The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (14 page)

“What?” De Beche
looked up at the wall again. “But—that’s not possible. We were in the solar. We—”
He stopped, his face contorting with rage as he realized what he’d said.

Hugh slid the
next words in as lethally as a dagger between the ribs.

“Your plans are
for naught, in any case, de Beche. Annetta is already married. To me.”

De Beche’s face
turned purple, his eyes bulged. He glanced once toward the bailey, then turned
a feral stare on Hugh and began to move his head slowly from side to side.

Hugh braced
himself. “Aye, no use shouting for your men. Mine have been holding them at
sword point from the moment we entered this hall. In fact, they’ve probably
trussed them up like so many chickens by now. The castle is mine. And so,” he
said with ice-cold satisfaction, “is Annetta.”

The name acted
on de Beche like the slash of a spur. He roared, tore his sword from its
scabbard and charged.

Hugh hurled the
wine cup aside and yanked his own sword free. “Get out!” he yelled at Annith as
he closed with de Beche.

Annith was
already fleeing from the hall. A deafening clash of steel followed her as she
raced to the top of the outer stairs. Her gaze flicked over the group of bound
men in the center of the bailey, barely seeing them. She couldn’t find Ranulf
anywhere in the blurry sea of faces turned her way.

“Ranulf!” she
screamed. “
Ranulf!
”

She saw him
then, already sprinting toward her, yelling at a man-at-arms to follow him.
Martin joined in the race, with Herleve running after him. The three men leapt
up the stairs as Annith turned and fled back into the screen passage. Ranulf
was just in time to stop her before she ran headlong into the hall.

“Wait,” he
ordered under the vicious hiss of steel sliding against steel. “Hugh doesn’t
need to be distracted.”

“But de Beche is
trying to kill him. We must do something.”

Ranulf looked
into the hall, then motioned to the others. “He needs witnesses. We’ll go in.
Stay near the door. Don’t get in the way, don’t interfere. Lady, you are not to
enter. Keep her here,” he said to Herleve as the older woman caught up with
them.

“Nay,” Annith said.
“I swear I won’t make a sound. He won’t know I’m there, but I must see. I must
be with him.”

“’Tis her
right,” Herleve said.

Ranulf didn’t
have time to argue with two determined females. “All right, but stay behind
me.”

Annith nodded and
they moved through the doorway. She and Ranulf to the right, Martin, Herleve,
and the man-at-arms to the left. Her gaze went straight to Hugh in time to see
him swing his sword in a deadly two-handed parry as he tried to drive de Beche
back toward the high table.

De Beche bared
his teeth as he slashed at Hugh’s legs. “I’ll cut you down, de Verney. And then
I’ll take that little bitch right here on the floor as you die.”

“Save your
breath,” Hugh grated. “You’ll need it in hell.” He ducked under another slice
that would have taken his head off and came up, leading with his left fist and
smashing it into de Beche’s face. Bone splinted under the impact. The blow sent
the other man staggering. He lost his balance and fell, but despite his bulk,
rolled out from under Hugh’s sword as he brought it slashing downward.

Annith almost
felt the reverberations in her own arms as Hugh’s blade sliced into the floor
with a resounding thud. She saw Ranulf wince.

De Beche swung
his sword low, trying to knock Hugh’s weapon from his hand, but Hugh wrenched
his blade free and leapt back. It was enough to give de Beche time to roll to
his feet. He swiped at the blood pouring from his nose as they circled each
other, watching for an opening.

“He’s so much
heavier,” Annith whispered, fear for Hugh almost stealing her voice.

“Aye, and the
bastard can fight,” Ranulf muttered. “But Hugh’s taller and has the longer
reach. He’s faster, too,” he added as Hugh dodged another vicious swing at his
head. “And battle-hardened. He’ll try to wear de Beche down.”

Annith clapped a
hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp as de Beche’s reverse swing ripped into the
sleeve covering Hugh’s left arm. Blood flowed, but neither man stepped back
from the fight. This wasn’t a tournament. There would be no quarter because one
faltered or was wounded. This wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead.

