CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The knock on the door came.
It was dusk when the knock came, and Josephine knew exactly what it meant.
It was time.
This had been the most miserable day of days. Her wedding day. Something that, for most women, would have been a day of joy. But to Josephine, this was the day of her doom, of her execution. She was about to be taken to her death.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Andrew hadn’t come. The moment of her wedding was upon her, and he still hadn’t come. She had to believe that something awful had happened to him over the past several days and he was unable to make it to her. She could never believe that he had made the choice not to come for her; she knew in her heart that was not the case. But the only way Andrew wouldn’t come for her was if he was dead.
Therefore, she had to assume he’d met his end somehow.
Grief consumed her. The entire day had been filled with sorrow and anxiety as the last threads of hope were cut. She was about to be forced to marry a monster and everyone in the world who had promised to help her wasn’t there in her hour of need.
She was alone.
The knock on the door was Chauncey. The old steward was dressed in finer clothing than Josephine had ever seen him in, and he’d been admitted into her chamber by the mute servant, who seemed to be quite sympathetic to her new mistress. But sympathy wouldn’t prevent any of this from happening, and Josephine rose from the bed she’d been sitting on for the past hour, wrinkling the white surcote she’d been instructed to wear, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything any longer.
Inside, she was dead.
Chauncey took her out of her chamber and walked her across the drawbridge, the moat, and, finally, the outer bailey as he took her to the chapel where her life would come to an end. The beautiful day that had turned so ugly was now waning, and Josephine glanced up at the sky, thinking it would be the last time she ever saw it. She knew she wouldn’t survive the night. Very soon, she would see her parents, and even Andrew, in the halls of heaven, and she took comfort in that.
It was the only comfort she had.
Josephine was led to the threshold of the doors leading into the chapel. The interior was surprisingly ornate, with subtle coloring gracing the walls, which depicted several scenes of Jesus’ life. She suddenly found it bitterly ironic that she was to be married to such a devil in the presence of such holy images.
Chauncey held her tightly by the elbow as somewhere in the chapel strains of a flute floated through the air and could be heard by all. There were only a few people standing around, people Josephine had never seen before and didn’t know. They turned to look at her as she entered in her white dress, looking beautiful but feeling sick. Sick to death with what was transpiring and having no power to stop it.
Chauncey gave her a push forward. She hadn’t even realized the processional had begun. In front of her, looking especially pious, were two priests and two small, skinny acolytes carrying candles. She scoffed inwardly; some holy servants when they couldn’t even see what was going on, that a woman was being led to her doom. On weak legs, she walked slowly after them.
Alphonse d’Vant, Earl of Annan and Blackbank, stood by the altar watching his bride come towards him, his dull brown eyes devouring her. She looked so pale and pure. He was grinning lewdly for all to see, thrilled at his new bride. As he’d told her, he’d never had anything pure in his life. This was to be a first. If she survived the night, then she might be able to bear him an heir. Perhaps, he would not be so hard on her as he had been with others. He hoped she would be good breeding stock.
Oblivious to Alphonse’s thoughts, Josephine was halfway up the aisle, halfway to her death sentence. She couldn’t even look at him. She felt such complete despair that it took all of her strength to simply keep walking. But she had no choice; there was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, and any attempt at resistance would certainly be greeted with painful violence. Lost in thought, she was at the altar before she realized it and the light from a thousand candles bathed her in a golden glow. The earl took his position beside her and the poorly dressed priest began to immediately intone the mass in Latin.
And so, it begins…
Josephine heard the priest, but she wasn’t listening. All she could think of was how she was going to handle the earl in the marriage bed. She shuddered involuntarily; her experiences with Andrew had been beautiful, loving, and exquisitely sweet. To imagine that such an act could be used as a weapon of violence and submission was nightmarish at best.
God, she prayed silently, I have never been one to pray, but hear me now. Please help me. Please!
The service continued, with the priest slightly off-key as he sang the mass. Josephine stared at his dirty robes, not fixing on his face or on her surroundings. Her expression was so grim that she looked hopelessly miserable. She saw nothing, heard little, and felt only pain of a life lost.
That is why she never saw Ridge slip into the church, dressed in priestly garb. He silently slipped into the shadows, his eyes on Josephine and praying his sword made no noise against his mail. Across the church from him, Sully was also wrapped in thick, brown garments. His face was hooded, and his ice-blue eyes locked on his sister-in-law. It took all of his self-control not to run to the altar, slicing through everything and everyone in his way. His protection instincts were in overdrive, but he managed to control them. He only wondered for how long.
The third priest in dirty robes, Thane, quietly enter the church, carefully taking up his position by the door. And the fourth one, Donald, enter on Thane’s tail. In truth, he was here for many reasons, not the least of which was avenging the attack on his friend, Nicholas. He felt very honored to be a member of this auspicious group, and glanced about him almost too conspicuously to make sure everyone was in place. Sully saw Donald bobbing his head around like a chicken and wished he’d had a big rock; he’d have nailed him right in the head with it.
The priest, oblivious to what was about to happen, handed his Bible to a waiting acolyte and benevolently spread his arms, reciting something Josephine didn’t understand. It took her a moment to realize the man had stopped altogether and, when she looked up at him, he was looking behind the bride and groom with a queer expression on his face.
