CHAPTER FIVE
Scott couldn’t believe it.
He’d never faced a situation quite like before. Very shortly after leaving the protective bailey of Castle Canaan, he realized that his vassals were turning against him. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he found that more than that, he was hurt. Hurt that the men he had valued his alliance with had turned on him. He thought he had known them better than that; furthermore, he had believed the matter settled earlier. Fickle like women they were and when the hurt finally cooled, it turned into anger.
A night battle was rare, rarer still considering the wicked weather. Gentle gray clouds at dusk had turned to angry black thunderheads that cloaked the night sky, pelting the land with furious rain. And the late hour was also rare; it was close to midnight by the time Scott and his army engaged in a full-scale battle under the ghostly gleam of intermittent lightning. Several dozen foot soldiers were also bearing torches soaked in flammable tar, smoking heavily in the dense rain but providing enough light to swing a flail by. It made for an eerie battle scene and an extremely dangerous one, especially now that Scott and his army were boxed between a fortress that didn’t want them and an army who did.
When he first realized that Canaan had abandoned him, he had to make plans. Sending word to his seat of Ravenstone Castle, which wasn’t too far away, was impractical simply because they only had a minimum number of men to man the fortress because Scott had the bulk of his army with him. Therefore, he immediately sent two scouts northeast to his allies at Bowes Castle for reinforcements. But it would take at least three days to receive any help. Bowes was in the hands of the House of de Royans, associates of the House of de Wolfe, and they would send a sizable force, greater than his own army at the very least.
Another ally was Pendragon Castle, the family of St. Hèver, and they were closer although Pendragon didn’t carry nearly the number of men that Bowes did. Still, he was sure he could get at least eight hundred men from Pendragon by tomorrow, which would add to his own sizeable force of fifteen hundred men. An army that size would easily crush the rebels he was currently trifling with, but he would save the most crushing blow of all for Castle Canaan herself when his reinforcement troops from Bowes arrived. He was finished with patience for Jeremy and his petulant knights, and his agitation was evident in every sword stroke, every command.
An hour into the brutal battle, Auclair sustained a nasty groin injury. Scott was filled with a rage as murky and thick as tar from the earth. It roiled in his chest, rising through his arms and legs until, in desperation, it required an outlet. Dismounting his steed, Scott sent the vicious beast off to battle men on its own. Re-sheathing his sword, the third Baron Bretherdale proceeded to do what he did best in battle.
He used his bare hands.
*
“Avrielle,” Gordon was hissing in her ear, shaking her gently. “Avrielle, wake up.”
Avrielle twitched slightly. She had been dreaming of a man in armor, a low rumbling voice in her ear that spoke ever so sweetly to her. She couldn’t see his face, but she instinctively knew that it was not Nathaniel. Her father hissed again and she slowly opened her eyes. It was dark in her bedchamber, the smell of smoke heavy on the air as the fire in the hearth died a lingering death. By the state of the ashes, she knew it was near dawn. Stephen was pressed up against her swollen belly, sound asleep, while Sophia was molded into the curve of her back. She could hardly move for fear of waking them as she gazed sleepily into her father’s eyes.
“Da?” she murmured. “What is it?”
Gordon was grim. In fact, Avrielle had never seen him so grim. “Something terrible has happened, dear heart,” he whispered as the children stirred. “Rise and dress. We must leave.”
A bit more awake now, Avrielle blinked at him in confusion. “Leave?” she repeated. “Why? What’s happened?”
Gordon gathered up Stephen, who protested irritably. “Your brother has gone to war against de Wolfe. I’ll not have you and the children in the castle when it is sacked. We must get out of here before de Wolfe’s fury turns on us.”
Avrielle sat up, a cumbersome movement because of her belly. Sophia, still asleep, rolled away from her mother and burrowed under the covers.
“What do you mean?” Avrielle demanded, becoming more alert as a slow fear gripped her. “Why has Jeremy done this?”
Gordon put Stephen down at the end of the bed. Swiftly, the old man moved to the wardrobe and collected a large satchel and began throwing garments into it. Avrielle rose from the bed as quickly as she could manage and stopped him.
“Answer me,” she demanded. “Why has my brother done this?”
Gordon sighed heavily, his daughter’s hand warm and soft on his arm giving him pause. “He believes that de Wolfe has brought nothing but sorrow to this house. He seeks to punish him for his role in Nathaniel’s death.” He shook his head sadly. “He is wrought with madness, Avrielle. I cannot reason with him.”
Avrielle’s beautiful face was drawn, tight. “And the knights follow him?”
“They do.”
“Mayhap I can reason with him,” she said softly.
Gordon shook his head. “He will not listen. His temper has overtaken his good senses and I fear he will only upset you.”
Avrielle watched her father, his movements and obvious distress. As immersed as she was in the grief of her husband’s passing, she still had enough sense to recognize that Jeremy was about to ruin her children’s legacy with his dramatics. Oddly enough, last night as she’d cried in the arms of that mysterious knight, it was as if the temporary madness that had swamped her had been chased away by a deep voice and a warm embrace. Something in her soul had been satisfied with that comfort, enough so that the bone-numbing grief she’d been experiencing has been soothed.
Eased.
Something inside her had definitely been eased and even as she spoke with her father, it was with a clarity she’d not experienced in months.
Now, as she listened to her father’s tale of her brother’s vengeance, all Avrielle could feel was rage. No matter how competent Jeremy was as a knight, still, she was the Lady of Castle Canaan and Nathaniel du Rennic’s wife. This was her home and she would not let her brother destroy all that her husband had worked for.
“Ridiculous,” she hissed, going in search of her slippers. “I will speak with him.”
Gordon looked at his daughter, seeing more animation in her than he had seen since Nathaniel’s death. It was surprising, really, considering the overtures of grief he’d seen from her over the past few months. But now, the stubborn, determined woman was making a marked return because of a crisis and he was glad. So very glad. Still, he could not permit her to exert herself so, especially in her condition.
