Grunting and sweating, Ridge brought his sword up to block the next blow in the nick of time. The man wasn’t stronger than Ridge but, with the added body weight, the swords were drifting closer to Ridge’s neck.
Josephine simply wanted to end the struggle. She knew Ridge would eventually come away the victor, but she was tired and her head was aching. Almost as an afterthought, she dropped the sword and drew forth the bejeweled dirk at her waist with the serrated blade.
Marching upon the two struggling men, she lifted the dagger high and plunged it into the back of the robber’s neck. She stood back as he collapsed, and Ridge pushed him away. Ridge looked at the man for a moment while he twitched and convulsed, and then turned an amazed face to Josephine.
She stood a few feet away, clad in a linen tunic and her heavy leather breeches. Her long hair hung wildly about her and her scratched face was like stone as she stared back at him. In her hand, he noticed the knife. Without a word, she turned and walked back to the horse.
Ridge watched her go as he rose a bit unsteadily to his feet. She could have just as easily killed him to gain her freedom, but she didn’t. He hadn’t seen her fight the boy, but he noted as he came upon the thief how neatly he was gutted. She had every opportunity to escape but, instead, she chose to help him. He shook his head in wonder; why?
Josephine stood silently by his horse, staring up the road. Ridge packed his spare sword, the one she had used, and then sheathed his primary weapon. The entire time, he stole glances at her, but she never acknowledged him.
Josephine’s mind was a million miles away. She knew, in the end, there would be no escaping from the king. If she had killed Ridge, Alexander would have simply sent someone else to retrieve her, and it would only delay the inevitable. Like it or not, she was going to Edinburgh, and eventually to Haldane, and she decided that it would be better to have an ally on the inside, someone who owed her a debt. It had been a smart move on her part to kill Ridge’s opponent.
Ridge would be of more use to her alive than dead.
But what of Andrew? Did he even realize she was missing? If the fighting was heavy, probably not. If he was de… nay, she couldn’t even finish the thought. She could not comprehend the thought of him dying. But she knew deep down he was not dead and that he would come for her and take her away, forever.
Already, she missed him, and her arms ached to hold him. They had had so little time together. Josephine was not particularly religious, but she found herself praying honestly to the Got she’d heard stories told about. If He would only allow her to see Andrew once more, then she would become devoutly religious.
If not, then she would be dead.
Ridge paused before mounting his destrier; his eyes riveted to Josephine. She had yet to say a word.
“You disposed of that thief quite handily,” he commented.
She nodded. He searched for something more to say, but could think of nothing. After a moment, he spoke.
“My thanks,” he said simply.
Then she looked at him. “For what?”
Ridge wasn’t used to thanking anyone. He cocked a black eyebrow at her for forcing him to say more than he wanted to.
“For killing my fat opponent,” he said. “I thank you for your help. You are a brave young woman.”
She clenched her teeth and squared off with him. “Allow me to make myself perfectly clear,” she said bluntly. “I did not kill that man to save you. I did it because I want something from you. You are taking me to a dark realm where nothing is familiar, including the man the king would have me marry. I do not know what lies ahead for me, de Reyne, and I may have need of a strong knight to assist me. I will not ask you again to return me to Torridon, for I know you will not. But in the future, should I call upon you to return the favor that I have bestowed, then you had better come running.”
He looked at her, somewhat impressed at the delicate blackmail she had woven. She had killed his opponent to extract a favor from him. Fair enough; but what type of favor? Despite any misgivings, he nodded chivalrously and mounted the destrier.
He settled himself and extended a hand to help her. Begrudgingly, she placed her hand in his and he pulled her up as effortlessly as one would lift a pillow. It was impossible to sit on the same saddle with him and not be intimately pressed against him. He wouldn’t put her on behind him for fear she’d slide off and perhaps run again, so he put her on his lap. She stiffened indignantly as her bottom rubbed against his crotch.
But Ridge wasn’t paying attention to the fact that her bottom was against his groin. He liked women, of course, but he wasn’t thinking of the lady in that way. He held the reins with one hand while his other went around her waist instinctively to lend support. She hated it at first but, eventually, she became used to it as the horse pranced down the road that was quickly darkening with sunset.
With each step, Josephine moved further and further away from Torridon, and hot tears sprang to her eyes again. The motion of the horse was hypnotic, and her head soon fell gently back against his broad shoulder. She was very tired from the day’s events and, soon enough, sleep claimed her.
Ridge knew she had been lulled into an exhausted sleep when she went limp in his grasp and started to snore. He pulled her closer to him so she would not topple over. He found himself feeling a good deal of pity for her situation. She was a beautiful and intelligent woman, and she did not deserve the fate that awaited her. The bodyguard for the king, a man efficient and emotionless, had a deep, softer side that no one saw. He wasn’t as emotionless as he pretended to be.
His hate for his king grew in that dark night as he traveled the road to Edinburgh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Morning dawned with a gray chill, with a heavy fog rolling across the land. The rain had subsided during the night, leaving behind a soggy world and soggy men. But the fog hid the devastation left by the night’s battle, as if the land were ashamed to reveal what its inhabitants had done.
