Chapter Eighteen #2
Emberley had Brendt and Lacy while Romney and Orin followed begrudgingly, crossing the muddy bailey as they headed to the keep.
The party of riders that had just entered from the southern road, now a cluster of men and horses in the gatehouse, were required to leave their weapons with the guards and the two groups passed within several feet of each other.
Emberley wasn’t paying attention to the gatehouse and the men removing their weapons weren’t paying particular attention to the activity in the bailey.
All was normal and relatively peaceful. That is, until one of the riders in the gatehouse looked up and shouted.
“Lady de Moyon!”
Emberley froze at the base of the stairs that led into the keep, turning to see who had called her name.
There was a cluster of men in the dark-stoned gatehouse, men bearing tunics and weapons.
Her gaze fell upon a man who served her husband, a sergeant named Donnell, and she felt a jolt of shock when their eyes met.
Terror welled in her throat and she could only think of one thing at that moment, an instinctive reaction that fed her sense of horror.
“Run,” she told the boys. “Run to your chamber. Hurry! Run!”
Thankfully, Romney and Orin didn’t ask questions.
They had no idea what had their mother so spooked and were afraid by the tone of her voice.
Emberley began to run up the stairs, urging them along with her, and the five of them raced up the slippery stone steps as fast as they could go.
Into the dark keep they ran, Emberley’s pleading whispers urging them up the stairs.
Bootfalls were suddenly behind them and Emberley shrieked when a big leather glove grabbed her. At a disadvantage with Lacy in her arms, she tried to pull away but she slipped on the steps, dumping the baby onto a stair.
Lacy fell harmlessly on her bum, screaming, as Orin reached down and grabbed his sister to keep her from falling further.
Romney rushed to the aid of his mother, whacking the man who had her with his wooden sword.
It was chaotic, with men shouting and children screaming.
In the midst of the madness, Emberley’s beseeching gaze sought out Orin and Brendt.
“Take your sister,” she cried as she struggled against Donnell pulling her down the stairs. “Take her to your chamber and bolt the door. Go!”
Orin wanted to help his brother fight off the soldiers but Brendt couldn’t manage their baby sister on his own, so he helped Brendt lug Lacy up the stairs, pulling her away from their mother and Romney as their mother urged them to move faster.
Brendt was crying but did as he was told, trying not to fall down the stairs as he pulled Lacy to the upper floors.
It was a painful and frightening scene, made even more painful and frightening when Lord de Lara and several of his soldiers rushed into the keep, armed to the teeth, and began fighting off the men who had captured Lady de Moyon.
Romney was fighting furiously with his wooden sword, banging the man who held his mother. He recognized the man as a soldier who worked for his father, which terrified him. He thought his father was here since his men were and he was angry as well as frightened.
Donnell eventually grew weary of having a wooden sword smacking him around, infuriated when it poked him in the cheek and drew blood. Sweeping his free arm, he caught Romney on the side of the head and knocked the child down six steps. Romney ended up in a heap at the bottom of the staircase.
The skirmish for the lady was quickly turning deadly as the battle intensified.
One of de Lara’s men was gored in the gut and the man fell to the stone, bleeding heavily.
Eager to put an end to the skirmish, Donnell unsheathed a dagger he had hidden in his gauntlet, yanked hard on Lady de Moyon, and ended up with the lady trapped against his chest. The dirk went up against her neck.
“Cease!” he roared. “Cease resistance or she dies!”
Lord de Lara and his men came to a halt, their eyes falling on the soldier who had Lady de Moyon in a very precarious position. Furious at his keep having been breached and his hospitality violated, Lord de Lara dropped his broadsword and approached the soldier.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “How dare you despoil the welcome of Trelystan. You will release the lady immediately.”
Donnell’s gaze was steady on the old man. “Alas, my lord, I cannot,” he said. “I have come on behalf of the lady’s husband. I am ordered to bring her to London.”
In his grasp, Emberley flinched. “Never!” she screamed. “I am not going to London.”
Donnell pressed the dirk against her neck and she gasped as it drew blood. “You do not have a choice, Lady de Moyon,” he told her. “Your husband has ordered me to return you to London and I shall.”
Emberley struggled not to panic for she knew if she did, all would be lost. “Please,” she sounded calmer. “Please do not do this. I do not want to return to Julian. I cannot. Please do not force me.”
Donnell’s harsh stance wavered. In fact, he was still reeling from having found Lady de Moyon at Trelystan in the first place. It had been a wild stroke of luck. When he had first seen her crossing the bailey with the children, he thought he had been imagining it.
When he had set out to the Marches a week prior, his heart still wasn’t in the search.
He hadn’t truly expected to find anything, perhaps hoping he wouldn’t, and was vastly shocked to see that Lady de Moyon was, in fact, at de Lara’s holding.
Everything Buckland had suspected had been correct, and Kevin de Lara had indeed smuggled Lady de Moyon out of Dunster those weeks ago.
But the fact remained that she was here and Donnell had captured her. It was his duty to return her to her husband no matter how he felt about it. He was a soldier and did as he was told.
“I must do my duty, Lady de Moyon,” he told her. “Your husband is expecting you.”
