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Forty-two
Life was good. Hugh regarded the table in front of him, laden with food and drink, and was pleased. All had gone according to plan, with the exception of that little spit fire he had thrown into the pit. He reached up and felt the tender gashes left on his cheek, smiling despite the pain it caused. Perchance it had been worth it, knowing that red headed wench would be beneath him soon. All she needed was a lesson in humility, and from his own all too familiar experience in the castle’s pit, she, too, would learn such a valuable message and never defy him again.
He fingered the sword lying in front of him on the table and watched the amethyst jewel wink at him from the fire light. His expression was smug as he leaned back in his chair, surveying the Great Hall. Those tapestries depicting the MacLaren Clan would be one of the first things to go he decided. He reached for the chalice in front of him and admired the red ruby set firmly within the silver metal. Twirling the stem between his fingers, he chuckled that all he had desired had finally come to pass.
“Laugh if you must, but I will not rest ’til I know Dristan of Blackmore is not breathing fire down upon my neck!” Gilbert spoke wearily and subconsciously rubbed the back of his head.
Hugh’s smile faded to be replaced by a grim look thrown at his cousin. “The keep is mine,” he hissed, taking a deep taste of his wine afore slamming the cup down hard upon the table. The sound echoed off the walls and hung in the air like an omen to their impending fate.
“Aye, Hugh. The keep is yours . . . at least for now,” Gilbert answered grimly.
A movement caught Hugh’s attention and he watched as a young woman scurried between the shadows cast upon the room and the light from the torches hanging upon the walls. She turned briefly, feeling his stare, and he heard Gilbert catch his breath. He gave an appreciative glance at the honeyed colored hair escaping the plaid wrapped around her head even though he preferred her sister. All too quickly, the girl ducked her head and escaped rapidly out the hall’s door, holding her precious bundle.
Hugh scrutinized his cousin, who continued staring upon the closed door with a look bordering between lust and awe. His brow raised in question when Gilbert at last brought his attention back to the conversation they had been having.
Gilbert wiped his hand across his eyes as if to clear his vision. “Who was that?” he asked with anticipation.
Hugh slapped Gilbert upon his back. “Now, that is more like the cousin I know, lusting after a ready wench!”
“She did not appear a mere servant, Hugh, despite her clothing depicting such.”
“She’s the youngest daughter of the keep. Fancies herself the castle’s healer since that witch Kenna conveniently disappeared,” Hugh replied, taking another sip of his wine. “Tried to hide herself from me in a pair of breeches, just like her damn sister, but she didn’t fool me. I threatened to rip her boyish garments from her little body in front of my men if she didn’t change into a gown as was fitting.”
“She looked like an angel,” Gilbert said as he, too, took a drink of ale and wiped his mouth with his tunic sleeve. “I would not mind having a bit of fun with her.”
“Have at her then, just do not get too rough,” Hugh ordered. “I still have use for her to tend the wounded.”
Gilbert rose to leave, but afore doing so, he quickly gazed about the room only housing a dozen men, lazily drinking their fill. “You should bring more men in to guard you, Hugh,” he said, taking one last gulp of his ale.
“There are more than enough here to see to the safeguarding of my back.” Hugh’s confidence he was well protected was high as he nonchalantly gave a wave of his hand, dismissing his cousin.
Gilbert shook his head at the arrogance of his cousin. “A whole garrison of knights will not be enough, should the Devil’s Dragon penetrate the castle walls.”
Hugh again waved him off, knowing the impossibility of that occurrence, and watched in amusement as Gilbert quickened his pace to find Lynet. He had secured the castle, and his men were stationed upon the battlements, keeping watch on the countryside for any signs of an approaching army. He was positive Dristan was unaware of the tunnel that had provided him such an uncomplicated entry, but at his first opportunity, he would see to closing it up. No sense in taking any chances.
He stood and lazily stretched his arms above his head, thinking he would fetch Amiria so she could service his needs. All he needed to do was dump a few buckets of water on her to take away the stench of the pit. Grabbing his chalice, he hastily gulped down the remaining wine, not caring that what he drank was not ale and was meant to be savored and sipped at his leisure. He had just placed the goblet back upon the table, when he turned to watch in horrified alarm as a knight, wearing familiar armor, came crashing down the keep’s stairs.
Hugh blinked, not understanding how Amiria had come from above with several unknown men ready to battle. But, nay! There she was coming with the prisoners from the cellars below. Was this the work of Satan? For how else could she be in two places at the same time? The wench would not escape him this time.
The sound of steel resounding off steel, as his men came to their senses and attacked, replaced the only moments earlier quiet and pleasant atmosphere of the room. Apparently, escaping was not what the prisoners from below had on their minds. They meant to take the keep. Where the devil had they found swords? he fumed.
Hugh threw himself into the fray of men, who fought with a vengeance to regain what was rightfully theirs. He barely missed being hit in the head as Cook came barreling out of his kitchen swinging a cast iron pot towards him. Even the peasants were revolting.
Hugh raised his sword, using its hilt to knock senseless the man afore him. He turned to take on another opponent but stood there in shocked silence. There before his eyes was the one man he had least expected to espy, and from the look on his face, he was a man determined to take back what had been stolen from him. Instead, Hugh would send the so called dragon back to the Devil!
