The Iron Knight (The De Russe Legacy Book 3) (37 page)

The massive weapon had seen many campaigns with its master, now once again called into service. Lucien called out to de Bretagne, who was still standing off to the side.

“Hold him there,” he said, indicating du Ponte. “I want him to see this.”

De Bretagne simply moved to du Ponte’s side to make sure the man didn’t move. Du Ponte leveled his weapon at de Bretagne, who simply slapped it away. Du Ponte wasn’t in any condition to fight anyone. Lucien, however, was and de Bretagne seriously wondered what the man was going to do.

He soon found out.

The Iron Knight began to go after every du Ponte man that wasn’t already down or killed. Those who were still on their feet were met with bone-crushing blows from a mountain of a man with his face and head covered in fabric, bearing no armor, fighting with a custom-made broadsword that was as tall as a woman. It wasn’t exactly a longsword, but more of a broadsword, heavy and sharp, that had been elongated and fortified. It was the weapon of a master swordsman.

Two, three men fell to the massive blade as Lucien plowed through a group of fighting men, pushing aside his own men and killing their opponents. The more he moved, the faster and more powerful he became. No man was a match for him as he felled more men, kicking aside the dead and the wounded, going after those who were still standing.

It was truly a sight to behold, this man whom Henry had relied on for so long, a man who knew how to fight better than most people knew how to breathe. Those skills, nearly silenced at Bramham, were making a powerful resurgence as Lucien gored men, slit throats, and then went in for the kill stroke once they were down. Man after man, fool after fool, fell beneath his powerful blade.

In truth, Lucien’s men had stopped fighting their opponents. They were simply herding them in Lucien’s direction and The Iron Knight made short work of them. It was as if two years of inactivity, and of depression and illness, were finally finding a release.
An ending.
Now, Lucien was a man again, able to bear a weapon again, and fighting for something more valuable to him than anything the king ever had to offer. He was fighting for his self-respect, which du Ponte had tried to take away from him. More than that, du Ponte had tried to take away the one thing that had given Lucien life again.

Sophina.

Aye, this was all for her as much as it was for him. Lucien could feel his confidence returning, the faith that he was still as good as he ever was no matter what had happened at Bramham. Truth was, he’d let himself believe that everything he was, everything he had ever achieved, had ended when that arrow had pierced his back. But that wasn’t the truth at all.

What that arrow took, time – and Sophina – had brought back.

It wasn’t the end at all, but the beginning.

It was a rebirth.

The very last du Ponte man tried to run but de Russe’s men trapped him and shoved him back in Lucien’s direction. The du Ponte soldier had a sword but it wasn’t any match for Lucien and, within three strokes, the man was dead on the ground, bleeding out. By this time, Colton and Sophina had emerged from the woods, watching Lucien tear through most of du Ponte’s legion. Those who weren’t already dead would have the honor of being put in their grave by the man known as The Iron Knight.

In truth, it had been gloriously impressive to watch. Lucien may have been in his fortieth year but he moved with the grace and agility and power of a man much younger. There was no age when it came to talent. Lucien’s talent, in fact, was ageless. The old wound, the Bramham wound, had hardly acted up at all. It was true that Lucien felt a little winded, but he also felt overwhelmingly satisfied and vindicated. When the last du Ponte man fell, he made sure the man was dead before turning to du Ponte.

There was something in his eyes that suggested complete and utter victory as he gazed at the man who had tried to destroy him. The smoky-brown eyes glittered with the reclamation he felt. Reaching up, he removed the scarf from around his head where it hadn’t already pulled away in the course of his fighting, revealing himself in full. Now, he wanted du Ponte to look into the face of the man who had bested him.

“Now,” he said, winded from his rampage. “You have watched your men fall to me. They fell like women, all of them, and you will be next. But before I end your life like I have done these others, I wanted you to know that you and everything you have ever stood for are finally at an end. You have gone on these years believing you were smarter than anyone else and more clever, but the truth is that you are a foolish whelp whose only connection to the nobility comes through your aunt. You are a worthless excuse of a man. And your gravest mistake was in demanding that I return Lady de Gournay. Your greed and arrogance will be the death of you.”

Du Ponte was verging on unconsciousness because of the blood loss. He was holding on to the hilt of the arrow protruding from his face, trying to take some of the pressure off. But the truth was that there was no relief to be had. He was about to die and he knew it, but he still couldn’t believe it. His proud heart refused to surrender so easily.

“Over a
woman
?” he asked, although he was barely understandable with the destruction of his upper palate and nasal cavity. “You did this over a woman?”

Lucien handed his sword over to de Bretagne before walking up to du Ponte, getting in the man’s face. Du Ponte was still holding his sword and Lucien grabbed it, tossing it far away into the grass beside the road. When du Ponte tried to turn in an attempt to go and reclaim it, Lucien grabbed him by the neck and forced the man to look at him.

“This is not just any woman,” he hissed into du Ponte’s fearful eyes. “This is the woman I love. She belongs to me, and no other, and your death and the deaths of your men are a direct result of you being foolish enough to try and take her away from me. No man will touch the woman I love and get away with it. Do you comprehend me?”

Du Ponte didn’t want to agree with him; he didn’t want to in the least, but his knees were growing weak. He was having a difficult time standing. He hoped that if he merely gave in and supplicated that it would be enough for de Russe. Men like him were foolish in their mercy. Perhaps de Russe would show him some of that mercy if he was contrite enough.

“Aye,” he muttered, spittle and blood dribbling. “I should have taken your offer.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “But you did not,” he replied. “Much is your misfortune. Let my eyes, full of hatred, be the last ones you ever see in this life. So goes the depth of my vengeance.”

