Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (39 page)

The night played back in his mind. He’d charged forward, sword drawn, and pushed the whores off the bed roughly with his free hand. Confusion, then sheer terror, had been visible in the priest as the naked women had screamed and raced from the room.

“The whores fled. The priest groped for a jewelled dagger on the night stand by his bed and I stopped him before he could use the weapon against me.”

He had cut off the movement quite literally—by bringing down his sword and slicing off the priest’s hand.

“You could have disarmed him without killing him,” Malin goaded.

“Aye. Thinking through it, I know ’tis as you say.”

Rowan recalled how the blood had spurted and stained the sheets as the man howled in agony. The sight and smell of blood affected men in different ways. ’Twas not something Rowan had ever lusted after. At war with the enemy, when the fighting was over and the fear of battle had subsided, the sight of the bloodied battlefield had always filled Rowan with a sense of profound horror and loss. Never had he had any of the berserker rage men spoke of. Never, until that night.

“You are an animal. A killing machine,” Malin accused. “I’ve heard of your rampages in battle.”

“Nay. Death is necessary in battle but wholly regrettable. In battle it is either kill or be killed.” Never had Rowan come even remotely close to losing control on the battlefield. Yet, that night in the priest’s chamber, he’d been a different person. He’d wanted blood. Rowan admitted to himself that the priest’s pain had initially brought him primitive pleasure. Knowing that his mother had suffered humiliation, shame, fear and finally a terrorizing ordeal as she had faced death by drowning, had made him feel a certain justification in his actions. A grim pleasure.

A shiver of shame wracked his frame now as he replayed his memory of stabbing the priest repeatedly.

Satisfaction had quickly turned to guilt as he knew he could not justify his actions. But, by that stage, it had been too late to alter his deed.

“So,
brother
,” Malin rounded on him now wearing a superior look, “’twas not in self-defence. You can’t deny you murdered him.”

“A large part of me regrets what I did,” Rowan admitted as he relived his horror at the realisation of his action.

The priest’s death sounds had been almost drowned out by Rowan’s own howling. First, a howl of anger, but soon the cry of hopelessness. The tears had streamed down his cheeks when he realised he had done something heinous in taking revenge against the priest. The salty taste of his remorse had mingled with bitterness in his mouth. His lips had parted in anguish knowing that nothing could ever bring his mother or the baron back, and worse—that neither of them would have wanted him to have acted in this way against the priest.

“I felt guilt,” he confessed now. Each word of confession he uttered was not to Malin, but to his wife. “Initially the guilt was because I had killed the man when I realised I could simply have disarmed him. Later still, a new wave of guilt assailed me. Heavy of heart and weary to the bone, I forced myself to acknowledge that although part of me felt remorse, there was a prevailing part of me that was pleased the man was dead—a satisfaction that this man’s breaths no longer contaminated the earth. I was content that he would no longer be a hypocritical preacher who expounded the virtues of God’s commandments on the one hand, and defied them himself on the other. The most shocking self-revelation was that I am uncertain I would act any differently if confronted with the same set of circumstances this day.” He drew a deep breath knowing that his words damned him. “Part of me believes justice was done.”

Malin’s lip curled in contempt. “You convinced your commander of that, didn’t you?”

Remembering that night Rowan thought he must have stood crying over the priest’s body for hours, yet ’twas not long after the murder that Lisette’s father had arrived at the scene and found Rowan standing over the corpse.

“I am responsible for this.” As distraught as a lost child, Rowan had turned and wept against Lord Blake’s without even being fully aware that he did so. He’d turned to Lisette’s father in a daze for comfort and perhaps for forgiveness. It had taken some time for his whereabouts and the older knight’s presence to finally penetrate his brain.

“You have killed a traitor.” The words were resolute, for Lord Blake and his regiment had been on their way to the area to arrest the priest for treason. “I see you killed the man in self defence,” Lord Blake had declared, pointing to the fingers of the severed hand where the hilt of jewelled dagger rested.

