England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Ingilby stared at her, his brow eventually furrowing as he snapped orders to the men around him, sending them on the run. He suddenly looked very tense.

  “An army?” he repeated. “If this is true, you have betrayed them by telling me.”

  “I am telling you because I do not want any harm to come to anyone,” Chloë replied, her guard slipping. “You have been attempting for the better part of two years to obtain me. You laid siege to Exelby, my home, a few weeks ago in order to gain your wants and many men were killed in the process. I do not want to see that again, least of all to Keir. Release him and I shall stay with you of my own free will. Refuse me and I will kill myself in front of you. Is that clear enough?”

  Ingilby regarded her, mulling over her offer. He couldn’t tell how serious she was. “You truly rode all the way here from Aysgarth, alone, to make me this offer?”

  “Of course I did. It was not a difficult ride and the weather held. I followed the army’s path, rode around them by sticking to the trees once I found them, and then rode on ahead of them as fast as I could.”

  He regarded her carefully. “You did not think your scheme through completely. I can hold you and still hold St. Héver. I have you both now. Did you ever think of that?”

  Chloë didn’t hesitate. She reached into the sash around her waist and pulled forth the jeweled dirk. The blade gleamed wickedly in the weak light as she brought it to bear on her creamy skin, just below her throat, and pushed. It wasn’t hard enough to penetrate deep, but bright red blood streamed and she gasped with pain.

  “Release Keir from the vault this moment or I shove it in all the way and there is nothing you can do about it,” she hissed. “Do you wish to see my death?”

  Ingilby lost some of his confidence and threw out a hand. “Of course not,” he said. “God’s Beard, do not damage that beautiful breast. If you truly want him released, I will do it. But you will swear to stay with me, Chloë. You have made offers before that were not in good faith.”

  “I swear I will stay here at Ripley. I told you I would.”

  “What is St. Héver to you that you would give up your life for him?”

  “He is my husband and I love him with all my heart,” Chloë was starting to look very pale as a fairly substantial river of blood streamed down her chest and stained the top of her surcoat. “Let him go right now or you will bury me this night, I swear it.”

  Ingilby thought she might have been bluffing, but from her expression, he could tell that she was deadly serious. There might have even been a little madness there, but he could not be sure. All he knew was that he finally had the goddess in his grasp and he didn’t want to lose her to something as mundane as a suicide. So he snapped at his men and they began to scramble on his order.

  “Very well,” he held out his hands to Chloë, surrendering, so she wouldn’t plunge the blade any deeper. “I accept your terms. I will release him, so do not do anything foolish. Stay calm.”

  Relieved that the terms were finally accepted, Chloë struggled not to come apart. Still, she kept the dirk in position. She had no intention of lowering it.

  “I was told he was injured,” she said, turning so that she backed up against the wall near the hearth, fearful that someone might try to come up behind her and disarm her before she could secure Keir’s release. “What have you done for him?”

  Ingilby watched her carefully. “He was struck by arrows,” he replied. “The physic removed them. Other than that, I cannot say what has been done for him. He is a prisoner.”

  Chloë was becoming incensed. “You did not tend him at all?”

  “I do not know what has been done for him, but I do know that his is alive.” His blue eyes glittered wickedly. “If I were you, I would not worry over him so much. As long as he is your husband, I cannot marry you, so it would be an easy thing to murder the men and call it an accident. You may want to keep your concern to yourself until he is free and clear of Ripley.”

  Chloë’s blood ran cold at the threat. “If you do that, I will kill myself and you will not have either of us. If your threats are sincere, know that mine are as well.”

  More of his self-assurance slipped. For lack of a reply that might force her to do exactly as she threatened, he backed off and moved to the big, heavy banqueting table that was planted in the center of the room. He sat heavily, all the while keeping his eyes trained on her as if fearful she would do something truly foolish. He would never get over it if he had her so close but watched her slip away. He could hardly believe two long years had come to this point.

