Page 296 of Historical Hotties
She looked at him a moment, a smile on her lips, before shaking her head in a wry gesture. “Robert would have simply let them burn,” she said. “He would not have cared. I find it remarkable that you do.”
He smiled and kissed her again, this time on the lips. “I’m sure I will not be long,” he said. “But do as I tell you. When I leave the keep, throw the bolt and lock it up. You will also secure the shutters on the windows.”
Caledonia followed him down the stairs to the entry level below. “I will,” she said. “Please be cautious, angel. Remember that there are those who would rejoice if you were injured or worse.”
He looked at her, frowning. “Who?” he asked, but the question was barely out of his mouth when he realized what she meant. “Ah. Those two. Well, I will be happy to disappoint your greedy uncle.”
He was nearly to the entry door when it flew open and Nicola rushed in. She almost smashed into her brother in her haste.
“There is a villager at the gatehouse,” she said quickly. “Darius sent me to tell you that someone is raiding Millford!”
That settled the question of what, precisely, was happening, and Thor could feel himself tensing for battle. Determination filled him as well as a sense of duty. He’d been through this more times than he could count. But he knew his wife hadn’t and she had heard the news. He suspected that she was frightened now. He turned to Caledonia to find Nicola standing next to her, holding her hand.
“ThenEl Martillorides,” he said, smiling at his wife as he said it. “I cannot imagine who is attacking my property, but they had better prepare themselves. This hammer is deadly.”
Caledonia wasn’t amused. “It is my uncle,” she said, frightened. “It has to be. They are trying to harass us.”
Thor put his hands on her face and looked her in the eye. “Or it could be outlaws from the forest to the north,” he said seriously. “We know they are there. The Stafford soldiers have told us as much. I will not know anything until I get there, so do not jump to conclusions yet.”
He didn’t seem concerned that he was facing a battle in the least. If anything, he seemed oddly happy about it.El Martillo, indeed.
The mercenary was ready to fight.
Reluctantly, Caledonia nodded in agreement, and he kissed her one last time before quitting the keep. Caledonia and Nicola shut the door and bolted it, calling to the servants because the shutters needed to be closed as well. Soon enough, several house servants were closing up the shutters in every chamber as Caledonia and Nicola went upstairs to the level above, shutting the heavy door on the stairs and bolting it as well.
Now, all they could do was wait.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rotri had Domnallin his arms.
The man was hysterical.
“My son,” he wept, spittle dripping from his lips. “My son is dead!”
As the village of Millford burned around them, the men from Dordon were facing a difficult scene. Domnall had been discovered near the southern edge of the village, crumpled and smashed in a gutter because he’d evidently been trampled. Even his head was smashed. When Rotri was notified, he’s rushed to the southern end of the village as men gathered around the corpse, only to see his son lying in a pool of his own blood.
It had been a gruesome scene.
Cristano, Adan, and Benedicto were standing around, watching Rotri mourn his son, the only one out of all of them who seemed to show any common sense or reason. It was true that he went along with his father’s plans in whatever the man wanted to do, but he wasn’t a fanatic about it like Rotri was. How he’d been killed was anyone’s guess because no one had seen it happen, but it was clear that he’d been trampled or run over, because his entire body was broken.
And so was Rotri.
“My lord,” Cristano said, “I realize this is a terrible moment for you, but the Stafford army is coming. We can see them along the road. Are we to follow the plan we discussed at Dordon? Are we still to go through with it?”
Rotri was sobbing openly, holding his son, feeling how broken he was. “Oh, God,” he breathed as if he was losing his mind. “God help me. Please, God help me!”
Cristano had lookouts on the northern end of town, watching for the Stafford approach. The entire situation was working as it should have and he didn’t want to lose this opportunity. Domnall’s death was unfortunate, but that didn’t change facts. Cristano wanted revenge against de Reyne. He wanted his money and possessions back, everything he’d been forced to leave behind at Stafford Castle. All of this he wanted, but he wasn’t going to get that if Rotri fell apart.
They had to stay the course.
“My lord, please,” he said, trying not to be insensitive because it might turn Rotri against him. “We… we must not let your son’s death be in vain. If we lose this opportunity to capture de Reyne, then Domnall would have died for nothing. We must hurry because the Stafford army will be upon us shortly. May we continue to follow the plan?”
Rotri’s head came up. Every orifice on his face was leaking something. He was beyond grief at the moment, but not so far gone that he didn’t hear Cristano’s words. The only thing he could think of was blame. He had to blame someone for this.
Someone was going to have to pay.
“I want you to kill him,” he spat. “Kill de Reyne when you see him!”
