The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (44 page)

After
all, no one knew that he had been loosed from the dungeon. Perhaps his fortune
changed! He leapt onto the bottom step, reaching back with one hand to ensure
that Madeline was close behind him.

They
reached the second floor and stood back to back in his mother’s chamber,
circling slowly while they both sought signs of life. There appeared to be no
one in the chamber, though the light was more dim here than in the hall below.
The gem on Madeline’s breast glowed, illuminating a little space around them.

Their
gazes met and Rhys saw Madeline’s nose twitch. He snatched at her, covering her
mouth with his hand and burying her face in his chest just as she sneezed
again.

They
froze as one, but there was no movement beyond the racing of their own hearts.
Rhys exhaled, caressed Madeline’s cheek, then indicated the door to Nelwyna’s
chamber. She lifted her blade grimly and nodded agreement.

The
door was unlocked and swung open silently. The chamber beyond was dark, too
dark for Rhys’ taste. He thought he could hear breathing, as if someone slept
in the shadows beyond. He stepped cautiously into the room, his blade held
high, and his mother screamed from far below.

Rhys
glanced over his shoulder in fear. In that heartbeat, he felt motion beside
him. Madeline lunged forward and stabbed her knife into the assailant who had
been lurking in the shadows. That man’s blade was mere inches from Rhys’
throat.

The
man was only stunned, but Rhys swung his blade and ensured he would surprise no
one again. The man fell. Rhys pivoted to face the chamber again and his heart
sank to his toes. The light from Madeline’s gemstone was reflected in the
blades of a dozen men who had leapt to their feet. They dove as one toward him.

“Stay
fast behind me!” Rhys bellowed, as if he meant to leap into the chamber.
Instead, he leapt back and slammed the portal into the chamber. The men fell
heavily against it and several swore.

Madeline
smiled at him, then she sneezed again. Rhys seized her hand and fled toward the
stairs to the third floor. They were not so quiet now, for they had need of
speed. They were only halfway up the stairs when the men tore open the door of
Nelwyna’s chamber and roared at the sight of Rhys.

A
sentry was awakening at the summit of the stairs, but he was not quick enough
to evade the bite of Rhys’ blade. Madeline’s gem revealed the man to be a
stranger, probably one of Robert’s most trusted men.

Rhys
lifted Madeline’s knife from her grip, bent and slit the man’s throat. There
was a gurgle, no more, then he was still and silent. Rhys wiped the blade and
returned it to her, then kicked open the portal.

Another
dozen men roared for blood at leapt at Rhys. They were trapped beneath the two
groups. Rhys bellowed and charged into the chamber, Madeline fast behind him.
Rhys swung his blade and felled two men so quickly that they seemed astonished,
even in death. He bent to finish the deed.

“On
your left!” Madeline cried and Rhys straightened with his blade swinging. He
heard her grunt as she drove her own blade into some sorry soul, then she
pressed the hilt of a knife into his left hand. They fought well together, for
though she could not match his strength, the gem ensured that she could see
more.

A
mercenary leapt at Rhys, swinging his blade with such fury that Rhys had to
jump out of its path. Footsteps pounded on the stairs, but he dared not glance
that way. He circled the mercenary, Madeline fast behind him, and heard the
clash of blades on the other side of the chamber.

With
each success, the battle became more complicated. There were many bodies and the
light was not good. The floor was slick with blood and Rhys had to use care not
to lose his footing. He dispatched the mercenary with a grunt, then realized he
had lost something else.

Madeline
was no longer at his back.

Rhys
spun, seeking her, and found instead the glimmer of light from her gemstone.
None other than Robert Herbert was lit by the stone’s glow, the blade of his
sword glittering against Madeline’s throat. He wore no more than his chemise,
his feet were bare, and he held Madeline by the hair. He stood beside the
curtained bed.

