Mathis, Jolie (25 page)

Held captive against Stancliff's chest, she could do nothing but. Ranulf and Kol sat atop their mounts, on opposite sides of the field. Each man shouted, and thrust his heels into his animal's sides. The steeds stormed toward one another. Spears were lifted—

Isabel screamed against Stancliff's hand. He wrenched her closer, his arm immobilizing hers so she could not move. Isabel slumped in Stancliff's arms. He sensed her surrender, for his hand slid from her lips, to her neck.

"That's it, my sweet. Soon we will be together."

She screamed. Loudly, fiercely, fighting and kicking. Caught off balance, Stancliff rocked back, falling to the floor with her in his arms.

Her wound screamed with pain. Blood darkened her kirtle. Yet she leapt to her feet, kicked away his clawing hands. She leaned out the window, only to see both men afoot and staggering. Wounded?

She shouted as loudly as she could. "The sword! Poi—

Chapter 24

Amidst the shouted encouragements of his warriors, Kol rolled up from the ground. Ranulf's spear had knocked him from his borrowed horse, but inflicted no wound. He glanced over his shoulder to see his own spear lying shattered, but Ranulf stood, and appeared to favor no wound.

Vekell thrust out Kol's sword and shield. "Destiny be damned! Take the day, my lord!"

Grasping both, Kol swung round, and advanced on his enemy. His mind held only shadowy memories of the man who had tortured him in Calldarington's fortress pit. He'd preferred to believe Ranulf was weak, and too cowardly to fight without aid of an army beside him. But the man who came at Kol now, with sword raised, matched him in size and skill.

The clearing fell silent, but for the crush of their boots upon the dry grass. Ranulf swung, and the ring of sword against shield-boss signaled the continuation of the contest.

A scream—Isabel's—pierced Kol's concentration.

Ranulf's eyes darted toward the window, revealing a concern which perplexed Kol.

Desperate to spare Isabel any harm, Kol shouted to his opponent, "You care for the princess, I see you do. Release her and the boy, and we shall meet in peace to negotiate terms."

"The boy?" Ranulf shook his head. "Speak no words to me, Dane. Only die." The Saxon lifted his sword above his head, but froze as a strangled scream carried over the field.

Fury raged from Kol's lips. "Damn you. Why doth she scream? What do they do to her?"

Kol leveled a murderous blow. Ranulf deflected it with disconcerting ease, his fair hair clinging to the side of his face. " 'Tis a
Viking
arrow in her shoulder, not a Saxon one. Do not accuse
me
of causing her pain."

"She is wounded?" Instantly, he lowered his sword. Desperation eclipsed all else. "Send my physician. He is there at the corner of the field."

Ranulf snapped, "Her wound hath been duly tended."

"Then why doth she scream in such pain? Who tends to her now?"

"She is attended by mine own captain," Ranulf snarled defensively. "Now, concern yourself only with my sword, for it sings your death with my every blow." He crouched, as if to attack.

Suspicion spread through Kol like plague. "Your captain? The man called Stancliff?"

"Aye." Ranulf shifted his grip on the pommel of his sword. "Cease your delay, coward. Let us finish what should have been finished two winters ago."

Kol's blood pounded so hard in his head, it smothered the roar of the Saxon and Danish warriors who lined the field. "You must stop him. He is traitor to you and I. He hath played us against one another."

With an angry roar, Ranulf turned to stalk away. He whirled, and extended the point of his sword toward Kol.

"Lies!"

" 'Tis his plan that we destroy one another."

At that moment, another scream came from the keep.

Kol looked to the sky and uttered a desperate prayer. "God, take my life, not hers."

"What is this you pray?" Ranulf circled Kol.

"She is my wife."
Kol threw his sword to the ground. All around, his men shouted in protest. Stepping toward Ranulf, he said, "I swear on all God's saints, 'twas no Viking arrow which did her harm but a Saxon ambush, because your captain believed her to be me. If we delay any longer, Stancliff will kill not only Isabel, but your son as well."

"Godric is
not
my s—" Ranulf took several steps back. "Oh, God. 'Tis all so clear now."

Though exertion reddened his face, a certain calmness appeared to claim him. Only then did Kol see the blood seeping from the Saxon king's side. His Viking spear must have pierced the Saxon king's armor at the onset of their contest.

Kol approached Ranulf, his voice low so that no one else could hear. "I know you love her, and Godric. Come, let us put aside our hatreds and save them. Together as allies."

With purposeful slowness, Ranulf drew his blade across his leather-clad thigh; and, turning it to the other side, did so again.

