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Thirty-seven
Amiria paced her confined chamber like a caged lioness. That Riorden would dare restrict her to her quarters infuriated her beyond words. Her nerves stretched to the point of breaking in twain, her anger seethed that he would dare cast her out like some witless female, ill adept in the protection of her clan. She was more than capable of defending her home. Had she not proven her worth once afore, she debated to herself?
“Ugh . . . I can stand no more,” she fumed. “Lynet! Help me with this armor afore I lose what little I have left of my sanity.”
“He willna like it,” Lynet predicted.
“Aye! You have said as much afore yet only about my husband,” Amiria chided. “I cared not then, nor do I care now about the orders of stubborn men. Our clan needs me.”
“But, Amiria,” Patrick interrupted, “how can this be? You are but a woman.”
Amiria whirled to face her young brother and came to his side. “Aye, Patrick, I am only a woman, but I am a determined one at that.”
She heard him muttering to himself and took a moment to give Patrick a small hug of reassurance. Turning, she gave her attention back to the deed at hand. Despite its weight, Lynet proved most proficient at hefting the heavy metal onto her body.
“Have you forgotten the guard?” Lynet inquired with a lift of her delicate brow.
“Do not fret. The guard, I can handle.”
“Then mayhap I will go to Kenna’s dwelling. I am sure our people are in need of a healer.”
“You must change your dress, Lynet. There is hose and tunic with a plaid in my chest that will be more serviceable to your mission,” Amiria ordered and continued on at the shocked look upon her sister’s face. “Just don it and quickly.” Satisfied, she watched her sibling make fast work of changing her clothes.
“What of me?” Patrick gasped. “I want to help too.”
Amiria came and knelt down to her brother and brushed her hand down his soft black hair in a light caress. She gave him a smile. “Nay, Patrick, not today, but soon will you train with our Lord Dristan and become a mighty warrior, just as he is.”
“Do not leave me here, Amiria, by myself,” he whined.
“’Tis the first place they will look if the curtain wall is breached. With our freedom, I want you to run to the garderobe and bolt the door. Do not come out lest you hear my voice. Do you understand me, Patrick?”
“But it stinks in there, Amiria.” He grimaced. She could not blame him his thoughts of being locked up in such a small place with the stench for possibly hours on end.
“Which is why they willna look there,” she said gently and took the boy by the shoulders. “I need to know you are safe, little one. Will you obey me?”
Patrick gave a slight nod of acceptance, and Amiria placed a kiss upon his forehead. Her brother glowered at such a sign of affection, causing Amiria and Lynet to give a brief laugh, given their circumstances.
“Let me find you something more befitting a serf than a young squire,” she said and went to the trunk to find a soft vest and shirt she had worn in her youth. She ruffled his hair and smudged some dirt upon his upturned face. She smiled in satisfaction at her sibling’s transformation then turned to flee the room.
Amiria slid the bolt and opened the door. She was startled that none stood vigil at the door.
“I canna believe it. Where is the guard?” exclaimed Lynet.
Patrick whistled his own sense of amazement. “He is going to be in so much trouble once Riorden hears of this.
Amiria partially shut the door. “I am sure he must have been called away, but it matters not where he went; only that he is gone.” She turned to look upon her siblings as if to memorize their faces. “Be safe and remember I love you,” she said with a small catch in her voice. Life was short and she would not want them to ever think she did not care for them in the event she fell like Aiden.
Lynet gave her hand a brief squeeze afore scampering towards the tower stairs to make her decent. Amiria took a deep breath when she caught her last glimpse of Patrick as he, too, rounded the corner leading towards the garderobe. May the Blessed Virgin Mary watch over them, she prayed.
Amiria began to make her way down the passageway, but had gone no more than a few steps. She halted at an unexpected sound, catching her attention. She turned back in surprise to the see the hidden tunnel door being pushed wide open.
