Claire Delacroix (12 page)

Yves muttered something decidedly unflattering under his breath, but Gabrielle chose to ignore it. “My lady,” he growled with deliberation, “this is no place for a woman, much less for one nobly born.”

Gabrielle lifted her chin. “You will not retrieve my son without me!”

Yves’ eyes flashed. “I will do precisely that.”

“You will not find him,” Gabrielle insisted, determined not to be left behind. “Perricault is a keep rife with hidden nooks and crannies.”

Yves’ grip tightened on the steeds’ reins. “I will move every single stone of that keep with my own hands, if necessary, to find your son and return him to you.”

So great was his conviction that Gabrielle was almost swayed.

But still she would not stand aside and let another fetch her boy. “He will cry out,” she argued. “Should you need to escape the keep stealthily, he might inadvertently reveal you.”

Yves hesitated and Gabrielle pressed her case.

“This night is sure to remind him of the night Perricault was taken. He is a boy of good sense and will have learned to fear strange knights who snatch him up in the night.” Her voice faltered. “He will be afraid.”

Yves’ lips thinned and he glanced to the waiting party, then back to Gabrielle. He was clearly not pleased with whatever conclusion he had drawn, or perhaps with Gabrielle proving troublesome in this matter.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” he said in a low voice, a warm glint lighting his eyes, “you speak good sense in this.”

Gabrielle caught her breath.

Yves’ gaze bored into hers. “Understand, my lady, that you ride by my side alone.”

Gabrielle did not dare to show her relief. She nodded.

“And you will give to me your solemn vow that you will follow my dictate precisely and immediately.”

“But—”

“But
nothing!
” Anger fleetingly crossed the knight’s visage. “My lady, if matters should go awry, I will not tolerate having anything happen to you.” He fixed her with a quelling glance before she could ponder the import of that. “Do we understand each other?”

Gabrielle took a deep breath and held his gaze, knowing full well that this was not an argument she could manage to win. Should she not agree to his terms, Yves would send her directly back to the camp.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she had hired the man because he did understand warfare better than she. His dictate would undoubtedly be sound.

“I agree,” she conceded quietly.

Yves nodded and pivoted, his grip still tight on the palfry’s reins. At his urging, Merlin cut a clean path through the wondering troops, back to their head.

Gabrielle ignored the assessing glances of the knights. She lifted her chin high and stared straight ahead, not caring what any of them thought of her. When Yves donned his helmet anew and waved the party onward, she dug her heels into her palfry and remained steadfastly by the knight’s side.

Yet in a secret corner of her heart, Gabrielle felt a thrill of victory that her desire had been granted by this unexpectedly sympathetic knight. Perhaps taking such a man to husband would not be a terrible burden, after all.

Perhaps she might find something in this match that had been so woefully lacking in her first.

Perhaps she was a fool to even think along such lines.

* * *

How Yves hated that Gabrielle had conjured an argument he could not refute! Having her in the party, even riding close to his side, was unsettling at best.

Yet here she rode, chin high and eyes bright, directly into the thick of the battle.

What was he to make of such a woman?

Yves had little time to consider the matter, for they drew near the river itself. The party halted beneath the shelter of the trees and Yves eyed the vast bulk of Château Pemcault etched against the sky.

Not a single light illuminated its walls. He silently dispatched a pair of soldiers on foot, who flashed a light as prescribed mere moments later.

The bridge was taken.

Already.

It looked as though this task would be more than easy.

The party streamed silently from the forest, moving onto the bridge like shadows. The silver crescent of the moon rode high overhead, shedding enough light that the steeds could find their footing, but hopefully not enough to reveal their attack.

As Yves had decreed, padding was unfurled on the bridge to muffle the horses’ footfalls on the wooden planks. They crossed and Yves drew his blade as Merlin began the ascent up the road to the gates.

The abandoned town crouched on either side of the road, its doors ajar, its windows hauntingly vacant. Even the chapel was filled with only shadows. The town had once been of considerable size. Yves wondered how many of the men in his party had memories of this place in better times.