“Nay, Avrielle,” he said firmly. “Leave your brother be. His mind cannot be altered.”
Avrielle found her slippers and her fur-lined cloak. “I do not intend to alter his mind,” she snapped. “I intend to erase it altogether.”
She struggled with the shoes, trying to work around her massive tummy, and the heavy cloak slipped easily over her shoulders. It was a golden shade of brocade with a hint of green throughout. Nathaniel had given it to her on her twentieth birthday.
Gordon watched her, torn between demanding she refrain from engaging her brother and secretly glad she had worked herself up into the familiar fire. Dear God, it was good to see the usual spirit in her once again. He had thought Nathaniel’s death might have killed it but was relieved to see that it had not died.
The old Avrielle was still there, still lurking.
He thanked God.
“Avrielle,” he said, more calmly. “You should not…”
“Do not tell me what I should not do,” she barked angrily. “I’ll not allow my brother to destroy my son’s birthright. This is my castle, someday to be Stephen’s. Never was it Jeremy’s to do with as he pleases.”
Gordon opened his mouth to argue but she fled out the door. Stephen started to cry and rub his eyes, and Gordon forced himself to comfort the boy. Besides, if Avrielle was going to confront Jeremy, ’twould be best if he wasn’t there to inflame the man. Jeremy considered him a traitor, and Avrielle wouldn’t listen to him anyway. She never really had, strong-minded wench that she was. The only person she had ever listened to was Nathaniel, and he was dead.
With that thought, Gordon held Stephen closer, praying that the clash between his children wouldn’t tear the castle apart. He wondered if he was being weak by not trying to mediate their showdown. In truth, it had now come down to a situation between just the two of them; he was an outsider to their conflict. As strong as they both were, each in their own way, he would wager that there would only be one true victor in this battle of wills.
And his money was on Avrielle.
*
Avrielle found Jeremy in Nathaniel’s war room, a small solar that had been transformed by her husband into a place of war and strategy. A smoking fish oil lamp burned in the middle of a heavy, oak table laden with maps and other documents as Jeremy and the knights hunched over, reading and murmuring between them. Avrielle, without a hint of hesitation, marched into the room to confront her brother.
“Jeremy,” she demanded. “What is it that you are doing to my castle?”
Jeremy was calm, his blue gaze curious on his sister. He knew Gordon had run right to her and was frankly surprised it had taken her this long to seek him out. But he was grossly irritated that his father has sought his sister to stop him. As if she could. He hadn’t had to deal with her in months and he had been the happier for it. With only him and his father in command of Canaan, Jeremy had been exactly where he wanted to be – in command of a mighty fortress with no interference from his sister.
But that was evidently about to change.
“It is surprising to see you lucid, Avrielle,” he said evenly. “Shouldn’t you be out hoeing the ground somewhere?”
It was a direct slap to her face, a cruel taunt about the grief she’d been stricken with and the weakness she had shown. At least, Jeremy had perceived it as weakness.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“And shouldn’t you know your place?” Avrielle asked with equal malice. “You are not in command here, Jeremy Huntley. I am. And you will tell me what you are doing to my castle.”
Jeremy’s expression tensed at his sister’s insult. He deserved it, but she’d humiliated him in front of his men. That disturbed him greatly.
“I am protecting it.”
Avrielle was in no mood for his half-truths. “You call doing battle against our liege defending my fortress?” she asked, her anger building. “Have you gone completely mad?”
“You would know.”
“Answer me before I have you thrown over the battlements and into de Wolfe’s waiting arms.”
They could go on insulting each other all night but Jeremy knew, in the end, the men would obey her over him. It was her castle, after all, and his pride took a hit. Damn… he’d been happy and full of confidence commanding Canaan in the wake of Nathaniel’s death and his sister’s grief. But that was all about to come to a crashing halt. Not wanting to find himself slung over the walls, he put up his hands to soothe her.
“You need not concern yourself, truly,” he said. “I must do as…”
She thrust a finger at him. “No, Jeremy, you must do as I command,” she snarled. “I am the Lady of Castle Canaan. And I say that we do not resist, nor go to war against Baron Bretherdale. I’ve no desire for Stephen’s legacy to be ruined because of your thoughtless decisions.”
A flicker of temper came to Jeremy’s eye. “You know nothing of the ways of war, Avrielle,” he said, making one last attempt to control her. “Go back to your children. Let the men handle this.”
He couldn’t have said anything worse. Furious, she ripped the maps from the table, dislodging the fish oil lamp and sending it crashing to the stone floor. The room was not dark, however. A bright flame burned in the hearth, illuminating her as she stuffed the parchment into the fireplace and watched it spark brilliantly. Adam and George moved to save the maps, but Kristoph stopped them. No one dared move against Lady du Rennic in her current state for fear of being stuffed into the hearth, too.
“How dare you patronize me,” she hissed at Jeremy. “This is not your fortress and not your decision to make. You have no say in all of this, do you understand? Were it not for my grace, you would be a homeless drunk without a pence to your name. My husband was gracious enough to invite you and our father to live here, to serve him and to serve me. It was Nathaniel who helped you forget the drink so you could have some purpose in life other than drowning yourself in wine every night. Do you comprehend? You are here to serve me, not the other way around.”
The room was silent with shock from her tirade, but each man knew that she was correct; Lady du Rennic had the power. Jeremy did not. Without her support of his actions, he was impotent. Jeremy, however, was used to wielding the power Nathaniel had been so generous with and unwilling to part with it so easily. He stared at his sister, determining the best course to take with her. She could be a spitfire when roused, as he had learned many times over the course of his life, and he had no desire to come to blows with her.
In the end, he would lose.
He tried another tactic.
“You are simply overwrought,” he said, trying the gentle approach. “I am only doing what is best for Canaan. You must trust me. You always have before.”