For the first time, he met Kol's eyes. "Tell Isabel... 'tis a wedding gift from her brother."

Before Kol could react, the Saxon attacked.

Rolling, Isabel kicked Stancliff in the center of the chest. He grabbed her leg and yanked her from the wall. He pulled himself on top of her and ground her shoulders into the floor.

"You will forget him."

"You're mad!"

"No, I just go after what I want."

"You were betrothed to my
sister!"

"Second choice is no choice at all." He fisted a handful of her hair. " 'Twas you I wanted. Always. Perhaps because I knew he desired you, and would never allow himself the pleasure. But Ranulf refused."

"No."

"Aye, it's our story, my love."

"No!"

"Ranulf knew you set the Dane free, and spoke his suspicions to me. Always the little hellion, sneaking about at night, getting into trouble. If the burh learned the truth, they would burn you on a stake."

Isabel gasped, his weight crushing her.

"So he had your maid put herbs in your drink to make you sleep at night. I know, you see, for I mixed the herbs myself. I must confess, I've found a knowledge of herbs— and poisons, for that matter—to be quite useful. Nightshade worked very well on your father."

Isabel gasped, her hate burgeoning tenfold.

"But you... you were so pretty, in your bed. I just wanted to look, but your skin was so perfect, so soft—"

"You disgust me!" Isabel hissed. "I was defenseless."

"But always intended for me."

He leaned down, as if to kiss her. Isabel wrenched an arm free and tried to claw his eyes, but he held her.

From behind him came a scream. "I shall kill you myself!"

Rowena brought down a large pot on Stancliff's head. At what point had she entered the room? In the moment Stancliff fell, Isabel scrambled away and returned to the window.

"Isabel!" shouted Stancliff.

"Foul traitor," Rowena shrieked. "Murderer!"
Clonk.

Isabel knew not what occurred between Rowena and her faithless betrothed after that, so focused was her attention on the field below. For a moment she saw nothing but a blur of movement. So many warriors, clustering. Where was Ranulf?

Her heart stopped beating.

Where was
Kol?

The throng parted. Vekell knelt, and just beside him— "No!" she screamed.
"No!"

She tore at her hair, and shut her eyes, but saw nothing but the image of Kol's body, lifeless upon the field, his warriors kneeling around him in abject grief. Her anguish too great, she collapsed.

Her husband was dead.

Stancliff chuckled, looking out the window. His footsteps moved past her and he crossed the room to where a large table stood. Upon it sat a flask of wine and several goblets. Isabel heard the sounds of the liquid, splashing into a goblet. She heard his swallow, and his sigh of contentment.

From beneath her tousled curtain of hair, she watched him with all the hatred that burned within her. Just a short distance away, Rowena rolled to her side and moaned. Though Isabel wished to hasten to her sister's side, caution held her where she lay.

Through narrowed eyes, she watched as Ranulf grabbed up a cushion and tossed it to land near her sister. He laughed.

He took a vial from the leather pouch at his waist. He tapped the vessel at the edge of a flask of wine. He had just returned the empty ampule to his pouch when the door flew open.

Ranulf staggered inside. Blood stained his torso, drenched his braies. His eyes fixed upon Isabel, glassy and flat. "He is dead."

Isabel buried her face against her knees, wishing she could burn the memory of this moment from her mind.

"What hath happened to Rowena," Ranulf inquired.

"Delicate girl," chuckled Stancliff. "She watched from the window and fainted from the excitement of seeing you vanquish the Dane. I have placed a pillow beneath her head and expect her to revive shortly."

Rowena moaned.

"Ah, I see. And Isabel?"

"Sadly, I found it necessary to subdue her."

"Hmmmm," came her brother's simple answer.

"Let us drink to our victory." Stancliff lifted a goblet and poured it full of the tainted drink. He extended it toward Ranulf.

Isabel sobbed. She should let Ranulf die. He had murdered Kol. She would have him hear her judgment before he descended to Hell.

"Coward!" she shouted, pointing a finger at him. She trembled.

Ranulf trembled, too.

"Coward?" Suddenly, he lurched toward her. She screamed as he fell upon her, a forced embrace. He smelled of blood and sweat.

She struggled, hating him, until he whispered in her ear. "Trust me."

She stilled. What was he saying?

"Just this once. Trust." His lips pressed against her ear.

He withdrew from her with a whisper. "Redemption."

Stancliff stood rigid and watchful, straining to hear any words spoken. The polished goblet glowed mellowly in his hand.

Ranulf moved toward him, using chairs and tables as a means of support. He groaned softly with the effort. Stan-cliff's teeth shone like pearls behind his wide-mouthed smile.

