, then glanced back. “My lord chose his wife well,” he said.

  There was a sound, a hiss of air—and then an arrow struck Barden in the chest. Greta screamed, a high-pitched screech that rent the air. Elizabeth, too shocked to make a sound, watched in horror as Barden fell to his knees, then tumbled down the steps.

  The crowd in the courtyard erupted into pandemonium. People screamed, shouted, sobbed and tried to run inside whatever building was nearest. Elizabeth grabbed Greta and, despite her pain, grabbed hold of her arm to keep her from running away in panic. More men were pouring in through the gate and joining with hers in combat.

  Somebody grabbed her arm, and tugged them both back into the hall.

  It was Aiken, white to the lips. A group of women and children had also taken refuge there and they huddled together. Despite their silence, their pale faces and wide eyes told Elizabeth they were terrified.

  She wanted to say something, to reassure them, but at that moment, another pain assailed her. She pressed her lips together and tried to stay on her feet, forcing herself to think, as duty demanded.

  Greta, however, fell to her knees, sobbing.

  Elizabeth ignored her and as soon as she felt able to speak, she addressed Aiken. “Who is in command now?”

  “I don’t know, my lady,” Aiken replied, glancing down at his wife.

  “Then you are.”

  He looked up at her swiftly. “My lady?”

  “I put you in command of Donhallow until my lord returns.”

  The man nodded, and she was pleased to see that color returned to his cheeks. “I will do my best, my lady.”

  “I know it.”

  “No!” Greta wailed.

  “I must have a good man in charge,” Elizabeth said, trying to be kind, but more determined that Aiken take command of the men outside.

  “After I leave,” he said firmly, “close these doors and let no one in. Fetch water from the kitchen in case they try to fire the roof.”

  Another pain, the worst yet, struck Elizabeth and she held to the wall, panting and hoping she wouldn’t swoon. She couldn’t swoon.

  Nor could she stay here, or people would know she was in labor. They had other things to concern them now. They had to save Donhallow, just as she had to protect her unborn child. Raymond’s child.

  Yet it was her duty to offer leadership to her people until Raymond returned, especially to those in the hall once Aiken was gone.

  She could not do that while this agony gripped her.

  “I’m leaving you now, my lady,” Aiken said, “and I give you my word—my lady, what is it?”

  “I have to lie down.”

  “Greta, help my lady.”

  The sobbing woman got to her feet and wiped her nose.

  Elizabeth waved her off as the pain subsided. “Stay here and help the others until Aiken’s orders have been carried out,” she said with all the authority she could muster. The last thing she wanted now was Greta, with her terror-stricken eyes and nervous hands.

  Greta mercifully obeyed.

  “Come, Cadmus,” Elizabeth said, putting her hand on his large head for support.

  They slowly began to make their way toward her bedchamber.

  She hoped her people would later understand why she seemed to be abandoning them. She had no choice.

  Surely they would be safe in the hall. And the rest of the tenants and villagers, too. Montross would be a fool to kill them, or who would work the estate and pay his tithes, supposing he wrested control of it from Raymond, which he could only do by killing him—

  At that thought, a cry of anguish broke from her lips. Montross was a fool, the kind of fool who would kill for revenge. The kind of fool who would get at a man through his wife, or his child.

  She splayed her hand on the wall at the onset of a spasm and closed her eyes. Below, she could hear the movement of furniture as the women blockaded the door. There was nothing more she could do here.

  “Please, God, protect us all, and let them give us time,” she murmured, knowing what she had to do.

  She had to protect her baby.

  As the pain passed and she opened her eyes, she spotted the nick. She pushed and the little door to the passage swung open.

  Dear God, how was she going to get through that?

  She must, and she would.

  Cadmus nuzzled her leg.

  She needed time. Time to get away. Time to hide.

  Time to bear her child away from here.

  If Montross and his men thought she was still in Donhallow…

  “Cadmus, sit.” The dog did as she ordered, although his whole body quivered and his bottom barely touched the ground.

  “Cadmus, stay.”