The earl saw this, too. At nearly the same time, as if in slow motion, he and Josephine turned to look at whatever had the priest so muddled. With the last remnants of the late afternoon sun pouring in through the rear windows, the chapel was cast in a warm, ethereal light. For a moment, it blinded both Josephine and the earl until a bright flash of metal, like a bolt of lightning, struck out from the very back of the chapel by the entry door.
It was puzzling. Josephine moved her head a little, just enough to block the sun and, when she did so, her breath caught in her throat. A hand went to her chest as strangled gasps freed themselves from her lungs. And her head began to swim so badly that she thought she might faint.
But she fought it; dear God, she fought it, for the vision before her was something she had resigned herself to never seeing again. Before she could stop herself, she screamed one word.
“Andrew!”
Andrew stood by the massive rear doors. Like a vision from heaven, the avenging angel had arrived in a suit of armor that could only be described as god-like; silver-white rays glittered from it as it caught the light, as if it were emitting light of its very own. From the top of the silver helm to the bottom of the armor-clad feet, Andrew was an exquisite work of art. It reminded Josephine of the Arthurian legends of the knights that were nearly demi-gods because of their skill and greatness, and Demon Slayer was in Andrew’s right hand, glaring in the light of a thousand candles and hungry for human flesh. Andrew looked entirely surreal and magnificent, and absolutely deadly.
Her prayers, it seemed, had been answered.
Those in the chapel, sensing something terrible was about to happen, began to scatter in terror. The huge silver knight was extremely fearsome, and it was impossible to tell where he was looking with the faceplate down. No one knew who he had come for, and it was better to run than to find out.
Josephine, however, knew exactly who he had come for. Unknowingly, she had wandered several feet towards him, with her hand clutching at her chest. Andrew was still, however, a good distance away. With great deliberation, he lifted his feet and took a few steps, pausing again to contemplate his enemy. The man was looking at him now… black, wicked eyes.
He knew those eyes.
His enemy was sizing him up as well. Alphonse could hardly believe what he was seeing but, in the same breath, there was an odd sense of pleasure to it. Andrew. So his brother had come for his lady, after all, and a slow grin of satisfaction creased his horrific face. He looked almost happy to see his brother.
“Andrew,” he enunciated slowly. “My dearest brother. I’d hoped you would be dead by now.”
Josephine heard the words. She was shaking uncontrollably as she watched Andrew intently, waiting for any word or reaction. The suspense was maddening. When a massive gauntleted hand came up to raise the faceplate, Josephine could see the hate on Andrew’s features. She’d never seen anything like it before. Andrew’s jaw muscles flexed as he forced a wry smile.
“Wrong, as usual, my brother,” he replied steadily.
The earl’s smile faded. “Not for long,” he said. “You will be dead soon enough.”
Josephine almost collapsed. She was fighting unconsciousness with every strangled breath. It was all too overwhelming, and her brain screamed for relief. Tears filled her eyes; tears of exhaustion, fear, and joy spilled out onto her cheeks.
Andrew dared to take his eyes off his brother, his gaze falling upon her, and an odd feeling enveloped him. With all of the black hate he was feeling, there were such feelings of love to experience when he looked at Josephine that he could scare believe it was possible to feel both simultaneously. As much as he wanted to sweep her in his arms and take her away, he knew he couldn’t. He had to kill his brother. He fought hard to control the surging emotions.
He had to keep his focus!
“Josephine,” he said in his rich voice. “Are you well?”
Josephine let out a huge sob at the sound of his voice. To hear him speak to her again was absolute music.
“I am fine,” she gushed. “And you?”
“I am well now that I see you.”
He couldn’t help himself and smiled a smile only for her. Josephine forgot all about the earl and began to walk to her love.
“Cease, bitch!” Alphonse bellowed. “One more step and I shall disembowel you before my brother can take another step.”
It was probably true; Josephine was much closer to the earl than to Andrew. She stopped immediately, uncertainty in her eyes.
But Andrew stiffened at the threat. Slowly swinging Demon Slayer from side to side, he began a slow pace down the aisle.
“My brother,” he began. “I have waited nineteen long years to skin your worthless hide. My banishment alone was not reason enough to kill you, but our mother’s imprisonment did, indeed, warrant satisfaction. You are an evil, vile reptile that disgraces the name of d’Vant. You are a disease that must be wiped from the face of this earth. You are from the bowels of hell, my brother, and you may consider me the wrath of God. I am going to send you back where you came from.”
His last words echoed through the chapel, sending chills up Josephine’s spine. She closed her eyes tightly to block out the terror his voice drove into her. Andrew was so deadly serious, so completely possessed by rage, that she almost didn’t know him.
But Alphonse had a stupid grimace on his face, apparently unimpressed by the speech. He clapped his big hands together, lamely, two or three times.
“Bravo,” he said drolly. “Well-rehearsed, younger brother. You say you have only come to kill me? What of your lady love, the beauteous Josephine? You did not come for her?”
Andrew nodded. “She is the reward when all of this is over,” he said. “Your death is something I have waited a long time for – for our mother, for Josephine’s safety, and for a young man you killed whom you were not worthy of killing. His name was Nicholas. All of these things are why I shall kill you.”
