Chapter Eighteen #2
Before Keller could clearly identify the shapes in the muddy river, he began waving a big gloved hand towards the great gatehouse on the south side of the castle.
“Ready the archers,” he boomed. “Start launching everything we have at them. Keep their attention away from this wall.”
The two knights and about a dozen soldiers ran to do his bidding as the orders were shouted down the line and across the castle.
In short time, the archers were launching great flaming long arrows over the walls and into Bertram’s front lines.
The two siege engines that had been threatening for most of the night remained on station about thirty feet from the walls because none of Bertram’s men were brave enough to attempt moving them towards the walls again; all who had tried had been cut down or otherwise injured by de Poyer’s defense.
Now, no one attempted to go near them as they all dove for cover.
With the main gatehouse alive with a renewed offense, Keller snapped orders to the men remaining around him.
“Lower a rope,” his voice was quick and controlled. “Get ready to pull them up.”
Derica was still hovering over the side of the wall, watching as a figure she recognized emerged from the river. She would have known that tall, powerful form anywhere. Joy at the confirmation surged and forgetting herself, she suddenly waved her arms and screamed.
“Garren!” she cried.
Startled, Keller ran at her and threw her in a bear hug, pulling her away from the wall. Derica struggled violently against him.
“Are you mad?” he hissed. “Do you want to attract your father’s attention?”
Her initial fury at being grabbed morphed into terror. She immediately stopped struggling.
“My God,” she breathed. “I… I am so sorry. I did not think.”
Keller gazed into her beautiful eyes, his thoughts moving to those not of battle.
He was suddenly thinking of the woman in his arms, her soft lips, and the marriage that would not take place.
It would be so easy to allow le Mon to fall from the rope or succumb to de Rosa’s attack.
But he simply couldn’t do it. As quickly as he grabbed her, he released her and returned to the wall where his men were lowering a fat, scratchy rope.
Derica hovered back out of the way, watching the men work the rope and praying she hadn’t, in her zeal, attracted unwanted attention. It had been stupid in hindsight; she knew that. But she was so thrilled to see her husband that her excitement had gotten the better of her.
Quietly, she wandered to the edge of the wall walk again, peering over the side and seeing Garren and Fergus at much closer range.
They were both sopping, scrambling up the embankment that led to the tower.
Thrilled, Derica clapped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t make any noise.
She began jumping up and down, hand over her mouth, as far below, Garren reached for the rope.
He was so close she could almost taste him and her desperation to touch him, feel him, was palpable.
But horror struck as a high-pitched wail suddenly filled the early morning air.
Derica saw Garren duck, realizing that someone had launched an arrow at him.
Everyone on the wall walk shifted their focus to the south side to see that several dozen de Rosa men were scaling the slopes of the western wall, making their way from the south side of the castle, and they were heading straight for Garren and Fergus.
Keller was suddenly next to Derica, his dark eyes riveted to the incoming men.
“Damn,” he hissed, turning to the men on the wall who held the rope. “Get le Mon up here. He will not survive long down there. Move!”
“My God,” Derica was watching her father’s men approach, the tears in her eyes now spilling over. “I did not mean to alert them. I did not mean to do it!”
Keller heard her. He grabbed the tail end of the rope, anchoring it with his big body.
“You did not,” he replied calmly. “The arrow assault over the southern wall drove the men to seek shelter. I would surmise they scattered to the west side to hide, saw what we were doing, and decided to investigate. I… I should have considered that possibility. It is my fault.”
Derica’s hand was at her mouth in fear as her gaze lingered on Keller a moment before returning her focus to the incoming de Rosa men.
Then she looked to Garren, who had by this time grabbed the rope.
She could see that he was waving at Fergus to join him, but Fergus refused.
Garren then held out the rope to Fergus, indicating for the man to go first. Derica could see what was happening and her terror mounted.
The de Rosa men were coming closer and more arrows were flying.
Before Keller could stop her, Derica screamed again at the top of her lungs. She just couldn’t stand there any longer and watch the indecision that had her own life hanging in the balance. He had to hurry.
