Page 28 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Hell’s Forge

I t was morning.

Elysande awoke on her stomach, on a bed that was horribly uncomfortable, in a chamber she didn’t recognize. It was cold because the fire had gradually reduced during the night until all that was left was embers.

Just embers.

Just like her life.

She felt like her entire life was reduced to this moment, smoldering embers that would soon be black and cold. There were three lancet windows in the chamber, none of them with any covering, so the icy chill of morning mixed with the smell of smoke from the morning fires was blowing in through the opening.

Cold was everywhere, body and soul.

Slowly, she lifted her head, wiping the drool off her chin. She squinted in the morning light, pushing herself up into a sitting position and wincing when she moved her right arm and it greatly pained her. She thought she might have broken it in the fight with Fitz Walter, although she could still move her fingers. Everything seemed to be moving well enough even if it did hurt.

But she was here now.

And here she would stay.

Yawning, she stood up and tried to peer from the window. It was a little too high, so she pulled her bed over and stood on it. She had a view of that enormous gatehouse from here and the fields and trees to the south. Trees that had covered Westley’s escape, thank God. Never once had she doubted that her actions had been right and true. Westley was safe and that was all that mattered to her.

Now, she had to face the consequences of what she’d done.

Yesterday had been a battle. After Samson grabbed her, she’d fought fiercely enough that he brought in reinforcements, and by her count, at least ten soldiers came to his aid. She kicked and punched and even bit until Samson dumped her in a chamber that looked like a solar, with books and a table and clutter. There was even a raven on a perch, screaming at her. Samson locked her in that chamber for a couple of hours, and when he returned, it was with the news that Westley had evaded recapture.

When he told her that, she wept.

After that, the situation seemed to calm. Westley was on his way back to Massington and, as she’d promised, Elysande became Samson’s prisoner. Truth be told, he didn’t seem too sure about it. He had what he wanted—he had her—but he couldn’t marry her legally as long as Westley was alive, and given how the exchange of prisoners went and the chaos that ensued, he wasn’t entirely sure how Westley was going to respond. If he didn’t want a wife, as he’d said he didn’t, and she didn’t want a husband, there was no telling what Westley would do.

A strange situation grew stranger.

But what wasn’t strange was the fact that Elysande wasn’t content to simply be a prisoner. It wasn’t natural for her to be submissive, in any situation. Certainly, she’d exchanged herself for her husband, but Westley was free and she didn’t want to stay at Hell’s Forge. She considered Samson Fitz Walter a man without honor, so for certain, she didn’t see a need to keep her word, or any part of her bargain, with him.

Now, all she could think about was escape.

She wasn’t exactly sure how Westley got out, but if he managed to do it, then she could do it, too. Perhaps there was a gap in the wall or a friendly soldier to bribe. Whatever it was, and however he did it, she was going to do it, too.

She wanted to get home to her husband.

Her sword had been dropped in the chaos of her capture, so she didn’t have a weapon. She’d been moved out of the solar last night sometime and placed in the chamber she was currently in, which had a bed, a small table and a chair, a taper, and a hearth. There was nothing else. Nothing to really make a weapon out of unless she used the chair or the table leg, and she didn’t rule it out, but once she’d used it and escaped the chamber, she had nowhere to run.

No, that wouldn’t work.

But perhaps chaos would.

It had before.

The chaos at the gatehouse yesterday had worked in Samson’s favor. It had also worked in Westley’s. The chaos of her diversion allowed Westley to escape and Samson to capture her. She began to think seriously on the chaos that had allowed everything to happen as it had and wondered if she could create that chaos again, this time to give her the same opportunity to escape.

Perhaps it could work for her.

But just how to create chaos eluded her. And how to get out of the castle once the chaos started was another problem. She was standing on the bed, watching the bailey below and pondering her next move, when she heard the bolt on the exterior of the door being thrown. Startled, she jumped off the bed and quickly moved it back to where it was, sitting down just as the door lurched open.

Samson was standing in the doorway.