The earl cocked a bushy black brow. “Oh? And what if you fail to complete your task? What of your lovely, delectable Josephine then?”
“I will not fail.”
The earl grinned wickedly. “Aye, you will, and shall I tell you what I plan to do with your woman then?” he said, obtaining sick delight with his taunting. “After I kill you, I shall marry her with your disemboweled body in full view. Then, I shall strip her down, roll her in your blood, and proceed to fuck her until she faints. After I am finished, providing she lives, I shall bite her nipples off and fuck her in the arse with the hilt of your sword. Do you fully understand my intentions, Brother? Then understand that you will die easily. She will not.”
Horrified, Josephine believed every word. Andrew didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside he was dying. He, too, knew every word was true. Sully, Thane, Ridge, and Donald were tasked with removing Josephine, so Andrew was certain she would be spared his brother’s hideous threat. But, on the other hand, he wasn’t entirely sure they would leave him behind to die when they took her to safety. Therefore, it was difficult to know how many would die for him in the chaos.
He had to win.
“A fantasy as befitting your deranged mind,” he replied coolly. “But from this moment on, you will not touch Josephine. I do not even want you to look at her.” In one swift fluid motion, he waved his magnificent sword, startling Josephine and everyone else. Demon Slayer flashed in the weak light. “Prepare to burn in hell.”
Alphonse, too, drew forth his massive blade with relish. The crowd in the chapel emitted a muffled groan, with people pressing far back. No one wanted to be involved, but everyone liked a good sword fight, and blood feuds were always energetic. Besides, there was not a person in the hall who didn’t hate the earl passionately, and would be very happy to see him dead.
Ridge, previously pressed against the cold stone wall, pushed his way to the front of the crowd on the edge of the perimeter. He remembered his vow to Josephine, his vow to repay his debt to her, and he eagerly waited for his chance. He hoped in a small way it would make up for the wrong done to her by the king. In truth, he had also grown to like Andrew a great deal and considered him a friend.
Sully and Thane were opposite Ridge at the edge of the chapel, watching the scene unfold. Sully was nearly frantic in his desire to remove Josephine from the combat area, but she was too far away from him. Ridge was nearly directly behind her, though he was several yards back. Somehow, Sully managed to gain Ridge’s attention and the understanding was that the big knight would grab Josephine at the next opportunity since he was the closest.
With nothing else to do, they waited.
“You have come back to the place of your birth to die,” the earl rumbled as he leveled off into a defensive position. “How fitting.”
Andrew walked towards his brother, his sword gleaming. “’Twill be your blood on the floor, not mine,” he growled. “Pity, brother, that we never truly knew each other.”
“I shall ponder that for the rest of my life.”
Josephine was rapidly becoming hysterical. She saw the battle brewing, the war of the titans, and she could see the blood that was about to be spilled. In truth, she only wanted to take Andrew and leave this place. She wasn’t interested in any battle of honor, yet her heart ached for what she knew would have to be. Therefore, she watched with sickening foreboding but she wasn’t at all sure if she could watch their spectacle. In her panic, the room began to spin and as she felt her knees giving way, two massive arms went around her body and pulled her away from the combatants.
“Fear not, my lady,” said Ridge. “I am here.”
Josephine fell back against him. “Ridge!” she gasped. “I did not know you were here. I… I cannot watch this. We must stop it!”
“Nay, my lady,” he said softly. “We must not and will not, you know that. If Andrew is to ever be free of this hatred he harbors, then he must complete this.”
Josephine squeezed her eyes shut, struggling not to cry. “I know,” she whispered. “But I cannot watch him die.”
“I swear you will not,” Ridge said. “Look across the room. See Sully and Thane? Donald is also there. Andrew is not alone.”
Such joy filled her heart at the realization, but also such pain. “He would never forgive you if you interfered,” she whispered. “You have all come to help, but he does not want your help.”
Ridge was prevented from replying as the clash of swords filled the air, the first piercing sound of battle that was sharp as a double-edged blade. Josephine jumped at the sound, emitting a small cry, but Ridge held her firmly.
Sparks flew wildly as metal came upon metal with blinding ferocity. Again, and again, and again, the violent sound of bashing swords reverberated within the sacred walls, with each sound telling a tale of anger, hatred, and pain, and of time spent away from family, and of love as true as the halls of heaven.
Andrew was true to his nickname. His sword flew with such speed and force that his brother was having trouble keeping up with him. Over and over, Andrew pounded out years of frustration and heartache, marking each blow on Josephine’s or his mother’s behalf. With each strike, he remembered the humiliation, the evil intentions, and the fear cast on a fourteen-year-old boy. He remembered being made an outcast, of crying upon hearing of his mother’s imprisonment, and of the vengeance he lived for every day of his life.
Now, his brother was going to pay for all of it.
And Alphonse could sense that. He was surprised by his brother’s ferocity. He tried to jump over the altar to get away from Andrew, but his foot caught and he fell heavily. Andrew was nearly on top of him, but Alphonse managed to roll away from him and gain an unsteady footing. A bank of tallow candles fell over in his effort, crashing melted wax onto the floor for Andrew to slip in.
Andrew gave him no time to breathe, let alone regain his balance as he once again hammered away at his brother. This was a life or death situation, and they both understood that. In their efforts, they were both beginning to sweat profusely, yet neither one was the least bit winded. With the noise and the grunting, The Red Fury continued.
