Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (43 page)

Tate understood a
great deal in that halting sentence and he also understood that de Roche was
more than likely alone. He and de Roche seemed to be quite alone as they
battled in the stable yard, which was fortunate; Tate was terrified that
someone, seeing the fight, was going to notify the entire castle. He had to do
away with de Roche quickly or the element of an unnoticed escape would vanish.

“It matters not,” he
grunted as he managed to shove de Roche back against the yard wall. “In a few
moments I will rid myself of you forever. I should have done it a long time
ago.”

De Roche tripped and
fell back. When he came up, it was with a handful of mud, which he slung into
Tate’s face. Mud filled Tate’s vision and he spun away, struggling to clear his
eyes, knowing that de Roche would be upon him for the killing stroke. With
Kenneth incapacitated, he could not expect any help. He wiped furiously at his
eyes, only managing to clear one as he saw de Roche bearing down on him.

“It is over, my
friend,” Hamlin hissed, sword in an offensive position preparing to strike.
“Once and for all, this will be over.”

Tate lifted his blade
to deflect the blow but the blow never came. He watched, through one muddy eye,
as Hamlin suddenly lurched heavily and toppled over. The sword fell to the
ground. Astonished, Tate looked up to see Toby standing where de Roche once
stood with an enormous pitchfork in her hands.

She looked terrified
and ill. The pitchfork prongs were dripping blood. De Roche was not dead but he
was in a great deal of pain with three very deep puncture wounds in his back.
One of them had gone into this spine. Though his head was moving, his legs lay
completely still. When he realized that he could not feel or move his legs, he
began to howl. It was an unearthly, harrowing sound that echoed against the
cold stone of Wigmore.

Tate rushed to his
wife, grabbing the pitchfork and tossing it away. Together, they raced to where
Kenneth lay on his back, now struggling to sit up. They went down on their
knees beside him.

“Ken,” Tate’s voice
was full of concern. “How bad is it?”

Kenneth’s hand was
covering the deep wound on the left side of his torso, below the rib cage. 
“Help me get to my feet,” his voice was weak and gritty. “Get me on a horse and
I can ride.”

“You are bleeding all
over the damn place.”

“Just get me on my
feet.”

Tate lifted while Toby
tried to pull; Tate ended up doing most of the work while Toby realized she
could be more help if she found something to stop the bleeding with.  He was
oozing buckets. Ripping a portion of the long hem of her gown, she wadded up
the wool and pressed it up against Kenneth’s torso.

“Hold this tightly,”
she instructed him. “Press it against the wound.”

“Thank you,” Kenneth
said weakly, eyeing her as he put a big arm around Tate’s shoulders for
support. “I am sorry to have ruined your gown, my lady.”

She gave him an
impatient look. “Are you mad? Stopping the bleeding is far more important.”

Tate began
half-carrying him back towards the bailey. “You will get the bottom of your
garment muddy,” Kenneth told her.

“It is of no
consequence.”

“Do you want me to
carry you?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Kenneth’s lips
twitched while Tate just shook his head at the two of them. “If this is any
indication of how the two of you got on while you were incarcerated together,
it is a wonder you did not kill each other.” They were clearing the kitchen
yards; horses were directly ahead and Tate went in that direction. “Can you
make it back to camp?” he asked his knight.

Kenneth was supporting
his own weight rather well for a man who had just been gored. He even removed
his arm from Tate’s supporting shoulders as they made their way to the horses.

“I can make it,” he
said, gathering the reins of the first horse they came to.

Tate helped him mount,
but in truth, Kenneth remained relatively strong. Tate went to help Toby,
lifting her up onto the very next horse. He was about to say something to her
when small man in dark robes emerged from the keep, waving his arms wildly.
Toby recognized Timothy immediately.

“My God,” she gasped.
“It is Timothy.  What is wrong?”

Tate saw the young man
as he descended the steps leading from the keep and almost tripped. “Who is
that?” he asked.

“A physic,” Toby told
him. “A friend. What is he doing?”

They both watched as
Timothy raced towards them, still waving his arms crazily.  He was shouting
something they could not quite hear.

“What is he saying?”
Toby wondered aloud.

Tate shook his head.
“I do not know. It sounds like….”

He never got a chance
to finish his sentence; Timothy came close enough so that they were able to
hear him. “
Run
!”

Startled, Tate and
Toby watched as the keep suddenly came alive with dozens of soldiers pouring
through the open door. Upon the walls, shouts could be heard and the
portcullis, still in its raised position, began to crank closed. Timothy was
still waving his arms, still shouting, until a soldier caught him from behind
and knocked him to the ground. After that, they could no longer see him. Toby
shouted his name, fearful for the man. He had come to warn them; she was
terrified that he had paid the ultimate price for that kindness.

As for Tate, he was
faced with a very harrowing reality; as he had feared, an alarm had been
raised. Somehow, some way, they had been alerted to his presence and Toby’s
physic friend had been attempting to warn them off. The element of secrecy was
no longer on their side and he knew their time had run out.

He turned to Kenneth.
“Get her out of here,” he told him. “I will do what I can to keep Mortimer from
following. Go!”

It took Toby a moment
to realize that he was not going to ride out with them. He was already
unsheathing his borrowed blade, preparing to face the incoming enemy. 
Realizing that he intended to hold off the horde as they escaped, panic surged
through her.

“Nay!” she cried,
reaching for him even as Kenneth tried to turn her horse around.  “Tate, I will
not leave you, not again!”

He turned to look at
her as the chaos around them increased. “I will find you,” he said calmly,
though the pain in his eyes was powerful. “Go with Kenneth. You will need to
tend him. I will catch up.”

She burst into tears,
pulling her horse to a halt even as Kenneth tried to get the animal moving.

