Chapter Eighteen
Unfortunately for Gaspard, the little boy William de Wolfe once called The Shield came to life.
All of the angst and turmoil Ronan had been feeling about giving up Isabeth found an outlet against a French knight who was quite good, but not good enough.
He was no match for a de Wolfe of Ronan’s size and training.
That was something evident from the outset when Ronan charged him with his sword leveled and Gaspard was driven back into the courtyard, so fast and so brutally that he tripped on the uneven surface.
Only terror and sheer agility had him on his feet again as Ronan brought down a blow that nearly knocked the sword from Gaspard’s hands.
Somewhere, someone was screaming as Ronan went after Gaspard with a vengeance.
Ronan could hear the sound, knowing it was Marian, but he didn’t care.
In fact, the sound fed him. It was music of unimaginable beauty to his ears as Gaspard continued to back away from him, now on the defensive as Ronan continued to strike and strike hard.
Every time Gaspard tried to fight back, Ronan beat him down and then some.
Swords were clashing and sparks were flying as Ronan let his emotions run away with him.
Perhaps every blow was for one man Marian had given her attention to.
Perhaps every blow had Marian’s name on it, for the shame she’d put Ronan and his family through.
But then, the thrusts and blows began to come harder and faster – those were meant for Isabeth and those who were trying to take her away from him.
They were meant for his father, for the pain Ronan felt for the decisions made on his behalf.
Certainly, he’d never hurt his father, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t physically express his angst.
And he did.
Repeatedly.
Somehow, they ended up over in the stable yard.
Ronan kicked Gaspard through a fence, collapsing part of it as goats bleated in fear.
Gaspard got to his feet, beaten and winded and with bloodied arms where Ronan’s sword had made contact, and desperately tried to fight back, to drive Ronan back so he could gain the upper hand.
But the entire battle had been Ronan intent on beating him down and, in the end, killing him. Gaspard knew that.
He began to fight dirty.
In the stable yard, he grabbed a handful of dirt and dung, throwing it into Ronan’s face in an attempt to blind him.
The sea breeze blew most of it aside but some of it made contact, which only managed to make Ronan angrier.
That had him slashing at Gaspard in measured thrusts, but in a surprising show of strategy, Gaspard had managed to back into the side of the corral and when Ronan lunged at him, his sword became embedded in the wood.
Before he could pull it free, Gaspard used the opportunity to thrust his sword at Ronan’s head.
Ronan had to release his sword and duck the strike or risk getting his head cut off, so he relinquished the blade that was stuck in the wood, fell low under Gaspard’s strike, and came up with an enormous fist to Gaspard’s face.
The man, and the sword, went down.
Now, Ronan was on top of Gaspard, who had blood flowing from his nose. Reaching down, he yanked the man to his feet and began battering him.
Now, it was a fist fight.
Blood and other bodily fluids were flying through the air as Ronan and Gaspard went at it with hands and feet.
Ronan had the size and strength advantage and easily tore Gaspard down in a short amount of time, but Gaspard was taller with longer arms. That meant he could get in a blow now and again, but it wasn’t enough.
Ronan backed Gaspard into the postern gate, which wasn’t secured because of the time of day.
It was always open in the morning to allow servants and those doing business with the kitchens to pass through, so Gaspard fell out of the gate onto a narrow strip of ground overlooking the sea.
Now, there were no walls to contain them.
The path to the sandy beach was directly in front of them while the steeper cliffs were to the right, overlooking the pounding ocean with the rocks below.
Gaspard was dazed and exhausted, struggling to his feet as Ronan loomed over him.
Ronan grabbed him by the arm and the hair and began dragging him towards the cliff.
“So you were going to throw me off the cliff, were you?” he snarled, winded. “That is a terrible way to die, de Maurienne. It is unfortunate that you selected that death for me because I am going to do the same for you.”
Realizing where they were going, Gaspard began to fight.
His exhausted body began to twist and kick and he managed to dislodge himself from Ronan’s grip.
When Ronan went to grab him again, Gaspard kicked him as hard as he could in the right thigh.
Ronan staggered back, giving Gaspard the opportunity to lurch to his feet.
