“My lady,” Matthew demanded hoarsely. “Where are you hurt?”
She shook her head, sobs bubbling up until they spilled out all over. “He…” she gasped. “He did not hurt me. He tried, but I… I killed him. My God, Ikilledhim.”
Matthew let out a sigh so heavy that it was as if his entire body suddenly deflated. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her; she was quivering violently.
“Let me see,” he lifted her hair and checked her neck, shoulders and arms for damage. When he was convinced the blood wasn’t hers, he met her still-terrified gaze. “Forgive me forleaving you unprotected. I did not realize Luke had left until I saw that his horse was gone.”
She did not know what to say. All she knew was that she had killed a man and she could not shake the horror of it.
“He is dead,” she whispered. “I killed him.”
Matthew could see how shaken she was. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled her into his arms.
“You were brave, my lady,” his lips were against her forehead. “Had you not killed him, he would have surely killed you. There is no shame in defending yourself.”
She sobbed uncontrollably and he pulled her closer, perhaps just because he wanted to. “I did not want to do it,” she wept. “He forced me to. I did not want to.”
Matthew did not know what to say. He’d been in so many battles and had killed so many men that the act, the sight of it, did not bother him in the least. Such were the perils of war. But the lady was different; this was something new and horrifying and he felt tremendously remorseful for it. He should have been here to protect her, but he had left that duty to Luke, unaware his brother had run home for help. Then he had been caught up in his own mortal struggle. It took him some time to realize that the lady had been left unprotected. He was an idiot.
Behind him, he heard a growl and turned in time to see another opponent bearing down on him. On his knees with a woman in his arms was not the best position to meet an adversary.
Matthew unsheathed his sword with his right hand, turned to face his attacker and shoved Alixandrea behind him all in one clean motion. His foe was one of Dorset’s finest and dispatching him was not as simple as a three-stroke kill. It took considerably more of Matthew’s strength to slay the man that was trying very hard to kill him. The fight was brutal but eventually Matthew’ skill and strength won out.
When the assailant lay dying on the ground, Matthew turned his attention once again to the lady. She stood back against the carriage, clutching Jezebel and struggling for composure. Strode had regained consciousness by this time and sat at her feet, nursing a sore head. As Matthew made his way back over to her, a knight suddenly roared up on a big red charger. The horse kicked up clods of earth, spraying it in all directions.
“Matt,” the man demanded. “Are you well, man?”
Matthew paused, glancing down at his body, remembering the gash to his thigh. He nodded with some weariness.
“Well enough,” he said. “How is Luke?”
“Fine,” the knight said. “He rode back with us. Looks like Dorset’s men again.”
“I know.” Matthew continued on towards Alixandrea. He reached out a hand to her, gently pulling her away from her frightened servants. “My lady, this is my brother, Sir Mark Wellesbourne. Mark, this is the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave. Take her back to the castle and make her safe.”
Mark was in fighting mode but saw the seriousness in his brother’s expression. He could only imagine what had gone on in the past several minutes; one look at the lovely lady showed that she had not been passed over in this battle.
He was, in fact, not surprised to see her. They should have anticipated Dorset’s men in the area, even though they had appeared to vacate a few days ago, and they should have doubly anticipated an ambush of the allied party. Although he wanted to stay and fight, he would obey his brother’s wishes. He held out his arms.
“Give her to me,” he said. “I shall return her home. Caroline will see to her.”
Matthew swept Alixandrea into his arms, realizing the moment he touched her that he was very thankful she was in one piece. She was trembling; he could feel it through his armor.Their eyes met for a brief moment and he managed a weak smile before he handed her over.
“My brother will escort you to Wellesbourne,” he said to her. “His wife will take excellent care of you.”
Mark settled her in front of him, but she seemed reluctant to go. “But what about my servants?” she asked. “And my carriage? Who will…?”
“My men will get the carriage righted and send them on their way,” he assured her. “Have no fear that all will be taken care of. Go with Mark now.”
Having no further argument, she allowed Mark to settle her back on the saddle. He spurred his great red charger forward, galloping down the road to Wellesbourne.
Matthew stood a moment, watching them go, wondering why a thousand different thoughts and emotions were suddenly racing through his mind. He’d faced skirmishes like this before, countless times, and he’d only been focused on being victorious. But this battle had been different, and that the difference was currently riding to Wellesbourne with his brother.
*
Caroline Wellesbourne hadmade such a fuss over Alixandrea that one would have thought the Virgin Mary had walked right into their midst. Alixandrea was at a loss to understand why the woman was so thrilled to see her, but the few-minute trek from the steps of the keep, through the hall, up the spiral stairs and to the fourth floor told her why, exactly, the woman was so happy to have her.
Wellesbourne Castle was full of men, from top to bottom, and smelled like a pig sty. There were dogs everywhere, rubbish in the corners, and the great hall smelled of vomit and urine. The dogs freely used the corners of the room for the latrine.It was absolutely appalling. Caroline, overwhelmed and lonely, was clearly one of the only females in the entire castle and she was desperate for something fine and sweet and noble to remind her that such things did, indeed, still exist.
