Page 4 of Always
A murmuring rippled among the men, their faces reflecting their fear. Legends abounded regarding the Saracens, stories brought back from merchant marines who’d encountered the desert warriors and claimed they could sneak up and slash with their curved scimitars, killing their victims faster than a flying arrow.
Not only had Ethelwulf managed to hire the Saracens as mercenaries in his army, but he also had a squad of the vicious big-boned Danes of Viking descent. While I’d brought down a number of the giantlike warriors single-handedly during the course of the fighting, I had not done so easily.
“We must aid the king to safety,” I said to the king’s trusted advisor before returning my attention to the king. “Your Majesty, you must leave the castle immediately.”
The king closed his eyes. “I shall not make it.”
I looked to the king’s advisor, silently pleading for his permission to hasten the king away. The man nodded grimly before motioning to the two guards who stood on either side of the footboard. “Assemble a litter to carry the king.”
The room became a hustle of activity as the men prepared to leave. Of course, we had plans for an emergency evacuation. We’d just never expected we would have need to implement those plans. Nor had we expected to do so when the king was so injured, he could hardly move.
I wasted no time now in grabbing the king’s cloak and bending near to assist the others in lifting him onto a pallet—the same bloodstained board that had been used to transport him away from the battle.
“No!” He raised a hand in protest of my effort to move him.
“Please, Your Majesty,” I said with bowed head. “We have little time to spare.”
“I shall—only—slow the escape.” Each of the king’s words came out tight and stilted.
I couldn’t argue with him. I’d been told the secret tunnel that burrowed far underground was not easy for a healthy man to traverse, much less one so wounded. It went beneath the moat and led to a highly secretive exit no one knew about—except the king and the magnate of his elite army. And now me and my fellow knight, Baldric.
Of course, once we opened the tunnel, the enemy would discover the hidden passageway soon enough, but the hope was that we could get the king, queen, and the remaining civilians and servants out before our enemy learned of our evacuation plans and attempted to follow us.
“You have no need to worry, Your Majesty,” I reassured. “I’ll get you to safety and will carry you myself if need be.”
The king sucked in a breath and grasped his injured side. I tried to wait patiently for his pain to subside, but with every passing second, we lost precious time. Perhaps I would have to scoop him up and run, heedless of his protests and the pain it cost him.
“The queen,” he stammered through a shuddering breath.
“Another elite guard has gone to aid her escape—”
The chamber door banged open, cutting off my words. Every muscle in my body tensed with alertness, and I spun as I unsheathed both my sword and dagger, ready to impale the newcomer if necessary.
At the sight of Baldric’s familiar towering frame, I lowered my weapons. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be helping the queen.
He tossed back his chain mail hood, revealing the triple strands of warrior braids on his scalp that converged at the back of his neck and were tied together with a leather strip. The style was identical to mine and to all the men who served in the king’s guard, except my hair hadn’t darkened with age but had remained a light golden wheat.
Baldric’s face was red with perspiration and stricken with grief. “The queen is dead,” he gasped. “From childbirth.”
At the sickening news, my stomach clenched. The king stilled, and the room grew silent enough that the shouts and cries of battle in the bailey rose up as an urgent reminder. We had to leave. Now. No matter how awful the queen’s death was, my mission was to save the king. And I had to do it at any cost.
I slipped my hands underneath the king to transfer him to the waiting litter, but he resisted by grabbing my arm.
“The newborn babe?” he asked Baldric in an eerily calm voice.
“Twin daughters,” my comrade replied with a furtive glance over his shoulder. Were the Saracens even now invading the residence? If so, we had even less time than I thought to make our escape.
The king fumbled deep within his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch that was attached tightly to a girdle underneath his garments. Only when he removed his hand from my arm did I realize he’d left a handprint on my sleeve—a handprint of blood. His own. My sights dropped to the bandage below his rib cage and the ever-widening spot of blood, then to his blood-slickened fingers unable to loosen the pouch.
I touched the bag. “May I, Your Majesty?” I asked as gently as I could, wishing I had time for words of comfort. But I’d been trained to think and act rapidly, and that required cutting myself off from emotions that might cloud my judgment or slow me down.
“The knot is tight,” he said as he let me have access to the leather straps, “as I have never been without this bag since the day I became king.”
With a flick of my knife, I slashed the pouch open, allowing the king to reach inside and remove a bundle wrapped in black velvet and tied with several pieces of twine.
My skin prickled with the feeling the enemy was drawing near, an instinct I’d learned not to ignore. We didn’t have time for the king to untie this bundle too.
As though sensing my urgency, the king pressed the item into my hand. “Guard this with your life. It is for my daughters and will help them one day to reclaim the throne.” He gave a sharp gasp and reached for his side. His gaze met mine before I could look away. His eyes were filled with immeasurable sadness and loss. But a spark of determination burned in the depths. “Save them, Lance.”
