Page 59 of The Sword and the Damsel

A middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard and receding hairline raised a hand.

“Yes, sir,” Victor said, nodding at him. “Tell me your name and your question.”

“Brother Eustace, sir. Can you tell us what your wife looks like?

We want to make sure we’ve got the right woman if we come across her.”

Victor took a deep breath and pushed away the heated memories of the last time he saw her. “She’s this tall,” he said, raising his hand to the level of his chin, “with thick, lustrous chestnut hair, sparkling brown eyes flecked with gold, long lashes, and an impish face.” He stopped himself before rhapsodizing about her luscious lips, her full breasts, or her round, delicious bottom. From the amused looks on some of the men’s faces, he could see he’d already gotten somewhat carried away. “She’s beautiful and spirited, and we have to rescue her before my cousin harms her any further. Any other questions?”

A man with flaming red hair and a nose the shape of a potato spoke up. “My name’s Hugh, my lord. Can you tell us what your cousin looks like and what you would like us to do if we find him?”

Victor clenched his hands as he said, “If you see him, kill him. I can assure you he will not hesitate to kill you. As for what he looks like, picture me but with a pretty face and curly hair. Before I got this,” he said, gesturing to his face, “people used to think we were brothers.” Before he gave me this, he thought with renewed fury. “I injured his left arm in a sword fight last night, but that is unlikely to slow him down. If you find yourself fighting him, I recommend you call for help. He is deadly one on one. Any further questions?” He looked around. “No? Let’s go.”

They mounted and set out for Hastings. A brief exploration of the place where Robert left the road yielded nothing. Rain had obliterated his tracks. No matter. Robert could slink off to nurse his wounds for the moment. Victor would have his revenge before this was over. All that mattered now was Alais.

The group made good time in spite of the morning drizzle. By late morning, they were at the gates of Hastings. A guard stopped them as they made to enter.

“Halt! Explain your business in Hastings,” the man said, eyeing the armed contingent warily.

Dismounting, Victor got a good look at the guard and smiled. “Philip, my good man, how are the wife and children?”

A grin spread across the guard’s face. “Victor, it’s good to see you! I thought we’d seen the last of you. It’s been months.”

They clasped hands and thumped each other on the back. “I can’t seem to stay away.”

“How are they treating you in Winchelsea?”

“Quite well, thank you. Listen, Philip, I am on a mission of some urgency with the Templars. It has to do with my cousin. You have my word no harm will come to the good citizens of Hastings. This is strictly a family matter. Can you let us pass?”

“For you, anything,” Philip said, waiving the Templars through.

“Thank you, my friend. Give my best to Mathilda and the boys.”

Philip was a good man. Once Victor had Alais back and had dispensed with Robert, Victor resolved to come back for a proper visit.

Mounting again, he led the Templars through the winding streets until he stopped in front of the stone edifice that belonged to his cousin.

Nodding to the men following him, he watched as they drew their swords and arrayed themselves behind him. He banged on the door.

Moments later, a man as hefty and oily as a ham hock opened the door, blinking. Victor couldn’t help but notice the goose egg bruise on the right side of his head. The man made a motion todraw his sword, but Victor was too quick. His blade was at the man’s throat. “Bring me my wife, and I’ll let you live.”

The man laughed. “Sir Robert knew you’d come.”

Only the slightest noise alerted him to danger from above as boiling oil came pouring down, inches from where he stood. Slicing as he stepped forward, into the protection of the doorway, he ended the man in front of him.

The Templars stepped back as yet another cauldron of boiling oil rained down from above. So it was him alone against Robert’s thugs, at least until he put a stop to those cauldrons of boiling oil. That was fine. He almost preferred it that way.

Three swordsmen came running toward him. Bloodlust roared through him as he blocked two and kicked the third one in the chest hard enough to throw him against the wall. Only three? Victor expected more. He stepped around his attackers so that he was behind them, hamstringing the first and piercing the second in the sword arm, making him drop his sword, which Victor kicked to the far corner of the room.

The man he’d kicked came lunging back, and Victor parried, then returned the attack with such a vengeance that the man lost his nerve and started flailing wildly. Victor drove him back into the arms of a suit of armor displayed in the vaulted entry hall. The idiot lost his balance and fell on the floor, with the suit of armor on top of him. Victor would have laughed if he wasn’t so furious.

With all three attackers disabled for the moment, Victor ran for the stairs. Time to take out the person with the boiling oil so that the Templars could come in and finish things off.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced up to the third story and quickly found the room he sought. A stout serving woman stood at the window, poised to dump another cauldron.Christ on the cross.He couldn’t stab a woman in the back.

Hearing him, she turned around and hurled the cauldron at him. He dodged and turned just in time to see her draw a throwing knife from a sheath on her calf. Before he had time to react, she threw, and the blade bit into his left shoulder. She tried to make a run for the door, but he caught her. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he wrapped his good arm around her throat and squeezed. She wriggled and writhed trying to escape, but Victor was far stronger. He held her firmly until she passed out, and he let her drop to the floor. He could hear the Templars downstairs and knew he had won.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase, and Victor stiffened, blade in hand. Brother Hugh’s flaming red hair appeared, and Victor relaxed his stance.

---