Arucard (Brethren Origins Book 1) (25 page)

That had to be the understatement of the century.

So Arucard had the night to prevail, but he had an insufficient tally of collaborators, given de Mravec and the earl’s combined forces.  In that instant, Arucard seized on an idea, and a plan of action took shape.  Retreating to an alley, he assessed the time needed to gather the various elements and then assembled his knights.  “Brothers, the earl hath won the first battle, but he knows not with whom he fights, and we shall take the war, as we will save Isolde.”

#

It took a while for Isolde to recognize that she had been returned to her tiny temporary prison.  As she sat upright in bed, she gritted her teeth and sobbed.  The pitcher on the table seemed so far away, as she thirsted for a measure of relief from her dry throat.  Rolling onto her side, she winced and slid to the floor.  On her hands and knees, she crawled across the rug and used a chair to gain her feet.

Memories and bits of time assaulted her, the angry crowd, the platform with the stake, the sting of the lash, and she swayed.  With a tight grip on the ewer, she poured a glass of water, which she gulped.  How long she had slept she knew not, but the shadows on the floor suggested sunset grew nigh.  When the door to her room opened to reveal a stranger, she retreated to the large window.  “Who art thou, and wherefore art thou hither?”

“Relax, Lady Isolde, as I am not thy enemy.  I am Paganus, the physic.”  After setting his bag of medics and potions on the table, he removed his spectacles, wiped them clean, and then resituated them on his nose.  “I have come to treat thy wounds, at the behest of Juraj de Mravec, that thou wilt stand for thy punishment in the morrow.”

“How kind of him.”  Then she snapped to attention.  “Wait—what?  I endured my father’s dispensation and thought I might be returned to my home.  What hath changed?  Of what dost thou speak?”

“Hath no one told thee?”  With a countenance of sadness, he flicked his fingers.  “Come hither, my lady, as I will not hurt thee.”

As she needed his kindness just then, she obeyed.  Perched at one end of a bench, she hissed, as he cleaned her torn flesh.  But he was gentle, much like Margery, and Isolde tried but failed to stifle tears.  “Though I am innocent of the charges, I have come to discover truth matters not to evil men.  Good Paganus, what am I to face?  What hath my father decreed?”

“Allow me to smooth some salve on thy rent skin.”  When she whimpered, he paused.  “Sorry, my lady.  The earl condemns thee to hang at dawn.”

Grim acceptance enveloped her, when she should have pilloried her father.  Whither previously she would have panicked, now she remained calm.  While the situation looked hopeless, she hoped.  While she could have lost faith, she believed.  And although her fate seemed sealed against her, she clung to the unexplainable prescience of a future with Arucard. “All right.”

“Lady Isolde, thither is not much I can do for thee in so little time, as it will take a fortnight, at least, for the worst of thy damage to heal.”  Then he sighed and tapped her shoulder.  “But I have something I can offer thee.  It is quick and painless, and thou wilt feel naught.”

“Thou would have me take my own life?”  Of course, she realized he only wanted to help her.  “I thank ye, for thy charity, Paganus.  But I would save my soul, despite my father’s judgment, as I have committed no crimes, and my maker knows that.”

“Well then, I will leave thee to thy reflection.”  After collecting his remedies, he studied her and then cupped her cheek.  “May God have mercy on thee.”

Alone, so very alone, Isolde simply stared at the pattern on the thick rug.  Smiling, she recalled her wedding night and Arucard’s attempt to sleep on the floor.  Their first real kiss elicited a snicker, as it was quite clumsy on both parts.  The eventide when he claimed her maidenhead had her giggling, especially when she remembered her husband’s hearty bellow of passion after he achieved completion on the second thrust of his hips.  Then she savored the sweet visions of that glorious afternoon on the hillside, when he suckled the flesh between her legs and took her to new heights of pleasure she never knew existed.  Anon, he took her atop a barrel in the undercroft.  And thither was the fierce warrior who fought the bandits and de Cadby, yet he showed compassion and heard their complaints.

Yea, Arucard could be kind and gentle, but he could also be ruthless, and it was the latter incarnation she prayed would come for her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As the workmen
labored to build the platform from which she would hang, the steady beat of the hammer kept Isolde awake all night, not that she could have rested, given the agony of her injuries and constant visions of Arucard.  By first light, she gazed at the clear sky, uttered a silent prayer, and made her peace.  Yet she hoped for the rescue that still eluded her.