  It was an odd standoff for quite some time, Chloë with the dirk to her chest and Ingilby watching her like a hawk. She was exceedingly weary and more than once, the dirk drooped, but she did not drop it completely. She was deadly serious and determined to see Keir released… or die trying.

  Time dragged on. It could have been minutes or hours for as well as Chloë’s fatigued mind was gauging it. But then came commotion as men shuffled about just out of her line of sight. Some were shouting, orders it sounded like, and Chloë tried not to become too distracted by the noise. She was sure they were preparing for Aysgarth’s army and it began to occur to her that Kurtis and Michael might not leave even with Keir’s release. She suspected that would not bode well for her if that was the case. At some point, her sore back began to ache and she was having difficulty holding the dirk aloft. Just when she thought she could hold out no longer, men entered through the keep entry.

  Startled, Chloë kept her back up against the wall, the dirk pressed to her chest, as several soldiers entered the great hall. They had something between then and it took her a moment to realize it was a body. They dumped it on the floor and it was then that Chloë realized it was Keir. Shock and euphoria bolted through her.

  Keir was on his knees where he had been dropped, somewhere over by the end of the banqueting table. He was battered, bloodied and bruised, and his left arm had limited mobility because of the arrow injury to the top of his left shoulder. The arrow that had penetrated his back had thankfully missed anything vital, but the physic had wrapped it up tightly to keep the wound from bleeding.

  More than the arrow wounds, being dragged by a spooked horse had afforded him a wide variety of bumps, cuts and bruises, and his left ankle had been sprained as a result of the pulling, but he had miraculously emerged without any serious injury. Considering the speed at which the horse had pulled, he was still amazed he hadn’t been gravely injured. Even so, he could hardly walk and it was difficult to stand. But he was alive and thankful for it.

  Groggy, injured, he hadn’t resisted when Ingilby’s men threw him in the vault upon reaching Ripley Castle, and he didn’t resist still as they dragged him from the vault and up to the great hall, dumping him rudely onto the cold stone floor. He was fairly certain he was in for another go-around with Ingilby until a figure in dark blue near the hearth caught his attention. His muddled eyes didn’t fully grasp the features half-shrouded by the shadows, but the voice that suddenly echoed through the hall brought him, struggling, to his feet.

  “Keir!” Chloë cried.

  Keir nearly fell over as he tried to stand, but his battered body and bad ankle made that nearly impossible. Moreover, Ingilby’s men had hold of him, preventing him from rushing to Chloë’s side. His heart was in his throat as he gazed at her, struggling to see her clearly in the dimness.

  “Chloë?” he said it as if he could hardly believe it. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him! “Sweetheart… my God, what are you doing here? Are you well?”

  Chloë broke down in sobs, the dirk still at her chest. She came away from the wall, moving toward the table, but staying out of range of the men who could still grab her and take the dirk away from her. As she came into the weak light, Keir could see the blade against her chest and the blood streaming from it. He nearly came apart.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he groaned. “Chloë, what happened? What…?”

  “You should thank her, S
t. Héver, truly,” Ingilby cut him off. “She came here to offer herself in exchange for your freedom. I have accepted her offer.”

  Keir’s pale features went absolutely ashen as he gazed at his wife. His mind wasn’t as sharp as it usually was but he nonetheless understood well the implications. Ingilby would have done less damage had he taken a blade and cut off his arms and legs. It would have hurt less than the knowledge, the horrific knowledge, of Chloë’s offer.

  “Nay,” he breathed, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. “Chloë, you cannot do this. Please, sweetheart, do you hear me? You will not do this.”

  Ingilby watched Chloë fall against the side of the table, weeping so heavily that she lost her balance. But the blade remained fixed on her chest, digging into her white flesh.

  “Your wife tells me that she will kill herself right before my eyes if I do not let you go,” he told Keir, sounding quite detached. “She is very determined. I fear she means it.”

  Keir just stared at Chloë, feeling sobs of terror bubbling up in his throat. It was a struggle to fight them off, but he couldn’t fight off the tears. He was shattered.

