Page 45 of Knight of Darkness
Wymar took her hand and raised it to his lips. “We must away whilst Richard and Arthur continue their assault at the keep door. If we are lucky, we can make it back down to the tunnels with Ratcliff none the wiser.”
Ensuring the way was clear, they entered the passageway with Ceridwen leading the way. After all, this was her home and she knew the keep better than anyone. When Wymar was about to turn left, Ceridwen pulled his arm and watched him wince again. “Not that way,” she urged nodding in the opposite direction. “The stairs at the end of this passageway lead down to the kitchens. We can access the dungeons from there,” she said quietly.
They had only gone down two flights of stairs when their path was barred by a knight making his way up. Surprise registered on his face but before he could call for aid, Ceridwen leapt forward with her dagger and ended his life. She turned back to see how Wymar was progressing with the stairs. Sweat beaded on his upper lip now.
“Take this,” she ordered, handing him the dagger and taking his sword.
“Give me back my sword, Ceridwen,” he grumbled. “I can handle my own weapon.”
“Clearly you cannot, given that you look like you are about to fall over. If you pass out, there is no way I can carry your weight and I highly doubt your squire will be of much use either,” she fumed wondering why Arthur was not in Turbert’s place since he was more than capable of coming to her aid.
They had just made it into the kitchen when all hell exploded. With the keep door breached, men flooded through the entryway and into the great hall. The sound of steel against steel echoed throughout the room. Ratcliff stood near the hearth with his sword raised to defend himself even whilst his army took on Ceridwen’s and Wymar’s knights.
Seeing her opportunity, she turned to Turbert. “Keep your master safe,” she ordered. Slashing at her gown to allow herself freer movement, she paid no heed when Wymar called her name. Raising her sword, she jumped into the fray, killing one enemy after another in order to get to Ratcliff.
The sound of the dying filled the room and still she pressed forward until she cut down the final man who stood in her way.
“Ratcliff!” she called out pointing her sword in his direction. “Let us finish this between us!”
Surprise registered momentarily upon his face before a wicked smile plastered itself upon his face. “So be it. Let the better man win.”
The force of when his sword met her own caused Ceridwen’s arm to quake. She had been foolish to take his blow head-on rather than deflecting the blade to the side as she usually did. She was too emotional, which her sword master would have told her was the worst way to fight. But she had not become an expert swordswoman overnight and now was not the time to show any signs of weakness. This was her moment of revenge. She would restore her home and make Ratcliff pay with his life for what he had done to her father and her people.
Marshaling her mental strength, she focused on the fight. Again and again, her sword swung forward even whilst Ratcliff parried with his own. A smile of satisfaction crept across her lips when she saw several places where she had drawn blood. The wounds were not deep but they outraged Ratcliff when her blade met his skin.
Her arm began to quiver in exhaustion and she did all within her power to find the strength to continue onward. She ducked, narrowly missing the blade aimed at her head but her feet flew out from under her in the process when she slipped on the blood of the fallen.
Ratcliff grabbed her braided hair and pulled her back into his chest. “Now I will have you at my leisure and your lover can watch whilst I take you in your own hall for all to witness my dominance over you.”
Before she could respond, a sickening smack sounded close enough that the air rushed from Ratcliff’s lungs. He loosened his grip and Ceridwen looked to see her mother’s dagger protruding from his forehead. His eyes rolled in his head and Ratcliff pitched backwards to stare upwards with sightless eyes.
Ceridwen turned toward the kitchen to see Wymar hunched over from his efforts to save her. With a nod in his direction, she pulled herself from the floor and continued to fight for her home until the remaining enemy surrendered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Days quickly fled,and almost before he knew it, another fortnight had passed. Wymar took this time to heal whilst Ceridwen saw to the running of Norwich. The dead had been laid to rest and a new priest who came to reside at the castle blessed the graves, including those who had been their enemy. Wymar was unsure he would have been as generous as the new lady of the hall. But Ceridwen had sworn she would not pass judgment over them and left the matter to a higher being.
She had been avoiding him again and he knew not why. He had questioned Arthur on more than one occasion. Ceridwen’s captain had only grunted a half response telling Wymar that when the lady was ready she would reveal all. In the meantime, Wymar tried to summon up a fair amount of patience. He was uncertain if another day could go by without them having speech together.
A soft knock sounded at his chamber door and he went and opened it. Her blonde hair left unbraided, Ceridwen was dressed in a dark blue gown with her white undertunic coming to points at her wrists. Jewels of some worth hung around her throat and a large diamond came to rest just above her breasts. She was lovely and was hardly recognizable from the young lord he once thought her to be.
“May I disturb you, my lord?” she asked with a regal tilt of her head.
“Of course, my lady,” he answered swinging the door wide for her to enter, “although I hardly think given our past that we should stand on such formality.”
Was that the slightest flinch he detected in her demeanor? He hoped such was not the case but could not easily dismiss what he knew he saw. She was troubled, that much was certain, and he could only await what she planned to tell him of what was tormenting her mind.
He waved his arm toward the room to show she was welcome. A faint hint of flowery fragrance drifted and assaulted his senses as she strode by and he closed the door. She went to the window, opened the shutter, and stared at the view of the ocean.
Silence. ’Twas deafening whilst he waited for her to tell him what was on her mind. She continued to keep her back toward him. He waited and watched her take several breaths. He knew ’twas up to her to begin this conversation. Whatever she was about to tell him was of grave import. She turned and he took notice of the streaks of tears running down her face. He took but one step in her direction, aching to comfort her in whatever way she would allow, before she raised her hand to stop him.
“Please,” she said before continuing. “If you touch me, I will never have the ability to say what needs to be spoken.”
“Very well,” he murmured holding his hands behind his back whilst watching her carefully. She appeared as skittish as a newborn colt. She at last moved from the window. Taking a seat near the hearth, she beckoned him to take the chair opposite her.
She stared at the flames for several minutes before she spoke. “Are you feeling better?” she asked, twisting her hands in her skirt as if that could hide the way that they trembled.
Oh, how he wanted to reach for her but something inside told him that would be a mistake. So… she apparently wanted to keep their conversation casual, filled with small talk.Will she reference the weather next?he mused. He leaned back into the chair instead of reaching out for her hand. His effort to remain indifferent tore at his guts. “Well enough to at last travel to Brockenhurst.”
