Read Daughters of the Dagger 04 - Amethyst Online
Authors: Elizabeth Rose
“Go,” Gilbert told his men, and they hurried from the room. Only then did Marcus lower his sword. “Marcus, I need to speak with you in private.”
“Anything you want
to say to me can be said in front of my wife as well.” Marcus walked over and laid the sword on the table.
“You f
ool!” Gilbert paced the room. “If you let this woman take control of your thoughts, she will be the ruin of you yet.”
“Nay, Father. I am thinking for myself and I did what I knew in my heart was the right thing to do.”
“Since when have you started acting like a milksop again?”
Marcus’s hands formed into fists and it was all he could do not to strike out and hit his father.
“Mayhap it is time for you to be moving on, Father. You have overstayed your welcome in my home.”
“You will have no home if you throw me out, as I happen to know that your funds are depleted and you need my money to finish this castle.”
Marcus looked up at that, feeling the words like a stab to his heart. He was right. Marcus couldn’t finish the castle on his own. And if his father left – his money left with him. Gilbert had been a major force in funding this project, and he couldn’t have done it without him.
“Marcus,” Amethyst interrupted. “What about the money my father sent when your father brought the missive of marriage from Canterbury?”
“Yes,” said Marcus walking toward his father with his hand outstretched. “I will take that part of the dowry now, if you please.”
His father sneered at Amethyst and he looked like he wasn’t going to hand it over, but then, reluctantly, he held out the bag of coins. But right before Marcus could take it, he snatched it away.
“I’ll give you this when you hand over the ring.”
“What ring?” He knew damned well what he meant but was stalling for time.
“The ring that was your mother’s. The ring you stole from me.”
“Marcus, please don’t …” Amethyst started to protest, but stopped short when Gilbert looked her way.
“’Tis just a simple ring and it never meant anything to you, father, nor did your marriage to mother, so why do you want it?”
“I’m going to sell the gold or have it melted down and made into a ring or piece of jewelry for myself.”
“Nay, you can’t do that!” Amethyst took a step forward, then stopped when Marcus held up his hand to her in a silent gesture.
“It’s fine, Amethyst
,” he told her. “If he wants the damned ring, then he can have it.” He walked over to his pouch lying on the table, and put his hand inside and collected the ring. His back was toward his father, and he brought the ring to his lips and kissed it, as a final farewell to his last memory of his mother. He felt his throat tighten, and fought back the tear that was forming in his eye. “Take it,” he said, turning and handing it to his father.
H
is father snatched it up in one motion, and threw the bag of coins to Marcus. Marcus caught it in one hand.
“Just be warned,” said his father. “If anyone so much as even thinks of freeing the rest of the prisoners, they will have to deal with me. And I swear, next time I won’t just let the matter slide.”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the room. Once he was gone, Marcus closed the door, laying his forehead against it, feeling as if he were totally drained of his energy from this whole emotional ordeal.
“You did the right thing,” said Amethyst, walking up and sliding her arms around his waist from the back. She then laid her head against him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, as I know how much that ring meant to you. I could see it in your eyes.”
“
It did, and I am sorry I ever gave it back to you now. But I know how much it meant to you as well,” she said softly. “But as long as we have each other, nothing else matters.”
He turned and took her in his arms and kissed her atop the head.
He needed to get this castle finished already and send his father on his way. His anger toward his father was so strong that it scared him. And he wasn’t sure if next time he’d be able to keep from striking out at him, or possibly even stop himself from running his sword right through him. And this scared Marcus even more than a possible attack by the Scots.
*
Amethyst worked diligently with her uncle, leading the workers day and night, trying to get the castle finished. They’d had a delay for over a fortnight, when it rained every day and ruined most of the wet mortar. They’d done their best to cover it with straw and dung to protect it from the elements, but there was no denying that winter was on its way.
To her relief, the Scots
had not come to try to free the prisoners, and she could only hope that by Marcus freeing the women and child, and by her telling them she was related to the MacKeefes, it had made a difference. Or at least bought them some time.
