Battle: Outside the Walls

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar fights for his home and his life.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

Notes: Originally, this and the last chapter were one chapter. They were too long, IMO, so I split them up.

~~~~~~~~~~

At the outskirts of my lands, I am surprised and greatly relieved to find the banners of Merrick D'Arcy waving. He has gotten here. The men left behind to watch over the bodies of the dead inform me that my sisters are safe and that, within a few hours of their arrival, the army had been mobilized. Merrick wasted no time in moving them out with orders to kill the thieves, all of them. Merrick, I am told, is right in the front of battle. If I know him, he will be fighting with relish, enjoying himself as he cuts down thief after thief. I look forward to reaching the front and seeing what he has accomplished. We cannot be too far behind him, perhaps a few hours at most. If Jocelyn had not needed help, we could have even met Merrick's forces on the edge.

The D'Arcy army surprised the ruffians, ran through them like avenging angels. Most of the bodies I see are older men, scarred and wearing the mark of the Marchant household. A few are wearing the mark of Mayes household. When this is over, Beatrice will pay once and for all. She cannot organize an attack on my family and walk away unscathed herself. I will find her, wherever she is, even if she is at Prince Edward's court in Bordeaux or at her husband's home in the very southernmost region of Aquitaine.

That she should wait so long to strike out at me surprises me, though it should not. After all, it was I who exposed her to her father for the slut she is; I who refused to claim her brat as mine when I knew full well she had bedded down with any man old enough to know what to do, and I who tossed her bodily from the hall when my father would not dirty his hands with that particular task. I remember she had vowed in piercing shrieks to make me pay for refusing any more to do with her. It was her nails that ripped the flesh above my eye, leaving a scar in my eyebrow.

I have known for years just how much of a scheming bitch she is. Her devious turns have been whispered from household to household since she ended up married to old Vachel Mayes. No, I really should not be surprised that she surfaced at word of my marriage with intent to do me, and my family, harm. That I once thought to wed her astounds me.

Near the manor walls, the fighting is still in progress, though the invading force is greatly diminished. Bodies litter the ground, blood and gore staining the earth. I quickly dismount, slapping the rump of the steed to make him flee and run through the smashed gate into the courtyard. I intend to make good use of the steel I have brought with me, and swing it at the nearest enemy tunic. The man goes down with a spray of blood and a shrieking cry. I move on to the next, working my way to where I see Merrick fighting. He is almost dancing as he cuts through the men, his sword in constant motion, a smirk on his face.

Merrick turns his head at my approach, thrusting his sword into the stomach of the next opponent, giving me a wide cocky grin. "About time you showed up, Etienne. You have missed all the fun." The man slumps to the ground as Merrick viciously yanks his sword back.

The nearest siege soldier on my right is the next recipient of my anger, my fist connecting straight with his nose. We are only a few men from the hall doors and I instinctively know that the real fight shall be in there. "Fun, hell. Report."

A grunt leaves him as he swings that great sword, neatly cleaving a mans head from his body. "Your sisters are both safe in my house, Adele in perfect health with not a scratch on her. My men have killed most of these scum, but Marchant has retreated into the hall. We will have to force our way in the front. Some of my men are going in from the back." Instead of seeming daunted, Merrick grins again. It really is a shame he decided not to be a soldier. He is a good man to have at one's back.

"Lydia? Was she injured?" I call, killing another man.

"Only by you calling her a whore months ago."

My glance finds him for a brief moment.

"She is no whore, Etienne. I seduced her."

I pause, frowning. "You."

A nod. "Who else?" His hand lifts, points. "Behind you."

We are close to the doors, just this one guard left. I jab my sword point down into the dirt, hands lashing out at this guard who attacks me on the threshold of my own home. I grab him, shove him backward with more force than is necessary, taking great satisfaction in hearing his head crack sickeningly against the stones. "We will discuss Lydia later."

"Without a doubt."

Around us, the invaders have all been killed or gravely injured. All that is left is the inner guards and Marchant. It takes Merrick's men only a short while to break the hall doors down and we step into the room. To my surprise, Marchant is waiting in the center of the room. I had half expected him to be hiding somewhere in the manor. He has Christiana bound and gagged before him, forced on her knees. Her hair is a tangled mess about her, his dagger too close to her throat for my comfort. It is a great relief to note that her clothes, though smeared with dirt, are not torn.

A quick glance about the room reveals very few guards, those that are there rivaling some of my own men for the title of 'big brute'. They are a surly lot, unkempt and dirty, each with a charge to watch. I find the redhead of Thatcher's band trussed and gagged, struggling against his bonds with fervor, as though he expects he can free himself with his struggles. The farris and Sarah are also bound, but tied to a chair. Will Thatcher himself is under two guards yet unbound. His guards have the tip of their swords near the man's throat. A sword in a scabbard has been placed just far enough away from him to be a temptation. I read the tension coiled about Thatcher and know very well how difficult it is for him not to reach for the weapon.

My mind is clearer than it has been in months. I have only one goal: freeing my wife. Marchant cannot escape, not with Merrick's men circling this hall. He is cornered, and like a cornered animal, I know he is far more dangerous because of that. We will have to tread with care now.

