Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) (44 page)

Chloë cast her sister a long look. “If you do not
believe I can bend Keir to my will in any fashion, then you are mistaken.  If I
wish it, he will move heaven and earth to grant it.”

Cassandra made a face at her, prevented from
replying when a female dog and her little of three very small puppies crossed
their path.  The women fell victim to the cute puppies and soon happy little tails
were wagging in their hands.  As Chloë and Summer cooed over a pair of cream
colored puppies, Garran suddenly emerged from the stalls.

“I thought I heard your voice,” he said to his
daughter as he approached. “What are you doing here?”

Summer had her hands full with a happy licking pup.
“I am walking with Lady Chloë,” she told her father. “We are taking a short
walk to help her back.”

Garran knew what was happening at the front gates;
every man at Aysgarth knew, and he was very concerned that the ladies were out
of the keep, unaware. He hadn’t expected to see them. He went to his daughter,
opening up his enormously wide wingspan and waving his arms in the direction of
the keep.

“Go back inside,” he told them. “It is not well for
you to be out here right now.”

Three innocent and ignorant faces looked back at
him. “Why not?” Summer asked.

Garran lifted his eyebrows at her. “No questions,”
he barked softly. “Turn around and go back inside.  Make all haste.”

He was waving his arms in the direction of the keep,
as if trying to herd animals, so the women put the puppies down and turned for
the keep.  Chloë was still moving slowly and stiffly, and Summer and Cassandra
gripped her from both sides as they walked her back across the stable yard. 
Garren followed close behind to make sure they did as they were told.  His
daughter, often, did not.

Clouds were staring to gather overhead, big puffy
gray and white clouds intermingled with the brilliant blue sky.  The cool
breeze was kicking up as they crossed frorm the stable yard into the bailey,
now thickly gathered with soldiers and their frightening equipment. 

Curious, and slightly apprehensive, the women picked
up the pace as much as they were able to make their way back into the keep.
Just as they neared the stairs, Keir emerged from the lower level of Aysgarth
with another man.  He had the tall, dark stranger by the arm as two soldiers
followed behind him, heavily laden with weapons.

Chloë paused on the bottom step when she saw Keir,
her heart leaping in all directions at the sight of him. He looked so strong
and tall and proud. She smiled and called to him.

“Keir!” she waved an arm.

Keir came to a halt at the sound of her voice, his
gaze scanning the compound until it came to rest on Chloë. She was either
coming out of or heading into the keep; he could not be sure. But he did know
that he was furious and greatly concerned to find her outside. He let go of
Alphonse, the man he was releasing back to Ingilby, and took a couple of steps
in Chloë’s direction.

“Go back inside this instant,” he commanded. “I told
you to stay to your room.”

Chloë’s face fell and her cheeks flushed a bright
red. “I… I am sorry,” she offered, terrified at the look on his face. “I was
walking… that is, Lady Summer and Cassandra are walking with me.  My back feels
much better… I was not attempting to deliberately disobey you.”

Keir’s jaw flexed furiously and it was a struggle to
keep his temper down with her. “Chloë, I am sorry if I am sharp with you,” he
said with strained patience. “But I told you to stay in your room and rest. Had
I wanted you to come outside, I would have told you to.  Go inside this
instant. I will talk to you later.”

He seemed so harsh and impatient.  Chloë wasn’t used
to him speaking to her in such a fashion. Crushed, she lowered her gaze and
moved to do his bidding. But she didn’t move fast enough.

Alphonse, standing alone with two sentries a couple
of feet behind him, had never actually seen Chloë de Geld.  He’d been hearing
tale of her for two long years but he’d never actually seen the woman, which
was why he was stunned to hear the big blond knight utter her name. If Alphonse
was one thing in life, and one thing only, he was an opportunist.  And at the
moment, he saw a great opportunity.