But then, one day
, nearly a month later, her biggest fear came true. She was in the outer ward surveying the finished construction atop the barbican. While the towers on the barbican were complete, they still had work to do on the passageway and also both gatehouses before they were actually finished.
Sh
e was up high atop the walkway of the tower, having taken a hammer and nails up there and was securing the boards of the floor in the turret, when she heard the horn of the watchguard announcing that someone was approaching. She ran to the wall, peering over eagerly. ’Twas about midday, and she could see far from her position. She looked over the land, expecting to see more workers with supplies, or perhaps a neighboring baron approaching. Instead, what she saw froze the blood in her veins.
A sea of red plaids moved toward them
from the border, and she knew the Kerrs had finally come to collect their laird and his men.
“It’s the Scots,” she cried, “sound the ala
rm!”
A bell clanged atop the
watchtower and everyone ran around in a frenzy, shouting and taking precautions.
“Get
inside the castle, quickly,” she shouted, taking command from her high post. The workers quickly dropped what they were doing, and heeded her warning.
She stayed atop the tower directing everyone longer than she should
have, but was watching that no one was left behind. She knew she still had time to descend and make it over the drawbridge before it was raised, securing everyone inside.
When she finally decided to descend the tower,
the wind had picked up. She had to hold on to the merlons atop the wall, trying to make her way toward the spiral stairs inside the corner tower. Then it started to rain, and she slipped and twisted her ankle. When she got up, the edge of her gown had gotten wedged between the floorboards which were not yet all in place, and she realized she was now trapped atop the barbican.
She looked back to
ward the castle and called for help, but since the wind had picked up and she was downwind of the castle, no one heard her. Her hair whipped wildly around her and rain sliced down like cold arrows hitting her in the face.
She saw the archers taking their position atop the battlements
of the castle in the distance, as well as some of the footsoldiers and men on horses coming over the drawbridge toward the outer gatehouse. She knew they were coming to protect their defenses and only wished the construction was finished, or at least the second drawbridge in working order so they could raise it up and secure them against the Scots as well. But since it wasn’t, they would have to meet the Scots head on if they were going to protect their people and the land.
“Uncle!” she cried, but he was long gone. And the next time she tried to stand on her hurt ankle, she looked back to the castle and felt as if she were do
omed.
The draw
bridge was slowly starting to rise, and closing everyone inside. And then she heard the shouts of the Scots as they rushed forward to attack the castle with her trapped right in harm’s way. With her gown stuck between the timbers and her ankle twisted, she was more or less a prisoner in her own castle, and right in the midst of the battle that was about to take place.
“Where’s Amethyst?” yelled Marcus to her uncle, as he met the man running over the drawbridge with the rest of the workers as they rushed toward the castle.
“Isn’t she in here?” asked Clement. “I didn’t see her at the worksite and thought she had already made her way back.”
“Damn it to hell,” Marcus ground out, wondering where she was. Then he spied Matilda hurrying over the rain soaked ground, leading a group of people to the great hall.
“Matilda, is Amethyst with you?” he called out against the strong wind.
“Nay,” she said, holding her headpiece from blowing off. “She told me early this morning she’d be working atop the barbican.”
“Peter,” let’s go,” he called to his squire, knowing he had just moments before the drawbridge was raised and he needed to ge
t across it before he was closed inside. His place as a warlord and also lord of the castle was out front, meeting the Scots face to face and keeping them from ever getting close to the castle gate.
Marcus hoisted himself into the saddle, and Peter rode to his side with weapons in his hands. They hadn’t even had time to don armor, as this was a surprise attack, yet far from unexpected. He knew by his father’s stubbornness
in not having released the prisoners in this length of time, that they’d be attacked sooner or later when the Scots came to claim their men. He could only pray that their defenses were strong enough to hold them back as well as withstand the horrible weather.
