The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 60
Atilius was a skilled warrior. Even as he attacked Kress with surprising power, he was screaming at his men to go after the woman. Kress used Atilius’ distraction to his advantage and came on hard, thrusting and chopping at the man in a skilled fashion and driving him right back into the yard. He was being aggressive, purposely driving Atilius towards the boiling cauldron of water in the center of the yard.
Unfortunately for him, there were far more de Shera men, and he quickly found himself fighting on all sides. He didn’t have one opponent; he had several, each man trying to gore him, but Kress’ years as a knight and his experience fighting in The Levant served him well. He was able to keep from being impaled, but he knew, eventually, he would tire. One couldn’t hold off a gang of men and not suffer for it at some point. But he fought gallantly, not even looking to see that some Castle Rising men had managed to make it over from the barn across the street, and now more of them were filtering into the yard.
But they were still outnumbered.
Kress knew they were in a bad way. The de Shera men outnumbered them more than four to one, so even though the kitchen yard was flooding with Castle Rising and de Shera men, the fight was still badly uneven. Because of that, Kress began to realize that this wasn’t a fight he could win, so he needed to get to a horse and get out of there before someone drove a sword into his back. But the de Shera men must have been thinking the same thing because there was a fairly large wall of men between him and the stable. His path was very nearly blocked.
Therefore, he had to change his plans. He didn’t even know where Achilles or Alexander or Bric, or even Susanna, were. They were somewhere around him, fighting for their lives, but he couldn’t stop to see where they were. At this point, he thought that if he could gain control of Atilius somehow, he could force the de Shera men to stand down. That was his only hope. Atilius was an excellent swordsman, however, and he had no intention of letting Kress get the better of him. He and his men were ganging up on Kress, who was increasingly having to watch himself from all sides.
At one point, Kress unsheathed a fairly large dagger so he could at least fend off weapons with his right hand while he used his broadsword with his left. Given that most men used their right hand, Kress had learned to adapt over the years with swifter movements and different angles than most when in a sword fight. Right-handed men came at him and he would fend them of differently than most, so in a fight like this, it was essential he have weapon in both hands so he could defend himself from all sides.
But it wasn’t without peril.
Someone managed to gouge him fairly deeply in his right hip, an odd spot for a wound, but it was a painful one. The man who inflicted it had received a slash to the face with Kress’ right-handed dagger, and even as that man fell away, there was someone to take his place. But that didn’t lessen Kress’ determination that he should get to Atilius, who was too arrogant to allow his men to do his fighting for him, or even protect him. He was in the forefront of the fighting, now furious because his brother had been killed right in front of him. There was great anger in Atilius’ movements.
“My men shall catch the lady and all of this will have been for naught,” he snarled. “I will string you up by the neck for what you did to my brother, you bastard. I want you alive!”
Kress stabbed one of Atilius’ men right in front of him as he came too close and tried to gore him. As the man fell away, mortally wounded, Kress smiled thinly at Atilius.
“You would have had the lady on the morrow had you not been so stupid and greedy,” he said. “Your brother deserved what he received. As shall you.”
Atilius slashed at him, shouting at his men to back away because he wanted the pleasure of subduing Kress personally. But he made a tactical error; in order to give the command, he’d let his guard down slightly, and his attention was briefly divided, and Kress took the opportunity to throw his shoulder into Atilius’ chest, sending the man flying backwards. He crashed into the rear door of the inn, which had been locked by Jude and her father when the fighting started. They didn’t want the battle to spill inside, which was wise, and Kress didn’t blame them. But Atilius falling backwards into the door jarred his sword from his hand, and as the weapon fell to the ground, Kress threw a punch with his enormous fist, catching Atilius in the jaw with it. Very quickly, the sword fight became a fist fight, and a brutal one at that.
Kress and Atilius wrestled against the door, throwing punches and trying to knock each other down. Kress had the size and strength advantage, and he headed-butted Atilius so badly that it split the man’s nose and lower lip. Blood streamed. He was just wrapping his hands around Atilius’ neck with the intention of squeezing the life from him when something surprising happened.
The back door suddenly opened and out of Kress’ peripheral vision, he caught sight of a hand with a dagger. A particular dagger with an elaborate gold hilt; he caught the flash of gold quickly. Suddenly, the dagger was in Atilius’ torso, not once but at least three times that Kress could count, and Atilius groaned and sank to his knees as the same hand drove the dagger in at least three more times before stopping. Stunned, Kress watched as Atilius fell forward, planting himself face-first in the mud of the kitchen yard.
He was as still as stone.
Shocked, and puzzled, Kress looked up to see Tatius standing in the doorway with the elaborate de Shera dagger in his hand, covered in blood. Before Kress could say a word, Tatius charged out into the kitchen yard and began screaming at the de Shera soldiers.
“Cease!” he bellowed as loud as he could. “Stop your fighting! I command it! As your liege, I command that you stop your battle against these men and return to your horses. Return now!”
It was a pivotal moment. Would the de Shera army listen to the earl? Or had they been too conditioned by his greedy brothers? Very slowly, the fighting began to ease back as the de Shera soldiers, confused and even perturbed, ground to a halt only to see Atilius de Shera lying face-down near the door to the tavern, Fabius de Shera lying in a pool of his own blood in the middle of the kitchen yard, and Tatius de Shera actually giving the commands.
