Page 90 of Her Dark Seduction
Chapter 26
De Tourrard burst through the door in full battle armor, his handsome face grim, and his body reeking of oil, smoke, and tar. I tipped my head back to drink but he snatched the goblet from my hands.
“You should be serving me, wench, rather than partaking of the wine in my absence.”
“No…” I protested, but he drained the goblet then held it out to me.
“Refill it.”
With trembling hands, I poured more wine into the goblet.
“That bastard whoreson Henry will not yield,” he cursed. I said nothing and watched him drink again.
He sat, motioning to me to serve him. I cut pieces of dried meat and cheese and jumped as he closed his hand around my wrist. He caressed my hand with his thumb before he spoke, his soft voice almost disguising the soullessness within him.
“I hear you killed my child.”
His grip tightened and his thumbnail scored my flesh.
“Wulfric…”
“You will give me another.”
He gripped the back of my neck with his free hand and forced his mouth over mine. He was stronger than I but my hatred of him was too powerful. I struggled and broke free. The tray crashed to the floor. De Tourrard clutched the table with one hand and his throat with the other, his face purple with rage. His eyes bulged red, and he mouthed curses, sending spittle and pieces of meat and bread flying from his mouth.
“You—witch! What have you done?”
He lurched forward, tipped the table over, and fell onto it with a splintering crash. I jumped back to avoid his flailing hands. He tried to grasp the hem of my gown, but I stood still, knowing he would never reach me again. He crawled on his belly toward me, his body jerking and spasming in a macabre dance.
An airless scream hissed out of his lips, and his face contorted as the poison overcame him. His head lolled back and he drew one last, rattling breath before he slumped forward and lay static except for his hands and feet which twitched slightly.
I touched one of his hands with my toe. His fingers flexed and curled into a claw.
“I have only done to you that which I would do to myself,” I said quietly. But I did not expect a response. De Tourrard was dead.
Lady, adulteress, peasant, whore. Now I was also a murderess.
I left the solar, closing the door for the last time before making my way to Maman’s room. I heard footsteps and Elspeth intercepted me.
“They’ve broken through the bailey, my lady. Come and look!”
I followed her outside to the ramparts and a scream caught in my throat. The walls had crumbled and men were fighting in the bailey; the sounds of steel on steel echoed around the courtyard. Beyond the bailey the village of Shoreton burned. Plumes of smoke billowed up from every cottage. De Tourrard had turned the villagers out from the safety of Shoreton’s walls, and the king’s men had burned their homes. I did not know which man I loathed the most.
The smoke swirled around three huge wooden devices which stood like giant sentinels among the burning buildings: trebuchets—enormous siege engines—machines that could break down a castle’s defenses. The walls never stood a chance. Men worked tirelessly on the machines, and a sharp cry rang out before the trebuchet’s arm swung up in a fluid movement and let loose its burden.
“Lady!” I ignored Elspeth’s scream. Rooted to the spot I watched, transfixed, as the stone hurtled through the air. It soared in a smooth arc toward me until it dipped down in its trajectory to strike the center of the wall. The ground shuddered under my feet, followed by the screams of men killed or injured by falling masonry.
The fighting in the courtyard continued, and I recognized one figure. Though clad in armor and wearing a helmet, Papa wore a tabard bearing the Shoreton coat of arms which also flashed in the sunlight on his shield as he wielded it in defense against the man he fought.
His opponent was taller, leaner, and the better fighter. But a man with nothing left to lose fights as if the devil’s hounds snap at his heels. Papa parried a blow and struck a glancing blow on the other man’s arm. I let out a cry and Papa’s opponent lifted his head toward me.
Papa swung his sword at the man’s legs, just missing his target. The two men continued to fight, as if engaged in a dance, each attack met by a counterattack. But it was clear who the victor would be. Papa slashed wildly at his opponent, his mind focused on attack and ignoring his defenses. He lifted his shield arm too high, exposing his body. His opponent saw the mistake and drove his sword forward, burying it into Papa’s chest. Papa dropped his sword, crumpled to his knees, and fell back.
The other man was clearly injured. He dropped his shield arm to his side where it hung awkwardly, and he staggered forward. He looked back toward the village before turning to face the castle wall. Lifting his head he raised his sword in salute. I shuddered, sensing his eyes upon me. Would I be his next victim? Elspeth tugged at my sleeve but I ignored her.
His voice rang out among the sounds of screaming and fighting.
“Get thee back!”
