CHAPTER NINETEEN
They’d been waiting.
Artis and Dunsmore had been up before dawn, knowing that Troy was on the grounds, preparing to carry out their plan against the man.
As far as they knew, Rhoswyn still hated her Sassenach husband and nothing had changed to that regard. They hadn’t yet spoken with Rhoswyn about it, but that didn’t matter. It became less about helping Rhoswyn do away with her husband and more about Artis and Dunsmore and their original fear – the fear of Keith giving away his fortune to his half-Sassenach grandsons. In their minds, that was all it was about.
And they needed to take care of the problem.
So, they were up at dawn, arming themselves for their attack on the English knight. They had listened to the conversation between Keith and Troy the night before, tipped off by a servant that Troy had arrived and Keith was speaking with the man. They’d hovered in the entry of the tower, listening and watching, hearing some of the conversation between Keith and Troy, but not all of it. Troy had come to make amends with Rhoswyn and that was the last thing Artis and Dunsmore wanted.
They had to move.
Armed before sunrise with a halberd and a short sword, assuming it would be easy between the two of them to dispose of de Wolfe, they crept from the bedchamber they shared in the tower just as a storm let loose overhead. Thunder and rain pounded the old tower as they slipped down the dark stairwell, past Rhoswyn’s chamber with the door closed, wondering if she was awake yet. They had to get to her husband before she relented and had contact with him. But by the time they hit the entry to the keep, the could hear the shouting going on.
The Sassenach had other plans.
Standing in the doorway as the rain beat down, they could see Troy as he stood beneath Rhoswyn’s window. The man was without his armor and weapons, calling up to Rhoswyn. They could hear their cousin, too, as she responded. At first, it seemed as if they were arguing, something more about Rhoswyn trying to fight men she shouldn’t have been fighting and inserting herself into her husband’s business.
Artis and Dunsmore were pleased to hear the initial tone of the conversation, one of anger and hurt. In fact, it gave them confidence for what they were about to do. But very quickly, the tone of the conversation turned into something else. Troy was apologizing and, like a fool, Rhoswyn was falling for it.
So much for her not going back to her husband.
As the conversation progressed, Artis knew that he and his brother would have to act quickly. They would have to end this situation once and for all, before the Sassenach armed himself and before Rhoswyn agreed to return to him. Once that happened, their task would be considerably more difficult, and they were great opportunists. It had to be now or never.
They had to move.
Artis had the halberd, which was, in truth, a big ax with a very big blade. It was versatile and quite deadly. As Troy gazed up at Rhoswyn, clearly occupied by the woman, Artis hurled the weapon at Troy’s head. Over the rain and thunder, somehow, the English knight heard it coming – or saw a flash of the blade – because he suddenly dropped to the ground, but not fast enough. The weapon clipped him as he fell to the ground, sending the ax hurtling off in another direction as it ricocheted. As Artis ran to collect his weapon, Dunsmore ran to attack their victim.
Troy was dazed but he wasn’t senseless. The handle of the halberd had hit him in the forehead but he lay there for a moment, listening very carefully to what was coming next. He was under attack, and without his broadsword or his armor. So the best thing he could do was wait and listen to see what the enemy was going to do next. Lying on the ground was also the best way for him to make the smallest target. Therefore, he lay there, waiting, and in little time, he heard footsteps running in his direction.
He was ready.
The footfalls came very close and he quickly rolled into them, intending to trip his attacker, which he did quite ably. He rolled right into the man’s feet and tripped him up. He heard the man grunt as he fell over him, right into the mud. When he did, Troy leaped to his feet and pounced. Ripping the short sword from the man’s grip, he cut his enemy’s throat before he ever saw his face.
In truth, he didn’t care who the man was. All he knew was that the man was trying to kill him. Therefore, Dunsmore Kerr died with his face in the mud and blood pouring out of a gash in his neck that ran from one ear to the other, defeated by the Sassenach he had thought would make an easy kill.
Not so easy, after all.
But Troy didn’t know who the man was and he surely didn’t care. He didn’t recognize him as Rhoswyn’s cousin. He had a weapon now and as he turned, he saw Artis running in his direction with the halberd held high. It was a mistake; Troy went down to one knee and undercut Artis, slicing the man through the midsection, literally. When Artis didn’t fall fast enough, Troy stood up, dropped the sword, and used his hands to snap Artis’ neck. He, too, then fell to the mud next to his brother, his head twisted all the way around so that even though he’d fallen on his chest, his face was pointing up at the angry sky.
Two men dead in less than a minute.