A small stone baptismal went over heavily, dashing holy water on their feet. The pretty carved banisters that separated it from the rest of the chapel were chopped to bits as Andrew’s sword came down, again and again, as he swung at his brother’s big body.
Alphonse would fend off a blow, dodge, and return parry with bone-shattering force. At one point he was backed against the stone wall and ducked in the nick of time as Demon Slayer came whistling overhead. He managed to roll out of the way and take Andrew’s legs out from under him. A lovely tapestry on the wall had been slashed in half during this encounter.
The disadvantage of wearing armor was that it was extremely heavy and it could be cumbersome. It wasn’t made for fast movement. Alphonse had the advantage of not wearing any and was on his feet a split second faster than his brother. Andrew, on his knees, threw up his sword to ward off his brother’s powerful blow as Alphonse’s evil laughter rang to the rafters. For the first time during the fight, the earl suddenly seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
Josephine didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the clash began. Every time Andrew would strike, she would squeeze Ridge’s arm tightly until her nails began to dig into his flesh. She watched as the men hacked away at each other, destroying anything and everything that had the sad misfortune to be in the way.
When Andrew slipped on some rushes, she shrieked. When the earl landed a good blow, she gasped. On and on, parry by parry, thrust by thrust it continued. The setting sun threw the chapel into a dusky light, making the fighting figures appear as phantom soldiers on the edge of the netherworld.
They were fighting behind the altar now, near a giant wooden statue of Christ. When their swords locked, Andrew shoved his brother hard and he flew back into the holy statue, sending it crashing into a small table and all three went crashing to the ground.
The earl rolled onto his feet, perhaps less energetically than he had done earlier. The tides of the battle were turning against him slightly as Andrew leapt on him, his sword flashing, and the very tip of it caught Alphonse across the chest, slicing a long, deep gash. The earl spun away, knocking over an urn that fell between them and offered the only pause in their marathon battle.
“Ah!” Alphonse breathed heavily. “You have drawn the first blood, Brother! My congratulations!”
“It will not be the last,” Andrew snarled.
Flying over the urn, he charged straight into his brother. The men fell back with a crash of wood and armor, disintegrating two chairs that had once rested on that very spot. The noise they made was indicative of their hatred and the rage in their blood, and it was difficult to believe the two were blood brothers.
The battle was becoming heavy now, deep into their hatred, and the crowd was completely silent in their observance of the swordplay. Even Josephine had stopped gasping; her hands were now at her lips, folded in prayer as she begged God to spare Andrew’s life. For all of the destruction they had caused the hall, they had done remarkably little damage to each other.
But, quickly, that changed. The earl, on the floor, brought his sword up as Andrew’s arms were raised in vengeance. The blade found the joint between the arm protection and the breastplate, and he drove deep into the flesh near Andrew’s armpit. Blood gushed immediately, coating the left side of Andrew’s armor like bright red paint. The sword struck firmly in Andrew. The earl yelled triumphantly as he cruelly tore it free.
There were a few cries from witnesses in the crowd but, remarkably, not one was from Josephine. She knew this moment would come and she was somehow prepared for it. She had seen enough battle wounds to know, however, that the injury was serious. It was deep from the amount of blood that seeped from it, but no major arteries were hit. If one had been severed, he would have bled to death by now.
To Andrew, however, the wound was not only serious, it was painful as well. The gash made it difficult to lift his left arm, yet fortunately, he was right-handed. He estimated that it would be several minutes before he would begin to feel the blood loss, and he knew he needed to weaken his brother now before he grew weak himself. With a surge of adrenalin, he attacked his brother with renewed vigor.
“He is bleeding seriously,” Thane growled to Sully. “He will grow weak if he keeps this pace.”
Sully’s piercing eyes watched Andrew’s remarkable skill, even with an injury. He admired the man greatly, as much for his skill as for his character. The Red Fury more than lived up to his reputation as a fair but fearsome knight, and Sully prayed that he would triumph over his evil brother. There were too many bad knights in this world, and there were so few with Andrew’s noble soul. But watching Andrew fight with an injury concerned him. The Red Fury was at a slight disadvantage from the beginning because the earl was taller than Andrew, and outweighed him by about fifty pounds. The added handicap of the wound did not help Andrew’s cause.
Sully wondered what he would do if it came down to the question of saving Andrew’s life or not. He swore to Andrew that he would not interfere, but he wasn’t about to keep that vow, nor were the others. The question would be when to intervene, however, and Sully wondered if they weren’t rapidly approaching that moment. He sensed that the situation would soon be coming to an end because the combatants were beginning to tire. They had moved out into the center of the chapel again, almost to the point where they started.
But Alphonse was coming on strong now, as if he’d gotten a second wind, smashing against Andrew and putting dents in his armor. Andrew, however, was matching his brother blow for bone-crushing blow. When the earl misjudged a particularly vicious swing, Andrew uppercut and caught him in the side, laying open several inches of flesh. Between the wound in his chest and the gash in his side, Alphonse’s strength was draining.
But so was Andrew’s. Two hard strikes on Andrew’s sword caused him to step backwards, tripping over some debris on the floor, and he fell heavily on his side. The earl, in a fit of gleeful maliciousness, brought his blade down violently on Andrew’s helm, getting in two blows before Andrew managed to bring his sword up and fend him off.
