Her Rogue Knight (14 page)

Once again it was thought, and she no longer felt her mother’s breath as she spoke. She could only watch as she stood unable to move while the girl dipped the needle into the blue paint. She flinched when she felt the first prick. It was simultaneously painful and—in a strange way—necessary, satisfying. The pain was something she knew she must endure, and in its direct wake, it left behind something akin to strength, to power, to a knowledge that she would not fight alone.

Her mother began to chant behind her, and for as long as it took for the girl to complete the full tattoo of her arm, she stood watching, listening, feeling. Although she could not move, she also did not want to move. She meant to remain as she was until this was completed.

Once it was finished, her mother turned her. The women walked, disappearing into what seemed like the walls of the cave, but Gemma no longer had eyes for them. Catalina’s hands closed over her shoulders, and her smile was one of pride.

“How will he be punished? What will she do to him?” Gemma found herself asking, her mother’s words about Sir Galahad’s necessary punishment the only ones she could remember now.

“That is not for us to determine. You, my brave daughter, will do your part. You will rescue your sister. That is all you need to think on. Galahad’s punishment is not your concern. He has done his duty, and his fate is not your concern.” She walked her to the bed and lay her down. She then covered her with the blanket before reaching down to kiss her forehead.

Be brave, daughter, and remember who you are. Goodbye…

Gemma woke with a start as it always was with these dreams. Today however, she did not feel as much comforted either by her mother’s presence or her words. She glanced over at Galahad, who still slept. Should she tell him? What if she did and he turned back, left her to cross the island on her own? She needed him to guide her. Her sister’s life depended on her now. Today was her final day, tonight the night the fires would be lit.

“What did you dream?” came Galahad’s voice.

She looked at him, torn. But she had no choice.

“The marks are complete,” she said, raising the sleeve of her shift high.

Galahad sat up and took it in, but he did not speak. He returned his gaze to hers.

“You’re even more beautiful now, Gemma,” he said. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, but she backed away, rising to her feet.

She knew he looked at her, confused by her sudden, strange action.

“How long will it take us to cross to the west side?” she asked, making an exaggerated effort to fix the saddle onto Morning Glory’s back.

“I don’t know,” he began after a moment. He rose to his feet and approached her. “It is said the closer you tread to the west side, the more difficult the terrain becomes. It would have been easier to go by water, but as that was impossible, we should begin our journey.”

“I’m ready,” she said, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Gemma,” he began, turning her with his hands on her shoulders.

She was forced to meet his eyes and wondered if he could see her deceit.

“Is there something you need to say?” he asked. His eyes searched hers, and she almost broke down.

Remember who you are.

“No,” she said, dropping her gaze. “I’m anxious to get there. To find Alys.”

He forced her face up to his once more. “Gemma?”

“Please,” she said, her eyes warming with unwanted tears. “Please let me go.”

He studied her for a long time before granting her request. He dropped his hands, the cool in the air between them now palpable. He turned to saddle his horse. She mounted hers and waited.

Chapter Ten

The smell and sound of the fires filled the otherwise cool evening air. Gemma’s heart raced as she looked up at the mostly clear night sky, the bright stars, the full moon. A shiver ran through her.

“It is a strange night,” she said, clutching her bow in one hand. They had tethered the horses some ways back and walked the last mile to the cliff overlooking the shore.

Galahad reached out a hand and touched hers. She turned to him, wrapping her fingers around his, taking comfort and strength even as guilt nudged at her.

“We will bring Alys home safely,” he said to her. “We will do it together. I will not leave you alone.”

But I might be the one leaving you,
she thought.

“Galahad,” she began, the guilt too much. She owed him the truth, didn’t she?

A cool breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders, and she shivered as the tattoo on her arm seemed to hiss its warning

“What is it, Gemma? You’ve had something to say all day. I know it. I feel it.”

