Page 36 of Warrior Queen
The sun hammered down, unusually hot even for a British midsummer. My mail shirt sat heavy on my shoulders, the sweat trickling down my back. Within the walls, the fight went on, heard but not seen. Smoke rose in black billows as houses burned. The shouts and screams continued. Horses squealed in pain and fear. My fears for Arthur rose with every long minute I had to wait, sitting on the grass beside the corpse of my would-be assailant.
Eventually, common sense made me get up and search for my sword. When I spotted it, I kept it clutched in my hand rather than stowing it back in its scabbard. Goodness knows where my helmet had got to. Without it, the dead Irishman had no doubt found it easier to work out I was a woman.
Armed and feeling more able to take care of myself, I slithered to the bottom of the ditch again. Using my sword as a kind of piton, I managed to climb back up the other side to stand crouched against the low wall.
No sound came from immediately behind it, so I dared a peek between the jagged stones. Nothing. The side-road lay empty, a couple of the chickens still scratching about as though nothing were going on. No dead bodies. No flames. Beyond the nearest thatched rooftops, though, smoke continued to billow as though more houses in the center of the town had caught fire. And although the noise of battle had diminished, it hadn’t died completely.
I stood for a while, straining every sense, fingers hooked onto the topmost stones. Hoofbeats drumming on the turf to my left disturbed my vigil. Swinging around and almost losing my balance, I raised my sword, my other hand still gripping the top of the wall.
A man on a bay horse, carrying a shield– a blue falcon on a yellow background.
Merlin.
I’d half-expected it to be another Irish warrior, though why he’d have been on a horse I had no idea. My common sense had flown out the window with my bravery.
Merlin slowed his horse as he approached the far bank, his gaze fixed on me. Relief drenched me with such force I sat down with a thump and slid into the ditch again in a crumpled heap.
Merlin brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, then held out his hand. On shaky legs, I scrambled to my feet, and he heaved me to the top of the bank. “Are you all right?” His eyes went to the body of the Irishman. “What did he do?” Anxiety laced his words.
“I’m fine. He didn’t do anything.” I grimaced, angry at the tremble in my voice. “He was going to, but I kicked him where it hurts. That changed his mind for him. He’d just decided to kill me instead, when someone shot him in the back. I wasn’t going down without a fight, though.”
Suddenly aware my hand was still in his, I snatched it back. “Where were you?” My voice rose in anger, steadying the tremble. “Someone knocked me off my horse, and I hit my head on the cobbles.” I put my hand up to the huge bump and winced. “When I woke up, everyone had gone.” I poked him in the chest with an accusing finger. “Didn’t anyone notice I wasn’t there? Didn’tyounotice? I thought you were supposed to be looking after me.” Anger was definitely making me less shaky.
He had the grace to redden. “I’m sorry.” He tried to take my hand again, but I put it behind my back. “It was chaos. We got the townspeople into the edge of the forest in the nick of time. Everything happened so fast. We saw Arthur and his army arrive and charged down to join him. I didn’t even know you were missing until Arthur told me he’d seen you outside the walls.” He paused. “He sent me to find you.”
“That’s not good enough.” I was properly furious now, probably a reaction to everything that had happened. “You all just left me!” Unwanted tears squeezed out of my eyes and ran down my cheeks.
Damn it.How not to look like a warrior queen.
I fought to stop them, but failed. A great heaving sob welled up, all self-control gone. “I saw them k-kill the priest.” The image of his brains flying out of the great split in his head rose again and the tears flowed faster. I bent over and retched up bile as that was all I had left.
Merlin put a comforting hand on my back as I spat out the bitterness, my nose running.
After a moment, I straightened up, and he enfolded me in his arms, pressing me against his chest, one hand on the back of my head, his touch gentle. “You’re safe now. The battle’s done. The Irish that aren’t dead or wounded have retreated down the road with their tails between their legs.”
He smelled of horses, leather and sweat, warm and reassuring. I didn’t struggle, but I didn’t stop crying. I’d seen death before, many times now, but this was different. He’d left me alone, and I’d stared my own death in the face all by myself. I’d thought that warrior was going to kill me, and no one could save me.
We stood like that for what felt a long time, until at last my tears dried, and all I could do was hiccup pathetically. Suddenly conscious of his physical closeness and the impropriety of letting him hug me, his queen, I pulled away and wiped my snotty nose on my sleeve. No hankies in the Dark Ages.
He stepped back, eyes troubled. “Can you ride?” His words came out as stilted, perhaps made awkward by the amount of time he’d had to embrace his crying queen.
I wiped my nose again. Damned thing wouldn’t stop running. A small nod was all I could muster.
He mounted swiftly, kicked his foot out of his stirrup and held out a hand. I set my foot in the discarded stirrup and sprang, his strength pulling me up to straddle his horse behind his saddle.
Oh, the relief of being on a horse again. I set my jaw in an attempt to stifle the hiccups. I was going to bloody well kill the man who’d stolen Alezan from me when I found him.
With my arms around Merlin’s waist, we jog-trotted back to the north gateway and paused, staring down the main street. I had to lean sideways to peer around Merlin’s body at the carnage. A few houses still smoldered, and so did the church. Corpses lay scattered over the road like broken dolls. Already, in the summer heat, flies buzzed over the mess of blood and brains and ordure. The stink of death filled the air. This was going to take a lot of clearing up.
“Is it safe?” I asked, into Merlin’s chain-mailed shoulder.
For answer, he nodded. “They’ve gone, leaving only their dead behind them.”
His legs moved as he squeezed his horse’s sides, and she trotted down the main street, stepping with dainty care over the sprawled bodies. As we passed the church, I averted my eyes from the foolish priest, bile welling up in my throat again. I’d seen enough of what had happened to him before.
Arthur sat astride Llamrei in the little square at the center of the town. Sweat streaked her body, and blood too, but not her own. Arthur turned his helmeted head and stared.
“What are you doing here?” His voice held anger, relief, concern– in equal measures.