She was too smart to be fooled by his calm tone. “Aye, that I have. But what you plan now will destroy us, not save us. I forbid it.”
Jeremy didn’t like that word. He scratched his head with waning patience. “But I am afraid the die has already been cast. De Wolfe is aware of our challenge. In fact, I expect a full siege very shortly. There is nothing you can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“He rode out around midnight to vanquish an attack against our walls. We shut his army out and imprisoned the de Wolfe men still within our walls. When he is finished with the rebels, he will turn on us and lay siege. It is too late to change our mind now, even if we could.”
Avrielle felt sick. Her father had failed to mention the extent of Jeremy’s rebellion, and now suddenly all became clear. That being the case, her brother was most likely right. There was probably nothing more she could do now but wait out the siege to her beloved castle.
Furious and distraught, she grabbed the nearest thing she could get her hands on and hurled it at her brother’s head. Jeremy ducked a pewter cup that could have potentially done a great deal of damage. The other knights froze, anticipating the next projectile. Over the past few weeks, they had become accustomed to them; sometimes too overcome with grief to speak or cry, Lady du Rennic had taken to throwing things. That was, of course, when she wasn’t hoeing the dead earth in the garden until her palms were raw.
“Damn you,” she hissed, her anger deflating and a true sorrow taking hold. “Damn you for condemning us, Jeremy. First I lose my husband and now my home. How could you do this?”
Jeremy was quickly becoming genuinely remorseful. In spite of the power struggle between them, he really didn’t hate her. She had saved him, many times. In truth, he didn’t like to see her so upset, but he truly believed he was doing what was best.
“De Wolfe has brought nothing but pain to you,” he whispered earnestly, hoping she would see his point. “Do you think I can welcome this man with open arms when I see what he has done to you? Do you think I can serve him, knowing he is responsible for Nathaniel’s death? I must protect you, Avrielle, and that means protecting you against de Wolfe.”
Avrielle, too, was losing some of her anger at him. He was prideful, quick to temper, and rash, but he wasn’t wicked. He was simply stubborn, much like she was. She sighed heavily. “But you fail to understand that you have no choice in this matter,” she said, looking at him as if he were an imbecile. “Do not you understand, Jeremy? You have made this your war when it isn’t. You have taken matters into your hands that are not your right. By your own arrogance, you have condemned us all.”
The room was deathly silent. Brother and sister stared at one another, each lost in the turmoil of their own thoughts. Jeremy knew he was right; Avrielle knew beyond a doubt that he was wrong. Feeling terribly ill all of a sudden, Avrielle simply turned for the door. She hadn’t the strength to deal with her brother any longer.
“We do not resist de Wolfe, Jeremy,” she whispered hoarsely. “We will surrender and submit to his mercy. Is this in any way unclear?”
Jeremy’s jaw ticked, torn with emotion at her command. “Avie…”
“Nay,” she said, more firmly. Briefly, she paused in the doorway. “We surrender. Make it so.”
Jeremy felt foolish, angry, everything he could possibly feel. “De Wolfe doesn’t take prisoners, Avrielle. He’ll destroy us all without thought. Have you considered that?”
Avrielle could remember hearing that once, from Nathaniel. Without another word, she moved from the archway and out into the darkened foyer. When she was out of the knights’ view, she made a determined move. Instead of turning for the stairway leading to her bedchamber, she turned for the bailey and the southern gatehouse beyond.
*
The melee throughout the night had been particularly ugly.
Scott felt as if he had been fighting his entire life, with no rest or reprieve. It had been one of the most intense battles he could remember, with fierce, untrained men who bit and kicked at Scott’s well-schooled troops. In truth, he had no idea whose men they were because they flew no colors and bore no distinct marks. He thought he saw one or two knights, possibly in command, but they vanished like ghosts towards the beginning of the fight. He hadn’t seen them since. Stewart thought the men were French mercenaries, but Jean-Pierre assured him that they were not. Teutonic mercenaries were more the truth and they proved extremely vicious.
By dawn, there were quite a few dead and the fight continued well into the day. By early afternoon, men arrived from Pendragon Castle, a light brigade of two hundred about three hours before the bulk of a thousand-man army arrived. With their aid, Scott was able to completely rid himself of the raiders. Still, the sweet, green earth surrounding Castle Canaan was soaked with blood and men in pieces. As the eastern sky turned shades of pink and gold with sunset on the approach, Scott ordered St. Hèver’s army, complete with two catapults, to dig in around the moat of Castle Canaan. Though his own men were exhausted, he further ordered them to prepare for a siege.
One battle ended, another was about to begin.
It was the exact situation Scott had wished to avoid from the onset. Castle Canaan’s moat was formidable, at least thirty feet across and mysteriously deep. His men could not cross it on foot and horses would sink in the mud under their sheer weight. As funeral pyres began to burn on the early morning air, Scott faced the stark walls and moat of Castle Canaan, planning his next move. Stewart, bloodied and exhausted, came to stand beside him and, together, they evaluated the situation carefully. Scott had no intention of sparing the fortress, no matter how strong and valuable, and quickly came to the most logical conclusion.
“Burn it,” he growled.
Stewart cocked a blonde eyebrow. “You are serious?”
“Never more so. I want flaming projectiles on the catapults. If we cannot breach her walls, we are going to burn the damned thing from the inside out. There is enough to burn in that bailey that will turn the entire castle into a shell.”
Stewart was a little taken aback; Castle Canaan was a fine prize, held in high regard by the king. He wondered if Scott’s anger towards Jeremy Huntley was getting the best of his common sense.
“Scott, I do not mean to second guess you, you know that,” he said quietly. “But the king will be highly displeased should you raze Canaan. He made it very clear that Canaan should be held as a prize for the political marriage he wishes to make. He is a new king and eager to make alliances.”