Rhys
froze. He straightened and spread his hands in surrender, letting his blade
dangle from his hand. He did not drop it, though, for he saw Alexander easing
ever closer to Robert. It must have been Alexander’s arrival he had heard
earlier, and the younger man who was responsible for killing some of their
foes.

“You
can have Caerwyn,” Rhys said. “I know that is your desire. I ask only that you
release the lady.”

Robert
sneered. “You have nothing with which to bargain.”

“I
bargain with my life. Kill me instead of her.” Rhys put the tip of his blade
against the floor and leaned both hands on the pommel. “Unless you are the kind
of man who is only confident in the killing of women?”

“I
have not lived so long because I am fool enough to rise to such bait,” Robert
said smoothly. He let the tip of his blade slide down Madeline’s throat.
“Perhaps I have another scheme for the lady, one that does not require her
demise.”

“You
would not!” Nelwyna shouted from the bed. “You made a pledge to me, you
wretch!”

She
leapt from the bed in naked fury. Robert turned, and Rhys knew he would have to
see Alexander. Indeed, Robert shouted then swung his sword at Madeline’s
brother. Rhys leapt across the chamber, fearing he would be too late to save
the younger man. Alexander raced toward Nelwyna, perhaps hoping to use her as a
shield.

Madeline
guessed Rhys’ plight. She jumped upon Robert from behind, and wrapped her arms
tightly around his face.

He
cried out in dismay and stumbled. “The stench! I cannot breathe! Get off me,
woman!” Only then did Rhys recall that Madeline’s chemise was soaked with
sewage.

Her
diversion granted Rhys the time he needed.

Rhys
flung Madeline behind him and struck Robert across the face with his fist. That
man staggered, then swung his blade at Rhys’ groin. Rhys danced out of its
path.

The
battle erupted on all sides again, and Rhys realized that all of the others
were here to aid him. On the far side of the chamber, a fallen mercenary lifted
his head and surreptitiously reached for his blade.

Vivienne
cried out a warning then struck that man in the head with a poker. Elizabeth
swung a pair of flaming torches, setting fire to the garb of any man fool
enough to come close to her. Rhys watched as she drove one torch into a man’s
face despite that man’s screams.

“These
Lammergeier women are wrought of stern stuff,” Rhys muttered, even as he backed
Madeline into a corner. She chuckled, then sneezed, so he knew where she was
without risking a glance her way. She must be growing tired, after her ordeal
of this day, and he was determined to ensure that she had no more need to
fight.

Robert
fought like a man half his age, and Rhys was glad of Elizabeth’s torches. The
pair dodged and feinted, nicking each other with cursed frequency. There was
blood on Rhys’ hands and a cut on his brow that was determined to bleed into
his eye. Their blades clashed again and again and again, neither willing to
cede, each as well matched as the other.

Alexander
and Nelwyna struggled on the far side of the chamber. Nelwyna’s generous size
and her anger made their battle a more even match than it might otherwise have
been.

“Men!”
Nelwyna cried. She looked as if she intended to wrest Alexander’s head from his
shoulders. “You are all liars and scoundrels, louts one and all. You think of
nothing beyond your pricks and your ambitions and your ale!”

“Ow!”
Alexander shouted, and kicked her in the knee.

“Ow!”
Nelwyna cried, and kicked him back. Alexander darted backward and lifted his
blade against her.

“You
will not kill a woman old enough to be your grandmother, will you?” Nelwyna
crooned. She stooped so that she looked older and more feeble than she was.
Alexander’s blade wavered. “I am old and wrinkled and you are too honorable a
knight to kill an old woman devoid of defenses.”

“So
long as you have your tongue in your head, you are scarce defenseless,” Robert
muttered.

Nelwyna
turned, hatred in her gaze. “You cursed vermin! I offered you my all...”

“And
it was precious little, for it had been well savored afore.”

“Oh!”
Nelwyna gasped in outrage. She dove toward Robert and Rhys saw his moment. He
jabbed his blade into Robert’s gut with such force that the tip of the blade
might have erupted from Robert’s back. Rhys pulled out his blade and Robert staggered,
though he did not fall.

