It was enough, on top of everything else, to make Glenys want to pluck her eyelashes out. She was filthy after so many days of travel. Her hair was a great, awful, tangled mass. Her clothes and boots were spotted with dirt and mud, and she smelled heavily of horse sweat. She was tired, hungry, and every bone in her body ached from long hours of constant journeying. Her only consolation was that her companions were as miserable as she was.
But now they had reached Sir Anton’s keep in York. It was just as Glenys had prophesied it would be, a great, hulking, crumbling relic that no sane human would make a home of. Animals, aye, could be housed perfectly well inside the round tower, despite the gaping hole in the front of it where the walls on either side sagged together. Another wall, which had once created an inner bailey and provided an extra measure of protection, had nearly fallen down entirely.
“You see, ’tis just as I told you. Sir Anton never sent you here in order to keep Dina and me captive many weeks.” Sitting atop Nimrod with Kieran’s arm lashed about her waist, she looked at all the trees surrounding them. “Even now his henchmen may be watching us, waiting for us to come closer so that they may attack and kill us.”
Behind her, Kieran gave a weary sigh. “I’ve told you time and again that ’tis impossible. Why should Sir Anton wish to have you—or any of us—dead? If he wants you out of his way, then ’twould best serve his purpose to keep us all alive, you most especially. Your family will be searching you out even now, and if you’re found dead, they might well suspect Sir Anton. Only an utter fool wouldn’t know the trouble that would bring into his life.”
“Sir Anton is an utter fool,” Glenys told him.
“But not that great a fool, I vow,” said Kieran. He looked to Jean-Marc for confirmation. “How does it seem to you, Jean-Marc?”
“Well enough,” the younger man replied with a nod. “’Tis clear the keep is not occupied. It should be safe to enter, leastwise.”
“Aye, and despite the gape, we’ll have a warm fire and a good dinner,” Kieran said with pleasure, the arm he held about Glenys tightening. “There must be rabbits aplenty in these fields, and we’ve a fresh loaf of bread from the baker we passed this morn.”
“And a full wineskin,” Jean-Marc added, leaning to pat the bag that hung from his saddle. “With any fortune we’ll find enough soft branches to make our beds, at least for the night. Tomorrow one of us might venture into the city beyond and buy supplies.”
“It’s a trap,” Glenys said, shaking her head. “You refuse to listen to me, but ’tis the truth I speak.”
Ignoring her, Kieran set Nimrod into motion, moving forward, down the hill they’d been standing upon and into the valley that led to the crumbling keep.
“Sir Anton gave us enough gold that we may live comfortably,” he said, clearly eager to embrace the rest and ease that he envisioned. “We’ll have fresh cheese and ale, and extra blankets for all. And oats for the horses. God above knows they deserve it after riding so many miles these past—”
An arrow whizzed past his ear, shot from close behind them, the feather brushing Glenys’s cheek as it went. Glenys stared after it with widening eyes, while behind her Kieran first stiffened, then dug his heels into Nimrod’s sides.
“Go!” he shouted as the great horse leaped forward, but Jean-Marc had already had the same thought. The two horses ran side by side down the hill, racing headlong toward the keep, while more arrows flew toward them from behind.
“I t-t-told you!” Glenys shouted, fiercely clinging to Kieran’s arm and the saddle.
He leaned over her as another arrow shot past. “Aye, aye, gloat all you please,” he shouted over her head, steering Nimrod directly toward the gaping hole in the keep, “but be good enough to wait until we’re safe!”
A short wall stood at the bottom of the hole, but both Nimrod and Strumpet easily leaped over it and into the keep. It was just as it had seemed from outside—a single empty tower with stairs circling up the walls, leading to floors above.
Kieran and Jean-Marc brought both horses to an abrupt halt, leaping down to the ground and pulling Glenys and Dina down as well. Kieran shoved Glenys toward the stairs with one hand, while unsheathing his sword with the other. Outside, the sound of fast approaching horses grew louder and more imminent.
“Get upstairs!” Kieran shouted. “Take Dina! Hurry!”
