The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  “And is that my knight you have with you?”

  “I believe you are mistaken. He is my fiancé,” she said, cringing as she realized they had never had a chance to discuss their future.

  Bethany glanced at Erin to find his face aglow with joy. He didn’t mind being used as a taunt, so long as her words were true. Bethany reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her men pause in their eating to stare. Slowly they dropped their spoons and let out a deafening cheer.

  The queen turned back to look at her enemy. Wolfric’s face had turned red, standing out against his white hair and beard.

  “And where is your king?” asked Wolfric once her men had returned to their meal.

  Bethany didn’t feel the poke of his barb, having already heard it from Féderic. “Dead. Where is your son?”

  To her satisfaction, Wolfric glanced around, as though his sons might appear beside him. Bethany guessed the smaller figure standing next to him was Rulfric.

  “If you wish for a hint, I would look for Prince Féderic on a road headed east-west, near the castle walls.”

  “What do you know?” demanded the enemy king.

  “That he’s dead. By my sword,” she said, yelling as loud as she could to make sure all of her enemies knew that she had slain their heir apparent.

  “You lie!” snapped Wolfric.

  Bethany didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Despite Wolfric’s response, she noticed two men break away from his small group and run back into the city. It wouldn’t take them long to find Fed’s body. Bethany felt Erin squeeze her hand. She turned to smile at him. The pull of his brows asked his question for him.

  She nodded, confirming that she had in fact killed Féderic. Erin’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Are you ready to discuss terms?” asked Wolfric.

  “Yes,” yelled Bethany. “I’ll accept your complete surrender.”

  Her men laughed, and their enemy grumbled.

  “You’re a fool, girl!”

  Bethany laughed, the instinct relaxing the tension building in her stomach.

  “I’ve been told that before. Shall we test the theory?”

  Before Wolfric could respond, she spotted two men beginning to weave their way through the crowd to the king. As they drew nearer, she spotted the body of the prince dangling between them. Wolfric turned, quickly spotting his dead son.

  “ATTACK!” screamed the king.

  Bethany’s men needed no prompting. They had already finished their hasty meal and were raining arrows down upon their enemy before the king had finished his order.

  Wolfric’s men raised their shields, mostly protecting themselves. Bethany squinted, trying to see what they were doing beyond the masses of the army.

  “They’re building a battering ram,” Erin said from her side.

  “What do we do about it?”

  Erin shook his head. “Not much we can. We’ll douse it with oil and try to light it on fire. Sometimes, though, they will just leave the flaming ram against the portcullis and wait for it to burn through.”

  And that’s just what they did. Come night fall, the portcullis was ablaze alongside the battering ram. A few unlucky men were left on the battlements to call warning in case Wolfric was foolish enough to attack in the night. A large mob from the keep were working to douse the flames with all the water they could draw from the castle well, while the rest of the soldiers were collapsed in the great hall, accepting the food and ministrations of the women.

  Bethany paced through the lines of men, mentally tallying their fighting force. Too many had died, and too many more were badly injured. As much as she wanted to seek comfort from her scarred knight, she knew he was busy with the various captains, planning for tomorrow’s fighting.

  “My lady,” called a familiar voice.

  Bethany turned to see Healer Pharem striding to her side.

  “Healer. Anything to report?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about, my lady. Leave the injured to me. You should be resting.”

  Bethany shrugged, feeling the ache of a long day in her shoulders. She wouldn’t rest, couldn’t rest when she knew others were still working.

  “Do we have enough men for tomorrow?” asked the healer.

  Bethany smiled up at him. “Leave the fighting to me. Surely you should be resting,” she replied, mimicking his own statement.

  Pharem smirked at her, appreciating her ill-timed humor.

  “What will tomorrow bring?” he asked.

  Bethany wondered at his question. Surely he’s been a part of a battle before?

  Truth was, Bethany hadn’t been a part of a battle like this until today. She had experienced a small ambush. A full on attack on her castle was an entirely different experience.

  “I suspect,” she began, realizing he was still waiting for her answer, “it will be much like today.”

  “And the portcullis?”

  “Depends on if they can get the fire put out.”

  “If they don’t?”

  Bethany chewed on her lip, furtively thinking through the ramifications of a destroyed portcullis. She glanced around, making sure no one was listening to their conversation.

  “If the portcullis fails, we defend the keep. If need be, we fall back and wait for Miach.”

  “What of those in the city?”

  Bethany cringed. If they were forced to bunker down and wait for help, her people in the city would be the next target. She could easily imagine how the women would be treated, having experienced it herself.

  “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Eventually Bethany settled on the floor, leaning against the wall near the main entrance to the great hall, and fell asleep.

  Bethany woke, squirming slightly as aches and pains made themselves known. Slowly she took noticed of the warm arm wrapped around her. She opened one eye, taking in an unshaven face marred with scars. Savoring the feeling of his touch, Bethany closed her eyes again.

  “I know you’re awake,” he whispered.

  Bethany smiled.

  “Trust me when I say I don’t want to move…”

  “But we have to,” she said, finishing his sentence.

