Sean traveled through the night at a fast pace, as fast as he could accomplish without breaking his neck from a fall. The moon cast the road in enough light to pass without problem. Roana was a sturdy, wise animal who moved carefully among the outcroppings along the trail. He hadn’t even noticed the difficulty of the path when he’d held Thomasina asleep in his arms. The rise and fall of her chest as she slept, oblivious to all around. Overwhelmed by the bloodshed, she’d found an escape in sleep. He’d held her fast to him, protecting her with his body as he’d done at the inn. As he would gladly have continued to do for the rest of his days.
Pain shot through his chest as if it had been slammed into by an axe. Surely his heart was breaking in two. He’d been so close to having her. When did the feelings he had for Thomasina become ingrained in his gut? He’d ridiculed and tormented her the whole time while inside he’d marveled at her strength, at her fortitude, at her courage. She was an amazing woman.
That moment at the inn when she went into a panic thinking that everyone knew she was a woman. The reality that he needed her to be strong for him had swamped him. He’d not acknowledged it. He even convinced himself he just needed a good fuck but she was in him even then. That he had been able to calm her, to instill her with faith in herself, to trust herself even—that had been exhilarating. Without him even knowing it, he’d made the decision to be there for her, however she wanted him. That was his fatal mistake.
The only daughter of some northern clan couldn’t marry a warrior from Eire. She’d seemed like a lost soul whose father had laid aside any desire to guard her and see her well married. A man lost in drink and wasting away. Sean knew that well enough. She seemed to feel something for Sean even though she’d never said it. Was it out of fear that she clung to him? That she accepted his touch? That she had wanted him to make love to her?
A groan escaped from the depths of his soul. A single wolf in the distance answered him. Clouds passed in front of the moon, casting him in darkness. He urged the horse to stop then jumped down to lead the way between the trees.
“I’ll see ye safe, Roana. All is well. Sun up will be here anon.”
On foot, the road seemed endless. By daybreak, he’d found shelter at a fallen tree and slept. Haunted by strange dreams of being chased by some unknown foe. An animal. The animal became the soldier with the scarred face. He held a knife to Sean’s throat. The sensation of having his throat sliced open woke him with a gasp covered in sweat. He grabbed at his throat. Still intact. The cold air worked into his clothing and he shivered uncontrollably. A light dusting of snow had fallen while he slept. The sun was high in the sky. He felt exhausted.
Standing to stretch, he called to Roana with the whistle Thomasina had used. She came immediately, rubbing her nose against his outstretched hand.
“Glad I’ve not been abandoned by ye as well.”
Roana snorted in answer. Her ears twitching, she tipped her head up, bumping him twice as if to direct him to the area further up the hill. The path they’d been following no longer visible but he saw nothing untoward.
“Methinks ye must have had a nasty dream as well, my friend.”
He mounted the animal and urged her forward with a general pull to the right. Hopefully the animal knew which way the town lay. By gloaming, they’d arrived. It was quite a busy place, overrun with Normans. Their mail and shields indicated these were more than common soldiers making patrols. Calls and shouts carried across the inlet as they moved about at their important duty. Investigating the slaughter at the inn, no doubt. Sean planned to stay clear of all the goings-on. He walked Roana to the blacksmith.
“Hail!”
No response from within.
The place was cold and empty. Sean could clearly see the coffer where the man had put Tadhg’s knife for safe keeping. It was unlocked. He brought Roana around back to see to feeding and watering her. She was a good animal and would hopefully be back with her owner afore long. Thomasina’s smiling, green eyes flashed through his mind. He jerked the saddle off her back and headed inside the lean-to. Several misshapen iron horseshoes and a hooded suit of mail lay on the bench beside the bellows that hung beside the cold hearth.
He stopped within the darkened space and looked around. The blacksmith was nowhere to be seen.
“Anyone here?” Sean spoke a little louder but didn’t wish to call undue attention to himself.
The soldiers moved along the buildings outside in twos and threes, swords in hand as if hunting down prey. Sean swallowed. They seemed intent on catching whoever they were searching for. He wondered how it would all turn out but doubted the men who came in with Ivan would ever be caught. That wasn’t the usual way these things went. The Saxons would all protect the killers because they didn’t want the Normans here either.
Once Roana was brushed down and settled in, Sean gave one last look around for the blacksmith. He went to the coffer, dropped his items beside it, and lifted the lid. Swords, helmets, and trinkets filled the space. Tadhg’s prized knife with the blade that swiveled from either side lay tucked between two helms. Sean picked it up.
