Arrowland (22 page)

Gwen was determined not to let anyone stand in her way. Not Andy, nor Jeffreys, not even the memory of her dear, sweet Clive. Nobody was going to take her son away from her. If it meant fighting to the death, then she'd do it. The rest of them could go screw themselves.

Ever since the German prisoner had told her what they were after, she'd been like this. His confession that they weren't going to leave without Clive Jr had sent her into overdrive. And, if she'd been hard on their captive before, then that knowledge had pushed her over the edge.

"Tell me!" she'd demanded when she got over the shock, raking his cheek with her nails. "Tell me
why
you want my son!"

When she'd begun to tear into the wound in his side, the one that Jeffreys had spent so long stitching, Gwen had to be pulled away.

"Now that's enough! He's not going to talk," Andy said in her ear as he and the good doctor dragged her away from the man. "You can see he's not going to give you anything more."

"He will when I've finished with him!" But, given a chance to calm down Gwen realised the truth was he probably wouldn't. Not even under the kind of torture she'd love to inflict.

Torture, for Heaven's sakes. Can you hear yourself?
This wasn't her, this
really
wasn't her. Yet it was. Nothing in the world was more important to her than her son, and these arseholes had come here specifically to take him. Why, she had no idea - and probably wouldn't find out until it was too late. Until he was gone.

"What the hell's going on?" Darryl had asked, rising from the couch as she'd returned home, slamming the front door behind her. He'd stayed there to keep an eye on Clive Jr, and because he was still quite wobbly after giving the German his blood. She felt a twinge of guilt when she saw how pale he still was, because she'd been ready to drain every last drop of blood from that German in order to uncover the truth. Then again, she knew Darryl would understand - he was probably one of the few who would. He'd only volunteered for the transfusion in the first place so they could ask their captive questions. Clive would have been very proud of the courage and self sacrifice this young man had shown tonight. Gwen vowed to tell him that, when she got the chance. When the time was right.

"No guts, none of them," she grumbled under her breath. "They won't do what's necessary."

"Easy Gwen, sit down."

Ignoring his advice, she paced up and down, explaining what had happened during the interrogation. "I just don't know what to do, Darryl. I won't let them take Clive Jr."

"Course not, none of us will."

"I'm not so sure," she told him, her voice wavering. Before he could ask her what she meant, Clive Jr appeared in the doorway to the living room, wearing his pyjamas and clutching a teddy. He'd been in the other room asleep when Gwen came in. She went to him immediately.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she cooed, knowing it was her temper that had woken him. "Let's get you back to bed, little man. You need your sleep."

"He's not the only one," Darryl told her. "You look knackered."

"Thanks a lot," she laughed.

"I'm serious," he said, concern etched on his face, and it was then that she realised just how much he cared about her.

Gwen shook her head. "I can't, not with all this going on."

"You're no use to anyone like that, especially him," Darryl said, nodding towards Clive Jr.

He did have a point. How could she fight to the death for her son when she was exhausted? She wouldn't be able to think clearly if she was half asleep. "I'm not even sure I could, even if I tried," she protested, but was already yawning in spite of herself; coming down off the adrenalin high she'd been on during the questioning of the prisoner.

"You'd be surprised. Now go on, take him back to bed and get some rest yourself."

Gwen nodded, holding Clive Jr's hand. She turned back before heading upstairs. "Thanks Darryl. For everything."

He smiled and waved a hand for her to get her head down. Which she did, taking the pistol from the back of her jeans and putting it under the pillow, then curling up with her son. She watched him nod off again, then watched him some more, her own eyes drooping.

She dreamt of
him
. The man who'd once saved her from almost certain death at Nottingham Castle - at the very least rape and who knows what else at the hands of that thug Jace. A Hooded Man, but not the one that everyone knew about. He wore a
red
hood, this one, concealing a face that had been painted to resemble a skull - practically indistinguishable from the rest of his clan, though
she
could tell him apart instantly. She'd called him Skullface once, but now understood what a wildly inappropriate and silly nickname this was; used only because she knew nothing about him, not even his real name. Some would probably have said it was Servitor, because he served the Fallen One, but Gwen wasn't so sure about that. He'd shown her only kindness and compassion, and at no other time since Clive's death had she felt so safe.

In this dreamscape, he came to her again, exactly when she needed him. Gwen reached out and pulled down that crimson cowl, stroking the painted face. The face of a dead man, because hadn't he once died? She didn't know
how
she knew that, but he'd also been reborn in flames. She felt the rough edges of the tattoo on his forehead, etched there with a needle: an inverted pentangle and cross. Her hands went even higher, feeling the bristles of his shaven head, and she wondered what he'd looked like before all this. What he looked like without the painted skull, with his hair grown long. And suddenly her question was answered, because standing there in front of her was a man who looked almost exactly like Clive. It wasn't him, of course, could never
be
him. But the resemblance was uncanny. This man had felt the same kind of pain as her - somehow she knew that as well. He'd lost people he cared about: a lover... no, a wife. And a child.

It was the kind of bond which could only be shared through such a loss.

Gwen felt herself falling into his eyes, pools of sadness coaxing her in. Then suddenly they were holding each other, her arms wrapped around him and vice versa, clinging to each other like a drowning person clings to wreckage in the sea. When their lips met it was with a hunger she'd never felt when she was with Clive. There was an urgency this time, as if at any moment this would be snatched away from her, as it was before. Gwen closed her eyes...

Their mouths parted and his tongue found hers, dancing with it, at first tentatively, then with that same driving need. They were exploring each other's bodies. Gwen's hands ran down his naked back, feeling the strength of him and holding him closer as they continued to kiss: faces locked together until there was no differentiating between them.