He had spent days in Aysgarth’s dark and horrid
bottle dungeon, a place crawling with damp and moss and furry creatures that
nibbled his feet when he slept.  He was angry and edgy from his treatment.  He
also knew that a stroke of grand luck had presented itself with the appearance
of Chloë de Geld, the woman on whom so many lives hinged, including his own.
Alphonse knew that his reward would be great should he present her to Ingilby. 
For him, the opportunity must not be wasted. He had to take the chance.

He threw an elbow back into the nearest sentry,
smashing the man in the nose.  As the man dropped his weapon and fell back,
Alphonse swooped down and picked up the sentry’s fallen sword.  He turned it on
the second sentry as the man brought his blade up and stabbed the sentry in the
neck.  With the second guard down, he turned for Chloë.

Keir was already rushing at him but he swung the
sword at the man, catching him across his unprotected chest.  A bloody gash
slashed through Keir’s tunic but he was undeterred as he swiped his arms at
Alphonse, who barely managed to evade him. Keir’s momentum took him in one
direction as Alphonse raced in the other, heading directly for Chloë.

The women had seen what had happened and shrieked
with fear as the dark and dirty prisoner ran towards them.  Garran, standing
behind the women, was unarmed but threw himself forward to protect them.  He
tried to push them up the stairs, away from the escaped prisoner, but Alphonse
was fast. He plowed his sword into Garran’s gut, barely stopping to pause as he
pulled the blade free and ran at the hysterical women.

Meanwhile, Keir had gained his footing and his
momentum, racing after Alphonse but being stopped by Garran. Gored, the man
collapsed forward and blocked Keir’s path. Keir was forced to leap over his
wounded friend, slowing his movement.

The three women were trying to make their way up the
stairs but Chloë could not move very fast. Cassandra and Summer had her by the
arms, dragging her, as Alphonse mounted the stairs behind her and in a brutal
move, grabbed her long and luscious hair and yanked her backwards. 

Chloë screamed as she fell back, right into
Alphonse’s waiting arms.  The sword came up to her neck just as Keir mounted
the steps.

“Come no closer,” Alphonse barked, the blade lodged
against Chloë’s slender white throat.  “Another step and I will kill her.”

Keir didn’t outwardly react. The knightly training
took over, the professional persona, and he remained cool and calm. He stood a
few steps below Alphonse, his ice blue eyes riveted to the dark Spaniard. He
didn’t dare look at Chloë, terrified that he would see pain and horror in her
eyes and he would be unable to control himself. 

“Drop the sword,” he rumbled. “You will not make it
from this place alive if you do not.”

Alphonse didn’t budge; he held the blade against Chloë’s
neck, feeling her panicked breathing against him. His left hand was wound up in
her incredible mane of hair, holding her fast.

“You will permit me and the lady safe passage or she
will not make it from this place alive, either,” he told him. “Safe passage is
the price for her life.”

Keir lifted an eyebrow at him, seeing movement at
the top of the stairs in his peripheral vision but making no move to focus on
it. He didn’t want to tip his hand to Alphonse that something might be going on
behind him.

“I was in the process of escorting you to your
liege,” he said evenly. “You already had safe passage. Taking the lady hostage
was unnecessary and a mistake that will cost you your life.”

Alphonse smiled thinly, tightening his grip on Chloë.
“You cannot threaten me, St. Hèver,” he said in a low voice. “You will back
away now. Do it or the lady will suffer.”

Keir took a slow step back and then another, his
eyes on Alphonse.  They never wavered. He could hear Chloë weeping softly with
fear but he never took his eyes off the enemy.  He could see movement behind
Alphonse, drawing closer, but he kept his gaze fixed. Oblivious, Alphonse
pulled Chloë down the steps with him.

Chloë yelped when he twisted her torso due to his
grip on her hair, the pain in her back radiating.  Alphonse pulled her to the
bottom of the stairs and she struggled to get her footing, crying out when
jerked her roughly and caused more pain.  Keir backed away, seeing the figure
moving down the stairs towards Alphonse in his periphery.  He was starting to
feel some hope until Alphonse caught sight of the figure in his periphery, too.

