Chapter 7
seven
William stood in the shadows of the trees and looked at the keep before him.
He realized with wry amusement that he’d stood in the same place the day before, staring in much the same way, but with far different thoughts.
He’d wanted his keep, to be certain, but he’d been driven to action by thoughts of the manly comforts of a warm fire, a wellmanned garrison, and lists for his pleasure.
Odd how the passage of a single day could change a heart so.
He still wanted his keep, of course, and lists for himself and his garrison, but added to that was the thought of hearth and home for a wife and children—one wife in particular, that is.
He eased back into the forest and made his way silently around the perimeter of the castle, making a mental note to clear more trees when the keep was finally his.
’Twas far too easy for an enemy to hide himself in such substantial growth, even if William found himself obliged a time or two to crawl on his belly to take advantage of the cover of smaller bushes and things.
He crept around to the back of the keep and waited for a goodly while to make certain there was no stray guard haunting the walls.
He saw no movement, but that didn’t satisfy him.
He had a very good reason to keep himself alive, and he suspected that reason would be passing angry with him if he left her stranded with Peter and the priest. He tightened the strap that bound his sword to his back and felt himself begin to smile in spite of the seriousness of his situation.
By the saints, the woman was fascinating.
Not only was she looking more beautiful to him by the heartbeat, but she could read.
Perhaps she had learned that in the Future as well.
By the saints, he could scarce fathom such a thing as a body traveling from another time. But he could fathom her in his bed, next to him at supper and bearing him a dozen children with riotous hair and eyes so blue they would hurt a man to look in them.
And if he could hope for the latter, perhaps he could believe the former.
All of which left him where he was at present—preparing to scale his own walls and rid his keep of his unwelcome and certainly uninvited guests so he could proceed with the rest of his life.
He sighed deeply and steeled himself for what was to come.
It would have been easier with a ladder, or a rope for that matter, but those things came with the price of possible discovery, which he was unwilling to pay.
He would have to find what finger- and toeholds he could, and pray his eyes had told him true that such things actually existed on the scarred outer walls.
He had exceptionally strong hands, which was a boon, and his boots were worn clear through to the toes, which was also a boon at present.
And he’d scaled less inviting walls than this with no more than his own poor form as his only aid.
So, taking advantage of the last bit of darkness before dawn, he slipped from shadow to shadow and approached the wall.
It was easier than he’d dared hope, which left him cursing silently at the sorry state of his keep’s outer defenses. He would have to see to them at his earliest opportunity. Until he had sufficient men to guard those walls, they would need to be an unassailable shield.
He slithered over the wall and dropped into a crouch on the parapet.
His heart raced at the sight of a guardsman he’d narrowly avoided knocking off.
The man turned and died before he had the chance to shout a warning.
William did not slay him gladly, for he very much suspected that if the men had a choice between him and his sire, they would choose him.
But he couldn’t allow himself to be discovered, not when the first difficulty had been overcome so quickly.
He pushed the body close to the wall, that it might not be noticed right off, then inspected the inner bailey.
From what he could see, his uncle hadn’t done justice to the sorry condition of things.
The buildings were falling down and the courtyard was covered with piles of what he was sure would eventually reveal themselves to be refuse and waste.
He shuddered to think what the inside of the keep would look like.
But ’twas his, this pile of stones, and he would have it—gladly.
He looked up at the sky and was surprised to find that night was waning.
Obviously he’d spent more time pondering than he should have.
Well, there was naught to be done about it but proceed as quickly as he dared before dawn.
Given what he’d observed over the past few days, there weren’t all that many souls to be rising and working, but a rooster crowed whether its master willed it or not.
’Twas best he was about his business whilst he still had some cover of darkness to aid him.
He clouted another man into insensibility as he made his way along the walls toward the steps that slid down into the courtyard, but he saw no other man and heard no shout of warning.
There was something rather unsettling about that, on the whole.
He looked for a way into the keep, but saw none but the hall door.
It left him with little choice but to enter thereby.
He took a final look about the bailey, saw no movement coming even from the poor huts scattered here and there, then began his assault.
He hugged the side of the hall and made his way carefully.
No one stopped him.
The hall doors were open, and he walked inside as if he had every right to. The smell alone almost knocked him flat. Once his eyes had ceased to burn from the smokey interior and a few of his wits had returned to him, he noticed something else odd.
There were no men sleeping on the floor.
If he hadn’t been unnerved before, he was now.
He knew he had no choice but to search the keep and there was no better place to start than the kitchen.
He made his way there carefully. The stench of that place was worse, if possible, than the rest of the hall.
There was only a pair of scrawny lads there, sleeping on the floor, apparently quite overcome with weariness. William retreated silently.
He made his way back into the great hall, found a stairwell and climbed it to the upper floor of the keep.
He crept down the passageway and peered into a large solar and a small chamber.
Both were devoid of all but the most rude and rough bits of furniture.
Aside from a single, drunken knight sprawled in a passageway, William found no other bodies.
And then a most unsettling thought occurred to him.
Had he been anticipated?
And then an even more unsettling thought occurred to him.
What if his father was now encircling the chapel with his men?
William thumped back down the stairs, ran through the empty great hall, threw open the doors and crossed the empty courtyard.
He was not stopped, saw no soul, and that only added to his fear.
By the saints, if he had left Julianna behind in danger when he’d thought the danger was in front of him. . . .
It was only when he reached the gates that he found himself skidding to a halt.
He gaped at the sight in front of him and realized just how seriously he’d miscalculated his father’s deviousness.
He was, quite frankly, amazed that the man had stopped downing his ale long enough to conceive a plan this foul.
William felt the point of his sword falling downward until it was stopped by the dirt at his feet.
Ah, by the saints, he hadn’t planned for this.
“Look you what I found outside my walls,” Hubert drawled. “Three little ruffians bent on mayhem.”
William looked at Julianna as she stood next to his father with her glorious hair caught firmly in the bastard’s hand. She looked at him, then closed her eyes and winced as Hubert tightened his fist.
Peter and the priest were being held by others of his sire’s guard. Even his horses had become prisoners.
“We came to help ye, my lord,” Peter squeaked, then he was cuffed into silence.
“He needs all of that he can have,” Hubert sneered. “Why Artane thought you could hold this land is beyond me.”
William looked at his father and could scarce believe he’d been sired by the fool.
William put his shoulders back. His character had been shaped by his grandsire and his uncles and they were the finest of men.
Their blood also ran through his veins. Not for the first time, he was very glad his father had departed Artane after William’s birth and left him behind in his grandsire’s care.
Hubert gestured negligently to one of his men. “Kill him,” he said.
William watched a crossbow be lifted, and he cursed. He’d known it. Hadn’t he known it? The one thing he could not possibly defend against and that was what he faced. He wondered fleetingly if he could possibly dodge the bolt.
What would become of Julianna otherwise?
The man took aim.
A movement startled William. He looked to Julianna to find that she had elbowed his father full in the nose. The man released her with a howl and clutched his face. Then Julianna prodded the bowman with something held in her hand. He screamed, then fell to the ground, senseless and drooling.
“Stun gun,” she said proudly.
Then Hubert struck her full across the face and sent her sprawling on the ground.
William roared. He cut down five of his father’s men before they knew what he intended.
The remaining five threw down their weapons and backed away.
William would have been pleased with himself, and with the hasty release of his squire and priest, but he turned his attentions back to his sire and caught an unobstructed vision of his lady who was now back on her feet.
With his father’s knife to her throat.
“It would seem,” his father said tightly, “that I have something you want.”
William stabbed his sword into the dirt at his feet and placed both hands on the hilt.