The
gate was within his grasp. He reached out to touch it, feeling its iron comfort
him, assuring him of his successful mission. He gained strength from the gate,
even as he pushed Arissa through it, knowing the satisfaction of a task
accomplished. The princess was his.
But
his satisfaction was the last positive emotion he was to feel. As he was
preparing to enter the gate himself, a loud crash sounded directly over his
head as something heavy slammed into the stone of the wall. Instinctively, Lyle
ducked as a heavy mace came crashing down on his helm. Had it not been for his
head protection, he would have been knocked unconscious. As it was, his ears
were ringing as he whirled to face his accoster.
It
was his worst nightmare come to life. Through the sheet of driving rain,
emerging from the very bowels of hell, was a figure so massive and terrifying
that Lyle could scarcely believe it. He knew it would be of no use to run; he
would simply be caught and killed. But he knew in the same breath that he was
going to meet his demise regardless, for the figure approaching had sent many a
man into the depths of the underworld.
Lyle
was gazing into the face of the Devil's own ferryman. Surely Charon hadn't
driven as many souls into the maze of Hades as this man before him had. Terror
filled his heart. There was no escape.
Death
was approaching.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Richmond
le Bec raised his sword, the razor-sharp tip aimed at Lyle's throat. "You
will release her."
Struggling
against his natural fear, Lyle's grip tightened on Arissa's soft arm.
"Owen knows she’s here, le Bec. If you kill me, more will come for her and
still more until she’s within the heart of the Welsh resistance. We will not
stop until we have her."
As
the soldier spoke of crazy misconceptions, Arissa heart was soaring with hope.
Somehow, Richmond had sensed she was in danger; she did not know how he had
come to discover her predicament, but the reasons behind his knowledge were of
little concern. The only factor of import was his timely arrival
“Richmond!"
she cried. "Thank God!"
Richmond
heard her voice, filling him with sweetness and longing and utter elation. But
the soldier's words were rattling about in his weary mind and he couldn't shake
the impact; Owen was aware of Arissa's identity. It did not matter how the man
knew, only that he was in possession of knowledge very few people were aware
of.
Suddenly,
the growing Welsh rebellion was striking far too close to his heart and
Richmond was filled with panic and rage. Tightening the grip on the hilt of his
powerful broadsword, he resumed his advance with a vengeance. Owen couldn't
have Arissa; if he had to kill every rebellious Welsh bastard personally, he
would not stop until all hazard to Arissa's safety was vanished. And he would
begin with the idiot before him.
"You
cannot have her," he growled as he closed the distance between them.
"You shall pay for your foolish folly with your worthless life."
Lyle,
still gripping Arissa, backed away from Richmond's approach. "That may be,
but heed my words. We know her to be Henry's daughter and Owen means to have
her."
Arissa,
bewildered and apprehensive, began to struggle wildly within his crushing grip.
Shrieking and gasping, she tugged against his hold and took to pounding him on
the shoulder. A well-aimed fist caught him in the face and, for a moment, Lyle
was distracted.
Emitting
a roar of fury borne from fear and anger, Lyle thrust Arissa away from him
savagely. With a yelp, she went stumbling away in a reckless reel of force.
Before she could stop her momentum, the fortress wall was suddenly in her path
and in a blinding flash of pain, the entire world went black.
Richmond's
brittle composure very nearly shattered as Arissa smacked her head against the
stone wall, crumpling to the swampy mud. But Owen's soldier had assumed an
offensive stance and he raised his sword, charging the foolish warrior with all
of the fury and strength he possessed.
Coming
together in a clash of metal and flesh, Owen's soldier tumbled onto his back
from the potency of Richmond's frenzy. But Lyle was amazingly agile and managed
to roll to his feet, regaining his balance and meeting Richmond's strikes with
a good deal of skill. As their battle ensued across the muck-choked yard,
Arissa lay unconscious in several inches of freezing, dirty water.
Richmond
felt a desperation he had never before experienced. He couldn't be sure if
Arissa was even breathing and the need to dispatch his opponent was greater
than any he had ever known. But the soldier was fresh, unhindered by the hours
upon hours of endless fighting that Richmond had experienced. Knowing it was
his age draining his stamina, Richmond struggled against a lesser opponent to
overcome the most serious threat to Arissa's life that he had yet to face.
Unfortunately,
Owen's spy showed little sign of defeat and the battle lengthened. Richmond's
panic began to rise, for Arissa had yet to move a muscle and he began to
seriously consider his limited options. It almost did not matter whether or not
he killed his opponent; of surmounting importance was that he must reach Arissa.
She
needed him desperately and anger anew swept him. He refused to believe that he
had witnessed her demise as her head crashed against the stone, or as she lay drowning
in the mud at this very moment. He simply could not dwell on the sheer horror
his frantic thoughts provoked, 'else he would lose his concentration and they
would both be lost.
Just
as he managed to corner the Welsh soldier against the fortified wall, Gavan
suddenly rounded the corner of the kitchen astride his striking red charger.
Richmond exerted a hard blow against the soldier, his heart soaring with hope
and relief as he laid eyes on his second in command.
"Get
Arissa!" he bellowed.
Gavan
was off his horse before the words were out of Richmond's mouth. Over three
hundred pounds of flesh and armor made haste to Arissa, scooping her out of the
mud and filth. She was alive, but gray and soaked to the skin. Even as Gavan
moved for the kitchen entrance, he was shouting urgently to Richmond.
"I
am taking her inside!"
"Is
she alive?" Richmond took a hard blow, answering with the same.
Gavan
muttered something Richmond did not hear. In a panic, he delivered several
bone-shattering thrusts that sent the enemy soldier to his knees. As the man
raised his sword to defend himself, Richmond's weapon cut through the freezing
rain and air so forcefully that Lyle's blade was jarred from his grip. The
Welshman watched with horror as his sword landed several yards away.