~~~~~~~~~~

He has come, Etienne has come! I had not expected to see him here as our rescuer. Tears of relief threaten my eyes, but I cannot break down now; cannot be weak when I need to remain strong. The dagger of this madman Owen Marchant is at my neck, I can feel the prickle of it against my skin. Thankfully, he seems to have no interest in raping me.

He has explained himself to us, his voice arrogant, cool and tinged with madness. That woman Beatrice is the cause of all this. Apparently, she is this man's sister. He is doing this to avenge her, for he claims that, years ago, Etienne strung her along and seduced her, and when she discovered she was pregnant, he sent her to a midwife to have the child removed, then refused to marry her, calling her all manner of ugly names and maligning her with any he came into contact with, making it impossible for her to marry well. Then, because of the midwife's inept handling of her during the procedure, Beatrice cannot bear children.

I might believe my husband seduced her and even called her names, but the rest? Jocelyn never did elaborate on the woman, only saying that it would be best to ignore Beatrice and anything she says. The attitude of any regarding this Beatrice is to ignore her. Therefore, I am inclined to believe she lied to her own brother.

The look on Etienne's face would be a frightening one were I Marchant. Etienne's lips are parted slightly, eyes piercing holes in the mask of fury that has settled on him. He is very much an animal at this moment, his focus centered on this threat to his family and home. His hands bring up his sword. "You hide behind my wife, Marchant? Do you imagine her skirts protect you?" Etienne's voice is even different, a guttural quality to it, deathly calm. He is the angel of death, come to claim Marchant for hell.

"I hide behind nothing."

"Fight me, you bastard. Fight me like a man would instead of the sniveling coward I know you to be."

The dagger is taken from my neck and I feel the man step away from me, hear his call for a sword. They will fight. My heart pounds in my chest, a beating that almost hurts. I get to my feet and stagger back against the table, ripping my gag down, my eyes fleeing from the sight of my husband about to begin a death match with a madman. A movement to my right catches my gaze and I see Kate being cut free, her guards throat cut silently. Soon, it will be Etienne and Marchant left as opponents.