Gwen lay back and let him kiss her neck, butterfly kisses which ended at her nipples. She moaned, loudly now, as he took one into his mouth, sucking and biting.

But that sensation was nothing compared to what came next. He was inside her, even though she hadn't felt him slide in. She could feel him there, and it was beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. They kissed again, tongues lapping at each other as he moved backwards and forwards on top of Gwen. The motion increased along with the intensity of feeling. His thrusts were both hard and gentle at the same time, lifting her higher and higher into this feeling. Breaking off the kiss, she was moaning in time with those thrusts. Her hands at his shoulders willing him on.

He kept going until she felt like she was going to explode. It was only at the very point of finishing, when she couldn't hold back any longer, that she opened her eyes. To see something from her worst nightmare:

The Sheriff: De Falaise. Labouring away above her, sweat pouring from his brow, his yellow teeth glinting in the light. A memory from when she'd been held against her will at the castle, used like some kind of sex toy.

Gwen's cry of ecstasy became a scream.

She woke suddenly, just in time to hear a series of explosions breaking the silence outside.

Phase Two of the plan started when Tanek reached the woodland on the outskirts of New Hope.

As he pulled up in the Eagle, he was greeted by Brauer, who saluted him. That made Tanek smile. It was good to be in command of men again, even if it was only a battalion of German troopers for this particular, personal mission. It was the respect he'd earned, the respect he'd commanded when he'd been De Falaise's right-hand man. He'd never felt fully in charge during his time with the Russians - too many people looking over his shoulder, including the Tsar himself. Here he was alone, with a small army who were under orders to obey him, whatever the cost.

The first thing Tanek wanted to know was how they'd allowed one of the men to be taken.

"How did any of the villagers get out in the first place?"

Brauer shook his head. "We have all possible entrances and exits covered, sir."

"Not
all
of them, apparently." But he wasn't going to expend valuable time and manpower searching for them. Tanek needed to step up the siege, force the people inside to give themselves up.

Or give up the child.

Tanek knew that the woman the boy belonged to would never surrender herself - she'd die rather than see him fall into the hands of the Sheriff's former second. But the others might, with the correct motivation. They'd already been shot at from every conceivable position around that damned wall they'd erected - a troublesome obstacle, but a good idea, Tanek had to admit. This prevented them from leaving, in theory. Now it was time to show them that he and his forces would be coming in soon, whether they liked it or not. The only thing that had prevented him from blowing the shit out of them in the first place was that they might accidentally hurt the boy. None of them had the first clue where he was being kept and a stray mortar fired into the village might just hit a building with him inside.

But that didn't mean a barrage against the wall was out of the question.

"Ride with me," he told Brauer, and the man saluted again.

They drove towards the front gates of New Hope, and within seconds the Eagle began to draw fire from a gunman positioned on the wall. The bullets bounced harmlessly off its armoured exterior. Tanek parked the vehicle, sliding out and using it as cover. He ordered Brauer to get out of his side and give him a hand with something he had in the back, under the camouflaged canvas cover.

Brauer barely batted an eye when he saw the huge GMG automatic grenade launcher. Instead, a look of understanding passed across his hard face as he realised why Tanek had asked him along. Resembling a very large M-60, which fired grenades instead of bullets, fed through a belt, this was a devastating piece of kit. The gunmen from the wall continued to fire at them as they set up the mount, Tanek fixing the gun into position. A ricochet sparked off the side of the jeep near his head but he barely even twitched, concentrating on the task in hand.

"Ready?" Tanek asked Brauer, who nodded, holding the grenade belt.

The larger man pivoted the barrel of the GMG and aimed for the wall. The blast almost knocked Brauer backwards, but Tanek remained rooted to the spot. The grenades exploded against the wall, which shook with the impacts.

Tanek shifted position, relying on Brauer to move with him, and fired several more along the length of the wall.
Should get their attention
.

There was no return fire, at least for a few seconds. Then it came again; the bullets, pathetic compared with the GMG's load.

Okay
, thought Tanek.
Let's try this.

Leaving Brauer with the canon, he made his way round the side of the Eagle, picking something up from the backseat as he went. Tanek walked out into the enemy fire, standing there as if daring any of the sentry's bullets to strike him. And indeed they refused: hitting trees, foliage and the dirt track. Then Tanek raised his repeater crossbow, as accurate a weapon as any you could wish for, and fired a number of bolts into the gaps on the top of the wall.

The gunfire stopped. Tanek stood there and grunted with satisfaction.

"People of New...
Hope
," he shouted "You have something we want. A boy belonging to a woman called Gwen. Your leader. You are cut off. Give us what we came here for, or suffer the consequences."

"Do you think they will listen, sir?" asked Brauer.

Tanek didn't reply; he just looked out over the bonnet of his vehicle, up towards the wall. He saw a brief glimpse of auburn hair.

And now he really was tempted to grin.

Gwen had woken from the dream feeling flushed and disgusted at the same time, but hadn't had the opportunity to reflect on it because of the explosions.

Several bangs in quick succession, all coming from beyond the wall. From where the Germans were camped out. Clive Jr slept on, oblivious, so she'd retrieved the pistol from under the pillow, hurried downstairs, then asked Darryl to watch her son.

"What is it, what were those noises?" he said as she opened the gun cabinet near the door. Gwen took out a Colt Commando assault rifle, one of the haul she'd originally brought with her from Nottingham Castle.

"Trouble," she replied, locking the cabinet again and tossing him the key.