He wondered how many had deaths to avenge from that fateful night.

Though it seemed there might be none to fall prey to that vengeance. Not a cry was raised from Perricault’s walls, the silence of the massive keep more oppressive than Yves could have expected.

Nothing moved.

It was beyond eerie to find not a single sentry on the walls. Surely Philip could not have completely abandoned Perricault? The party eased closer and Yves felt a shiver of uneasiness slide through the ranks.

He halted when he saw that the gate was ajar.

This was not right.

Seymour frowned beside Yves and pointed to the gate, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. “I will check,” he mouthed.

Yves nodded, watching silently as the man-at-arms urged Methuselah toward the gates. Seymour dismounted and peered cautiously around the open portal as the entire army seemingly held their breath.

Then Seymour disappeared into the chateau.

Methuselah nickered and Gabrielle sat up with a jolt, her wide eyes fixed on the gate. Yves straightened, his gaze darting between lady and destrier. Gabrielle knew the horse, knew well the sounds it made.

Clearly something was amiss!

Yves got no further in his thinking before a full assault was launched from Perricault’s walls.

Two cauldrons of burning oil were poured from the towers high above as a war bellow broke from within the keep’s walls. The fiendishly hot oil splashed on the road and the horses reared and screamed in fear.

The beasts darted backward of their own accord, just as a barrage of arrows was loosed from above. The shower of missiles found more than one mark among the surprised invaders. Men yelled in pain, horses shrieked and confusion reigned just a heartbeat after silence had filled Yves’ ears. One steed even fled the scene, the wild echo of its hoofbeats carrying to Yves’ ears.

As he gathered his knights about him, he noticed more of Philip’s forces riding out from the forest to close the bridges behind him.

They had been deceived!

Just as Gabrielle had feared. But the truth was no solace now.

For the second time in a troublingly short span of days, Yves had let his passion rule his reason! He had desired too much to please Lady Gabrielle, and passion had steered him false.

Curse his stupid trust! Yves could only hope that his folly did not bear too heavy a price.

Gabrielle was stunned by the speed and brutality of the counterattack. One moment all was peaceful, if tense; the next, chaos had erupted on all sides.

The knight to her right glanced up at the whistle of the arrows and caught one right in his throat before he could look away. He fell from his destrier as Gabrielle watched in horror. Men shouted on all sides and flames erupted from the oil spilled on the road just before them.

It was bewildering to be suddenly in the midst of battle, especially when Gabrielle had never experienced the like. She looked toward Yves, finding him as composed as ever.

Only the narrowing of his eyes revealed his anger at Philip’s deception. No doubt he was furious with himself for being tricked, but Gabrielle felt twice a fool for not making certain Yves understood Philip’s duplicity.

“To the gates!” Yves roared, and those who could, followed his lead. Gabrielle was shocked at how many stalwart souls had already fallen, but she kept her head down.

“Take this,” Yves muttered, shoving his quillon dagger at her. Gabrielle gaped at the wicked weapon, so much more heavy and lethal than anything she had wielded before.

She began to thank the knight, glancing up just in time to see him savagely cut down an attacker. That man fell to the ground, joining the first opponent to have reached Yves’ side.

While she made sense of matters, Yves had already been at battle! Merlin jostled her palfry and the knights gathered around, trapping Gabrielle in a tight circle.

On all sides, blades rose and fell with sickening regularity and blood danced in the air. Moans and shouts intermingled with the clash of steel on steel. Just when she thought matters could grow no worse, Gabrielle heard the creak of the portcullis being let loose from above.

“The portcullis gate!” she cried, looking up to see those dangerous spikes descending with frightening speed.

The men fought with renewed vigor, trying to win space on one side or the other, but Philip’s troops fought to keep them trapped beneath the gate’s wicked and quickly descending spikes. The blows of battle reached a crescendo.

Then, suddenly, the gate groaned overhead. Her heart in her mouth, Gabrielle looked up to find it frozen in its path.

But why had it stopped?

The answer came immediately. In bone-chilling slow motion, the wide-eyed gatekeeper tumbled out of the doorway that led to the gate room.