“Hey! What are you about?” A man’s voice boomed.
Sean jerked around, knife in hand, to face the man who had rented him the horse.
“Hail! I’ve returned the horse I borrowed. I was retrieving my knife. Ye were nowhere to be found.”
The man nodded, recognition crossing his face. “Aye. My thanks. Any problems with her?”
“No, she’s a sound animal.”
“Sorry about your lying little friend—”
“Stay!” A soldier stood in the opening behind the blacksmith. “Drop your weapon.”
Sean was confused who he gave the order to since neither he nor the blacksmith were holding a weapon. He glanced at the treasured knife. Suddenly understanding, he hunkered down to place the knife carefully on the ground. The soldier closed the distance, another one followed close behind, and hit the hilt against the side of Sean’s head. He saw stars, grabbed at his head, and tumbled over onto the ground. The man kicked him with his tackety boot. Sharp pain shot through Sean’s hip. The two soldiers jerked him to standing.
“So we’ve found you, you devil spawn.”
Sean opened his eyes but had trouble focusing on the soldier, his recognizable helmet and nose guard told him all he needed to know.
“I dunna ken what ye’re talking about.”
The soldiers glanced at each other and laughed as they yanked him up tighter between them. “A huge man with long, blond hair. I’d say this is the man.”
“What man?” Sean asked. His arms felt about to come out of their sockets.
The Normans dragged him into the street where more soldiers gathered to watch, their swords at the ready. Sean dare not fight but he caught sight of Tadhg’s knife being stepped on by the soldiers who came up behind his two assailants.
“Please.” Sean dug his heals in to try and stop the men from dragging him.
One of the nearby Normans stepped forward to plant his sword hilt into his stomach. Sean doubled over in pain. The soldiers on either side jerked him back up.
“Of what am I being accused?”
One man dressed in leather and mounted on a black destrier watched from the shadow of a tree to the right, his dark eyes locked onto Sean. He leaned toward someone who stood beside the horse. “Is this the man you saw?”
Sean struggled to see the other man. Sweat dripped down his face, blurring his vision but it was a small man. No higher than the horse, wearing dark clothing. A cloak—the air whooshed out of Sean.
Ivan!
“Aye, that’s the one I saw. Like a mad man swinging his swords around the good Norman soldiers, hacking them to their death.”
“What?” Sean strained against the grip of the men leading him forward. “I’ve done no such thing.”
Another soldier paused in front of him. With a deep scowl he looked Sean up and down then punched him in the face. The men on either side held him fast. They laughed and then the soldier punched him again. Sean yanked against the viselike grip the two men had of him. The man punched him again. And again.
Sean awoke on the ground, his bloodied face in the sand. The feet of several soldiers surrounding him. For a moment he feigned he was still asleep. A kick to his side was followed by a bucket of sea water poured over his head.
“Get up!” It was the man in leather now standing in front of him. His hands fisted at his hips, his feet in a wide stance. The Norman lord.
Sean’s face stung where the salt water mixed in with his blood. His arms tied behind him now, the two soldiers yanked him to standing. He searched for Ivan among the crowd that had formed around them but could not find him.
The scowl on the lord’s face spoke of the rage within. He was lord here. There was no reason to hold back. His word was law. A Norman lord who could condemn Sean to death right here on the word of that scoundrel, Ivan. Sean had no defense. No way of disproving whatever lie Ivan had made up about him.
“My lord—”
“Silence!” The powerful lord shook with his fury. “You dare not speak in your defense. We have an eye witness against you. He saw you slaughter my soldiers—my son.” The man’s voice broke.
Sean’s heart pounded as if trying to break free of his chest. His breathing heaved as if he’d run miles. A hooded man with a massive chest came to stand beside Sean. Two gloved hands gripped a massive two-handed sword. The beheading sword.
Sweat poured from Sean, mixing with the sand and dirt as it dripped down his face. Memories swam through his mind. The dark green of his homeland. The smell of honeysuckle in the spring. The taste of roasted duck. He’d wasted his time.
The soldiers behind shoved him down, forcing him to his knees.
He wished he’d not spent so much of his life pining over Brighit.
“My son was killed by your butchery—then branded like an animal.” The lord’s mouth twisted with the angry words.
He should have listened to Brighit. They were not meant to be together. He could have been married to another, perhaps with children by now.