And she was not
going to stand there, helpless, while Hugh fought for his life. She glanced
around the hall, desperate to find something that could help him. The door at
the other end was open now. Servants crowded into the aperture, watching,
wide-eyed and terrified. They wouldn’t be any use. But light gleamed briefly on
the knife held by the cook.

Annith glanced
down. Ranulf’s sword was in his hand, but his dagger lay in its sheath at his
left hip. His whole attention was on the fight. Carefully she drew the dagger
out and held it by her side.

As she did so,
Hugh went on the attack. Slashing at de Beche, he drove the other man back
until he was almost up against the high table. But de Beche took one hand off
his sword, grabbed the wine flask, and hurled flask and contents straight at
Hugh’s face. Hugh dodged in time, but it gave de Beche the chance he needed to
break free of the trap.

Sweat was
pouring down his face now, mingling with the blood from his broken nose.
Roaring, teeth bared with the effort, he swung his sword in a huge arc, the
entire force of his body behind the blow. It was a wild gamble, aimed at
slashing Hugh through the chest so brutally he would be killed or fatally
wounded. But instead of trying to block the attack, Hugh leapt out of range and
sheer momentum had de Beche wheeling so his back was briefly exposed. Hugh
hurled his sword like a spear, the power in his arm sending the blade deep into
de Beche’s spine, cutting through flesh and bone.

The man
staggered. For a moment it seemed even that wouldn’t destroy him. Annith saw
him try to turn, try to bring his sword up. She realized she was clutching
Ranulf’s dagger as though about to throw it. But then de Beche reeled sideways
and his foot came down on the wine flask he’d thrown. It rolled beneath his
boot throwing him backward. He crashed to the floor, driving Hugh’s blade
straight through his body. Blood pooled. De Beche jerked once and was still.

A terrible hush
fell over the hall. Annith put a hand to her stomach, wrenching her gaze from
de Beche with an effort. She couldn’t breathe. She was trembling all over, yet
unable to move. Hugh was just standing there, blood trickling down his arm, his
hair damp with sweat, as if waiting for de Beche to get up again. Then he
leaned forward, his head bent, his hands braced on his knees, and suddenly
sound was restored. She heard the harshness of his breathing, the servants’
high-pitched exclamations, Ranulf’s satisfied grunt as he slid his sword back
into its scabbard. And as if the return of sound freed her, she flew across the
hall toward Hugh, crying his name.

He raised his
head, straightened in time to catch her in his arms.

“Oh, Hugh. Hugh,
you’re wounded. Oh, let me see. Let me bind it up. Let me—”

“Hush,” he
whispered. “Hush, sweetheart. ’Tis naught but a scratch.” He looked up as
Ranulf strolled toward them.

“You might want
to take that dagger away from her,” Ranulf advised. “We already have one body
with a blade in it.”

“What?” Hugh
prised Annith’s arms from around him. He looked from the dagger in her hand to
her face. “Where the devil did that come from?” he asked very quietly. “And
just what were you planning to do with it?”

Ranulf peered
closer. “That weapon looks familiar.” He glanced down at his empty sheath.

Annith felt a
guilty flush heat her face. She had to think fast. By the look on Hugh’s face
he had realized she hadn’t just arrived on the scene, but had been present
during the fight.

“I thought it
might come in useful,” she said airily. “Keep still.” Before anyone could ask
why, she seized a handful of Hugh’s ripped sleeve, inserted the tip of the
blade into the hole and sliced through tunic and undershirt to lay bare the
wound on his arm.

She made a small
sound when she saw the gash, her own flesh quivering in sympathy.

“Hmm, shallow,
but ’tis going to start hurting like a pitchfork in hell any minute,” Ranulf
observed cheerfully.

After one
narrow-eyed glance at Annith, Hugh gave him a rueful grin. “The bastard could
fight.”