Emberley closed her eyes and the tears streamed down her face. Lord de Lara stepped forward, a hand outstretched pleadingly.
“Please,” he begged softly. “Do not take her. I will pay you handsomely to forget you ever saw her here.”
Donnell looked at the old man. “I will tell Baron Buckland that your son absconded with his wife and that you have been hiding her from her husband,” he said. “I am sure he will be extremely displeased. You will forgive me for not accepting your offer.”’
He moved towards the keep entry, knife still to Emberley’s throat as the men from his escort began backing away from de Lara’s soldiers.
It was clear they had the advantage so no one made a move to stop them, but the tension was thick and brittle.
Eyes were riveted to Emberley and Donnell, her miserable face and his serious one.
As they reached the doorway, Romney suddenly came around and groaned, pushing himself to his knees.
Donnell caught sight of the young boy and nodded to one of his men.
“Bring him,” he told him.
The soldier moved to Romney, who hollered and kicked as the man captured him. Lord de Lara followed the escort party as they backed out of his keep.
“Please,” he continued to beg. “There must be some manner of agreement we can come to. I will offer you a great deal to leave them here and not tell de Moyon of their location.”
Donnell was already on the top step leading down into the bailey, the dirk pressed up against Emberley’s neck bringing a small trickle of blood.
“Be fortunate that I am not demanding the rest of the children,” he told him,” but I suspect they are well protected now and I do not have enough men to fight for them.
But I have the lady and the heir, and that will have to suffice at the moment. ”
“I do not want to leave my babies,” Emberley wept. She had lost the fight against fear and despair. “Please do not do this. Please.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of the consequences when you fled Dunster,” Donnell said quietly.
“I fled Dunster to save my life,” she spat even as he pulled her down the stairs. “If you take me to Julian, I will never see my children again. He will kill me!”
“I have my orders, Lady de Moyon.”
She suddenly came to life, kicking and swinging at him.
Donnell wasn’t able to pull the dirk away from her before she drove the sharp knife into the side of her neck and blood began to gush.
She gasped and stopped fighting, her hands flying to her neck as blood poured down her slender white flesh and onto the top of her shift. Lord de Lara gestured to his men.
“Bandages,” he hissed. “Hurry. Before she bleeds to death.”
Two of his men disappeared but the rest remained, following Donnell and his escort party as they hauled Emberley and Romney down the stairs.
Lord de Lara’s men returned with wads of linen bandages and Lord de Lara extended them to Donnell about the time he reached the bottom of the slippery, stone steps.
“Please,” he said. “Let me give these to her. She is bleeding all over.”
Donnell could see that – her hands and the top of her surcoat were a bloody mess. He nodded shortly and Lord de Lara rushed to Emberley’s side, pressing the linen on the wound. She was pale, grasping the wad and holding it fast.
“Thank you,” she looked at him, her big, blue eyes glimmering with tears. “Please… tell him….”
Lord de Lara shushed her softly. He didn’t want her saying too much because it was apparent that de Moyon’s men didn’t know Gart was involved in the lady’s disappearance.
Lord de Lara was happy to be the decoy and allow them to think it was his own son who had abducted Emberley.
That way, Gart could have the element of surprise on his side.
“Have no fear, sweetheart,” he shushed her again. “He will know everything. Be strong and cooperate. All will be well.”
She was beginning to cry. “My babies….”
Lord de Lara had her bloodied hand and he kissed it. “They will be well cared for, spoiled as they have never been spoiled. We will take excellent care of them.”
She broke down. One of Donnell’s men shoved him away, creating a barrier of swords and men between the lady and Lord de Lara. Donnell pulled the bloodied lady away, surrounded by his men, until they reached their horses tied up just inside the gatehouse.
Some of the gate guards saw the hostage situation and tried to intervene, but Lord de Lara called them off, fearful that Donnell and his men would harm Emberley and Romney.
They had already proven that they were bold and fearless, and de Lara wasn’t willing to take the chance that the lady or her son would be hurt in a scuffle.
He didn’t think he could live with the guilt if something happened to them.
Heartsick, Lord de Lara was forced to watch as they mounted Emberley and Romney and tore off through the gatehouse and into the green, rolling hills beyond.
He had no idea how de Moyon found his wife and children but the fact remained that the man had somehow tracked them down through common sense or devilry.
Either way, Emberley and Romney were headed to London.
He felt like a failure and a fool, all rolled into one.
It had all happened so fast that he was still processing it.
Turning to his shocked men, he began bellowing orders to mobilize his army.
He would gather nine hundred men and follow de Moyon’s escort all the way into London, perhaps looking for the opportunity to snatch Lady de Moyon and her son back.
He simply couldn’t let them go without a fight.
Gart had left them in his care. Gart had trusted him.
Lord de Lara’s next action was to send a missive to Bellham, telling his messenger to ride harder and faster than de Moyon’s escort and arrive before they did.
Emberley’s only hope was if de Lohr and Forbes were waiting for them on the road to prevent her from ever reaching Julian.
It was a weak plan but the only one he had. He sent the fastest man he had.
Not usually a praying man, Lord de Lara prayed a great deal that day.