Chapter Eighteen #4
Diamantha, emotional and spent, burst into tears again but this time, they were tears of joy. “I love you also,” she wept, wrapping her arms around his neck as he kissed her face furiously. “Sophie and I… we are so thankful to have you.”
Cortez kissed her salty cheeks, her chin, and finally her sweet lips.
It wasn’t a kiss infused with lust as it usually was when he touched her.
It was something more than just physical.
It was emotional at the deepest level, joy that bubbled up from the soul.
He’d been the bearer of terrible news twice in her life; once with the death of her husband and now with the death of her father.
Instead of hating him for it, which he had deeply feared, she was thanking him for his comfort. God was good, indeed.
When the frenzied kissing eased, he looked into her eyes, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs as he cradled her face.
“The quest we have embarked upon has done more to draw us together than anything ever could,” he surmised.
Then, he held up her left hand, the one that had the Posey ring on it.
He kissed the ring, grinning. “My quest is you. I think it has always been you.”
Diamantha smiled in return, reaching out to gently touch his face as he kissed her fingers tenderly. She was so emotionally overwrought at the moment that it was difficult for her to speak, so he kissed her one last time and pushed her down gently on the bed.
“You remain here and rest,” he told her. “I will check on our meal and a bath and return as soon as I can with some wine. Will you be well enough while I am gone?”
Tears subsiding, all Diamantha could manage to feel at the moment was exhausted. She nodded her head. “Aye,” she replied. “I will be well. Go about your business and we will be fine.”
Cortez quit the chamber, but not without a lingering glance at his wife, lying still and pale upon the bed.
He went about his business hurriedly, working the innkeeper and his staff into a frenzy in his quest to make his wife comfortable.
Soon enough, wine and bath water and food appeared in their chamber.
Once Sophie was bathed and fed and put to bed, Cortez did the same with his wife.
But the sadness of the news of Diamantha’s father’s death lingered.
It wasn’t something she would be soon or easily resigned to, the pain of a daughter in losing the man she had adored her entire life.
That night, Michael de Bocage filled his daughter’s thoughts as her exhausted sleep brought dreams of home.
*
The old innkeeper thought he was doing a good turn.
He was a patriot, after all, and Sassenach in his place of business sullied the very walls of an establishment that lived and breathed Scottish freedom.
His wife had invited the bloody English to stay but, alas, he had not. He intended to do something about it.
When the English knights had retired and most of the foot soldiers were camping about a quarter of a mile north of the town, the innkeeper had sent one of his servants to the Widow Graham’s home, which was a half mile to the west. Widow Graham had a daughter who was set to marry one of the local chieftain’s sons, and it was this daughter who ran from her mother’s house in the dead of night to her lover’s abode, whereupon she informed him of the Sassenach knights staying in town.
The lover, infuriated with the English invasion into his town, sent word to some of his friends and in the wee hours before dawn, right before men would rise and begin to prepare for the day, twelve Scots warriors moved in on The White Star with murder on their minds.
Sassenach men were going to die that night. They would make sure of it.
The innkeeper let them into the structure, unfastening the big iron lock on the back door and allowing the men to creep in.
He had been watching the stairs at the front of the house, watching for any signs that the six English knights were up and about, but so far everything had been dark and still.
He gave the Scotsmen directions to the rooms bearing Sassenach guests.
Then, he slipped into his own chamber and locked the door.
He didn’t want to see what happened next. His duty was done.
Unfortunately for the innkeeper, he missed seeing Peter Merlin as the man approached the inn with the intent of waking Cortez to see what the man’s orders for the day were.
Merlin saw the Scotsmen moving around in the dark and he spied swords and clubs in their hands.
Being that he was without a weapon, or any means of alerting Cortez’s army, he did the only thing he could do: he spurred his horse forward and charged through the bolted front door of the inn, creating such bedlam that on the floor above, Cortez and the other knights were instantly awake.
That few moments of preparation saved their lives.
The Scotsmen, realizing their cover had been blown, charged up the stairs and were met by English knights pouring out of the doors.
The English met the Scots as most of them were still on the stairs and Drake, perhaps the most aggressive knight of the group, launched himself at the Scotsmen on the stairs, landing on top of at least four of them, and sending all four rolling back down the stairs and crashing at the bottom.
Seeing that Drake had landed at the bottom of the steps in a heap with a cluster of Scotsmen, James ran down after him.
James had the legendary de Lohr skill and, much like his great-uncle David de Lohr, he was faster with a broadsword than any man alive.
He managed to kill two of the Scotsmen before the others were able to engage him, and the battle spilled out into the common room of the inn.
Now, it was Drake and James against three very angry Scotsmen.
Merlin, once he’d taken his horse back outside and tethered the animal, rushed back into the room and began swinging a broken chair leg around.
