The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 169
Bumbling pisswit!
She grinned as she thought of the knight with the endless insults.
God, she missed him.
Tears stung her eyes but blinked them away. She tried not to think of a world without Dashiell, but she told herself that even being his wife for a night would be worth a lifetime without him.
Yet… it was a lie. She was selfish. She wanted the man for the rest of her life, by her side, and she wanted to hear him scream at the soldiers and call them bumbling pisswits or sponge-headed dolts for the rest of her life. This fine, noble man who had fought for the good of England, for the good of them all, didn’t deserve death at the hands of traitors, against a king who wasn’t fit to wear the crown.
But that was precisely what she was facing.
Honestly, she didn’t think she could stand the pain.
Dash, where are you?
Moving to the altar, she knelt in front of it, bowing her head as the tears began to fall. She prayed harder than she ever prayed in her life, praying that Dashiell would come home to her. She’d sworn to be strong for Dashiell’s sake, but in moments like this, when there was no one else around, she let the tears fall freely. The pain was too great not to.
She wanted her husband back, safely.
Belladonna spent most of the morning in prayer, kneeling in the dirt, praying for Dashiell’s safe return and the safe return of Bentley. She didn’t want to be unreasonable and ask for the entire army to be returned whole and sound, so she was specific about Dashiell and Bentley. As much as Lily pretended to be strong, Belladonna knew the woman was broken inside at the thought of Bentley dying.
She could see it in her sister’s eyes.
As the morning inched towards the nooning hour and the sun had risen enough so that sunlight streamed in through the thin, lancet windows of the chapel, she began to hear the sentries at the gatehouse taking up the cry.
Someone had arrived at Ramsbury. The cries were faint and Belladonna ignored them for the most part. She didn’t want to be bothered while she was in prayer, but then she realized that if she didn’t answer the call, the servants would go on the hunt for Lily, and Lily was not to be disturbed.
Perhaps, it was another traveling lord, looking for shelter for the coming night. Perhaps, he might even have news about the battle at Newark. With that in mind, Belladonna rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her gown from where her knees were resting on the floor of the chapel. Without much enthusiasm, she headed out of the chapel.
The sun was overhead, bright and shining, and she shielded her eyes as she walked towards the gatehouse. She could see men all around the gatehouse and, finally, men were heading in her direction. She couldn’t see who they were because of the angle of the sun, but when they drew closer and she dropped her hand from her eyes, she abruptly came to a halt.
Coming towards her were the two men sent to the neighboring towns to discover news about the Savernake army.
Belladonna couldn’t seem to move towards them. She simply stood there, her heart in her throat, as the two men approached her, followed by Joachim. When they came to within a few feet of her, they bowed sharply.
“Lady du Reims,” one man with a bushy white beard spoke. “We have good news, my lady. We were nearing Swindon when we saw the Savernake banners. The army looks to be coming home, my lady.”
Belladonna was so shaken by the news that she staggered a bit as Joachim rushed to her side, grasping her arm.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, concerned.
Belladonna waved him off. She was solely focused on the two men who had seen the army. “They are heading this way?”
The men nodded. “Aye, my lady,” he said. “We saw the banners. We rushed back with the news.”
Belladonna’s hand was at her throat as she struggled to keep her breathing on an even keel. “You did not go to them?” she asked. “You did not go to see if the rumors were true?”
The men shook their heads but they were looking at each other, uncomfortably. “My lady,” the man with the white beard said, “it seemed to us that the army was much smaller than before. And… they were moving in groups, not all in one formation.”
Belladonna had no idea what the meant. “What do you mean by groups?” she asked. “Is that strange? Is something wrong?”
Beside her, Joachim spoke. “It could be that that the healthy men are at the head of the army, my lady, and the wounded are following behind at a slower pace.”
Belladonna digested that, but it did nothing to slow her pounding heart. If anything, she was feeling more apprehensive than ever before. “Knights,” she managed to say. “Did you see any mounted knights? Did you see my husband?”
The men shook their heads. “We were too far away, my lady,” white-beard replied. “We saw the standards and that was enough. We knew you would want to know. They should be here within the hour; at least, the first part of the army. They are coming home, my lady.”
They are coming home.
Belladonna could hardly believe it. She thanked the men and, with shaking legs, made her way back to the keep. She had to tell Lily that the army was returning. Finally, they would know everything they needed to know. By the end of the day, Belladonna would either be a widow or safely in her husband’s arms.
She prayed it was the latter.
Oddly enough, there was some encouragement in the realization that the army was nearly home. At least they would know what had happened, in the end, and those men who had left the castle those months ago would return to their home and to those who loved them. Aye, there was an odd comfort in that and, by the time Belladonna reached Lily’s chamber, she was quite calm about it.
Today, they would know the truth.
Lily was sitting up when she arrived, stitching a bumblebee on the little tunic in her hands. She glanced up and saw her sister entering her chamber.
“I heard the sentries,” she said. “More visitors?”
Belladonna shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “The army has been sighted. They should be here within the hour.”