Troy picked up the short sword and collected the halberd where it fell, feeling the rush of battle. He wasn’t surprised by the attack, to be honest, considering the reception he’d received when he’d arrived. But now he was sure there were more to come. Surely there weren’t only two men trying to kill him; surely the whole damnable clan was out for his blood. He lifted his weapons and bellowed to the entire complex.
“Are there more of you?” he shouted. “Come now and let me take a piece of you!”
His shouts reverberated off the stone and some of Keith’s men, who had risen at dawn to go about their chores, emerged from their sleeping areas. There were outbuildings as well as stables, and since space was at a premium, men slept anywhere they could. Now, they were emerging to see two dead bodies on the ground and an enraged English knight. Even for the Scots, it was a shocking sight.
An enraged Troy with weapons in his hands was the first thing Rhoswyn saw as she came flying out of the tower alongside her father. Troy was posturing for battle and blood pouring down the left side of his face, while two dead bodies lay at his feet. As she approached, she could see that the dead men were her cousins. But, much like Troy, she had no idea if there were more.
As enraged as Troy was, Rhoswyn was even more enraged. She couldn’t believe that her clansmen would attack her husband, unprovoked. In truth, she wasn’t even upset to see that her cousins had been killed; they had attacked Troy and he had every right to defend himself.
“Who else will move against me husband?” she shouted at the men who were emerging into the yard to see what the commotion was about. “If ye want him, ye’ll have tae come through me first! Who will be the bravest?”
As Troy and Rhoswyn were positioned for a fight, Keith’s reaction was markedly different. He was reeling with disbelief as he stood over Artis, looking at the destruction Troy had unleashed on the man. He was sickened at the sight; sickened for his brother and for a legacy that had been so instantly and brutally ended. As he stood there looking at Artis, and then Dunsmore, all he could do was shake his head.
He simply didn’t understand.
“What did they do?” he asked the painful question. “Why… why did they do this?”
Rhoswyn heard the question. She whirled to her father, her eyes flashing. “Because they hated him,” she hissed. “Look what they did tae him; they tried tae kill him! We all saw it!”
More men were emerging to see what had happened, including Audric. He’d been sleeping like a rock when shouting had awakened him. By the time he emerged from the sod house, it was to see Troy fending off two Scotsmen who were woefully underclassed against Troy’s knightly training. His first instinct had been to rush in and help Troy, also, and he’d even picked up a pitchfork that had been leaning against the stable wall. But Audric wasn’t a fool – as he’d told Troy in Jedburgh, he was better off being far away from a battle. He wouldn’t have been any good, but he would have tried, pitchfork and all. Thankfully, it seemed he wasn’t needed.
Still, a mood of shock and confusion was filling the air as everyone was trying to figure out what had really happened. Troy couldn’t let his guard down and Rhoswyn wouldn’t, and as they stood there, waiting for something more to come charging out at Troy, they all heard a groan coming from the direction of the tower.
It was Fergus. The man emerged into the muddy, rainy morning, his gaze on his dead sons. He groaned again when he realized that it was both sons on the ground, bleeding into the mud. He staggered over to Artis as Keith simply stood there, unable to help his brother. Fergus fell to his knees beside his oldest son, grabbing at the man, trying to pull him to his feet.
“Nay, nay,” he moaned. “What has happened? Who did this?”
Before Troy could answer, Rhoswyn did. “They tried tae kill me husband,” she said angrily. “Pa and I saw it. They threw an ax at his head and tried tae kill him. They’re dead because my husband had tae defend himself against them!”
Fergus stopped trying to pull at his son. He could see, clearly, that the man was dead, but the words spouted by Rhoswyn had him reeling. The man could hardly catch his breath.
“My God,” he gasped. “I can hardly believe… I canna believe they would do such a thing.”
Keith looked at his brother. “They did,” he said, sighing heavily. “They tried tae kill the man and he has the right tae defend himself. But why would they do it, Fergus? They never made mention of their hatred towards him. I never heard them mention a word about it.”
Fergus’ hands flew to his head as if in agony. “They did it because… they must have done it because they were afraid.”
Keith frowned. “Afraid of what?”
Fergus was sliding deeper and deeper into anguish. “Afraid of this marriage ye made without consultin’ the rest of us,” he said. “We discussed it on the day ye forced yer daughter intae this marriage and me sons were unhappy about it, but I never thought they’d act against him. I never thought…”
He trailed off and Keith’s brow furrowed, confused by what his brother was telling him. “Act against him?” he repeated. “What do ye mean?”
“I mean that ye should have consulted with all of us before ye married Rhosie to a Sassenach!”
Keith’s brow furrowed. “Twas not yer decision tae make.”
