"Look,
Riss," he pointed out the window. "The destriers are charging forth.
Look at all of the knights!"
She
caught sight of men on horseback, laden down with battle armor until there was
barely a distinguishing division between man and beast. She'd never seen
knights riding to battle before and her terror gained a shade of fascination.
"There
must be dozens," she agreed. "I see.... there's Daniel! And Carlton
is right behind him! But the other knights are bearing different standards and
I do not recognize them. I.... Sweet St. Jude, there's Gavan! He’s riding out
to meet the enemy, too!"
"I
have heard that Gavan Hage can take a man's head off with one blow,"
Bartholomew said eagerly, suddenly very much a spectator to the fight below.
Growing up amongst knights had instilled a great appreciation in their skill,
even if he had no desire to become one.
Arissa's
brow furrowed at that brutal thought; although he was a monstrous man with a
fierce reputation, she found it difficult to think of the gentle knight in
those terms. "How.... impressive."
"Not
only that, but I have heard tale that Richmond can...." he suddenly looked
to his sister, noting her appalled expression. Weakly, he smiled. "It
doesn't matter. He’s a great knight and that is what he shall be known
for."
Gazing
into Bartholomew's blue eyes, she somehow obtained the impression that he
sensed the relationship between Henry's great knight and his younger sister.
Being the sensitive, intuitive man that he was, she would not have been
surprised. And she would have trusted Bartholomew far more that Regine to keep
safe her secret.
But
she would not elaborate, at least not at the moment. But Mossy was another
story; glancing over her shoulder, the old man was back at his table, fussing
with a myriad of mysterious junkets piled about him. She desperately wanted to
tell him that all of her dreams, her hopes, had finally come true; smiling to
herself, she realized he probably already knew. She swore the man could read
minds.
"Do
you see Richmond?" she asked, returning her attention to the window.
Bartholomew
shook his head. "It's difficult to see. This window does not have a good
view of the battlefield. But I would safely wager that he was at the head of
the group of knights that rode from the gates."
She
digested his statement, thinking that her bower was far more strategically
located than Mossy's tower and afforded a much better view of the open front
gates. But she was hesitant to make the journey across nearly the entire width
of the castle to reach her bower; should the bastion be violated, she did not
want to be caught alone. Here, in Mossy's tower, was possibly the safest place
she could be.
With
a sigh, she turned away from the window. Since she could not see Richmond,
there was nothing to do but wait and trust that his tactics would prove
themselves. But in addition to those anxieties, she found herself worrying over
her father and Gavan, Carlton and Daniel. They were in the midst of a heated
battle and she could not bring herself to even imagine the worst. They were
seasoned, intelligent warriors; they would survive.
She
meandered over to Mossy as the sounds of the distant battle and pounding rain
filled the stale air of the tower. Planting her round bottom on an ancient
stool, she watched his quick movements without interest. Even if her eyes were
focused on the old man, her heart, mind and soul were with Richmond somewhere
in the battle beyond. To think that something might befall him was an
inconceivable notion. She refused to entertain the possibility.
"What
are you doing?" she asked the old man to distract herself.
Mossy
was busying himself with something odd, as usual. He continued to fumble for a
moment before answering.
"Yer
lover is safe, Riss,” he said softly. “He’s in the heat of it, driving off the
invaders."
She
stared at him a moment, a thousand words of inquiry and confusion coming to
mind. How did he always know what she was thinking? It should not have come as
a surprise, yet it always did. This was not the first time.
"He
loves me, Mossy," she whispered, shielding her words from Bartholomew's
ears. "He will marry me. He’s promised."
"'Twill
not be easy to wrest ye from Whitby, not when they're expecting yer dowry.
They've been hungering for it for eighteen years."
She
glanced over her shoulder to make sure Bartholomew was not listening. "It
does not matter. He’s promised to speak with Father."
Mossy
looked to her, the raven-hued tresses, the flawless skin. He wondered if, and
when, Richmond intended to tell her the entire truth. For a young lady who had
lived a relatively sheltered life, the facts of her existence were undoubtedly
going to cause her tremendous shock. He felt a good deal of pity for what she
was facing.
"I
am sure he will," he said after a moment, turning back to his work.
"Richmond will have ye, have no doubt."
She
smiled faintly, feeling a great amount of comfort at the old man's muttered
words. To hear Mossy declare that Richmond would meet with success was as good
as the word of God. She believed him, without question, and her hope began to
soar. Not even the noise of the ongoing battle could dampen her joy.
She
was still smiling when the door to Mossy's sanctuary flew open, spilling forth
two men dressed in dirty, rusted mail. Arissa was not alarmed until they
flashed their broadswords menacingly, sinister bolts of light reflecting
against the stone. Shocked and confused, her smiled faded into a, terrified
expression as they moved directly toward her, tearing up everything in their
path.
Bartholomew
was startled, but not senseless. He immediately realized that, somehow, the
castle had been breached and the soldiers before him were intent upon
inflicting mortal harm. God help him, he had been wrong and all of his
confident words came tumbling back on him, reminding him that his arrogant
faith in Richmond had been misplaced. As much as the idea astonished him, the
evidence was irrefutable. Lambourn was falling.
Knight
or no, Bartholomew possessed a good deal of fighting ability. The protective
instinct in him soared as the enemy soldiers plowed their way into Mossy's
sanctuary, upending cages and spilling out animals. As raccoons screamed and
Samuel, overhead in the rafters, cawed loudly, Bartholomew hurled himself
toward Arissa.
Mossy's
ancient table was meeting with an ugly death as the soldiers kicked and hacked
their way through it. Bartholomew grasped his sister savagely, pulling her with
him as he fled across the room. Mossy, lost amidst the chaos of Arissa's
shrieking and crashing furniture, pressed himself against the wall as the
struggle ensued.
