By Design (40 page)

It appeared such a normal castle yard. Calm and sleepy and quiet. No attention being given to much of anything, least of all the humble woman dragging herself along the wall toward the gate.

She could not bear to leave Rhys. She prayed that he would change his mind and come with her. If he did not, he would die here. And it would be her fault. No matter what else he claimed, he did this for her.

Somehow her legs moved in obedience to his command. She waited to hear his step behind her. She begged him to find his sense and join her in this flight.

She neared the gate, and he still had not come. She faced the open portcullis. Her heart emptied out.

She hesitated taking the final steps. A chaotic battle waged in her.

A voice bellowed across the yard, cutting the morning's peace and silencing her heart's debate.

Joan pivoted at the sound and her attention snapped to
its source. Guy stood atop the keep steps, shouting for the gate to be closed.

His gaze swept the yard. It stopped on her, pinning her in place. Danger glared down on her. His expression said there would be no forgiveness for this last betrayal. Even the price of her body would not buy her life.

The portcullis began descending.

The servants pressed against the wall, seeking sanctuary from the trouble that shout had portended. No one moved except Guy. He paced down the steps toward her. The heads of knights and castle folk bunched in doorways and windows, drawn to the disturbance.

He reached the yard and aimed for her. Only a fool would not have feared what burned in his eyes.

Another movement. Another man. Rhys stepped from the wall. He strode to the center of the yard, blocking Guy's path.

He just stood there, strong despite his wounds. She doubted that anyone but she would detect the stiffness that indicated it was only the power of his will that kept him upright.

Guy stopped, knowing a challenge when he saw one. The silence broke as scuffing boots and shoes marked the arrival of more soldiers and servants. Knights wandered down the steps from the hall. A circle of watchers took form.

The two men took each other's measure. Joan measured, too, and knew that her love would be destroyed soon. Guy wore no sword, but his dagger dangled from his belt. Rhys would die if this went any further. His fury and determination could not protect him from a blade.

She took a step toward him. His arm angled out from his side, straight and firm. His palm faced her with the command to stay back.

She looked desperately around the crowd, hoping to find someone who would stop this.

Masks of excitement beamed back. All attention centered on the open circle of yard and the two men who promised some blood sport. No one noticed her beseeching gaze, or anything else.

Nay, not everyone watched. Along the wall, behind the crowd, some bodies moved. Very slowly, one by one, some of the servants who had just arrived eased toward the keep stairs. They appeared no more than shifting forms of brown and grey, their bodies and heads obscured by old cloaks.

Edward. He was inside.

She pulled her gaze away, so she would not draw attention to them. How many had she seen? Five? Seven? Had Rhys recognized the bowed knights shuffling in among the servants? Did he know that they were here?

Aye, he knew. He waited as long as he could before starting it. He let the crowd's expectation peak, and begin to fall, before goading it higher again.

“You have much to answer for, Leighton.”

“Not nearly enough, if you can still stand.”

“I am not speaking of myself.”

“An anointed knight does not answer to his inferior, mason.”

“You do today.”

A group of knights laughed. Guy grinned at them, then cocked his head while he considered Rhys. “You must know that you will die. And for what?”

“For my lady.”

“For that murdering bitch? She may have the blood, but her soul is that of a whore. I had her again, you know. Just this morning. She begged for it. She moaned for me.”

“You lie, but it is of no account. You are finished with her. Here, today, you will answer for all of it.”

Guy turned to the onlookers, and held out his arms. Like a player in a mystery pageant, he appealed to his delighted audience. “He is an odd champion, but the challenge is clear. He is not worthy of my efforts, and she not worthy of his sacrifice, but still he insists on forcing this. I have been generous in giving him the chance to remove himself, nay?”

The knights certainly thought so. Most of the servants agreed.

He ceremoniously removed his dagger and laid it at the feet of the knights. “I would not want it said that I had an unfair advantage.”

The gesture gave Joan scant comfort. He would not need a dagger against a man whom he had already beaten to unconsciousness just an hour ago.

Guy faced Rhys again—no longer angelic in his beauty, no more humor in his face. Excited expectation burned in his eyes, and anticipation transformed his expression.

“Then defend your lady's honor, mason. Let God's judgment show you the truth of it. Die knowing that whatever she told you was a lie to hide her guilt at how quickly, and how eagerly, she surrendered her virtue.”

The crowd did not know how battered Rhys already was, but Guy did. He paced forward with impunity, and swung.

Rhys took the blow. He staggered, but did not fall. Joan felt that fist land, heard its dull thump, and it knocked the breath out of her.

Cloaked figures slipped up the keep steps.

Rhys let three more blows fall, until the last of Edward's band was swallowed by the dark at the top of the stairs.

When Guy swung the next time, his fist met the implacable barrier of a hand that could break stone.

Guy stared in shock at the hand gripping his in its vise.
Eyes alight with the fires of hell looked up. The fires of justice blazed back.

The crushing hand immobilized Guy. Pain broke in his expression, and his body buckled.

“I think that you should beg her forgiveness,” Rhys said.

“You are mad.”

“A madman is dangerous. He feels no pain, like a sensible man. He knows no restraint. Beg her forgiveness.”

“At the command of a stonecutter? The hell I will.”

Rhys smiled, and those crinkles formed. Not charming this time. Dangerous. His eyes appeared like polished steel reflecting the sky. “I am glad that you will not. Now this stonecutter has an excuse to break every bone in your body.”

He lifted Guy's arm until the man stretched, and swung a fist at his stomach. Had Guy been a statue, a large chunk of stone would have flown.

