Chapter Twenty-Two #2
It was time.
Hood of the cloak over his shaved head, Dermot went to stand next to the lady as another male servant hovered over Carr.
There were a few servants standing around them, so Dermot simply blended in with the group.
Andromeda was completely oblivious to his presence, and with great stealth, he pulled out the dagger he’d brought with him.
She was discussing the need to remove the bolts from Carr’s chest and his mail, and it was decided, by necessity, that the bolts needed to go first. Andromeda asked for assistance with it, but when Dermot didn’t respond to her request, she turned to look at him in puzzlement, and he put the dagger against her left armpit.
“Scream out and I shall push this blade into your body,” he said in a low, steady voice. “Do you understand me?”
Andromeda’s eyes widened. “Der—”
He jabbed her with the dagger, and she yelped softly. “I told you not to speak,” he growled. Grabbing her by the left arm, he pulled her to her feet. “Stand up, my lady. Be a good lass.”
Andromeda was stiff in his arms. “What are you doing?” she said. “You cannot take me anywhere there are not a dozen soldiers. You cannot even get into the keep.”
Dermot snorted softly. “I can go anywhere I wish,” he said. “You are my key.”
He was trying to pull her away, but she was reluctant to go. “Look around,” she whispered loudly. “These men are injured and I must help them. I cannot go anywhere with you.”
“You’ll go or I’ll cut you to pieces.”
He meant every word of it.
*
Dermot didn’t look like the man she’d known.
Truthfully, the only way Andromeda knew it was Dermot was because of his eyes—he had very distinctive eyes that were green with a brown ring, so that was how she identified him.
He looked filthy and desperate, and she knew he’d been hiding for almost two weeks, so his mental, and physical, state couldn’t be very solid.
She could see madness in the depths of those bloodshot eyes.
But he was carrying a weapon, something that put him at an advantage, but only for a moment.
Andromeda knew she couldn’t go anywhere with him because she most likely would never make it out alive, so her sense of survival kicked in as she faced the edgy knight.
She was surrounded by wounded men and servants who would cower in a fight, but over at the other side of the hall, Dolan and his men were helping feed some of the wounded.
That meant she had to fight Dermot long enough for Dolan to come to her aid.
She had to get away from that knife.
She had to survive.
Rapidly, she assessed her surroundings. The male servant was still next to her father, who was more than likely unconscious at this point.
She couldn’t be sure. There was a small but sturdy bowl of watered wine at her feet, but that was about all.
Nothing much to defend herself with except what she had on her body, which was clothing.
But she had her hands.
And feet.
… and knees.
Dermot had her by the arm with the dagger pointed at her left breast at this point. She put her hands up in surrender.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “I’ll go. But may I at least help my father?”
Dermot didn’t like that answer. He looked to Carr as Andromeda moved so she was essentially facing Dermot. He still had the dagger pointed at her, but because she had moved, the dagger was now pointed at her arm. Her question had given Dermot enough pause that she could get into position.
She’d had to do this very same thing once or twice when she was working at the tavern in Ruabon.
No fear.
Without another word, Andromeda brought her right knee up, straight into Dermot’s crotch.
It was hard and swift, and he dropped the dagger and doubled over as Andromeda jumped back, grabbed the wooden bowl of watered wine, and smashed it over his head.
Dermot started to go down as she tried to bolt out of the way, but he took hold of her skirt, and she ended up slipping on the watered wine that had splashed all over the floor.
Andromeda started screaming as both she and Dermot went down in a heap.
The man assisting her with Carr leapt to his feet and rushed to help, but Dermot saw him coming.
The dagger hadn’t fallen far—in fact, it had fallen under Andromeda’s skirt, and he saw it, grabbed it, and stabbed the servant in the thigh with it.
As the man yelped and toppled over, nearly falling onto Carr, the commotion roused Dolan and his comrades across the hall.
They came running.
Meanwhile, Dermot had the dagger. He slashed at Andromeda’s leg, stabbing at her, and managed to catch her in the ankle.
She screamed and kicked him, as hard as she could, in the head, which stunned him enough to release his grip on her.
But the floor was wet, and she was trying to get up, slipping, trying to get away from him, as Dermot launched himself at her.
He landed on her legs and her back, and Andromeda went forehead-first into the stone floor.
She went out in an instant.
Now with an unconscious lady underneath him, Dermot lifted the dagger again, but Dolan and his men were on him.
Dermot was a trained knight and knew how to fight in hand-to-hand combat, but he couldn’t do that and keep his prize of the lady.
He tried to grab her, to put the dagger against her throat so the others would back off, but Dolan grabbed his wrist, and Dermot ended up dragging the blade across her neck.
As Andromeda fell back to the floor, bleeding streams of bright red blood from the gash on her neck, Dolan and his scouts struggled to restrain Dermot.
But Dermot was in a panic.
He punched and kicked and fought, trying to shake four men who were restraining him.
Someone went running for Tristan as Flora, who had been watching the fight with horror, rushed over to Andromeda on the floor.
Seeing the bloody neck, she began calling for bandages. Servants were scrambling to find some.
“Here.” A raspy voice came from behind Flora. A hand was holding out boiled bandages. “Use these. She left them beside me.”
Flora looked up to see Carr beside her. The man was ghostly pale, still with two big bolts sticking out of him, and there was blood around his mouth. Shocked, she took the bandages from his outstretched hand.
“My lord, you should not be up,” Flora said. “Please lie down!”
Carr didn’t listen. He couldn’t move very well, but he also couldn’t lie there while Andromeda bled.
