Royal Feud

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Delvin swung his broad sword, slicing through the neck of one of the invaders. The splatter of warm blood hit his cheek as the man's body collapsed. He raised his sword again and slashed into the flesh of another infiltrator. All around him Delvin heard the grunts of the warriors as they attacked and the cries of the defeated as they died.

Seeing his men had the situation well in hand, Delvin ran through the gate into the

outer bailey. The rest of his troops had swept from the other two gates into the outer

ward and were relentlessly engaging the enemy. Soon the attackers were dead,

wounded, or had surrendered. Ishton's victory was swift and complete.

Delvin ordered his men to take the prisoners into the inner ward. He scanned the dead bodies lying in the dirt but could see from their simple armor that none were the carl or his son. When he entered the inner ward, he found Belwick and Wyham surveying the prisoners.

"Have you seen Morety or Gerald?" Delvin demanded. "Neither is among the dead or the prisoners, milord," Hugh responded. "When the battle had obviously been won by Ishton," Wyham said, "I saw one man run away, out the postern gate. When he reached the forest there was another man

waiting for him with a horse. They both galloped away." "Hugh, get a contingent of twenty men ready to ride without delay." "Aye, milord." Belwick hurried away, shouting orders as he went.

Delvin turned back to the king's emissary. "Wyham, there can be no question of Morety's treachery now." "Aye. These men do not wear Morety's colors, but I recognize two of the men who

remained at Ishton with Lord Gerald." "I am going to pursue Morety, and if I find them, I will kill both the earl and his

son."

The courtier nodded. "Aye, you are quite within your right to do so, Ishton. I will so inform King Henry when I report to him. Godspeed." Delvin nodded and strode to where his men were gathering in the outer bailey. He

mounted Geneir and led the charge from the castle.

As the first rose streaks of dawn bathed the Mersted Valley with soft light, he

spotted Morety and Gerald ahead, riding with a small group of horsemen. After signaling his men, Delvin kicked his horse into a full gallop, giving chase. As Ishton's troops gained on them, Morety's men turned around to engage their pursuers, their swords at the ready. Delvin rapidly assessed this diversion meant to allow Morety and his son to escape, then shouted orders to his men.

With Bernard and two other soldiers, Delvin circled around Morety's troops as they engaged the bulk of his men and continued in pursuit of the earl. Horses' hooves thundered over the hard-packed ground as the biting cold air slapped his cheeks, left bare by his ventail. Delvin ignored the stinging of his eyes as sweat dripped down into them and the chafing of his nose from the iron guard of his helmet. As if in unison, the cloud of his warm exhalation mingled with that of the horse laboring under him as Geneir's breath spewed from his nostrils.

Gerald's horse suddenly stumbled, throwing him to the ground. Morety looked back once but then galloped on, ignoring Gerald's shouts for help. Delvin ordered Bernard and the other men to capture Gerald, then kicked his horse's flank, trying to wring every last bit of speed out of Geneir. The distance between him and his quarry shrunk under Delvin's relentless chase, but he was forced to turn back by the hail of arrows that fell between him and his prey. Delvin pulled up a safe distance from the archers on the battlements and watched in frustration as the earl safely entered his castle. Cursing loudly and furiously, he wheeled his horse around and raced back to where Gerald had fallen. He found his men surrounding their enemy, came to a halt, and dismounted. "Gerald, you have a choice," Delvin said as he walked toward his prisoner. "I can either take you captive, me, my men will let you go." we can settle this now between the two of us. If you defeat

"How can I trust you?" Gerald snarled. "Your men will slay me if I kill you." "Unlike you and your father, my men keep their word," Delvin stated. "The choice

is yours: humiliation or honorable battle." "Give me my sword," Gerald demanded, holding out his hand.

At Delvin's nod, Bernard picked up Gerald's discarded shield and handed it to him. Retrieving the sword from the scabbard Gerald had surrendered, the knight handed it hilt first to Gerald. Bernard then directed the other men to pull back, giving the combatants room.

Delvin drew his sword and eased into a fighting stance, intently watching Gerald's every move. Gerald slashed his sword at Delvin, and Delvin raised his shield to deflect the blow and turn it aside. Delvin went on the attack, cutting Gerald's right arm, gouging his chest and slicing his left thigh. Gerald retreated under Delvin's relentless onslaught, finally going down to his knees when Delvin's vicious blow cut into his sword hand, causing Gerald to drop his blade. Delvin stood over Gerald, the point of his weapon pressed against Gerald's neck.

"Do you yield?" Delvin demanded as he kicked Gerald's sword a away.

"Get it over with, Ishton," Gerald said. "I do not kill unarmed men in cold blood. Bernard, Geoffrey, tie him up and put him on his horse."

