Releasing Arissa’s arm, he snatched a heavy woolen cloak from one of the deceased women and shook it out sharply, tossing it at Arissa. She barely caught it, her hands shaking from disgust and fear as she slung it about her narrow shoulders and secured it tightly. Pulling the brown hood over her head and praying there weren’t lice nesting inside, she did not resist when Lyle grabbed her once more and thrust her into the driving weather.
In spite of the fact that the wool cloak stank to heaven and scratched her tender skin, it was warm and thick and offered a good deal of protection. Lyle pulled her through the muddy pond that had once been the kitchen yard, his eyes alert for any soldier or servant that might alert Lambourn of the princess’ abduction.
Even though the sounds of fighting were loud and fierce, he caught a glimpse of only a few soldiers, and those men were engaged in mortal combat with enemy warriors. Not one bothered to pay attention to the unfamiliar soldier leading a small figure toward the servant’s gate. Additionally, thepounding rain offered a shroud to partially obscure them against alert gazes.
Already, Arissa’s feet were soaking through. Her hide boots were not meant to be submerged in water for any length of time and were saturating quickly. Lyle, however, was oblivious of her discomfort as he hurried her toward the wall. The closer they drew, the greater his sense of urgency.
They were almost free. Soon, Wales would loom before him in all her glory and Owen would be most pleased to discover Henry’s bastard daughter within his midst. Mayhap she would be the leverage he was looking for, the key to bargaining with Henry. The surprise element the English king was not counting on.
The gate was within his grasp. He reached out to touch it, feeling its iron comfort him, assuring him of his successful mission. He gained strength from the gate, even as he pushed Arissa through it, knowing the satisfaction of a task accomplished. The princess was his.
But his satisfaction was the last positive emotion he was to feel. As he was preparing to enter the gate himself, a loud crash sounded directly over his head as something heavy slammed into the stone of the wall. Instinctively, Lyle ducked as a heavy mace came crashing down on his helm. Had it not been for his head protection, he would have been knocked unconscious. As it was, his ears were ringing as he whirled to face his accoster.
It was his worst nightmare come to life. Through the sheet of driving rain, emerging from the very bowels of hell, was a figure so massive and terrifying that Lyle could scarcely believe it. He knew it would be of no use to run; he would simply be caught and killed. But he knew in the same breath that he was going to meet his demise regardless, for the figure approaching had sent many a man into the depths of the underworld.
Lyle was gazing into the face of the Devil’s own ferryman. Surely Charon hadn’t driven as many souls into the maze of Hades as this man before him had. Terror filled his heart. There was no escape.
Death was approaching.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Richmond le Becraised his sword, the razor-sharp tip aimed at Lyle’s throat. “You will release her.”
Struggling against his natural fear, Lyle’s grip tightened on Arissa’s soft arm. “Owen knows she’s here, le Bec. If you kill me, more will come for her and still more until she’s within the heart of the Welsh resistance. We will not stop until we have her.”
As the soldier spoke of crazy misconceptions, Arissa heart was soaring with hope. Somehow, Richmond had sensed she was in danger; she did not know how he had come to discover her predicament, but the reasons behind his knowledge were of little concern. The only factor of import was his timely arrival.
“Richmond!” she cried. “Thank God!”
Richmond heard her voice, filling him with sweetness and longing and utter elation. But the soldier’s words were rattling about in his weary mind and he couldn’t shake the impact; Owen was aware of Arissa’s identity. It did not matter how the man knew, only that he was in possession of knowledge very few people were aware of.
Suddenly, the growing Welsh rebellion was striking far too close to his heart and Richmond was filled with panic and rage. Tightening the grip on the hilt of his powerful broadsword, he resumed his advance with a vengeance. Owen couldn’t have Arissa; if he had to kill every rebellious Welsh bastard personally, he would not stop until all hazard to Arissa’s safety was vanished. And he would begin with the idiot before him.
“You cannot have her,” he growled as he closed the distance between them. “You shall pay for your foolish folly with your worthless life.”
Lyle, still gripping Arissa, backed away from Richmond’s approach. “That may be, but heed my words. We know her to be Henry’s daughter and Owen means to have her.”
Arissa, bewildered and apprehensive, began to struggle wildly within his crushing grip. Shrieking and gasping, she tugged against his hold and took to pounding him on the shoulder. A well-aimed fist caught him in the face and, for a moment, Lyle was distracted.
Emitting a roar of fury borne from fear and anger, Lyle thrust Arissa away from him savagely. With a yelp, she went stumbling away in a reckless reel of force. Before she could stop her momentum, the fortress wall was suddenly in her path and in a blinding flash of pain, the entire world went black.
Richmond’s brittle composure very nearly shattered as Arissa smacked her head against the stone wall, crumpling to the swampy mud. But Owen’s soldier had assumed an offensive stance and he raised his sword, charging the foolish warrior with all of the fury and strength he possessed.
Coming together in a clash of metal and flesh, Owen’s soldier tumbled onto his back from the potency of Richmond’s frenzy. But Lyle was amazingly agile and managed to roll to his feet, regaining his balance and meeting Richmond’s strikes with a good deal of skill. As their battle ensued across the muck-choked yard, Arissa lay unconscious in several inches of freezing, dirty water.
Richmond felt a desperation he had never before experienced. He couldn’t be sure if Arissa was even breathing and the need to dispatch his opponent was greater than any he had ever known. But the soldier was fresh, unhindered by the hours upon hours of endless fighting that Richmondhad experienced. Knowing it was his age draining his stamina, Richmond struggled against a lesser opponent to overcome the most serious threat to Arissa’s life that he had yet to face.
Unfortunately, Owen’s spy showed little sign of defeat and the battle lengthened. Richmond’s panic began to rise, for Arissa had yet to move a muscle and he began to seriously consider his limited options. It almost did not matter whether or not he killed his opponent; of surmounting importance was that he must reach Arissa.
She needed him desperately and anger anew swept him. He refused to believe that he had witnessed her demise as her head crashed against the stone, or as she lay drowning in the mud at this very moment. He simply could not dwell on the sheer horror his frantic thoughts provoked, ’else he would lose his concentration and they would both be lost.
Just as he managed to corner the Welsh soldier against the fortified wall, Gavan suddenly rounded the corner of the kitchen astride his striking red charger. Richmond exerted a hard blow against the soldier, his heart soaring with hope and relief as he laid eyes on his second in command.
“Get Arissa!” he bellowed.
Gavan was off his horse before the words were out of Richmond’s mouth. Over three hundred pounds of flesh and armor made haste to Arissa, scooping her out of the mud and filth. She was alive, but gray and soaked to the skin. Even as Gavan moved for the kitchen entrance, he was shouting urgently to Richmond.
“I am taking her inside!”
