by Wood, Lynn
Michel squeezed her to his side, and then bent to place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Though she refrained from pressing him, Melissa was very much aware of the promise that failed to pass his lips. She closed her eyes against the fresh sting of tears. She was aware of the reason for her twin’s inability to honor her request. Michel would never make a promise to her he wasn’t certain he could keep.
Chapter Twenty Seven
They left for Normandy the following morning. Melissa was glad when Luke allowed her the privacy of her thoughts as she rode beside him. Even Arden seemed to understand her sorrow at this fresh parting with her family. When Luke offered to take their company by Heaven’s Crest so she could bid farewell to Rhiann, Melissa declined his generous offer. She’d already delayed him enough. It was time for Luke to return home and assume his duties as the Michaels family heir, and it was time for her to show him she meant to be a good wife to him. Likely not a particularly compliant or dutiful wife, but a loving one, and Luke seemed satisfied with her the way she was.
Later in the afternoon, when she was so tired she didn’t think she could keep her eyes open another moment, she asked Luke if she could ride with him for a while, and smiling tenderly he lifted her off Arden’s back and into his arms. Sighing her relief, she snuggled close into his strong embrace and immediately fell asleep, unaware of the way her husband’s arms tightened around her, and how he adjusted his cloak to tuck the ends close around her so she wouldn’t feel the cold.
Luke said it would only take them about a week of travel on horseback to reach where the boat awaited them to ferry them across the channel, so on the morning of the tenth day, she looked around as they prepared to break camp, and seeing no sign of water, inquired of her husband. “Will we reach the ship today?”
Luke smiled down into her hopeful face. He’d slowed their pace after the first day when he realized his wife’s delicate condition was taking a greater toll on her than even she realized. They stopped regularly on the pretense of resting and watering the horses, but he noted how his wife was having difficulty finding a comfortable seat on Arden’s back and the way she spent most afternoons asleep in his arms. Though she’d yet to offer him a word of complaint, he was relieved to be able to inform her their journey home was almost at an end. “Yes, we’ll reach the ship by evening and you will have a bed to sleep in tonight and a warm bath to soak away your stiffness.”
Melissa made no effort to disguise her relief at his words. “I know you thought we would be only seven days on the road, but you’ve slowed our pace because of me, haven’t you?”
Luke could tell by her soft whisper she was embarrassed at being the cause of their delay in reaching the ship. “Melissa, there’s no need for you to worry about such things. What kind of husband would I be if I did not take heed of your greater need to stop and rest when you are carrying my heir?”
Melissa sighed and leaned into his arms. “I was afraid you noticed.”
Luke lifted her chin with his hand so she would be forced to meet his gaze. “Of course I noticed. I notice everything about you. Your pregnancy is not a weakness in my eyes, wife. It is a blessing. I only begrudge our extra days and nights on the road because they add to your discomfort.”
Melissa raised her eyes to his. “I’m trying to be more like Rhiann and be a pleasing wife to you.”
Luke grinned at her whispered admission. “How long do you imagine you’ll be able to keep that up?”
Smiling in response to his teasing, Melissa admitted, “I have no idea. So I suggest you appreciate your compliant, dutiful wife while you have one.”
Laughing, Luke hugged her close, then helped her mount.
Later as the sun rode passed its zenith in the sky Melissa refrained from seeking the comfort of her husband’s arms for her usual afternoon nap. Whenever he looked towards her by his side on Arden’s back, she smiled a reassurance she was far from feeling. The truth was every limb ached from the effort of remaining upright on her mount. She didn’t want Luke to know how tired she was because she was afraid he would insist on stopping for the night and she had her heart set on the warm bath he promised her earlier. So she kept up a brave front and allowed her mind to drift where it would. Anywhere it chose was preferable to her to the monotony of the ride and the reminder of her aching back and shoulders.
So when she heard his familiar voice drifting through her thoughts, she didn’t immediately understand the significance of his presence. She assumed he’d taken pity on her and decided to keep her company for a while on the seemingly endless trek. Then the implication of his attendance on her struck forcibly and she reached over to pull on Luke’s sleeve to gain his attention. He was distracted by something he saw in the distance and did not immediately answer her summons, but when he did, it was with a grave expression on his face. He seemed to force a smile for her benefit and asked, “What is it, love? I’m afraid we can’t stop now.”
Melissa leaned across the distance separating them and whispered urgently into his ear. “He’s here.”
Puzzled, Luke drew back to stare into her eyes. “Who’s here?”
Melissa rolled her eyes in his direction and insisted in a fierce whisper. “The one I told you about. Remember? The one you didn’t believe me when I told you about him.”
Comprehension dawned in an instant and Luke swore under his breath, even as he urged his mount closer to her side in an instinctive protective gesture. Melissa shook her head, and scanned the horizon, taking in their surroundings. They were passing through a narrow valley between two large peaks on either side of them. Understanding crashed over her and for a moment she thought she might faint. Luke reached out to right her. “Melissa. Melissa what is it?”
Her dazed eyes met his. “He’s not here for me,” she relayed in a soft voice.
“Then who is he here for?” Luke demanded urgently.