Quickly, he whirled to see Michael bearing down on
him with sword drawn.  Alphonse was forced to release Chloë as a substantially
larger man attacked him and, very quickly, he was in a fight for his life.

Chloë screamed as Alphonse stepped on her in his
quest to escape Michael’s flying sword.  Keir bolted into action, racing to her
and pulling her out of the way as Michael and Alphonse engaged in a brutal
sword battle.  But Keir wasn’t particularly concerned about that; he was only
concerned with Chloë and swept her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to
the keep as the deadly sounds of a sword fight played out behind him.

He entered the cool, dark keep and the sounds of the
battle faded, being replaced by Chloë’s soft sobs. Only then, when he was sure
she was out of danger, did he slow his pace and speak.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“Did he hurt you?”

Chloë wept softly, her hands on his face, kissing
his cheek as her tears wetted his face.

“Nay,” she murmured. “He did not hurt me overly. I
am well enough. But your chest….”

She was reaching out to get a look at the gash
across his torso but he stopped her, kissing her hands. “It is not as bad as it
looks,” he assured her. “Come, now; let’s get you away from this chaos.”

Chloë’s last vision of the ward was of Garran
bleeding on the ground and Michael in mortal combat.  It was seared into her
brain.

“But we cannot simply leave them,” she was pointing
to the keep entry.  “You must go and help them.”

Before Keir could reply, they came across Cassandra
and Summer, standing in the solar door near the stairs. Both women were weeping
and, upon seeing Chloë, their weeping resumed in chorus.  Keir set Chloë on her
feet when the woman tried to reach for her sister. As Chloë and Cassandra threw
their arms around each other, Summer grasped at Keir’s arm.

“My father,” she was trying very hard not to sob.
“He is injured. I must....”

Keir nodded quickly, cutting her off before she
could finish her sentence.

“I shall go to him now,” he assured her, heading
back for the keep entry. “You will all go inside the solar now and bolt the
door. Do not open it for anyone but me, Michael or Kurtis.  Is that clear?”

“But...!”

“
Go.
That is not a request.”

Shaken but understanding what he was telling her,
Summer and Cassandra helped Chloë into the solar and slammed the heavy oak
door.  As Keir bolted out of the keep, he could hear the heavy iron latch being
thrown.

Outside was much as he had left it.  Michael and
Alphonse were still hacking at each other, only Michael obviously had the upper
hand.  Alphonse’s hands were bloodied where Michael’s sword had nicked him,
causing blood to splatter on his tunic.  They were cornered over by the wall
that separated the stable yards from the rest of the bailey, the sounds of
their fight echoing off the old stone.

Keir’s focus was riveted to the pair for a moment
before he looked around to assess the rest of the damage. A few soldiers were
over helping the pair of escorts that Alphonse had injured while still more
were bent over Garran, who was lying supine on the ground.  Keir went for his
old friend immediately.

Garran was in a bad way.  He was bleeding profusely,
his hands over the gushing torrent from his gut, about three inches above his
pelvis.  His face was devoid of color as his dark eyes met with Keir.

“I am afraid that my time has come, Keir,” he said
softly. “It appears that I will not live to see my daughter wed.”

Keir wouldn’t give in to the grief. He couldn’t. He
moved to picked Garran up by the shoulders as he motioned a few other men to
help him.

“You are not dead yet,” he said flatly. “Your
daughter is a miracle worker. She will tend you and you will heal.”

Garran grunted in pain as four men picked him up and
headed for the stairs to the keep.

“Not this time,” he grunted. “Already, I can no
longer feel my legs. It is my time.”

Keir opened his mouth to reply just as Kurtis,
followed by a slender man in dirty ecclesiastical robes, emerged from the
stable yards.  Kurtis looked at Garran, at Michael and his opponent over by the
wall, and scowled with confusion.  He raced over to his brother.

“What in the hell is going on?” he demanded. “What
happened to...?”