Chapter Eighteen #2
The man drew closer to him, and to Roi, he looked vaguely familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d seen that man before. Roi didn’t take his eyes off him as the man peered down at Adrius.
“There is no need to tend his wound,” he said. “He is dead.”
Roi sighed faintly, daring to look down to see that, indeed, Adrius was dead.
The man was lying there, blood coming out of his neck, his mouth, and his nose, staring up at the sky.
A good knight, so wastefully taken. That realization inflamed Roi, but it was a rage tempered by fear.
Fear that he was the next to die, and he very much didn’t want to.
He wanted to go home to his new wife and live a full life by her side.
He’d finally found the love of his life, and the thought that he was going to be brutally taken from her made him sick to his stomach.
Not for himself, but for her. He knew how badly she would take his death.
But here he was, facing down his own mortality and wondering how in the hell he got here.
He still didn’t know what was going on.
“Who are you?” he finally asked, sounding exasperated. “What is this all about?”
The man looked at him for a moment before answering. “What is your name?”
“Richard de Lohr,” Roi said without hesitation. “Now that I have told you my name, what is yours?”
The man’s face lit up as if he’d just met an old and dear friend. “It is you!” he said. “I was hoping that you were part of that army, but I could not be sure. Finally… Roi de Lohr, in the flesh.”
Roi was having trouble breathing, trouble standing, and it was taking every bit of strength he had to stay upright.
“Your name,” he said again, decidedly unfriendly.
But the man held up a hand as if begging patience.
“We’ve not been formally introduced,” he said.
“But I know all about you. I know about your family and your father, the great Earl of Hereford and Worcester. I know that the House of de Lohr controls nearly everything on the Welsh marches. I know the greatness you come from. I also know that you married Diara le Bec.”
Roi was at a distinct disadvantage. The man did look familiar to him, but he still couldn’t place him. And he didn’t like the fact that the man had mentioned Diara by name.
“How would you know about my marriage?” he said, pressing his hand hard over the hole in his chest. “Who are you?”
The pleasant expression from the man’s face faded. “I am the last man you will see on this earth,” he said. “You see, you took what belongs to me. Now, I am rectifying that situation.”
Roi had no idea what he was talking about, mostly because his mind was starting to muddle from blood loss and the inability to breathe. “Be plain,” he said. “I’ve no time for this. Tell me what you want and be done with it.”
“Why are you in a hurry to die?” the man said.
“You will not leave this place alive, de Lohr. But I wanted you to see the face of the man who took your life. I want you to understand what it took to come to this moment in time. You see, this was all planned for your benefit. The battle, the ambush—it was all meant for you. You have asked who I am—can you not guess? You married the woman meant for my son.”
The light went on in Roi’s mind. Now, he knew who the man was before him, and he wasn’t surprised. But he still wasn’t clear on what was happening and why Cirencester had evidently lured him into a trap.
“Cirencester?” he muttered.
Riggs’ eyebrows lifted. “Then you know you married a woman who did not belong to you.”
Roi wasn’t feeling fear at the moment so much as he was feeling rage. He looked around, seeing a few of his dead soldiers on the ground several feet away, seeing Adrius dead at his feet.
Disgust washed over him.
“You set this up to trap me?” he said. “You knew I would come to Cheltenham’s aid, so you did this to trap me? To kill me?”
Riggs was back to looking pleased with himself. A faint smile creased his lips. “There was no other way to do it,” he said. “Robin and I agreed—”
Roi interrupted him, shocked. “Robin is in on this, too?”
Riggs nodded. “Of course he is,” he said.
“He realized that he’d made a mistake by betrothing his daughter to you, and since he knew you would not break the betrothal, because what man would when an earldom is involved, this was the only solution.
Now, my son will marry Lady Diara and inherit Cheltenham. It’s all quite simple.”
Roi was feeling sick. Sicker than he already was.
In fact, his body was beginning to tremble and he was finding it difficult to stand.
To realize that Robin was in on this scheme brought back all of the things Diara had said—how she thought her father was acting strange, how she’d warned Roi about him.