“Ah,” he said, a feigned smile plastered on his lips. “You are awake. Good morn to you, my lady.”

Elysande’s first instinct was to snap at him. She wanted to slap the grimace off his face, but she took a moment to calm herself. Fighting the man would get her nowhere. It wouldn’t create a diversion or chaos or anything else she wanted in her quest to escape, so perhaps she needed to do what she most definitely didn’t want to do.

Be polite to him.

Lull him into a false sense of trust that she would be compliant.

“And to you, my lord,” she said, sounding like she didn’t mean it. “It seems like a cold day outside.”

Samson stepped into the chamber followed by Alend and a servant bearing a bucket of kindling for the smoldering hearth.

“I would not know,” Samson said. “I’ve not been outside. But it is cold in here, so I’ve brought you a fire this morning.”

“It is appreciated.”

“I’ve also brought you something else to wear.”

That caught her attention, and she looked at him oddly. “What is it?”

He looked to Alend, who held up a shockingly beautiful garment of yellow silk with elaborate embroidery around the neckline and down the sleeves.

“That,” Samson said simply. “I do not know if you are aware, but when I was trying to talk your father into a betrothal, I came to Massington bearing gifts for you. This is one of the gifts that your father turned away.”

The dress was truly stunning. Elysande nodded her approval. “It is lovely,” she said. “I do not own any such clothing.”

“Pity,” Samson said. “You should. I would have provided you with much. A woman with your beauty should be dressed in the finest.”

“I thought I was only worth the inheritance I bring.”

He looked at her, perhaps with a hint of disdain, as he heard his words in her comment. “True,” he said. “But that does not mean you cannot present a lovely picture. No man wants to look upon a wife who dresses like a servant.”

Elysande looked down at herself and her rugged clothing. “I did not exactly dress for a party when I came here,” she said.

“I realize that,” Samson said. “But I do not want to be offended looking at you, so you will put on this garment and then Alend will escort you to the hall, where we will enjoy a morning meal.”

With that, he turned and left the chamber, taking the servant with him and leaving Alend behind. He’d given her an order and she knew it. As her focus lingered on the door, she caught sight of movement in her periphery.

Alend laid the gown on the bed.

“How are you feeling since yesterday, my lady?” he asked. “Were you injured in your capture?”

She looked at him, a man who bore a faint resemblance to Olan. They were both fair, with round heads. The sight of the man dredged up all of the horrible events from the past few days and she shook her head in disgust.

“You are Olan’s cousin,” she said.

He nodded. “I am Alend, my lady.”

“I know,” she said, looking at him with contempt. “It was your cousin who caused all of this. When I see him next, I will kill him.”

Alend lifted his eyebrows in agreement. “I think your husband will already see to that when he returns to Massington.”

Elysande didn’t have much to say to that. She saw that the kindling was still sitting next to the hearth. The servant had simply brought it and left, so she got up and went to the hearth, stirring up the embers so she could restart the fire.

Alend watched her carefully.

“My lady,” he said, his voice low, “I tried to stop this.”

Elysande laid the kindling on the embers, blowing on them gently so a flame would catch. “Stop what?”

“You. Here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I tried to convince you to run back to the trees,” he said quietly. “Do you not recall that?”

She sighed heavily. “Just get out,” she said. “I do not want to see you.”

“Did you stop to think how Westley escaped an impenetrable castle?”

That brought her pause. Slowly, she turned away from the fire and looked at him. “ What are you talking about?” she asked again. “Be plain about it.”

Alend’s expression was serious. “I will tell you what I told your husband,” he muttered. “If you tell Samson, I will deny it and he will believe me, so think not to betray me in retaliation for what my cousin did. I had no part in that. But your husband promised me that if I helped him escape, he would find a position for me with his father. I will hold him to that promise, more so now that I will help you escape, also. Do you understand me?”

It was as if a revelation had been revealed. Elysande had been wondering how Westley ended up outside of the walls of Hell’s Forge, and now she knew. She’d been thinking about a friendly soldier who took a bribe, but as it turned out, it was evidently a knight who wanted to make a bargain.