Delvin lowered his blade and stepped back. Gerald suddenly rolled, grabbing his sword with his uninjured left hand, and sprang to his feet. Gerald threw his blade at Delvin's chest, and Delvin leaped to the side as the weapon narrowly flew past him to land in the dirt to his left. Gerald continued his forward momentum and instinctively Delvin raised his sword as Gerald lunged toward him. His blade plunged through Gerald's mail hauberk, piercing his enemy's heart.

6

H elena jerked awake, her mind cloaked in impenetrable wool. Where was she? The continued knocking on the door was rhythmic and incessant. Her neck and shoulders ached from the awkward position in which she had fallen asleep. Her eyes were dry and rough, as if someone had rubbed them with a pumice stone. Dragging herself upright on the mattress to a sitting position, she saw Lucy hurrying to the door. The distinctive knocking pattern repeated as Lucy paused, her hand on the latch. "Delvin?" she called.

"Aye, Mother," he replied. "Tis safe now. Let me in." Lucy raised the bar and opened the door. As soon as Ishton entered the

chamber, Lucy grabbed him in a close embrace. He briefly tightened his arms

around his mother, then pulled back from her. "Delvin, you are covered in blood!" Lucy held onto his arms as she examined his face and body.

"Tis not my blood, Mother. I am fine." "God be praised," she said as she released him. "Delvin, what happened?"

Ishton swept into the chamber, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. His handsome face was splattered with blood and dirt. Wet with sweat, his black hair was matted to his scalp. The smell of his sweat and the filth staining his tunic and breeches assaulted Hermione's nostrils. As the full force of his brilliant blue eyes speared her, she slowly rose from the mattress and stood before him, her arms wrapped around her

waist. Trembling, she caught her lower lip between her teeth as she waited for her husband to speak. "I have killed Lord Gerald," he stated, his eyes never leaving hers. "The earl escaped."

Hermione bowed her head as Ishton's words sank into her consciousness. Gerald had tormented her almost as much as their father had abused her. She felt no grief that her brother was dead, only a sense of relief.

"Mother, I will give a full report to you and Wyham later, after I have eaten."

"Aye," Lucy agreed. "I am most anxious to know what has transpired. Tell me now, how did our men fare in the battle?" "Two are dead. Several of the men have injuries, but none are life-threatening. Hugh has the situation well in hand, so you will not be needed to doctor them."

"Nonetheless, I will check on the wounded men myself." "As you wish, Mother. Now, I need a bath. Renwold will see it brought here before long. Mother, please take Hermione to your chamber. I will see you in the solar after I break my fast."

"As you wish, my dear." Hermione continued to stare at the floor as if in a stupor. She and Lucy had been awake most of the night waiting for news of the battle. Sleep had finally ambushed her

in the early morning hours, but she felt now as if lead ran through her veins and an iron hammer pounded against her temples. Startled, Hermione twitched when Lucy slid her arm around her waist.

"Come with me, Hermione. Let us refresh ourselves before we break our fast. We both feel better after we have something to eat." Lucy guided her through the door between the two chambers.

Following Margarer into the solar, Hermione glanced at Ishton, who was standing with Lord Wyham near the warmth of the brazier, but averted her eyes when she encountered his gaze upon her. Delvin so dominated the room with his power and his masculinity that he stole her wits. Lucy sat on the settle and gestured for Hermione to sit beside her. Hermione kept her head bent and stared at her hands clenched so tightly together in her lap that her fingers were mottled red and white.

Delvin's dispassionate words describing the battle for Ishton, his pursuit of her father and brother, and his slaying of Gerald chipped away at her composure. Hermione listened intently to his words, but her anxiety about her own situation hung over her,

tyrannizing her. What was to become of her now? "Lord Wyham," Delvin stated when he had completed his account of the battle. "Morety has wantonly and maliciously defied the king's order. I shall write to the king

to explain what has occurred."

"Aye, Ishton," Wyham responded, his voice slow and measured. "I shall take your letter to Henry and give witness to these events myself." "Given that Morety has broken faith and cannot be trusted, the ends the king

desired from the marriage between Lady Hermione and myself are no longer possible." Silence gaped, a crater separating her from her husband. Hermione's heart beat an insistent cadence, clogging her throat and choking her. "Hermione."

Delvin's voice commanded her attention, and she looked up into his searching blue eyes. His chiseled jaw was clean-shaven; his ebony hair was still damp and hung uncovered to flirt with the tops of his shoulders. A charcoal gray tunic molded his upper body, the close-fitting sleeves displaying his muscular arms.

"If you could live anywhere in the whole of England, where would you go?" "Bamchester." She hardly dared to breathe. Was it possible? Would she finally be allowed to go home to the only people who loved her?

"Why Bamchester?" he asked.

His voice was gentle and his eyes kind. The compassion he showed her now was unexpected and suspect. Could she trust him? "I fostered at Bamchester Castle, Lady Dorothea is like a mother to me." "Hermione, would you like to be released from our wedding vows?" "Aye," she whispered.