Melissa’s eyes once more scanned the surrounding hills, but they were no longer empty. On both sides were dozens of soldiers lined up preparing to attack. “For them. He’s here because of them.”
Luke followed her gaze and knew it was too late. He was aware of the company following them, but could not know their numbers or their purpose. He suspected they were not a Norman patrol, otherwise they would have made known their presence to them by now. His initial hope was that they were simply a scattered band of refugees who would hesitate to attack a well-armed company such as theirs. His plan was to push towards the ship where additional men awaited them. He could not risk engaging them as long as Melissa remained within their midst, but now it appeared as if he no longer had a choice in the matter. The way the men were lined up on the surrounding hills, both in front and behind them, revealed their plan was to not only engage them, but to pin them in so there would be no chance of escape for their much smaller force.
Luke could see only a dozen or so horses among them, but the number of the enemy on foot was triple their own numbers and more than enough to prevent their escape either forward or backward. No, their best hope was to press forward, and if the opportunity presented itself, to flee towards the ship and the reinforcements awaiting them there. His greatest fear was for his wife. He recognized the foes confronting them were likely Saxon rebels. Some of the soldiers still wore their previous lord’s colors. He turned to Melissa and gripped her shoulders, imploring her in an urgent voice.
“Melissa, Arden can outrun any mount. When the opportunity presents itself you must flee towards the sea.” His voice trailed off at the look on his wife’s face.
“No, husband. I will not leave you.”
“Melissa, they are Saxon, they won’t…”
He stopped mid-sentence when Melissa simply regarded him with sympathy in her gaze and said softly, “They are no longer Saxon husband. They barely retain the mantle of men. My ancestry will make no difference to them.”
Luke accepted she spoke the truth and he understood the consequences to his wife if they lost this battle and if she was u
nable to escape their enemy’s clutches. He realized she understood those consequences as well as he did. “If things go ill for us…”
“Then I will die at my husband’s side as is my right.”
He glanced down to where she already clutched her dagger in her hand. “Don’t let them get close enough to take that from you.”
“Do not worry. I am well aware there are worse fates than death by my own hand at the end of a sharp blade.”
Luke nodded, his eyes filled with regret, then turned his attention to where Rafe sat astride his own mount. Melissa observed the meaningful glance the two men exchanged, and then as if in silent communion her husband’s soldiers and their horses began moving. Melissa was jostled by the horses, pinned in on all sides, as their small party formed themselves into a series of tight circles around her. She understood her husband was protecting her, using his men as a shield to keep the enemy from reaching the center. The way they were formed now, all of Luke’s men would have to be slain in order for the enemy to reach her. Melissa was grateful for their protection and the willingness of her husband’s men to die in her place, but she clutched her dagger tightly, very much aware of the staggering odds against them. At that moment the enemy’s leader roared his battle cry in a signal to attack, and the enemy swarmed down the surrounding hillsides, coming at their small company from both sides.
As the two sides engaged each other Melissa caught only glimpses of her husband between the broad shoulders of his soldiers encircling her. She heard Luke yell to hold formation even as he and a few others rode out to meet the enemy, his sword in his hand. The only advantage she could see their small company held against the overwhelming numbers of their attackers was that they were all mounted, while the enemy had only a few horses between them.
The sound of the first clash of broadswords assaulted her senses, followed quickly by the agonized cry of the wounded and dying. Melissa gripped her dagger and looked anxiously around her, realizing almost instantly she was a useless encumbrance to her husband and his loyal men in this fight, her only purpose to distract their focus from the battle itself to ensure she remained safely cocooned in their protective circle.
Within bare minutes of the initial clash between the two sides the dead and dying littered the ground around their tight circle. It was probably a sin, but Melissa rejoiced to see none of Luke’s men lying in the rising pool of blood staining the fresh green grass. It was obvious even to her untrained eye they were far more skilled in the ways of battle than their counterparts. After months of war their proficiency was finely honed. As the victors of the war that raged across her country, they’d eaten well over the past months. Their attackers had not been so fortunate. Their cloaks, if they had them, were stained and tattered. Their arms and chests lacked the muscle of her husband’s men and there were as many clumsily fashioned clubs as swords among the weapons they assaulted them with.
Melissa was suddenly struck by the realization that if her brothers and the soldiers of Heavens Crest had not been killed in the invasion, they might very well be among the men seeking their revenge against Luke and his men. She was dizzy at the thought she might be able to recognize some of the faces of those who now sought her death as the same men who once would have given their lives to protect her. She scanned their faces now, witnessed their fury and hatred for all things Norman, including the woman in their midst. They knew she was there, and understood what Luke’s men protected in the center of their circle. A few yelled obscenities at her from outside its protective ring, accompanied by obscene promises of what they would do to her when all her defenders were dead.