The earl was the only one left to give orders.
That seemed to be enough of a factor to bring them to a complete halt.
It was a tense, terrible moment as far as Kress was concerned, but one of relief when he realized the de Shera soldiers were actually listening to Tatius. Kress then dared to look around the yard to see where his comrades were and he could see Achilles over by the stables along with Bric. Both men were beaten and bloodied, but there were more than their fair share of bodies around them. Alexander was near the boiling cauldron of water with his hand around a man’s throat. Even though Tatius had commanded his men to cease, Alexander wasn’t willing to let go, not yet. But it was the sight of the last warrior that had Kress moving.
Susanna was down.
“Christ,” he muttered.
He rushed towards the woman as she lay on the ground near the alleyway to the north, where the first wave of men had entered. When Achilles happened to see what Kress saw, he bolted in that direction, as well.
Around them, the de Shera soldiers were starting to disband because Tatius shouted at them again, all but ignoring the four knights and one lady warrior they’d been battling against. Kress reached Susanna’s side a split-second before Achilles did.
“Susanna,” Kress said, looking her over and seeing a bloom of blood down by her right groin. “We’ll get you inside, lass. We’ll find a physic.”
Susanna was ghostly pale as she looked up at Kress. “Nay,” she insisted hoarsely, reaching up to grab the neck of his tunic. “Find… Cadie. She must be protected at all costs.”
Kress nodded quickly, looking to Achilles and shocked to see that the man was distraught as he looked down at Susanna.
“Oh… Sparks,” Achilles said, deeply grieved. “Come with me, lass. I will make sure you are healed, I swear it. ’Twill be all right.”
Kress could see, in that instant, that the hateful relationship Achilles had with Susanna in the beginning of their association was something that was long gone. It had been replaced by something warm and caring; he could see it in Achilles’ expression. He felt rather stupid for not having realized it sooner, but he’d been preoccupied with his own romantic intentions. He watched as Achilles bent over and scooped Susanna into his arms, holding her tenderly against his chest as he headed back towards the tavern.
As Achilles headed off, Kress turned to Alexander.
“I must go after Cadelyn,” he said. “Can you hold the line here? I have a feeling this peace is tremulous at best, especially with the Welsh involved. They may try to follow.”
Alexander nodded swiftly. “Go,” he commanded quietly. “Get the lady out of here. Send word when you settle.”
“I will,” Kress said. Then, he paused, a flicker of warmth coming to his eyes. “Sherry… there are not words to express what you mean to me or the gratitude I feel. Tell The Marshal… tell him that Cadie is safe and that she is with me, and that I shall love her for the rest of my life. That will not be what he wishes to hear, but when you tell him everything, I know he will understand. He is not unreasonable.”
Alexander put a gloved hand to Kress’ cheek. “You think so, do you?” he said, grinning wearily. “I said send word when you settle, but I did not say tell us where you are. It is better if you don’t. Be safe, my friend, and take great care. If you ever need me, I shall come.”
Kress squeezed Alexander’s arm, feeling deeply emotional at that moment. He and Alexander had been through a great deal together, for many years. But at this moment, the situation seemed so very final. Perhaps he would see Alexander and Achilles and his other friends again, or perhaps not. But at the moment, it seemed like a small price to pay in order to keep the woman he loved safe. Dropping his hand from Alexander, he reached out to affectionately smack Bric on the shoulder before rushing to the stables and confiscating the first horse he came across.
When Kress disappeared from sight, Alexander and Bric retreated back into the tavern, following Achilles’ trail and leaving Tatius in the kitchen yard with his dead brothers, a confused army, and a renewed sense of control.
He was the earl, after all.
When Nesta and her Welshmen came into the kitchen yard shortly thereafter to see what had transpired, the sight of the bodies of Atilius and Fabius caused her and her cohorts to pause in confusion. But that confusion didn’t last long. Realizing everything they’d hoped for had been compromised with the shocking deaths of Atilius and Fabius, the unexpected sight of Tatius back in control of his army was enough to send the Welsh running.
They didn’t get very far, however.
Reinforcements had arrived.
Christopher de Lohr and the incoming de Lohr light brigade, with Antoninus de Shera riding proudly alongside the earl, were just approaching the south side of town when they stumbled upon a panicked lady astride a muscular charger that was far too much horse for her. When she sobbingly told the tale of five Marshal knights in a life-or-death battle behind The Crown and Anchor Inn, Christopher made haste to send his mounted cavalry into town just as the Welsh were fleeing.
As a result, Nesta and about half of her men were captured. And Kress, chasing after Cadelyn astride an old horse that hadn’t much speed, or much of anything else, was met by Christopher and Antoninus as he exited the city limits. Reunited with Cadelyn in joy and relief, he felt comfortable enough to take the time to tell Christopher what had happened and the situation with Cadelyn’s life.
