The long lancet window afforded her a partial view of the bailey, the walls, and the countryside beyond, and she could see armies on both sides of the wall. There were several fires in the bailey, mostly structure fires, and on the opposite side of the wall she could see an enormous army and parts of a great siege engine as they engaged the thing, slinging burning projectiles over the wall. As she watched, shocked, she thought they might have even slung a body of some kind, in flames, over the wall. She thought it might have been a horse.
Horrified, Chloë could see that her suspicions had been right. Aysgarth’s army laid siege regardless of who was in, or out, of the walls of Ripley. She had no way of knowing if Keir truly made it out of Ripley alive. She had lost consciousness before she had her answer and it was quite possible they simply threw him back in the vault or killed him. She realized that she had to know. Seized with anxiety, with the desire to know the truth, she stumbled towards the chamber door.
It wasn’t locked, which was surprising. Slinking down the dark, spiral stairs and gripping the wall to keep her balance, she had no idea where she was or where she was going. All she knew was that she had to find out what happened to Keir. Moving quietly but not particularly quickly due to her stiff back and weak body, she ended up in a dark corridor that dumped her out into a small, circular room.
The noise from the battle outside was louder here, drifting in through the windows. The smell of smoke was heavy. She noticed a small table off to her right, shoved up against the wall. It was cluttered with all kinds of things and, quietly, she stepped out of the corridor and moved to the table to see what was spread out all over it. As she approached, she could immediately see blades, broadswords, battle axes, pieces of leather and armor, the remains of a meal, and other clutter.
Just as she reached out to finger one of the broadswords that was more squat than long, she heard voices and saw movement off to her left, through the door into another room, and she scurried back into the corridor from where she had come. Grabbing the sword, she hid in the shadows, trying to see what was going on, and from what she could gather they were bringing injured men in from the battle outside. She could hear them shouting for a physic and the groans of the wounded. The blade in her hands was heavy but she was determined to find someone, anyone, and threaten them unless they told her what happened to Keir. It was the best plan her exhausted mind could come up with.
She moved closer to the sounds in the other room, staying close to the wall until she could peer through the doorway. She could see the great hall beyond and men on the floor being tended by servants. There was blood and pain everywhere and she swallowed hard at the sight, trying very hard not to be disgusted.
As Chloë stood in the doorway, she tried to single out someone who might be in charge of the mess, someone who could tell her what had become of Keir. She was sure that Ingilby and his men were outside in the battle, but as she thought on it, she was equally sure that no servant could tell her what she needed to know. They were usually ignorant of such things. She had to find someone who would know. She had to find a soldier.
Keeping very quiet, she looked around for another way to the keep entry that wouldn’t take her through the great hall, but there didn’t seem to be any other form of passage. With a deep breath for courage, she lifted the sword, realized it was heavier than she had anticipated, but by that time a few in the great hall had already seen her so she charged out and skittered over to the keep entry. She left a few shocked expressions in her wake, men watching a wispy woman with glorious red hair running through the hall. They had no idea who, or what, she was.
The entry to the keep was open, as there was a constant stream of wounded being brought into the hall. Chloë stepped outside, seeing flames everywhere and men running about. It was a battlefield and as she stood in the open doorway, two more flaming projectiles came sailing over the wall, one of them bursting about thirty feet away from her and spraying burning oil everywhere. Resisting the urge to run back inside and hide, she took the few steps down to the bailey, as Ripley’s keep was a low-lying structure, she ended up standing in mud and blood. It was a disgusting mix and she focused more on finding a patch of ground that wasn’t filled with bloodily fluids than on finding someone who could tell her where Keir was. Just as she found a patch that was relatively dry, she noticed a great deal of commotion at the gatehouse.
The gatehouse wasn’t so much a true gatehouse as it was simply a big stone arch that housed a portcullis and enormous oak gate that was currently burning. Great pieces of it were falling to the ground, clipping the men who were trying to reinforce it. As Chloë watched, somewhat transfixed, an enormous piece fell off and revealed the portcullis beyond, nearly in full. She could see the army though the big iron grate.
Many men and at least three great battering rams came into view. It was difficult to make out any features from the angle of the sun and the direction of the shadows, but she could see dozens of men trying to bring down the gate and portcullis. In fact, the burning gate had softened the iron portcullis sufficiently that several of the enemy soldiers were grasping it with ropes sheathed in leather, pulling at a corner of it and trying to bend back the teeth. Those inside Ripley began hacking at the leather-covered ropes, only to be struck down by arrows shot through the portcullis.
“I had no idea you were well enough to fight.”
The voice came from behind and Chloë startled with fear, lifting her sword before she even saw the face of the man. In truth, she didn’t need to see him. She knew that voice. And she knew she was in for a fight.
Ingilby stood a few feet away in his battle armor, looking rather weary but unharmed. The armor was newer and well-made, and somewhat pristine. In his hand he held an enormous broadsword with a leather hilt, a glorious weapon built for battle. His expression was even but Chloë was terrified as she faced off against him.
