Chapter
22
I sat upon my steed and watched the iron gate rise. It clanked with an ominous rhythm. For a fleeting second, I considered urging my horse into a gallop the instant we could slide under the gate. But with my hands shackled, I wouldn’t be able to go far, especially since I was surrounded by a contingency of the earl’s knights. With my cuts, bruises, and the broken ribs stabbing me with every breath I took, I wouldn’t be able to fight at my optimum and would be easy prey for recapture.
A short while ago, several guards and Cecil had come to the dungeons for me. When he’d approached Olivia’s cell, I’d made an excuse that she was asleep and not to bother her. He’d watched the darkened corner for a moment as if testing my words.
Then he’d crossed to my cell and tossed me clean garments. Although I was certain he’d helped orchestrate Olivia’s escape, I wasn’t confident that he was truly a friend and not a foe. After all, his cudgel had knocked me unconscious and made me the earl’s prisoner.
He’d instructed me to get dressed, then allowed the guards to gag and chain me before escorting me to the inner bailey. Now the bright morning light stung my eyes. Cecil had mounted a horse, too, and rode at the rear of the band of knights. The earl, outfitted in his battle armor, was at the forefront, and Eldridge was next to him.
More mounted knights, along with foot soldiers, waited silently in the shadows of the walls, far enough away from the gate that any outsiders looking in wouldn’t be able to detect them. Archers, with bows at the ready, crouched upon the parapets above.
My suspicions had been correct. The earl had no intention of conducting a peaceful transfer of prisoners. He planned to attack Pitt and his men at the moment they would least expect it.
Of course Pitt would be wary and prepared for anything. He was too seasoned a warrior to trust a man like the Earl of Ulster. Nevertheless, Pitt would be at a disadvantage against the flying arrows and the onslaught of the earl’s waiting army. The earl would be able to weaken and scatter Pitt’s smaller army, killing many before Pitt could regroup and counterattack.
During my lucid moments throughout the night, I’d been able to think of little else but Olivia. I could only pray she made it out of the castle and crossed over to Pitt’s camp to warn him without anyone detecting her.
Every part of me had resisted the idea of her undertaking such a dangerous mission. I’d wanted to demand that she stay in her cell where she would be safe. If she submitted to her father and did what he wanted, he wouldn’t hurt her. The earl might be calculating and selfish, and he might allow Eldridge to use some physical pressure to bring Olivia under his control, but he’d never torture her. He cared about her in his own way and needed her for the union with the Marquess of Clearwater’s son.
Yes, Olivia would have been safe if she stayed in the dungeons until the skirmish with Pitt’s men was over. And yes, I’d wanted more than anything to keep her locked away. But I’d forced myself to let her go.
I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision and agonized over it. But I suspected I wouldn’t have been able to stop Olivia even if I’d tried. Was this part of the process of learning from my past mistakes?
My fear had caged Giselle—maybe not in a dungeon, but I’d imprisoned her nonetheless. I couldn’t do the same with Olivia. In spite of the danger and my overwhelming fear, I had to set her free, even if she sustained harm in the process.
My horse snorted and shied sideways as if it sensed the tension radiating in the air around us. I grabbed onto the pommel, my shackles clattering and impeding my movement. As the earl urged his mount through the gatehouse, I was left with little choice but to follow.
The morning air was already warm, and the whirring of meadow grasshoppers provided a gentle greeting. The sound would soon be drowned by the harshness of battle.
As we rode away from the cool shadows of the fortress walls and into the bright sunlight, I was once again blinded. I squinted to make out Pitt’s approaching contingency and attempted to count the number of men.
From what I could see, he’d brought less than a dozen knights with him, and Isabelle rode a short distance back. That could only mean one thing. Olivia hadn’t reached him to warn of her father’s deception.
My pulse thundered with an onslaught of sudden panic. What had happened to her? I cursed myself for allowing her to go so easily. What if she’d been hurt during her escape? What if one of her father’s men had injured her, believing she was the enemy?
I tried to take a deep breath, telling myself I’d done the right thing. But I couldn’t manage to draw air into my lungs.
I needed to shout to Pitt and tell him to stay back. At the very least, I needed to wave my hands at him to retreat. But even if I hadn’t been bound and gagged, I was still too far away to make him understand he was riding into a trap.
The earl’s knights around me kept a tight formation, likely instructed to usher me back into the castle as soon as the fighting started. If only I could find a way to break free of them.
The jostling of the horse, even at a slow pace, sent pain shooting through my body reminding me of my limitations. I was probably the weakest man on the field, and that galled me since I was accustomed to being the strongest and smartest of warriors.
When the earl was within two dozen paces of Pitt, he reined his horse. The knights around me stopped, hedging me in.