A flash of
jagged lightning raced against the darkening sky, and thunder boomed loudly overhead.
“I’m coming too,” said Benjamin, racing up to them with a bow and arrows in his hand. Marcus had just taught him to shoot last week, and he knew the boy was not
yet skilled enough to go up against a clan of maddened Scots.
“Nay. You stay here and protect the castle from the battlements. And stay hidden behind the merlons and use the arrow
-loops to your advantage.”
“But I need
to protect you, my lord, as I am your squire.”
“Then protect me from afar, now I’ll not here another word. Peter, let’s get over the drawbridge before they raise it. We have a clan of angry Scots to stop.”
Marcus made his way over the drawbridge with Peter right behind him. He’d seen his father and Sir Gawain and a good dozen or so of his men already make their way to the outer ward, while some of them positioned themselves behind the arrow loops in the passageway between the two gatehouses, ready to shoot as the Scots rode through.
“Well, I guess we’re about to find out just how sturdy these defenses really are,” he said, riding forward through the passageway, calling out over his shoulder as he rode through.
“Close the doors after me and be sure to secure the drawbars. He heard the heavy wooden planks being slid behind the doors as they closed as soon as he and Peter rode through.
He joined his father as well as Sir Gawain and the rest of his men who were waiting at the front of the outer gatehouse ready to stop the Scots before they had the chance to even try to pound down the door.
“There’s so many of them,” said Peter.
Marcus looked over the horizon at the sea o
f plaid heading their way. He knew they were severely outnumbered, and that this was going to be a bloodbath before they were through.
“Ready your w
eapons, men,” Marcus shouted. “This is going to be a bloody battle.”
“Marcus,” came a voice on the wind, and it sounded a lot like Amethyst.
He looked around but didn’t see her, and hoped to hell she was just calling him from atop the battlements back at the castle.
“Marcus,” he heard again, and this time it sounded much closer. Then, something told him to look upward, and to his horror, there stood Amethyst in the rain
atop the tower of the first place the Scots would attack - the barbican.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, but never heard her answer. With a battle cry from the Scots, they rushed forward, and Marcus raised his sword to meet them. His father was the first one to meet head on with the Scots, and Marcus just looked upward and shouted to Amethyst.
“Keep your head down and whatever you do, Amethyst, just stay up there.”
Amethyst watched in horror from atop the tower as the Scots attacked. Marcus rode into the midst of the battle and fought for his life. Peter was right next to him fighting like a true warrior as well. She knew there were too many Scots for the men to fight and survive. They should have just stayed inside the castle walls and waited, but she also knew that Marcus as well as his father were too hardened of warriors to do that. They would risk their lives to stop the Scots before they ever made it to the front gate.
She looked back to the castle and saw the archers atop the ba
ttlements shooting into the midst of the battle, aiming for the enemy. There were so many men fighting right now, and the wind was getting stronger. She just hoped to hell their arrows wouldn’t go astray and shoot one of their own men.
She had to do something. She had to help.
She yanked once more at the hem of her gown and heard it rip as it suddenly came loose. She fell backward, catching herself just before she fell through the hole in the floor of the part that was not yet finished.
The sound of battle rang in her ears and she looked down to see that a group of Scots had made it past Marcus an
d his men and were using a long log to try to push in the front doors.
Since the construction was not yet finished, she knew
that their defenses were not as strong as they should be. The portcullis, iron gate, hadn’t been installed yet, and though there were drawbars that slid across the inner doors, they had not yet placed the one for the main door.
Sure enough, they managed to break through, and rushed into the passageway. She looked down from her post through a murder hole and saw them swarming into the narrow
, winding passageway. Thankfully, some of Marcus’s men were hiding in wait and shooting arrows at them through the arrow loops in the passageway walls. But still, they were already pounding at the next door.
