Chapter Twenty-One

Beate climbed into the lords’ protected perch. Wilhelm pushed her to the ground the moment she arrived, pointing a blade at her.

“Be a good girl and behave.”

Two guards scurried down the ladder and drew their swords. Wilhelm, after withdrawing the ladder, lowered and locked the door. Beate didn’t know how many men occupied the bartizans as lookouts, but figured every guard, and Mumfred, stood before the stairwell entrance, scared to open it.

The octagonal loft, as Beate came to think of it, stood as tall as the room below it, although with windows on four walls and lanterns hanging from all eight. Save for a few sparse furnishings and a table holding a few more lanterns, there were blankets and pillows on the floor. She eyed a large water bucket and a couple of cabinets—likely stuffed with rations, she reasoned—against two of the walls. She spotted the ladder next to the closed floor door.

Still on all fours, Beate glanced at Wilhelm. “I suppose if we’re meant to cower, we should do it in comfort.”

He smiled and withdrew the blade. “Indeed. I’ve been up here a few times when the castle was under attack—unsuccessfully, as you can imagine. Nobody’s ever managed to scale the entrance below.”

“Until today.” She took her time grinning.

Wilhelm, unamused, “Stand.”

She rose and for the first time saw Heinrich slouched against the wall directly behind Wilhelm. Her beau’s hands were bound behind his back, his ankles roped.

Karl sat on a three-legged stool next to him and feasted on Heinrich’s discomfort. “Are you ready for the show?”

The blacksmith glowered at the younger lord and shook, trying to free his hands.

“I know how to tie a rope, trust me.” Karl stood. “Wilhelm, please sit next to Heinrich to make sure he doesn’t get frisky.”

Wilhelm sheathed his dagger and plopped next to Heinrich. Beate saw Wilhelm’s bow and quiver propped by the older lord’s side. A sheathed sword and dagger rested before the longbow.

“This can go a couple of ways, Beate.” Karl spoke calmly, as if addressing a child. “You can be a good girl, not resist, and perhaps live long enough be executed before the baron.”

“The second option?” Beate backed herself against a wall as Karl crept forward.

“I torture you with a knife, slowly. People in the village will hear your screams.”

“The third option?”

“I said this could go a couple of ways.”

Beate pressed her sweaty fingers against the frigid wall. “Then I suppose the former.”

“I thought so. Take off your clothes.”

Beate stared at him, not answering, until, “I will not. I don’t see how that would do you much good, what with your lame penis.”

Karl stopped five feet in front of her and balled his fists. “Maybe I will keep you alive long enough until I heal. And do to you what I intended to do earlier. While your man watches. I’ll spare him the sight of things now and let him think about what I’m doing to you.” He turned to Wilhelm. “I’ll be all right. Take him below to the cell.”

“Very well. It’s your twisted revenge, not mine.” Wilhelm unsheathed his dagger and pointed it at Heinrich. “Up.”

“The cell?” Beate said.

“One of the many doors you saw down there upon entering,” Karl said. “One leads to a stone room with a barred window. A precaution just in case we find a traitor in our midst and need a place to put him.”

Wilhelm unlocked and lifted the floor door and directed Heinrich, who hopped to the edge of the opening. “You first.”

“How can you expect him to climb down a ladder with his hands and feet tied?” Beate said.

Wilhelm replied by pushing him through the floor’s hole.

“Heinrich!” Beate lunged for the opening, but Karl backhanded her.

“Stay back!”

Wilhelm peered over the hole. “Don’t worry. He’s moving.” He called down to the guards, “Get him out of the way!” He waited a few moments and lowered the ladder. Just before his head disappeared from view, he spoke to Karl: “You can handle this?” He glanced at the ladder.

“Leave it open, just in case you need to get up here in a pinch.”

Wilhelm vanished.

Karl backed away from Beate, his eyes never leaving her, and opened one of the cabinets. Beate felt sick when she saw him holding rope. She put her hands behind her back.

“Very good, Beate. I don’t want you to worry, because what I’m planning to do won’t hurt you physically—that much. You already observed that my, well, body doesn’t work the way I’d like it to. But my tongue does.”

He advanced, preparing for her to dive for the floor’s opening. “If Beate climbs down, kill her!”

She bit her lip.

“I thought as much,” he said. “And those guards will be up here the second I call them.” He held up the rope. “Understand?”

Beate nodded. “I will not come to you. Whatever you do to me, you’ll have to come get me.” And there she stood.

“That’s it? That’s how you’re protesting?” He walked toward her, still on his guard. “I expected better, given everything you’ve put me through today.”

Her jaw fell. “What I’ve put you through? You can go to hell.”

“I’ve paved my way there in brimstone. Now, turn around and show me your hands.”

“I’m not doing a damned thing for you. You want me to turn around. Then you make me do it.”

“If you say so.” Karl shrugged his shoulders and grabbed for her arm. Beate brought both hands forward and joined them, thrusting up and into Karl’s midsection. He gasped, dropped the rope and grasped a knife handle. Beate punched him in the nose. Karl stumbled backward and fell on his butt.

Beate screamed toward the floor, “Karl, no! Not that! Please don’t!”

She heard chuckling and knew Wilhelm’s voice. “My brother can be such an animal.”

She focused on the breathless lord and continued her faux protestations. “I wanted to wait for my wedding night before doing anything like that!” She kicked the side of his head and he was out. Again toward the opening: “That’s not natural! The tongue was never meant to do that!”

More guffaws.

She gripped the blade, realizing that Karl’s fit midsection and layers of muscle had likely saved his life. She’d plunged only halfway the throwing knife that she’d swiped from the dead archer who had fallen onto her from the second gatehouse. Thank goodness Mumfred had just searched me and didn’t think to do it again, she thought.

Her mind ran through scenarios: I climb downstairs, I’m dead. Wilhelm or the guards could climb up here, I’m still dead.

“No, Karl! Please don’t shut the door! It’s bad enough what you’re doing to me when they can listen!” She yanked up the ladder and kicked closed the door, which muffled even more loathsome laughter.

Then it hit her. She ran and opened the cabinet. Thin, coiled rope sat on a shelf.

I just hope there’s enough.

She slipped out the rope and assembled a mental game plan, unaware that Karl had regained consciousness and crept behind her.