Warriors Of Legend (45 page)

Micah’s gaze returned to the root. He took a deep breath and jumped. His body contorted and strained, reaching for the root that suddenly seemed tiny and very far away. Pain clouded his vision and his heart leapt to his throat. Micah slammed into the root and looped his left arm around it. It bowed dangerously but he managed to dig the toes of his boots into the ledge. Dirt and pebbles cascaded around him. Micah kept his eyes squeezed closed, certain he would feel himself in a deadly free–fall at any instant.

But nothing happened.

Micah managed to suck in a breath and slowly pry open one eye. He clung to the root with a strength born of sheer terror – and Micah had to admit he was terrified. He blinked the dirt from his eyes and looked up.

Robert poked his head over the edge where Micah had originally been. “Sweet Jesu,” the huntsman muttered and suddenly hauled himself back. Robert had looked straight down and Micah had a feeling he had been assailed by vertigo.

“Meulan,” a voice shouted.

“Over here,” Robert snapped. “I don’t believe this, the bastard jumped.”

“What?”

“Montfort jumped into the damn ravine rather than face my blade. The sod even took my revenge from me.”

“My lord,” the second man said. “We must be away. Montfort’s forces turn the tide.”

Robert cursed violently. “Fetch Montfort’s sword, I must have some proof to take to MacLeary.”

“Aye, lord.”

Micah heard the voices fade and gulped another deep breath. He glanced down at his injured arm, still bleeding badly. Micah tried to lift it but pain shot through him and darkened his vision. Desperately, he fought to breathe. If he lost consciousness, he would die.

“Now this is a fine mess,” he muttered, staring into the depths of the ravine.

His thoughts focused on Kate and his love for her. His dreams were real. They were not something invented by poets and sung by bards.
Love, home, a family.
He had that with Kate. Her gentle compassion and fiery spark had healed him heart and soul. She carried his child. He would not leave his son or daughter without a father. He would not bring the same agony he had known with the death of his parents. “
Ma chérie automne,”
he whispered.

Again he looked up. He could not raise his right hand to grab for the ledge. It was only a matter of time before blood loss claimed his awareness. Perhaps, after all of this, he would die.

He squeezed his eyes closed. It was bitter irony to know he had found his dreams and lost them within the same breath. Micah rested his forehead against the damp earth. He could not leave Kate a widow. Micah lifted his head and roared in helpless rage.

“Micah?” a voice called.

His heart lurched. “Hubert?”

“Micah, where are you?”

“Over here! In the ravine.”

Hubert poked his head over the edge. “Dear God!”

Relief washed over him. “Hubert, I could use a little help right about now.”

“Sir Thomas, get a rope. Hurry, man! I don’t know how much longer he can hang on.” Hubert studied Micah a moment. “I don’t even want to ask how this happened.”

Micah felt a smile tug at his lips. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Probably not.”

Thomas returned with a rope and Hubert fashioned a large loop. “Put this around you and under your arms.” He tossed the loop over Micah’s head. It settled over his shoulders.

“Easy for you to say,” Micah muttered. Slowly he wormed his left arm into the loop, between the root and his armpit. “Now for the trick,” he said to Hubert.

“Aye. Whatever you do don’t pass out on me,” Hubert growled.

Micah sucked in a few deep breaths in rapid succession then moved his right arm. He bellowed as fire shot through his body. His arm moved and his grip on the root slipped. Suddenly the rope tightened around him and he felt himself dangling in the air.

“Pull now!” Hubert bellowed.

Slowly, they hauled Micah back to solid earth. He sagged against his comrades. “Hubert, your timing is impeccable.”

“It is a gift from Providence I heard you. I thought the huntsman tossed you over the edge.” He sucked in his breath. “You are bleeding badly.”

Micah heard the sound of tearing cloth and Hubert tied the fabric around his wound. He bit back a violent oath. “My arm is broken.”

“Aye,” Hubert said tightly. “I must slow the bleeding and then I will splint your arm.”

“The raiders?”

“Defeated but the huntsman escaped.”

“We must return to Appleby.”

“Aye.” Hubert finished binding his wounds and gripped his hand. “The bone has pierced the skin. I must align it or Lady Kate will have my head.”

“Here, Baron,” Sir Thomas said and brandished a small stick.

Micah opened his mouth and bit down on the cold wood.