Amiria hovered along the wall in the kitchen, keeping her promise to Riorden to remain safe. But her hand twitched on the hilt of her sword, a sign of her wanting to enter the fray of fighting. She would not gaze in the direction of her captain for she knew her promise to him was about to be broken. ’Twas only a matter of time afore her resolve to remain steadfast in her promise to keep her word would finally crack. Apparently, even granite could crumble given the right circumstance and force.
Her eyes scanned the knights who were taking on Hugh’s men. She frowned in confusion, since none of them were familiar to her, with the exception of those who had made their escape alongside her. Those numbers were indeed few.
The sight of unforgettable armor caught her immediate attention as the torch light hit the silver metal frame so similar to her own. She did a double take at the warrior who was fighting most bravely with his back towards her. Try as she might, she had no way to determine how he had come by her brother’s armor, for she would have assumed he would have been buried with it. The scoundrel would have a lot to answer for when the fighting was at an end, for she would ensure her brother’s stolen property was returned to her family posthaste.
She continued to watch this knight in particular with a high amount of interest. In truth, she could not take her eyes from him, since all his mannerisms were beginning to appear achingly well-known to her heart. Finishing off his foe, he turned to take on another only to stare in her direction. He lifted the visor of his helm. Violet eyes met violet eyes from across the room. With a quick satisfied smirk, he let the plate fall back down over his face and threw himself back into the skirmish.
To say that she was stunned would be an understatement as her heart hammered wildly within her breast. He lived, her heart screamed! Praise be to God, Aiden was alive! With mayhem running rampant all around her, ’twas into this commotion that her senses began to once more reel as Dristan and Ian came running down the turret stairs. It appeared Dristan had brought reinforcements, as well, since a score of men poured from the stairwell to join in the fight occurring in the Great Hall.
Amiria observed Ian’s look of relief when he espied her and watched him quickly flee the keep, slamming the door behind him. Her husband’s glare from across the room and the fire of his steely gaze caught her attention next, especially since she felt as if she had been scorched by its heat. If words had been spoken between them, she would have remained in the alcove of the kitchen, safe and out of harm’s way. But safe was not in her nature if she felt she could be of some use, so she ignored Dristan’s look and brought forth her sword. Her promise was at an end.
With her actions, Dristan’s battle cry rang out and several of Hugh’s men gave a moment’s pause to digest the fact that the true lord of the keep had returned, using the same entry they themselves had managed. Their moment of hesitation was their undoing, however, as one after the other was felled by quick thrusts of swords from their enemies.
Blood began to pour from the dead and wounded, seeping into the rushes and collecting in small pools upon the stone floor beneath. Footing became treacherous, at best, and still, the king’s knights pressed onward in the name of His Majesty alongside Dristan’s remaining guards. Their numbers were few, and yet with each stroke of their weapons so, too, were Hugh’s men. The drink that had filled their bellies made them clumsy and some began to surrender in defeat.
Amiria continued to fight her way through the turmoil around her, concentrating on reaching her destination. She wanted her damn sword and, after catching a glimpse of it upon the high table, no one would stand in her way to reach her prize. ’Twas a testimony to the arrogance of Hugh to be feasting, instead of keeping a steady eye on what he had falsely claimed, however briefly that had been. She continued to parry her thrusts, using her borrowed sword as an extension of her arm and was half way to her objective, when she came face to face with Hugh.
A smug look washed quickly across his face. As their two swords met with neither planning to yield, he surprised Amiria by reaching out and grabbing the back of her neck. Pulling her quickly towards him, he smashed his lips to hers in a wet hungry kiss. He pushed her away and she faltered in her step. She heard her name as ’twas yelled harshly by her husband, who was fighting his way to her side. Her brother was too preoccupied fighting off two of their enemies to be of much help. She wiped her mouth in disgust.
“When this is over,” Hugh sneered, “I intend to take you right here on the floor amongst your fallen comrades.”
“Ha! I think not,” Amiria retorted with a smirk, knowing Dristan would give his last breath to save her err that hideous event ever occurred.
“Let us end this then.”
“I believe my Lord Dristan plans on doing just that, along with my brother,” she smiled knowingly. “I hope you had not planned to live yet another day,” she taunted with a laugh, “or that you cared to keep your head. It will be a fine example of a fool resting on a pike outside my gate!”
Fury burnt brightly in Hugh’s eyes as if he knew she believed him inadequate to retain the keep as his own. He brought up his sword in a mock salute. Amiria insulted him further by spitting at his boots. “Kill them,” he screamed, caring not that his numbers of support were diminishing rapidly. “Kill them all!
Amiria continued her attack by hacking away at Sir Hugh’s blade with a satisfied smile on her face. Aye, she had come a long way in her training, as she performed several of the moves that her husband had taught her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dristan. From the look on his face, it appeared as if he was unsure if he should reprimand her for not staying put or to praise her efforts with her swordplay. Yet still he continued his advancement in her direction.
