“To arms!” Baldwin roared, his voice a battle-cry steeped in fury. “Beth! Eleanor! Behind the trees. Now!”
Beth clung desperately to her horse, heart hammering as chaos erupted around her. Arrows pierced the earth and whizzed past her. She found Eleanor, eyes wide, gripping her reins as they both scrambled from their mounts to reach shelter. Cedric’s men advanced swiftly, their faces hidden beneath rusting helms, but cold menace shining clearly from narrowed eyes.
Baldwin moved with a warrior’s deadly grace, wielding his sword with fierce precision as he blocked every path to Beth and Eleanor. A dark fury radiated from him as he lunged and struck, determined no harm would reach them.
Chaos rule as Beth’s horse skittered next her as a dark-armored attacker lunged. She saw his blade flash bright, her breath seized by pure panic, when suddenly Roland knocked the attacker aside with a savage grunt of pain.
Roland cried out as steel tore through flesh, blood blooming vibrant crimson across the fallen leaves. He crumpled and went down on one knee, his sword slipping from numb fingers.
In the chaos, a man sprang from the shadows, blade flashing toward Roland’s exposed back. Without hesitation, Eleanor pulled her bow, swiftly nocking an arrow and loosing it with deadly precision. Her shot found its mark, burying itself deep in the assailant’s chest, sending him crashing to the forest floor.
Ignoring the battle raging around him, Baldwin surged forward, his face a mask of fury. With savage grace, he slew theenemies who dared step into his path, muscles flexing beneath armor as steel met steel with vicious purpose. Beth swayed against the tree, nausea making her dizzy. She had watched countless action movies, but fictional characters had hardly prepared her for the gruesome immediacy of real violence. Spots danced before her eyes and bile rose bitterly in her throat.
“To me.” Baldwin bellowed, his voice slicing through the turmoil like tempered steel. “Protect the women. We ride for Glenhaven.” Gripping Roland’s shoulder, Baldwin helped him onto his horse.
Their flight from Cedric’s attack was frantic and chaotic. Baldwin thundered ahead, his heavy tread carving a path through wild tangles of bramble and shadow-drenched trees. Beth struggled to keep pace beside Roland, dread sinking claws into her chest every time she glanced at his pale, sweat-slickened face. Her mind raced desperately, scrambling for facts buried deep in memories of first aid and anatomy lessons.
Night closed in around them like a smothering hand, stars flickering faintly between shifting clouds. They stopped for a brief moment, horses blowing hard and stamping with anxiety. Jason gently passed Roland a waterskin, his quiet murmurs threaded with worry.
Beth nearly jumped as Baldwin halted before her. Even in the dimness she saw the tight set of his jaw, the grim intensity in those storm-grey eyes. Without a word, he reached down and lifted her chin, his rough fingertips warm, steady despite everything, as he searched her face.
She managed a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “Cedric’s never going to stop. Not until he finishes this.”
Baldwin’s eyes narrowed, dangerous and fierce. “Then he’s an even greater fool than I gave him credit for.” His voice rumbled low and harsh, raw steel and fury barely restrained. “Ifhe dares come after you again, I’ll strike him down myself. He’ll not touch you or anyone under my protection ever again.”
CHAPTER 19
Baldwin rode away from Glenhaven as dawn crept across the sky. His destrier’s hooves made little sound on the dew-dampened earth, a rhythm that matched the troubled beating of his heart. He needed solitude, needed to escape the confines of the stone walls that seemed to press in upon him with each passing day.
The mist hung low over the lake, tendrils of white curling above the water like ghostly fingers reaching for the heavens. Birdsong pierced the silence, tentative at first, then bolder as the sun climbed higher. Baldwin drew his mount to a halt at the water’s edge, the beast’s breath forming small clouds in the cool morning air.
He dismounted with practiced ease, removing his riding gloves, tucking them into his belt before running a hand through dark hair that had grown too long of late. His cloak settled around him as he found a flat stone near the water’s edge, the heavy fabric pooling like shadow.
The events of recent days weighed upon him heavier than any armor he had ever donned as he stared out over the still water, watching as the mist began to retreat. Beth’s near poisoning, Roland’s injury, the ambush. All bore Cedric’s mark.How far would the man’s envy push him? How much danger would he bring to Beth and to Glenhaven before this bitter feud found its end?
“Perhaps had I handled matters differently,” Baldwin murmured to the silent lake, “Cedric’s heart would not hold such darkness.”
He rested his elbows upon his knees, remembering when Cedric had been his friend and how quickly friendship could turn to bitter rivalry.
The summer sunbeat down upon the training yard, relentless in its heat. Baldwin, six-and-ten and already showing promise of the man he would become, circled his opponent with careful steps. Sweat dampened his tunic, plastered his hair to his forehead, but his grip on his practice sword remained firm.
“Come, Devereux,” Cedric called, his own sword held high. “Or do you fear to strike?”
Baldwin did not take the bait. Lord Mortimer, the master who had taken them both as squires, valued patience in battle above all else. Rashness led to death, he often said. So Baldwin waited, watching for the telltale shift in Cedric’s weight that would betray his next move.
There, a slight lean to the left. Baldwin stepped right as Cedric lunged, bringing his own weapon down in a controlled arc that caught Cedric across the shoulder. The blow was not hard enough to injure, but more than sufficient to score a point.
“Well struck,” Lord Mortimer called from the edge of the yard. “Devereux wins again.”
Cedric’s face darkened with a flush that owed nothing to the heat. He threw his practice sword to the ground with such forcethat the wooden blade cracked. “He always wins,” he snarled, stalking away.
Baldwin made to follow, but Lord Mortimer’s hand upon his shoulder stopped him. “Let him go, lad. Some men cannot bear to lose with grace.”
Later that evening, as they supped in the great hall, Lord Mortimer made an announcement that caused Cedric’s cup to freeze halfway to his lips.
“A tournament,” the lord proclaimed, “for my squires and those of neighboring lands. The victor shall receive a fine destrier and shall be first among you to earn his spurs.”
Baldwin felt excitement rise within him, but it was tempered by the look of naked hunger on Cedric’s face. His friend and cousin, for they had been friends once, stared at Lord Mortimer as a starving man might gaze upon a feast.