But he didn’t wait around for de Lohr’s advice or approval. He had no time for such things as the sense of urgency was clawing at him. The sooner he put distance between Cadelyn and the Welsh, the better. Directing Christopher to speak directly to Tatius de Shera, who was still in the kitchen yard behind The Crown and Anchor Inn, Kress mounted Samson and hastily departed.
With the lady holding on tightly behind him, Kress tore off to the south, making way southeast to a main road that would take them north, straight up through Lancashire, up through Cumbria, and on into Scotland. Freedom was up there – freedom from those intent on hurting Cadelyn. But most of all, freedom and safety for Kress and Cadelyn to start their new life together. As far as they were concerned, Scotland was the best possible place they could be.
And Goliath followed them all the way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Six Weeks Later
Farringdon House
London townhome of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke
“And that is what happened, William,” Christopher said. “The last we saw of Kress and the lady, they were heading southeast to join up with the main road that heads north through Lancashire and goes all the way to Scotland.”
They were in the lavish solar of William Marshal’s townhome, the chamber that covered a good portion of the second floor. The walls were elegantly painted, the stone hearth as tall as a man. It was a place that reeked of power, of men of iron, and of the greatness of England’s most legendary knight. It was all things magnificent and English, but at the moment, it was a place where the story of yet one more knight was being told.
The story of another warrior who had succumbed to the power of love.
It wasn’t a story William particularly wanted to hear.
“God’s Bones,” William muttered from his seat next to the hearth. “This is thrice I have heard this story and it does not become any easier to believe. I heard of the rebellion first from Edward de Wolfe’s missive, then from Sherry as he elaborated on it. Now you have told me even more than that. The rebellion has evidently been thwarted, but the woman at the center of all of this never made it to Mountain Dark.”
“Nay, she did not.”
“And she never married Tatius.”
“She did not.”
William grunted, rubbing at his eyes as he realized the extent of this mission gone wrong. Christopher eyed him, trying to gauge just how angry he was; it was why he’d come to London at Alexander’s request, when the man had told William the entire sordid tale of Tatius de Shera and his greedy brothers, and of the Welshwoman who planned to feed a rebellion from the soul of her long-lost daughter.
It was the story of plans gone horribly awry, and of a seething pot of rebels in Conwy and the surrounding countryside, all of them waiting for Cadelyn of Vendotia to fan the flames of discord. It was trouble beyond belief and William had been livid about it. Christopher’s calming influence had been needed to soothe The Marshal’s temper.
“It is an astonishing tale, to be sure,” Christopher said after a moment, as he poured himself another measure of William’s expensive wine. “I spoke with Tatius de Shera myself and he has confirmed all of this. His brothers, lured by promises of Welsh lands from the woman who calls herself Nesta ferch Madog, coerced Tatius into securing the betrothal with you. According to Ellesmere, they planned to do away with him after the marriage so they could continue with their plans for rebellion. They would have destroyed the entire north of Wales, William. Surely you know that.”
William sighed heavily, wiping his hand over his face in sheer disbelief. “With the de Shera army, they could have done a good deal of damage,” he said. “I suppose I should be grateful that Tatius showed courage for once in his life to send word to you for help.”
“Agreed,” Christopher said firmly. “He prevented a catastrophe. Not only that, but according to Sherry, he killed Atilius himself. That took great courage to rid himself of someone he was very much afraid of, the very man who was driving all of this.”
William sat back in his chair, pondering the situation. “Mayhap it was the fear that gave him the strength to do it,” he said. “And what of this woman claiming to be Cadelyn of Vendotia’s mother? Where is she?”
“In my vault,” Christopher said as he sat opposite William. “She is locked safely away from her countrymen. As if this situation can become any stranger, some of the Welshmen we captured with her tell the tale that she is not Nesta ferch Madog at all, but the woman’s crazed sister. They have told us that she killed both her sister and Owain to lay claim to their child to feed her rebellion, though the woman has not confessed to it. Mayhap she never will.”
William grunted. “It would make sense as to why Owain was so desperate for me to take the child and protect her,” he said. “He knew there was darkness surrounding the girl. It seems as if there was, but not from the English – from her own people.”
Christopher nodded. “That is very true,” he said. “But she is safe now.”
William looked at him a moment before snorting, an unhappy and ironic sound. “With de Rhydian,” he scoffed quietly. “First, I lose Maxton of Loxbeare to a woman, and now I lose Kress. My Executioner Knights are falling away, one by one, succumbing to the wiles of women.”
Christopher fought off a grin. “I believe they have fallen in love.”
“It is the same thing.”
“Then you are not going to want to hear that I believe Achilles is next.”
William scowled. “De Dere?” he said. “What has he done? Tell me this instant!”
Christopher started to laugh, trying not to let William see that he thought the man’s reaction comical. “He has not done anything,” he said. “But that lady warrior you sent to protect Lady Cadelyn – Susanna de Tiegh – has the man’s affection, I think.”
“What?” William burst, outraged. “That woman trained at Blackchurch!”
“I was told that.”
“She is as skilled as any warrior in my stable!”
“She is also a woman and from what I have seen, Achilles is fond of her.”
William scowled. “Where is de Dere?” he demanded. “He came back to London with Sherry. Where is that man, I say?”
