Carolyne Cathey (41 page)

 An army of
knights galloped in force, pennant held high.  A cross pulsed white-hot against
the night.  White.  Black.  A black helm shrouded the lead knight's face, but
not his savage power.  Masterful, magnificent, sword raised, Kyle galloped
toward her astride Valiant.

Hope exploded in
her breast and battled her fear, but when she gasped to call out his name,
smoke closed off her lungs.  She couldn't breathe!  The burning blaze became
her world and the heat became unbearable.  Smoke burned her nostrils, her eyes,
her lungs.  As dizziness weakened her body, she sagged against the ropes and
curled her stinging fingers into her palms, hating that she couldn't protect
the life so newly formed inside her womb, the life she already loved and would
give all to protect from the burning pain.  Nay, not their child!  A scream of
agony abused her throat.

Then Kyle loomed
in the fire.  He rode Valiant through the flames, scattering the brush.  He
swung his sword!  His blade hit the post by her feet and the bindings loosened
from around her ankles.  She twisted against the lash at her waist to escape
the flames and the heat, fighting the approaching blackness that threatened to
draw her into oblivion.  Then fire burst to life on the hem of her surcote and
she couldn't inhale breath enough to scream.

Kyle rode again
through the fire, scattering more brush.  He hacked the post and the rope
released from her torso.  As she sank into the flames, he grasped her arm and
lifted her from hell.  Kyle swung her in front of him atop his lap, slapping
his gauntlet-covered hand on the smoldering hem of her surcote as he urged
Valiant away from the blaze.  Then as if frantic, he jerked off his helm and
buried his face in her hair, which was surely singed and reeked of smoke.

"Dear God,
Eleanor.  Oh, dear God." 

She collapsed,
trembling against his body as she gasped for air, coughing from smoke-filled
lungs. 

Kyle’s power
surrounded her like a protective cloak.  With fumbling fingers he hurriedly
worked the tip of his dagger against her bindings, made more difficult by
Valiant's nervous sidesteps amidst the mounted knights who battled all around
them, kill or be killed, black against white.  She struggled to tell him to not
concern himself about her, to take care of his own his life, but all that
emerged from her throat was a raspy groan.  Then the rope fell free and blood
burst through her veins and increased the pain in her swollen fingers. 

His hand quivered
when he lightly touched her tight face.  She flinched with pain, for her flesh
felt as though she had baked hours in the sun.  Needing to see him, to make
certain he existed and she didn't merely dream, she lifted her gaze to his. 

Unshed tears
glimmered in his eyes.  "Eleanor, when I saw that blaze, a fear erupted
inside me I could scarce control and I knew I'd go mad if I lost you.  Ah,
love, how badly are you burned?"

Overwhelmed that
she sat within his embrace, she took a strained breath to answer, but a cough
tore at her throat.

Kyle shuddered,
and she felt the rage that surged through his body.  A muscle twitched in his
clenched jaw.  Hatred flared in his eyes as hot as the flames that had sought
her life.

"I vow to
you, Eleanor, before this night is over, Brigham will burn in the eternal fires
of hell."

A white knight
rode toward Kyle's unprotected back.

Panic slammed
into Eleanor's breast.  "Kyle!  Behind you!"  Her warning sounded so
deep and husky that she feared he hadn't heard.

Kyle reached
across her and drew his sword as he spun, then slashed.  The jolt from the blow
showed how savage his power, how incredible his strength.  A knight tumbled
onto the ground, blood spreading a dark stain over his white robe.

Her heart leapt
into a terrified beat as another dragon-knight loomed to their side with his
weapon raised, and then another, surrounding them.  She tensed for the
deathblow.  Kyle wrenched against her as he swung his sword, all muscle and
brute force.  Metal clanged, one attacker groaned, then thumped to the ground. 
Kyle twisted again and she heard a whack, a scream, a thud.

Valiant
sidestepped and Eleanor tightened her throbbing fingers on his mane.  Kyle
jerked his steed's head and spurred him to the edge of the green beside the
cottages.  He handed her to Rupert who knelt in a passing wagon crammed with
sobbing peasants, a silhouette against the wall of fire that blazed where a
village once stood.

"Take care
of her, Rupert.  Get her to safety."

"Aye, milord."