He’d heard the fight, too dazed to do anything about it, and it had taken an extreme effort to sit up and gather the bandages that Andromeda had left beside him.
He’d never done much for her in her entire life, but he figured that he could do this.
He could help her when she truly needed it.
When he’d fallen from the wall, he’d landed on his right side.
He knew he had broken ribs and a broken arm, and probably greater damage than that because he felt so weak, but his left arm still worked.
He helped Flora roll Andromeda onto her back, carefully, to assess the damage on her neck.
Dermot had sliced her fairly good, so he had Flora put the bandage over the wound and apply gentle pressure.
Anything more and it might choke her, so Flora was very careful.
Blood still ran down Andromeda’s neck and into her hair, but Carr didn’t think anything vital had been severed.
If it had been, she would have been dead by now.
On the other hand, he was feeling quite terrible himself.
Perhaps getting up from his sickbed hadn’t been the smartest thing to do, but he didn’t regret it.
It was becoming more difficult to breathe now, and his entire right side was screaming in pain.
With Flora tending Andromeda, Carr attempted to make it back to his pallet but ended up collapsing on the floor just short of it.
As he lay there on his side, he could see Dermot several feet away being restrained by Dolan and his men.
But the dagger Dermot had used on Andromeda was lying between them.
Slowly, Carr crawled toward it. Someone was begging him to lie back down so his wounds could be tended, but he wasn’t listening.
He was crawling to that dagger as the servant who had been stabbed in the thigh stood beside him, begging him to go back to his bed.
Carr ignored the man, crawling far enough that he was able to collect the dagger.
Then he pushed himself to his knees. He covered the rest of the distance between himself and Dermot in a kneeling position, as if he was doing penitence.
For what he was about to do, he’d be begging forgiveness from God for the rest of his life.
But this had to end now.
Dermot didn’t see him. He was on his back as Dolan and his men practically sat on him to control him.
Carr rose up beside Dermot’s supine body, dagger raised, and Dermot finally caught a glimpse of it as it was lifted right above his chest. He hardly had time to scream before Carr was bringing the blade down, straight into his heart.
As quickly as the battle in the hall started, it was over, as Dermot fell dead.
And Carr fell down right beside him.
Also dead.
It was finished.
When Tristan finally rushed into the hall just a minute or two later, he came onto quite a scene.
Dermot was dead on the floor with a dagger in his heart, Carr was lying next to him with two enormous bolts sticking out of him, and Andromeda was about ten feet away, unconscious with a bloody rag over her neck.
Tristan couldn’t help the gasp of horror from his lips when he saw her. Alexander, Addax, and William were behind him, and when Tristan ran to Andromeda with Addax at his side, Alexander looked over the scene with horror.
“What in the hell happened?” he demanded of anyone who could answer.
It was Dolan who stood up from his crouched position over Dermot.
“I am not entirely sure, my lord,” he said.
“We were tending soldiers on the other end of the hall and the lady started screaming. She was fighting Sir Dermot, and by the time we got here, the fighting had rendered her unconscious. Sir Dermot tried to cut her throat, but we were able to prevent him from killing her. But Sir Carr… with his great wounds, he was still concerned for his daughter. He tried to help her before using Sir Dermot’s own dagger to kill him. ”
Alexander’s concerned gaze moved over to Tristan, who was weeping as he and Addax inspected the injury to her neck.
He could see Addax patting Tristan on the shoulder, trying to give him some comfort, telling him that the gash wasn’t too bad.
The lady would live. But the news that Carr had killed Dermot, for his daughter, no less, was shocking, indeed.
Perhaps the man had finally found his honor in the end.
The fact remained, however, that they were still dealing with ladders against the walls.
The Welsh were still trying to get in, even though the body of the Irishman had slowed them somewhat.
The news of the horrific torture injuries must have spread, because the Welsh had cleared away from the gatehouse entirely.
But they were still at the wall, and they were still a threat.
And that gave Alexander an idea.
He looked over at Tristan and Addax, knowing that Tristan would be occupied while he tended his wife.
He didn’t blame him in the least. But Alexander was the veteran of countless battles and sieges, and he knew how to end this one fairly quickly.
But he needed the help of two dead Irishmen.
He didn’t think Carr would mind if it spared his daughter’s life, and Dermot…
well, Alexander didn’t care what he thought.
It was of little consequence now.
“De Wolfe,” he said to William. “Take Carr and Dermot outside. And get that knife out of Dermot’s chest. I will have need of it.”
William looked at him curiously. “What are you going to do?”
Alexander looked at the young knight. “We’ve been given a gift,” he said. “Carr and Dermot have sacrificed themselves so the rest of us may live, and we will honor them. This is what military tactics are all about, my son. Carr and Dermot are going to end this siege.”
William still had no idea what Alexander was talking about, but he soon found out.
About a half-hour later, one body, carved in the Blodorn fashion, was tossed over the wall, specifically on top of the Welsh who were still trying to gain a foothold.
The second body, carved in the same fashion, was posted at the damaged section of the drawbridge as a warning to all who would try to breach the gatehouse of Wrexham.
It made the entire castle look like a house of horrors.
To many of the Welsh, it was too much of a bad omen.
It was indicative of what waited inside for them.
Not strangely, they were gone by morning. When word got around as to what the men inside of Wrexham were doing to the bodies of their enemies, the Aingil Lochlainn discovered that all three of those gruesome bodies had been Irish. It was enough to send them back to Ireland, never to return again.
In death, Carr did what he could never do in life—he saved Andromeda.
And that was how he would be remembered.