Hubert jerked on Micah’s arm. Torment roared through him and his vision went black. His teeth dug into the wood. Pain coursed through his being and Micah spat the stick from his mouth. Hubert set a splint on the limb and devised a sling.

Thomas hauled him into a sitting position and Micah’s vision swam. In an effort to push back the blackness, Micah again focused on Hubert. “How do we stand?”

“Quite well considering,” Hubert said, finishing the sling which cradled Micah’s arm to his chest. “Three dead, five wounded.”

“We ride for Appleby now.”

“Baron, your arm must be tended.”

“We have no time,” Micah snapped, struggling to his feet. “And Kate is the only one I trust to look after this wound properly.” He paused and spotted the plain weapon Robert had used in the snow. “Hubert, give me that blade.”

“Pardon?”

“The sod took my father’s sword. My uncle bequeathed it to me on my knighting.”

Hubert fetched the weapon. “Stealing another man’s blade is akin to stealing his lady,” he muttered.

“Aye,” Micah said through clenched teeth. “And I plan to retrieve both. We must ride, now!”

***

The door opened and Kate pulled herself to her feet.

“Nay, lady,” Evan said, stepping through. “I’ve come only to guard you.”

She nodded, trying to fight the dizziness away. The sounds of battle rang through the keep and her heart plummeted. MacLeary had breached the defenses. His forces now battled to take control of the keep. Had Hubert reached Micah or had the trap been sprung? Kate knew Micah would have returned if at all possible but there was no sign of him.

Appleby Castle would fall again.

The clash of swords resounded in the corridor. Evan stiffened. “Lady, in the corner please.”

Kate lurched toward the nearest corner, praying for a miracle. She pulled her cloak around her old woolen dress. She wore the warmest, sturdiest clothes she owned. Perhaps she might get the chance to flee.

The door rattled as someone kicked it. On the third kick, the bolt shattered and the door banged open. Laird Dougal MacLeary stepped through. His reddish blond hair flew wildly about his face and his long beard was woven into two war braids. Blood soaked his plaid, the blood of Micah’s men. Kate fought down the urge to leap at him and slash his eyes. Her hands curled claw–like.

MacLeary’s gaze fell on her for a brief moment. “Ah, waitin’ for me are ye?”

Evan stepped forward. “As a matter of fact I am. So kind of you to inquire.”

MacLeary’s expression turned flat. He brought his huge claymore on guard. “Sorry, laddie, but I fear ye are a mite too ugly for me.” He lunged, his claymore flashing.

Kate screamed in horror as Evan fell. Blood erupted from his chest, splashing the walls and floor. MacLeary wrested his sword from the knight’s body and turned to face Kate.

The source of her nightmares stood before her like a demon from hell. MacLeary smiled savagely as he reached for her. Kate lunged from her corner without conscious thought, the dagger Micah had given her flashing. She sliced MacLeary’s arm and skittered around him like a mouse avoiding a cat as he bellowed a curse. Kate bolted through the door, terror giving her wings, and slammed into an unyielding body. The dagger slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor.

Hands seized her, dark eyes stared through her soul.

Stephan!
Kate’s thoughts screamed.

Mortal terror clamped on her heart. Pain shot through her chest, numbing her arms. Kate tried to drag in a breath and failed.

Micah promised. He swore he would protect me
. Terror ripped apart Kate’s heart. Grief and sorrow battered her.

Stephan smiled wickedly. “I’ve missed you, Lady Kate.”

Kate struggled suddenly and kicked. Her foot slammed into his shin. He recoiled and snapped a curse, backhanding her. Kate collapsed. Darkness spotted her vision but she remained aware enough that she knew Stephan hauled her into the great hall.

Surprisingly, Stephan tossed her into her chair on the dais. Briefly, her gaze slid over Micah’s empty seat.

“Where is that witch?” Stephan growled. “Marjorie, tend to yer lady.”

Kate blinked as Marjorie rushed forward. “Hold strong,” she whispered, putting a cold cloth to her bruised cheek.

Kate’s vision slowly cleared and she saw Micah’s men, most wounded, dragged into the hall. Many fought their captors but the Scots soundly thrashed them. Then they hauled in another man…John. Kate’s heart stalled.