Richmond
did not pause in his onslaught. Kicking his opponent squarely in the chest, he
sent the man to his back. Lyle gazed up at Richmond, amazingly calm in spite of
the fact that he knew he was breathing his last. He comforted himself with the
knowledge that David would deliver the news of the princess' whereabouts to
Owen and that factor alone was more important than his own insignificant life.
"They
shall come for her," he said hoarsely. "You cannot protect her from
all of Wales."
Richmond
put the tip of his sword to Lyle's throat, his body quivering with fatigue and
emotion. Since there was no use in denying Arissa's roots, he did not attempt
the effort. Instead, he turned the tables. "How did he know?"
Lyle
cocked an eyebrow. "You are about to kill me, le Bec. I do not presume to
believe that if I were to tell you what you wish to know, you would spare my
life. I shall take your answers to my grave."
Richmond
gazed down at him impassively. "So be it. But I will tell you now that
every Welshman who comes within the princess' range will meet with your fate.
Hundreds, thousands, it does not matter. They will all die."
"You
are too old to fight them all," Lyle said softly, his tone laced with
defiant defeat. "As I nearly beat you, they shall not fail."
Richmond's
hands were shaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword. When he moved to finish
his task, Lyle suddenly brought up a foot and kicked Richmond in the gut.
Losing his balance and his breath, he stumbled back as the Welshman leapt to
his hands and knees, crawling desperately through the mud to reach his weapon.
Lyle's
hand met with the hilt of his sword, raising it against Richmond with the full
intent of ramming it through his groin. But Richmond was a shade faster, his
blade plunging deep into the flesh of Lyle's torso before the Welshman could
complete his purpose. Piercing the heart, Lyle was walking the fields of
Paradise before he realized death had finally claimed him.
***
By
the time Richmond reached Arissa's bower, Gavan and Penelope were stripping off
her icy, soaked clothing while Regine was screaming to the servants for hot
water. Richmond thrust himself between his soldier and Penelope, nearly
knocking the young girl over in the process.
"I
shall get her clothes," he said, his voice shaking. "Somebody find
Mossy."
Gavan
stood back, watching Richmond go to work on Arissa's heavy woolen surcoat.
"I shall retrieve him," he muttered.
Richmond
did not reply; his entire world was centered around the wet figure before him,
her skin icy and her face an ugly shade of gray. Knowing of Arissa's delicate
health only served to inflame his panic as he tore off his gauntlets and
untangled the sash at her waist. Then, grasping the surcoat around the neck, he
gave a sharp tug and tore it cleanly down the middle.
Penelope,
remarkably, was calm amidst the hustle and ripping fabric. The girl had a
tendency to be skittish and jittery, but she was doing an admirable job of
maintaining her composure while Richmond stripped Arissa of her wet clothing.
"What
can I do, Richmond?" she asked softly.
He
did not answer her for a moment as the clinging woolen garment gave him a
slight degree of difficulty. His movements were sharp, rough, and indicative of
panic. "Towels, love. Collect as many as you can lay your hands on."
Penelope
was gone, dashing past Regine just as several harried servants emerged into the
room with a copper tub and buckets of hot water. Richmond, meanwhile, succeeded
in removing all of Arissa's soaked clothing and wrapped her in a heavy coverlet
to keep her warm.
There
was nothing he could do for the moment but wait until the servants filled the
tub. Cradling Arissa on his lap, he felt the first brick of his substantial
wall of composure tumble.
"Oh,
Riss," he whispered into her hair, his quaking fingers tracing over the
lump on her forehead. "Wake up, kitten. You are safe now."
She
did not respond and he gripped the back of her limp head with his great hand,
kissing her face tenderly and oblivious to the other occupants of the room. At
the moment, it simply did not if their secret became public knowledge; he loved
Arissa and did not care who knew it.
"Wake
up, kitten," he whispered against her temple. "You are safe. Open
your eyes, love, listen to me."
He
continued to murmur against her hair as the copper tub was filled to the rim.
But she was determined to ignore him, safe and warm and secure from the
terrible realities of world as she huddled deep inside her comforting stupor.
After a few non-responsive moments, he paused in his attempt to coax her forth
from the depths of unconsciousness, focusing instead on the nearly-full tub.
As
Richmond attempted to remove the bedrug in preparation for placing her in the
copper vat, Arissa's eyes abruptly fluttered open.
"Richmond?"
she whispered weakly.
Startled,
he clutched her tightly. "I am here, Riss. You are safe."
She
closed her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. "The soldier…."
"He’s
dead, kitten," he whispered. "He cannot harm you any longer."
She
struggled to speak. "There.... there were two of them. One was supposed to
w-wait outside of the servant’s gate with horses for our escape."
Richmond
listened calmly; if the second soldier was as experienced as the first, he was
long gone by now. He squeezed her gently. "It doesn't matter. You are safe
now."
Individually,
Arissa's eyelids weighed a hundred pounds; certainly, she did not possess the
strength to keep them open. But as she attempted to doze, Richmond shook her
gently. "I know you are tired, kitten, but do not go to sleep. Not yet.
Regine has prepared a bath and we must warm your body."
"I
do not want a bath," she mumbled weakly. "Let me sleep first and I
shall bathe later."
He
smiled, relieved that the stubborn Lady Arissa he had seen on occasion was
making an appearance. When she was feeling particularly tired or ill, her
usually sunny demeanor fled in lieu of a bitter, combative shrew. But he would
rather be subject to her insolent mood than to witness her continued
unconsciousness.
All will be well
, he told himself firmly. If she was
willing to contradict him, then she would be fine.