“Where is Keir?” she demanded. “What did you do with him?”
Ingilby cocked an eyebrow. “You wanted him released. I released him.”
“Released him where?”
Ingilby gestured to the crumbling gate and the battle now going on through the portcullis. “Outside,” he said. “I should have thrown him over the wall like he did Alphonse, but alas, I did not. Perhaps I am the more civilized between Keir and I. Perhaps that is something you should keep in mind.”
Chloë’s expression darkened. “How do I know that you did not throw him over the wall?” she asked. “I would see him, otherwise our bargain is at an end.”
Ingilby looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Chloë began to shake as she held up the heavy blade. She wasn’t in any condition to be holding something so heavy. It was difficult to keep it steady.
“My proposition to you was me in exchange for Keir’s freedom,” she said. “If he is not truly free or if, in fact, you have killed him, then we have no bargain.”
Ingilby’s even expression fled and his eyes narrowed. “And then what?” he wanted to know. “Do you propose to walk out of here? I can tell you, quite irrevocably, that you will not leave this place. I will keep you here and you will belong to me regardless of Keir St. Héver’s health or welfare.”
“Then you did kill him!”
Ingilby’s patience was evaporating quickly. “Foolish wench,” he rumbled. “Look at this place; look at that gate. St. Héver is leading the attack. He wants you back, but he shall not have you. You belong to me now and I have waited long enough.”
With that, he smacked the sword in her hands onto the ground, reaching out to grab her around the wrist in one smooth motion. Startled, Chloë began to scream and pound on him as he began to drag her back towards the keep. Her sounds were those of fear and panic, an innate response, having no idea that just outside the weakened portcullis, someone had heard her cries.
*
Keir awoke sometime before sunset when his brother came back into the tent that was positioned far back from the fighting. He had been pas
sed out on a woolen pallet sleeping a sleep of such exhaustion that not even the sounds of battle could penetrate. But he startled himself awake when Kurtis entered the tent and called his name, and he lifted his head in time to see a soldier bearing Keir’s armor entering the tent, and still another man behind that man carrying Keir’s weapons.
Keir staggered up from his pallet, struggling to clear the cobwebs from his mind as he shifted into battle mode. It was a natural state to him, like eating or breathing, and as Kurtis drank heavily of watered ale and shoved a few piece of bread in his mouth, Keir began dressing. He ignored his twisted ankle, the bumps and bruises, as he began to transform into the efficient killing machine. Nothing on earth was more important than what he was about to face, no battle he had ever fought of higher value. As he strapped on his greaves, his breastplate, and had Kurtis help him with his back plate, his mind briefly wandered to the battle in Wales and how he had been ordered to command the king’s armies. Not even those battles were of higher consequence than the one he faced right now, a siege at a relatively small castle with relatively unimportant people inside her. All except one.
Chloë. Her name flashed before his eyes, somehow breezed through his ears and ended up in his chest like a great sharp dagger to cut out his heart. He must have somehow whispered her name because his brother, finished with the last strap on Keir’s backplate, came around front and looked at him.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Keir looked at him, thinking about what he might have said, and shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered, moving to strap on his broadsword. “What is the status of the siege? Have you made any headway?”
Kurtis nodded, noting the transformation of his brother from wounded prisoner to powerful knight with satisfaction. “The gate is demolished and we are gaining headway with the portcullis,” he said, leading Keir out of the tent into the sunset beyond. “We have been bombarding them since we arrived with flammable projectiles. Michael has made excellent work out of the phosphates and oil.”
Keir plopped his helm on his head, glancing up at the great plumes of greasy black smoke that were escaping from Ripley’s bailey.
“He usually does,” he said. Then he flicked a wrist at the walled fortress. “What about ladders upon the walls? I see none.”
“That is because we have nearly finished almost two dozen of them,” Kurtis indicated the open field back behind their camp and the trees beyond that formed a dark green line in the distance. “See the men out there in the field? They are nearly finished. I wanted to wait until we had all twenty of them built before charging the walls. I did not want to do it in pieces because a solid, big attack will be more effective. Meanwhile, we have been attacking the gate and have managed to seriously damage it.”
Keir was following his brother across the road to the main gate of Ripley, noticing that the main cluster of fighting seemed to be within that confined space. Some of his men had ropes around the softened portcullis, pulling it back and away, dislodging it, while those inside of Ripley tried to fight them off. Kurtis came to a halt before they headed towards the chaos of the gate.
“There is something you should know,” he said to his brother. “While you were unconscious, we lost Coverdale.”
Keir stared at him a moment before sighing heavily, looking particularly distressed. “What happened?”
Kurtis shrugged helplessly. “He was riding up from his position to the rear to see how the battle was progressing and took an arrow to the throat,” he said. “I tried to stop the bleeding but there was just too much damage.”
Keir’s features were lined with sorrow. “Where is he now?”
“I took him back to his wife. She is too young to handle the grief, you know, but regardless, she is now your commander and in charge of the entire Coverdale barony, I might add. You may want to pay her a visit to express your condolences since you are in charge of her armies.”