  He started to whimper and inched forward.

  “Stay!”

  Holding the wall for support, she slowly knelt and turned around so that she would be moving backward through the opening and down the slick, narrow steps. If she stood, or even tried to stand, she might slip and fall, or faint.

  With one hand protecting her belly, she crawled back through the door, nearly gagging on the fetid air.

  It was going to be dark, too.

  There was no other way. She had to protect Raymond’s baby.

  Once more she looked at the anxious dog. “Stay, Cadmus,” she whispered softly. “That’s a good dog.”

  Then she pushed the door closed.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Run!”

  The warning cry went up from the attackers as Raymond and his men rode toward the burning cottage.

  Raymond could see at least five men, including one holding down a struggling young woman and another on top of her fumbling with her skirts.

  One hand holding his reins, his teeth bared like a wild animal, Raymond reached for his sword and drew it in one fluid motion as he bore down upon them.

  The man holding the woman let go of her and joined his comrades fleeing into the wood. The other struggled to his feet, trying to pull up his breeches at the same time.

  Raymond forgot what he said about taking these men alive.

  In the next moment, the would-be rapist’s head rolled away from his falling body while the terrified woman screamed.

  Raymond barely took note as he urged Castor into the wood after the men. His soldiers likewise scattered in chase.

  He would get them all. Kill them all.

  Where were they? His shoulders heaving as he breathed in great gasps of air, he drew his horse to a halt and listened. He heard his men, their shouts and the clang of sword on sword.

  His pulse still racing, he commanded himself to be calm and think. The brigands were not going to escape and by God, they would tell him who had ordered them here. They would incriminate Montross. These attacks were too bold and too numerous to be anything but a concerted attack by his enemy, who was probably comfortably back in his castle, ready to deny any wrongdoing. He would likely say the men acted without his leave, and then—

  Raymond’s heart leaped to his throat and he couldn’t breathe.

  For what if Montross were not in hi
s castle. What if these attacks were a feint, intended to lure him out of Donhallow, so that Montross could—

  Raymond opened his mouth to shout to his men to return.

  He couldn’t shout. He hadn’t been able to yell since Allicia had ruined his voice. He couldn’t call to his men to join him and get back to Donhallow.

  But he could not wait.

  Soon, very soon, Raymond D’Estienne was going to know what real torment was, Fane thought with a satisfied smile as he crept up the slick steps, a torch in his hand to light the way up the secret passage. Soon, very soon, he was going to know how it felt to lose someone you loved with your whole heart, as Raymond had never loved Allicia.

  If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to kill her.

  He was so close to having his vengeance on Raymond! Indeed, after all these years, the waiting outside the village until he heard his mercenaries breach the gates of Donhallow had been nearly unbearable.

  But they had, and now they were doing what they liked inside Raymond’s castle.

  And these were not the few mercenaries Raymond and the earl knew about. These were different men, hired and paid in secret, carefully chosen, kept far away until it was nearly time for Raymond’s wife to bear his brat. He had contact with only one of the outlaws, a disgusting, violent man he had found in London long ago. This way, if they were caught looting Donhallow, only one could name Montross—one outlaw, whose word could never stand up before the courts. The louts could take whatever they wanted from Donhallow and kill anybody who tried to stop them, once they had taken the lady of Donhallow to her bedchamber and locked her in, alone.

  Oh, yes, Fane thought with satisfaction even as the sweat trickled down his back, he had planned and chosen well. All Raymond would know was that someone had killed his wife and unborn child. Let him suspect all he wanted; without proof, there was nothing he could do, which would add to his hell on earth.

  Fane’s foot slipped and he put out his free hand to steady himself. The walls were as damp and slimy as the steps, and his lip curled with revulsion as he wiped his palm off on his breeches.

  One night Allicia had stumbled just like this as she went up the tower steps. She had put out her hand, as he had just done, and found the opening. The next day, she had taken a candle and investigated, going the full way down to the exit in the holly bushes. She had never told Raymond of her discovery, just as he had not shared this secret with her.