“Nay, I—”

The commander had merely cut across Rowan’s denial. “Most definitely self-defence and in service to our king when this traitor tried to resist arrest. That is how I see things and you will not question my testimony.” Those were the words Lord Blake had repeated to King Henry at court and Rowan had been exonerated.

Malin was intent now on implicating Lisette’s father. “Your wife’s father covered up your crime.”

“He knew full well that the priest was a traitor,” Rowan defended. “Not long after I came under his command—a year or so before the incident—I told my commander the story of how my mother and her husband came to die. I confessed my thirst for revenge. He understood my need to avenge my parents’ deaths but counselled me against violent action. He assured me that King Henry would see justice done eventually.”

“And I thwarted your plans. None of the knights lived to bear witness to what had actually happened and even now, with the priest dead, ’tis just your word against mine.”

“Your word counts for nothing for I will find enough evidence to convict you of being a traitor to the crown.”

“I could, of course, turn it all back on you,
brother
. I could tell our beloved king that ’twas you who killed our parents and I was merely covering for you out of brotherly concern.”

“Too late for that, Malin. I have earned Henry’s trust.” Rowan pitied his brother more at that moment than he hated him. “That accusation may have stuck years ago, but not now. You let people think that ’twas my negligence in returning our father to Baddesley that caused his death. Why did you not let the people think that I was guilty of his murder?”

“Death would have been too easy for you, Rowan,” Malin sneered. “I wanted you to live. I wanted you to think of the death of my father all your life and know that you failed him at the end. Failed to prevent his death. I wanted you to live each day knowing how your mother suffered in her death—that you were the cause of her death. For if she had not given birth to you she would still be alive this day.”

Rowan’s free hand clenched into a fist. Searching his brother’s eyes he saw that they were without soul. “Neither of them deserved to die, but you do.”

“You want to kill me,” Malin half-snorted. “With me dead, you can claim Baddesley Keep as your own, just the way you always intended to.”

“You’re wrong. I would never have claimed that which did not rightfully belong to me, despite your father’s wishes.”

“You always hated me when we were children.”

“In our childhood, I always pitied you,” Rowan corrected. “’Twas not until you murdered our parents that I began to hate you.”

“Do it then. Get it over with,” he challenged, “or have you lost your nerve?”

“Arm yourself, Malin, and fight for once in your life man-to-man instead of expecting your men to do your dirty work without even giving them the proper training they need to defend themselves.” Reaching down toward a sword that had belonged to one of the soldiers he’d just killed, Rowan picked it up and threw it to Malin.

Without observing any acknowledgement of the duel to come, Malin simply ran at Rowan with the soldier’s sword outstretched. ’Twas an easy manoeuvre to deflect the assault, but Rowan hadn’t realised that his half-brother had lied about being unarmed and had cleverly concealed a dagger in his robes. With his right arm raised to parry Malin’s attack, Rowan’s naked flesh was vulnerable to the quick slash of the dagger as it ripped through the flesh at his side.

Rowan had underestimated his opponent. He was unprepared and astonished at the speed and skill of Malin’s strike. There was a searing sting as flesh was cut and the wound gaped open, but there was no time to think on it as Malin followed up with a lunge of his sword towards Rowan’s neck. Ducking evasively, Rowan heard the scrape of the blade against the wall of the passage. Dropping his sword, he lunged for Malin, caught both Malin’s wrists in his hands and attempted to wrestle Malin into a position with his back against the wall.

A tussle ensued. Rowan’s fingers tightened around his half-brother’s wrists with vice-like pressure, causing Malin’s sword and dagger to drop to the stone floor. Rowan pushed his half-brother hard up against the wall and punched him square on the jaw with such force that he heard the crack of bone underneath his fist.

Malin screamed like a bear caught in a steel trap.

Now Rowan’s hand gripped the fabric around Malin’s neck. It would be so easy to give in to the red-hot hatred. The tattoo that beat through Rowan’s skull and reverberated in his temples, demanded he break Malin’s neck and end the insanity once and for all. A greater voice in his head urged him to stop and overcome his need for revenge.

Don’t do something you’ll regret. It doesn’t have to be this way this time. Learn from the past and let justice be brought to bear by the king.