“I know what he wants,” Scott snapped with uncharacteristic emotion. “But I must do what I feel is necessary. If Huntley resists me, he certainly has no loyalties to the king and must be punished. Edward will have no argument for that.”
Stewart wasn’t sure he agreed but he was not surprised. Scott’s decisions were most often harsh and succinct, on any matter. “Very well, then,” he said. “I’ll position the catapults myself.”
Scott growled low in his throat. “Damn Jeremy. My own catapults are inside Canaan along with my archers. Christ, I hesitate to think what he’s done with both.”
Stewart shrugged. “The catapults are undamaged, I am sure. Huntley will simply add them to the collection his father has designed. In fact, I’d give a month’s wages for one of Gordon Huntley’s catapults right about now.”
Scott nodded in agreement. “There are none finer. He promised to build me a few before all of this madness with Nathaniel. Now I’ll never have one.”
“You can steal Canaan’s from her own armory after the castle is breached,” Stewart said dryly. “Do I have your permission to begin, m’lord?”
“Indeed. Waste no time.”
Wasting time wasn’t quite what Stewart had in mind. He was as eager to get done with this nonsense as Scott was. In fact, he had more reason than the others; his wife back at Ravenstone Castle was due to give birth any day and he was anxious to return home to her side.
Exhausted from a night of battle, Stewart turned to the men hovering nearby and began issuing orders. St. Hèver’s two catapults and a row of archers were stationed on the north and south sides of Canaan. Great bonfires were lit to supply flame for the projectiles they would soon be hurling over the walls. With Auclair nursing his groin injury, Raymond Montgomery stood in to assist Stewart as the man organized the siege. Men were set to building rafts that could transport troops across the moat, who would then use grappling hooks to scale the sheer walls.
It was a great business going on, men running about, siege projects being built. Strangely enough, though, no one seemed to be watching from the battlements of Canaan. The castle was eerily still. After Scott finished glaring at the rebellious structure, mentally dismantling it and wishing death upon the occupants, he went in search of his steed and found the animal and his squire near the edge of the trees, away from the others.
Scott’s beast was so vicious that the squire, who had only marginal control of the horse, kept it far away from the bulk of the army. Yet when Scott marched up and rumbled a few words, the steed instantly became a pet. Mounting the feisty animal, he donned his helm, slammed the visor down, and charged towards the distant front where Stewart was preparing the first projectiles to be launched over the walls.
When the battle began in earnest, he wanted to be there.
The sun was rising, half-visible over the horizon. Stewart and Raymond were mounted, waiting for the projectiles to be loaded onto the wood-and-iron catapult arms. Once they were and doused with oil and lit, a volley of flaming projectiles was launched over the walls, announcing the intention of Scott de Wolfe to those who had locked him out of Canaan. They were warning shots, in truth, hoping that the first volley would be the last because Canaan would realize the destruction that was about to take place. Just as Scott rode up to the catapults, the great drawbridge of Canaan suddenly jerked. The sounds of chains running over wheels could be heard as the drawbridge jerked again and then slowly began to lower.
It was an unexpected sight and the men were understandably wary. In particular, the knights with command of the catapults were watching with great suspicion, holding off the command for the second volley.
“What’s this now?” Montgomery demanded. “What games are they playing?”
Stewart shook his head, but Scott didn’t respond. He was keenly watching the drawbridge as it descended, wondering what in the hell was going on. Was an army about to charge out? It was his very first thought and he mumbled something to Stewart, who immediately began ordering his ground troops forward to meeting the oncoming tide of Canaan men.
Montgomery put a hold on the catapults purely out of curiosity. Whatever Canaan was about to do, it wasn’t a very smart move. With de Wolfe’s current attitude, he was unlikely to show any sort of mercy. With growing anticipation, they waited for the tide of men that was undoubtedly about to flow from the innards of Canaan.
The drawbridge leveled out with a loud boom as it hit the opposing shore. Slack was taken up on the ropes to stabilize it. Almost immediately, the portcullis began to lift and Scott’s men tensed. But instead of a flurry of screaming, weapon-wielding men, a single figure appeared.
It was a very small, cloaked figure, and the wind gusted gently to blow cascades of honey-blonde hair about. It took Scott all of a half-second to realize that the woman from the garden was emerging. That woman he’d held in his arms, the one who had made him feel things he’d long forgotten, was coming out of the castle. His heart began to beat faster. Before he even realized his actions, he had spurred his charger forward at a brutal gallop.
His horse was still moving as he reached the edge of the drawbridge and dismounted, shoving the beast in the head to turn the snapping animal away. Stewart was on his heels; he could feel it. Armor clanging, great swords slinging by their sides, Scott and Stewart marched upon the lady as if to run her down. But it was she who spoke first, with just as much determination as they were exhibiting.
The battle of wills had begun.
“My lords,” she greeted with surprising strength in her voice. “I would speak with Lord Bretherdale immediately.”
Scott couldn’t stop staring at her through the slit in his visor. Christ, she was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Cleaned up somewhat, the clumped hair had been brushed and the dirt washed from her face. That face… like nothing he’d ever seen before. And that sweet, honeyed voice was music to his ears. It was Stewart, however, who responded first.
“Who are you?” he asked coldly.
“Lady Avrielle Huntley du Rennic,” she replied steadily. In fact, it was clear that Stewart’s threatening tone hadn’t intimidated her at all. “I would speak to Lord Bretherdale now.”
Lady Avrielle Huntley du Rennic. Scott was so stunned that he actually had to bite his lip to keep from gasping like an idiot. So his lady in the garden was none other than Nathaniel’s wife in the flesh. He’d had truly had no idea, although in hindsight he should have guessed. A distraught lady, weeping children… aye, he should have known.
