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Josephine saw him first. Startled by the sight, she screamed at the top of her lungs, a cry of absolute terror.

Andrew, jolted by her screaming, turned to see something he could hardly believe.

His brother, in fact, was still alive. Although Andrew was pitifully weak, he drew on an inner strength, a strength he never knew he possessed, and struggled to his feet as fast as his damaged body would allow.

All the while, his mind was screaming to protect Josephine, to get her out of harm’s way. Yet only when he reached his feet did he remember he had left his sword embedded in his brother’s torso. And it was still there.

Alphonse was moving amazingly well for a dead man. There was only time for Andrew to push a screaming Josephine behind him before the earl was upon him, his hands clutching at him with deadly intentions.

Andrew braced himself for the fight, preparing to sacrifice his remaining energy to protect his lady. He prayed to God that he would have the strength to do battle just one more time, so he raised his good arm to ward off the initial blow, but it was a blow that never came.

There was a hollow thump and, suddenly, the hilt of a dirk was protruding from the earl’s throat.

Blood streamed down onto his already soaked tunic and his black eyes opened wide in surprise.

For several moments, Alphonse tottered dangerously before finally toppling over onto the stone, never to rise again.

The Earl of Annan and Blackbank was dead, this time, for good.

Josephine, clutching Andrew about his torso, stared down at the dead earl as her breathing came in ragged gasps.

She could see the dirk protruding from the man’s throat, but she had no idea who had thrown it.

It was too amazing to believe that it had been anything less than divine intervention, but she and Andrew turned in the direction from whence the dirk had come.

Ridge de Reyne stood several feet away, his right hand still slightly extended from where it had been the moment he had released the dirk. When he saw that Andrew and Josephine were looking at him, shock on their faces, he gave them a victorious wink.

“I do believe I have fulfilled my vow to you, my lady,” he said quietly. “But please, do not hesitate to call on me again should the need arise.”

Josephine shook her head in wonder. “And I extend the same offer to you,” she replied softly. “You have more than fulfilled your vow, Ridge. I feel as if, now, I owe you.”

“Friends do not owe each other. There is simple joy in doing. Now, Lord Blackbank,” he addressed Andrew by his new title for the first time, “the time has come that we must tend your wound.”

Andrew gazed down at his left arm and shoulder; the mail was covered with red stain. He blinked, seemingly dazed, as if he was seeing the wound for the first time. Sully and Ridge moved to help him, but he put up his right hand to stop them.

“Nay,” he said. “We are not leaving as of yet.” He began to look around the chapel as if searching for something. “Where is the priest?”

Ridge marched a few steps into the center of the room. “Priest!” he bellowed.

Sully and Donald and Thane fleetingly wondered what in the hell Andrew wanted with the priest. Last rights?

They thought. No one seemed to be sure but, soon enough, the fat little priest with the dirty robes emerged from a small alcove behind the altar.

His eyes darted about nervously, appalled at the destruction of the chapel.

When Andrew saw the man, the same one he’d given the coins to, he grabbed Josephine’s hand and stumbled towards him.

“I am now the Earl of Annan and Blackbank,” he said wearily. “You will marry my lady and me.”

The priest looked uncertain at first, but with a whole host of heavily-armed knights standing about, he nodded in agreement. The whole situation was most confusing, but he would do as he was told. As he headed for the front of the altar, Josephine suddenly turned to Sully.

“The dungeons are in the gatehouse and there is a cell at the bottom of the stairs with a woman in it,” she said quickly. “Bring her here. Hurry, Sully– bring her now!”

She sounded almost panicked and Sully wasn’t willing to question her, not when she had that look in her eye. He took off at a dead run as Josephine turned to Andrew, catching a look of confusion in his eyes. She smiled.

“I did not think you wished to be married without her,” she murmured.

He had no idea what she was talking about. “Without who?”

“When you see her, you will know.”

Andrew was too weak, too injured, to realize what she was meant.

He should have realized it, but he simply couldn’t.

His mind wasn’t working very well at the moment, from fatigue and loss of blood.

As Josephine put her arm around his torso, holding the man tightly, Ridge, Donald, and Thane gathered around the couple.

Although Josephine wanted to wait for Sully to return, Andrew was weaving dangerously and she didn’t think he’d be able to wait too much longer, so she asked the priest to go ahead with the mass.

With Alphonse lying dead several feet away, the man made the sign of the cross and began the wedding mass for the second time that day.

The service was in Latin. The last time Josephine had heard Latin was the day her father was buried.

Somehow, she always associated the language with death.

But this was her wedding, an event she had waited a lifetime for.

She listened, trying to understand what the priest was saying as she clung to Andrew’s good arm.

He seemed to be growing weaker by the moment and she was desperately worried for him.

She knew she should have insisted that he have his wound tended to immediately, but she couldn’t seem to manage it.

It was stupid and she knew it, but he seemed so urgent to marry her now, this very second, that she couldn’t delay any longer.

With everything they had been through, she understood urgency. She, too, felt the same urgency.

Halfway through the mass, Andrew’s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor. Thane and Ridge, nearest to him, rushed to his aid but he angrily waved them off.

“Continue!” he boomed to the priest.

The priest, poor man, nervously and quickly finished the mass, ending with the benediction prayer.

He was so glad to be done with this ceremony, with his frayed emotions.

This entire event had been an absolute nightmare, one he was more than happy to forget, and the fact that the five knights who had told him they were friends of the earl turned out to be men with a vendetta against him, well…

that was quite a tale. Not that he had any great love for Alphonse d’Vant; no one did.

Now that the wicked earl was gone, perhaps the village would know joy and prosperity again in an unexpected twist of fate. One could hope, anyway.