Rupert lowered
her between two wailing women.  Eleanor clutched Kyle's gauntlet-covered hand
with her stiff fingers, refusing her savior's release, absorbing the
magnificence of his power as he urged Valiant alongside the wagon.  "Kyle,
Brigham intends to kill you and take the castle.  Lord Hanley's troops will
join in the fight."  Her throat burned as punishment for her effort.

He nodded, his
expression a mixture of concern for her and controlled fury.

"Kyle, what
of the king?"

"He sides
against me."

She heard the
hurt and betrayal in his voice, and she ached with him. 

"Eleanor, I
left Lord Alex in charge of the keep's defense.  Ready the oil.  Lower the
portcullis.  I'll hold the enemy back as long as I can.  As soon as you're
safe, we'll follow to fight from behind the wall.  But, make haste.  We're
outnumbered." 

"And lock
you out?"

"Satan’s
curse, Eleanor.  For once, obey!  Nay, ‘tis not your obedience I require.  I
need your trust.  I need you to help save my people."

The reminder of
her past disobedience, of her incessant interference, of the disastrous
results, stirred her guilt.  "I will do as you ask, Lord Kyle.  I
promise."  She couldn't let go, not yet, although she knew he could pull
free from her swollen hands with ease.  The fact that he didn't, but kept
Valiant in pace with the wagon, revealed he loathed the parting as much as
she. 

He leaned down
and blessed her palm with a kiss, then her hand slipped from his as he reined
Valiant to a halt. 

As the wagon bore
her away, Kyle pressed his gloved fist over his heart in a gesture as desperate
as his gaze.  "Eleanor, should death separate us, I want you to know.  I
feel a love for you that reaches beyond this mortal realm."

Before she could
respond past the burst of emotion that clogged her throat, he pulled on his
helm, spun Valiant toward the conflict and raised high his sword. 
"
Mort au dragon
!"

Then he spurred
his destrier into a gallop toward the battle, the image of revenge.

Death to the
dragon
.  His battle cry.  She swallowed a sob as she gripped the side of
the wagon, the wood harsh and rough against her sensitive flesh, the separation
harsh and rough against her sensitive heart.  Evil threatened to swallow them
for eternity. 

Lightning
shredded the sky, white on black.  Thunder shattered the air.  Black clouds
scarred the white moon. 

Wind blasted
Eleanor's face and whipped her hair, swirling the chaff into her eyes.  Fiery
thatch floated in the gale, strewing the holocaust to the winter food crop. 
Flaming patches glowed like scattered campfires amidst the grain.  Disaster
traveled across the field as fast as the storm clouds across the sky.  The
barley would catch next, then the rye.  Even if she and the others survived the
war, they would starve during the winter.

The battle spread
toward the keep like the flames that devoured their crops.  Eleanor scanned the
blur of black and white for Kyle.  Bodies lay scattered upon the ground.  Metal
rang against metal.  Men shouted.  Oaths rivaled the thunder’s anger.

As the wagon
rattled across the wooden planks and through the gate, Eleanor saw that people
scurried about the moonlit bailey as if uncertain what to do.

She grasped
Rupert’s shoulders as he lifted her to the ground, wincing when her tender feet
bore the weight of her body.

He gestured
behind her.  "John, get Nurse.  Bring milady some ale." 

Then he plunged
into the melee of men that dragged hoes, scythes, pitchforks and other farm
implements from the wagon bed.

Eleanor turned
toward the gatehouse.  "Lower the..." The words stuck in her raw
throat.  How could she issue such an order?  But she had promised.  Eleanor
drew a breath into her tight lungs to force the tone of her voice over the
cries of hysteria. 

"Gatekeeper,
lower the portcullis.  'Tis an order from Lord Kyle." 

The words stabbed
as sharp as the pointed spikes of iron that separated her from the man she
loved.

Metal groaned. 
Chain rubbed the complaining gears. 

Rupert ran past
her for the gate along with a group of peasants, their farm-type weapons in
hand.

"Nay, come
back!"  Eleanor grappled for a lad’s arm, but he slipped from her swollen
hand and lunged for the ever-narrowing opening, scrambling with the other men
under the pointed spikes. 

The gate thudded
against the bridge.

Eleanor stared at
their retreating figures, horrified.  Proud.  To save Trystonwood, the
villagers intended to fight alongside their lord.  Their sickles and pitchforks
were lethal weapons, for certain, but the men hadn’t trained for war.  They
would be slaughtered. 