Another blow sent Guy sprawling in the dirt.

The crowd's silence broke. The real contest had begun. A din filled the yard as shouts urged it on. Somewhere in the keep, men moved through deserted chambers to a queen and a usurper whose commands would not be heard.

It seemed to go on forever. The fight was not all onesided. Guy was quick, and Rhys, for all of his madness, had been badly weakened during the night.

Rhys never went down. Joan's eyes filmed. Her sickening worry could not completely obscure her pride. He stayed standing for her. He had taken those first blows for the King's cause, but now he defended her. Protected her. He fought for her honor and her freedom and her life.

No knight in England could have shown more courage.

Guy flew again, and landed near her. Rhys staggered over, and lifted him by the neck of his tunic. He swung.
Not a blow, but a hard slap to the face that made Guy's head snap back. “Moan for you, did she?” He slapped again. “I want you to moan, so that you learn to hear the difference between pleasure and despair.”

Guy had gone limp, and did not defend against the punishment. A movement on the edge of the crowd drew Joan's attention. Two knights broke away, and began to approach Rhys from behind.

A voice rang through the yard, instantly silencing the crowd. A firm command ordered the knights to stay back.

Addis and a young, tawny-haired man stood at the top of the steps. No cloaks covered their armor. The young man's surcoat bore the royal coat of arms.

It was Edward who had issued the command. His presence, and his armor and sword, announced what had occurred. Then, in an even tone of authority, his words did.

Shock spread through the crowd. Suddenly no one cared about the fight between a knight and a mason anymore.

Rhys still hovered over Guy. Joan walked over to them. She looked down on the man who had destroyed her life. She could not deny that she knew some satisfaction in seeing him humbled like this. The woman she was today did not need it, but the girl she had once been still did.

Rhys seemed not to have noticed that things had changed. She touched his shoulder, calling him back from the place he had gone to find his strength.

“It is over. Edward has taken Mortimer, and the guards know it. They are not resisting.”

He glared down at the half-conscious man in his grasp. He did not seem to hear her.

“It is done, Rhys. The gate is open again, and the men of Barrowburgh are entering to secure the castle.”

His attention did not waver from his enemy. The fury in
his expression did not dim. She thought that he would hit Guy again.

A new presence warmed her side. Addis stepped into place beside her.

Rhys still gripped Guy.

Addis unsheathed his sword and offered it. “Finish it, if you want. There will be no judgment on it. He is a dead man anyway, and this may be a mercy if he faces his lord's fate.”

Rhys turned his steely gaze on the sword. She expected him to reach for the hilt. She could tell that he wanted to.

He released his hold and Guy fell back into the dirt. “Let the executioner have him.”

His false strength deserted him at once. He began to sink. Joan hurried to offer herself as support. He leaned on her, and together they followed Addis and headed toward the steps.

Confusion surrounded them. The yard teemed with agitation. Word of Mortimer's downfall buzzed in the air. She heard it all, but felt no excitement or triumph. It seemed such a small thing suddenly. She only cared that Rhys was alive, and that his arm circled her shoulders, and that his steps fell beside hers.

A rush behind her. A surge of danger. Her instincts knew it before her senses.

Rhys knew, too. His arm pushed her forward, into Addis. She staggered and turned and saw Guy lunging, arm raised and dagger glinting.

It happened fast, too fast to see clearly. Her shock took in only bits of it. Fractured details loomed, precisely and slowly.

The dagger falling, toward her. Rhys catching the blade itself in the grip of his left hand, and hurtling his body into Guy. Blood streaming down his arm, and the dagger
moving again. Another grab, a quick twist, and two men sprawled on the ground in a death struggle.

Then stillness. No movement at all. They both looked dead.

A soundless cry tore through her. Her breath would not come. She felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

Slowly, Rhys rolled off the body beneath him. The dagger lay so deeply imbedded in Guy's chest that only its hilt showed. Guy stared wide-eyed up at the sky. The fires died, and his eyes turned into violet ice.

Addis lifted Rhys out of the dirt and blood. He hoisted a limp arm around his neck, and began dragging his friend toward the keep. His voice boomed above the confusion, ordering his men to send a surgeon at once.

C
HAPTER
27

“O
NE CAN NEVER TELL
of course,” the surgeon said. “I have seen sword cuts like this that healed well enough for the hand to hold a weapon. If not, thank God it was not your right hand.”

Rhys did not speak, nor watch the new shroud take form. The few minutes of washing and anointment with balms had told him what he needed to know. Free of the wads of cloth and stitches, he had tested his hand's movement.

The surgeon appeared annoyed by his patient's lack of response. He did not realize that it was not indifference that kept Rhys silent.

He gathered up his bowls and ointments. As he left the chamber, Addis entered.

He gestured to the white bandage. “How is it? There is no corruption?”

“It looks and smells clean.”

“Thank God for that. That butcher wanted to take it off, but I said I would do to his head whatever he did to
your hand, and he rethought it. Do not listen to the leeches and such. They are ignorant of these things. Let it heal and then see how it works. I was told once that I would never walk right again, but I did.”“Even if the damage is permanent, it is not so horrible. Edward will name me his principal builder today. I will have little time for the chisel anymore, and I will not starve for losing my craft.”

Addis pretended that was good news, but the expression in his eyes said that he understood the truth of it. Losing one's craft meant losing part of oneself.

Grieving over that would come later. A different sorrow waited today.

“Will you ride with us?”

“Nay. I will come and see her brother recognized, but when you take them home, I will not come.”