He turned away to greet the first of the intruding riders with a thrust of his sword. The man, who never knew what had struck him, fell from his horse, a gaping slash across his chest already filling with blood.
Glenys stumbled back as more riders charged over the wall and into the confusion, meeting Kieran and Jean-Marc head-on as the two men strove to beat them back. Nimrod and Strumpet whinnied nervously and trotted to the far side of the keep, nearly trampling Dina, who had fallen to the ground and covered her head when the attack first came. Glenys hurried to her, shoving Nimrod aside with all her strength, and grasped Dina by an arm to pull her to her feet.
“Stay with the horses!” she cried above the din, pushing the younger girl toward the wall where Nimrod and Strumpet huddled.
Kieran shouted her name, and Glenys whirled about to find a rider bearing down on her, sword in hand. She stood paralyzed with fear, unable to move or even cry out, her eyes fixed on the gleaming blade that surely meant her death. Suddenly she was struck by a flying body—Jean-Marc’s—and tumbled heavily to the ground. The horse passed by, its hooves clattering next to her head. The moment it was gone Jean-Marc rolled away and came to his feet, ready as the rider turned about and charged again. Jean-Marc twirled the dagger in his hand with astonishing skill, his face so fiercely set that he looked like a demon warrior. Almost as if begging for death, he stood directly in front of the horse as it rushed toward him, but the moment the great beast came within an arm’s distance, Jean-Marc leaped aside with agile grace, lifted the dagger high and brought the hilt smashing down on the horse’s muzzle. The beast fell sideways, crumpling with a scream of protest and trapping its rider nearly beneath him. Glenys scrambled aside, watching with unutterable horror as Jean-Marc pounced upon the flailing man and slit his throat. It was over in but moments. The horse clumsily regained its feet and ran off, dragging its dead rider along.
Glenys stared, certain that she was either going to faint or be ill, until Jean-Marc grabbed her by the arm and shouted at her. “Get out of here! Go!”
He pushed her toward the wall where Dina stood between Nimrod and Strumpet, protected for the moment by the two beasts. Glenys obediently stumbled in that direction, but the sound of the madness and fury behind made her stop and turn about. There were at least four more men on horseback, and though Kieran and Jean-Marc fought valiantly and with great skill, she could see that they would be overwhelmed. Jean-Marc had just saved her life, risking his own to do so. Could she simply stand by and watch both him and Kieran die without doing anything?
But what?
She looked about for some kind of weapon, drawing in a sharp breath when her gaze fell upon a pile of charred wood where someone had once attempted to start a fire. Without letting herself think on what she did, Glenys ran to the discarded pile, grabbed up the biggest log that she could easily lift, and entered the fray.
Swords, daggers, booted feet all came at her, along with the frightening press of powerful, nervous, confused steeds. From somewhere to one side of her she heard Kieran’s angry voice shouting her name, but she didn’t stop to think upon that. Lifting the piece of wood high, she brought it down with all her strength upon the head of the nearest horse, just as Jean-Marc had done, hearing with dismay its unhappy response and watching with even greater distress as it stumbled to its knees, sending its rider tumbling. Kieran was on the man in a moment, his sword high. Glenys turned away and lifted the piece of wood again to bring it down upon the next unfortunate horse.
The next several minutes seemed to last an eternity—one filled with confusion and dread—until the last two attackers left alive turned
their horses about and fled.
A moment passed. Kieran, Jean-Marc and Glenys all stared at each other, their various weapons lowered, breathing harshly. Riderless horses tramped about in nervous agitation, and at least four bodies lay bloodied upon the ground. Pressed against the wall, Dina stood clutching Nimrod’s and Strumpet’s reins, wide-eyed with terror.
Kieran stumbled to the keep’s opening, watching the two riders fleeing in the distance.
“They’ve gone,” he said, his voice harsh with the exertion he’d undergone. “But they’ll come back, if not for us, then for their comrades.” He surveyed the bodies on the bare dirt floor. “Let’s get them out of here, outside the bailey. Glenys, tend to Dina while Jean-Marc and I calm these horses.” He swiped an arm across his sweating forehead. “Don’t try to help. They’re half-maddened.”
