My Heart Belongs to You (Medieval Romance Trilogy Book 3) (35 page)

The two armies met as one, like two great waves crashing into each other. A melee of chaos and death. Swords slashed and spears stabbed. In the skirmish, Ysabelle lost sight of Nicholas and Alex. Oh, where were they? Her gaze frantically searched the throng with no success. Had they been cut down? She began to pray, repeating the words over and over again.

Please, oh, please let them live!

Horses reared and overturned their riders, landing upon the men with sickening thuds. Blood dampened the earth. The archers on the battlements sprayed arrows down upon the heads of the English when they got too close to the castle walls.

Crouching behind a merlon, Ysabelle stayed where she was, transfixed by the horror of war, praying Nicholas and Alex survived the bedlam.

Time passed and death screams and yelling continued. The English fired more missiles of rocks at the gatehouse. The castle towers withstood the blows. Ysabelle stayed low as she made her way to the rear of the castle wall. Her chilled fingers clutched the stone wall for support.

Peeking over the battlements, she saw the edge of the forest where the River Tweed meandered past the east side and washed further out across the valley floor.

At the embankment, Ysabelle was surprised to see Sir Malcolm sitting his horse, speaking animatedly with his son, Lambert. The deserters. They should be fighting with the rest of their men. She wasn’t surprised that they would run and hide until the battle was over.

She wished she could hear their words. No other soldiers were near and Ysabelle gasped when Malcolm drew back his arm and slapped Lambert hard across the face. Lambert reached up to wipe his heavy jowls, looking down at his hand. Though she could not see it from this distance, Ysabelle imagined there was blood smeared across Lambert’s fingers. Even from here, Ysabelle could see Lambert’s fat cheeks reddening with anger. More angry words were exchanged. She had no idea what the two men were arguing about.

Their attention was momentarily drawn to the battle as the fighting neared their position. Malcolm reared back and turned his horse toward the sheltering copse of trees.

The coward.

Lambert followed, urging his horse into the darkness of the forest. Flaming arrows fell from the sky like falling stars. The air was filled with the noxious scent of smoke. Horses screamed as spears pierced their breasts and sides. Captains yelled for their men to hold their ranks.

Ysabelle saw Nicholas. Praise the saints, he still sat his horse. The large charger gave him an advantage. He lifted his sword, thrusting, plunging, and hacking his way through the English line. The Scotsmen fighting on the left flank were badly beaten. They soon fell into panic and began to retreat.

Would the ruse work?

The English foot soldiers decided on a fatal course of action. They broke ranks upon their ridge and hurried to pursue the foe.

Yes! Nicholas’s plan was working.

“Charge!” he yelled.

His horsemen rode into the melee and began to cut the English to pieces, just as planned. The battle moved toward the fosse, so close to the castle that Nicholas knew Ysabelle could watch from the window in their bed chamber. He hated for her to witness this bloodshed. No doubt she would stand upon the battlements, if his men allowed it. He hoped they had obeyed him and sent her inside the castle walls.

He fought bitterly, ignoring the pain from the wound in his shoulder. His arm ached, his shoulder throbbed. Those who fought against him soon found their lifeblood draining from their battered bodies.

Again and again, Nicholas charged, followed closely by his men until the English were finally routed. Then, the unthinkable happened. An English spear appeared out of nowhere. How had he missed the foot soldier?

Samson was in full charge and the javelin pierced the mighty animal’s breast. Samson reared, screaming shrilly as he fell over backward. Nicholas tightened his knees, trying to keep his seat. His fingers jerked on the reins, ripping a gauntlet from one of his hands. Nicholas tried to jump free so the animal wouldn’t crush him, but his foot was caught in the stirrup.

As he fell, Nicholas lost his grip on his sword. It flew through the air and he lost site of where it landed. He tried to push free of the powerful animal, tried to jump clear as the horse thudded against the ground, lashing in pain.

The hard ground rose up to greet him. Nicholas hit the ground on his back. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he gasped for breath. Pain exploded inside his right leg and head. His leg might be broken. It felt as though his head had struck a rock. His vision swam dizzily and he blinked to clear his sight.