She would have called out for help, but none would have heard her voice above the distant sounds of the raging war. Instead, the sound of her blade rent the air as ’twas released from its scabbard. The noise carried an eerie echo off the walls, causing her eyes to narrow at the foe afore her. Her fingers gripped the familiar hilt of her blade, knowing she would face him alone.
“How many times have I told you, I detest you in armor?” Hugh grinned evilly.
Amiria gave no answer, for she quickly saw more than a dozen men begin to fill the narrow passageway. She held her stance firm and steadily brought her sword forward. Instead of words, she would let her blade speak on her behalf.
Sabina wearily opened her eyes, trying to focus on her surroundings, guessing the new day had yet to dawn. She lay abed and could hear the loud snores of her companion. She knew not how long she had been held at his mercy, as he had stubbornly ignored her constant pleas to be released. She had quit asking days ago, ever since a fist had been her reward for annoying him.
She tried to rise and fell back awkwardly against the coverlet. There was not an inch of her that did not hurt from his continual cruelty and misuse of her body. Filled with shame, Sabina tried again and made it to a sitting position, only to wait ’til the room stopped its swirling motion. She felt stickiness between her legs and reached down. Bringing her hand forward, she suppressed a startled cry. Her hand was covered in her blood. She had lost the babe, although mayhap, given her foolishness, ’twas a blessing in disguise.
I must flee, her tortured mind screamed. After several attempts, she at last stood on wavering legs. She glared down at the foul pig who had used her, over and over again. The offensive villain was flat on his back with spittle drooling from his mouth. She spat on him and felt a small bit of satisfaction when he did not so much as even flinch. She was not surprised, for he had consumed more ale than she thought a man was capable of drinking and still able to perform his worst on her.
She looked into a chest of Hugh’s and found garments she thought she might manage to fit into. A dirk fell from one of the items she held. She smiled when she picked it up, feeling its weight in her palm.
She went to the side of the makeshift bed, glaring down at the vile excuse of a man who had harmed her. She gave a hasty prayer, hoping God would forgive her actions this day. Quietly, she straddled the mercenary, who then began to stir. She smiled into his eyes even when he looked on her most hungrily.
“Now this is more like it,” he whispered, trying to bring Sabina closer. “I’s knew ye’d come to favor me!”
“I have something for you, my brave soldier,” she said huskily, almost retching at the smell of his breath.
“Do ye now? Well whatcha got fer me?” He began licking his lips. Sabina only wanted to wipe the smirk from his disgusting face.
“This!” She whispered her words in such a seductive manner that he did not react afore she speedily drew the dagger slicing his throat. Men are such fools and only think of one thing, she thought smiling in satisfaction. She watched the dying man beneath her gurgle ’til he took his last breath. A heavy sigh escaped her. Wiping the blood from the knife on the coverlet, she held it up into the dim light of the tent. “’Tis a most useful dirk to be sure. I think I shall keep it.”
She rose from the man and pulled a blanket over him. ’Twould be hours afore anyone realized he was not asleep.
She carefully opened the tent flap to peer outside at the nearly deserted campsite. Cautiously, she made her way to her horse still corralled with several others. She was surprised to see no others lingered around the camp to detain her, but mayhap this was a testament to Hugh’s conceit.
Sabina somehow managed to free her horse and spoke softly to the animal to quiet it. Finding a stump, she stood upon it and noticed her blood beginning to seep through her stolen clothing. ’Twas not a good sign and only weakened her already abused condition. Thrice she attempted to mount her steed and ’twas not ’til the fourth attempt that she managed the feat.
She struggled to stay atop the horse as it slowly made its way towards home. Sabina grasped its mane to ensure her hold on the animal. Her only thought was to return to Berwyck and right the wrong she had done to her family. If she made it, she would beg their forgiveness, and ask them to pardon her errant ways.
Her last thought was of seeing her siblings. She drifted into unconsciousness still atop her steed which continued forward at a slow pace careful of the burden it held, plodding ever onward towards Berwyck and home.