My tears fall freely.

~~~~~~~~~~

I do not look again at Christiana. To do so would be to let my concentration waver. Instead, I focus solely on my opponent, striking to counter his blows. Steel clangs against steel. His skill is not great and, even tired, I am more than a match for him. It is disgusting, that this man could think he could come in here and disrupt my life. Like the coward I named him, he waited until I was not here; waited until he was certain I was gone for months. His skill as a leader is laughable. What invading force does not encircle the walls save one commanded by an inept leader?

Our battle is quick and soon I have Owen on his knees, his sword sliding away. A thought occurs to me. To keep him alive to be brought before Edward could be best. He could be my proof of Beatrice's dealings. I stop myself before bringing the sword edge down and step back. Yes, Edward will mete out punishment. Sometimes a royal trial is far more painful than swift justice in the field. He will suffer.

"Finish me, then!" He hisses, glancing at his sword.

"No. You will go before Edward in Bordeaux." Thatcher is free, along with the redhead, the farris and Sarah, Merrick's men having released them from their bonds as I fought. I jerk my head at Merrick and he starts across the floor to Marchant. Breathing hard from the exertion of fighting, I turn my head, finding Christiana crying, crouched down beside the table. Going to her, I kneel, hands gently touching the bruises that darken her jaw. She is trembling, lips quivering.

Behind me, I hear the sound of footsteps simultaneously with the ring of a sword leaving the scabbard. Glancing behind me, I throw myself and Christiana back onto the stones. The scene slows to an agonizing crawl. Marchant has eluded Merrick and snatched up his sword, coming to us. I see Thatcher moving forward, closer than any others to us, his own sword in hand. Thatcher swings and for a second I think he will be too late and Christiana and I will die together here on the floor, but he catches Marchant in the stomach, the sharp edge opening the man up. Blood sprays us, Christiana screaming. Marchant's sword falls from his grasp, clanging on the stones not a foot from my face.

Thatcher rests the tip of the bloody sword on the stones and bends, holding out his hand to me. "While it is heartening to see you extend a mercy to another, Adhemar, it was misplaced in this case. You should have killed him straightaway." He waits, and, just as he begins to retract his hand, I grasp it and let him yank me to my feet.

I glance at the body. "You are right on that. I...erred." Helping Christiana to her feet, I use my sleeve to wipe Marchant's blood from her, then enfold her in my arms, pressing her face to my chest. I can feel her body trembling in addition to my own trembling. My muscles are starting to burn, the weakness of misuse settling in. I shall be sore tomorrow, bruised, but thankfully alive.

"Mercy is a skill that takes practice. Your intentions were good." He briefly cups Christiana's shoulder with one hand. "I told you not to worry, did I not?"

"Thank you." She stretches a hand out, squeezing his forearm before turning her countenance up to me. "You are here! You are alive! I thought you had gone to war." Her voice trails off into a whisper.

"I could not stay away." Thatcher moves away and I shift all of my attention to my wife. I have come so close to losing her today that I know what I need to do. It cannot wait any longer and I do not care who hears me. The words I need to say stick in my throat and I put my hands on either side of her jaw, gently, very gently keeping her there. I feel her hands clenching in my coat. "I...I love you." Her eyes widen a fraction, her lips parting. The spark in her lovely gaze has returned in full, dancing to the tune of her happiness and contentment.

She stretches up on tiptoe, lips brushing mine and I kiss her, using my own lips to reaffirm what my voice has spoken. When we draw back from one another, I hear her voice, repeating those same words back to me. "And I you."

"Well," comes Merrick's voice, irritatingly close by my ear. "As much as I hate to interrupt such a charming display of affection, Etienne...."

Again, I press Christiana to me, amused that her guests are trying not to stare at us. "Can it wait for a moment at least, Merrick? I have not even had the chance to tell William Thatcher that he is a father." I raise my voice for the last and am rewarded by a quiet in the hall.

"What?" Thatcher returns to us, concern on those boyish features. "Jocelyn. Is she well? I knew it. I knew she did not have much longer." He grins, gives a joyous laugh.

"You have two boys. Your wife is resting comfortably down the southern road apace. I left a few men to guard them. Go south and you shall have no trouble finding them." I stroke Christiana's hair, finding a peace in the action of touching the silky tresses over and over. Thatcher is out the hall door in moments, followed by the farris and the redhead. Sarah does not seem sure where to go, finally moving towards the stairs and up to the second floor. We have a measure of privacy, Merrick and I. "Now, Merrick, what is so urgent you cannot give me a few moments to be glad that my wife lives and my house still stands?"

"Lydia. I must have an answer today. Now." He runs a hand through his dark blond hair, an impatient gesture. "I return from my trip, am presented with a packet of letters from her, all rather hysterical, I might add, and a carefully worded enquiry from you as to the validity of her tale. Did you not receive the offer I sent you some months ago?"

"No." I lead Christiana to my chair and sit, drawing her onto my lap and pressing kisses to her face. "What offer?"

Coming to the table, he puts his hands flat on it, leaning down. "The one where I informed you that damn my family, I want your sister Lydia."

I shake my head. "No." Christiana caresses my neck, her fingers cool on my sweaty flesh. She gives me a tiny, endearing smile. "I did not receive any letter from you. The only correspondence I have had in months with anyone in your household was your steward informing me of your whereabouts recently."

"Well, I am afraid I took your acceptance as a foregone conclusion, friend, for I saw no wrong in seducing her. I admit, I did tell her it was just in case you were stubborn for some odd reason, but I was being very selfish and did not want to wait to hear from you. I have wanted Lydia since well before I had to marry Anna."

My gaze shifts from Christiana to Merrick. Somehow, I doubt he would bring Lydia back here without a fight now that he has her there in his house.

"Give her to me. I will take care of her." Now he stands straight. "She was frantic when they rode into the courtyard, Etienne, but she shrank back from me, would not let me help her from the horse. I had to waste precious time reassuring her I had not played her false; that I had not seduced her just to have a woman. I mean, really, there are willing peasant girls for that if I wanted. I did not need to seek out Lydia specifically."

Suddenly, I am tired. I do not wish to argue with Merrick over Lydia. Indeed, I am relieved that she told the truth, if a bit angry that he seduced her like he did. He can have her. "Fine. Take her."

He retreats, stepping to the hall door. "I believe I shall. Oh and, do not worry about Adele. I shall see her safely back at St. Anne's."

"The arrangements--"

"Relax, Etienne. Enjoy your victory today." He spreads his arms wide. "Enjoy your wife. She is lovely. A definite pleasure to make your acquaintance, Christiana."

Christiana giggles, a soft sound I barely hear.

"Merrick."

"I will marry Lydia." He grins. "Eventually." He is gone before I can say another word to stop him. It is too much trouble to move Christiana from my lap to follow after him. Besides, I know he will be true to his word. He will marry Lydia. I will leave her to him, as he obviously wants. Both his men and mine clear the bodies from the hall, servants already working on cleaning up the blood that spilled on the stones.

"I have missed you." Christiana's fingertips run across my lips and along my jaw. "I did not think to see you again."

I place my hand on her belly, palm flat. "Jocelyn told me you are pregnant." I imagine I can feel the tiny life kicking my palm, yet know it is likely too early for that. There is only a tiny swell to her belly that I do not remember being there when I left.

"I am." She covers my hand with her own.

"Are you happy?"

"Very."

We sit there together for a long while, not speaking, just listening to the sounds of each others breath. I am blessed indeed to find her still alive and unharmed.