He tried to rise, but Samson’s heavy weight pinned him down. His right leg was trapped beneath the horse. Nicholas instinctively braced his left foot against the horse and pushed, trying to free himself. The horse flailed about, grinding Nicholas’s right leg into the soft, loamy soil. A groan of pain tore from his lips.

The reins. He must get hold of the reins and hold Samson down. Each time the stallion tried to rise, he thrashed harder and crushed Nicholas’s leg like a slim blade of grass.

Grasping blindly, he sought the strips of leather, finally latching on to one. He pulled on it, holding the stallion’s head.

“Hold!” he yelled at Samson.

Ah, his poor, valiant horse. Such a good friend for so many years. The horse was breathing heavily, his sides heaving, its nostrils flared. Reaching out, Nicholas brushed his hand across the charger’s neck. The animal snorted and tried to rise again. Nicholas grit his teeth against the pain and tightened his hand upon the reins.

A sickening void filled Nicholas’s vision. Darkness crowded in on him, filled with a haze of pain. He fought it off, willing himself to stay alert. Ah, but he could not see. He shook his head, but it didn’t help. His head pounded until he thought it would explode. The strength in his arms and hands was leaving him. He didn’t want to die, strung up in his horse, an easy prey to the fighting around him. Surely this couldn’t be the end. He tried to tighten his grip on the reins but his fingers wouldn’t respond. Darkness was sweeping him away. His body felt numb and cold. He couldn’t hold out much longer.

*

“No!” Ysabelle yelled when she saw Samson fall.

Nicholas would be crushed.

But no! He sprang free of the saddle, landing hard upon the ground, his leg trapped beneath the horse. He lay motionless, his sword lying several feet away. He tried to lift himself up, but the horse tossed wildly, trying to rise. Nicholas fell back and grabbed for the reins. He caught one and held the horse down.

Battle waged all around him. He was defenseless. It wouldn’t be long before an English sword found his heart.

Ysabelle waited for several ragged heartbeats. “Get up, Nicholas. Please, get up.”

He didn’t move and fear pulsed in her veins.

His beloved warhorse pawed the ground beside him, trying valiantly to stand. Samson’s mighty hooves slashed the air as his head jerked at the reins. Little by little, the horse’s movements dimmed until, finally, the proud charger lay still.

A shudder trembled over Ysabelle when she remembered how much she disliked Samson. The horse had meant so much to Nicholas, carrying him through many battles, finally giving his life for his master.

Ysabelle mourned the loss, but didn’t hesitate to consider that her husband’s life was more precious. Lifting her skirts, she raced down the wall walk toward the postern gate. Her heart pounded. She panted hard as she ran faster. She must do something before it was too late.

Archers and crossbowmen stood upon the ramparts above, trying to protect the castle as the enemy sought to secure ladders and climb the wall. Distracted by the battle, no one paid her any heed as she clasped a thin dagger in her hand and lifted the heavy latch to push the postern door open wide. She could see Nicholas lying in the blood-trampled grass a short distance away, still as death. If only she could get him inside.

“My lady, do not go out there,” a castle guard clasped her arm.

Ysabelle whirled about and found James and Charles, one of her father’s men, standing beside her. Clutching the blade in her hand, she faced them with a defiant lift of her chin.

“I must help my lord. Don’t try to stop me,” she warned fiercely.

“I’ll go to him,” James told her. “You must stay here where it’s safe.”

They lowered the ladder on the outside wall. Ysabelle watched as James climbed down. The moment his feet touched the tall grass at the foot of the wall, Ysabelle screamed a warning, but too late. He was struck in the chest by an arrow and fell dead.

Poor James. None of her healing could save him now.

“I’ll get him.” With a determined press of his lips, Charles gripped his sword and straddled the ladder. He reached the ground and started to run. Another arrow whisked through his neck. Lifting a hand, he pulled at it as he fell to the ground and thrashed until death came.

Ysabelle clenched a fist to her mouth, choking back a cry of disbelief. Two men had just given their lives to save Nicholas. The shock of death was so great. She was alone and must act now. Breathing hard, she grasped the top of the ladder and started to climb but stopped. Her babe! Dare she endanger her unborn child to save Nicholas? If her beloved died, she didn’t want to live, but that wasn’t fair to their child.

Her arms trembled with panic. She must do something. But what?

Oh, help me dear God! Please help!