“I’ll not let you kill me,” he said, blood and spittle flying from his lips. “You may think I’ve made an easy target, but I assure you that you will be the one going over the cliff. Not I!”
Ronan went at the man. “And you think you will survive such a thing?” he said, now grappling with him close to the edge. “My father is here. He will ensure your death is as painful as possible if anything happens to me, so I would rethink that strategy.”
The punches were no longer being thrown as Ronan and Gaspard wrestled and twisted their way right to the edge of the cliff.
There was a one hundred-foot drop to the jagged rocks below.
Ronan knew he was too close so he tried to switch his position, forcing Gaspard right up to the edge of the cliff.
When Gaspard realized what Ronan had done, he made a swipe for the man, trying to grab his neck and force him over the side.
But Ronan ducked low, throwing himself to the ground and kicking at Gaspard’s knees in the same motion.
Losing his balance, Gaspard went over the edge but as he did, he grabbed for anything to keep him from falling, which happened to be Ronan’s right foot.
Ronan lost his balance and went down on his right side, heavily, but he quickly realized that he was being dragged over the side.
There was nothing for him to grab hold of in order to stop his descent.
He was beginning to think that this might truly be the end when he was suddenly grabbed from behind.
Blayth had his son, trying to keep him from falling as Christian and Randolph rushed forward to help. They’d all been watching, vowing not to interfere, until they realized Ronan was in serious danger. That was all it took for Blayth to break his stance and the knights along with him.
As Blayth and Randolph pulled, keeping Ronan from going over the side, Christian used his dagger to slash Gaspard in the hand that was holding Ronan’s foot.
Gaspard screamed and released his hold and as the four men watched, the French knight went spiraling down the cliffs, crashing into the rocks below.
A massive wave arched up over the rocks at that moment, dragging his broken body out to sea.
As quickly as the fight had started, it was over.
Winded, and realizing it could have very easily been him on those rocks, Ronan collapsed against his father, breathing heavily and struggling to recover.
Blayth and Randolph managed to pull him well away from the edge as Christian simply stood there, looking below and watching Gaspard’s body being tossed around by the surf.
But Blayth hadn’t let go of his son, even with all of the tugging and moving they’d done with him.
He held him tightly, absolutely terrified at what he’d just witnessed.
“Are you well, Roe?” he asked, a hint of panic in his tone. “Did he hurt you?”
Ronan could hear the terror in his father’s voice and he patted the old man’s arms. “He did not, Papa,” he said. “I am well, thanks to you and Randolph and Christian.”
Hearing his name, Christian turned to him. “You know we wouldn’t have interfered unless we thought you were in real danger,” he said. “I hope you are not angry.”
Ronan smiled wearily. “On the contrary,” he said. “I am very grateful.”
Christian grinned and held out a hand to him, offering to help pull him to his feet, but Ronan quickly realized he couldn’t move. Blayth had such a tight grip on him that he couldn’t move at all. Ronan patted his father’s hands, clenched around his chest.
“Papa, release me,” he said gently. “I’m well enough. You can release me now.”
But Blayth didn’t budge. He simply held on with a death grip.
“I will in good time,” he said. When Christian and Randolph peered closely at him, they could see that his eyes were clenched shut.
“My father lost a son once, right before his very eyes. It affected him for the rest of his life, so he told me. I never completely understood my father’s terror until this very moment.
I almost lost you, Ronan. I do not know what I would do if that happened. It would be a nightmare without end.”
Ronan felt rather sorry that his father was so traumatized, but he understood what he was saying.
He also understood the context of Blayth’s comment – Blayth, in fact, had been thought to have died in battle in Wales many years ago.
Badly wounded in an ambush, William de Wolfe had been unable to retrieve what he thought was his son’s body and it was something that haunted him for five years until James de Wolfe returned from the dead as Blayth.
As it had turned out, James hadn’t been killed – William got him back – but Ronan knew there would be no coming back from falling over a jagged cliff.
His father knew it, too.
“I’m well, Papa,” he said, holding the man’s hand. “I promise, I’m well. Let us retreat into the hall and recover from this.”