“I found him bleeding to death—” The lord struck Sean across the side of the face with a leather strap.
Blood pooled in his mouth and Sean spit it out. What he felt for Thomasina was so different than what he’d felt for Brighit.
“—My son was a valiant soldier. He’d fought with honor—”
Sean again saw the Norman soldier with the scarred face. He’d had the scars of battle. The hooded man readied his feet, twitching his fingers as he gripped and re-gripped the hilt of his sword.
“—He didn’t deserve to be hacked down by the likes of you.”
Sean closed his eyes in silent prayer to a God he wasn’t certain would listen. He swallowed, stiffened his shoulders, and then said, “Nae. Yer son, William, did not deserve to die like that.”
His breath lay trapped in his chest as he waited for the lord to respond. Thomasina’s face came to him, filling the void in the silence. The way she’d looked right before he kissed her, when he’d taken her into his arms, when he was about to make love to her.
“What do you know of my William?” the man’s voice boomed.
Sean opened one eye, the other stuck shut, struggling to see the man through the blood and sweat dripping down his face. “I ken he was a soldier. I ken he’d always fought hard. I ken he was a man I’d raise no hand against if not in battle.”
The lord’s face suffused with color. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he struggled. Struggled with the pain, the loss, and the revelation that Sean may not be his killer.
“My lord, I didna kill yer son. I swear it.” Sean’s voice quiet, his heart throbbed in his throat.
The lord ducked down close, his face mere inches from Sean’s. “Why. Should. I. Believe. You?”
“I am a warrior. I would never hack down a soldier.”
“The little man said he saw you.”
“The little man is a liar. I’d venture a guess that he is the one who provoked the massacre.”
“How do you know that?”
Sean hesitated. He didn’t want to admit he did nothing to help the soldiers. That would be reason enough to justify his beheading.
The lord stood up. He had already made his decision.
“Commence the beheading!” The lord returned to his warhorse.
Sean couldn’t breathe.
The beheading sword raised.
Sean’s life meant nothing.
The hooded man grunted.
This was the end.
“Sir Peter of Normandy will vouch for me.” Sean’s words tripped up together as they spilled out on his pent up breath.
The hooded man bent back, his arms high over his head.
The lord lifted his hand and Sean closed his eyes. Too late.
The hooded man took a breath.
“Cease!”
Sean tightened in preparation for his head being sliced from his body. A whoosh passed his ear. He waited for the pain. There should be pain.
The hooded man panted beside him.
Sean heard him. He opened his eyes. His head still in place. The beheading sword impaled the ground just in front of him.
“You know Sir Peter?” the lord spoke again.
“Yea! Peter is… a kinsmen of my clan. He’s married the leader’s daughter.”
“Where did you see him last?”
“It was at the Priory south of York. They were about to lay siege to the castle there.” Sean searched his brain for any detail that would stay his execution. “He was with Sir John.”
“Was the king with them?”
“Nae. King William had been delayed and they were to lay siege in anticipation of his arrival. They gave me leave to return home.”
One chance to save his neck.
“To Eire?”
“Yea, my lord.” Mayhap an opportunity to make amends for all his errors. He didn’t want to beg. “My lord, if ye would but send word, Sir Peter would be my witness.”
The lord perused the crowd surrounding him. They were all his to command and all eyes were on him. The entertainment of a good beheading was not lost on the lord. No doubt he weighed their anticipated disappointment. Sean swallowed.
The lord straightened himself, squaring his shoulders, then with one slight tip of his head he said, “To the pillory then.”
Sean exhaled then drew in a sweet breath. And another. He would live to see another day.
The hooded man stepped toward the lord. Sean’s heart dropped to his stomach.
“My lord! If he is brethren to Sir Peter and their clan is held in high esteem by King William, perhaps we need only to shackle him rather than subject him to a public punishment?”
Sean’s entire body began to shake with relief.
“See it done.” The lord mounted his horse. His shoulders rounding again. “And send a messenger on to York.”
The soldiers who had nearly yanked Sean’s arms from his body, helped him to his feet with gentler motions now.
“Get some water.” The beheading man gave the orders. He wrapped an arm around Sean’s torso. “And some food.”
Sean stiffened at the gesture. “My thanks.”
“I’m just glad I was able to save your neck.”
Sean studied the leather-covered head with deep, brown eyes barely visible through the two eye holes and started laughing. Pain ripped through his torso and he immediately regretted it.
He said, “As am I.”