Chapter 21 #2
Rhodri sat back against the trunk of the tree, resting his bow on his leg. “Then pray, my lady, and let God decide.”
And pray she did. Her gaze fixed on the battle raging between them, she asked God to save them both.
Suddenly Steinar was drawn away by another Norman’s challenge. Renaud turned as a blow from a Norman knight struck his shield. The Red Wolf stumbled and turned to confront the challenger, pausing as if surprised to see a fellow Norman wielding a blade against him.
Confused, Serena studied the Norman knight who was slashing at her husband. The swarthy complexion, dark beard and swaggering stance were familiar to her as the Norman shouted taunts at Renaud.
Sir Hugue! He fights with Morcar.
The weight of his evil presence settled upon her. His hatred was strong for the Red Wolf. Serena had her own hatred for the mercenary who had tried to rape Eawyn and had sunk a knife in Cassie’s flesh.
The battle raged between the two Norman warriors, the clash of steel rising again and again. Renaud twisted to deflect a blow from Sir Hugue and stumbled over the body of one of the slain. Falling to one knee, he fought to regain his balance, his sword still clutched in his hand.
“Rhodri! The Red Wolf is in peril!”
Taking advantage of Renaud’s vulnerable position, Sir Hugue swept in, raising his sword to inflict a deadly blow.
In a flash of speed, Serena focused on the mercenary’s neck and let her arrow fly.
Before Sir Hugue’s blow could find its target, her arrow pierced the flesh of his neck.
Blood spurted from the wound. A second arrow, shot by Rhodri, hit the mercenary’s chest, the bodkin arrow piercing his mail.
Sir Hugue paused as if suspended in time, the arrows seeming to hold him up. Then with a crash, he fell to his knees and to the ground. Renaud stood looking down at the body.
Serena’s heart raced as she held her hand to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. She could feel no sorrow for the man guilty of so much treachery.
“Aye, ’tis done,” said Rhodri.
Serena tried to find Steinar in what remained of the battle, but she had lost sight of him. The battle was waning. As she scanned the field, a Northumbrian warrior darted across the field toward the trees where she was hidden. As he neared, he stripped off his helm.
Morcar!
He ran through the trees, passing beneath her, followed by several other Northumbrians.
* * *
Renaud stared down at the body of Sir Hugue and his neck pierced with an arrow.
That arrow fletching.
The fletching bore the same feathers his wife had so carefully fit into her arrows that night by the hearth, distinctive in their style.
He looked up to follow the path the arrow had taken, the arrow that had spared him Hugue’s sword.
His eyes caught a flicker of flaxen hair amidst the green leaves of the trees.
He had known the moment the first arrow hit the mercenary that no ordinary archer had shot it.
Serena!
How was it possible she was here?
Squinting into the distance, he saw Rhodri on another branch, mostly hidden by the color of his clothes, but visible to the discerning eye.
Had they come to join the Northumbrian rebels?
Surely she would fight for her brother. He had seen his wife’s same violet eyes and flaxen hair on an English warrior who’d attacked him earlier.
Somehow he knew it was Steinar whose thrusts he had parried, and so he had not slain the young warrior.
And then he had lost him among the other Northumbrians when Sir Hugue attacked him.
“It’s nearly over, Ren,” said Geoff approaching with his sword dripping blood. Looking over Renaud’s blood splattered body, he asked, “Are you wounded?”
“Nay,” he said, still staring into the trees, “an arrow from a friend spared me the insult.”
“An arrow?” Geoff asked incredulous as he spotted the mercenary lying at Renaud’s feet. “’Tis Hugue!”
“Aye, killed by arrows.”
“From where? There are no archers here.”
“The trees, Geoff. Look to the trees. Me thinks they hold a fair English archer and a Welsh bowman.”
Renaud might have laughed had he not been so angry with his wife for putting herself in danger.
The thought of Serena being exposed to the sights and sounds of battle, of seeing him slaying her fellow English, covered in their blood, made him clench his teeth.
But a worse fear confronted him. He could have lost her, his English wife who had so bewitched him.
He did not question the truth that came to him then.
Panic took hold of his heart at the thought he might have to live without her.
Whether he trusted her or no, one thing was clear: he loved her.
In his frustration, he expelled his next thought. “The damn woman will nay stay put.”
“Aye, but mayhap this time you are glad she did not.” Geoff’s eyes twinkled with mirth.
Shaking his head, Renaud stalked toward the trees as his other knights joined Geoff to take stock of their wounds and count the dead. The battle was over.
At the base of the tree, Renaud shouted into the branches above him, “Come down wife!”
The Welsh bard, Rhodri, dropped to the ground.
Renaud threw the Welshman a scowl for his part in Serena’s perfidy.
Looking sheepish, the bard bowed his head and slinked off toward the battlefield, now a sea of bodies splayed across the ground.
Some of his men slogged through the blood of the slain to reach those who would live.
Others rounded up the Northumbrian prisoners.
He turned his attention back to the thick branches above him, watching as his wife slowly climbed down.
He was unsurprised to see her wearing a lad’s clothing in the colors of the forest. When she arrived at the lowest branch where he could reach her, he looked into her violet eyes, set his hands on her waist and snatched her off the limb.
He had intended to scold her, but without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a fierce hug and a deep, searing kiss.
Thank God you are safe.