Page 84 of Hers To Command
Roald lifted his booted foot and kicked the Scot back. “That’s a lie!”
The Scot didn’t budge an inch as the boot collided with his chest. “Aye, he has, for I know his banner well. And another army has come from Cornwall, carrying Lord Merrick of Tregellas’s banner.”
Merrick? Merrick had come, too? Henry parted his lips and uttered a heartfelt thanks to God.
“Liar!” Roald screamed, kicking again at the Scot and pulling on his reins to try to turn his horse, until the poor beast’s mouth bled.
The Scot lunged, pulling Roald down from his horse and throwing him onto the ground. “I’ll kill you for this!” Roald screeched as he scrambled to his feet.
The Scot backed away. “I dinna think so. I’m getting out of this mess and so, I think, are the rest of your men.” He glanced at Henry, still coming toward them. “I’m tempted to kill ye mysel’ but there’s somebody else has a better right.”
With that, the Scot strode away, and other mercenaries, seeing him go, took to their heels with less dignity.
“Cowards! Come back!” Roald bellowed, his gaze darting like a trapped rat, his whole body shaking with rage and fear.
“You can’t buy loyalty,” Henry said, lifting his sword and preparing to fight. “And now that my brother and my friend are here, they’ll make short work of any of your men who’ve lingered. Surrender, Roald. It’s over. You’ve lost.”
“No!” Roald screeched, fumbling as he tried to draw his sword, finally succeeding. “I’ll kill you!”
He charged forward, his sword upraised to strike.
Henry crouched, feet firm to the earth, as Sir Leonard would say, trying to concentrate and ignore his pain and his fatigue.
But even distraught, Roald was a good fighter. He aimed for Henry’s useless shoulder. Henry half turned, his right side forward, his blade raised to block the blow.
Roald was too strong, Henry too weak. Roald knocked the sword from Henry’s hands and Henry fell to his knees. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t.
Roald’s exultant laugh filled the air. “Too bad you didn’t stay out of this, Henry. How sorry you must be.”
“No, never sorry,” Henry gasped, meaning it.
Sir Leonard’s voice seemed to thunder in his ears as his right hand closed around a palm-size stone.Use whatever comes to hand, boy.
Whatever comes to hand.
With the last of his strength, he raised his arm and threw the stone at Roald with all his might. It struck Roald in the face, right between his eyes. With a cry, he staggered backward and fell.
Gasping for breath, Henry crawled forward, reaching out for Roald’s sword now on the ground beside him.
Roald lay flat on his back, not moving. Grabbing the man’s sword, Henry cautiously inched closer, his weight on his right hand, his left arm dragging, to see a dark bruise between Roald’s brows. His surprised and lifeless eyes stared up, unseeing, at the sky above him.
God be praised, the man was dead.
As Henry slipped to the ground, pain and fatigue washed over him, and carried him into oblivion.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“HENRY, ARE YOU AWAKE?” a gentle, loving voice asked.
It sounded like Mathilde. But she had been hurt. Wounded. By an arrow. In the back, on the battlements with him.
Someone was holding his right hand.
“He’s still asleep.”
Mathilde again? He tried to speak, to say her name, but all that came out was a low moan.
“He really should rest, my lords. He is past the greatest danger, but his wounds are severe and will take some time to heal. We should let him sleep.”