Watching this, Josephine was no longer calm. The earl’s sword on Andrew’s head sent her over the edge, and she struggled violently in Ridge’s grasp.
“Release me!” she demanded. “I must help him! Let me go!”
She put up a good fight, but Ridge held her firm. The one thing that wasn’t needed was a hysterical female running amok.
From across the room, Sully saw Josephine panic and hastened through the small crowd to reach her. He could see the fight would be ending soon and he must be with her at the conclusion.
Dazed and bleeding, Andrew managed to get to his feet and return the attack on his brother. He was not about to let himself be hacked on again, so he concentrated on discovering a weakness in his brother’s strategy. He had to find one and take advantage of it, for he was feeling weaker by the second. The blows were still heavy, but slower. Sparks still sprayed as metal bit into metal, but less frequently. Both men were bleeding and tired, yet both were fighting for their lives. It was evident to everyone in the great hall that the end was near.
The church was almost completely dark now at the onset of night, with very little light coming in from the windows as the sun was nearly down. A few candle banks remained upright, flickering in ghostly silence as a prelude to the coming death. Sully finally reached Josephine, forcing her to look at him.
“Quiet, Josephine,” he whispered harshly. “Calm yourself, lest you distract Andrew. He has enough to deal with without listening to you scream.”
Josephine’s eyes snapped to him, her oldest and dearest friend. He was the one person in the world who could make everything all right, ever since she was a girl. Sully had always been there for her, making her world safe and secure. Her eyes began to well with tears.
“Oh… Sully,” she whispered. “He… he cannot…”
He brought her hands to his lips. “I know.”
“Help him, Sully!” she pleaded.
“I cannot. Not right now.”
She closed her eyes and the tears fell. “Oh, please,” she wept. “Do not refuse me.”
“I cannot,” he repeated quietly. “Not… now.”
It wasn’t time yet for him to do anything. There was still more of the flight to be played out. The trick would be knowing when to step in. The sound of clashing metal made all of them look in the direction of the fighting men, with the swords coming together so violently that Josephine could almost feel the concussion herself. The earl was saturated in his own blood, and Andrew was covered with his own, as well.
Their blades came together and they struggled, each man grunting with supreme effort. As the straining reached its peak, Alphonse threw out his great elbow and smashed Andrew in the chest, causing his brother to grunt loudly in pain and lose some of his concentration. Then, in one swift move, the earl put his foot behind his brother’s heel and sent him crashing onto his back.
Andrew was struggling to rise, but everyone in the room could see what was coming. The casual observers were disappointed to see that the gleaming challenger would soon be dead, and wondered if they would be witness to what the earl had in store for the maiden. It would seem that, this time, evil would prevail.
Josephine watched, wild-eyed, as the earl advanced on Andrew, slowly raising his sword over his head in preparation for the death blow. She began to gasp, clawing at Ridge’s arm and was on the verge of complete madness. Sully’s eyes widened; he was sure this was the end and he had to do something. But the first thing he had to do was get Josephine out of there.
“De Reyne,” he whispered hoarsely. “Remove Lady Josephine from this hall. Now. Get her out.”
Josephine started to scream, a bone-chilling pain-filled howl straight from her soul. Ridge was sorry he had to slap his big hand over her mouth, but he had to get her out without attracting attention. That was imperative. Meanwhile, across the room, Thane was gripping a pylon with white knuckles, not believing what he was about to see and waiting for his moment to strike. He couldn’t wait much longer. Behind him, Donald was moving towards de Reyne, preparing to help him with Josephine, who was putting up a terrible fight. It was chaos all around as the worst of all conclusions to this battle was becoming evident.
As Sully and Thane positioned themselves to intervene, Andrew saw his brother coming through his haze of pain and exhaustion. He saw the sword raised high and knew he had no time to get to his feet. But he was no fool, as his reputation proved. The end was, indeed, coming, but not for him. He was going to do what he had come to do, and that was kill his brother. Hell would have one more resident come this night. He smiled behind his faceplate.
Alphonse was on him, the sword high. “Greet Father in hell for me, brother dear.”
Fast as lightning, Andrew’s wicked sword came up from the floor and thrust itself into Alphonse’s unprotected chest. He pushed hard, grunting with incredible effort, shoving so hard that the blade pushed clean through to the other side.
For seconds, no one moved. Alphonse was frozen to the spot, his sword still held high above his head, with Demon Slayer like a macabre skewer through his torso. Andrew was still on the ground, watching his brother in anticipation of his brother’s sword coming down on him, but it never moved. It simply stayed aloft.
As fast as he could, Andrew rose on weary legs and knocked his brother’s frozen sword from his paralyzed hands. Looking Alphonse straight in the eye, he jammed the sword into Alphonse’s dying flesh again, so deeply, that only the hilt was visible from the front. When Alphonse still didn’t go down, Andrew kicked him in the stomach and sent him sprawling to the cold dirt floor.
Josephine, Ridge, Sully, Thane, and Donald were rooted to the spot, unbelieving that a situation that had looked so helpless had turned in the blink of an eye. Andrew was the only one left alive and standing, with the earl dead at his feet. It was absolutely astounding, a perfect tribute to Andrew’s determination and, for several moments, time stood still. No one moved and no one dared to speak. It was almost a sacred moment, one that had been a long time in coming.