How she hadn’t wanted Roi to answer her father’s call for aid.
She’d been trying to warn him, and he’d brushed her off.
Her paranoia had turned out to be true. He’d thought she was just being a nervous bride.
As it turned out, she’d been right all along.
Now, he was going to pay the price.
“You two planned this between you,” he finally said, trying to keep his balance because his legs were trembling so. “Why in the hell did Robin push a betrothal with the House of de Lohr if you had already made the offer between Diara and your son? I do not understand any of this.”
Riggs shrugged. “When your son died, his procession passed through my lands,” he said.
“That is how I knew Lady Diara’s betrothal was no more.
When I went to Robin, my good friend, to convey my condolences, he was regretting the betrothal between you and his daughter.
He agreed that it was a mistake. I offered to help him fix that mistake… for a price.”
“Your son’s marriage to Diara.”
“Exactly.”
Roi shook his head in disgust, but it threw him off balance and he pitched down to one knee.
His breathing was growing worse because he was having a difficult time keeping the hole in his chest covered up.
It wasn’t a horrible sucking wound, because he’d seen those, but it was bad enough. Just enough to cause him problems.
And he had problems aplenty.
“If you were a man of honor, you would give me a sword and at least give me a fighting chance,” he said, wondering how long he could draw this out before they killed him outright.
“You used a coward’s tactics by ambushing me from the trees.
A worthy man would have challenged me with a sword, but I can see that was too much for you.
I wonder if your son is as cowardly as his father is. ”
Infuriated, Riggs marched up on him and kicked him in the other knee, causing him to fall heavily on his buttocks.
He came in again for another kick, but Roi grabbed his foot and twisted, throwing him to the ground.
Wounded and all, Roi pounced on Riggs and gave him a good beating with three or four strikes to the face before Riggs’ men pulled him off their lord.
One man grabbed Roi by the bolt that was sticking out of his back, yanking on it with the intention of pulling him away, but he ended up pulling out the bolt completely.
In agony, Roi was thrown onto his side while Riggs’ men kicked him and stomped on him, but Riggs call them off.
“Enough!” he bellowed. “Get away from him. I’ll slice that bastard to pieces!”
With that, he withdrew his broadsword. Roi knew that because he could hear it sing as it was unsheathed.
He was without a sword, but he did have daggers on his body.
The problem was that between his back wound and the chest wound, he was beginning to see stars.
His eyesight was starting to dim, and he knew that he wasn’t going to stay conscious much longer.
Still, he had to fight.
He had a perfect life now, and he wasn’t about to give it up.
With the greatest struggle, he pushed himself onto his back in time to see Riggs bearing down on him.
Immediately, he unsheathed a dagger he knew was at his waist, but when he’d fallen, he must have damaged the sheath because he couldn’t get it out.
That meant his boot came up, and he kicked Riggs in the groin area, causing the man to cry out in pain as he stumbled back.
But it was only momentary.
Fury had Riggs regrouping. He lifted his broadsword over his head and moved in to make the kill.
Roi could see it coming and thought quickly—he could try to roll away and get to his feet, or he could fall forward into the man’s legs and hopefully send him off balance.
All he needed was the opportunity to get the broadsword away from him.
He knew that if he did, by sheer willpower alone, he’d have a fighting chance.
All he could see or think or feel was Diara, a vision before him that was keeping him alive.
She was feeding his fighting spirit. He simply couldn’t leave her.
But then something strange happened.
Suddenly, men were charging through the brush, in his direction, and an arrow sailed right into Riggs’ midsection. He opened his mouth to scream, but another bolt went into his mouth, through his head, and emerged on the other side.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
The men with him scattered. Battered, wounded, and close to passing out, Roi tried to get up, to face whoever was attacking them through the bramble, but he couldn’t seem to make it.
He grabbed at the daggers on his thigh, managing to unsheathe one of them, holding it up and preparing to slash anyone who came near him.
He was going to fight to the death, damn it, and to hell with anyone who would try to take him down.
