She had been through battles numerous times, but now it was different. Her husband, the man she had loved since she could remember, was facing a powerful foe to defend their castle.
Their castle.
Justine had always feared for his safety and for Josephine’s, but had pretended indifference. It was Justine’s way of self-preservation; if she didn’t admit to anything, then it almost didn’t exist. If she didn’t admit to fear or concern, then there wasn’t anything to worry about. But now, she wanted to go outside and find Sully and wish him luck. Yet… she knew he was too busy to bother with her.
Justine remembered the night before, how Sully had gently initiated their lovemaking and how she had given in to the man as if she’d been doing it her entire life. No resistance, no protests – she’d simply let him have his way with her, a testament to her feelings for the man. He was very quickly becoming everything to her and she didn’t want to lose him in some foolish battle.
Now that she had him, she didn’t want to lose him.
But she had a job to do and she was determined to do it. In fact, at the onset of a siege, everyone in the keep had tasks, even the maids. Ola and Darcy, Justine’s maid, brought Justine’s medicines and herbs into the hall and began to heat water in the hearth so they could boil linen bandages. Justine began busying herself over the hearth with her potions when a small child swathed in cloaks entered the great hall. Justine hardly took notice until the figure threw back its hood and revealed the wild red hair.
Andrew’s healer, Oletha, had arrived.
“I thought you might need help, eventually,” she said to Justine in her sweet, high-pitched voice. “I offer my services.”
Justine faced the woman. She had a great deal of respect for her since the night she had diagnosed Josephine’s condition – not hemlock, but dill – and she was grateful for the old woman’s offer.
“I graciously accept,” she said. “In fact, I should most likely be assisting you.”
Oletha wasn’t at all sure how Justine would react to her. The last time she saw the girl, Justine was calling her an incompetent. She half-expected Justine to throw her out. Instead, Justine seemed very receptive and Oletha was a little stunned at the hospitality. This was not the same girl she had met a mere few days ago, arrogant and stubborn. She knew about the girl’s marriage, but she had never seen it change a woman as such. A man, aye; but a woman? Nay. Sully Montgomery must be a great sorcerer, indeed; more than he knew.
As Oletha rolled up her sleeves and went to work preparing for the onslaught of wounded, it was clear that the smell of battle was in the air and everyone was inhaling their fill. The windows were shuttered and the bolt on the entry door was thrown. The great hall was a hive of activity, with the servants casting fresh rushes with the old to cushion the rest of the wounded that would soon litter the floor. It was a grim task; the calm before the storm, and Justine hated it. She always hated it, but she accepted it with stoic resolve because she had to.
Tying her hair back in a kerchief and pulling on an apron, she busied herself at the hearth with a kettle of healing herbs.
The death watch was beginning.
*
Outside, a huge storm bank was rolling in from the west. In the midst of battle preparations, Josephine glanced up to see the boiling clouds approaching and knew it was going to be a fierce storm, in more ways than one.
Sully was on the wall with the archers, keeping a sharp eye on the horizon where Colin was assembling his troops in formation. Colin was a student of Roman warfare and his soldiers were well-trained. Sully leaned against the cold stone, tilting his helm back and wiping his brow. He had the strangest feeling that this battle would decide the course of the de Carron – Dalmellington future.
Now that he was the official Master of Torridon, protection of the fortress took on a new, deeper meaning. This was where he would raise his own sons and, God willing, he would return it to Josephine someday. He never did intend to keep it. But Torridon was his home and it would always be a part of him.
The rain started. Far below Sully, Josephine stood with Severn and Henly as Andrew began giving orders. She was watching Andrew closely, impressed with what she saw. The man did this for a living and she could see that he knew much more of warfare than she ever could. It wasn’t simply his knowledge, but his manner with his men. A siege was imminent, but Andrew was calm and steady. He called each man by his first name. He used suggestions instead of criticisms, and a small joke instead of an unkind word. He was more a friend to them than a leader, but there was no doubt of his control.
Sully handled Torridon’s soldiers just as well, and they would easily die for him. But he lacked the depth of compassion that Andrew exuded. Compassion that turned deadly on an enemy and from which there was no escape.
But the man was certainly something to watch.
The outer bailey was quickly turning into a mud pool as the rain began to pound. Helmless, Andrew’s hair was turning into a dark, wavy mass as he turned from the men and caught sight of Josephine. He smiled at her and her heart leapt in her chest. But just as quickly, he was gone and she found herself moving with her knights to the wall.
Positions were about to be filled with an attack to fend off, but she had no way of knowing if it would be the last time she saw Andrew on the grounds of Torridon, now… and possibly forever.
There was no way she could have known that, at the moment, she was being hunted.
The hunter with the dark eyes had been tracking her for the last several minutes. When the woman would turn in his direction, Ridge would manage to hide himself, only to emerge when Lady Josephine was properly distracted. He lost himself in the hordes of soldiers in the outer bailey, but his gaze remained locked on to the lady.
He kept his eye on the target.