Now, he found that a million thoughts were swirling through his mind, so much that he could hardly grasp one. He wasn’t even aware of how he was posturing, like a wolf ready to pounce. But one thing he gradually became aware of was the fact that he was smiling. Scott de Wolfe, who rarely showed any emotion, who provoked fear into the hearts of men and beasts alike with his brutality and warring ways, was actually smiling.
Beside him, Stewart was oblivious to how his liege was reacting to the woman. All the man knew was that he saw an enemy and he assumed that Scott saw the same thing. Stewart eyed the woman through his upturned visor, his blue eyes unusually hard.
“You will make no demands, lady,” he said. “You have grossly miscalculated de Wolfe’s mercy and now you and your men shall pay the price.”
Avrielle’s eyes flickered with panic or, perhaps, even anger. “I must speak to de Wolfe and explain what has happened,” she said patiently. “Will you take me to him or must I find him myself?”
At that point, Stewart wasn’t sure how Scott wanted him to respond. He didn’t dare look at him for fear of appearing weak or indecisive in front of Lady du Rennic. “There is no need for explanation, my lady,” he finally said. “All became evident when you closed de Wolfe’s army out of Canaan.”
She shook her head. “That was not my doing,” she said. “My brother, for reasons that are not yet clear to me, took it upon himself to make that decision. I am here to tell you that as the Lady of Castle Canaan, I do not resist de Wolfe’s presence. My husband was always a great supporter of Scott de Wolfe. So much so that he died for him.”
It was a deliberate shot to the heart to get their attention and it had the desired effect. Nathaniel did, indeed, die for Scott and that was the entire reason for their presence. Stewart did look at his liege, then. He wasn’t going to say another word. All was now up to Scott to decide what must be done. Stewart had to admit that he was genuinely curious how the man would react.
He waited.
But Scott knew that everything rested completely upon him at this point. The mention of Nathaniel’s death was very clever, he thought. Of course, how could they attack the home of a man who had sacrificed himself for his liege? Scott stared at the lady a moment longer, the tension in the air building. Would he show mercy? Or would he simply brush off the woman’s attempt at sympathy by mentioning her dead husband. As far as Scott was concerned, there was only one decision he could make.
One decision he was willing to make.
Silently, he lifted a hand and motioned the woman with a crooked finger. Avrielle, certain she was about to be taken to Baron Bretherdale, followed eagerly as he led her away from Stewart and the bulk of the army. Even as they passed the army and were in the clear, he continued to lead her out into the field of battle, still littered with men and gore.
Puzzled, Avrielle followed, although she was becoming increasingly disturbed. All around her were men, or pieces of men, and blood saturating the ground. The smell rose up, death and blood, filling her nostrils with its stench. The further she followed him, the more sickened she became. Blood and guts had never bothered her until she had become pregnant. Now, everything bothered her and it was an effort not to vomit.
“Knight?” she called after Scott. “Knight, where are you taking me? Surely de Wolfe is not out here, among the dead.”
Scott didn’t answer. He simply continued to lead her. Pale, Avrielle followed without another word until a half-dead soldier reached up and grabbed the hem of her cloak. The shriek had barely left her lips before Scott was at her side, dispatching the moaning man mercifully. As she turned to thank him, he turned away from her and continued to walk in silence. But Avrielle was too shaken to continue. She teetered after him, stumbled, and he eventually came to a halt. When he turned to look into her brilliant blue eyes, he could see a bevy of emotions in the depths. The woman had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
But they were eyes capable of breaking through that façade he kept so carefully around him. He’d discovered that last night; her voice, her softness, had managed to crack that rock-hard veneer. The more he looked at her, the more he came to realize something that had never occurred to him in his entire life – he was being cruel. The stab he felt to his heart was the alien emotion of pity. Retracing his steps, he swept her up into his arms in one smooth motion and carried her from the battlefield and into the shielding trees.
Avrielle didn’t say a word as the knight carried her into the cool bramble. In truth, she didn’t want to say anything that might provoke him. The man was absolutely enormous, just as all of de Wolfe’s men seemed to be. She was only concerned at the moment with speaking to de Wolfe and saving her family. Ever so gently, the knight placed her on her feet when they were well into the trees and Avrielle glanced about, looking for a man in robes and silks that would undoubtedly be Baron Bretherdale. When no man was forthcoming, she looked at the knight curiously.
“Well?” she half-asked, half-demanded. “Where is de Wolfe that I might speak with him?”
Scott was silent a moment. Perching his massive bulk atop a rotted tree stump, he slowly removed his helm. As his features became clear, Avrielle stared at him, recognition and embarrassment flushing her cheeks a bright red; the knight from the garden gazed back at her with a flicker of curiosity, perhaps even amusement. She could see a bit of his golden-blonde hair from beneath his mail hood and a heavy stubble of dark-blonde bearding covered his square-jawed face. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him the night before in the garden. But now as she inspected him, it occurred to her that everything about the knight reeked of masculinity and power. Strange how she couldn’t seem to remember anything from their encounter in the garden other than his powerful arms around her. But now, she was able to observe the entire package and realized that her heart was leaping strangely.
“It’s you,” she murmured.
Scott studied her flushed face with some amusement. “You may speak with me,” he said in a soft tone that he’d never heard from himself before. He almost looked around to see if someone else had uttered the words.
But Avrielle didn’t notice his tone. She felt like a fool for staring at him so long. But she was here for a serious reason and struggled to maintain her focus.
“Nay,” she shook her head. “I must speak with de Wolfe. ’Tis a matter of life or death, my lord.”
“You may call me Scott.”
She stared to refuse again, but the impact of the name swept her and her eyes widened so that he thought they might pop out of her head. “Scott?” she whispered. “Scott… de… de…?”
“De Wolfe, aye.” He couldn’t help the smile playing on his lips. “I am he.”
Avrielle’s mouth popped open to match her bulging eyes. Her knees shook and her palms began to sweat. “M-My lord,” she stammered. “I had no idea… that is to say, I did not know you were…”
He put up a hand to ease her. She suddenly seemed so nervous that he was sure she was about to faint. “I know you did not know,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “So tell me, Lady Avrielle of the Dead Garden – what it is you must speak to me about?”