There was something decidedly odd about his stiff pose as he rolled bonelessly out onto the road. Philip’s other troops still beneath the gates were so stunned by this development that they were quickly cut down. The destriers stepped instinctively out of the way, and the dagger embedded in the gatekeeper’s back caught the light.

“Ha ha!” Gaston cried. The squire jumped out of the stall in close pursuit as Gabrielle gaped at the dead keeper. The boy’s eyes were shining with excitement as he plucked his blade out of the man’s back with a flourish.

He bowed deeply to Yves. “The gatehouse is ours, my lord!”

To Gabrielle’s surprise, the knight scowled in disapproval. “You were bidden to remain with the party,” he scolded the boy, whose smile faded to nothing. “You must learn to do as you are bidden, Gaston. What if there had been more than one within the gatehouse?”

“I would have taken them all,” Gaston retorted defiantly.

Yves shook his head. “You could have been killed,” he
muttered, so low that only Gabrielle heard his words. Again she marveled at his concern for the boy’s welfare. “You
would
have been killed, for none knew where you were.”

Gaston pouted.

Yves flicked an exasperated glance at the suspended gate and evidently was moved by the boy’s disappointment.

“But your success is appreciated all the same,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “Though it would have been more so had you been following dictate.”

Gaston grinned anew, apparently unaffected by the stern proviso, and leaped astride his palfry. “Bring them on!” he declared with a jaunty wave of his blade. “We shall slaughter them all!”

“You will do as you are bidden from this point on, understood?” Yves growled, though Gabrielle saw that the knight’s demand had less impact than his praise.

“Yes, my lord.”

Gabrielle belatedly realized that there had been a temporary respite in the fighting. She looked up to see a cadre of troops heading directly toward their valiant party. Philip’s knights had formed a tight cluster within the outer bailey and drove toward the gates in a formation reminiscent of a wedge.

“Look!” Gabrielle cried, and she pointed.

Yves’ head snapped up. “Look to the bailey!” he shouted to the knights.

“My lord, they come from below!” shouted another knight, and Gabrielle’s heart sank to see that it was true. Another force rode toward the gates from the bridge below. Philip’s men must have been hidden somewhere in the forest.

They would be caught between the two forces and slaughtered like pigs at the harvest!

Yves glanced to all sides, but still despair did not cross his features “Choose your side
^†
I will not compel you to fight to the death,” he told his men. “May the grace of God be with you.”

The men would flee while they yet had a chance, Gabrielle
realized with dismay. And those remaining would be lost in the inevitable slaughter. Thomas would be abandoned to Philip. She blinked back tears of disappointment at the failure of their quest.

Would they ever have another chance to save her son?

But Gabrielle did not need to fear. The men rallied closer, a determination she had not foreseen gleaming in their eyes.

“My lord, we follow you!”

“My lord, we will not leave alive without you and Thomas!”

The men roared approval of this and clashed their blades together over Gabrielle’s head. Their enthusiasm for the fight was more than Gabrielle might have expected. She glanced about herself, amazed that Yves had won their loyalty so quickly.

“Which way, my lord?” demanded one of the knights.

“Lead on!” cried another.

What if Yves chose to leave Perricault this night? Gabrielle feared suddenly that Yves’ strategic mind might choose against her heart. Even if the troops stayed to fight, they might still all be killed, for they were sorely outnumbered.

Yet if they fled, Thomas might pay the price of Philip’s wrath. Gabrielle ached to continue onward in pursuit of her son. Before she could plead her case, Yves lifted his sword high and pointed directly at Philip’s troops advancing from the bailey, his gaze locking with Gabrielle’s own.

“I go for Thomas!” he declared.

Gabrielle’s heart leaped.

The men bellowed agreement. “We are with you, my lord!”

The horses turned as one and plunged toward the bailey of Château Perricault. They met the oncoming forces with an earth-shattering clash of armor that shook Gabrielle to her bones. She barely had time to note that the two leaders had squared off before a swing of an ax hacked her palfry out from beneath her.