Melissa could not close her ears to their vile threats any more than she could block out the chaotic clashes of the battle going on around her, or the stench of death rising from the ground beneath her feet to assault her senses. Her hand instinctively closed tighter around the dagger she already clenched so fiercely her knuckles were white. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her but she fought it back. She forced herself to take deep breaths even as tears stung her eyes that sought a sign of her husband in the horror surrounding her. She believed she had experienced the worst evil man was capable of when she fought off Luke’s brother’s assault, but she was wrong. Somehow she could understand a single man’s depraved lust, but the nightmare she was a witness to today could not gain purchase in her dazed thoughts. What madness possessed a man’s heart that he could plot such a course of butchery? To kill an individual who was doing his best to kill you, she could comprehend, but to launch an invasion of another land, for the sole purpose of claiming its throne, knowing a massive loss of life was the inevitable result, was beyond her comprehension.
She always assumed she could ride out with the warriors when they confronted some unknown threat to her people. She felt extremely confident she could be an asset in such a contest. Only now as the blood of the fallen drenched her cloak, and Arden danced nimbly in its growing, sucking depths, did she acknowledge the depths of her misconception. No wonder Michel had only laughed at her misplaced pride in her warrior’s abilities. He never attempted to change her mind, made no effort to open her eyes to the heinous truth of what it meant to line up with your friends and brothers and hack away with a broadsword at another man’s friends and brothers, until there was nothing left, until none remained standing for you to hack away at.
She understood this was a battle to the death, theirs or their enemies. There would be no middle ground, no surrender and discussion of peace terms. She swayed in the saddle, causing Arden to toss his head, as if to convey his concern. He was right. She needed to stay alert. If they lost this fight, she would not plead for mercy, nor would she subject herself or the child she carried to the vile, violent lust of their attackers.
Shifting in the saddle and turning her gaze, for a moment she caught a glimpse of Luke’s beloved face. His dark hair was caked with sweat and blood, and streaks of it streamed down his face. His focus was on the three men who surrounded him, brandishing both clubs and a single sword. He parried the thrust of the sword, even as he grimaced as the club hit home near his knee. With a swift stroke of his sword, the man who brandished the club lost his head above the neck. Melissa closed her eyes against the sight of the dead man sinking to the ground to join his comrades, but not before his severed member doused her husband in another coat of their enemies’ blood. How long could this nightmare continue? Even though dozens of bodies lay sprawled on the ground, there seemed to be no lessening in the numbers of their enemy. How long could Luke and his men continue to stand against odds of three and four to one?
For a single precious moment Luke’s glance shifted in her direction. She knew it was to ensure himself of her safety, and their eyes met across the bath of blood and destruction separating them. She somehow forced what she must assume was a garish parody of a reassuring smile to her lips, and the light that sparked for just a fraction of a moment in his dark eyes told her he appreciated her effort, even as he turned his focus back to the battle to defend himself against another assault. Her eyes clung to her husband’s sword, wielded by an expert hand as it dispatched challenger after challenger. He showed no signs of wearying beneath the seemingly never ending waves the enemy sent to challenge his unforgiving sword.
The battle wore on as the sun dipped towards the west. Though none of Luke’s men had yet fallen, she could see the weariness on their sweat-glistened faces, noticed the swords that earlier in the day rang out with such strength were a fraction slower to counter than they were at the battle’s inception. How could they not be, when her own hand ached from the effort of clutching her little dagger in its grasp? She was aware the circle around her no longer held as tight as it once did and more than once Arden had skirted to the side to evade the bold attack of one of their enemy who managed to breach their defenses and reach for her. Each time the man paid with his life for his audacity as one of her husband’s men turned before the enemy was able to get around Arden’s nimble gait and pull her from the
saddle. But even in her inexperience she recognized such fissures in their defenses were occurring more frequently than they had earlier. Fear and regret rose in equal measures in her breast as she realized this might very well be the last day she would wake in her husband’s arms. The child she carried might never have the chance to see what he or she would become.
The agonized cry was close this time. Too close, and distracted her from her own worries. There was blood pouring from a fresh wound on the soldier responsible for defending her right side. Still he fought to lift his sword arm before the enemy, this one brandishing a blood-soaked sword, could sever his injured limb and get behind him to capture the prize he protected. Seeing the man raise his sword, and Luke’s soldier unable to lift the heavy weight of his own in his defense, Melissa reacted instinctively. She urged Arden forward, turning the man’s attention in her direction. She hid her weapon from him until the last possible moment. When cackling triumphantly, his empty hand reached for her arm to pull her to the ground, she slashed out at his unprotected neck with her blade, and watched stunned as blood erupted in a seething fountain from the fresh wound. The man’s eyes, wide with disbelief stared vacantly back at her as she withdrew her blade from his throat, before he sank to his knees then toppled over, all the while wildly brandishing his sword in her direction and trying to give voice to the black curses she read in his eyes, but that could no longer pass between his lips because of the blood pouring out of his mouth.
She met the astonished glance of Luke’s soldier as he switched his heavy sword to his unwounded hand, heedless of the blood that still dampened the sleeve of his injured arm while he fought off another challenger. Melissa dismissed the evidence of her eyes that told her it was amused admiration she saw in his when their glances met. The grin that momentarily curved his lips must have been a product of her own imagination, or he was out of his right mind from the pain of his wound. She could see his injured arm now hung limply at an odd angle at his side. No one could be amused by the hideous pain he must be suffering, or by the evidence they were surely on the verge of losing this contest.