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“Has something happened to my parents?” Edmund asked with a worried expression.
“I dinnae ken, but I will find out.”
“Then I will come and help you—”
“No, you will stay put. No matter what happens or whatever you hear, you remain hidden. Do you hear me?”
He sighed and nodded, then moved to crouch behind the shrubbery.
“Should anything happen to me, you ken where to go?”
Edmund nodded.
“Good.” Her expression softened when she squeezed his arm and said, “Stay safe, Edmund.”
“You too, Yesenda.”
Yesenda lifted the hood of her black cloak over her head and then sprinted along the tree line the remaining one hundred yards under the cover of darkness. She continued to scan her surroundings, not wanting to walk into an ambush. As she approached the cottage, she was grateful she listened to her instincts because the guard was not asleep. He was dead and propped up against the chair. His head caved in. She moved towards the window and peered inside. Edmunds foster parents were tied up with gags over their mouths. They looked beaten and bruised.
Beside the door stood a man wielding a war club. No doubt lying in wait for Edmund to come home. She peered at his garment and noted the cut and hue.
Yesenda crouched back down with her back against the cottage. She recognized the garment. They were usually worn by monks belonging to the FrenchOrder of Tiron.They wereGrey Monks. But she was confused because they were a peaceful order. They would never kill or wield war clubs against a young lad.
She heard the rustling of leaves as she tried to figure out what to do next. Yesenda whipped her head to the side and saw Edmund creeping his way towards the cottage. She glared at him and gestured using hand signals, demanding he go back and hide. But the stubborn lad ignored her.
Edmund was making too much noise, and it was only a matter of time before the monk caught sight of him.
Sure enough, she heard the front door open and footsteps running toward Edmund. The lad froze as the looming figure of the monk stood before him. Edmund raised his knife, but it would be no match for a war club. Just as the monk brought the club crashing down, Yesenda yanked Edmund out of the way, narrowly missing getting hit.
“Go inside and help your parents, now!” she demanded in a voice that brooked no opposition. Edmund headed for the front door.
The monk appeared startled by Yesenda’s appearance. He said, “You must be Miriam Ferguson. We have been searching for you.”
She still did not know who he was, but she would fight first and ask questions later.
The monk spun the club around and aimed it at her with all his might. Yesenda reached behind her and pulled out her mace. The weapons clashed, making a loud thudding sound. She stepped back and pivoted as he advanced with a fast succession of hits. He was on the attack and Yesenda maintained her defensive moves, weaving and dodging, blocking, and parrying each blow. She shifted quickly from side to side.
The monk was adept at his weapon, but she had taken his measure. He was not as fit as he thought he was, and the slight labored panting gave him away. She knew in time he would tire. War clubs were heavy and his was wrought with iron.
They circled one another.
The monk tried to provoke her.
“You are beautifulmademoiselle. I will enjoy rutting inside you until you bleed. You will beg for death,” he said.
“Is that the only way you can get a woman? By maiming her. Mayhap tis because you have a small cock?”
A flash of anger marred his features, and he upped his hits. They were becoming uncoordinated.
“Oh, I appear to have touched a nerve. Tis true then? Your penis is small,no?”
He roared and moved in again with a rapid succession of hits. Each one she blocked or dodged.
“I will make sure I keep you alive long enough for all my brothers to enjoy you, too. We will rip you in half with our large phalluses.”
Yesenda chuckled. “That is something a man with a tiny-wee cock would say.”
“You, bitch!” he snarled and went on the attack again.