Now, Fergus was moving swiftly from shock to anger. “It ’twas!” he cried. “When ye married her tae an outlander, ye threatened everythin’ we have! Me lads had a right tae fight for it!”
Keith’s confusion was growing. “They have a right tae nothin’,” he hissed. “Everythin’ at Sibbald’s is mine tae do with as I please. They are not me sons – they have no right tae anythin’ unless I say they do!”
Fergus stood up, weaving unsteadily as he faced off against his brother. “Only by birth are ye our father’s heir,” he said, his voice quaking with emotion. “Ye have no sons, only a lass ye tried tae make intae a son. But she’s not a son. Dunna ye even know that? Because of her, everythin’ ye had would go tae me upon yer death, and from me it would go tae me sons. Sibbald and her fortune belongs tae us and they wanted tae protect it from the Sassenach who dinna deserve any of it!”
“I say who deserves it!”
“Me sons are dead because of ye!”
With that, Fergus suddenly lifted his hand and it was too late that Keith realized his brother had a dirk. All good Scotsmen had dirks, as part of what they wore on a daily basis. It was an unusual man who did not arm himself, even at home. But instead of lunging at Keith, in his madness, Fergus lunged in Rhoswyn’s direction.
It was an unexpected move, but Rhoswyn was fast and alert. She saw the flash of the blade and stumbled backwards to remove herself from his range, but as he brought his arm down, Troy intercepted him and grabbed him by the wrist.
Now, the fight was between Troy and Fergus.
The man had gone after Rhoswyn and Troy wouldn’t stand for any man attacking his wife. Surely, he should have killed him. But in his last flash of sanity before reaching out to snap the man’s neck, he saw the bodies of Fergus’ sons and, in that moment, he realized that one more death would be a waste. Fergus was mad with grief and Troy understood what it was to be mad over the death of a loved one. He understood it all too well. Therefore, in an uncharacteristic display of mercy, he simply disarmed Fergus and shoved him to the ground.
There had been enough killing already.
Keith ran to his brother to see to him, putting his hands on Fergus as the man burst into sobs. It was a horrific moment for all concerned and Troy took the dirk in his hand and tossed it, so far that it sailed to the far end of the bailey and even over the wall.
“Too many have died this morning already,” Troy said. “One more death will not help this situation. I killed in self-defense once, but I will not kill an old man who is out of his head with grief.”
Keith, on his knees next to his grieving brother, simply nodded his head. “For yer compassion, I thank ye,” he muttered.
Troy’s gaze lingered on the two brothers a moment. It seemed that they had their own troubles to settle between them. And in seeing Keith and Fergus, somehow Troy was reminded about his own brother, Scott, whom he’d not seen since Athena and Helene’s deaths. Much as he hoped to see his brother again and resolved any issues they may have had between them, he couldn’t deprive Keith and Fergus of the same. It was a bond of brotherhood he understood very well. But even stronger than his understanding of brotherhood was his understanding of the love of a good woman. He’d known that once, too, and it had been the strongest thing in the universe.
He turned to Rhoswyn.
She was standing a few feet behind him, her sad gaze moving from her father and her uncle to her husband. The expression on her face was something between hope and sorrow, appreciation and adoration. There were so many things mixed up on her lovely face and Troy pointed a finger at her.
“I told you that I could not stand to lose another wife,” he said firmly. Then, he lowered his hand and softened his stance. “Nor could I stand to see a brother lose a brother. Rhoswyn, I am coming to think that God has had a hand in bringing you into my life. I had a dream… mayhap someday I will tell you about all of it, but suffice it to say that I was told that I must move on. You were in the dream and you told me that I must come to you. I am here if you want me and for the rest of my life, I shall belong to you and only you. And I will adore you until the day I die.”
Rhoswyn went to him, standing so close to him that she was brushing against him, her chest to his chest, rain-wet clothing against rain-wet clothing. All of the poets in all the world could not have described the beauty and power of that moment. He was the Sassenach husband she never expected to have, but the man she could not live without. The future was theirs for the taking. Reaching up, she timidly touched his face.
“And ye have me heart, me faith, and me loyalty until the moment I take me last breath,” she said softly. “I canna promise that I will always be perfect, laddie, but I will always try tae be what ye need me tae be, for now and for always.”
Troy smiled, pulling her into his arms as the rain stopped falling and the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds. It was the promise of a new day, a new life, and a new love for them both. And somewhere in those bright rays of sunshine, Troy thought he saw a shadow with long blond hair, running amidst the brilliant green hills. He thought he heard laughter, too – Helene’s laughter with the joy that Troy was finally moving on with someone who was most worthy of him.
It was time.
Be joyful. And you must move on.
He had.