  Bethany opened her eyes and began to stretch, her breath catching with each new muscle cramp. Erin climbed to his feet and pulled her up behind him. They savored a quick hug before slipping out of the keep. The bailey was still shrouded in darkness, the horizon just beginning to glow gray.

  Bethany stared at the ruins of the portcullis. Though it technically still hung from her gatehouse, the thick grid-work had burned down to nearly nothing. One good bash with the smoldering ram would bring it crumbling to the ground.

  “As quietly as you can, get the men out here,” ordered Erin.

  Bethany slipped back into the keep, recruited a few helpers, and carefully began waking the able-bodied. The great hall filled with the whispers of men and women. The men slowly emptied into the bailey, keeping any necessary conversation at the pitch of a whisper. The archers took up their positions on the wall, while the foot soldiers closed the doors of the gatehouse, blocking the smoldering portcullis from view, and began hauling any debris they could find to pile up against the thin door.

  No matter what they piled against the door, Wolfric’s troops would get through, but each second their pile delayed their enemy gave their archers more time to take out their attackers.

  They had barely begun pilling the debris when Wolfric’s soldiers approached the gatehouse. The archers went to work. Bethany ran up to the battlements with Erin and eyed their enemy.

  “They look tired,” said Erin, his eyes more on their own troops than on the enemy.

  “We’re all tired.” Bethany snatched her bow up and strung it. “Get back to your soldiers, General. I’ll stay with the archers.”

  “Bethany,” said Erin, his tone serious enough to draw her attention away from her bowstring. “I know I cannot convince you stay
in the keep, but if you dare get killed…”

  He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  “I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

  Erin smiled, despite himself, and crushed his lips to hers before running down to the bailey. Bethany took up her position by their small bundle of archers. Like their soldiers, their arrows were running low. Bethany took her time, picking her targets carefully as they worked to diminish Wolfric’s army.

  Their enemy was not large, but neither were they. Too many men had fallen when Wolfric’s men had suddenly attacked from within. As Bethany aimed and fired, her mind wandered to that attack. How had Wolfric done that? Could he simply send people ahead and get them to take up residence inside the city of his enemy? Could it really be that simple?

  Wolfric’s men charged forward, grabbing the handles of the battering ram. They pulled it back a few feet, ignoring the flying arrows, and pushed it into the portcullis. The gatehouse rumbled as the wooden gate crumbled. Bethany glanced back into the bailey and spotted Erin ordering his men to press themselves up against what remained of the gatehouse’s defenses.

  Bethany went back to shooting, suddenly realizing she had been wasting time. She only got two more shots off before the gatehouse gave another shudder and the inner door collapsed. Wolfric’s men began climbing over the pile of debris. Erin and his men fell back, allowing their enemy to tire themselves out on the awkward pile of chairs, tables, barrels, and slippery manure. Bethany turned to face the bailey and began to cover the inside edge of the gatehouse, taking out the first few soldiers before they could make it into the bailey.

  The queen reached back to grab an arrow from the holder attached to the battlements. It was empty. She dropped her bow and drew her sword. She wanted to race down the steps and join the fray, but she knew her duty to her people. Bethany had already been foolish and it had nearly cost her her life. She had to be more careful.

  Bethany took up a stand at the top of the steps, ready to defend her archers if an enemy tried to come up. She watched from her post as her men engaged the enemy, fighting to their death to save the people of Dothan. As they poured in, Bethany spotted Rulfric, surprised to see the young prince in the fray. She had assumed Wolfric would withdraw his sons after Fed’s death. Within minutes, Rulfric joined the numbers of the dead.

  Bethany winced. He was just a boy, really.

  So much useless death, she thought as she watched the battle continue. Why do kings do this?

  Erin lunged forward, plunging his thirsty blade into his enemy’s gut. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Bethany standing guard over the archers, her sword drawn and ready. Erin had never seen a more beautiful sight. He knew she would want to join in, and loved her all the more for choosing not to.

  The scarred knight didn’t waste time admiring his queen. He jumped back, dodging a wayward swing of a nearby sword. Erin slashed his sword down, cutting an enemy from shoulder to hip and thereby freeing one of his soldiers from the harsh grapple.

  Erin moved through his ranks, double-teaming any enemy who appeared to be winning. Despite their efforts, Erin could tell his men were being pushed backward toward the keep’s entrance. He glanced back at the stairs where Bethany fought, defending the few archers who still had arrows. He briefly watched her kick her enemy in the chest, sending him toppling back down the steps, effectively taking out the man behind him.

  He raced to her side of the battle, fearing she might get cut off if his men were pushed back any further. Before he could reach the stairs, a recognizable figure stepped across his path.

  Erin glared at the white-haired man, all the hatred he had once felt for the king boiling up until he thought he might suffocate on it.

  “I never thought you were the type to get caught up by a skirt,” growled Wolfric, referencing Bethany as though she were nothing more than a night of pleasure.

  “Don’t think for a moment, Wolfric, that you know me.”

  The king grinned, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Erin had battled Wolfric on the practice field more times than he could count. He knew the king’s moves, but that meant Wolfric knew his moves too. Without thinking through any other options, Erin chose to mimic Bethany. He focused on speed more than strength, allowing Wolfric to further tire himself out.

