Love Everlasting (33 page)

“I had to see for myself,” she said, stepping
to the nearest crenel.

“Get down!” William grabbed her arm and
pulled her away from the opening. “It won’t be long before they
reach the inner bailey. You must return to the keep while you still
can. Don’t give Kenric the advantage of capturing you. If you fall
into his hands, he will use you against Royce.”

“I do understand, and I’ll go in just a
moment.” She leaned her head against the stone and peered down at
the battering ram that sat beside the road just across from the
gatehouse. “William, I want you to know how grateful I am for the
fine defense you’ve mounted.”

“It’s no more than my duty.” William turned
away for a moment and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “If
you want to see Kenric, look through the next crenel to your left.
But in the name of heaven, be careful.”

Julianna moved to the crenel that William
indicated. Kenric was standing close to the battering ram,
broadsword in his hand, his tense posture clearly indicating his
personal eagerness to storm through the gatehouse to the bailey.
Once he was inside the castle walls, one of his first acts would be
to seek her out and punish her for betraying him and for
interfering with his schemes. At that thought a thrill of fear
stabbed through Julianna and for a heartbeat or two her hand rested
over her slightly rounded abdomen.

“Go now,” William commanded her. “Don’t make
me take a man away from the walls to carry you to the keep.”

Julianna delayed just a few moments more,
sending a last, sad glance toward the remains of Wortham village
and the wide farmlands surrounding it. Everywhere she looked she
saw devastation and she blamed herself for bringing the horrors of
warfare and starvation to people who did not deserve such a fate.
Were it not for Royce’s child nestled deep within her body, she
would have offered herself to Kenric’s vengeance in order save
Wortham and its people, even as she doubted that such a sacrifice
would stop Kenric or the other besiegers. They were bent upon total
destruction, and they wouldn’t stop until Wortham was leveled.

“All that might have been, now will never
be,” she whispered, turning to leave.

“You don’t know that,” William declared with
all the stout-hearted confidence she had learned to value in him.
“We may yet come out of this with whole skins.”

Julianna couldn’t speak. She swallowed hard
against the sob that would have burst from her throat. William
turned back to give an order to one of the men-at-arms and Julianna
headed for the stairs.

Her foot was reaching toward the first step
down from the walkway when a sudden, icy-hot pain lanced through
her left arm. When she looked in bewilderment at the spot she saw
an arrow protruding just below her shoulder. She staggered and
would have fallen to the bailey below if Baldwin had not caught her
on his way up the steps.

“My lady!” Baldwin shouted.

“What the devil?” William lunged toward her,
dragging her back to the walkway and into the protection of the
wall.

“I was coming to find her when I saw the
arrow strike her,” Baldwin said. “A lucky flight for the archer,
and a fortunate escape for you, my lady. That random shot could
have killed you.”

“Now will you listen to my warnings and get
into the keep?” William shouted at her.

“Don’t be angry,” she said very calmly.
“Baldwin will escort me to safety.”

“See that she stays in the keep,” William
said to Baldwin.

Oddly, Julianna was experiencing no pain,
just a growing chill that extended from her wounded shoulder and
arm to her throat and her heart. She remained on her feet, but
never had the stairs seemed so high and steep, never before were
they so treacherously narrow. With no handrail to grasp she clung
to the wall, while Baldwin stayed between her and a fall that would
have ended on the stones of the bailey so far - so very, very far -
below.

“I can easily carry you,” Baldwin
offered.

“No.” With a prayer that her knees would not
buckle at her weight, Julianna placed a foot on the next step down.
“I must return to the keep on my own two feet, else everyone there
will take fright.”

“You are the one who ought to take fright,”
Baldwin grumbled. “Don’t you know how important you are to all of
us?” He glanced backward at the sound of a loud crash from the
direction of the outer bailey, which was followed immediately by
cheering that surely signaled the entrance of the besiegers.

Julianna did not look toward the noise. She
was saving what strength she had left, concentrating on staying
upright. She knew that Baldwin was restraining his usual quick gait
to match her slow steps until they had crossed the bailey and
reached the stairs that led up to the keep door.

