Fia had done better than expected—Kenna was impressed the maid had reached the pot in time.
“Calm yourself,” Kenna soothed, despite the fact the two had been fretting inside the dusty bedchamber for an hour listening to a battle waging outside the walls of Gowry Hall. In her most convincing voice she added, “You may wish for death just now, but I tell you I’ll not allow it.”
The inconsolable Fia whimpered and retched. Kenna stood and paced. The hackle-raising war cries that began the siege had long since been abandoned for concentrated killing. Every few minutes the rhythmic clanging of swords would miss a beat,followed by a groan or a telling silence. The silent moments grew in length, filled only with the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. Did this mean the siege was nearing its end?
Alas, the distant scuffling commenced anew, and a telling odor snaked its way through the coverless window, forcing her to swallow hard. Imagining how much blood it would take to put that scent in the air nearly had her wrestling her maid for a turn at the pot.
No longer able to contain her curiosity, she pushed her fear of danger aside and moved to the window set inside the rough log walls. Fearing the bailey would be a sea of red, she leaned tentatively forward. She should refrain, but for the first time in her life there was no one forcing her to do as she ought.
The scene below surprised her. She had expected more men to be fighting; there were few. There was blood, there were bodies, but the rich spring earth was still black, the turf still green. Tiny yellow blossoms hid together in the shadow of a felled gate, waiting to see if they, too, would survive the day.
A large man with his back to Kenna matched vicious sword blows with her husband-to-be. They were a striking pair—Gowry pale and blonde, the other dark as an avenging angel. They were of a height, Kenna realized, which was impressive considering her bridegroom’s Viking stature.
Gowry glanced to the side, then laughed in the other’s face before stepping back out of reach. In the blink of an eye the coward had snatched up a young boy and placed the lad between himself and his dark enemy. He slapped a short sword into the youth’s hands and pushed him forward to fight in his stead before turning away, only to be stopped by another foe, thankfully.
Kenna was not the only one stunned by Gowry’s cowardice. The lad and his opponent stood facing each other, blades raised. The boy looked stricken, like Satan himself was standing beforehim, demanding his soul. His small weapon shook though he held it with both hands.
She could now see the side of the man’s face, and the fury on it more than explained the lad’s trepidation, but it was quickly replaced by pity. His massive broadsword lowered.
But just as she dared hope that the lad would be spared, he chose to follow his own childish wisdom and swung his small blade with all his might at his mountainous opponent. The ineffective weapon bounced off the larger one and back against the boy’s head. A thin line of red quickly stretched down his face while he scowled at his own traitorous blade.
The warrior cursed and stepped forward as he knocked the lad’s weapon to the ground then scooped the foolish child into his arms. She couldn’t help but laugh at the surprise on the laddie’s face.
The man shouted an order at the pile of rags in his embrace. In answer, the boy’s hand flew to his head, covering his wound. Kenna’s amusement was cut short, however, when the stupid man actually threw the child away from him.
Admittedly, Gowry had stumbled backward in their direction, but the small neck could have broken when the wee tattered body landed on its side a good distance away.
Only from Kenna’s vantage point, high above the child’s body could anyone have seen his movements. She watched with joy as the boy slowly inched one hand up to tuck under his cheek, smiling like a clever servant sneaking off for a nap. He slapped his other hand up against his wound before lying still once again.
So, the devil had spared the boy from further clumsiness, and likely spared him from Gowry’s further sacrifice.
“Well done, then,” Kenna breathed. Perhaps he would spare her and Fia as well.
A mere heartbeat later, Kenna’s cowardly intended was simultaneously struck by an arrow in his chest and the darkangel’s sword through his belly. After the blade was pulled from its human sheath, the blond groom fell stiffly to his knees. He looked up and found Kenna.
Strands of his aging yellow hair were gently lifted by either the breeze or the wake of his departing soul. While he remained upright, his snarling lips moved and she knew this man—whose clutches she had just escaped—cursed her with his last breath.
His hair landed lifeless once more against his head and he fell silently forward into the dirt with not so much as a puff of dust.
“Well, Fia, looks like my weddin’s off, then. The Gowry is dead.”
CHAPTER TWO
Her maid continued to retch, But Kenna couldn’t pull herself away from the window to offer any further comfort. The reality of the battle was just too disturbing, so different from the romantic tales Old Clark had recounted.
Also, she was lured by the familiar and pungent kiss of the sun-warmed pine of the embrasure. Golden pearls of sap were the only decoration to this unhallowed hall to which her aunt had sent her, and she reached out to test one with her finger. Firm but sticky in the warmth of the late spring sun.
The breeze had strengthened enough to take away the stench of blood, and she could not make herself exchange that clean cool air for the fresh reek of the bedchamber.
She was free. Praise God, if he still listened to one such as her. For the second time in two days, her prison doors had opened. And now she would do what she had always planned if she were ever free of Aunt Agatha’s clutches, and now Gowry’s.
Just that quickly, between a breath drawn and a breath released, Kenna knew what she would do with her freedom. She needed only to wait for the battle to end.
In a powerful movement, one man cut the head off another, and to her horror she was unable to shut her eyes to the sight of the head spinning free. In its wake, a spray of blood splatted in a dotted trail down the backside of a pale horse.
She was unaware of how long she stood staring and motionless, her senses filled only with red rain. Death was no glorious end. After the fighting was over, these men wouldnotawaken, wash off their blood, and sew their parts back on to take up other duties.
She blinked and looked for her groom. At least one consolation, then. Gowry, at least, would stay put.
