Unless there was some other reason behind this newest aggression….
“Ready yourself,” Damien called out in a low voice to Bernard, unsheathing his sword and looking around the edge of the clearing for Thomas. He slapped the back of Thomas’s mount, sending him into the cover of the forest. Where the hell was the lad? Though it went against every instinct, Damien knew they could probably outrun Hugh and his men, but he did not want to risk leaving Thomas behind to face them himself.
Pray God it would not come to that, though. He took comfort in knowing that he’d instructed Bernard and Thomas to seek Richard at Hawksley Manor should they become separated by accident or attack along the way. He’d not see trouble brought back to Alissende, and Richard would be more likely to find means of protecting her, should Damien be arrested again—or worse.
He glanced again to the approaching forces, noting that they had picked up speed and were barreling toward him and Bernard with blades drawn.
“Take my flank for protection,” Damien called to Bernard, still keeping his gaze fixed on Hugh. “They will likely have little interest in you, and with any luck Thomas will be wise enough to remain in the shadow of the wood until the danger is past.”
But to his surprise, as the soldiers neared, they veered around and away from a direct clash, instead surrounding him and Bernard in all directions, no matter which way Damien wheeled his mount. He kept his blade out and at the ready nonetheless, wondering if perhaps Hugh intended to challenge him one-on-one again, only this time with naught but his own corrupt rules to follow.
It did not take long to find out.
“Ashby, how fortuitous to find you,” Hugh said in a mocking lilt, punctuating the comment with a smug smile as he approached. He reined his mount closer—though not close enough that Damien might be able to reach him with his blade. “But enough of these preliminaries. If you value the life of your man, you will order him to sheathe his sword, and you will do the same. Now.”
Nodding in Bernard’s direction, Hugh added, “I must tell you that one of my best archers has a bolt trained on him even now, under orders to let it fly if you do not comply with my directive by the count of ten.” Raising his hand in signal and shifting his gaze to a spot far off Damien’s shoulder, he began counting, “One, two…”
Damien twisted to follow Hugh’s stare, seeing that this at least was no bluff. The sun glinted wickedly off the tip of the arrow notched back in the bow of the archer he’d mentioned, and Bernard had gone the color of milk, stiffening in his saddle as if he expected the piercing blow at any moment.
Snapping his gaze back to Hugh with a scowl, Damien slid his blade back into its sheath, and he heard Bernard follow suit. Hugh smiled. “Now throw the scabbard and belt to the ground.” Damien was forced to scramble to comply in time, but Hugh nevertheless waited another heart-chilling count before calling off the death-watch.
The bastard.
“While I am duly impressed by your show of power,my lord,” Damien said, echoing Hugh’s sarcasm when the tense moment was past, “can you not simply tell me what you want without surrounding me with a score of soldiers first?”
Hugh paled in anger at the insult, jerking his mount closer to Damien. His hostility made the steed stamp and prance as he muttered, “You will not be so blithe when I have done with you, Ashby. The sound of your pleas for mercy will be music to my ears, I assure you.” He flashed him a look of pure, gloating evil. “If I’m not too occupied in fucking Alissende to hear you, that is.”
That was all it took.
Damien threw himself off his horse, tackling Hugh before the wretch had a chance to even raise his blade, and pulling him to the ground on the other side of his destrier’s stamping hooves. Commotion erupted all around them, but before Hugh’s men could drag Damien off their lord, Damien got off three good shots with his fist, reveling in cracking it against the cur’s arrogant face.
Too soon he felt himself being yanked back, held at the arms by two men; Hugh lurched to his feet and swiped at the blood coming from the side of his mouth and his nose, his expression filled with rage as he lunged forward with a growl and planted a rock-hard fist into Damien’s belly.
A wall of agony shot through Damien with the blow, seeming to arch up along the still unhealed rib on his left side. The pain of it choked off his breath and would have likely dropped him to the dirt but for the men still holding him up. Coughing, Damien forced himself to regain his own feet after a moment; he’d be damned if he’d even appear to cower before Hugh de Valles.
“Not so glib now, are you, Ashby?” Hugh asked tightly, flexing his fist and calling for one of his men to bring a cloth to clean the blood from his face.
Damien didn’t bother trying to answer. Instead, he used the time while Hugh was occupied to try to regain his breath, letting his gaze slip surreptitiously around, checking the perimeter of the road—until he spotted a small movement behind the trees off to the right. A face peered out for an instant, looking overwhelmed and distraught.
Thomas.
Christ, the lad looked like he was preparing to come out in the open, probably to try to stage a rescue. It shouldn’t have surprised Damien, knowing his squire’s penchant for tales of valor and heroism. But he was too young to have learned the difference between courage and outright folly; if he emerged from the wood now, he’d be dead before he could take five paces.
He attempted to meet Thomas’s gaze without being caught at it, feigning another attack of coughing. To his relief, it worked. Thomas’s eyes were fixed to him, and Damien shook his head sharply, hoping he conveyed the message, even as Hugh walked up, blocking off his view by standing directly in front of him.
“Now let us get down to the meat of this enjoyable meeting, shall we?” Hugh grated. “You have taken something that is mine. While I would relish killing you because of it, I have decided there are other methods of ridding myself of you that would prove even more useful—and satisfying.”
“This tired tune does not bear singing again, methinks,” Damien said calmly, “but if you are entertained by it, then do go on.”
“Don’t pretend ignorance, Ashby. Your secret has been exposed,” Hugh hissed. “The marriage proxy with my cousin? The Writ of Absolution from the Inquisition? Both as flimsy as the parchment upon which they are scribed.”
Damien remained silent, though he could not suppress the feeling of dread that swept through him at the idea that Hugh might have indeed discovered the truth…not for his own sake, but for Alissende’s.
He must not have been as successful as he’d hoped in concealing that flare of anxiety, for Hugh gloated, “Ah, at last a hint of reaction from the impervious Sir Damien. Aren’t you going to ask me how I discovered your ploy to dupe us all? Are you not curious what I intend to do with this delightful information?”
Damien met his stare with the penetrating chill of his own, experiencing the satisfaction of watching Hugh shift back a step in response. “I do not need to ask anything, Harwick,” he grated at last, abandoning all pretense of respectful address. “Men of your ilk cannot help but tell all eventually, with or without question.” He nodded, mocking, “So why don’t you just go ahead?”
“It matters little,” Hugh said. “You’re a dead man anyway. My dear brother Michael was as forthcoming with the truth about your falsified proxy and Writ of Absolution as I’d hoped he would be—after the proper incentives were applied to him, of course.”
