MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (3 page)

Paused there just beyond the wall as Melisande"s men struggled valiantly to stream in behind her. Soon, enough of Geoffrey"s men would be with him so that more would be forced to brave the walls.

Some would perish.

Some would surely make it through.

There was not twenty feet now between Melisande and her enemy, but the great stone wall of the fortress separated them.

Yet the situation remained grim. The gates were not yet closed and bolted.

The threat of the oil would not hold Geoffrey or his Danes long, not when a prize was nearly within their grasp.

“It"s Geoffrey!” Philippe, reining in his horse near to Melisande"s, cried out to his countess. “The bloody bastard, making the same demands as his father before him!”

Melisande could not see the troops beyond the walls as Ragwald did, but she could hear the cries clearly enough, and equally well she could hear the prancing of the war-horses, impatient as they waited. More and more of Geoffrey"s men gathered closer and closer to the walls. Soon they would rush the gates in such a multitude that nothing would hold them back.

“The walls will fall!” came another shouted threat. “Every man here will perish and die!” Geoffrey promised. “Melisande, you are outnumbered!”

“I was outnumbered!” she cried back. “No more!”

“The Viking comes! But can he save you in time? I"ve men of yours out here, Melisande. We pluck them up even as they try to escape us. You"ll seek to burn us—but you"ll burn them as well. Even now I have a knife at a man"s throat!”

Melisande stared up to Ragwald, high atop the tower parapet. Ragwald looked down at Geoffrey. Next to him one of his men did hold a prisoner, a razor-sharp blade thrust against his throat.

Ragwald looked to Melisande and saw in her eyes that she demanded the truth.

He nodded.

Melisande looked quickly to Philippe. Anguish touched her eyes. “I must go out there. There"s nothing left to do—”

“Men perish in battle, lady! For the fate of just one warrior—”

“Philippe! In seconds they will surge forward. We will kill our own people to press theirs back. More and more will die. If I ride Warrior out and give myself over—”

“No!” Philippe shouted.

She started to urge her horse forward, toward the gate. She despised Geoffrey. More than anyone in the world, she hated him deeply and fiercely.

Even as her horse moved ahead she denied with all her heart that she could go to so despised an enemy.

His father had slain her own. To take the fortress.

Her teeth chattered suddenly.

No, she couldn’t go to Geoffrey. No matter what. Because the Viking was out
there. And if he were ever to know that she had given herself over willingly, no
matter what the circumstances might be …

She needed to buy time!

She reined in and stared up from Ragwald on the inner heights across the courtyard to her guards, stretched out on the outer wall parapets. Most of her guards were grimly ready with their caldrons of oil, but several of the best archers still held their weapons. She met one man"s gaze. “Can you hit the enemy who threatens one of our own?” she asked softly.

“Lady, aye!” he swore.

She nodded. “Do it then. When he is free, command our men to rush. See that they enter—even with what enemy they drag in with them. Then
close the
gates. Fast!”

Her archer turned. Swiftly he raised his bow and took aim.

She heard a scream. “Men, move now!” One of her captains shouted from the parapet, and there was an inward streaming at the gate, men fiercely battling men there.

“Close it!” she ordered.

“Melisande!” Ragwald cried down suddenly. “Hold fast!
They
are with us now!”

Then she heard a cry—a deep, rich cry of rage and surprise. It came from Geoffrey himself, she thought, and for a moment she savored the pleasure.

The Viking had reached her enemy …

She heard the awful sound of clanging, clashing steel. She heard the worse sound of steel sinking into men.

“Nay, Melisande!” Ragwald called out suddenly.

From his vantage point upon the inner tower parapet, Ragwald saw what she did not.

Yes, the Viking had come. Geoffrey himself had gone into retreat, swiftly riding from the scene of the fray, yet leaving his men—and a multitude of Danes—to battle there.

Too many of them, for the Viking had split his forces, having brought half of them in the reckless dash forward that now saved Melisande"s forces, while the others had remained behind to battle the rear. His first wave of men were nowhere equal in number to the Danes there. He had meant to swell the ranks of the fortress guard, then find harbor to renew the battle from within the walls.

But Melisande had ordered the gates closed …

Right upon him, and his men.

“Sweet Jesu!” Ragwald prayed, looking to heaven, swiftly, then back to the battle that was unfolding before him now.

Perhaps there was a chance …

For he could see the warrior who had come to their defense now.

They called him the Lord of the Wolves, as Ragwald had heard they called his father before him. Now Ragwald knew why. Confronted with insurmountable odds, the man showed both incredible skill and incredible courage. Sword whipping from side to side, he rode straight into the worst of the fray, downing his enemies before most saw what hit them. There were berserker cries from the Danes, and some charged him, near frothing at the mouth, as berserkers were known to do. But one and all alike, they fell beneath the sheer force of his charge. There were more and more men upon him. He called out something that Ragwald didn"t understand, but then Ragwald saw what the order had been. While he battled, his men brought forth a ram. The Danes were kept busy while others of the Viking"s men went to work upon the gates—so recently slammed upon them—with their ram.

Ragwald realized suddenly that he had been staring at the battle open-mouthed. “Melisande!” he cried. But she couldn"t hear him above the din of battle. She was shouting out her own orders. He pushed away from the parapet and came running through Melisande"s tower, racing down the length of the stairway, then bursting out into the great hall. Out in the yard within the palisade, men, women, and children, cows, ducks, and pigs, all scurried to safety against the far walls, mothers grabbing their infants, farmers clinging to their precious livestock. A donkey brayed, chickens screeched and squawked flying everywhere. Ragwald, clad in his old comfortable gray cape, looking like a giant, ragtag bird himself, hurried toward Melisande and the troops who were now dismounting from their horses, preparing to man the walls.