Julianna looked at that staircase, knowing
she’d never get to the top without help.

“If you will allow me to lean upon your arm,
Sir Baldwin,” she said, “I will be most grateful.”

“It’s about time,” he muttered. “You
shouldn’t refuse help when it’s offered.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Don’t men refuse help
all the time?”

She knew Baldwin must have noticed how badly
she was trembling. He did not ask permission before he put an arm
around her waist so he could support her as they slowly climbed the
steps. Above them the door was flung wide.

“Etta,” Julianna said as she stumbled through
the entry, “I told you to wait for my signal before opening the
door.”

“That was before Sir Baldwin went out after
you,” Etta responded.

“Bar the door now,” Julianna ordered, not
bothering to dispute with the maid. She needed all of her waning
strength to stay on her feet.

Those in the great hall gasped and murmured
in dismay at the sight of their lady with an arrow protruding from
her shoulder.

“Oh, Julianna!” Alice rushed forward. “Oh,
you poor thing. Baldwin, carry her to the lord’s chamber at
once.”

“No.” Julianna was swaying with ever
increasing giddiness, but she put out a hand to stop Alice’s
well-meaning advance. “Baldwin, you are the experienced warrior
here. Pluck out the arrow right here, in the hall, where all can
see that I am still alive and awake.”

“Please, no, my lady,” Baldwin began. He
frowned, shook his head, and backed away a step or two. “It’s not
my place to handle you as roughly as that.”

“Do it now,” Julianna demanded. “Do it
quickly and be done with it.”

“As you wish, then,” Baldwin said,
capitulating to her superior rank and her determination. “Etta,
bring a pitcher of unwatered wine and a roll of clean linen. Lady
Alice, where’s the sharp knife you’ve been using to cut away cloth
from around wounds?”

Within a few moments Julianna, who was by now
extremely dizzy and who knew she was no longer entirely coherent in
either thought or words, felt herself being pushed down onto one of
the trestle tables. Alice took one of her hands and Etta grasped
the other. Julianna knew what would happen next; for weeks she’d
been doing the same job that Baldwin must now perform upon her, the
unpleasant but necessary task of pulling arrows out of punctured
flesh. She set her jaw and waited for the pain she knew would come
before the wound could be cleaned and bandaged.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Baldwin said.

With one big hand he held Julianna’s injured
shoulder down on the table, keeping it there securely. She saw his
grim face above her and noticed the quick movement of his other
hand as he grasped the shaft of the arrow and pulled.

In a swirl of blackness Julianna’s senses
left her. When she opened her eyes again she saw that the left
sleeve of her gown had been cut away and a weeping, sniffling Alice
was bathing her shoulder with wine. Etta stood nearby with a linen
bandage ready.

“Drink some of this,” Baldwin said as soon as
the women were finished with her. He lifted her head and offered a
cup of wine. Julianna drank, then choked and sputtered while
Baldwin watched her with satisfaction lighting his harsh features.
“It’s unwatered. It’s as good for washing out your stomach as your
wound. I have a basin ready, if you need it.”

“I am not going to be sick,” Julianna said,
swallowing hard. “Thank you, Baldwin. Now, help me to stand.”

“I’ll carry you to your room,” Baldwin
said.

“I will walk there on my own two feet and
thus show everyone here that I am not badly wounded,” she
declared.

“You are as stubborn as Lord Royce. And as
courageous.” Shaking his head, Baldwin helped her off the trestle
table and waited until she had steadied herself. He stayed close
beside her, one hand extended to catch her if she should fall,
while Julianna slowly walked around the hall, speaking to the
frightened people of castle and village.

This, she knew, was what Royce would do if he
were similarly wounded. Then he, being a man, would no doubt return
at once to his duty of directing the defense from the battlements.
Julianna knew she wasn’t strong enough to climb again up the steps
to the top of the wall. In any case, William was in charge of
defending the castle in Royce’s absence, and he had done a fine job
of it so far. Julianna’s duty was to hearten the folk who were
barricaded within the keep. She paused in the middle of the great
hall and raised her good right arm. A respectful silence fell
almost immediately.