Wise words from his step-father also replayed in his head.
“A man who conquers himself is stronger than a man who conquers thousands of men in battle.”

Aye. Rowan needed to conquer himself. He needed to conquer his primitive need for revenge and hand Malin over to the king for justice to be done.

“Rowan?” Her soothing angel’s voice was like the most intoxicating harp music beckoning to him from a far away cloud. It broke through the swirling vortex of hatred and pain and reminded him that there was a heaven. “Rowan?”

The taint of blood was already on his hands. He had already had his revenge upon one man who had been responsible for the murder of his parents, and his soul had been stained by the spilling of that blood.

Nay. He would not succumb again to the same weakness. He was no longer a hurt and untried youth. Now he was a man with the strength to control his lust for revenge. Now he had so much more to live for than revenge. Lisette had taught him that love could heal the emotional wounds he carried and make him whole again.

He pulled Malin off the wall then gave a savage thrust, pushing his half-brother away from him, sending him rocking backward and toppling over.

Rowan fought for calm. “All is well, Lisette. You are safe now.”

And he was safe. Safe from himself and the anguished bitterness and grief he’d carried around with him for far too long. There would be no more darkness in his world for Lisette had touched his soul with her light. ’Twas her love that provided the healing balm to the deep lacerations carved in his heart that he’d once believed were incapable of repair.

No longer was he the impulsive young knight who had meted out justice his own way. He had matured and learnt from his mistakes. Now he had faith in his king and a deeper faith in God. Henry would bring Malin to justice in God’s name.

“Get to your feet, Malin,” he demanded.

“You always were a coward,” Malin snarled as he raised himself to his feet. “You don’t have the balls to kill me!”

Malin’s taunts had no power to hurt him.

“You will be taken to the king’s court. Our sovereign liege will try you and you will receive his justice.”

“Henry has no right to rule. He will be brought down.”

“If that is the case, I warrant you will not live to see it happen.” Rowan raised the tip of his sword to Malin’s neck. “Turn around and continue down the passageway toward the secret entrance.” As Malin turned, Rowan called into the shadows, “Come now, Lisette. Let us leave this place.”

Lisette’s footsteps echoed as she raced down the uneven ground of the passage toward him. “Praise God this is over and you are safe.”

With his left arm, Rowan hauled Lisette against him. Her arm went around his back at waist level. He winced. At the same time she exclaimed in shock as she touched the sticky wetness of blood that came both from the whipping Malin had given him, and from his open stab wound.

“You’re injured!”

“’Tis naught but a few scratches, my love,” he told her. Malin moved as if to turn around but Rowan pressed his sword tip firmer against his neck. “Don’t turn back, Malin. Keep moving. If I need to run you through in order to defend my lady I will not hesitate.”

“I need to tend your wound,” Lisette implored on a whisper.

“When we are to safety.” He used an authoritative tone that was always recognised and instantly obeyed by his men.

As he’d almost come to expect, Lisette had the last word, insisting, “The very second!”

But his lady wife did not get her way.

The early morning light was almost blinding after the torch-lit illumination of the tunnel. Glancing up, Rowan saw the sunlight dancing off the tips of arrows from the archers who were lined up along the Baddesley battlements. A safe distance away there were knights on horseback at the edge of the forest. The knights wore the colours of Romsey and Winchester and were a magnificent sight to behold.

“Archers of Baddesley hear me, Rowan of Romsey,” he cried out. “Do not fire! Malin of Baddesley has been captured. Throw down your weapons, raise the portcullis and allow the knights of Romsey and Winchester peaceful access to the keep. I wish to avoid more bloodshed.”

A few moments later heads peered down from the cover of the bastions. As soon as the men saw that Malin was indeed a prisoner, a collective cry went up and bows rained over the walls. The sound of men rejoicing had Malin cursing savagely.

“Traitors!” Malin cried. “Disloyal curs!”

“You would know,” Lisette said pointedly.

“I fed you. I gave you whores!” Malin’s whining was pitiful.

Rowan looked hard at his half-brother. “Finnigan told me that most of your men stayed with you through fear. The end to your reign of terror is cause for celebration among their ranks.”