She looked at him with new eyes.

“ You helped him?” she said, incredulous. “And… now that I think of it, you did tell me to run for the trees.”

“That is because I knew he was there,” Alend said. “I was trying to help you.”

A great many things were becoming clear and Elysande had to sit down and absorb them all. It was a most unexpected conversation, but one that made a good deal of sense. Still, she was wary. Olan, a man she’d known for years, had betrayed her trust. She wasn’t too keen on trusting his cousin.

Even if he was possibly her only hope.

“Your cousin and I were friends for years,” she said. “In the end, he tried to ruin my happiness. I am not in any hurry to trust his cousin, a man I do not know at all.”

Alend nodded. “I know,” he said. “And I do not blame you. But as I told your husband, I am a lesser knight serving a lesser house. I live in fear that every day will be my last, and I am tired of living that way. If you know anything about Fitz Walter, then you know I speak the truth. The man is brutal and unpredictable. He kills easily and sometimes without reason. It is a very hard way to live and one, quite frankly, without honor. I am a good knight, my lady. I deserve better.”

He sounded logical and reasonable. But, then again, so had Olan. I had no part in what my cousin did, he’d said. Perhaps that was true. And perhaps everything Alend was saying was the truth, but it was very difficult to trust him.

Still… it wasn’t as if she had a lot of choices.

“So you want to serve the House of de Lohr, do you?” she said. “You think that will help you reclaim your honor?”

Alend shrugged. “It will not erase my years of service to Fitz Walter, but it will at least give me a chance to redeem myself.”

“And my husband agreed to this?”

“He did.”

“What about all of that talk of Westley going to France so Samson could marry me?”

Alend conceded the truth. “I did not hear him say so,” he said. “Fitz Walter could be lying to you about that, but I did hear your husband say that he would bring you to Samson’s doorstep and that he never wanted to marry you.”

Elysande tried not to appear hurt by that. “He said so, did he?”

“Aye,” Alend said. “But I am convinced he was trying to throw Samson off the scent of the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That he is glad he married you,” Alend said. “I got the overwhelming sense that he was doing, or saying, anything he could to keep himself alive.”

Elysande thought on that. “I did the same thing,” she muttered. “If you think I did not want to gouge Samson’s eyes out when he walked into this chamber, you would be wrong. Instead, I was polite.”

Alend got the sense that her walls of self-protection were coming down, just a little. “My lady, all I want is to escape this place, as you do,” he said quietly. “I have not had the opportunity until now. Certainly, I could have left at any time in the past, but I had nowhere to go. No position to assume. And there is the matter of my family, who would have been ashamed had I merely walked away. But your husband has assured me that he will find me a place within the sphere of de Lohr, so I have every reason to help you, to prove that I can be trusted. And if you do not take me on a little faith, then I cannot say what your chances of survival are here. Fitz Walter could lock you up in this chamber for the rest of your life and you will die here, old and neglected and alone. I am certain that is not what you want.”

Elysande shook her head. “It is not.”

“Then trust me,” Alend insisted softly. “Trust me and we will both escape this hellish place. If you will indulge me, I have an idea.”

Elysande believed him. Perhaps she shouldn’t, but he was offering her what she wanted. It was better than trying to figure something out on her own. But the sole reason she was willing to trust him was because he’d pointed something out that she’d been wondering herself—how Westley made it outside of the walls of Hell’s Forge. Someone had to help him do that.

That someone was standing in front of her.

God… please let this man be telling the truth!

“Very well,” she finally said. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

He did.

*

He was feeling more satisfied than he thought he would.

Samson had thought he might feel rather empty with only Elysande in his custody and not her husband as well, but he realized it was better this way. It had been a very long time since he’d had the company of a woman, even one who was violently opposed to him, and he intended to make the best of it.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t marry her, at least not now.

He was still going to take advantage of her.