Clinging to the promise her husband made, she remained entrenched in the belief that Arucard would save her.  He would not let her die at Father’s hands.  All she had to do was survive, and her champion would free her.  So despite the fact that she was not hungry, she ate the sop, grapes, and bread a servant delivered, to maintain her strength.

When the rasp of the lock signaled an arrival, she stood and folded her arms.  To her amazement, a bishop entered her makeshift prison and smiled.

“Good morrow, Lady Isolde.”  Garbed in the traditional robe, he bowed.  “I have come to hear thy confession, that ye might find absolution and salvation.”

“I beg thy pardon?”  The world seemed to spin beyond control, her ears rang, and she clutched the edge of the table for support, as she feared she might faint.  “What have I to confess, as I am innocent of the allegations leveled against me?”

“My child, I am told thy father shall be lenient, show compassion, and offer thee a quick death, if thou wilt but admit thy guilt before the citizens of Winchester.”  The book in his grasp only highlighted the hypocrisy of his statement, given no one associated with her father’s foul deeds evaded accountability.  “Declare thy sins, and I shall grant thee dispensation for thy transgressions.”

“I am not thy child, and if thou dost conspire with my father, thou art not without crimes against Our Lord.”  Drawing herself up with noble refinement, she stared down her nose.  “Hear me well.  I have met pious men, and thou art not one.  If my father intends to deflect blame for his actions, he will not do so with my assistance.  And while he may take my life, the truth of his involvement remains very much alive, and he will atone for his misdeeds in this world or the next.”

With a scowl, the bishop gestured with his hand.  “May the Almighty have mercy on thee.”

“No.”  She clenched her fists and stood proud.  “May God have mercy on thee, as thou wilt, no doubt, need it.”

It was not until the so-called religious man exited that she faltered, as the pain of her wounds weakened her.  And then voices echoed from the drain.  Hugging the corner, she bent and laughed, as her father cursed her.

“Then let her swing, if she is so intent,” he yelled.  “I will be glad to be rid of her.”

The revelation that her father desired her death should have hurt her, but she suspected he would kill her, with or without a confession.  Instead, his hatred did naught but kindle her longing for Arucard.  Returning to the window, she conjured her husband’s image, fierce in battle against young de Cadby.  If possible, her knight would come for her—she would believe that until she drew her last breath.

And so she braided her hair and tugged on her leather calf boots.  Just as she tied the lace, Juraj de Mravec appeared, along with a compliment of soldiers.  “Lady Isolde, it is time.”

#

With her wrists bound in front of her, and a gag tied about her head, Isolde stood proud and strong on the gallows.  And while on the outside she portrayed an image of calm, inside she screamed her husband’s name.  Disgusted, she glared at the crowd that had gathered to see her executed for crimes she did not commit.

“Good citizens of Winchester, thou hast been wronged by my own kin.”  Father should have been a thespian, as he belonged on a stage, and his ability to fool the masses impressed her.  With a hand pressed to his chest, he sighed.  “Would that I had known the evil she would mete upon thee, with her husband, the earl of Sussex, as I might have prevented it.”

The throng hissed.

“But I will no longer be silent on the evil all but sanctioned by the Crown.”  Her father strolled to one end of the platform.  “Thou hast been abandoned by he who hath been tasked with thy protection.  Thou hast been betrayed.  No one defends thee.”

The crowd jeered and pelted Isolde with rotting refuse.  Yet she persisted, refusing to embarrass herself with a public display of terror, as they craved that.

“I have failed ye.”  Father sobbed.  “I should offer myself on the block for thy judgment.”

The people composed a malevolent chorale.

“Nay.”

“Thou art benevolent.”

“Thou art honorable.”

“We will follow thee.”

How smoothly he lured them, feeding their desires and fears, and she pitied them when she should have hated them.

“Alas, I am old and feeble, though my mind is sharp.”  He had the poor, unsuspecting dupes in his grasp, and she admired his persuasive skills.  “Yet my son is young and robust.  If thou wilt but swear allegiance to the same, William would lead thee into prosperity and return thy stolen lands and legacy.”