“Tate, please,” she
wept. “Please come with me now. I cannot leave you here to die.”

“I will not die,
sweetheart,” he said softly, noting with increased panic that the portcullis
was about the third of the way down. “Go with Kenneth and do not argue with me.
I need to see that you are safe. I will see you soon.”

“Nay!” she screamed.

Tate’s emotions were
on the surface as he looked to Kenneth. He couldn’t bear to look at the agony
in Toby’s eyes. “Take her home, Ken,” he pleaded quietly. “Just… take her
home.”

Toby reached out for
Tate, straining, even as Kenneth took hold of her horse’s reins. Tate reached
also, like a last desperate effort, and their fingertips brushed. He could feel
her warmth but he couldn’t quite touch her. Kenneth was pulling her along and
she was quickly out of his reach.  Heart aching with sorrow, with fear for them
both, he managed to smack the horse’s rear with the broad side of the blade,
like a swatter, and the beast took off. The last Tate saw, Kenneth and Toby had
barely cleared the portcullis. But it was enough. They had escaped.

Knowing his wife was
now free, Tate turned to face his duty as the soldiers began to swarm. He could
see Mortimer at the top of the stairs and smiled at the man.  It was a smile of
victory.

The last Toby saw of
her husband was of him standing in a circle of well-armed men. As she and
Kenneth cleared the gatehouse, she lost sight of him altogether. As she had
once sacrificed herself to save him, he was now doing the same for her. God
help her; she realized he was now doing the same for her and the knowledge of
it was as emotionally crippling as anything she had ever known. 

All she could do was
pray.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was a dark and cold
night. A few weeks ago, Toby had spent the night lying on her back with aching
ribs, with Kenneth sitting next to her vigilantly. Tonight, it was different;
it was she who was sitting next to Kenneth vigilantly. The man was sleeping
soundly thanks to a potion given to him by one of the barber-surgeons belonging
to Liam de Lara. She’d not yet met Tate’s adoptive brother but she was sure she
would at some point. At this moment, however, she frankly did not care. She
only wanted to see her husband, safe and sound, and no one else.

The tears had been
falling most of the night. Every time she thought of Tate standing strong
against the horde of Mortimer’s men, she dissolved into quiet tears again. She
prayed continuously that it would not be her last glimpse of her husband alive.
As she listened to Kenneth’s heavy breathing, she wiped the silent tears that fell,
scared and feeling very much alone. 

They were all waiting
for Tate; all ten thousand men. Toby had never seen so many people in her life
as she and Kenneth had ridden into camp. They had been taken right away to an
empty tent where Kenneth’s wound had been tended. Men had brought food and
drink, and several knights she had never seen before had come to talk to
Kenneth about Tate’s whereabouts and the current status of Wigmore. The men had
ignored her until Kenneth had introduced her as Lady de Lara. Then, it was as
if they could not do enough for her; food, furs, and warm things were sent to
her in droves.  She had piles of it. But all she wanted was her husband and he
was nowhere, as of yet, to be found. As the minutes of the dark night ticked
away, Toby slipped deeper and deeper into anguish.

It has been a long
night with her turbulent thoughts. As she sat next to Kenneth, she noticed that
the eastern horizon was beginning to turn shades of pink. She could see it
through a crack in the tent opening. The new day was dawning and still no
Tate.  She finally lost her battle against despair and she lowered her head,
weeping softly as dawn began to break.  The next thing she realized, a warm
hand was grasping her fingers gently. Toby looked up to see that Kenneth was
holding on to her, a warm grip the only comfort he could give. She squeezed his
fingers tightly and wept louder.

“Do not despair, my
lady,” he murmured thickly; the physic’s sleeping potion was still at work. “He
shall return. You must have faith.”

She wiped at her eyes,
unable to give up the tears completely. “But I am so frightened. There were so
many soldiers….”

“I know,” he squeezed
her fingers. “But he always finds a way to survive. He has since I have known
him. But he has more of a reason to survive than ever before; he has you now.
Have faith that he will find his way back to you.”

She nodded although
the tears still fell. As she wiped her cheeks again, the tent flap opened and a
tall figure entered. Startled, Toby wiped at her face quickly, turning to see
who it was.

An older man in well
used armor came into the weak light of vizier, a timid smile on his face. He
was a big man with dark blond hair that was graying at the temples. His clear
blue eyes found Toby where she sat next to Kenneth. When he saw that she was
looking at him, he nodded his head at her.

“My lady,” he had a
soft, deep voice. “I am Liam de Lara. I apologize that I have not had the
chance to introduce myself before now. It would seem that you and I are
family.”

Toby gazed up at the
man; he was handsome and square-jawed. He was also one of the more powerful
marcher lords with his family going back before the time of the Conqueror. 

“My lord,” she
greeted.

By this time, Kenneth
had opened his eyes and focused on the baron. Liam went to Kenneth’s other
side, taking a knee beside the injured knight.

“St. Héver,” he patted
the man’s shoulder. “I have no idea why you lay here. You could have both arms
and legs cut off and still ride into battle. Surely a stronger man has never lived.”

Kenneth grunted. “I am
not really injured.”

“No?”

“’Tis all a ploy to
gain sympathy.”

Liam laughed softly,
displaying nice white teeth and slightly prominent canines. “I have absolutely
none to give you,” he replied, glancing up at the very lovely lady sitting next
to him. “And this lady is married to my brother, so you are wasting your time
if you are trying to gain her favor.”

Kenneth actually
grinned, looking at Toby. “Your brother has her attention quite captivated,” he
replied. “Moreover, her only interest in me is ordering me about.  Perhaps I
feign injury so she will leave me alone.”