Avrielle couldn’t focus on what she needed to say. At the moment, she could only focus on what she was feeling. Shock, surprise, and wild, unadulterated embarrassment. In a burst, her words exploded outward. “Dear God,” she gasped, turning away from him and slapping a hand to her forehead. “I feel like such an… an idiot!”
His grin was full-blown. “Why?”
“Why?” she repeated, throwing her hands up. “Because you are de Wolfe. You entered my garden and I permitted you to… to…”
“Hold you?” he offered helpfully.
“Aye!” she almost yelled at him. “You held me. You… you comforted my children. And I wept and wept on you and… and…”
He snorted at her then. He almost startled himself because he truly hadn’t laughed at anything in years. But she was very humorous. He liked her animation, her embarrassment. He liked the look of her sweet face with her cheeks so pink.
“I promise that I will not hold that against you, my lady,” he said. “No harm done.”
She eyed him but couldn’t bring herself to reply. She was so embarrassed she wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Still, she had come here for a reason and she fought back her chagrin in lieu of more important matters.
“As you say, my lord,” she said, though she didn’t look him in the eye. “I’ve come to speak with you for a most important reason.”
She was changing the subject, quite noticeably. It was apparent she didn’t want to speak about their meeting in the garden and he realized that he was disappointed. He had wanted, or expected, more of a response, though he couldn’t exactly say of what sort. Strange how he was looking for acknowledgement, but what kind, he didn’t know. Still, he would indulge her simply because he couldn’t help himself.
“Very well,” he said. “What do you wish to say?”
She looked at him, then, and summoned her courage. “I wish you to call back your attack. Canaan surrenders.”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You should not have resisted in the first place. Resisters must be punished.”
She visibly paled. “Please do not punish us,” she begged. “My brother is sometimes brash and arrogant, but he is not evil. He truly believes that he is doing what is right for Canaan.”
“Do you?”
She didn’t want to incriminate her brother. Even if he was stubborn, presumptive and self-righteous, still, she would not condemn his actions before de Wolfe.
“He was simply trying to protect us, my lord,” she repeated carefully. “In his mind, he felt that what he was doing was right.”
“That was not my question.” He rose from the stump, his gaze intense. “Do you believe he was doing what was right for Canaan?”
She didn’t answer right away, looking at her shoes. Scott’s gaze lingered on her.
“You will look at me,” he commanded in a low voice. “I require an answer. Based upon that answer, I will either raze Canaan or spare it. Is this clear?”
A bolt of fear and anger shot through Avrielle. His tone was disrespectful and it inflamed her. She glared at him.
“It is, my lord,” she said through clenched teeth. “Aye, I believe his motives were correct.”
It was a mix of incriminating her brother and supporting him. Scott had to admit he was impressed by her clever answer. Their eyes met, a fierce maelstrom of heat and emotion, as he decided which path to take. But the truth was that he’d already decided the moment she’d come forth from the bowels of Canaan. He would spare the castle. But he wasn’t going to tell her that, not yet. Better to let her think he was still in control and not pliable to her wishes.
God help him, he was.
As Avrielle gazed back at Scott, waiting for the decision that would decide her future, she was aware of a dull ache in her back and legs. Ever since the dying soldier had grabbed her on the field, she’d been feeling it. But she realized it was growing from all of the walking and standing she had done. She and Scott stared at each other and she was certain he was trying to intimidate her with his gaze, hazel eyes that were as sharp as razors. But she didn’t falter and she didn’t back away; she continued to meet his gaze, strongly, because it was the only thing she could do.
If Scott thought that his heated gaze would cause her to rethink her answer, he was in for a disappointment. She was certainly brave, just like her son. He admired that quality immensely.
“Nay, you do not believe your brother is correct, but I will not question you further,” he growled after a moment. “He is your brother and it is your duty to support him. I will, therefore, leave Canaan intact. But punishment will take another form.”
She was relieved and terrified at the same time. “What do you mean?”
He wouldn’t answer her. He simply crossed his massive arms, gazing at her steadily as if she should read his mind and know exactly what he was thinking. Avrielle’s irritation surged and she was about to demand his reply when a bolt of pain suddenly plowed through her lower abdomen and down her thighs. She grunted and put a hand to her belly. For a moment, Scott seemed to lose his ever-present smugness. There was genuine concern in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Avrielle shook her head, though she felt a tremendous urge to sit. One hand on her enormous stomach, she went in search of a stump. Scott indicated the stump he had been sitting on but he kept his hands to himself as she sat herself heavily. It was difficult to fight the inclination to help her. He knew she would refuse him, anyway.
“Well?” he demanded again. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head again, though she had a suspicion of what was about to happen. “Nothing, my lord,” she said, sure there was plenty of time before she delivered Nathaniel’s third child. It had taken her ten hours to deliver Sophia and four to deliver Stephen. Besides, there were more important things on her mind at the moment and she knew she must resolve them before she could focus on anything else. “You will please do me the courtesy of answering my question. What form will our punishment take? And why must we be punished at all if I promise there will be no more trouble?”
He gazed down at her, feeling himself waver. But he could show no weakness, he knew that. Once the vassals of Canaan realized de Wolfe was pliable, his control over them would be ended. And for their show of rebellion, he had to be swift and decisive no matter how he felt about the lady.
Soft….
“Although I trust your word as a lady, I am still compelled to punish the insurgents of Canaan,” he said. “I cannot let a show of rebellion go unanswered. I would be ineffective to the crown, and to myself, if I did.”
Avrielle gazed up at him, the way the muted light fell upon his strong features. He was undeniably handsome and she inwardly scolded herself for entertaining such a distraction. She had no business thinking any man attractive, not so soon after the death of her husband.