In fact, he was going to do it today. He was going to mark her so that Westley would never want her back. He was going to rub his scent all over her, fill her with his seed, and carve his name into her chest. Elysande was a beautiful woman, so it would not be a difficult task to be aroused by her, but he was certain she wouldn’t cooperate.

That was why God had created rope.

And he planned to tie her down with it.

This morning meal was meant to establish the rules of the lady’s existence at Hell’s Forge. Samson intended to tell her what her duties were, and other than warming his bed, he hadn’t really determined them. Perhaps she would become his chatelaine and manage his kitchens and keep. Right now, Alend did everything, and Samson knew he felt it beneath his station.

Perhaps he’d relieve Alend of those shameful tasks.

Samson had left instructions that the meal this morning should be a good one. He’d asked for beef and eggs and other things he found delicious, and the servants were still bringing dishes out. Eggs were prepared several different ways along with beef that was boiled, or in pies, or mixed with dumplings and gravy. Everything was smelling so good that Samson didn’t wait for his new captive. He was halfway through his meal when she finally appeared with Alend gripping her arm so she wouldn’t run away. As soon as they entered the hall, Samson stood up to greet them.

“Ah,” he said. “My lady, come and sit. I have had this great meal prepared to welcome you to my home. Come, come.”

He was waving them over, noting that Elysande was clad in the yellow silk garment and looking absolutely magnificent. Her hair was gathered at the nape of her neck and secured, giving her an exquisite profile. The appreciation in his eyes was obvious.

“My lady, you are positively resplendent in that gown,” he said. “I have others that I purchased for you, but after your father rejected my suit, I tossed them aside. I will have to find them now and give them to you. Alend, do you know where they are?”

Alend was indicating a place for the lady to sit. “You burned most of them, my lord,” he said. “Do you not recall shoving them into the hearth? This yellow dress was one of the only ones to survive.”

The glee faded from Samson’s face as he recalled that moment. “I suppose I did,” he said. “But there were others that survived. You must find them.”

Alend simply nodded, taking a seat next to Elysande under the guise of being her guard and restraining her should she attempt to run.

But that was far from the truth.

In fact, Elysande was on edge, not because she was sitting across from Samson, but because the hall made her uneasy. She swore it smelled like fire and brimstone. Everything about it seemed dark and gritty and shadowed. But the cavernous great hall was the heart of the castle, and as she entered, she had seen exactly what Alend had described—dead, filthy rushes covered the floor. Some had probably been there for years. The walls were covered with tapestries that the Fitz Walter family had collected for more than a century—and, according to Alend, many were stolen from castles that Prince John, before he was king, had stolen and given over to Ralph Fitz Walter, Samson’s uncle and the very man Christopher de Lohr had killed for abducting his wife.

In fact, it was an extremely cluttered great hall, a shrine to a family’s greed, and Elysande had never wanted to leave a place so badly in her life. Alend’s plan had given her some hope, hope that all of this would soon be a terrible memory, but she needed it to happen soon.

Before Samson could get his hands on her.

She didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

There were several wooden tables with benches in the great hall and one massive, heavy table where the three of them were sitting. Overhead, Fitz Walter standards hung from the beams supporting the thatched roof, and they were long enough that they were halfway to the floor. As she was gazing up at them, servants brought out trenchers for her and for Alend. Samson was well into his meal already as he pointed to various dishes around the table.

“Try the beef pie,” he said, mouth full. “It is delicious. As are the eggs.”

Since there were several egg dishes, Elysande wasn’t sure which one he meant, so she took a little of everything. Servants were hovering, helping them fill their trenchers, and the wine in her cup was refilled every time she took a drink. But she didn’t want to get drunk, so she asked a servant for some boiled water to cut the wine.

Samson heard her.

“Is the wine not to your liking, my lady?” he asked, insulted. “It is very good wine.”

Elysande sent the servant on his way before replying. “It is good,” she agreed. “But it is too early in the day for my head to swim. I usually only drink boiled fruit juice or boiled milk during the day.”

Samson frowned. “How dull,” he said, as his sense of indignation hadn’t improved with her explanation. “I have presented this lovely display for you to show you the hospitality of Hell’s Forge. You would do well not to insult it.”