  “Oh…Chloë,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling. “No, sweetheart, please no. All will be well. You will not do this. I forbid it.”

  Chloë was half-on, half-off the table, bracing herself with her left hand so she wouldn’t collapse completely. She wanted so badly to run to Keir but she was afraid the soldiers would capture her and take away the knife. Then she would be powerless. She had to free him!

  “You would do it for me,” she wept. “If I were captive, you would sacrifice yourself for me without a second thought. Because I love you, I cannot think of myself. I can only think of you. If my life can buy your freedom, then I will do it willingly.”

  Keir blinked and fat tears splattered onto his cheeks. “Chloë, please,” he whispered. “Take the dirk away from your chest, sweetheart. I cannot stomach what I am seeing.”

  Chloë shook her head, so hard that her hair whipped about her face and pulled through the blood streaming down her chest, leaving streaks across her neck. She looked at Ingilby, still sitting quite calmly at the table.

  “Let him go now,” she demanded, her lips trembling. “I have made my offer and you have accepted. There is no reason to keep him here any longer.”

  Ingilby had to agree; the longer St. Héver and Chloë looked at each other, the more the intensity of their emotions resonated. Ingilby wasn’t particularly comfortable with that. The sooner he removed St. Héver, the sooner he could begin his quest to finally conquer Chloë. Casually, he glanced over at the soldiers holding St. Héver and snapped his fingers.

  “Release him.”

  The soldiers hauled Keir to his feet, who suddenly began fighting back. Injured, weak, he still took out three men before several others rushed in and fought to subdue him. Chloë, seeing what was happening, began screaming.

  “Keir, no!” she cried. “Stop fighting, please stop fighting!”

  Keir pretended not to hear her. He had his big fists balled, pummeling those who were attempting to subdue him. The sounds of broadswords being unsheathed filled the air and Chloë screamed loudly.

  “Kill him and I will kill myself right now!” she shrieked. “I will do it, I swear!”

  With that, she took the dirk and dragged it across one wrist, and bright red blood began to spill. Horrified, Ingilby rushed over to Keir, shoving his men aside who were preparing to gut the man.

  “Enough!” he roared. “Put your weapons away. Can you not see that she means it?”

  Keir stopped fighting when he heard the shout. Turning in Chloë’s direction, all he could see was her blood spilling on the floor.

  “My God,” he whimpered. “Chloë….”

  “Remove him,” Ingilby barked. “Dump him outside of the gate. Get him out of my sight and, for Pity’s Sake, get him out of her sight. Get him out!”

  The last sight Keir had of Chloë was of her sinking to the floor as blood gushed from her left wrist. He began yelling for her, struggling viciously against the men who were dragging him out of the hall, but he was simply overpowered. The pulled him out of the keep and dragged him all the way to the gatehouse, where they threw him out on the road beyond the portcullis.

  Keir didn’t remember much of being released from Ripley, only that it had been the most painful thing he had ever experienced in his life. Once, he had come across the burning bodies of his wife and daughter. He thought that had been the worst moment of his life.

  It wasn’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The siege of Ripley Castle was truly something to behold.

  After advance Aysgarth scouts found a beaten and somewhat hysterical Keir outside of the castle walls trying to find a way to get back in, Kurtis and Michael had listened to a harrowing story about Chloë and her sacrifice for Keir’s freedom.

  It had been an ugly scene. Keir had initially raged at his brother for not preventing Chloë from doing such a thing, but he realized, when his emotions began to settle, that it wasn’t Kurtis’s failure. It was no one’s fault. Chloë was always trying to do what she felt best for Keir, whether or not it was a good idea, and Keir could only love her more because of her foolishly noble intentions. He had visions of her bleeding to death in front of him and it took a solid half-hour before Kurtis and Michael could calm the man to the point where he wasn’t roaring with rage.