Damn the king! Ridge had known all along that d’Vant would never let the king take her away after the betrothal announcement and it occurred to him that Alexander had been planning some sort of abduction all along. The king knew he couldn’t fight off The Red Fury and he didn’t bring nearly enough men to fight off the mercenary army.
Therefore, Ridge was left with the dirty work.
While his sovereign and entourage had already left the castle through the gatehouse that was just being shored up, he remained behind carrying out orders that would surely provoke a mighty wrath were he discovered. Ridge was good with a sword; one of the best in Scotland, but he sorely doubted he could outfight The Red Fury.
Fortunately, Andrew was too busy with battle preparations to be able to stick close to his lady. She, on the other hand, was surrounded by several Torridon knights, and Ridge had no intention of taking them all on. Therefore, he waited, angling himself over towards the east wall where the huge ladders led to the platforms that lined the top of the fortress. He knew that eventually she would mount one of those ladders and, mayhap, if he was quick enough, he could grab her. There were enough supplies, weapons, and other clutter to hide behind, so he crouched down in the sludge.
He didn’t have long to wait. Lady Josephine and a young, blond knight were headed his way, talking between themselves. They were in the shadow of the wall, concealed from the walk above and from most of the bailey view, and Ridge knew his time was coming. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get another chance to be this close to the woman and he knew he had to take the opportunity. As the lady and the knight drew closer, he reached into his vest and drew forth a dagger with a six-inch blade.
His eyes glittered with anticipation as Lady Josephine came to within arm’s length of him. As she put her hand on the wood of a nearby ladder, Ridge’s gauntleted hand shot out and yanked her behind the bushels. Severn, momentarily stunned at what he just witnessed, drew forth his sword and followed her.
The first thing Severn saw in the dimness was Josephine on the ground in front of him. The next thing he realized, a dagger was thrust into his rib cage and he suddenly felt very weak. He wanted desperately to help Josephine as
she struggled to her feet. He saw a very big man wearing the king’s colors move towards her, but he couldn’t seem to speak. His breath caught in his throat and he saw the knight knock Josephine savagely on the side of her head, knocking her back down again.
The last recollection of Severn’s life was a burly king’s man gathering the limp form of his lady and carrying her off into the storm.
PART THREE:
EDINBURGH
CHAPTER TWENTY
Josephine’s head was throbbing. She was coming out of the darkness, being jostled about in an ungodly manner, and she struggled to open her eyes.
When the world came in to view, she saw that she was cradled in someone’s arms; a man’s arms. She was instantly confused. Where was she? What had happened? She twisted about and strong arms gripped her tightly.
“So, you are awake, my lady?” a deep voice asked, not unkind. “How do you feel?”
She couldn’t see the face of the man that held her, but she could see she rode atop a great roan destrier. The horse had a bristly mane, scratching her arm.
“Who are you?” she demanded weakly.
“Ridge de Reyne, my lady,” he said pleasantly. “I am the king’s bodyguard.”
She was more confused than ever at that revelation. Fear and anger ran neck and neck in her foggy mind.
“I do not know you,” she said. “What goes on?”
“I am taking you to the king, so that he may formally deliver you to your future husband,” Ridge replied.
Josephine stiffened. “He will not be my future husband.”
Ridge didn’t reply immediately. “That, dear lady, is for the king to decide.”
Josephine tried to sit up but Ridge held her fast. “Release me,” she hissed, slapping at his hands. “Where is everyone? Where are we?”
“On the road to Edinburgh, my lady,” he said, unmoved by her struggles.
Josephine’s eyes widened. “Edinburgh?” she repeated in shock. “How… what… what have you done? I am not going to Edinburgh!”
Ridge had a good grip on her. “My lady, I would suggest you stop fighting,” he said. “I have my orders and I will fulfill them.”
I have my orders.
His jaw was set, firm, and Josephine was genuinely shocked. She was also torn between her aching head and wanting to escape. But she was, frankly, terrified. She hadn’t formally met Ridge de Reyne at Torridon but she’d seen him with the king, one of the many men the king surrounded himself with, but Ridge was different. He was a very big man who moved with the grace of a cat. She hadn’t known his name, but she recognized his face.
Hard-set and cruel.
As she lay there, trying to clear her spinning head, it suddenly occurred to her that there was a great battle in progress at her fortress. With the terrible pain and confusion in her head, it had nearly slipped her mind. But she was no longer torn by her confusion. She was spurred into action with the desire to return to her castle, and she twisted forcefully in Ridge’s grasp. Now, the fighting began in earnest and she pounded her fists against him and kicked with all of her might until she fell from his horse.
In fact, she’d fought like a wildcat, so violently that Ridge lost his grip, and his balance, and toppled off the other side, trying unsuccessfully to grab hold of the saddle. Josephine rolled to her knees, ripping off her outer tunic and mail coat as fast as she possibly could while Ridge tried to right himself on the other side of the horse. She was soon racing back down the road, a road she knew she didn’t recognize, but she knew that they had come from this direction.
She hoped it would take her home.
Josephine was being irrational and she knew it, but she had to get back to Torridon. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious and, for all she knew Torridon was in flames and its occupants dead. But she only knew that she had to go back as her lungs began to ache and her head swam. But she didn’t stop. Ferociously, she ran full-force along the rocky road.