It was Andrew’s moment to savor.
Clumsily, he reached up and tore off his helm, and flung it off into the darkness. His auburn hair was wet, sticking to his face, and rivulets of blood from the vicious head-beating ran down his cheeks.
Finally, it was Josephine who moved first. When she realized that Andrew was still alive, that he hadn’t been finished off, she pulled gently from Ridge’s grasp and took several timid steps in Andrew’s direction. She wasn’t sure if she should and, at some point, she came to a halt. She would go no further.
When he was ready, he could come to her.
But Andrew wasn’t looking at Josephine, at least not at the moment. He was staring down at his brother, seeing for himself that the man was finally dead. Years of hatred, of angst, and of sorrow had come to an abrupt end.
Strange that he felt no great satisfaction in the end of all things, only relief. No arrogant triumph filled his veins as he had expected it would. He had spent better than half his life preparing for just this moment and he found that victory, while sweet, was also somewhat sad. He only had one brother; now he had none.
But he had Josephine. She filled his mind like an all-enveloping fragrance; sweet, overwhelming, and powerful. As his thoughts shifted to her, he turned unsteadily in her direction and his gaze devoured her to the very bone. Suddenly, he felt very weak and drained, and couldn’t call to her because of the lump in his throat. She was safe, and he was free of his obsession. He had to hold her. But somehow, he couldn’t seem to move.
Josephine saw his expression when he looked at her and her face crumbled, with tears flowing and great sobs releasing. Andrew tried once again to reach and comfort her, but his legs were not working properly, and he plunged to his knees after a mere few steps. But Josephine closed the gap rapidly, reaching out her arms as she ached to hold him. She wanted to take his pain away, and to tell him how much she loved him, and how they would never again be apart. But instead of words, she could only cry.
Josephine and Andrew came together in a climactic clash. She wound her arms around his head as he buried his face in her soft torso, inhaling deeply of her familiar scent. She cried into the top of his head and he held her so tightly that he thought he might crush her, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was his, now and forever, and nothing in heaven and earth would ever separate them again.
His blood stained the white surcote a bright crimson, his blood all over the gown his brother had forced her to wear. It seemed like an eternity as they held each other, knowing that everything was finally right in the world again. They had come so close to losing one another that it was hard to believe they were together again, no longer in mortal danger. Andrew half-expected at any moment to awake from a dream.
The four men that had come with Andrew now stood together, watching the emotional reunion. They didn’t dare look at one another for fear the others might see tears in their eyes. Donald wasn’t ashamed about wiping his away as Sully put a comforting hand on the young man’s head. It was a touching scene they had all hoped to witness but had doubts that they truly would. After watching the two lovers for several moments, Sully finally spoke.
“We must tend Andrew’s wound before he bleeds all over the floor,” he said quietly.
Ridge cocked a black eyebrow. “We may have to surgically separate them to accomplish that task.”
Sully grinned. “Mayhap,” he said. “I will take her; you three tend to Andrew.”
“True to form, Sully,” Donald quipped. “Taking the easier of the two.”
Sully snorted, without humor. “Is that what you think? Then you take her and remember that remark as she’s kicking your groin in. She will not be happy to be separated from him in the least.”
The three men looked at him. “We’ll take Andrew,” they agreed wholly in unison.
Sully grinned at their reply, but he made no move to carry out his plan. He’s attention turned back to the couple. It seemed like a sin to disturb such a touching scene.
“Well?” Donald finally said. “Lead on, my lord.”
Sully waved his hand at him. “In time, in time,” he said. “They have waited a long time for this moment. Allow them just a little longer before we go in and break it up.”
A hush settled over the hall, with most people turning to leave now that the show was over. It was eerily still and completely dark, except for the soft glow from the distant banks of candles. A peace filled the room as the knight and his lady clutched each other, the spoils to the victor.
But Andrew was growing weaker and paler, and Sully decided the time had come to separate his sister-in-law from her fiancé and tend the man’s considerable wounds. But as he and the others moved towards the pair, something horrific happened.
As if from a child’s nightmare, a horror straight from the mouth of Lucifer, Alphonse twitched violently and rolled to his knees, bleeding entrails down his legs. His ghostly white face was twisted grotesquely and his huge, icy hands extended towards Josephine and Andrew. He moaned, and unearthly sounds that should have been coming from a hellish demon rather than a man echoed in the chapel. Those still left in the chapel froze in horror at the sight of the dead returning.
Josephine saw him first. Startled by the sight, she screamed at the top of her lungs, a cry of absolute terror. Andrew, jolted by her screaming, turned to see something he could hardly believe. His brother, in fact, was still alive. Although Andrew was pitifully weak, he drew on an inner strength, a strength he never knew he possessed, and struggled to his feet as fast as his damaged body would allow.
All the while, his mind was screaming to protect Josephine, to get her out of harm’s way. Yet only when he reached his feet did he remember he had left his sword embedded in his brother’s torso. And it was still there.
Alphonse was moving amazingly well for a dead man. There was only time for Andrew to push a screaming Josephine behind him before the earl was upon him, his hands clutching at him with deadly intentions.
