Lady Trent (38 page)

Marcus’s gaze followed the direction of his.
Marty had tilted his head back as if to stare way above at the
cliff surrounding and overlooking the valley. Marcus’s eyes
followed the direction of his gaze. If not mistaken he saw a man on
horseback, and then another and another.

His heart started to race. His eyes skimmed
the entire area above the valley. He turned his head this way and
that, spotting men in all different directions. Atop the mountain
above the valley there were lots of men on horseback, all facing
their direction, a number he didn’t bother considering for whether
one or dozens, this was alarming.

He cast his eyes over the guards. Could they
not see this? Was he imagining it?

No, not at all. And as these men began to
move from their positions, he rode up ahead, waving his arms and
stopping them. They, in turn, gave attendance to those men on
horseback who had suddenly decided to make themselves much known.
One after another they drew their weapons. A fight was so close to
breaking out.

******

Rachel, Tilly and Zaria sat holding to their
seats as the carriage jostled before coming to an instant halt.
They took turns eyeballing one another. “What’s happening?” Rachel
asked, seeing as to how the carriage had stopped in the middle of
nowhere. There was this eerie feel in the air, and some very eerie
sounds coming from outside the carriage.

She pushed the door opened. Tilly took hold
of her arm to stop her. She yanked free, clamoring out of the
vehicle, Zaria following behind. Then the commotion was very
evident. Lots and lots of commotion. All she saw were horses and
riders coming and going in all directions, and swarms of dust all
around.

“Get back into the carriage!” She heard the
shout from one of the guards, and then another who rode toward her.
“Back into the carriage!” he demanded, but she did not take instant
heed, but turned this way and that while men on horseback descended
the mountainside at a very fast speed.

She swung in all directions. They were
everywhere.

Marcus, she thought and then whispered,
“Marcus.” She turned this way and that, searching for him, and
while the guards scattered in all directions as if in battle, she
spotted him riding toward her.

“Get in the carriage!” He demanded.

“What’s happening?”

“Just do it!”

“What is happening?”

He had nodded at the guard who’d previously
ordered her. He instantly dismounted and took hold of her arm. And
then the driver of the carriage who’d also drawn a weapon. Yes,
even the escorts were skilled for battle. Jacob would have it no
other way.

“Stay with her!” Marcus ordered. “Watch her!”
he said even louder, taking note of the intruders who had fast come
upon them. The team of horses that’d pulled the carriage became
uneasy with the ruckus and began to prance left and right. One of
them reared, followed by the other.

“Loose the horses!” He commanded the two of
them. He glanced at Rachel who attempted to free herself and then
at the faces of the two men. “If any harm befalls her, it will be
upon your heads.”

With that, he was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The ground was now covered with bodies and
blood and weapons that’d fallen from limp, lifeless hands. Marcus
dodged the horrible mounds here and there, wondering in fleeting
intervals which men were his and which belonged to what now seemed
an obvious fierce enemy. He rode hard back to the carriage, hoping,
praying to God she would be there.

Upon reaching the vehicle whose horses had,
indeed, been detached, he dismounted his horse and slung the door
opened. His heart stopped beating altogether. He stopped breathing,
taking hold of one slouched female form by the back of her dress.
Tilly had been struck in the shoulder and looked to be barely
alive.

His chest began to rise and fall very
quickly. He backed up, looked around in all directions. Not a soul
in sight. Just he and this maiden, barely alive.

“Sir Marcus,” she quietly pled. Would she
live, and where was everyone…anyone at all?

He heard hooves pounding against the ground.
One by one others joined him. Marty being one, Kyle and Andrew. The
carriage escort came riding toward them. Had he actually survived?
But how? He’d been left in charge of Rachel? Why hadn’t he stayed
with her? Why was she not there? Where in God’s name was she?

“Where is she?” He fiercely demanded. He
reached up, taking hold of the man and pulling him from his horse.
“Where is she?” He shook him hard.

He exhaled a heavy breath. “They…they have
taken her,” he dreaded to reply.

Marcus clutched the man’s shirt with two
tightly clenched fists, pulling him up so that their faces were a
mere few inches apart. “What?!” He demanded thru his teeth. “What
are you saying?”

“To the abandoned fort two or so miles from
here. They….they took me as well, but then freed me, and sent me
back with this message.” It trembled in his hand.

Marcus snatched the message and began to
read: Deliver Lord Trent and we shall deliver his bride. The
message also trembled in his hands…not from fear but the firmness
of his hands as his arms stiffened, every muscle in them. He read
it again, his chest rising and falling as it all sank in, and then
as the idea of her being captive to any man dawned harshly upon
him.

“Dammit!” He muttered, and then again, louder
and louder and louder, “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

“They ask I return with a response.”

“Where is Lionel?” He asked in reference to
the guard he’d placed in charge over her with this man. His anger
was only provoked as he recalled placing not one, but two men over
her…and they’d both failed.

“I do not know.”

“Did he flee?”

“He rode away. I do not know where.”

His chest continued to rise and fall. He cast
his eyes toward the carriage remembering Tilly. He wiped the back
of one hand across his sweaty forehead. “The handmaiden is still
alive but injured. Rylan is not but five or so hours away. Take her
out and get her there. Get her help.”

“But they said if I do not return they—“

“I don’t care what they say,” he angrily
yelled. “I will handle it. I…I will handle it.”

Marty just barely shook his head. “If they
wish him to return he should do that very thing.”

“I said I will handle it. This-this fool did
not save her to begin with. I will not entrust her into his hands a
second time.” He peered at the man. “Take the handmaiden into
Rylan. Chances are she may live.”

Marty was shaking his head, and then began to
tremble. and before Marcus knew what had happened, he was galloping
away and toward the Great City to deliver what could be the message
of death, the one that when followed would surely take his friend’s
life.