Lily dropped her sewing, her eyes wide at her sister. “My… God,” she gasped. “Truly? They are returning?”
Belladonna nodded. “Aye,” she said calmly. “Their standards have been identified.”
Lily’s breathing began to come in rapid heaves. “Bentley,” she whispered. “And… Clayton. Bella, he cannot see me like this. You know that. We thought… Sweet Mary, we thought the army would be gone until this child is born. Now it is too late to run!”
Belladonna nodded. “I know,” she said calmly, “but Clayton will not see you. We will hide you and I will tell Clayton that you took ill and left to the seaside for your health. You know he will not care, and he most certainly will not look for you. When it is safe, Bentley will take you away.”
Lily’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her sister. “What if he does not return?”
“Then someone will take you away. Please do not worry, Lily. All will be well, I promise.”
Now, the roles were somewhat reversed. Lily was close to panic and Belladonna was calm. With the help of a few maids who were sworn to secrecy, and who knew of Lady le Cairon’s condition, Belladonna took Lily to a chamber on the top floor where the servants and visitors slept. It was two adjoining rooms, with one heavily-fortified door, and the maids were in a frenzy moving all of Lily’s possessions up to it.
With Lily safely tucked away pending the arrival of the army, Belladonna’s apprehension was growing. Her palms were sweating and her mouth was dry but, on the exterior, she seemed unusually calm. She returned to her chamber to wait out the return of the army but found she couldn’t stay there. She saw Dashiell at every turn; on her bed, standing by the hearth – everywhere. His ghost filled the chamber.
Fretfully, she fled back to the chapel, seemingly the only place she had any comfort. Gazing at that beautifully carved altar, it seemed most appropriate to pray, and pray she did. Falling to her knees in front of the altar, she began to pray furiously.
Time passed. It was slow, like the trickle of a stream, meandering with no real destination. Belladonna felt as if she were riding upon it, like flotsam, floating along with time as she waited for Savernake’s army to return and the news that her husband was either dead or alive. Just when she lost herself in the timeless ritual of prayer, the faint cries of the sentries started up again.
The army was coming through the gates.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes but she fought them off as hard as she could. She wanted to be proud and strong when the men came to tell her that Dashiell had been killed in battle, or she wanted to be proud and strong when he walked into the chapel in person. She planned what she was going to say to him, to tell him how much she loved him and how much she had missed him. She would tell him that her love for him had only grown over time.
There were so many things she wanted to tell him and she prayed she would have the opportunity.
More shouting went on and, soon enough, she began to hear men other than the sentries calling to one another, meaning someone had entered into the bailey. Grooms were being brought forth from the stables and she could hear servants moving about outside of the chapel. In fact, dust was blowing in from the bailey, in through the open chapel door from the feet that had stirred up the dust of the bailey.
At some point, Belladonna lost the ability to pray. She simply knelt in front of the altar, her eyes closed, listening to every shout, every bit of movement from the bailey beyond. She heard Joachim as he spoke to someone, but she couldn’t hear a response.
Until a voice came from the open doorway.
“Lady du Reims?”
Belladonna knew the voice. God help her, she knew it. Opening her eyes, she turned slowly to see Aston standing in the open doorway.
He looked beaten to hell. His blond hair was dirty and unkempt, his face stubbled, and he had a big healing gash on the side of his neck. The sight of him did not do her heart good. In fact, she could feel herself cowering, but she resisted with all her might.
Be strong!
“Aston,” she said, slowing rising. “You… you have returned.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Is my husband dead?”
Aston shook his head. “Nay, my lady.”
So much for being strong. Belladonna burst into tears, her hands flying to her mouth to keep the sobs at bay, but it did little good. She sounded as if she were dying, breathing heavily as she sobbed at the same time. She ran at Aston.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Take me to him!”
Grasping her by the arm, Aston led her out into the bailey, into the remnants of the once-great Savernake army. Everything, and everyone, was in shambles. Men were missing arms, eyes, and limbs. They were leaning on their fellow soldiers for support. To Belladonna, they looked like the walking dead and her eyes widened at the sight.
“My… God,” she gasped. “Then it was true. The battle at Newark… it was true.”
Aston had her by the elbow, leading her towards a group of wagons over near the gatehouse.
“You were told about Newark?” he asked.
She nodded, looking at the utter devastation of the men around her. “A passing merchant told us,” she said. “But he had only heard rumor. Aston, what happened?”
Aston sighed heavily. “Destruction,” he mumbled. “We were facing off against John’s mercenary army near Newark and the odds were even until William Marshal and William Longespée changed loyalties. That weighted John’s army heavily against us. We would have been able to make adjustments had it happened before the battle, but it happened during. We didn’t know who our enemies were until they started cutting men down. They boxed us in on the east and west flanks and, when we realized that, we knew that someone would have to remain behind to fight so the more damaged units could get away. Dash led us into that battle, my lady. I have never seen anything like it in my life.”
Belladonna could hardly believe the utter devastation she was seeing among the once-mighty Savernake army.