Andrew braced himself for the fight, preparing to sacrifice his remaining energy to protect his lady. He prayed to God that he would have the strength to do battle just one more time, so he raised his good arm to ward off the initial blow, but it was a blow that never came.
There was a hollow thump and, suddenly, the hilt of a dirk was protruding from the earl’s throat. Blood streamed down onto his already soaked tunic and his black eyes opened wide in surprise. For several moments, Alphonse tottered dangerously before finally toppling over onto the stone, never to rise again. The Earl of Annan and Blackbank was dead, this time, for good.
Josephine, clutching Andrew about his torso, stared down at the dead earl as her breathing came in ragged gasps. She could see the dirk protruding from the man’s throat, but she had no idea who had thrown it. It was too amazing to believe that it had been anything less than divine intervention, but she and Andrew turned in the direction from whence the dirk had come.
Ridge de Reyne stood several feet away, his right hand still slightly extended from where it had been the moment he had released the dirk. When he saw that Andrew and Josephine were looking at him, shock on their faces, he gave them a victorious wink.
“I do believe I have fulfilled my vow to you, my lady,” he said quietly. “But please, do not hesitate to call on me again should the need arise.”
Josephine shook her head in wonder. “And I extend the same offer to you,” she replied softly. “You have more than fulfilled your vow, Ridge. I feel as if, now, I owe you.”
“Friends do not owe each other. There is simple joy in doing. Now, Lord Blackbank,” he addressed Andrew by his new title for the first time, “the time has come that we must tend your wound.”
Andrew gazed down at his left arm and shoulder; the mail was covered with red stain. He blinked, seemingly dazed, as if he was seeing the wound for the first time. Sully and Ridge moved to help him, but he put up his right hand to stop them.
“Nay,” he said. “We are not leaving as of yet.” He began to look around the chapel as if searching for something. “Where is the priest?”
Ridge marched a few steps into the center of the room. “Priest!” he bellowed.
Sully and Donald and Thane fleetingly wondered what in the hell Andrew wanted with the priest. Last rights? They thought. No one seemed to be sure but, soon enough, the fat little priest with the dirty robes emerged from a small alcove behind the altar. His eyes darted about nervously, appalled at the destruction of the chapel. When Andrew saw the man, the same one he’d given the coins to, he grabbed Josephine’s hand and stumbled towards him.
“I am now the Earl of Annan and Blackbank,” he said wearily. “You will marry my lady and me.”
The priest looked uncertain at first, but with a whole host of heavily-armed knights standing about, he nodded in agreement. The whole situation was most confusing, but he would do as he was told. As he headed for the front of the altar, Josephine suddenly turned to Sully.
“The dungeons are in the gatehouse and there is a cell at the bottom of the stairs with a woman in it,” she said quickly. “Bring her here. Hurry, Sully – bring her now!”
She sounded almost panicked and Sully wasn’t willing to question her, not when she had that look in her eye. He took off at a dead run as Josephine turned to Andrew, catching a look of confusion in his eyes. She smiled.
“I did not think you wished to be married without her,” she murmured.
He had no idea what she was talking about. “Without who?”
“When you see her, you will know.”
Andrew was too weak, too injured, to realize what she was meant. He should have realized it, but he simply couldn’t. His mind wasn’t working very well at the moment, from fatigue and loss of blood. As Josephine put her arm around his torso, holding the man tightly, Ridge, Donald, and Thane gathered around the couple. Although Josephine wanted to wait for Sully to return, Andrew was weaving dangerously and she didn’t think he’d be able to wait too much longer, so she asked the priest to go ahead with the mass.
With Alphonse lying dead several feet away, the man made the sign of the cross and began the wedding mass for the second time that day.
The service was in Latin. The last time Josephine had heard Latin was the day her father was buried. Somehow, she always associated the language with death. But this was her wedding, an event she had waited a lifetime for. She listened, trying to understand what the priest was saying as she clung to Andrew’s good arm.
He seemed to be growing weaker by the moment and she was desperately worried for him. She knew she should have insisted that he have his wound tended to immediately, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. It was stupid and she knew it, but he seemed so urgent to marry her now, this very second, that she couldn’t delay any longer. With everything they had been through, she understood urgency. She, too, felt the same urgency.
Halfway through the mass, Andrew’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor. Thane and Ridge, nearest to him, rushed to his aid but he angrily waved them off.
“Continue!” he boomed to the priest.
The priest, poor man, nervously and quickly finished the mass, ending with the benediction prayer. He was so glad to be done with this ceremony, with his frayed emotions. This entire event had been an absolute nightmare, one he was more than happy to forget, and the fact that the five knights who had told him they were friends of the earl turned out to be men with a vendetta against him, well… that was quite a tale. Not that he had any great love for Alphonse d’Vant; no one did. Now that the wicked earl was gone, perhaps the village would know joy and prosperity again in an unexpected twist of fate. One could hope, anyway.
With a sigh of relief, he smiled weakly at the newly married couple.
“Lord Blackbank, you may kiss your bride,” he said.
Andrew unsteadily rose to his feet. He would not kiss his new wife on his knees but, God help him, he was so weak he could hardly stand. For the first time that day, his focus was where it should be – completely and utterly on Josephine’s lovely face.