“But we’ve done nothing outrageous, my lord,” she said in a tone that invited his forgiveness. “You have fought with my brother many times. You know how temperamental he can be. He meant no disrespect, truly, but feels a fierce sense of confusion I should think.”
“Confusion?”
She nodded. “Aye,” she said. “He and the other knights are at a loss without…”
Another pain rocketed through her back and abdomen, nearly bending her in half even as she sat on the stump. Avrielle clutched her stomach and doubled over as a great rush of warm liquid suddenly saturated her gown all around the pelvic region. As a mother of two already, she knew exactly what that meant.
“Damnation.” she roared. “I think…”
To hell with not aiding her. Scott was on his knees beside her as she grunted in pain, wanting to help.
“The child comes?” he asked the obvious.
She eyed him irritably as the pain subsided. “A brilliant assessment, my lord,” she growled. “Now see what you’ve done?”
His eyebrows drew together. “What I’ve done? You would mistake me for your husband, Madam?”
She thought he might take pity on Canaan were he to realize all of the arguing had brought about her labor. “Your talk of punishment has upset me. This child isn’t due for another few weeks yet.”
He pursed his lips. “Blame your brother. Had he not acted like a weak-minded woman, we would not be having this conversation.”
“But you are still going to punish us?”
“I must.”
She didn’t know what more to say. It was apparent his mind was set. Frustrated, embarrassed that her gown was soaked with distinct-smelling birthing fluid, and suddenly feeling just a little bit anxious, she thought that perhaps now was a good time to return to the castle and remove herself from de Wolfe’s presence. But there was so much pressure in her pelvis that she was positive she was going to drop the child here and now. In fact, as she struggled to stand, she realized she was about to do just that.
“Oh, no,” she gasped.
“Now what’s wrong?” Scott asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
She looked up at him and he could read her fear. “The child comes, my lord.”
“I think we have already established that.”
“Now.”
His eyebrows lifted in shock; he couldn’t help it. “Now?”
She nodded firmly. “Aye.”
“There is no time to…?”
She cut him off, shaking her head firmly. “I cannot make it back to Canaan. You must trust me in this matter. I have already given birth to two children; I know what it feels like.”
There wasn’t much Scott could say to that. If the woman said that the birth was imminent, he would believe her. To say that he was a bit surprised was an understatement, but as a man who had once been a competent healer, he knew he had to form a plan of action. He couldn’t just stand there like an idiot. After a split second of indecision, he ripped the cloak from her shoulders and spread it upon the moldering leaves.
“Lay down,” he commanded softly.
Avrielle was momentarily indecisive about his command until another contraction hit and the urge to bear down swept her. Seeing that she was having trouble moving, Scott reached out and with gentleness he’d not tapped into in years, helped her down onto the cloak.
Lying back against the green brocade of the cloak Nathaniel had given her, Avrielle’s mind was whirling with pain and dread and anxiety. She waited for Scott to run off in search of his surgeon, but he remained by her side, watching her without fear. In fact, he seemed quite comfortable watching her suffer and she eyed him warily.
“Well?” she asked. “Where is your physic? Aren’t you going to summon him?”
Scott shook his head. “He is tending my wounded, men far worse off than you. I shall attend you myself.”
She frowned fiercely and pushed herself up on her elbows. “I think not.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you plan to give birth by yourself, then? Shall I turn my back while you shoot this child out like the cork from a bottle?”
Avrielle scowled, but slowly, she lay back down. “Turn your back and do not watch,” she said threateningly. “I’ll not have you… looking at me. ’Tis not proper, childbirth or no.”
“I’ve looked betwixt a woman’s legs before.”
“But you’ve not looked betwixt mine before.”
Without another word, Scott turned his back on her and she was struck with another contraction that brought her legs up with the sheer force of it. Behind him, Scott could hear her grunt and groan.
“Damnation.” she howled. “I can feel this child coming. He pushes and pokes like an old bear.”
Scott kept his back to her, though it was difficult. He was growing weary of her foolishness. “If I was permitted to look, I could tell you how imminent the birth is.”
Sweat began to pop out on her forehead. “And how would you know such things?”
“Because I was a fairly decent healer, once. A man I’ve known since birth trained me.”
“Who is this fool?”
“His name is Paris de Norville. And he is no fool.”
“So you know how to bring forth a child?”
“Among other things.”
Avrielle started to shake her head when another pain hit and she let out a loud moan. This one was long and strong and seemed to take over her entire body. When it was over, she went limp. “Oh, God, help me,” she gasped. “This is all happening too hard, too fast.”
Scott had enough of her ridiculous behavior. As a child, he’d shown an interest in healing. Paris, the man who would eventually be his father-in-law, took Scott under his wing. Paris trained de Wolfe in the healing arts because Paris, long ago, had also been taught by an uncle. He was simply passing down the skill to a young man who had shown great potential. But Scott hadn’t used his skills since that dark day four years ago. He couldn’t use his talents to save his family and the guilt that had consumed him had turned him off of ever healing again.
Until now.
Now, he was needed. There wasn’t anyone else who could possibly help and, in spite of having turned his back on his skills, he realized that he was willing to be of use again. Healing came naturally to him and it was difficult to resist the pull. Turning around, he threw up her skirts only to be faced with a good deal of blood and an infant’s head, half-emerged.
“Christ,” he growled. “Madam, this child is arriving.”
Avrielle didn’t reply. She was caught up in the swiftest, strongest pain she had ever known. Having no swaddling or clean water, or anything else for that matter, Scott was forced to think very quickly.
Grabbing the hem of her woolen garment, he tore off a great section and set it aside. He had a razor-sharp dirk sheathed in his breeches. Pulling it free, he put it within easy reach on the extended cloak. As great as any battle he had ever faced, he could feel the familiar rush of excitement filling his veins. Healing was something, once, he’d felt he’d been born to do and he was in his element as much as when was in the heat of battle. He was ready. Those skills, dormant these years because he’d been unable to use them on his dead wife and children, were aching to come forth again.