Annith felt no
inclination to share their male humor. She whipped around toward the servants.
“Someone fetch hot water and clean cloths.
Now!
” she ordered, waving her
hands at them when no one moved.

They seemed to be
transfixed by the body of their master, but there was a jostling in the doorway
and Auden pushed his way through the crowd.

“I will see to
it, lady,” he said, hurrying toward them. He spared one shrinking glance at de
Beche’s body as he sped past it. “My lord, are you badly hurt? There are salves
and such in the men’s quarters. My liege always had them fighting each other.
Wounds are common here.”

“I’m fine,” Hugh
growled.

“Fetch whatever
you can find,” Annith said at the same time. She avoided Hugh’s gaze as she
looked around. “Herleve, do you think you can get those servants moving,
please?”

“That I can.”
Herleve answered. “You see to his lordship.” She was a little pale, but she
crossed the hall without flinching and started giving orders in her usual brisk
tones.

Annith turned to
Ranulf. “Sir Ranulf, thank you for the loan of your dagger.” She handed it to
him with a flourish.

He bowed with
equal elegance. “A pleasure, my lady. Shall I rid your hall of that corpse?”

“Thank you,” she
said with heartfelt gratitude. She took a deep breath and decided it was time
to face Hugh. “My lord, if you sit over there by the high table, I will wash
and bandage your arm as soon as I have what I need.”

“I think I can
just about manage that,” he said in ominous tones. “Do you have any more
orders, madam?”

“Only if we’re
going to spend the night here,” she murmured, taking his good arm and trying to
turn him toward the table. He didn’t move so much as an inch. “And I suppose we
will have to,” she added in dismay, looking up at his set face.

“That shouldn’t
be a problem for someone who just witnessed a fight and an execution when she
wasn’t supposed to,” he bit out.

Annith
swallowed, but held her ground. “Well, that monster didn’t defeat me while he
was alive, so I won’t let him win now he’s dead. I loved this place when I was
a child, and I won’t be driven out. What’s more—”

Hugh clamped a
hand around the nape of her neck, hauled her against him, and smothered the
rest with a kiss that held such a chaotic brew of male outrage and
possessiveness she couldn’t tell which was uppermost. And there was something
else, she realized, stunned. Something desperate in the bruising force of his
mouth on hers. Not desire. Not even relief that they were safe. ’Twas an almost
savage
need
.

She didn’t have
time to wonder at the feeling. Hugh released her, his eyes glittering with a
seething cauldron of emotions that sent shivers down her spine.

“I am glad to
hear you won’t be driven out, lady,” he said in a low growl that rasped over
her still shaken nerves. “Because we will definitely be spending the night
here. There is much to do. And when those tasks are done, we are going to have
a long conversation about what it means to disobey my orders.”

“In that case, my
lord,” she managed breathlessly. “We had better get started as soon as I have
bound up your arm.”

“I have what you
need here, my lady,” Auden piped up behind her.

Annith nearly
leapt clear of the floor. She had to get her nerves under control, she thought,
as Hugh turned on his heel and stalked over to the table. He started removing
his tunic and undershirt. At the same time, a servant hurried into the hall
with a basin of steaming water and several cloths.

Summoning up a
smile and motioning Auden to follow her, she approached Hugh as she would a
large wounded animal. She had no fear that he would lash out at her, but the
aftermath of the fight with de Beche seemed to have temporarily disturbed his
senses. She would show patience and understanding. In truth, she knew how he
felt. She had to take several deep breaths before her hands stopped trembling
so she could bathe his wound properly. She still felt slightly ill. But ’twas
no use falling apart now; that would have to wait until later.

“Do you have a
salve that contains sage or St. John’s wort?” she murmured to Auden.

“Aye, lady.” He
chose a stoppered flask from the collection in his arms.

Hugh was
watching her with a piercing glare that would have cowed the legendary basilisk
into submission, but at this exchange he looked at Auden.

“You served my
lady well, Auden, those three years ago, and at some risk to yourself. Now that
her lands have come under my writ, I could use a man of your loyalty.”