“It wasn’t my intention to insult it,” she said. “How is asking for watered wine insulting your hospitality?”

The conversation threatened to turn into an argument. Samson sat back in his chair, waving her off as he made a point of drinking deeply from his cup. Because he’d started his meal early, the wine was already going to his head. It was wine that could get a man drunk in a half-hour, very powerful wine he’d purchased specially from a Portuguese merchant in Bristol.

“I will permit you to have the wine your way this time,” he said. “But not again. This wine comes from Lisbon and is much coveted. It is also quite expensive.”

Elysande didn’t reply. She simply focused on her food as Samson pitched his little tantrum and overcame it. Once he drained the last of his wine, he motioned for more and set his cup down.

“Permit me to tell you how things will be from now on,” he said, fixing her with an unhappy gaze. “You will be my chatelaine. Your husband has abandoned you to me, so essentially, you will be my wife, if not in name, then in body and soul and spirit. Do you understand me so far?”

Elysande’s instinct was to throw her wine cup at his face and then leap over the table and throttle him, but she kept her temper in check. A glance at Alend gave her some comfort and confidence that even though Samson would make such a declaration, none of it would come to fruition. But the demand that she be his in body got under her skin. The only man who had ever touched her that way had been Westley, and she would kill herself before allowing another such intimate access.

But still… she held her tongue.

“I understand,” she said. “What else?”

Samson was perhaps the least bit surprised that she hadn’t balked at his command, because he seemed a little surprised as he continued.

“You will do as I tell you,” he said. “If I say crawl under this table and pleasure me, you will do so. If I say walk naked in the bailey, you will do so. You are mine to control, lady. Tell me you understand that.”

Elysande had no idea what he meant about crawling under the table to pleasure him, but she knew it was awful, whatever it was. She couldn’t help the fact that he was raising her dander now, rage building up in her that she was trying desperately to keep tightly controlled.

“I told you I understood from the start,” she said. “All you speak of are things that involve the body, but what else do you want from me as your chatelaine? Shall I manage the stables? Do you want me to plant a garden? How clean do you want the keep? These are all things you must tell me.”

Samson was looking at her as if he’d never once considered any of that. He hadn’t considered anything beyond the woman in his bed or as a slave to his desires. But he didn’t like the way she seemed to be challenging him. She was here at his pleasure. She had made a deal and he intended that she should keep it.

“Stop eating,” he said.

Mid-chew, Elysande looked up from her trencher. “Why?” she asked.

Samson had a fresh cup of wine in his hand, his third that morning. He was certifiably drunk. Lifting a hand, he flicked his wrist in the direction of the hearth.

“Go over there and dance for me,” he said.

Elysande nearly choked on the food in her mouth as she tried to swallow it. “Dance?” she repeated, horrified. “I do not know how to dance. I was never any good at it.”

“That is no concern of mine. You will dance for me.”

Shocked, Elysande set her spoon down. She looked at Alend, perhaps for support, but he threw a thumb in the direction of the hearth.

“You heard him,” he said. “Dance.”

She had no choice. She couldn’t be entirely sure Alend was even on her side, but she had to talk herself into the understanding that he was doing this for show. He was doing it because his life depended on it.

And so did hers.

With a heavy sigh, Elysande stood up and made her way over to the hearth, which had a bright fire burning in it. It was a big hearth, easily able to accommodate five or six men in it. There were a few dogs around who didn’t move when she came close, so she shooed them away. The dead rushes were catching on the bottom of her garment, so she pushed them away to have a clear floor to move in.

Pushed them toward the fireplace.

And there was a reason for that.

In truth, Samson’s command was fortuitous. As Alend had told her before they came down to the hall, his plan was to create a situation that kept Samson diverted while Alend sent Elysande to the postern gate. It would have to be the following morning, as he’d done for Westley, when the guards were changing their posts, but Elysande didn’t want to wait that long. Therefore, Alend thought that a small fire in the hall would be enough to clear Samson out, and while the servants were cleaning it, and Elysande was overseeing them—because she would offer to do so—she could, instead, slip out with Alend and he would take her through the postern gate himself. Together, they would flee south, to Massington, and Samson probably would not know about it until they were already safe.