Du Ponte realized there would be no mercy for him and his eyes widened, terror in their depths. He still couldn’t believe Lucien’s motivation for all of this and it was a question that bore repeating.

“Over a
woman
?”

Lucien had him by the neck. Reaching up, he grasped the hilt of the arrow and rammed it, full-force, up and back into du Ponte’s head, all the way through his brain until it hit the back of his skull. Du Ponte’s eyes were wide with shock and agony as he fell back to the dusty road, an arrow through his brain.

Lucien watched him fall, his entire body twitching with rage. Then, he bent over him, wondering if the man could still hear his voice.

God, he hoped so.

“Aye, you foolish bastard,” he hissed. “Over
my
woman.”

Du Ponte breathed his last.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Spelthorne Castle

Two Days Later

“H
ow does it
feel to be married again?”

It was after sunset and the great hall of Spelthorne was aglow with candles and torches, illuminating the cavernous room and the feast spread within it. De Bretagne asked the question and Lucien simply grinned in reply, but not just any grin. It was an ear-to-ear grin, as if everything joyful and wonderful was bubbling up from his soul, begging for release. He laughed softly, laughing even more when de Bretagne started to chuckle.

“To tell you the truth, I do not know,” Lucien said. “I have hardly seen my wife except for the ceremony today at St. John the Baptist because she had been running around like a madwoman in preparation for this wedding feast. Yesterday, it was planning out the meal as well as the wedding and today, it has been the wedding and managing the meal. I think I am going to have to capture her and carry her away to have any time alone with her.”

De Bretagne smirked. “You very well may have to,” he said, watching Lady de Russe over by the hearth, instructing a pair of servants. “The woman has eyes for everyone but you.”

Lucien couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “She simply wants everything to run smoothly,” he said. “She is the best chatelaine I have ever seen. But I have come to discover something.”

“What is that?”

“She is an exacting taskmaster and she scares me to death.”

De Bretagne snorted into his cup, turning away from Lucien as he was lured by some of his men over into a game of dice. Alone, Lucien kept his eyes on Sophina as he wandered casually in her direction. He was starting to think he needed to take his own advice and sweep her from this room because at the pace she was going, she wouldn’t run down until the sun came up. That was unacceptable for a man on his wedding night. But before he could reach her, he ended up face to face with Laurent.

Lucien had seen Laurent briefly upon his return after rescuing Sophina but they hadn’t been given much opportunity to talk about any number of pressing things between them, most obviously about what would become of his father. It wasn’t that Lucien had been avoiding him; it was more that he hadn’t been entirely sure what to say and he’d had a number of other things to attend to. But a long talk with Sophina the night before had helped him think clearly about the situation. He was coming to think that she was a great voice of reason and he valued her advice. Therefore, he was moderately prepared when faced with Laurent. Moreover, he had some good news for the man.

And his sister.

“You are looking well enough tonight, Laurent,” Lucien said evenly, looking the room over and spying Juno over at the far table with Emmaline, Aricia, and surprisingly, Susanna. “I realize I have been quite busy since you received your injury, but I was wondering if I might have a word with you and your sister. I must thank her for not contesting my marriage to Lady de Russe. She has been most gracious about the entire thing.”

Laurent nodded, looking over at his sister, who seemed happy and rosy-cheeked as she chatted with Emmaline and Aricia. “She has a reason to be,” he said quietly. “You are most gracious not to tell Henry what my father was planning. Lucien, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened. My father… he is not a wicked man, merely ambitious.
Very
ambitious. Having his wishes fulfilled was all he could think of no matter who was hurt in the process.”

Lucien nodded faintly. “He hurt
you
,” he muttered, indicating the man’s bandaged shoulder. “I will thank you yet again for what you did. Had you not intervened, the situation with Lady de Russe could have been quite different. You have my undying gratitude for your heroism.”

Laurent smiled modestly. “It was my pleasure, truly,” he said. “It was the least I could do.”

“Even with a dagger wound?”

“Even with that.”

Lucien returned his smile. “You are a decent man, Laurent,” he said. “My wife holds your sister in high esteem. As I said, I was hoping to have a private word with the two of you at some point this evening. There is something we must discuss.”

Laurent thought he knew what it was. “Of course,” he said, sighing sadly. “We were both wondering what you intend to do with our father. Since he tried to kill Lady de Russe, you are well within your rights to keep him locked up in the vault for the rest of his life. I would not blame you.”

Lucien knew what his rights were but he was also sympathetic to the two children of an unscrupulous man. “You are a much better choice to rule than your father, Laurent,” he said quietly. “As your father’s heir, it would be within your right to assume control of the earldom with your father incarcerated. But I intend to discuss the situation with Henry to see what he wishes to do. I fear this is a decision I cannot make alone. In any case, that was not what I wished to discuss with your sister. In fact… in fact, mayhap you can simply tell her for me.”

Laurent nodded. “I would be happy to deliver a message.”

Lucien happened to glance at his wife a moment before returning his attention to Laurent. “At the request of Lady de Russe, I asked Colton to discover what he knew about the father of your sister’s child.”

Laurent cocked his head curiously. “Colton did speak to me yesterday about it, in fact,” he said. “He knows the knight. His name is Reid de Titouan and he is not simply the father of her child; they love each other deeply. I do not want you to think my sister is an immoral woman, for she is not. Reid and my sister are very much in love.”

Lucien shook his head. “I never thought her to be immoral,” he said. “God only knows what I was willing to do for the love of a woman, so I understand what that emotion will drive one to do. In any case, Lady de Russe was determined to find out who he was and where your sister’s lover was located and Colton was able to find out. Yesterday, I sent a rider to Wellesbourne Castle to summon Sir Reid. If the trip went as planned, he should be arriving at Spelthorne by tomorrow.”