  As the younger of the two embattled swordsmen, Erin ducked and dodged, careful to keep their fighting near the base of Bethany’s steps. When Erin first began to feel the strain of battle in his muscles, he went on the offensive, driving Wolfric back with swift swings and jabs. Wolfric’s eyes widened as he struggled to block Erin’s attacks, fresh sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his neck.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Erin spotted Bethany descending the steps. She reached the halfway point and yelled out the king’s name.

  To Erin’s astonishment, Wolfric glanced over his shoulder. Erin didn’t waste the opportunity. He lunged forward, his tired arm barely able to keep his sword up. The tip of his sword plunged into the king’s thigh. Wolfric wailed and stumbled back onto the bottom step.

  Erin expected Bethany to run forward and deal the deathblow, but she stood back, watching Erin. The scarred knight wanted to savor the death of his enemy, but there were too many men battling for their lives. Erin swung his sword down, half severing Wolfric’s head from his neck.

  Bethany smiled at him before quickly jumping off the steps, her sword already up to block a blow from an enemy. Had she not been fast enough, the blow would have been Erin’s end. Thankfully, she had his back.

  That’s what life will be like, he thought as he turned back and engaged another man. We have each other’s back.

  It wasn’t long before the enemy soldiers noticed the body of their king. Within minutes, Wolfric’s army began shifting backward in an unorganized retreat. As the men on the other side of the wall noticed their comrades’ retreat, they too turned and ran back down the streets of the city toward their camp.

  Erin turned to Bethany, and, as if by mutual consent, together they raced back up to the battlements. They ran to the highest tower and looked out over the city. Wolfric’s soldiers were running full tilt for the nearest city gatehouse, not realizing a fresh army was waiting for them on the distant hillside.

  “Lord Miach,” stated Bethany. “I honestly hadn’t expected him to come.”

  “You don’t realize how terrifying you are with a noose.”

  Bethany grinned up at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Erin examined Bethany as she scanned the distance. She was watching the enemy retreat right into Lord Miach’s troops, but he suspected she was fully aware of his attention. He didn’t care though.

  She had said she loved him. Until now, Erin hadn’t enjoyed a moment’s peace to contemplate just what her words meant, and what they might entail in the future. Erin had known he loved her since they first arrived at Dothan. Now, after three months of waiting and watching, she felt the same.

  The scarred knight breathed a sigh of relief. Not just because the battle was over and they had survived, but because he knew he was forgiven. As much as he might want to, Erin couldn’t forget the evils he had done to her in Tolad. He had frightened her, he had whipped her, he had scorned her, and yet now she found it in her heart to love him.

  Erin closed his eyes, trying to dispel the tears pressing against them. Without thinking, he slipped his hand into the queen’s. She gripped it back fiercely, as though she feared he might slip away.

  What in the world have I done to deserve her forgiveness?

  “You’re quiet,” she whispered, her eyes still watching as Miach’s troops fanned out, blocking the retreat of Wolfric’s men.

  “Just wondering what I could have done to deserve your forgiveness.”

  Finally, Bethany turned her gaze on him. “You don’t earn forgiveness, Erin. Forgiveness is a gift. You can’t earn a gift.”

  Erin knew his eyes were wet with tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to
feel ashamed. He drew her hand up to his lips and kissed it as he admired the way their fingers intertwined. The smile she gifted him with nearly stopped his heart. Despite the blood, sweat, and dirt marring her features, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

  She let out a tired sigh.

  “General,” she began, reverting back to their formal relationship. “Please prepare an escort. I will meet Lord Miach on the field. We’ll have to decide what to do with our prisoners.”

  “Aye, my lady,” he replied, copying her tone; their personal relationship could wait.

  He released her fingers, the sensation comparable to pain as they slipped out of his larger hand. He turned, jogged down the steps—ignoring the pain of his aging, battered body—and hailed Brom.

  “They retreating?” he asked loud enough to draw the attention of the soldiers still on their feet.

  “Yes. Lord Miach approaches. He is catching those retreating. Gather a show of arms. The queen rides out to greet Lord Miach and see to our prisoners.”

  Brom gave a quick bow before turning and arranging his troops. Those in the best condition saddled their horses, while the wounded hobbled into the keep, seeking the healers. Erin was just leading their horses out of the castle when Bethany finally descended the steps. She was limping slightly, but he guessed it to be due to a pulled muscles rather than the bite of a sword.

  She paused beside Galindo, her hands on the saddle as though she was about to swing herself upward.

  “Sir Caldry,” she said. “Will you give me a boost?”

  Erin tried not to smile. He knew Bethany hated asking for help. It was further proof of just how tired she was. Or was her leg hurt worse than he realized?

  “Let me see your leg,” he ordered.

  “I think it’s just pulled. I didn’t get hit,” she said, reading his mind.

  Erin forced a retort down, unwilling to push his examination. He gave her boost into the saddle before mounting his own steed.

  They moved through the city, its residents slowly emerging at the sound of the queen’s herald. They watched her pass, their eyes shining with the same admiration he felt. Given enough time, she would become devoutly loved by her people.