The room, already, was in shambles and blood was on the floor.
Upstairs, it was more of a battle. There were seven Scotsmen against Cortez, Keir, Michael, and Oliver, and to make matters worse, it was so dark that it was difficult for anyone to see who they were fighting.
Cortez had managed to make it out of his chamber, bellowing at Diamantha to lock the door as he ran.
She did, throwing the old iron bolt and listening to the sounds of battle in the corridor outside.
Terrified, she had grabbed her sleeping daughter and slithered under the bed, hoping it would provide some protection should the door be breached. In her arms, Sophie hardly woke up.
Out in the corridor, however, the situation was bad indeed.
Cortez was only in his breeches, with his massive broadsword sailing through the darkness.
None of the English had been given time to don their armor much less clothing, and Keir was actually fighting in the nude.
It was so dark that no one really noticed, but the fact that they were fighting against deadly weapons without protection made the situation extremely dicey.
Cortez was able to take care of one of the Scots by tossing the man over the railing and sending him crashing down the stairs to the floor below.
After that, he went to help Oliver dispatch two men who were intent on doing the young knight serious harm.
Two strokes from his broadsword, a punch, and massive kick to the torso sent another Scot over the railing and down the stairs while Oliver eventually dispatched his opponent by driving his sword into the man’s ribcage.
As the Scot collapsed on the floor, Keir and Michael managed to dispatch the remaining four.
“Drake?” Cortez bellowed down the stairwell. “All clear!”
Drake’s head suddenly appeared at the bottom of the steps. “All clear down here,” he told him. “I do not see any more Scots, at least not yet.”
Cortez looked at the knights around him. They were winded but whole. “We must leave immediately,” he told them. “There could be an entire bloody army coming for us and this was just the advance party. Get dressed and let us go now.”
The knights scattered, rushing to get dressed and collect their belongings, as Cortez went to his chamber door and pounded on it.
“Diamantha?” he called. “Open the door, sweetheart. Let me in.”
It took several moments before the bolt was disengaged and the door swung open. Diamantha was standing there in her sleeping shift with Sophie slumbering on her shoulder. She looked terrified.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Were we attacked?”
Cortez blew into the room, hunting around until he found a flint. He sparked it, lighting the nearest taper, and a soft white glow filled the room.
“Aye,” he told her, hurried. “We must get dressed and leave immediately. There could be more of them to come.”
With a gasp of fright, Diamantha carefully lay Sophie back onto her bed and began flying around the room, gathering things and either shoving them into her satchel or throwing them into the big barrel that held all of her new clothing.
As Cortez quickly donned his clothing and his mail coat, Diamantha pulled her blue traveling gown over her sleeping shift and tossed the exquisite leather robe with the fur-lined sleeves on over that.
Quickly, she ran a comb through her hair and braided it, if only to keep it out of the way, while she picked up the cage with the animals in it and set it on the bed next to Sophie.
She watched, breathless, as Cortez strapped on his broadsword.
“We are ready,” she informed him, her voice quivering with fright.
Cortez nodded shortly and went out into the corridor, yelling down the stairwell. “Who is down there?”
Merlin appeared at the bottom. “I am, my lord.”
“Where are the rest of my men?”
“Still in camp, my lord.”
Cortez motioned the man up the stairs. “Come and help us vacate.”
Merlin rushed up the stairs, gathering the baggage as Diamantha collected her child with one arm and picked up the animal cage with the other.
Keir and Michael were vacating their rooms at the same time, fully dressed now, and helped get Diamantha’s bags and barrel down the stairs.
Once on the first floor where several Scotsmen were bleeding out on the dirt floor, Cortez didn’t even bother to summon the innkeeper or his wife to let them know they were departing.
He had a feeling that they already knew.
As they began to head out of town in the cold, dark morning, heading for the area where Cortez’s men were camped, they could hear the town around them beginning to stir and they were increasingly anxious to leave.
Cortez’s encampment was already nearly packed and ready to depart, and Cortez’s knights worked the men into a frenzy.
They were terrified that more Scots were to come, especially since they had killed or badly injured the twelve that had come in an advanced party, so soon enough, they were all fleeing up the road, bouncing along in the early morning hours.
For Diamantha, tucked into the wagon with her daughter clutched in her arms, it was a frightening experience.
The more distance they put between them and Moffatt, the better they were coming to feel, but Cortez knew the worst was not yet over.
They could be in for quite a bit of trouble if the kin of those who attacked them decided to follow.
Therefore, he had Keir and Michael covering their retreat, hanging back to make sure they were not followed.
As the morning progressed, it seemed less and less likely, and eventually, they slowed their pace so the men could catch their breath.
But Cortez couldn’t breathe easy, not yet. They were in Scotland, after all. For all he knew, this was only the beginning of worse hardships yet to come.
He prayed he was wrong.