She searched his face and knew he was in danger, danger he did not know about. And she also knew she needed to keep this knowledge to herself. How would he react if she told him what she had learned? That she would be the one to deliver him to Morgan for punishment? Did he deserve punishment? No, not in her mind. In the brief time she had known him, he had been only selfless, protecting her, caring for her in a way only her father had.

“I…” she stammered. The snakes slithered. “It’s nothing,” she said. “They will begin soon. We should go,” she said.

Galahad considered her a moment. “All right,” he said, nodding his head and leading the way to the edge of the cliff. Gemma followed.

From their vantage point, they watched as more than two dozen men had gathered, some talking, some laughing, others drinking. She could smell the alcohol, and it sickened her. But there was no sign of Alys just yet.

“We must go down,” she whispered.

Galahad put his fingers to his lips, quieting her, his eyes on what was taking place below. “Wait and watch,” he whispered.

“We will be too late,” she began to protest. Just as she did, she heard the draw of swords down below. She turned and Galahad grabbed her to him, covering her mouth just as she was about to speak. He held her and she watched, struggling for only a second, then understanding. Some of the men below had worn their sword belts. Many had removed theirs. She had noticed it but had not thought much of it. Now she stood watching the slaughter and understood. Galahad had said this would happen, they would kill their own as they would not want to share their prize of immortality.

The men who were being slaughtered were only half fighting back. Some ran for their swords, but their movements were slow, clumsy, as if they were too drunk already. Galahad slowly eased his hand from her mouth. She heard the screams and thought she could smell the blood of the fallen men. She was fixed to the spot, unable to move, unable to do anything as she stood witness to the horror below.

“It’s time,” Galahad said from next to her, pulling on her arm. “Come, Gemma, while they are distracted.”

“They’re killing each other,” she said, still unbelieving even as she knew it would happen. Knew they were mercenaries, barbarian enough to slaughter one another.

“Don’t watch,” he said. “Keep your eyes on me. Let’s go.”

She nodded and he turned, leading the way down the narrow path to the shore below.

* * *

Galahad kept one eye on her as he navigated the way. Although he had told her what would likely happen, seeing it was quite different. Difficult. He had seen killing before, and he had killed before. He had seen men do things to one another that were more animal than human. He had long since lost his faith in humankind. But
she
was innocent still. Although that would change after tonight. But he would keep her from as much as possible. He would protect her innocence as much as he could.

But something nagged at him. She was keeping something from him. He could see her own struggle with whatever it was, but
it
was winning. He watched the slight shifting of the tattoos on her arm. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to draw attention to it, not wanting to frighten her, but from the look on her face whenever it would happen, he knew she could feel it.

By the time they reached the end of the path they could come to without being detected, only half a dozen men remained standing. They wiped the blood off their swords on the bodies of the dead. They neither spoke nor laughed. Any joviality and any celebration was gone. The men sheathed their swords, and once that was done, disappeared into the cave at the mouth of the cliff.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She looked up at him and nodded a small nod, but her face told him she was not. “Where do you think Alys is?” she asked, her voice quiet, afraid.

“I imagine she is inside the cave.”

“I hope she didn’t hear or see that,” Gemma said.

He wasn’t sure of either. “Let’s go.”

She followed him farther down the path until they reached the shore. From there, he found a place to remain hidden in the thicket of trees. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as the men returned in a single file. They had donned thick, dark red capes with hoods and looked like death itself. When the last two emerged holding a struggling, barefoot Alys between them, Galahad grabbed hold of Gemma.

“Stay,” he mouthed, warning her with a look.

Her body tensed, but she nodded reluctantly before reaching for an arrow.

Alys’ hands were bound in front of her, and she wore only her shift, which was filthy. Her long blonde hair hung loose and in knots down her back. Although smaller than Gemma, she fought the men just as he knew Gemma would have. She too was a fighter, a survivor. And she would survive this.

The men approached the makeshift altar, and when they did, they raised Alys up onto it. One man held her legs as the other kept her shoulders pinned.