Glenys nodded and gratefully dropped the piece of wood, retreating to where Dina stood, shaking and weeping. Glenys put an arm about the younger girl, closing her eyes and leaning against the wall.
Kieran and Jean-Marc somehow managed to get the horses out of the keep and tethered in the empty bailey. Then they dragged the bodies out, one by one, and placed them in a row in the field just outside the keep.
“Glenys.” Kieran beckoned to her from outside. “Come out of there. Bring Mistress Dina with you.”
Holding out his hand, he helped them over the short wall and led them into the welcome sunlight. It seemed incredible to Glenys that only a quarter of an hour earlier they’d been sitting upon the nearby hill with this same sun shining down upon them. She’d been unhappy then, despite the beauty of the day; now, mere minutes later, she was so thankful to be alive, so thankful simply to feel the warmth of the sun, that she could have wept.
“Sit here,” he said, leading them to where several blocks of the bailey wall had fallen to the ground. “Jean-Marc and I must tend to Strumpet and Nimrod, and then we’ll do what we can to sweep the blood aside. Stay here. There’s nothing to worry about. They’ll not come back until dark.”
Glenys and Dina gratefully sat; Glenys leaned forward to rest her head in her hands, striving mightily not to join Dina in her weeping. She felt Kieran’s hand fall briefly on her shoulder, a warm, understanding touch that lasted but a moment before it was gone.
Kieran and Jean-Marc disappeared into the keep, emerging from time to time in search of things they needed. Branches to sweep the blood away—if it could be swept away. Grass to feed the horses, and a cloak taken from one of the dead men to wipe them down with once they were unsaddled.
Everything seemed to calm by degrees, slowly, moment by moment, until Glenys felt almost herself once more.
Kieran came out of the keep and, following the curve of it, disappeared. It was several minutes before he reappeared, first calling to Jean-Marc and then approaching Glenys and Dina.
“I’ve found the keep’s well. The water is stale, but clean enough that we may wash ourselves and water the animals. Come and refresh yourselves.”
Glenys rose, saying, “Should you not water the horses first? Their need is greater than our own.”
His expression was grim, but his voice gentle when he replied, “You will want to wash your garment, Glenys.”
She looked down at herself for the first time since the fighting had ended, and saw that her skirt was both badly torn and splattered with blood.
“God’s mercy,” she murmured, unable to keep the horror from her voice. She began to tremble, thinking of what had passed and the part she had played in it—the death of four men. “God’s sweet mercy.”
Two strong hands closed over her shoulders.
“When I first set sight upon you,” Kieran said, “I could not see how it was that you and Daman Seymour were sister and brother, save perhaps in height, for otherwise you look not alike at all. But now I see full well how it is. You are the bravest woman I have ever known, Glenys Seymour, and your brother, were he here, would be proud of you.” He gave her a little shake. “There is no shame or wrong in what you did to help us, and I will not let you think there was.”
“He speaks the truth, mistress,” Dina said meekly, standing and drawing near. “If you’d not done as you did, ’tis certain that Master FitzAllen and Jean-Marc would have at last been overcome by our assailants, and our lives, too, would not have been spared. We would all be dead.”
Glenys slowly lifted her gaze to look into Kieran’s eyes. There was a determination there that she could not fight against.
“Very well,” she said, her voice as weak and faint as she felt. “I’ll not feel guilt for my part in what happened to those men. But tell me…if I harmed any of the horses.”
His eyes widened slightly, as if the question surprised him, and then he smiled and gave a shake of his head. “Nay, Glenys.” He uttered a laugh that was pure amusement. “None of them is harmed.”
“Are you certain?” She searched his face. “I struck them so sharply, I thought I must surely have done great damage, which I should never wish to do.”
He bent forward suddenly and enfolded her in his arms, crushing her in a hard, brief embrace, still laughing. When he pulled away, he smiled into her stunned expression and said, “I will let you see the beasts once I’ve taken you to the well, if’t pleases you, but I promise you, Glenys, that you gave them no harm. But come and be washed and refreshed.” He tugged her into motion and nodded for Dina to follow. “The horses will want water soon, and there is much yet to do to make ourselves safe before nightfall.”