“He’s
there! He"s the one ramming the gate! Doing battle with the Danes.

You—you locked him out!” he cried.

He watched the swift light of realization that came to her eyes, then the sinking horror within them.

She hadn"t meant to lock
him
out.

He would never believe it.

“The gate!” she cried, but it was too late. The heavy wooden ram broke through the weakened area of stone.

The Vikings knew their business. Aye,
Lord Conar
knew his business.

She saw Philippe, still mounted, riding hard to meet the new horde that burst in upon them.

“Call Philippe back!” Ragwald commanded quickly.

“He won"t come!”

“Tell him
you
need him—he will come. Don"t let a fighting man meet your Irish Viking first. The Viking will know
I’ve
not come to do battle. Call Philippe, quickly!”

“Philippe!” Melisande shouted his name. He turned, hurrying back to her.

She quickly saw the wisdom of Ragwald"s words, for the old man himself went hurrying over to the broken wall, his arms flapping wildly.

It looked as if one of the Vikings meant to slice him through as he crawled atop the rubble. Melisande choked back a scream as she saw Ragwald halt.

He
had come through the rubble himself. Mounted upon his great ebony stallion, wearing that helmet that hid all thought and made his eyes all the more piercing.

“They"ve beaten them! Geoffrey flees even now!” Philippe cried out suddenly. He started to laugh, the sound deeply relieved. “There—we"ve some of his men trapped within the fortress. I need to bring you quickly away, Countess. And finish this thing. Though, Lord God! Now we are under new attack since—”

“No, Philippe, no!” Melisande said softly, touching his arm. “Ragwald has reached the Wolf.”

“Then we are spared the evil of the Danes!”

Melisande was silent, convinced at that moment that there was no evil greater than the Viking who rode with such confidence and arrogance into her fortress. The man with the searing blue eyes and rock hard shoulders. The one who had come to lay claim to everything, who did as he chose, brooking no opposition.

A moment"s guilt tugged at her heart.
She owed him!
Yes, she had owed him, for a battle fought long ago. Yet he had been paid, and paid well. It was only the foolish bargain Ragwald had made with him so long ago that brought her to this moment now.

A bargain that might well have saved the day, she reminded herself.

None of that mattered. The guilt could not outweigh the fear that seemed to have risen to a storm within her. She couldn"t still the trembling within her. She had never been able to do that when he was near. Never been able to fight the tremendous heat, nor the cold, his nearness evoked. The feeling of shivers racing up and down her spine.

What difference did it make? she wondered. One bastard or another! But she didn"t really believe that. Geoffrey was as cruel and ruthless and cunning as his father had been.

As for
him …

Him!

He merely wanted to slit her throat!

Oh, she could never abide his arrogance. Then there was the matter of the very elegant blond woman who traveled with him wherever he went. There was also the humiliating matter of all that he had commanded of Melisande …

The simple fact that he demanded, took what he would, gave orders.

Among other things, she reminded herself, was the way he must feel now.

Now, when she had so defied him. Now, when he so nearly had his hands upon her again.

Warmth assailed her. She closed her eyes, promising herself that she would not think about him, that she would not consider what was to come.

Impossible. He was here. Memory was flooding the length of her as if her blood had become molten steel.

She inhaled deeply, mentally straightening, seeking strength. She was the countess. She had become so upon her father"s death. The land was hers. The fortress was hers.

And, so help her God, she would keep them!

“Jesu, lady! How many has he with him?” Philippe demanded at her side.

Mounted, the men were as striking as they had been in their dragon-prowed ships. They were men trained by Satan himself, so it seemed. Huge fellows, trained with axes and maces, knotted with muscle, reckless, fearless, dangerous.

They had saved her once. She knew how they fought!

And at the head of them …
him!

“I must take you to the tower,” Philippe murmured, watching the action. It was evident that Geoffrey"s men must surrender or die, but there was still fighting in the yard. It did seem the safest course for her to be out of harm"s way now that she was no longer needed to rally her men.

“I can take care of myself, Philippe,” she assured him. “Hurry, see to our men.”

Philippe did not look comfortable with her decision, but Melisande did not give him time to argue. She hurried to the steps leading to her tower and began running up them as swiftly as she could with the weight of her mail upon her.

She desperately needed some time. How did she greet him? Did she actually
have
to greet him? Wasn"t there any possibility at all that she could just run away?

Did she really want to? Maybe their time had finally come.

Some of the steps were broken. A battle-ax had fallen against the stone with such strength that it had cracked and broken. Melisande leapt across the gap and hurried onward to her tower room.

She paused, then ripped the mail quickly from her body.

It was a cowardly thing to do. But she thought that perhaps he hadn"t seen her on the battlefield and then wouldn"t think that she had intentionally closed the gates against him.

Fool! she charged herself. Coward!
She was countess here! He was just a
younger son of a king, seeking his fortune, and trying to make it from her
rightful inheritance! She need show him no fear, and certainly no humility!

She had dropped her sword with her mail. Now she clutched it again and looked uneasily about the room. Her eyes fell upon her bed with its cool, clean linen sheets and bear fur rug. A shaking seized her and she swallowed hard.

She didn"t want to be caught here! She hurried back out to the parapets and looked to the yard below.

Her heart seemed to stop completely. The shivers took hold of her again, hot and cold, fire and ice. She stood dead still and met his gaze.

Chapter Two

Melisande …

Mounted upon his huge war-horse, Conar MacAuliffe returned her scrutiny.

Ah, he thought, at last!

There she was, the little vixen, in all her fantastic glory.