******

The fort was occupied by dozens of men, each
donning uniforms of brown and of black. Nothing he could tie
together with anything or anyone. Nothing extravagant or flawless.
These men, although arrayed as an army, were neither neat nor
clean, nor was their clothing without stains and holes.

He’d observed them a very long time with the
message in his hand. Also a white handkerchief which he raised into
the air while nearing…a notion of peace although his teeth grinded
together and his inner man raged with thoughts of death. Death to
these men.

He wanted to kill them all.

How had he not prepared for this? How had he
become at all at ease? But he recalled no such relaxation. He had
been leery all along, and now longed for only one thing…to see
Rachel’s livelihood. Where was she? Who was with her? What had they
done to her? What would they do?

“I have come in the stead of the other,” he
called out to a man who came forward to greet him. “After he had
passed this message on to me, he became frightened and fled.”

The man eyed him up and down, his face drawn
with displeasure; and scarred here and there, he noted, having come
close enough to see. “Fled,” he repeated, as if not believing
him.

“He will suffer his consequences. Another is
headed toward the Great City as we speak, on his way to deliver the
message; in exchange for the lady, Jacob must give up himself.”

He did not take his eyes off him as he
considered his words. “Will he come?”

“You know he will,” Marcus said. “Whoever you
are, you must’ve known it to begin with.”

“What is your name?” He asked, squinting out
at him. Marcus got the impression he was seeking someone
specifically.

“Marty,” he said, stealing the name for the
time being.

“Marty,” he repeated, and then cast his gaze
toward the area behind him. “Is there such a man as Marcus Wren
amongst you?”

“You may find his corpse amongst the dead of
both yours and ours.”

This seemed to please the man. “Bring it to
me,” he said.

“The body of our dead will not be handed over
to you, but of the living. When Jacob sees that his wife is alive
and well he will trade himself for her. When he sees she is alive
and well,” he repeated. “I wish to see so myself.”

“When he presents himself you shall see.”

“For your sake I hope she has not been
harmed. She must present herself well. Otherwise, if she claims to
have been mishandled in any way, he will not give himself over to
you. And she will make it known one way or another whether she has
or has not been harmed.”

He merely thought on his words.

“Also know this,” Marcus found himself
continuing, “The lady is with child and has had complications. She
needs care. The maiden travelled along to tend to this condition.
One of your men killed her. Jacob would only give himself up if she
is well, utmost the child which is all he truly cares about. And
she will tell him if the child has departed from her because of
this, and risk her own harm, and he will not give himself up to
you. That, I promise.”

His brows came together. “With child,” he
repeated.

“Under these conditions the child will not
live. Not if she does not receive the proper care. I know what this
care is…and can guarantee to Jacob that she is well, so that he
will hand himself over in her stead.”

“You would not do so.”

“I would!” he loudly insisted, and then
quieted his voice. “I will. No matter what becomes of me, her
condition is all that matters, and her life.”

“Why does her life mean so much to you and
not that of the man whom you work for?”

He paused before saying, “because I love this
woman. Her life means more to me than that of Jacob Trent’s. And
the child is truthfully mine. I wish to spare her and the child.
Whatever becomes of Jacob Trent…that is not my concern. I will tend
to her and her condition. Otherwise, I will go to him myself and
say that she is dead, and you will not get him to come except with
an army to defeat you and your men.”

“And suppose I keep you and kill you. Suppose
I kill you now.”

He raised an arm quickly. The man’s eyes
followed it. “That,” Marcus began, “Is a message to those watching
who have survived this attach that my death has just been
mentioned. One more raise of the hand will let them know that the
child is dead, and the news will be delivered to Jacob and he will
come not alone as you wish, but with an army. Now, tell me, what is
your answer?”

The man stared at him a long while before
guiding his horse toward the left. “Stay put,” he simply told him
before trotting his way back toward and disappearing behind the
walls of the fort. Five or so minutes later, he returned, this time
with two other men.

“Get off your horse,” he demanded.

“Beforehand, I will have you to know that my
livelihood will also be required. This, I promise you.”

The man peered at him, and he dismounted.
“Remove your armor,” he commanded.

Marcus did so although inwardly despising
with all his might having to follow the orders of an enemy. He shed
his armor and his weapons, raising his hands. His arms were
instantly taken and held behind him and he was ushered away. Now,
this fort had been there and abandoned for centuries, but he hadn’t
a clue the extent of its layout up until now. For not only was it
an aboveground structure, but below ground as well. He was led down
some old steps. It was cold and damp, this passageway, the room he
was taken across, the same shape as the aboveground portion. The
belowground was a replica of it. He kept this all in mind, but most
of all the fact that he was so close to seeing Rachel’s livelihood.
Nothing else had ever been so important to him as that one thing at
this very moment.

******

She was lying on a cot in a small, musky
room, and had cried herself to sleep. The sound of a key in the
lock and then of the door popping and creaking opened aroused her.
She opened her eyes, seeing a very blurry image of one of her
captors and—no, it could not be.

She blinked puffy eyes and with a palm began
pushing herself up. No, she was not mistaken. It was Marcus. He was
alive. He was there. The door slammed shut behind him after he was
shoved inside. She stood, very weak and exhausted and frazzled. He
went to her and embraced her. “Marcus,” she whispered in his ear,
and almost fell. He held her up, a hand pressed to the back of her
head, another her back to keep her from falling. “Rachel,” he
whispered back to her. “Are you well? Have they harmed you?”

“Marcus,” she simply whispered, and then
pulled away. He put his hands to either side of her face, and as if
from some magnetic force, pressed his lips to hers. He embraced her
again. “Have they harmed you?” He asked again, this time an unusual
catch in his breath, as if dreading the worst.

She shook her head. “No, they—“