Bartholomew
had a specific destination in mind as he pulled Arissa across the floor. His
never-used armor and blemish-free broadsword lay several feet away, wrapped and
protected in a dilapidated old wardrobe. Mossy had always kept it for him,
waiting for the day when Bartholomew overcame his thespian stage and chose to
follow the path of a true earl.
He
had, in fact, come up to Mossy's sanctuary to retrieve his armor and fight
beside his father. Now, for another reason, he was in desperate need to reach
it. Yanking his stumbling, hysterical sister behind him, he struggled with
every ounce of strength he possessed to reach the broadsword in time.
Arissa
fell to her knees as they reached the ancient wardrobe and Bartholomew ignored
her for the moment, tearing open the splintering door and plunging into the
contents. The broadsword, buried beneath the armor, was difficult to locate.
The
soldiers were advancing. Arissa watched their approach, her breathing coming in
panicked gasped. As Bartholomew struggled for the sword, her gasps became a
hysterical chant.
Hurry,
Bart, hurry!
....
please, hurry!
The
evil warriors were nearly upon them. With a triumphant grunt, Bartholomew
withdrew the broadsword just in time to meet with an opposing blade. Arissa
cried out in fear, scampering away from the clash of swords. Unfortunately, the
threatening soldier engaging Bartholomew in battle was far superior in skill
and strength and Bartholomew knew instantly that he was badly outmatched. With
every stroke, every parry, he was being driven further and further into the
ground.
His
heart ached for Arissa's fate. He damned himself for choosing to pursue the
finer arts in nature and, for the first time in his life, he regretted his
decision not to become a knight. Were he knight, he would have been better able
to protect his sister from the intruders. Were he a knight, he would have been
able to save his own miserable hide.
"Riss!”
he hollered. "Run!"
Arissa
heard his shout, startling her to her feet. But as she attempted to obey her
brother, the second soldier intercepted her.
"You
are not going anywhere, lass," he growled.
She
screamed, whirling away from him as he tried to grab her. He caught her hair
net, tearing it free of her scalp, and cascades of black silk tumbled to her
waist. Shrieking with terror, Arissa scrambled away from his as fast as her
quaking legs would take her.
"I
shall not hurt you, girl," the soldier tossed the net to the floor,
oblivious to Bartholomew's frantic attempts to dispatch his opponent; he was
watching in horror as the second soldier pursued his sister. "Come
peacefully."
Arissa
mind was a void of panic. She stumbled on a piece of debris, regaining her
balance and persevering with determination across the room. Terror gripped her,
the desperate need to run for her life the only matter she could manage to
comprehend. But as she crossed the floor and came upon Mossy, she was not so
utterly selfish that she would leave him behind to be butchered. As badly as
Bartholomew needed to protect her, she was desperate to defend the frail old
man.
"Get
up!" she grasped him by the arms, pulling him to his feet. "Come with
me!"
But
Mossy resisted in a surprising show of strength. Shirking her grasp, he shoved
her toward the door. "Run, Riss! Find Richmond!"
She
gasped, half with fear and half with disbelief. "I won't leave you!"
"Ye
must!
Run
!"
On
the opposite side of the room, Bartholomew let out a loud grunt and Arissa
turned with horror in time to see her brother's opponent disengaging his sword
from the young man's gut. A scream rose to her lips as her brother crumpled to
the cold stone, a victim of his own protective instinct and a lack of knightly
talent. He simply could not let them take his sister without a fight, and he
had paid the ultimate price for his selfless attempt.
Arissa
was frozen to the spot in terror, watching her brother's blood flow upon the
floor. She simply could not believe what she was seeing; her sweet, intelligent
brother having met his end defending her against a pair of invaders who had
dared breach the sanctuary of Lambourn.
Hot
tears sprang to her eyes, tears of shock and disbelief. For the moment, she had
completely forgotten about the pursuing soldiers as she watched her beloved
brother bleed to death before her eyes. Unfortunately, her stunned horror
provided the soldier who had been pursuing her the opportunity to close in and,
before she realized it, a heavy mailed glove clamped down on her arm.
"You
are coming with me!" the soldier boomed, pulling her into a vise-like
grip.
The
second soldier kicked a piece of broken furniture out of the way, moving for the
door. "We have no time to waste, Lyle. The servant's gate is our best
option."
Arissa
was still reeling from her brother's demise, almost non-resistant when the
soldier captured her. But hearing their voices seemed to snap her out of her
lethargy, and she suddenly turned into a fighting, spitting cat.
Lyle
was the unfortunate recipient of a rake of nails across his face, catching him
in the cheek and nose. He yelped with surprise as Arissa struggled against him,
her frail strength no match for his power.
"Enough
of that!" he snapped savagely, easily capturing her hands. "Princess
or no, I shall beat you senseless if you do that again."
Arissa
heard the reference but did not comprehend the meaning. In fact, she seemed to
disregard his threat as well, for her struggles did not lessen. If anything,
they increased as Lyle dragged her toward the door.
"Get
to the horses," he grunted to David. "Wait for me just outside the
gate. We shall have to take the long route to keep le Bec off our trail."
"Le
Bec is in the middle of a siege," David pointed out, helping him move the
twisting, fighting captive through the door. "I doubt her absence will be
discovered for several hours yet."
Lyle
grunted as Arissa dug her heels into the floor, screeching and wrestling
against him. With a growl, he swung her over his shoulder. "You may be
right, but we can't take the chance that le Bec will realize she’s missing
immediately."
David
suddenly paused, glancing into the sanctuary. "What about the old man? He
will tell him."