On this cold, January morning, the crisp air blew around them and felt good on his face as they rode. They galloped down the bottom half of the hill, across the drawbridge, and straight into the enemy’s castle without one arrow being shot.
Surprise would be on his side.
However, Roderick wasn’t prepared for the chaos he saw once they rode through the entrance. There was no one manning the main gate. The entire castle seemed to be out in the bailey. Small fires burned here and there, giving off rotten smells so that the smoke made the air hazy. Everyone, including the castle guards, who had their backs toward the main gate, were gathered on the left side of the bailey near a raised wooden platform.
It appeared they were preparing to hang someone.
Roderick nudged his mount and they moved closer, so he could get a better view. The crowd parted for him, but no one paid him any attention or his men. Instead, their attention was on the hangman. As Roderick drew near, he saw long, black hair hanging over the noose. My God, they were hanging a woman! What in God’s name could they be thinking?
A big, burly guard was getting ready to shove the stool out from under the lass. As he kicked at the stool, Roderick charged forward, parting the rest of the crowd by knocking them down. Just in time, he reached the girl and snatched her up just as she lost her footing. The hangman had fallen backward in his haste to get away from the rider, and his body had loosened the rope that he’d never gotten secured.
Roderick jerked the woman into his arms before the rope could break her neck, then settled her on his lap in front of him. His men moved to flank him for protection. Gently, he loosened the noose and pulled it over her head, noticing the rope burns on her neck. Next, he removed the ropes from her wrists, yet she still hung limp against his chest. Was he too late? Roderick leaned down and placed two fingers on the side of her neck. A slight thumping beneath his fingertips, gave him his answer.
She lived!
Slowly, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The girl’s clothes were torn and stained with blood. A four-inch gash on her arm was bleeding, and her lip and one eye were swollen and turning blue. To add to that, she now had rope burns around her neck. The woman had been through hell this day. It was probably a blessing she was unconscious.
The men-at-arms, having noticed that they were no longer alone, had drawn their swords. They appeared ready to fight off the intruders.
The fools!
Roderick thought as he insolently studied the soldiers from his position high upon Hercules, daring them to give him a reason to murder the lot. Rage ran hot in his veins; Roderick took a deep breath and waited for his temper to cool.
Everyone need not die because of a few fools.
After a moment, he gave them a contemptuous smile. “Where is Fidach, son of Cinge?” Roderick bellowed so that his voice carried over the crowd’s noise as Hercules pranced beneath him. Roderick tightened his knees and the horse settled down.
One of Fidach’s soldiers approached and spat on the ground. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
Roderick’s temper flared again. Since he still held the woman, he couldn’t very well throw her on the ground and challenge the insolent guard, so he bumped the man with his stallion, knocking him flat on his back. The rest of the castle guards rushed to surround him, their swords raised ready for battle. However, they kept their distance, afraid of the big black horse who stood twenty-four hands tall. He was snorting and stomping his hooves and appeared just as mean as the man who rode him.
“W--what business do you have with Fidach?” the man stammered, having seen the cold fury in Roderick’s eyes.
“That would be between Fidach and myself,” Roderick replied lazily.
A guard in the back of the group yelled, “Drag him off his horse! There are only four of them.” The man closest lunged, but Roderick was fast, drawing his short sword with his left hand he sliced the man’s sword arm. The scream of agony echoed around the compound, gaining the rest of men’s attention.
“I would look around--” Roderick suggested as his horse pawed the ground. He paused to allow his words to sink in, then he tightened his reins; even Hercules was anxious for battle. “-- before you try anything foolish.”
The castle guards glanced up at the battlements to find Roderick’s men had surrounded them. One of the castle guards dropped his sword, then another and another.
The men on the battlements shouted, “A Bellendaine!”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?” a guard on the ground grumbled.
“It means … the Scotts are out!” Roderick said in his Scottish burr. “I repeat,” he ground out even louder, his temper growing short. “Where is yer lord?”
“Dead,” spat the guard closest to him. “She—” He pointed to the girl in Roderick’s arms “—she killed him, she did! Lady Siena is possessed. She sees things others do not.”
“This is yer lady?” Roderick asked, dumbfounded by the way she’d been treated by her own people.
The crowd murmured and nodded their agreement.
“Then why do ye not protect her?”
“Her brother said she was cursed from the day she was born.” A woman in the crowd, most likely a servant from the way she was dressed, called out, “Bad blood.”