Chapter Ten
They let the horses go just before the sun began to set. Kieran and Jean-Marc spent half an hour trying to decide whether they shouldn’t keep two of the steeds for Glenys and Dina to use, but had at last agreed that the extra care and feed would cause more trouble than good. Apart from that, Dina disliked riding, and Glenys admitted that, though she knew how to ride, she was far from being as skilled at handling horses as her brother.
Kieran had been relieved, though he’d not spoken of it aloud. They’d been busy making the keep ready for nightfall and what dangers that might bring them, and only now did Kieran have the freedom to think of what had happened—and what it meant.
Glenys had been right about everything, and he’d been a blind, stubborn fool not to see it. Nay, worse, he thought bitterly. He’d not let himself believe it, because if he’d believed, he would have altered his plans for revenge on Daman Seymour, and Kieran’s accursed pride hadn’t allowed for that. He’d been the one to lead them here to this trap. He’d been the one who’d nearly brought all of them to their deaths. And Glenys, his prisoner, who had been so fully in his power and helpless to sway or stop him, had been the one to change the unfavorable balance between them and their attackers. Dina had been right. If Glenys had not lent her aid in felling the horses, Kieran knew full well that he and Jean-Marc could not have held out against so many armed men on horseback.
Everything was changed now. Kieran still wasn’t certain just how, but this he did know: it made him unhappy and uncomfortable. He didn’t want things to change. Not between Glenys and himself. He didn’t want her riding another horse. He wanted to keep her beneath his power, beneath his hand. And in the last day he’d even had the unsettling and hopeful thought that perhaps Daman wouldn’t find them, and then she would have to stay with him for far longer than Kieran had planned. For he’d already decided—just when, he didn’t know—that he’d not give her over to Sir Anton’s care. He would still let her go, of course, at some time in the future. But he’d had no particular date in mind, certainly no immediate one.
But now such thoughts had vanished. Everything had changed.
They had unsaddled the horses and removed all their headgear, fed and watered them, and now sent them out of the bailey, free to go where and as they pleased. Nimrod and Strumpet, kept within the keep itself, whinnied at the sound of their fellows trotting away. Jean-Marc, with some help from Dina, knelt on the ground and began to go through the various bags that
had been tied to the saddles, seeking anything that might be of use to them in the coming days.
Glenys stood beside Kieran, watching the horses as they slowed their progress, just outside the bailey walls.
“Will the men who came earlier find and take them again?” she asked.
“They may try, for the horses are valuable, but ’twill not be easy without reins or saddles. Ah, look how they shy away from the dead. ’Tis clear they were not trained for battle. Nimrod was. He hates the smell of blood, as all horses do, but he’ll not shy from death.”
Glenys watched but said nothing. After a few moments the horses began to wander toward the open field, where the grass grew taller.
“They’ll probably remain there throughout the night, unless some manner of danger comes,” Kieran murmured.
“Or those men come back,” Glenys said, setting her arms about herself as if cold.
Though the keep was partly in ruins, the second floor and roof were far more defensible than the bottom level. There was only one entrance—gained by the keep’s lone interior stairway—to each ascending level. It was necessary to leave Nimrod and Strumpet in the lower level, but on the second floor they built a fire and made beds of branches and grass. Two of them would keep watch on the roof, where another fire had been built, while two slept below on the second level. Whoever watched from the roof would be able to rouse those below in case of an attack, and with their defenses already in place, Kieran believed that they would be perfectly safe. With but the one entrance, he and Jean-Marc could easily best any assailants, and he truly doubted that the fools would try anything so lack-witted as scaling the keep from the outside. Nay, the worst they had to worry o’er was that Nimrod and Strumpet might come to some harm, but as the horses couldn’t be taken up the stairs, that was a risk that had to be faced. He had little fear of the animals being stolen; Glenys and Dina had already learned just how difficult a thing that was to accomplish. Nimrod was too well trained to be taken by strangers, and Strumpet too mean.
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