“Is she alive?” Richmond took a hard blow, answering with the same.
Gavan muttered something Richmond did not hear. In a panic, he delivered several bone-shattering thrusts that sent the enemy soldier to his knees. As the man raised his sword todefend himself, Richmond’s weapon cut through the freezing rain and air so forcefully that Lyle’s blade was jarred from his grip. The Welshman watched with horror as his sword landed several yards away.
Richmond did not pause in his onslaught. Kicking his opponent squarely in the chest, he sent the man to his back. Lyle gazed up at Richmond, amazingly calm in spite of the fact that he knew he was breathing his last. He comforted himself with the knowledge that David would deliver the news of the princess’ whereabouts to Owen and that factor alone was more important than his own insignificant life.
“They shall come for her,” he said hoarsely. “You cannot protect her from all of Wales.”
Richmond put the tip of his sword to Lyle’s throat, his body quivering with fatigue and emotion. Since there was no use in denying Arissa’s roots, he did not attempt the effort. Instead, he turned the tables. “How did he know?”
Lyle cocked an eyebrow. “You are about to kill me, le Bec. I do not presume to believe that if I were to tell you what you wish to know, you would spare my life. I shall take your answers to my grave.”
Richmond gazed down at him impassively. “So be it. But I will tell you now that every Welshman who comes within the princess’ range will meet with your fate. Hundreds, thousands, it does not matter. They will all die.”
“You are too old to fight them all,” Lyle said softly, his tone laced with defiant defeat. “As I nearly beat you, they shall not fail.”
Richmond’s hands were shaking as he gripped the hilt of his sword. When he moved to finish his task, Lyle suddenly brought up a foot and kicked Richmond in the gut. Losing his balance and his breath, he stumbled back as the Welshman leapt to hishands and knees, crawling desperately through the mud to reach his weapon.
Lyle’s hand met with the hilt of his sword, raising it against Richmond with the full intent of ramming it through his groin. But Richmond was a shade faster, his blade plunging deep into the flesh of Lyle’s torso before the Welshman could complete his purpose. Pierced in the heart, Lyle was walking the fields of Paradise before he realized death had finally claimed him.
*
By the timeRichmond reached Arissa’s bower, Gavan and Penelope were stripping off her icy, soaked clothing while Regine was screaming to the servants for hot water. Richmond thrust himself between his soldier and Penelope, nearly knocking the young girl over in the process.
“I shall get her clothes,” he said, his voice shaking. “Somebody find Mossy.”
Gavan stood back, watching Richmond go to work on Arissa’s heavy woolen surcoat. “I shall retrieve him,” he muttered.
Richmond did not reply; his entire world was centered around the wet figure before him, her skin icy and her face an ugly shade of gray. Knowing of Arissa’s delicate health only served to inflame his panic as he tore off his gauntlets and untangled the sash at her waist. Then, grasping the surcoat around the neck, he gave a sharp tug and tore it cleanly down the middle.
Penelope, remarkably, was calm amidst the hustle and ripping fabric. The girl had a tendency to be skittish and jittery, but she was doing an admirable job of maintaining her composure while Richmond stripped Arissa of her wet clothing.
“What can I do, Richmond?” she asked softly.
He did not answer her for a moment as the clinging woolen garment gave him a slight degree of difficulty. His movements were sharp, rough, and indicative of panic. “Towels, love. Collect as many as you can lay your hands on.”
Penelope was gone, dashing past Regine just as several harried servants emerged into the room with a copper tub and buckets of hot water. Richmond, meanwhile, succeeded in removing all of Arissa’s soaked clothing and wrapped her in a heavy coverlet to keep her warm.
There was nothing he could do for the moment but wait until the servants filled the tub. Cradling Arissa on his lap, he felt the first brick of his substantial wall of composure tumble.
“Oh, Riss,” he whispered into her hair, his quaking fingers tracing over the lump on her forehead. “Wake up, kitten. You are safe now.”
She did not respond and he gripped the back of her limp head with his great hand, kissing her face tenderly and oblivious to the other occupants of the room. At the moment, it simply did not matter if their secret became public knowledge; he loved Arissa and did not care who knew it.
“Wake up, kitten,” he whispered against her temple. “You are safe. Open your eyes, love, listen to me.”
He continued to murmur against her hair as the copper tub was filled to the rim. But she was determined to ignore him, safe and warm and secure from the terrible realities of the world as she huddled deep inside her comforting stupor. After a few non-responsive moments, he paused in his attempt to coax her forth from the depths of unconsciousness, focusing instead on the nearly-full tub.
As Richmond attempted to remove the bedrug in preparation for placing her in the copper vat, Arissa’s eyes abruptly fluttered open.
“Richmond?” she whispered weakly.
Startled, he clutched her tightly. “I am here, Riss. You are safe.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to catch her breath. “The soldier….”
“He’s dead, kitten,” he whispered. “He cannot harm you any longer.”
She struggled to speak. “There…. there were two of them. One was supposed to w-wait outside of the servant’s gate with horses for our escape.”