“Let me go!” she screamed, fighting and trying to bite.

Gemma tugged at her arm in an effort to free herself from Sir Galahad’s hand. Something caught Sir Galahad’s eyes, making him momentarily loosen his grip on her. From the mouth of the cave came one more figure. One more player in this deadly game: this one a woman. His mouth fell open. He recognized her. He would know her from the hunch of her shoulders even if he did not see her face.

It was Lena, the witch who had chanted over the scabbard and turned it into what it now was.

* * *

Gemma felt his hold on her weaken, and she took advantage. As the old woman lifted a hand to brush the hair from her face, she shot an arrow through the air, catching the one who held Alys’ shoulders down square in the throat. He made a gurgling sound, and all else stilled. Then the noise of swords being drawn filled the air as the dead man fell and the others turned in their direction. Galahad had his sword drawn as well, and she reached for a second arrow. She shot another man as the others approached, and the fighting began immediately. The sound overwhelmed the night, drowning out everything else but Alys’ scream. Gemma ran, just escaping the blade of one man as she shot her next arrow, but this one went directly past her target as two strong arms grabbed hold of her.

The old woman who held the knife over Alys’ heart turned and met her eyes.

“Behind you!” Alys screamed, but it was too late. A knife pressed against her throat, delivering a blinding pain. The snakes on her arms hissed. The man who pushed the tip of the blade into her throat screamed, releasing her. Galahad drove his sword into the chest of one man, just as two others grabbed hold of him and a third lined his sword up to Galahad’s heart.

Gemma thought she was dying, but she touched her throat. She had felt the cut. She had felt the knife tear her skin, felt it press into her, but there was nothing—not a drop of blood. She caught Alys’ wide gaze, then touched the bracer on her arm.

The old woman grabbed Alys and held the blade to her throat. Gemma wondered at her strength as she affixed an arrow, raising her bow and taking aim.

“I’ll kill her. She is worthless to me anyway, you know that,” said the old woman as Gemma drew the arrow back.

“Let her go, and I’ll come. I am the one you want.”

There was a struggle where Galahad stood, and they all turned to watch as Galahad managed to break free of his captors. He drove one onto the sword of the other and began a battle with the final man. Gemma turned her weapon, intending to hit Galahad’s opponent. But her scream came simultaneously with the release of her arrow as the men moved too quickly. She reached a hand to her mouth, watching, listening to the arrow tear cloth and flesh to burrow itself deep inside her lover’s back. She remained like this, tears stinging her eyes, until Galahad dropped to his knees.

“No,” she managed, falling to her knees along with her knight.

He turned to look to her, the arrow deep inside his back. His expression was only one of surprise as he mouthed something, her name perhaps?

“No,” she said again. “No!” this time she screamed when his body collapsed onto the damp earth. Someone tried to stop her, but she managed to get to him.

“I’m sorry!” she said. “Oh, God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Please…” she pulled the arrow out of his back and turned him, lifting his head. “Please open your eyes,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss his face, his mouth, listening to his whisper of a breath. “Please,” she begged, now frantically untying the bracer from her arm, intending to wrap it around his, knowing all along it would be too late. “Please don’t die,” she said, tears streaming down her face and onto his. “Please don’t die.”

Galahad’s eyes moved just beyond her in warning, and she turned just as the two remaining men grabbed her.

“She’s the one we want,” the old woman said. “Bring her here. You will come, girl, or your sister dies.”

The men dragged her to her feet, and she struggled against them as they pulled her along to the altar.

“Take this one,” the old woman said. One of the men grabbed Alys.

“Let her go! You don’t have to hurt her, it’s me you want,” Gemma pleaded.

“Bring her here,” the old woman repeated, ignoring Gemma altogether.

When Gemma stood just a few feet from her, she took the final steps to cover the remaining distance between them and eyed her tattooed arm.