“How many men did we lose?” she asked, her voice dull with sorrow.
Aston had his sights set on a particular wagon that had been moved over near the armory. He headed towards it.
“We left here with almost eighteen hundred men,” he said. “We lost almost nine hundred, including Clayton.”
Belladonna looked at him in shock. “Clayton is dead?”
“Aye,” he said. “So is Lord Sherston. Surely you remember him.”
“I do,” she gasped. “What happened?”
Aston sighed heavily. “He was hit by an arrow in the neck. Dash tried to save the man, but we were fighting for our own lives at the time and it was… harrowing. I hope I never see such a thing again.”
Belladonna was swept with sorrow over the loss of Anthony Cromford, a man who had been truly kind to her and Dashiell in their hour of need. It was difficult to hear of the death of a genuinely compassionate man.
“I am so sorry,” she murmured. “He was a very kind man. And my husband? Is he well?”
Aston was closing in on the wagon he’d been looking for. “He has been injured, but it has not stopped him,” he said. “But Bentley… he has been badly wounded.”
They reached the wagon, but Belladonna was still looking at Aston until someone suddenly grabbed her. She yelped with fright until she realized it was Dashiell, and his arms were around her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. Her tears returned with a vengeance as she grabbed hold of him, inhaling his dirt and his musk, never in her life experiencing anything so sweet or satisfying.
He was home!
“Dash,” she wept. “You’ve come back to me!”
Dashiell had her so tightly that he was in danger of crushing her. “Aye,” he said, his voice raspy. “I told you I would. And I have never loved you more than I do now, at this very moment.”
Belladonna squeezed and squeezed, incapable of doing anything else, until she finally released him, at least so she could look him in the face. She was met by a very weary-appearing man with a massive gash across his face that ran from the corner of his nose all down the right side of his face and down his jaw. Someone had put stitches in it, big and black catgut stitches, and Belladonna gingerly touched the terrible wound.
“My sweetest love,” she murmured. “Does it hurt much?”
He shook his head, looking down at her. It took her a moment to realize there were tears in his eyes. “Nay,” he whispered. “It simply makes the old man look older. Now uglier. But I am alive.”
“That is the most important thing,” she said fervently. “You are still the most handsome man I have ever seen and I love you madly.”
“Still?”
“More than the heavens love the stars.”
That seemed to trigger something in him, something deeply emotional, and Dashiell kissed her deeply, listening to her soft weeping. There was such joy in her tears, such adoration in her touch. Together, they embraced away months of separation, and of fear and longing. It was happiness beyond description. But even as Belladonna rejoiced over the return of Dashiell, she caught sight of someone lying supine in the bed of the wagon.
It was Bentley.
The tall, dark, and handsome knight barely looked like himself. His hair was long and dirty, and he had a full beard upon his face. He was covered with blankets but, from the color of his pasty face, he was quite ill. A gasp of sympathy escaped her lips.
“Bent,” she murmured. “What happened to him?”
Dashiell was looking at the man, great sorrow in his expression. “An ax,” he said. “It caught him in the back. He has hovered near death since that time and the physic did not expect him to survive this long, but he has. The man has a strong will to live.”
Belladonna’s hand flew to her mouth. “Poor Bentley,” she breathed. “Where is the physic now? Why is he not here, with him?”
“We lost our physic to the de Winter army. They had more casualties than we did.”
“So you have been tending Bentley yourself?”
“As much as I have been able. I have tended my share of battle wounds in my life, but this… this is beyond any skill I possess. That Bent has survived this long is a miracle.”
He seemed too horribly depressed about it and Belladonna looked him. “Lily is an excellent healer,” she said softly. “She has learned much from the apothecary in Marlborough where she used to purchase her pessaries. In fact, we must send for the apothecary right away. Mayhap, he will know how to help Bent.”
“It would be wise. I have done all I can.”
Belladonna put her hand on his arm, sympathetically. “You are the wisest, strongest man I know,” she said softly. “I am sure Bent is only alive because of you.”
That seemed to bring on more depression from Dashiell. “He is wounded because of me,” he said. “Bent took the ax that Clayton was aiming for me. He put himself in harm’s way and the next thing I realized, Bric MacRohan cut Clayton’s head clean from his body, but not until after Clayton sunk the ax into Bentley’s back. What Bentley did, he did to save me. I… I cannot watch him die, Bella. He has survived this long and I swear, I cannot watch him die.”
Belladonna was beside herself with the details of Bentley’s injury and Clayton’s graphic death. She could see such pain in Dashiell’s eyes, so she didn’t press him about anything he’d just told her, not Clayton’s attempt on his life nor MacRohan’s rescue. None of that mattered now, not with Bentley as a casualty.
Somehow, she felt that Dashiell was crying out to her for help, as if he were too bone-weary and muddled from the rigors of war to make one more decision. He’d come home for peace, and she was going to give it to him. For all of these men, who had suffered and fought for one another, she was going to do what a wife of the noble and powerful Dashiell du Reims would do.
She was going to be worthy of him.