But she wasn’t fast enough. Ridge hit Josephine from behind like a runaway beer wagon and she fell heavily on the gravel with him on top of her, scratching her chin and hands as the two of them rolled down a slight incline. Before she could recover well enough to attempt to escape again, he was on top of her and pinning her hands down with his own as his heavy body lay atop hers.
Ridge’s helm was gone and his black hair was wet and spiky. His square-jawed, handsome face was inches from her own, and his dark eyes looked at her with irritation.
“You knew that you would never make it,” he said.
She looked at him defiantly, fighting him every inch of the way. “I have to return, de Reyne,” she said through clenched teeth. “My castle is under siege. Let me go!”
Somewhere under the hard exterior, she thought she caught a glimpse of compassion. But it was gone in a flash. “I cannot,” he said.
It was a simple answer, but it was also a final one. The words had impact on her. Josephine stopped struggling and suddenly, she burst into tears. “Please!” she begged. “I must return. I must save my fortress. Let me return now and I shall gladly go with you when the fighting is through.”
Ridge watched the lovely features crumple and felt a stab of pity for the little soldier. He knew exactly how she felt and, under different circumstances, might have told her his story. But right now, he had a job to do.
“I doubt that d’Vant would let you return with me,” Ridge countered. “It is very likely he would kill me the moment I pass through the fortress gates.”
“He would not if I asked him not to.” The tears were still flowing, but the sobbing had subsided. “I give you my word.”
Ridge seriously considered her request. He had no doubt that d’Vant would move heaven and earth for this lady. He had seen the looks between them and he could only imagine the power of their love. In his thirty-plus years on this earth, he had never had the privilege of experiencing that emotion for himself and envied them their happiness.
But he was sworn to obey the king, even though there was a lot to be said for the pleas of a beautiful woman. Still… he couldn’t weaken, no matter how distasteful the task.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said softly. “But I cannot.”
He rose to his feet and pulled her with him, firmly gripping her wrists. Josephine knew by the look on his face that nothing she could say would persuade him.
“Can you not understand that I need to return?” she pleaded quietly. “My soldiers, my sister… they need me.”
Ridge glanced up at the storm cloud filled sky. “My lady, it has been nearly five hours since we left Torridon,” he said. “Whatever was going to happen has happened, and your presence will not change that. I understand your desire to return, but I must obey the king. I must deliver you to him.”
Josephine was about to try the soft approach when the trees behind him spilled forth three men. All three of them were armed with crude swords. They were dressed in rags. Ridge heard the sounds a split second before he saw the look on her face. Drawing his sword and turning around in one fluid motion, he raised his blade just in time to prevent getting his head being chopped off.
Josephine instinctively fell in behind him, clutching his waist as he backed away from the thieves. She had no sword and wasn’t much for hand-to-hand combat with anyone other than her sister. Ridge was doing well, considering he was fending off three men, but she wanted to help.
“De Reyne!” she said urgently. “Do you carry another sword on your destrier?”
“In the pack,” he grunted, fending off another blow. “But I forbid you to…”
She was gone, racing off towards the distant horse. He managed to turn and see her, cursing at her flagrant disregard for their situation. He grunted loudly as two swords came down heavily on his blade, the tip of which caught his cheek.
The third man, the smallest one, ran off after Josephine. She had a good lead on him and made it to the snorting horse, patting down the pack rapidly in her search for the s
word. It was there, on the top, and she drew it forth quickly.
The man was nearly at her, and she swung the heavy sword boldly in two successive upper cuts, effectively catching the thief off guard.
Josephine always made a point of looking into the face of any man she fought. It was a bad habit, for the soldier ceased to become the faceless enemy at that point and became a person. As she swung viciously at her opponent, she managed to look at his face between thrusts and saw that he was little more than a boy.
The brief stab of uncertainty she felt was replaced by self-preservation when the boy thrust recklessly at her and narrowly missed cutting her throat. In a flash, she spun in a circle and crouched low, coming in under his sword range. Before the boy could take another breath, she drew the sharp edge of the blade across his belly and effectively disemboweled him on the spot.
For a brief moment, she felt a surge of sorrow as she stared down at the dead young man. She knew if she hadn’t killed him first, then she would most likely have been killed. Shaking it off, she turned her full attention to Ridge.
One bandit lay crumpled on the ground several feet from where Ridge and the final bandit fought. Despite the enemy’s rotund build, he was good with a sword and matched Ridge blow-for-blow. She could see the sparks flying from their engaging weapons as she approached.
Josephine had always appreciated a good sword fight. When done correctly, it was like a well-choreographed dance, and was just as entertaining. Ridge was quite good, in fact. He wasn’t launching a strong offensive. Instead, he was waiting until the bandit exhausted himself before making the kill. Josephine just stood by, heavy sword in hand, and waited.
But the would-be robber did something unexpected. He charged forward and their swords locked, but then he threw his substantial body weight forward and knocked Ridge to the ground.
Mercenaries and Maidens: A Medieval Romance bundle Page 29