“You see me wounded, but alive and
undefeated,” she said, proud that her voice sounded surprisingly
strong and clear with only the slightest tremor in it. “We will not
submit to traitors! We will continue to fight!” She said much more,
though later she could not recall exactly what she had said. It was
enough that everyone in the hall shouted hearty agreement with
her.

Then the cook sent out kettles of soup for
the midday meal. It was thin soup, made from the third rendering of
the bones of the very last chicken, flavored mostly with dried
herbs and with a few turnips and onions added. But it was hot, and
Julianna drank her cup gratefully. She ignored the growling sounds
by which her stomach demanded more substantive food.

Only when the brief meal was ended did she
accept Baldwin’s repeated offer of assistance to climb the stairs
to the lord’s chamber and to the blessed privacy of her bed. She
refused the cup of wine Alice brought to her, certain that Alice
had laced it with herbs or poppy syrup to make her sleep. She slept
all the same, in spite of the ache in her wounded shoulder, and she
did not waken until repeated blasts of a trumpet roused her.

The days grew longer in early May. Even so,
the shadows were lengthening by the time the sand finally ran out
in Michael’s hourglass.

“Now,” Royce said to Brian, and the squire
promptly lifted the trumpet to his lips and blew several long
notes. Before the sound ended Royce was spurring his horse toward
the castle gates, leading the charge to regain his own home.

He took advantage of the temporary bridge
over the moat, deftly guiding his mount to avoid the deserted
battering ram. As he rode through the gatehouse and into the outer
bailey, he saw at once that the inner gate stood open. Without
slowing he galloped through the second gatehouse to the inner
bailey, where the light was all but gone. There, on the ground or
up on the walkway around the walls, men were engaged in
hand-to-hand combat by torchlight. In such close quarters archers
were useless, so it was broadswords and knives and battle axes and,
occasionally, mailed fists on chins or heads butting into
stomachs.

Royce rode straight to the keep steps, laying
about him with his sword as he progressed, making combatants move
aside to let his horse pass. Up on the small porch at the top of
the staircase he saw a huge man in leather armor, who was
repeatedly ramming his shoulder against the keep door. With a wild
yell, Royce leapt from his horse, landing halfway up the steps and
then knocking to the ground anyone who stood in his way. His mind
was all aflame with the knowledge that Julianna was somewhere
within the keep, in danger of her very life.

The man at the top of the steps met him with
a snarl. One slash of Royce’s sword sent him off the landing,
clearing it of enemies. Then Royce placed his back against the keep
door and fought off anyone who dared to advance up the steps.
Michael soon joined him, fighting with surprising zest and
strength, considering his old injuries. A few steps below Michael,
Brian employed his short squire’s sword with equal vigor.

As the first red haze of battle fury began to
clear Royce noticed Cadwallon leading his men through the inner
gate on foot, having gained the bailey by way of the breach in the
castle wall. Arden stood on the battlements pounding William on the
back and grinning, while Braedon’s squire waved Royce’s red and
gold banner for all to see and Braedon shouted for the erstwhile
besiegers to surrender or die.

The men who were trying to fight their way up
the keep steps paused and then retreated. When they reached the
bailey, Cadwallon’s people quickly disarmed them. All over the
bailey and the walls, knights and men-at-arms were laying down
their swords.

All except one. Kenric stepped out of the
crowd with his broadsword still in his hand, his scowling face
dirty beneath his helm, his chainmail stained with blood. His
appearance was so fierce that those near him moved away until
Kenric stood alone in the center of a small open space.

“Well now, Royce,” Kenric shouted, “have you
come to defend your traitorous wife?”

“Julianna is an honest woman,” Royce declared
in a loud voice. “You are the traitor, Kenric.”

“Can you prove that claim?” Kenric laughed, a
false, forced sound, and Royce understood that he felt cornered, as
a hunted animal is cornered by hounds and armed hunters. Being
Kenric, he wasn’t going to give up; being cornered, he was going to
fight to the death.