Micah’s best friend had a terrible gash in his leg. He still battled the two men who held his arms, but because of his wound he could not truly resist. After a long moment, all that remained of Micah’s garrison knelt in the great hall. A Scot grabbed John’s hair and yanked his head back, pressing a dagger to his throat.

“Lady Kate,” Laird MacLeary said smoothly. “As ye can see I control this castle. But I dinna wish to cause strife. Marry my son and bring peace to this land.”

Kate bowed in her chair, perfectly aware of Stephan hovering around her. “I cannot marry your son while I am married to another man,” she snapped.

MacLeary gave an exaggerated sigh. “My dear lassie,” he said with mock gentleness. “Ye dinna understand.” He motioned to a man standing beside him. Kate blinked. A huntsman stepped forward, bearing a sword. He handed it to MacLeary and bowed.

MacLeary hefted the sword and gazed at it with admiration. “‘Tis a good weapon,” he murmured. “A weapon fit for nobility.” Slowly he walked toward Kate. “Lassie, I bear most grievous tidings.” MacLeary settled the blade across her lap. “Ye are now a widow.”

Kate stared at the weapon, it’s blade stained with dried blood, and a large sapphire on the pommel.

“Micah’s sword,” she gasped, tears clouding her eyes. There was only one way to take this weapon from Micah. He would die before he released it to an enemy.

Despite her best efforts, Micah had fallen into the trap. Kate’s heart screamed in bleeding rage but she uttered not a sound. Her spirit shriveled into ash, leaving her empty and shattered.

The man she loved was dead.

Kate closed her hand over the hilt, wishing she had the strength to wield the weapon properly against MacLeary. She wished she had the strength to kill him and his son then drive the blade through her own heart.

But what of her child?

The sword she held seemed to glitter with its own light. She became painfully aware of the tiny life in her womb. The child was all she had left of Micah…along with his sword. Kate knew she could not kill herself because she would take the last of the man she loved with her.

Survive,
her heart whispered.

But if MacLeary knew the babe was Micah’s, he would slaughter the child as soon as it was born. Kate quickly came to a decision. Although her entire being cried in agony and denial, Kate lifted her gaze and stared at MacLeary.

“Very well, MacLeary. I will marry your son if you grant me two conditions.”

MacLeary scowled. “Ye are in no position—”

“I am in perfect position,” she snapped, trying to keep the note of hysteria out of her voice. “You need me alive or your plan will fail. I will agree to marry your son without protest if you allow me to keep this sword and allow Micah’s men free passage out of this barony.”

“Kate, nay!” John barked. “Don’t do this.”

Her gaze slid to the young knight and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “No one else shall lose their life over this, John.”

He stared at her a long moment, as if trying to know her thoughts.

MacLeary snorted. “I canna see harm in allowing ye to keep the sword. Ye can barely heft it. But the men…” he hesitated and glared at the handful of captives. “Ye willna protest the marriage when we take ye before the priest?”

“I will not.”

“Ye will speak the vows and obey them?”

“I will.”

He studied her a long moment. “Very well. The men will have safe passage out of the barony. I shall even let them take a wagon to haul their wounded.”

Kate breathed a small sigh of relief and stood. “Marjorie, we must bandage the worst of the wounds before they leave.” She clutched the sword in both hands, fighting to keep the tip from dragging the ground. Her gaze locked on John and she strode straight to him.

***

Micah, his arm in a sling, drove his men hard back to Appleby. They had left the village at dawn and ridden for two days. Snow flurries and biting cold hindered progress. Exhaustion and pain battered Micah. Blood still oozed from his wound and soaked the bandages. Some men were in no better shape than he was, but no one complained. They knew they had to return to Appleby quickly.

Micah pulled his cloak tighter around him and bowed his head, fighting back his dizziness. If they reached Appleby in time, Micah wondered how he would be able to fight. But he had to, he could not abandon Kate to the vultures.

“Baron,” Hubert said and pointed. “A large group of men approach.”

Micah stiffened. Had MacLeary decided to hunt them down?

“Sweet Jesu,” Hubert whispered. “‘Tis John and our men.”

His heart dropped to his boots but he recognized John leading the party. John spotted them and spurred his horse forward.

“Praise the saints,” he shouted, hauling his horse to a stop beside Micah’s. “You are alive.”

The blood drained from Micah’s face. He looked at the wagon but did not see Kate. “What happened?”