They would leave their share of blood on the ground.
“Roi!” Someone was beside him, grasping him, holding his wrist so he didn’t slash at him. “Let the dagger go, Roi. It’s me. It’s Peter. Let it go, man. You’re safe. I will not let anyone harm you, I swear it.”
Roi was quivering violently. The dagger fell to the ground, and he looked up at his eldest brother, so shocked that he could hardly believe what he was seeing.
“Peter?” he gasped. “My God… is it really you?”
Peter smiled at him, but the concern on his face was obvious. “It is really me,” he said. “But there’s no time for talk. We need to get you out of here, old man.”
Roi was trying to get on his feet but he couldn’t seem to manage it. “What are you doing here?” he demanded weakly. “How did you find me?”
More men were swarming around him, and Roi could feel arms around him, lifting him up, moving him away from the carnage. They began running with him, through the brush and bramble.
“Everything will be fine, Roi,” Peter said steadily, slashing bushes out of the way as they moved. “We need to tend your wounds. You’re safe now.”
Roi could see his nephew, Andrew, helping to carry him. There were other de Lohr men, probably more than a dozen, all of them carrying him away from the blood and chaos. In truth, Roi could hardly believe it. He was still back there on his knees, preparing to fight for his life.
But he wasn’t.
Peter had saved him.
“It was an ambush,” Roi said breathlessly. “Cirencester wanted to kill me. He wants Diara. He wants my wife.”
“I know,” Peter said. “We were told what was happening.”
“You know?” Roi said. “How do you know?”
Peter was trying to keep an eye on the fighting around them, making sure they took Roi some place safe before they set him down.
“Cheltenham’s knight,” he said. “None of this would have been possible had Mathis de Geld not come to Lioncross to tell us about the plot. Papa sent us all to find you—some of us went to Pembridge, some to this godforsaken village of Colesborne. But we found you. Thank God we found you.”
They’d reached a crest on a hill, away from the pockets of fighting, and Peter had the men lay Roi down, very carefully. Roi grabbed at his brother, weakly.
“Mathis?” he repeated. “Robin was in on the plot, Peter. Mathis serves Robin!”
Peter looked around, catching sight of Mathis on the road cutting down a Cirencester man. “I do not think he wants to serve him any longer,” he said. “Were it not for him, you would now be dead. We owe him everything, Roi.”
Roi understood. Sort of. He was so exhausted, so muddled, that all he could do was nod faintly and close his eyes.
As Peter and Andrew worked on him to seal up the hole in his chest with the field kit they’d brought with them, they noticed the tears that had begun to stream down Roi’s temples.
Stricken with sorrow at the sight, perhaps indicative of the real fear Roi had been subjected to, Peter cupped his brother’s face with one hand, touching his forehead to Roi’s.
“You will be fine,” he whispered. “We will patch your wounds and take you home today. You needn’t worry, Roi. I promise you will heal.”
Roi’s voice broke. “I just want to see my wife again,” he said. “I did not think I was going to.”
Peter felt great pity for his brother, one of the strongest men he’d ever known. “You will see her again,” he said softly. “I swear you will.”
“Peter?”
“What is it?”
“Thank you,” Roi whispered. “For my life… thank you.”
Peter kissed his forehead, but Roi didn’t feel it.
He was in a haze and fading fast. He could feel Peter and Andrew moving him around, stripping off his tunics and protection to get to the wounds, packing the holes with clean linen soaked in wine.
As he lay there in limbo with the darkness calling softly to him, he happened to open his eyes.
There was a shadow over him, and he swore, as he lived and breathed, that he found himself looking at Beckett.
His son, blond and handsome, with that cheeky smile he remembered so well, was gazing down at him. Roi’s face lit up as he beheld his beloved son. He even lifted a hand, trying to touch him. But Beckett was beyond his reach.
He simply smiled down at his father.
“’Tis not your time yet, Papa,” Beckett said, his voice as faint as the wind through the trees. “Go home now. Go home and love.”
With that, he was gone.
Blissful unconsciousness finally claimed Roi.