The physic was a big man with big arms and black teeth. He bent over Rupert, listened to his mouth, his chest, and then rolled him onto his side. He began sticking his fingers into the man’s mouth, pulling out teeth and clotted blood. Then, he gave him a slap on the back to dislodge anything else and perhaps get him breathing again, but Rupert remained still.
Finally, the physic stood up.
“He’s gone,” he said. “Might have choked to death on all of the blood from his face. It’s pooled back in his throat.”
Emelisse heard him. She was still trying to wriggle her way towards him but the tears came, slowing her progression. There was such pain in her heart that she couldn’t begin to manage it. It bled out all over the place, spilling out of her, and she wallowed in it even though she was trying not to. She was trying to get to her father.
She wanted to help him.
He can’t be dead!
“Da,” she wept softly. “God, please… Da…”
Covington heard her. He looked up from Rupert, realizing Emelisse was very close. She was covered in dirt, in soot, fighting for every inch gained to get to her beloved father, but he was unmoved.
“I will say this one more time,” he said coldly. “Tell your brother to surrender the keep. Agree to this and I shall let you tend to your father.”
Emelisse paused in her struggle, considering his demand. Whether or not her father was dead or alive had no bearing on her stance. She knew that Rupert would not want her to give in to Covington’s demands. He’d been fighting a battle for three years that had evidently been caused by bruised pride and Emelisse wouldn’t surrender what her father had fought so hardfor. The sheer ridiculousness of Covington’s motivation was not lost on her.
She couldn’t believe it had come down to this one dark and agonizing moment in time.
“I will cut my tongue out before I tell Caspian anything,” she grunted, tears rolling down her face and onto the dirty, stone floor. “Stop asking me, for I will not do it.”
Covington’s jaw flexed at her insolence. “You will regret your choice,” he said. Then, he turned to Hallam. “Put her in the vault. Mayhap time spent in that nasty hole will help her see the error of her ways.”
Emelisse found the strength to roll onto her back, her watery eyes blazing. “I willneverhelp you, you vile bastard,” she hissed. “God will punish you for this, Covington de Wrenville. He will wipe you and your abominable family from the earth and if he does not, I will. I will kill you myself!”
Hallam moved to her before Covington could order him to do something unsavory to her. He wasn’t beyond that when provoked. Hallam lifted Emelisse up by her bound arms and heaved her over his shoulder, turning to depart the hall before any further words between the pair were spoken.
The last vision Emelisse had of her father was the one she would remember the rest of her life, regrettably so. She was able to lift her head enough as Hallam carried her off to see the man fully. She saw the black clots of blood on the ground next to him, the missing teeth, the face that was smashed.
She saw it all.
At that point, she could only hope her father was truly dead to end his suffering, an unworthy ending for a kind and generous man.
At that moment, something in her changed. Became hard.
Died.
That day, part of Emelisse de Thorington’s soul ceased to exist.
CHAPTER THREE
“Truly, my lord,you did not have to ride with the army,” Caius said. “Your hospitality and the use of your men have been quite enough. I am sure The Marshal never meant for you to ride to battle with us.”
It was a surprisingly brilliant day for the dead of winter. In fact, the winter itself had been strangely mild. It was just after the new year and although they’d seen chill temperatures, the season hadn’t been particularly wet. The entire ride north from London had been almost pleasant– no storms, no rain, no snow, only icy temperatures. Those were tolerable providing it wasn’t wet. Chain mail, gloves, weapons– anything steel– could turn into blocks of ice and make for truly miserable conditions.
In fact, the weather was so mild that the Earl of Wolverhampton, Edward de Wolfe, had taken to riding north with Caius and Maxton and the army. Considering de Wolfe wasn’t a great warrior, or at least he hadn’t been in years, it was unexpected. He rode with Caius on one side and Maxton on the other, and his youngest son, who was almost as tall as his father in spite of his young age. Edward kept turning around to smile at his twelve-year-old son, William.
“Not to worry, Cai,” Edward said after turning around for the twentieth time that morning to glimpse his son, who was riding alongside his cousin, Morgan. “There is no reason I should not ride with you to Winterhold. It is not far from Wolverhampton and I’ve not seen Covey de Wrenville for about a year. He is my vassal, you know. ’Tis good for me to see the man and reaffirm those bonds so he remembers who he has sworn fealty to.”
It sounded like a threat, something that had Caius glancing at Maxton, who simply lifted his eyebrows. Edward had seemed rather perturbed by the entire situation, all of it directed at Covington. Caius returned his focus ahead to the road, to the winter-dead landscape, thinking on what they would face when they finally reached Winterhold.
He wasn’t holding out much hope that he would find favorable conditions.
Caius, Maxton, Kevin, Peter, Morgan, and Gareth had all arrived at Warstone Castle two nights ago, late into the night, only to find thousands of Pembroke and Hereford men in the vast bailey. The armies had arrived that very same day and there were exhausted men feasting the night away.
Edward had been waiting for the command team.