He cupped her face with his good hand, drinking in the features he loved so much and had fought so hard for. She was finally and legally his wife, and he was nearly delirious with joy and fatigue.
Josephine gazed back at him, loving him so much she was sure her heart would burst from the sheer joy of it. They were husband and wife now, and the name Lady d’Vant was music to her ears. As his head dipped low, she caught a glimpse of a sly smile on his lips before they closed over her mouth in the sweetest expression of love she had ever experienced. It was a kiss of unconditional love, of surrender, and of loyalty. They were all to each other, and would be until the end of time.
Never again would they be apart.
It was dark but for the glow of candles as the newly married couple slowly made their way from the chapel. The priests were taking charge of Alphonse’s body, which was a good thing considering Andrew didn’t care in the least. The man could remain there to rot for all he cared. With Thane applying pressure to his wounded shoulder to shore up what bleeding there was, Ridge and Josephine were helping the man walk as Donald brought up the rear. Just as they were emerging from the church, they could see Sully approaching from the direction of the gatehouse.
He was carrying something in his arms. Since it was growing dark, they couldn’t really see what it was, but Josephine knew. She left Andrew’s side to rush out to Sully, helping him with the bundle. Sully set the bundle to its feet and it was suddenly clear that it was a child or a very tiny adult. Sully had hold of one side of the person as Josephine had the other, and they slowly made their way towards Andrew.
In fact, that was when Andrew began to take notice. The more he watched, the more suspicious he became and, abruptly, he came off the steps of the church and headed for the approaching figure as if nothing was wrong with him in the least. He was moving with surprising strength.
Ridge and Thane and Donald tried to keep up with him, in case he collapsed again, but he didn’t seem to need their support. But the moment Andrew gazed at the face of the tiny figure between Sully and Josephine, he began to waver. In fact, he staggered, the suspicion on his face turning into utter astonishment.
The man was in shock.
“Mother?” he whispered. “My God… Mother?”
Lady Elaine looked up at her tall, mighty son, her ghostly-pale face illuminated in the light torches that were in iron sconces on the steps of the chapel. For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then, a smile spread across her face, lit with the joy of a thousand happy memories.
“You have grown since I last saw you,” she murmured.
Andrew could hardly believe it. He tried to move towards her, to embrace her, but his legs wouldn’t work correctly. He fell to his knees again and Elaine, who had hardly been able to walk herself, rushed up to him, putting her arms around her boy. As Josephine stood back with tears in her eyes, Andrew buried his face in his mother’s cold, poorly-dressed torso and wept.
It was more than he could take, more than he had ever hoped for. Everything he’d dreamed of, the longing he’d felt all of these years, vanished in those few brief seconds when his mother held him in her arms and, for just a few moments, he was a child again. A child who had terribly missed his mother.
“Mother,” he whispered. “My God… my sweet mother… I did not know if you would still be alive.”
Elaine held him tightly, feeling the warmth and strength of her youngest son in her arms once more. She was shockingly composed as Andrew came apart.
“I could not go without seeing you again,” she said in a tone that all mothers use when comforting a child. “Somehow, I knew you would still be alive. From the moment you were born, you were a strong and beautiful baby, and I knew you were destined for great things. Your brother tried everything he could to rob you of your life, but you were too strong for him. Your light, your goodness, was too strong for his darkness. You are my angel of righteousness and justice, Andrew. I could never leave this earth without seeing you again.”
Andrew pulled his face from the folds of her dirty garment, gazing at her with such love and delight that there wasn’t a dry eye in anyone witnessing the reunion. It was so very sweet, and so very touching.
“I am so sorry I did not come sooner, Mamma,” he said, his big hand reaching up to touch her face as if to convince himself that she was real. “I wanted to be able to defeat Alphonse, not simply damage him. I wanted to be able to punish him for what he’d done to you. Please forgive me for not coming sooner.”
Elaine cupped his face with her tiny, cold hands. “You came when it was right that you should,” she said, seeing his tremendous guilt. “I am still here. We are together again. There is nothing more to worry over.”
To Andrew, it was as if she’d never left him. He felt like he did when he was a child, and his mother was always there to encourage and reassure him. The joy he thought he’d lost when he was separated from her returned full-force, and he stood up and embraced his mother as tightly as he dared. She was alive.
She was here.
He could hardly believe it.
But as he held his mother, he caught sight of Josephine standing a few feet away, wiping the tears from her eyes. It was such a beautiful reunion and he was so very glad she was a part of it. In fact, she had instigated it. When he reached out a hand to her, Josephine came to him and he pulled her into their embrace, holding the two women he loved best in this world.
For him, this night had brought his life full circle – married to the woman he loved, and his mother returned to him. From this point forward, his life was going to be a grand and satisfying thing, indeed. If one believed in things like karma or fate, the ballad of The Red Fury was a tale of all things great and powerful – a tale of good over evil, of wrongs that were righted, and of love everlasting.
In the years to come, as men would sing great songs of battle, of the mercenary who had killed his wicked brother in order to save the women he loved, there were those who wondered if such tales were really true, for certain, men like The Red Fury became more legend than truth over the centuries. Myth and fact often became twisted, combined to create stories of valor for men to bring them hope and courage.
Men like The Red Fury embodied hope and courage.
Passing into legend, their legacies would live on.