’Twas not ’til Hugh threw a punch, causing Amiria to go flying to the floor in a heap that she became aware of how determined her husband was to reach her side and come to her rescue. Dristan made fast work of the man in front of him, who fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Dristan gave a quick nod of his head, and Cameron came, dragging the man to the far wall to be held with the others who had already surrendered. The day was lost for Hugh, who appeared to come to the same realization as he stared into the blazing eyes of Dristan.
Amiria held her breath as the two men fought alone. Their blades sang as they met, and still they battled on. Dristan threw the first punch, causing Hugh to stagger backwards.
“That is for my wife,” Dristan bellowed righteously, and he began to nick away at Hugh, piece by piece, with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
Amiria watched in satisfaction as blood began to pour from Hugh’s wounds whilst he attempted to inflict the same on his opponent. He missed his mark, time and time again. For all of his attempts, he was only awarded more slices to his own flesh. Panic reached his eyes along with his need to flee, even as he lost his footing and landed on the wet bloodied floor.
Dristan must have thought he was to surrender, for he turned his back on him and hurried to Amiria’s side. She was attempting to rise from the floor, although she still felt dizzy from the blow she received. Since the opportunity presented itself whilst Dristan was helping his wife, Hugh quickly leapt to his feet and ran towards the stairway leading up to the tunnel, apparently to flee Berwyck the same way he had entered, and with his head still firmly attached to his neck.
Amiria scanned the hall to notice her brother slipping out the keep’s door. She turned her attention to the man afore her and gazed into Dristan’s worried eyes. She leaned lovingly into the palm of his hand that he had placed upon her bruised check and gently kissed the inside of his wrist. His eyebrow rose in such an intimate gesture, and not caring who was witnessing his care of his wife, he leaned down and pressed his lips upon her own trembling ones. She tried to smile, but winced in pain from her attempt.
“Dristan!” someone yelled and with sword in hand he rapidly rose to see the last traces of Hugh’s booted feet whilst he hastily made the first bend of the stairwell. He made to follow but got no more than a few steps. A scream rent the air, followed by Hugh’s limp body rolling back down the way he had come. Dristan went to Hugh and turned the man over with his boot. Two dirks protruded from Hugh’s body, one of which he did not recognize and was neatly inserted up to the hilt in the man’s chest. The other he could not fail to notice. ’Twas a very familiar dagger protruding from Hugh’s stomach. Hugh opened his eyes, gasping for air, and grimaced.
“That stupid wench killed me along with that brat of a boy!” Hugh gurgled. Giving up his last breath, he saw no more.
All turned their attention to the turret and saw Sabina, who barely managed to carefully make her way down the stairs with her arm draped along Patrick’s young shoulders.
“Is he dead?” she whispered.
“Aye, I should think so, my lady,” Dristan declared approvingly.
Sabina nodded, giving her brother a comforting hug and what sounded like reassuring words for his help in ridding this world of that vermin. Two of Sabina’s ladies came out of hiding to assist her as they began the long winding climb back to her chamber. Amiria prayed her sister could rest in peace with no burdens troubling her mind.
Dristan rushed back to Amiria’s side and she welcomed the support to help her rise. He held her at arm’s length, ensuring her safety afore he crushed her in a fierce embrace. Her arms wrapped around him and she sensed a force beyond mere mortals right itself in the world surrounding them.
“You gave me such a fright,” he said in a husky whisper, and she shivered from his touch.
“Me? Surely you jest, my lord.”
“Do not ever do such a foolish act again, Amiria, or I shall lock you in our chamber and never let you out!”
She pulled away from him slightly and caressed his cheek. “And will you lock yourself in there with me, as well, my Lord Dristan?” she said suggestively, taking a step closer.
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You can count on it, my lady.”
“Then it may well be worth it,” Amiria laughed and grabbed her sword to see who else she might take on next. Her arm was gently taken once again and she looked up into her husband’s stormy grey eyes.
Dristan took her sword and put it in her scabbard slung low on her hips. “Such a saucy wife I have married!” he declared, with a warning in his eyes for her to desist. “Killian! Come see you to my lady that she takes her ease ’til I ensure the rest of the keep is once more secure.”
Amiria rolled her eyes, annoyed again she would be pushed aside in such a womanly nature. “Dristan, I−”
“Do not question me, Amiria, in this, I beseech you,” he said harshly, and she knew he saw the wounded look that fell upon her face. He took her chin and tipped it up to receive his kiss. Over and over, did he indulge in the tasting of her, ’til she felt her world spinning. With one more look at her, ’twas clear he would leave her as breathless as he himself was feeling. Reaching out, he lovingly caressed her hair and offered her a bit of praise. “You did well, cherie, but I would ask you give me no further cause this day to worry over you, at least just this once. Tomorrow, we can begin again with your training.”
Amiria smiled in delight, knowing he did not expect her to remain confined forever in the hall. “As you wish, Dristan.”
He looked at her suspiciously but saw no reason for further alarm. At his motion, Killian came and led her to the hearth to warm herself by its glowing fire. Satisfied she would stay put this time, Dristan took another look upon her afore he called to Riorden and several of his men to follow him as he left the keep to search out his garrison to secure his land once more.