For the moment, he would let them.
Perhaps this time, he could save a life.
Another pain hit and Avrielle cried out softly, rising up from the cloak and nearly bending in half. She knew what was expected of her and she bore down, edging the infant out. Scott spoke reassuringly to her, so caught up in the moment that it took him some time before he realized he was stroking her head, rubbing her leg, anything to distract her from the pain. Another contraction and the infant literally popped forward, exposed from the waist up. Scott calmly cleaned out the child’s mouth and nose, and put his hands on the tiny body, preparing to pull it free. The final pain hit and the child slid out in its entirety, right into his waiting hands.
“Dear God,” Avrielle gasped, falling back on the cloak. “Is it breathing? Is it alive?”
For the second time that day, Scott de Wolfe was smiling. He simply couldn’t help himself. He wiped off the child’s face and cut the cord with his dagger, rubbing the feet briskly as the child let out a wail. Wrapping the babe tightly in the torn piece of linen, he then handed the wailing babe to the eager mother.
“A daughter, Madam,” he said softly. “You have a new daughter.”
Avrielle clutched the mewling babe, shocked and amazed and exhausted. “Sweet Jesus,” she murmured. “How quickly she has come. Look how lovely she is!”
As Avrielle fawned over her new daughter, Scott delivered the afterbirth in one piece and tossed it aside. He didn’t look too closely at Avrielle’s privates but, from what he saw, she didn’t look any worse for the wear and the bleeding seemed to be minimal. She was fortunate. Truthfully, he was more caught up in the warmth and joy of the moment, remembering the same feelings from when his own children were born. There was such elation to a healthy birth, the continuation of life, and well did he remember that jubilation. It brought back memories he’d suppressed for years, memories he had run from, but now memories that were giving him just the slightest amount of comfort. He’d forgotten there was such happiness in the world.
He’d missed it.
“Indeed, she is lovely,” he agreed, his focus on the dark-haired infant. “She is small but seems healthy enough. She certainly screams loudly enough. That is a good sign.”
Avrielle inspected the flailing hands, counting the fingers. “Sophia was a small child,” she said, a gentleness in her tone. “But Stephen was quite large.”
Scott watched the angry baby wave her red hands about. “My sons were monstrous,” he said.
Avrielle, as weary and elated as she was, did not fail to recall what Nathaniel had told her, that de Wolfe had lost most of his family to a tragedy. But not all of them. “You have sons?”
“Two.”
“How old?”
“Fourteen years and twelve years.”
“They are almost men grown.”
“They are.”
That was as far as Avrielle’s curiosity went for the moment. Exhausted, she snuggled down with the baby, inspecting the ears and nose. Scott watched her, now fighting off a deeper sense of compassion. It was so strange, having eliminated all feeling from his life for the past four years, to finally allow himself to feel something. More and more, he realized that part of him was not dead, as he’d hoped. Or perhaps he didn’t hope. At the moment, all he knew was that somehow, someway, he felt alive again.
Needed.
“What will you name her?” he asked.
Avrielle’s voice was quiet. “Sorsha,” she said, playing with the infant’s fingers. “Nathaniel chose the name. I… I wish he was here to see her. I wish it with all my heart.”
Scott wondered if the birth of the child was going to throw her back into the madness of grief somehow. Well did he understand how crippling it was. “I am sure that wherever he is, he knows that his child has been born,” he said, trying to be of some comfort. “Someone told me once that the people we love never really die; they are all around us, in the trees, the wind, the birds. They have become part of the very fabric around us.”
Avrielle looked up at him, hearing something wistful in his tone, perhaps remembering that family he had lost.
“Do you believe that?” she asked.
Scott lingered on what his father had told him years ago when the man had been trying to pull him out of his devastating grief. Look around you, Scott. Athena and the children are still here. You can feel them in everything about you.
Did he believe it? Probably not. He was a practical man and if he couldn’t see it, or touch it, then it wasn’t real. His family had gone to Heaven and that was what he believed. He didn’t believe they were surrounding him, kissing him with butterfly wings or embracing him with a gentle breeze. They were gone and he was empty. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Avrielle that, a woman who understood sorrow as he understood it. The death of a spouse was shattering, indeed, and he couldn’t take a small measure of hope away from her.
Hope that all was not lost, after all.
“Mayhap,” he said after a moment. “If it comforts you to believe that, then you should.”
Avrielle smiled faintly, looking back at the baby in her arms. “I would like to believe it,” she said softly. “I would like to feel that I am not so alone in this world. Since Nathaniel’s death, even with my children, I have felt so… alone.”
Scott understood that implicitly. As she lay there with the baby, she began to shake with chill and Scott went into action. He wrapped her up in her cloak but that didn’t seem to be enough. He could have built a fire but, after the rain of the previous night, everything was damp and it would take time to find dry kindling. Therefore, he did the next best thing, putting his arms around her to use his body heat to warm her. There was really no other reason than that, at least not in his mind. She was cold and he sought to warm her. Her head was against his neck and as he watched, she moved her gown aside to expose a full breast.
She had beautiful breasts, but Scott wasn’t looking at her in a sexual nature. At least, not as she put the babe on the nipple to nurse. He was watching it as one of the most comforting, contenting things he’d witnessed in a very long time. A mother and child, and a child he had brought into the world no less. Aye, he felt needed and the healer in him, denied these few years, felt content. Something about the entire incident had satisfied something deep within his soul.
As a man who had become all about death and warfare, to deliver a fragile life touched that compassionate, caring man he’d long buried within him. He held Avrielle tightly as she nursed her new daughter, thinking that there were few things in life sweeter than that very moment.
God, how he’d missed such things.
When Stewart came looking for them, that was how he found them both.