Keir just shook his head. “I will pay her a visit after I retrieve Chloë. Until then, this battle and this army belong to me.”
“She does not understand why we are here and wants to return to Aysgarth with her husband’s body.”
“I will pretend that I did not hear that.”
He started to move but Kurtis grasped him by the arm. “All well and good,” he muttered, “and I do not fault you. However, there is something more; be advised that the men do not know what has happened to Coverdale. The few that saw him fall I have sworn to silence. I fear the knowledge of his death might kill their morale.”
Keir’s pale eyes were intense. “Let the men see me tall and strong, fighting this battle, and it will matter for not. I am the true leader of this army and have been for several years. Coverdale was never much of a factor, although he was a decent man. I will mourn him.”
With that, Keir charged towards the gatehouse. Kurtis watched the man walk away for a moment, sensing his resolve and determination, before catching up with him. In truth, it had been some time since they had fought side by side and in an odd way he was looking forward to it. Together, they joined the fight at the portcullis as Aysgarth’s army gained headway.
The iron grate was twisting nicely as several Aysgarth men retrieved big pieces of wood from the crumbling gate and began using them as a fulcrum to further twist the iron. Keir charged right up to the front of the battle lines, using his broadsword to hack at those on the opposite side of the portcullis who were trying to prevent Aysgarth soldiers from breaking through. He was moving much like an energized man and not one who had been beaten and bruised. He moved like Keir St. Héver had always moved; with power, skill and courage.
In fact, Keir was up against the portcullis defending those who were trying to pry open the iron. Kurtis was behind him, assisting but also supervising the men who had put the ropes aside and were now trying to dislocate the portcullis off its track so they could slip into the breach. Michael had joined them from his post supervising the wall, mostly because he was bored and wanted in on the action. When he saw Keir over next to the portcullis hacking off hands or fingers that came too close to his blade, he made his way over to the man and happily hacked away with him.
Keir and Michael were fighting like old, as they had fought a hundred times before. Keir turned to say something to Michael over the sounds of the chaos but noticed that Michael was looking off into the bailey of Ripley, made clear through the open grates. Keir couldn’t see much because of all the men in his way, but Michael could see over their heads because of his height, and what he saw distressed him greatly. He was about to say something to Keir when a woman’s scream pierced the air.
Keir heard the scream. He didn’t have to be told who had emitted it because he seemed to know. He could feel it, down to his very bones. The expression on Michael’s face only confirmed it. More screams came and Keir began pulling at the portcullis like a madman, bellowing at his soldiers to clear a path for him to enter. The soldiers with the fulcrum yanked and pulled and twisted, heeding the man’s bellows, watching as Keir tried to shove himself through a narrowed entry point and nearly had his head cut off in the process. Ingilby’s men weren’t so inclined to let the man in.
But Michael was there, using his long arms to fend off the enemy through the open grates of the portcullis and, eventually, Keir was able to get through with Kurtis right behind him. Michael threw his great strength into widening the breach and, eventually, it widened enough to let two men pass through at a time. Soon, Aysgarth men were pouring into the bailey, killing anything that moved.
Keir and Kurtis were running for the keep.
*
Chloë was in a world of panic as Ingilby tried to drag her across the hall and towards the stairs that led up into the keep. She smacked at his hands, dug her feet in, and eventually threw herself on the ground so he could not easily force her to do his bidding. Ingilby was a reasonably big man, certainly bigger and stronger than Chloë was, and he used that strength to his advantage. The more she resisted,
the harsher he became.
Chloë’s back was paining her tremendously as she tried to fight him off. She could only surmise he was intending to take her to a bedchamber somewhere and rape her, so she fought with all her might, having no idea what she would do once she broke free. There was really nowhere to go in a fortress under siege, but she would not make the conquest easy for him. As far as she was concerned, they had no bargain because she had no guarantee that Keir had been released alive. Until that factor could be proved, she would resist Ingilby with everything she possessed.
At one point, they passed close to the banqueting table and she grabbed hold with one hand, then with both hands when Ingilby let her go as he tried to break her hold on the table. The big, heavy table groaned as Ingilby pulled and Chloë held tight, grinding across the stone floor as Ingilby dragged both the table and Chloë along. But eventually, he grew weary of the ridiculousness and smacked her hands, causing her to gasp in pain and release the table. Then, he had her. But not for long.
Chloë threw herself onto the floor and kicked him squarely in the face as he reached down for her. Then she scrambled underneath the table as he swiped at her. She crawled on hands and knees, dodging Ingilby’s hands, until he manage to get hold of the ends of her long hair. As she screamed, he pulled on her hair, dragging her out from underneath the table. She ended up on her back with a bench half over her, and he let go of her hair. Slipping his hands underneath her arms, he pulled her up to her feet.
“Enough foolishness,” he snapped, throwing both arms around her body and nearly carrying her towards the stairs. “I have had all I can take of you, Chloë de Geld. I have pursued you for two long years and it is finally time for me to reap my reward.”
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 160