I noticed that Isabelle halted a fair distance away as well. She wore a long veil over her head, and the lacey material hung in front of her face. I didn’t understand why her shoulders were slumped and head bent. Was she sad or discouraged? I would have expected her to be relieved she was finally going home. Unless she was aware of Olivia’s fate and saddened by it.
Fresh dread hammered through me.
Sir Darien rode on one side of Isabelle. And another knight, one I didn’t recognize, rode on the other. Something in the knight’s bearing seemed familiar. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but behind his helmet and armor, I couldn’t place him.
As Pitt and the Earl of Ulster faced off, they stared at each other, neither speaking. Finally, Pitt urged his horse out in front of his men. With his body rigid and his hand upon the hilt of his sword, he held out a scroll of parchment. “Before we begin the exchange of prisoners, the king demands that you cease all communication and dealings with Lord Clearwater and other Marcher barons. He would have you sign your allegiance to him and him alone.”
The earl made no move forward to take the parchment. “You may tell the king I am already loyal.”
“Then you will sign this as an offer of your knights and wealth in service to the crown.”
The earl hesitated again. “Very well.” His voice was hard. As he started toward Pitt, I realized his plan. He would feign interest in signing the parchment but then drive his sword into Pitt as a signal to start the battle.
I tensed. Then I yelled a warning. The gag muted my voice, but enough sound came out that Pitt glanced in my direction. Before I could communicate further, one of the knights next to me slapped the back of his gloved hand across my face.
The pressure split my lip and would have sent me toppling from my horse if I hadn’t been hanging onto the pommel. I tried to yell another warning, but the tip of the knight’s sword against my throat silenced me so that I had to watch with mounting tension as the earl closed the distance between himself and Pitt.
Pitt extended the scroll. The earl reached for it, but instead of grabbing the parchment, he thrust upward toward Pitt’s throat, exposing a long knife he’d hidden somewhere in his armor.
At the thrust, shouts erupted around me and from the castle wall. The snap and whiz of arrows rent the air. The earl’s men surged forward to attack. Several of the knights who’d been assigned to guard me, including the one with the blade at my throat, began to maneuver my horse around.
In that moment of defeat, I was surprised Pitt was still atop his steed. I strained to see him over my shoulder only to realize that as the earl had raised his knife, Pitt had apparently anticipated the attack and plunged his own hidden knife into the earl’s open vulnerable armpit.
At the same time, an arrow came from well behind Pitt and hit directly into the open spot of the earl’s helmet near his collarbone. Several more arrows flew with stunning accuracy, hitting the knights around me, including the one with the sword.
I didn’t wait to discover what was happening or who was shooting the arrows. Instead, I used the few seconds to swing my horse around and make my escape. I had no armor and my back was exposed, but I had to take a chance.
The rumbling of horses behind me told me the earl’s waiting army was making its advance. But ahead, Pitt’s men were also riding forward, clearly prepared for battle. In fact, from what I could surmise, Pitt had strengthened his forces—he had more than just our men fighting with him.
Did his preparedness mean Olivia had reached him after all?
Fresh hope welled up inside.
I glanced over my shoulder to gauge my situation and swerved to miss an arrow. As I pivoted in my saddle, I was surprised to see Isabelle charging into the battle instead of retreating. Sir Darien and the other knight rode alongside her. Why would they do such a thing? They needed to take her back to Pitt’s camp where she would be safe.
She unsheathed her sword and pointed it forward in readiness for battle.
At that moment, I realized two things: the tall knight with the broad shoulders was none other than my brother, Sir Bennet, and the woman by his side wasn’t Isabelle. It was Olivia.
A deadly chill coursed through my blood. I tried to shout at her to retreat, but again, my gag stifled my words. Olivia had switched places with Isabelle to protect her sister. She’d apparently hoped the veil in combination with ducking her head would keep her identity a secret. Now that the battle was raging, it was clear she planned to take part in my rescue.
Bennet was steering her out of the worst of the melee toward the sidelines all the while fighting off advancing soldiers. Darien was doing the same. But an arrow came flying too closely, missing her head by only a foot.
The chill inside seeped deeper. Suddenly all that mattered was getting to Olivia and shielding her. She was a strong, capable, brave woman. Of that I had no doubt. But she had no place on the battlefield.
At the pounding of hooves behind me, I shot a glance over my shoulder and caught sight of Eldridge riding after me. He’d ushered the earl away from Pitt and had been leading him back to the castle. But now, likely with strict instructions to make sure I didn’t get away, he rode low and fast. With every long stride, he closed the distance.
I kicked at my mount’s flank. But before I could gain the momentum, pain pierced through my back and into my shoulder. I’d been hit. The slice of the arrowhead, in addition to the pain of my other injuries, was too much to bear. I lost my grip on the pommel and fell from my horse, slamming against the ground with such force that I couldn’t breathe.