Isabel watched, knowing not what to do, as Ranulf took the goblet from Stancliff's hands. Ranulf turned. His dark eyes gleamed with sure intent as he stared at Isabel.

Somehow he knew the wine was poisoned.

She shook her head
no.
He gave her a small smile, but lifted the cup to his lips and drank.

Stancliff leered. "You are the champion. Our true king."

Ranulf swayed, and dropped his sword. The clatter echoed off the walls of the room, an ugly sound. He sighed softly and lowered the goblet to the table.

Stancliff stared at him as if waiting. Curse him, she saw the smile twitch upon his lips.

"My lord?" His query rustled from his throat, as smooth as velvet. "Are you well?"

Ranulf coughed. "Aye. I am well." Below his boot, blood puddled in a dark footprint. "My sword. Would you give it to me, friend?"

" 'Tis my honor," Stancliff gushed genially. He bent to grasp the sword by the hilt.

His lips pursed with the effort, Ranulf switched their goblets. Unaware of the exchange, Stancliff stood. He extended the sword to Ranulf.

"Place it in my hand, please. I feel so weak. Another sip of wine would fortify me."

Stancliff slid the cup closer to his lord. The metal made a low, grating sound against the trestle.

Fumbling now, his movements slow, Ranulf grasped his goblet. "To my most faithful comrade in arms. My dearest friend." With clear effort, Ranulf lifted the cup in a toast. Had Stancliff sensed the anger in Ranulf's voice?

Clearly not, for Stancliff smiled with all the confidence of a victor. His hand lowered, grasped the remaining goblet.

He lifted it to his lips and drank.

A look of satisfaction warmed Ranulf's face. He rasped, "And to my Isabel."

Stancliff's eyes, too, settled upon her, openly hungry.

She shivered in revulsion. Both lifted their goblets again. When they were finished, they set them on the table.

The two men stared at one another. A slow smile spread across Ranulf's face. Perspiration glistened upon his upper lip. "I think I must sit down. The battle has tired me. How my head aches."

"I will summon the medicus. Your wound requires attention."

From her place on the floor, Rowena moaned again. Ranulf lifted a hand. "'Tis nothing. But perhaps Rowena—"

"Aye." Stancliff smiled, but almost instantly, the smile turned bitter. With a low gasp, he lifted a hand to his throat.

"Are you all right, friend?" Ranulf's eyes gleamed.

"Yes, of course," Stancliff answered, his voice hollow. He coughed.

Ranulf's expression grew hard as shale. "Are you ill? Odd, but I feel it, too, the burning in my throat."

His laughter sent chills down Isabel's back, for it was the laughter of a man who faced death.

"Mayhap when we broke our fast this morn the food was tainted?"

Stancliff stared, stricken, into Ranulf's eyes. "Mayhap."

"My innards feel"—Ranulf paused, and placed the flat of his palm over his stomach—"as if they boil, hot."

"Yes," whispered Stancliff. His brows creased and his lips parted as if he found it difficult to breathe.

Ranulf chuckled. "My mouth is dry, and I cannot seem to swallow."

Stancliff lifted his eyes to Ranulf's in sudden realization.

Ranulf leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. "Damn you to Hell, Stancliff."

Stancliff gaped at him, leaning heavily upon the table for support. Ranulf peered out from between slitted lids.

"My only regret is that I shall die a scant moment before you." His hands trembled, gripped the hilt of his sword, where he held it between his legs.

All at once his eyes widened. "Father." A faint smile curved his lips.

"Ranulf!" Isabel screamed, as his dying eyes turned to her.

He said, "I truly loved you, Isabel. In an honorable sort of way." He coughed, a watery, sick sound. To Stancliff, he muttered, "And you. I will await
you
in Hell."

Ranulf's head lolled back.

Isabel cried out in grief. She had despised him in the end, for having killed their father, and for his cruel punishment of Kol. But he was Ranulf. Despite his sins, she had loved him as a brother for so very long. A vision of him, as a blond little boy, surfaced in her mind, the boy who had been her protector since her birth. Aye, he had loved her, despite the demons that had tormented his later life.

Stancliff turned his eyes, full of realization, upon Isabel. "You told him. You betrayed me."

"Where is my son?" she begged. "You must tell me."

"I was the hero. I would have been king, and you my queen. I could have given you everything."

Isabel took several steps toward the door. He lunged, blocking her escape. From his belt he pulled a long dagger. "I won't go. Not without you."

His skin had gone pallid, but Isabel knew he had enough life remaining in him to kill her. He leapt up and charged toward her. She screamed.