Page 55 of Knight of Havoc
“Make haste, men, and follow me as you can. I must find who has taken my wife,” Reynard ordered whilst his horse reared upon its back hooves. The men backed away from the animal whilst Reynard gained control of his mount.
“Wait for us, my lord. ’Tis dangerous for you to leave alone,” one knight proclaimed.
“I can take care of myself but hurry. I cannot delay any longer and must needs save my lady,” Reynard replied before he pressed his knees into the side of his horse that bolted forward.
He was more or less blind when it came to determining where Elysande had been taken, or by whom. He could only pray that he was going the right way. And then miracle of all miracles, he saw a piece of blue linen that had found its way onto a bush by the side of the road. He halted his horse and took the fabric in his fingers. His wife was such a clever woman. She was leaving him a trail to follow!
He rode onward for mayhap another five miles before he found himself at a cross road. His choice of path would either bring him closer to his wife or farther away. He stood questioning which way he should take when a distant shriek toward the road on the left made him slap the reins of the bridle to tear off in that direction. Clearly, his wife was in trouble and was making an attempt to protect herself. He prayed with all his heart that she would be able to hold out just a little bit longer and that he would reach her soon enough.
When he rounded a corner, there she stood. The sight that met his eyes was almost more than Reynard could stand. Her black hair was disheveled, her gown torn from her attempts to leave him markers to follow. But ’twas the fact she held a knife out in front of her and had to use it that made Reynard’s heart sink. That never should have happened—he should have been there to defend her himself. But at least she had the blade. He remembered when he had instructed her to always keep one hidden in her boot. She had at the very least listened for a change and ’twas clear that the knife had come in handy.
“You bloody bitch,” Morcant yelled whilst holding a cloth to his bleeding cheek.
“Put your hands on me again and I will scar the other,” Elysande warned, swiping the blade back and forth.
“I will teach you a lesson you will soon not forget,” Morcant said, taking a menacing step forward.
’Twas obvious the two combatants were too engrossed in each other to realize they were no longer alone.
“I think not, Morcant. Stay away from my wife,” Reynard declared, bringing his horse forward and then jumping down. He drew his sword from his scabbard and held the blade in front of him.
“Reynard,” Elysande sobbed. “You came for me.”
Reynard lifted one brow, then gave her a wink. “You had your doubts? You and I have unfinished business, if you recall.”
A roar of outrage left Morcant, and his blade rang out as it met Reynard’s. The two men began to fight, their swords flashing in the brightness of the sun. Elysande stepped out of the way and Reynard gave his full concentration to the foe before him. In terms of skill, he was no different than any enemy that Reynard had met on the battlefield, but never before had any foe stirred in him such a fierce rage. ’Twas this man who had taken his wife!
He heard a rustling behind him and in his haste to turn and check on Elysande’s state, he let his guard drop in a moment of distraction. A moment his enemy capitalized on, as Morcant’s blade sliced across his arm, causing Reynard to curse. But this only renewed his determination to see that Morcant did not live to see another day. The empress may have kept him a prisoner in his dungeon but Reynard would not be so lenient.
“I should have killed you the first chance I had on the tourney field,” Morcant taunted.
“You failed in your attempts then just as you shall fail this day.” Reynard swung his blade forward, attacking the man before him with renewed strength.
“If I had taken her to my bed, she would be my wife,” Morcant taunted, flinching when Reynard’s sword sliced into his thigh.
“Then you and I would not be here this day for you would have been dead as soon as I could hunt you down, punished you for the crime of taking someone who does not belong to you,” Reynard hissed, pressing forward.
“I will see you dead,” Morcant said through clenched teeth.
“You can try but in the end I will be the one walking away with the lady,” Reynard said, slicing his blade again and again as Morcant began to bleed from several wounds.
Morcant whirled around to evade Reynard’s sword but when he brought his own forward to strike a killing blow, Reynard ducked down, pulled his own knife from his boot, and struck upward to pierce Morcant directly in the middle of his chest. Morcant’s eyes went wide in disbelief before he stumbled backwards.
“You b-bastard,” Morcant stammered.
“I hope you enjoy your stay in hell, Morcant. The Devil will be waiting for your arrival,” Reynard sneered as he watched his enemy fall onto the ground. He went over to the fallen man to ensure he was dead, pushing the body with his boot to see if there was any flinch of response. But Morcant was no more and could only stare upwards with sightless eyes.
Reynard wiped his sword on Morcant’s tunic before putting his faithful blade away. He then held open his arms and Elysande ran to him. He swore from that day forward, he would never allow this lady to be far from his side.
Chapter Forty
Elysande slammed openthe keep door, swiftly hastened through the inner bailey, and pressed onward until she reached the field where Reynard and the few knights who guarded Blackmore were training. She took in great gulps of air to calm her frayed nerves. After almost a fortnight of peace, there was an army approaching. Elysande had marched up the turret stairs to see for herself the dust plume in the distance from the battlement walls. Whether friend or foe, she could not tell but Reynard must be warned in case ’twas Stephen’s men bent on causing more havoc on their home.
But as urgent as the matter was, she did not lose sight of the fact that her husband was sparring with naked blades. Startling him or his training partner could lead to an injury she would much sooner avoid. Thus, she waited for the opportunity when she could interrupt without causing trouble. The knight he was sparring with fell upon the ground, giving her the perfect chance.
“Reynard,” she called, waving her hand with a renewed sense of urgency.
He took off his helmet and pushed back the mail coif from his head. Placing his sword in his scabbard, he began to approach. He was an impressive sight to her eyes and her breath hitched as it usually did the closer he came. He was a warrior in every senseof the word and the chain mail links chinked with each step he took.