Fighting for composure,
she turned and saw Lord Alex, the knight who had questioned her about her
parentage as they had stood on the practice field.  He appeared frustrated as
he lectured to John, Jane, and some others of the castle who stood, weeping, in
a frightened cluster.

Eleanor moved
toward them.  "John, may I have some water?"

John’s head
jerked up.  "Milady!  Yer alive!"  Then he hurriedly set King Edward
on the ground and dashed into the shadows of the keep, the pup scampering
behind on an invisible leash of devotion.

Jane’s eyes
widened in amazement, then all became a blur in Eleanor’s threatening tears. 
She stumbled as bodies collided with hers and arms crushed her in embraces. 
She heard Nurse’s sobs and felt Peter’s gnarled hand against her face.  She heard
Mary crying and Anne shouting Eleanor’s name as if in joy.

Someone hugged
her from the back.  "Please, Ellie, fergive me horrid words when ye came
to me cottage.  I love ye."

Eleanor's throat
closed off her response.  She could scarcely believe she still lived, much less
received such attention.

A cold tankard
pressed against her palm.  "Here’s yer water." The burst of young
male sobs blended with the chattering.  

Eleanor knew she
should thank John for the drink, but instead she pressed the rim to her lips
and swallowed, the cool stinging liquid a balm to her hot throat. 

Young arms hugged
her legs as if John had dropped to his knees and clutched her, his body
trembling as much as hers as he wept.  "Milady, me and King Edward feared
ye were burnt."  A wet puppy tongue laved her muddied feet.

Overwhelmed by
everyone’s show of affection, Eleanor dashed the back of her hand over eyes to
clear her vision.  ‘Thank you all."  Then she knelt and enfolded John and
Edward against her chest, rocking them against her body.  "All will be
well, John.  We’ll win.  We’ll win."  Edward lapped at her wet cheeks, his
body all awag.

"You
dolts!"  Lord Alex’s shout rumbled along with the thunder.  "Don't
behave like dense sheep waiting to be slaughtered.  The enemy approaches."

With the verbal
yank back to reality, Eleanor stood and waited for him to draw near.  She saw
his disapproval as if he held her to blame for all the destruction, a blame
that matched hers. 

"Lord Kyle
left me in charge of the castle . . . uh . . ."   He paused as if at a
loss as to how to address her.

"Eleanor." 
She coughed, placing her hand over her tight chest to ease the ache.  "And
you speak true.  We must act."

He nodded. 
"But 'tis impossible to defend the keep without trained knights.  These
people are too stupid to defend their own lives much less be responsible for
mine."

Eleanor stiffened
with indignation.  "You mean, because they aren't of noble birth?"

His nostrils
flared, but he made no response.

Eleanor tousled
John's hair before handing him the tankard, then she turned to the people she
had grown to love like her own family, determined to do all within her power to
protect them from Brigham and Hanley. 

"Remember,
friends, we are persecuted but not defeated.  If we will fight with but a
portion of the courage of Lord Kyle, these brave knights, and the Trystonwood
men, we will defeat those Sons of Satan.  Now, John, find others and heat the
oil.  Peter, find someone to gather as many men as are within the walls and
have them fortify the battlements beside the boulders.  Anne, I put you in
charge of the scullery.  Make certain ale and food are available when the other
knights return.  Lucinda, you and Jane assist Nurse and prepare for the
wounded.  And of most import for all of you, pay heed to Lord Alexander.  He is
here out of honor to Lord Kyle and he risks his life to help us."

"Aye,
milady," rang in chorus, then they hurried away in their different
directions.

Beth curtsied,
her cheeks wet with tears.  "Tell me what I can do to assist,
milady."  Then Beth threw her arms around Eleanor and burst into wrenching
moans.  "Oh, milady.  I'm so afeared fer him."

Eleanor lifted
her hands to embrace Beth, but lowered them to her sides.  She knew for a
certainty Kyle loved her, not Beth, but even so, unwanted jealousy twisted
within her breast.  And yet, Eleanor had almost died with an unshriven soul,
and she knew she must first forgive others before she, in turn, would receive
forgiveness from above.  Unwilling to defy the commandment that ranked along
with murder, false witness and idolatry, especially when life held such a
tenuous hold, she placed her arms around Beth and hugged her in consolation. 
"'Twill be all right, Beth.  We'll all fight this together."