“Garren! Take the rope!”
*
Garren heard the scream. It startled the hell out of him. His body jerked as if he had been struck and his shocked gaze moved to the wall. Though there was twenty feet of rock and dozens of men in his field of vision, all he could see was a vision in violet.
After that, he remembered very little except an overwhelming need to get to her. He grabbed the rope, yanking Fergus by the neck to follow him.
“Come on,” he roared. “Grab the rope!”
But Fergus still begged off. “The weight will be too much,” he insisted, shoving Garren at the rope and waving to the men high on the wall. “If I latch on, chances are neither of us will survive. You must go. Your wife is waiting.”
Garren could see de Rosa’s men rushing at them from the south. They weren’t firing off as many arrows as they had initially but they were closer now, swords flashing in the early morning light.
He knew Fergus was correct; God help him, he knew it. He heard his wife scream again and a grunt of frustration escaped his lips, turning to her panicked face before looking to Fergus again.
“Fergus,” he rasped, feeling the rope lift even as he held on to it. “I simply cannot leave you to your death.”
Fergus’ blue eyes glittered. “And so you are not,” he assured him, motioning to the men high atop the wall to hurry up the rope. “I shall be here when you reach the top of the wall. There will be opportunity still.”
Garren knew it wasn’t the truth and his anguish tore at him. His gaze met with Fergus’ bright blue, a million words of thanks and friendship passing between them. This was where they parted and they both knew it. The time for heroics was over.
“Get back in the water, then,” he hissed. “Swim as fast as you can and get out of here.”
The rope was pulling Garren up, out of arm’s reach. Fergus gazed up at him, eyeing the de Rosa men that were far closer now.
“I believe that would be wise,” Fergus agreed, darting back down the slope towards the river.
Garren was several feet above even the tallest man’s arm reach.
The soldiers on the wall were heaving him upward, upward still as the de Rosa men swarmed below him.
As he watched, several took off after Fergus, who had reached the water.
Just as Fergus dove into the cold, muddy river, two men dove in after him.
As Fergus came up for air, one man surged atop him and plunged his head under the water.
Upon the wall walk, Derica screamed again as she watched the man attempt to drown Fergus.
The second de Rosa soldier reached him and soon, Fergus was being pushed down by two men.
Derica was positive she was watching the man drown when suddenly, an arrow sailed by her ear and plowed into one of the men wrestling with Fergus.
Startled, she looked to see Keller with a double-shot crossbow in his hand. His dark eyes were focused on the second man fighting with Fergus and, as Derica watched, he dropped the second man with another well-aimed arrow.
Fergus swam away with only a few men several feet behind him, too far away to do any damage. They eventually turned back as Fergus kept swimming for the safety of the opposite shore. He eventually climbed out and ran off, free as a bird.
Mouth hanging open, Derica turned to Keller to thank him for assisting Fergus but the man was already gone. To her right, the soldiers hauling her husband up the wall had gotten him to within a few feet of the summit and her focus returned to Garren.
She forgot about Keller and his dead-eye aim, instead rushing to the group of men now pulling Garren up over the side of the wall walk.
She tried to push her way through the group but there were too many men, so she hung back, heart in her throat, struggling for a glimpse of his copper-blond hair.
All she could see was a sea of soldiers.
But suddenly, the armor parted and Garren appeared, unwrapping the rope from his arm.
The moment their eyes met, the rope fell to the ground.
Derica hadn’t seen him move; one moment she was standing looking at him and in the next, she was aloft in his arms. When she realized this, the tears came and she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly enough to strangle him.
“You are not dead,” she gasped over and over. “You are not dead!”
Garren held her so tightly that he swore he heard bones cracking.
He was only aware of her soft body in his arms, her hot breath in his ear.
He couldn’t seem to hold her tightly enough, closely enough, feeling her hair tickle his face.
It was like heaven. Before he realized it, he was kissing her cheeks, her nose, her eyes now wet with tears.
All the while, Derica gasped, something between a laugh and a sob.
“Nay,” he breathed in between heated kisses. “I am not dead. And neither are you.”