An answer to her unspoken prayer came swiftly. A garrison of men led by Alex overran the hill, disbanding the English archers.

Ysabelle acted swiftly. She scurried down the ladder. Picking up her skirts, she sprinted across the field. She fell to her knees beside Nicholas and checked him for signs of life. Saints be praised! He was still breathing.

“Nicholas!” She shook him. “Wake up, we must get you inside.”

He blinked and moved briefly and she saw the cause for his unconscious state. When he’d fallen, his helmet had been knocked off and his head had struck a stone. A large gash and solid bump covered the back of his head. His lip was cut and blood stained the front of his chest. Ysabelle cried with dismay, not knowing if it belonged to him or that of the numerous men he’d slain.

“Can you stand?” She pushed the thick hair away from his face.

He murmured indistinctly, but didn’t open his eyes. If an Englishman found him lying here helpless, he would be hacked to pieces. She shoved against the dead horse’s rump, trying to pull Nicholas’s leg free.

“Please,” she cried. “You must wake up. We must flee or you will be killed. I cannot lift you.”

A bellow of laughter came from behind Ysabelle and she turned. Lambert and Malcolm had dismounted their horses and walked out of the forest. As they lumbered toward her, they held short swords in their chubby fists. She stood up cautiously, wondering how to defend herself. Wondering how to protect Nicholas.

“Filthy adulteress,” Malcolm bellowed. “Did you really think you could cuckold me with this swine after he tried to murder me? Finally, I will slay the Scots Ram. And you will spend the rest of your days locked in a cell while I rule Sutcliffe.”

Ysabelle clutched her dagger with chilled fingers. Hiding it in the folds of her skirt, she stepped over Nicholas’s body, determined to protect him somehow.

“You will have to slay me first,” she warned.

Heaven help her! The two men were huge. Her frail strength was no hindrance to their greater weight. Her heart thudded in her chest, louder than the sounds of battle. How could she protect Nicholas from these giants? She doubted her puny dagger would be much defense against their heavy swords and brawn.

Lambert’s eyes narrowed as he spoke to his father. “No doubt she prefers the Scotsman’s swarthy looks. She’s a danger to our plans. We should kill her and be done with her.”

A lump of fear rose in Ysabelle’s throat.

Malcolm sneered at his son. “Not until I’ve consummated my marriage to her. The Scotsman cheated me out of my due and I want the marriage to be legal.”

Ysabelle shuddered, remembering the cruelty of her wedding night to Malcolm. If Nicholas hadn’t interceded, she had no doubt Malcolm would have brutally raped her again and again. She would kill herself before letting him touch her again.

“King William will reward you well if you give us your aid,” Malcolm told her.

“Give you my aid? Nicholas Ramsay is my husband. If you murder him, the Scottish king will hunt you down, just as I will do. You cannot hide in the forest again.”

Malcolm laughed, a wheezing sound that made his belly shake. “I will make you pay for choosing the Scotsman over me. Once he’s dead, you’ll regret your choice.”

The rank stench of scorched timbers and burning straw reached her nose. The thatched roofs of cottages were burning. Oh, where was Alex when she needed him and his men?

Malcolm stepped toward her, his eyes gleaming with spite, his expression vicious. Sweat dripped from his round forehead. His flushed face looked black and ugly as he stalked her. “Make it easy on yourself, my dear. Don’t fight me anymore.”

Shaking her head, she moved back but kept herself in front of Nicholas, protecting him the only way she knew how. “Stay back. Don’t come any nearer.”

He lifted the sword. Alarm rang inside her head. As he lashed out, she ducked to the side. For all his enormous size, Malcolm was quick and grabbed her by the hair. Pulling her back, he sneered, his rancid breath making her stomach roll. The horror of their wedding night returned anew. Panic climbed her throat, but she was determined not to let him hurt her again.

Stabbing fiercely, she stuck the dagger into his side. He bellowed in pain. Blood spurted from him like a stuck pig. His eyes widened and he thrust her away. She fell to her hands and knees in the grass. Yanking the dagger out, he stared at the blood running down his side. Then, he began to laugh, a cruel sound that grated in the air.

“There are advantages to being fat. For the second time, you have failed to kill me,” he said.

A low growl of rage came from behind Malcolm. “I intend to remedy that.”