With a sigh of relief, he smiled weakly at the newly married couple.

“Lord Blackbank, you may kiss your bride,” he said.

Andrew unsteadily rose to his feet. He would not kiss his new wife on his knees but, God help him, he was so weak he could hardly stand. For the first time that day, his focus was where it should be– completely and utterly on Josephine’s lovely face.

He cupped her face with his good hand, drinking in the features he loved so much and had fought so hard for. She was finally and legally his wife, and he was nearly delirious with joy and fatigue.

Josephine gazed back at him, loving him so much she was sure her heart would burst from the sheer joy of it.

They were husband and wife now, and the name Lady d’Vant was music to her ears.

As his head dipped low, she caught a glimpse of a sly smile on his lips before they closed over her mouth in the sweetest expression of love she had ever experienced.

It was a kiss of unconditional love, of surrender, and of loyalty.

They were all to each other, and would be until the end of time.

Never again would they be apart.

It was dark but for the glow of candles as the newly married couple slowly made their way from the chapel.

The priests were taking charge of Alphonse’s body, which was a good thing considering Andrew didn’t care in the least. The man could remain there to rot for all he cared.

With Thane applying pressure to his wounded shoulder to shore up what bleeding there was, Ridge and Josephine were helping the man walk as Donald brought up the rear.

Just as they were emerging from the church, they could see Sully approaching from the direction of the gatehouse.

He was carrying something in his arms. Since it was growing dark, they couldn’t really see what it was, but Josephine knew.

She left Andrew’s side to rush out to Sully, helping him with the bundle.

Sully set the bundle to its feet and it was suddenly clear that it was a child or a very tiny adult.

Sully had hold of one side of the person as Josephine had the other, and they slowly made their way towards Andrew.

In fact, that was when Andrew began to take notice. The more he watched, the more suspicious he became and, abruptly, he came off the steps of the church and headed for the approaching figure as if nothing was wrong with him in the least. He was moving with surprising strength.

Ridge and Thane and Donald tried to keep up with him, in case he collapsed again, but he didn’t seem to need their support.

But the moment Andrew gazed at the face of the tiny figure between Sully and Josephine, he began to waver.

In fact, he staggered, the suspicion on his face turning into utter astonishment.

The man was in shock.

“Mother?” he whispered. “My God… Mother ?”

Lady Elaine looked up at her tall, mighty son, her ghostly-pale face illuminated in the light torches that were in iron sconces on the steps of the chapel. For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then, a smile spread across her face, lit with the joy of a thousand happy memories.

“You have grown since I last saw you,” she murmured.

Andrew could hardly believe it. He tried to move towards her, to embrace her, but his legs wouldn’t work correctly.

He fell to his knees again and Elaine, who had hardly been able to walk herself, rushed up to him, putting her arms around her boy.

As Josephine stood back with tears in her eyes, Andrew buried his face in his mother’s cold, poorly-dressed torso and wept.

It was more than he could take, more than he had ever hoped for.

Everything he’d dreamed of, the longing he’d felt all of these years, vanished in those few brief seconds when his mother held him in her arms and, for just a few moments, he was a child again.

A child who had terribly missed his mother.

“Mother,” he whispered. “My God… my sweet mother… I did not know if you would still be alive.”

Elaine held him tightly, feeling the warmth and strength of her youngest son in her arms once more. She was shockingly composed as Andrew came apart.

“I could not go without seeing you again,” she said in a tone that all mothers use when comforting a child.

“Somehow, I knew you would still be alive. From the moment you were born, you were a strong and beautiful baby, and I knew you were destined for great things. Your brother tried everything he could to rob you of your life, but you were too strong for him. Your light, your goodness, was too strong for his darkness. You are my angel of righteousness and justice, Andrew. I could never leave this earth without seeing you again.”

Andrew pulled his face from the folds of her dirty garment, gazing at her with such love and delight that there wasn’t a dry eye in anyone witnessing the reunion. It was so very sweet, and so very touching.

“I am so sorry I did not come sooner, Mamma,” he said, his big hand reaching up to touch her face as if to convince himself that she was real.

“I wanted to be able to defeat Alphonse, not simply damage him. I wanted to be able to punish him for what he’d done to you.

Please forgive me for not coming sooner. ”

Elaine cupped his face with her tiny, cold hands. “You came when it was right that you should,” she said, seeing his tremendous guilt. “I am still here. We are together again. There is nothing more to worry over.”

To Andrew, it was as if she’d never left him.

He felt like he did when he was a child, and his mother was always there to encourage and reassure him.

The joy he thought he’d lost when he was separated from her returned full-force, and he stood up and embraced his mother as tightly as he dared. She was alive.

She was here.

He could hardly believe it.

But as he held his mother, he caught sight of Josephine standing a few feet away, wiping the tears from her eyes.

It was such a beautiful reunion and he was so very glad she was a part of it.

In fact, she had instigated it. When he reached out a hand to her, Josephine came to him and he pulled her into their embrace, holding the two women he loved best in this world.

For him, this night had brought his life full circle– married to the woman he loved, and his mother returned to him.

From this point forward, his life was going to be a grand and satisfying thing, indeed.

If one believed in things like karma or fate, the ballad of The Red Fury was a tale of all things great and powerful– a tale of good over evil, of wrongs that were righted, and of love everlasting.

In the years to come, as men would sing great songs of battle, of the mercenary who had killed his wicked brother in order to save the women he loved, there were those who wondered if such tales were really true, for certain, men like The Red Fury became more legend than truth over the centuries.

Myth and fact often became twisted, combined to create stories of valor for men to bring them hope and courage.

Men like The Red Fury embodied hope and courage.

Passing into legend, their legacies would live on.