He
turned and gave Nelwyna a savage blow across the face. “I should never have
heeded your lies,” he spat as she lost her footing. “I should have guessed that
Caerwyn could not become my own that easily.” Then he fell to his knees and
Rhys struck him again. Robert landed facedown amidst his fallen mercenaries,
though Rhys kept his blade pointed at him.

Nelwyna
stumbled from the impact of Robert’s blow, her hand raised to her face.
Alexander straightened behind her and lifted his sword. He swung the blade so
forcefully that his blow should have been fatal.

Or
it would have been, had it struck the older woman.

Nelwyna
clearly tripped. They all saw her trip, although none of them ever agreed later
as to what could have tripped her. The floor was barren there, but she tripped
all the same.

Alexander’s
blade whistled past her and the weight of the blow buried it in the wooden
floor. Rhys heard a strange gleeful cackle, and saw Nelwyna’s expression of
horror as she tumbled over the sill of the window and disappeared from sight.

Nelwyna
screamed as she fell to Caerwyn’s bailey, and then she screamed no more.

“Ha!”
Rhys smiled at the sound of his mother’s triumphant cry in the bailey. “Now,
there is a deed well done!”

Rosamunde
could be heard to laugh along with Adele, those two women obviously hale
enough.

* * *

Rhys
backed Madeline further into his corner, staring all the while at his fallen
foe. He dared not lower his blade or avert his gaze, not until he knew for
certain that his avaricious neighbor lived no more.

He
did not trust Robert, and half-expected that the man only feigned death. Rhys
dared not expose Madeline to another threat, not until he could be fully
certain that she was safe.

But
the lady leaned against him, her chest against his back. He felt the wet of her
chemise soak his own garb, felt her curves against him. He felt her sigh of
relief, he felt the trembling that still claimed her. Her hands slipped around
his waist, as if he alone kept her upright, and she held fast to him.

Rhys
hoped she wanted more from him than warmth. Some tension eased out of Rhys when
Alexander confirmed that Robert was truly dead. Madeline whispered Rhys’ name
and the exhaustion in her voice tore at his heart.

Rhys
claimed Madeline’s left hand with his own, and interlaced their fingers. His
ring still graced the middle finger of her hand, the silver ring he had taken
from his own smallest finger all those days ago at Miriam’s abbey. The sight of
it, the fact that she had not removed it and cast it aside, granted him hope.

After
all, she was here.

Rhys
held Madeline’s cold hand captive against the pounding of his heart, flattening
it beneath the heat of his own palm. Perhaps she truly would remain by his
side.

She
sneezed, then leaned her cheek against his back with a sigh. The fingers of her
other hand knotted into his own chemise, as if she would hold him fast.

“
Anwylaf
,” she whispered and a lump rose in Rhys’ throat.

With
that one word, Madeline told him all he had need of knowing. Rhys understood
not only that she would stay at Caerwyn, but why.

He
lifted her hand to his lips, intending to kiss her palm, then recoiled at the
smell. “
Anwylaf
, you have need of
a bath,” he said sternly. Madeline laughed, then sneezed three times in rapid
succession. Rhys caught her up in his arms and bellowed for hot water. He would
not lose her through illness now!

“I
have no maid,” Madeline said, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“I
shall see you well served,” Rhys retorted, then grinned down at her. “You need
have no fear otherwise.”

The
lady laughed and curled against his chest. “I love you, Rhys FitzHenry,” she
said, her eyes shining.

“And
I love you, my Madeline.” Rhys tightened his hold upon her, more relieved than
he could declare in words. “It seems that we have much to celebrate this
night.”

“Sons,”
Madeline said with resolve. “We have sons to conceive this night.”

And
Rhys FitzHenry laughed aloud, for the first time in years, much to the evident
delight of his wife.