A piercing roar demonstrated the flock’s assent, and a tear coursed Isolde’s cheek, as the horror played out before her.

“Then let us punish the traitor.”  In that instant, Father cast her a vicious scowl.  “As she hath earned her just reward.”

The escort shoved her forward, and the noose slapped her face.  The rush of her breath filled her ears, and her heart pounded, as a soldier slipped the rope about her neck.

Then a driverless wagon charged into the square, crashing into various merchant carts, and a wave of panic struck the multitude of subjects assembled to witness her death.  Screams reverberated, and de Mravec scrambled to the fore.

“Protect the earl.”  The eloquent villain wrenched a guard.  “Surround Lord Rochester.”

Unattended, Isolde flinched, when an unknown attacker swept her from the platform and threw her to a hooded figure.  Quick as a flash, the mysterious assailant yanked the gag from her mouth and lifted his head.

“
Aeduuard
.”  She rejoiced, and then he grabbed her bound wrists, and they fled.  “Whither is Arucard?”

“Hurry, my lady.”  Signaling his friends, he veered toward an alley but pulled her left to avoid a mountain of casks.  “We must reach the main gate before thy father’s men capture us.”

Together, they bolted down a side street and charged an unfortunate peddler, who shouted a warning.  Soon the guard sounded the alarm, and thunderous hoofbeats declared their pursuit.  They dashed into the front of a store and exited the rear, but they confronted her father’s men at every turn.  At one point, de Cadby ducked into a small tavern, until the soldiers passed, and then he retraced their steps and navigated another passage.  When two guards challenged them, Aeduuard kicked an enemy into an applecart and then struck the other with a fist.

A slew of townspeople swamped the thoroughfares, and some recognized her.  But the sheer confusion provided shelter, as she disappeared into the throng as quickly as she was identified.  And all the while she sought Arucard, yet he remained absent.

As they negotiated a maze of lanes, she lost her direction, but her liberator pushed her faster and faster.  Nauseated, as her lungs burned for air, she huffed and puffed but refused to yield.  Her pulse raced, and at times she thought she might faint, but she launched herself forward and swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat.

In what seemed as several hours, but was in reality only a few minutes, Isolde clung to her rescuer, as they winded and wended their way through the town, with Father’s guards in their wake.  At last, the decorated egress loomed, and Aeduuard waved a piece of red cloth.  With the troops nipping at her heels, she tasted freedom and permitted herself a glimmer of hope.

The weighty wooden panels, a very real obstacle to her liberation, opened and spread wide before her, and Isolde ran straight into a royal patrol.  “
No
.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dressed in the
signature black garb of his trade, including the menacing hood, the largest executioner Isolde had ever seen heeled his horse, advanced on her even as she retreated, bent, and scooped her up in one fail swoop.  Sitting astride in the lap of a creature every bit as imposing as her husband, she struck his chest with her bound fists.  “Brute.”  Then she glanced at the King’s guard and helmeted knights in impressive armor.  “Prithee, good sirrah.  Sir Arucard is innocent of the baseless charges levied against him, and thou cannot condemn him without a trial.  If thou wilt permit me to plead my true and righteous cause before the Crown, I would—”

“His Majesty is aware of the extent of his servant’s involvement in the crimes against the Realm and has taken swift and appropriate action.”  To her father and de Mravec, who had pushed to the front of the crowd, he said, “We will take the culpable parties into custody, and deliver unto them their just punishment.”  Without hesitation, the guard directed the soldiers, who surrounded her would-be rescuers, and then addressed the executioner with a nod.  “Deal with her.”

“Wait.  Pray, do not harm my people, as they only wanted to help me.”  Desperate, she peered from side to side, searching for the escape that evaded her.  It was in that moment she feared the end of her life, not because she dreaded death but because never again would she look on Arucard’s face.  That exceptional understanding was enough to send terror into her heart, which she had ruthlessly fortified, so she inhaled a calming gulp of air and resolved to meet her fate on her terms.  Locating de Cadby, she mustered a smile.  “Thank ye, for trying to save me.  And if thou dost not think me ungrateful, I would ask a favor.  If thou dost see him, tell my lord Arucard that I love him, and with my last breath his name shall pass my lips.”