Andrew crossed the outer bailey, heading for the castle. His left arm was heavily bandaged and blood was seeping through the wrappings. He had caught the broad edge of a Dalmellington sword that, at just the right angle, had split his upper arm wide open.
But his wound was nothing compared to the damage Torridon had suffered. The new main gate was again in splinters and when it fell, it almost took a portion of the gatehouse with it. The Dalmellington army had breached into the inner bailey and had managed to burn down the stables and a portion of the granary. The stable structure was gone, but all of the beautiful horses had been saved, now corralled in the kitchen yard. The Dalmellington men would have torched the keep itself if Andrew had not set up a frontline directly in front of the structure to keep them at bay.
He had fought harder that night than he had ever fought in his life, but it had all been for Josephine. Never once had his fee entered his mind. With every blow and with every kill, he was paying Colin Dalmellington back for all of the pain he had caused her.
Andrew stopped counting his kills after twenty and he had been very intent on finding Colin to carry out his threat, but Colin was nowhere to be found. Therefore, he continued to hack away at the enemy soldiers with the fury he felt and knew that, eventually, he would find Colin.
Strangely, he hadn’t seen Josephine since before the battle started, but he assumed she had wisely retreated to the safety of the keep. Knowing she was safe allowed his mind to concentrate solely on the battle but, every so often, he would find himself dreaming of her softness and reliving the night he’d spent with her. It kept him sustained.
In his battles, occasionally, he would come across Sully. Sully moved faster than any man Andrew had ever seen, using his two hands to fight his opponent with tremendous force and then moving on to the next. He was tireless and the Torridon men followed him without question. Andrew gained new respect for his friend that night.
But when it was all said and done, the tally for the battle was grim. Four Torridon dead kn
ights – Severn being one of them, and three lesser knights – and thirty-five men-at-arms. Andrew personally lost twenty-eight men, with scores of wounded in the great hall. But Dalmellington lost over half of his fighting force, and they retreated to the safety of the woods shortly before dawn. A weary cheer went up from the soldiers and mercenaries alike when they had retreated.
The yard was littered with bodies, like discarded dolls, as Andrew stepped around and over them. Servants and soldiers alike were hurriedly removing the dead and, soon, the smell of burning flesh would fill the air like a fog and have everyone retching. Andrew looked down at the dead, knowing they were a necessary part of battle, but disliking it all the same.
He passed into the inner bailey and it looked as bad as the rest of the grounds. He found himself eager to see Josephine, eager to hold her and to forget about the destruction of the castle. He had never felt this urge before, to touch and be touched, and it was almost uncontrollable.
As he put his foot on the first step leading to the keep, Thane came barreling out of the door and nearly crashed into him in his haste.
“God’s Bones, Andrew,” he caught himself. “I beg your pardon.”
Andrew waved it off, looking at his friend. He looked as if he had been on the receiving end of a violent thrashing.
“Are you well?” he asked him.
Thane grinned. “Nothing a bottle of wine will not cure.”
Andrew returned his smile. “Good,” he said. Then he ordered, “I shall require a final count.”
“Of course,” Thane nodded, looking about him grimly. “This was a fierce one. I did not expect the ferocity we encountered.”
Andrew followed his friend’s eyes, seeing the same destruction that Thane was. “Lady Josephine is paying us good money to defend her castle,” he said. “It looks like we are not worth the asking price.”
“If we had not been here, there would be nothing left standing,” Thane pointed out.
“True,” Andrew admitted, then mounted the next two stairs. “Where is Lady Josephine?”
Thane shook his head. “You mean your future bride?” he teased. “I have not seen her.”
Andrew looked slightly puzzled. “She is not in the keep?”
“Nay,” Thane replied. “I did not see her inside.”
Puzzlement was replaced by a seed of anxiety. Andrew looked at Thane and Thane caught on immediately.
“I will search the grounds,” he said, beginning to jog away. “I will ask if anyone has seen her.”
Andrew walked rapidly into the depths of the cool keep. The smell of decaying flesh and herbs filled the air as he moved into the great hall and was met with the sight of hundreds of wounded. Across the room, he spied Oletha’s orange head, and not far from her was Justine. He began to pick his way towards Josephine’s sister.
Justine looked up from the hand she was bandaging to be greeted by Andrew’s serious face.
“Your arm is bleeding again,” she said. “I must stitch it now.”
He ignored her. “Where is Josephine?”
“I do not know,” Justine shook her head. “I have not seen her.”
“She is not outside,” he said. “She must be within the keep.”
Justine stood up, catching on to the anxiety in his voice. “Andrew, I have not seen her all night,” she insisted. “I assumed she was with you.”
Andrew stared at her, coming to realize that something was very wrong. Suddenly, he looked about the room, at the men, and at the servants.
“Where is the king?” he asked softly.
“He left before the battle started,” Justine replied. “He and his party took what they could carry on horseback and left. They informed me that they would send for their wagons later. Did you not see them go?”
Andrew hadn’t. He’d been forming lines to the rear of the fortress right before the Dalmellington forces hit. As he stood there, a thought seized him. It was a notion so terrible that he almost lost his balance.