If they managed to get through the outer gatehouse
and the passageway, there would be nothing to stop them from making it right to the moat. And while the drawbridge was raised, there was still a good chance they could make it to the castle, as the moat was dry, and there were no spiked lances in the ground to stop them. ’Twould be easy to cross, though she hoped the steep sides would slow them down. But once up the sides of the moat, they would be right outside the main gate.
“I have to help,” she said to herself, spying the hammer she’d been using. She picked it up and carefully made he
r way along the top of the wall, aiming carefully and throwing the hammer through the murder hole, hitting a Scot right on the head. Then she saw the large stones and rubble in between the double walls. It was not yet set with mortar, and she picked some up and started dropping them atop the heads of the Scots through the holes.
She then headed back to the tower, hoping she could get a glimpse of Marcus. But when she made it there, she was met with a fierce-looking Scot with his plaid thrown over one shoulder. He had a grimace on his face, and a dagger in his hand
and was coming right toward her. She backed away from him toward the front wall, glancing over the side.
“Marcus!” she screamed, knowing he wouldn’t hear her, nor would anyone be able to help her now. She
pulled her dagger from her belt, but with one swift kick of the man’s foot, he knocked it out of her hand and it fell over the side of the wall to the ground far below.
“Leave me alone,” she said, but the man did not heed her words. “I am the lady of the castle, and I demand you do not hurt me.”
He rushed forward and grabbed her, turning her and placing the dagger to her neck.
“Well now, lassie, this may jest work in me favor now, after all.” He pulled her to the side where they could see her from below, still holding the dagger to her neck. She could see the fierce battle
in progress, but Marcus was nowhere in site. She hoped to God that he had not been killed.
“Call for yer husband again, lassie. I want him ta see me kill you.”
“No need for that, as I am right here.” Marcus stood at the top of the steps, his sword in his hand. His face was smeared with blood and so was his blade.
“Ye take a step toward me, and I’ll slit her throat,” warned the man. “Now call off yer men and release our laird.”
“Drop the dagger,” warned Marcus. “And back away from my wife.”
“Drop yer sword,” the Scot yelled, pulling the blade closer to Amethyst’s neck. She could feel the sting of the sharp edge as it started to c
ut into her flesh. She felt the trail of blood trickling down her neck and between her breasts.
“Nay!” shouted Marcus, slowly lowering his sword to the ground and holding his hands up in front of him. “I put down the sword, now release her and we’ll talk.”
He made his way from the tower down the battlements, walking slowly toward them.
Just then shouts were heard from the battlefield and also the sound of a horn
spitting the air. When the Scot turned his head slightly to look, Marcus rushed forward, and knocked the dagger from his hand. He pushed Amethyst out of the way, and continued to fight with the Scot.
P
unches were thrown and there was a fierce struggle, and when Marcus reached for the dagger at his waist, the Scot knocked it away and grabbed him around the neck. The man was very burly and strong, and with his hands around Marcus’s neck, she could see her husband’s struggle to breathe. He was bent backwards over the side of the wall, and it looked as if the Scot was going to throw him to his death.
She rushed forward, jumping at the man and pounding her fists against his back. With one quick sweep of his leg, he pushed her legs out from under her and she fell to the floor. The rain came down now
in torrents, and as she tried to stand, she spied Marcus’s sword lying on the floor inside the tower.
She crawled forward, glancing back at the Scot, making sure he didn’t notice what she was doing. She reached out, her fingers closing
around the hilt of the sword. The Scot’s back was toward her, and she could see Marcus fighting for his life, being bent backward over the wall. At the angle he was at, his attacker had the advantage, and there wasn’t much he could do.
She picked up the sword
in two hands, and slowly stood, turning and walking back toward the Scot. She could stab him in the back before he even noticed. She wondered if this was how her sister Ruby felt when she killed a man in self-defense. Although Amethyst was so frightened that her body was shaking, she knew she had to do this if she wanted to save her husband’s life. Grasping the heavy sword as firmly as she could, she raised it above her head and aimed it at the back of the Scot, knowing that she was about to kill for the first time in her life.