  It brought both Kurtis and Michael back to that horrible time when Keir had lost Madeleine and Frances, the madman who was incoherent and shattered. The man before them was dazed, injured and weak, but all he could speak of was regaining his wife. They knew very well that he meant it; the first time he’d lost those dearest to him, he could do nothing about it. This time, he could. He was hell-bent on retrieving Chloë or die trying, and with that in mind, Kurtis sent two men back to Aysgarth for Keir’s armor and weapons. If the man was to have a fighting chance, he needed to be prepared.

  With Keir having calmed sufficiently to the point of passing out because his body simply gave out, Kurtis and Michael unleashed Armageddon on Ripley Castle, using two big mangonels they had brought from Aysgarth to launch all manner of flaming projectiles over the big walls.

  Michael, who had served Aysgarth for many years, followed Keir’s usual mode when laying siege to a fortified structure by sending ignited phosphates over the walls which, upon landing, would explode fiery balls in all directions. That was the first wave. The second wave was big, earthenware pots of a smelly, flammable oil that they would collect in big quantities near coal deposits, and it was this oil that they would ignite and launch over the walls. It was worse than the phosphates. The oil would spray and ignite anything in its path, man and beast included.

  The gate of Ripley Castle was the focus of great battering rams they had cut from a nearby forest, and Kurtis set dozens of men on this task as archers rained arrows down upon them. Coverdale had shields for the men on the battering rams, however, great long things smelted from flexible metal that was lightweight enough that the men could position it above them and not be crushed.

  Ripley’s gate, unfortunately, wasn’t up to the task of such vigorous tactics and two hours into the siege, the gate was beginning to show signs of weakness. Recognizing this, Kurtis had Michael remain in command of bombarding the walls as he focused personally on the gate. He was positive it was the weak link and he set more men to ramming it in an attempt to crumble it completely.

  As darkness approached and great torches were lit all around to provide light for Aysgarth’s army, Coverdale, who had spent nearly all of the battle to the rear of the army with his wife and entourage, took it upon himself to personally assess the bombardment. Approaching the gate where Kurtis and about a hundred men were methodically cracking away at the wood and iron, the man took an arrow to the neck.

  Falling off his horse, he slowly bled out as Kurtis and a few other soldiers worked furiously to stop the copious amounts of blood. In
the end, Baron Coverdale, Lord Byron de Tiegh, died with his sightless eyes wide open to the heavens and not in his bed as he had often hoped. Kurtis remained with the man’s body for a few moments, lingering when everyone else returned to the siege, gazing with sorrow at the dead man and praying that this wouldn’t be the first costly death in a siege that had the potential to see many.

  *

  Chloë began to gradually come aware of the distant sounds of men yelling. It was faint, like the buzz of a fly, soft but unmistakable and, if she thought about it, annoying. Stirring slightly, she sneezed and lifted her hand to itch her nose, half-asleep, until she ended up hitting herself in the face with the ungainly bandage on her left forearm. Startled by the linen wrapping, she peered at it in confusion. More than that, she looked around a chamber that she did not recognize. Dark stone walls, an expensive rug, and a very nice bed. It wasn’t hers. She could smell cold and rot and wisps of smoke. Then, it all started coming back to her.

  She was at Ripley Castle. Feeling a wave of fear wash over her, she tried to sit up but her back was paining her greatly so she just lay there, trying to get a handle on her anxiety, wondering where Ingilby was. She couldn’t imagine he’d be very far from her. But then her thoughts turned to Keir and her last vision of him as Ingilby’s men dragged him from the great hall. There had been a good deal of screaming going on, mostly from her, but through it all she could see Keir’s expression as he faded from her sight. It had been such a terrified expression. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her temples as she gazed at the ceiling and thought of Keir.

  Trying to rise a second time, she managed to get on her feet. Her back was paining her greatly, no doubt from the strenuous events from the past couple of days, but it was manageable. More than that, she felt extremely weak and her left arm throbbed terribly. It was an effort to move about. She noticed that she still had her boots on and her heavy surcoat; the only thing that seemed to be missing was her cloak. She was thankful that Ingilby hadn’t made some attempt to undress her while she was unconscious. Stiffly, she moved to the only window in the room and was immediately faced with bedlam.