The king had left and Josephine was missing.
Anger and horror rose in his chest like twin demons, and he spun away from Justine. His huge hands grabbed a richly carved chair against the wall and abruptly smashed it into the stone with such force that it disintegrated into splinters.
Justine yelped in surprise, with her hands flying to her mouth.
“What is it?” she cried. “Andrew, what is wrong?”
Andrew was shaking with anger, breathing like a pent-up bull. He stood over the heap of wood and silk that had once been the chair, clenching and unclenching his fists. Oletha had heard the noise and came rushing over. Now, she stood anxiously by Justine.
“The king has taken her,” he growled. “By God… the bastard has taken my Joey.”
Justine gasped, hands flying to her mouth again. “But she was not with him when he left,” she insisted. “I saw him leave with his stewards and courtiers.”
He jerked his head to her with such pain and fury that she visibly shrank. “Then where is she, Justine?” he demanded, almost begging. “She is nowhere to be found! Where is she?”
“I do not know,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
“Where, Justine?” he bellowed.
“I do not know!” she cried, bursting into tears. “Did you check her chamber?”
Andrew was gone, running to the stairs and mounting them three at a time. Justine was close behind and followed him as he barreled into Josephine’s room. He tore all of the linens off of the bed as if she could possibly be hiding there, then he moved to her wardrobe and threw open the doors, too.
He was immediately hit with the smell of rose and he shut his eyes tightly; his heart aching more than his exhausted body did. He began to curse himself; he should have stayed with her, he silently scolded himself. He should have guessed that Alexander wouldn’t stay and fight if there was nothing in it for him, and the king had promised to take Josephine with him when he left.
Why hadn’t he had the foresight to realize what could happen?
It had been badly miscalculated on his part.
Strangely, Andrew was a bit calmer now that he knew what had become of Josephine and that she was not dead out in the moor. But his panic was replaced by such an anger that he would stop at nothing to retrieve what was his.
It was time for his life to come full circle, time to kill his brother and discover the fate of his mother. And most importantly, it was time for him to rescue Josephine. There was no more time to waste with his mercenary pursuits and with his talk of biding his time until the moment was ripe.
The moment was now.
He turned to Justine. She stood by the door watching him, with fear in his eyes. “Is she gone with the king, then?” she asked hesitantly.
Andrew nodded, raking his fingers through his hair wearily. “She is.”
“And you are certain of this?”
“I am positive.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
He looked at her, then, as if the mere question were foolish. “Go after her.”
Justine’s eyes widened and she came into the chamber. “But you cannot fight the king,” she said. “It would be foolish to try.”
“I do not go to fight the king,” he said as he brushed past her. “I go to kill my brother and take back what is mine.”
Justine watched him move, a pain in her heart like nothing she had ever experienced. Oddly enough, it took her back to the day The Red Fury arrived, the day when she had read her cards for her sister. She remembered the cards she had drawn that day, symbols that had no meaning at the time. But now, they did.
Now, she understood.
“I foresaw this,” Justine said fearfully. “My cards foretold this the day you came here.”
Andrew paused at the top of the stairs, looking at her irritably. “What are you babbling about?”
Justine looked at him with great depth of fear and foreboding. “The day you arrived at Torridon, I consulted my cards abo
ut Josephine’s future,” she said as she came towards him. “All of the cards were powerful and passionate, depicting extreme love and hate, and of a great battle. But the great battle wasn’t fought last night; it is yet to come.”
His jaw muscles flexed as he looked away. “I have been waiting most of my life for this confrontation, Justine,” he said. “But I never in my wildest dreams imagined that the stakes would be this high. I love her, Justine. I cannot lose her. She is the world to me.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I have always known.”
He glanced at her, a dull twinkle in his eye. “You might have let me in on it sooner.”
She shrugged. “You had to discover it for yourself,” she said, then smiled. “You were in love with her the day you arrived but I doubt you would have believed me.”
That was more than likely true. Andrew winked at her. “Take care of yourself and your lout-headed husband, Lady Montgomery,” he said. “When I return, I shall bring your sister with me.”
Justine’s smile faded. The chances of him not returning at all were great. She was deeply concerned for him and for her sister, and she felt an overwhelming urge to consult her cards again.
“Andrew,” she said. “Josephine is stronger than you know. She can take care of herself.”
His face clouded over and she felt a chill run through her. He looked as if he were about to reply, but it faded from his lips. He took the next step.
“I know,” he said softly, then descended the stairs. “But I am stronger than she is. And I will prove it.”
Justine stared at the empty stairwell for a moment, wondering if she would ever see Andrew or Josephine again.
The cards beckoned her and she complied.
*
Andrew marched boldly towards the keep entry, with his boots clacking loudly on the stone. He was exhausted, and his arm was seeping, but he had never felt so alert or fortified. Outside, it was damp and foggy, with the sun turning the fog from gray to white.
He met Thane and Etienne in the outer bailey. Etienne’s left hand was heavily bandaged, Andrew noticed, but he was too preoccupied to ask about it.