Therefore, Elysande would start a small fire in the hall, enough to smoke up the room, enough to drive Samson out and to the safety of the keep.

That was the hope, anyway.

She was going to do her best.

“Dance!” Samson boomed.

His voice startled her from her thoughts, forcing her to focus on what needed to be done. She wasn’t a good dancer, but she supposed she could spin around just like anyone else, so that was what she started to do. She simply put her arms up and began to twirl, kicking the dried rushes closer to the hearth with every spin. Then she stopped spinning and simply walked in what she hoped was a graceful circle. She spun again when she came near the hearth, kicking some of the dead rushes into the blaze.

It surged.

If Samson noticed, he didn’t say a word. He was watching her dance, feeling the alcohol in his veins, thinking he hadn’t been with a woman in a very long time, and there was a very beautiful one right in front of him, dancing with all of the grace of a newborn colt. It was a travesty, really.

He wondered if she’d be better in bed.

Setting his cup down, he stood up.

Elysande didn’t see Samson move from the table. She was only aware of it when he grabbed her from behind, his mouth on her neck and his arms wrapped around her torso. One hand ended up clamping over her right breast, and he squeezed, hard, as he bit into her neck.

The fight was on.

Elysande turned into a wildcat. Samson was holding her with the same grip from the day before, a surprisingly unyielding grip that was difficult to shake. When she started to fight, he only held her tighter and the hand on her breast turned painful.

“You are mine, lady,” he said. “Stop fighting and this will be pleasurable. Fight me and I will throw you to my men.”

The threat terrified her. But being compliant to Samson terrified her more. She continued to fight as he bit down on her neck, hard enough that she screamed. But it took the fight to an entirely new level as she violently pulled away from him, or at least tried to. Unfortunately, she only managed to turn a little in his arms, so his mouth wasn’t by her neck, but the second she saw his face, she rammed her fingers into his eyes.

Samson howled in pain and loosened his grip, but as she tried to get away, he managed to catch her hair and yank hard. Elysande stumbled backward, toward him, and he grabbed her by the back of her head.

“That,” he said, “will be your greatest mistake, you foolish bitch. Now you have incurred my wrath.”

With that, he tried to kiss her, smother her with his mouth, but she brought a knee up and rammed it into his privates. That caused him to scream in pain and cuff her on the side of the head. As Elysande went down, he pounced on her, grabbing her around the throat. His body weight was pinning her down, so she couldn’t get her arms up to protect herself as his hands began to tighten.

“I hope you are right with God, because you are about to meet him,” Samson snarled in her face, saliva trickling onto her chin. “I am going to kill you and send your body back to your husband in pieces.”

Elysande was starting to see stars. He was squeezing hard. Her life began to flash in front of her eyes and the darkness was beckoning. She truly thought this was the end.

But then, something surprising happened.

Suddenly, Samson was lurching off her. Someone had him by the hair and by the neck, and as she struggled to roll away from the fight, Samson ended up in the hearth, in the middle of the flame. Thrown on the blaze like a new log for a fire.

Alend had put him there.

“Go!” he bellowed. “To the postern gate! Run! ”

“You must come!” she cried.

Alend had started to reply when Samson propelled himself out of the fire and grabbed on to Alend. Given that Samson was already in flames, Alend tried to break the man’s grip but was unable to. Samson fell back into the hearth and took Alend with him. The last glimpse Elysande had of Alend was of his hair going up in flames.

She fled.

Weeping, because she was truly terrified, she staggered to her feet and began to run. Out of the hall, blindly running because she had no idea where the postern gate was. All she knew was that they were usually near the stables or the kitchens, so she headed toward the stables, which were near the gatehouse.

But no postern gate was there.

In a panic, she ran in the other direction, heading west, past the great hall and the keep. There were servants about, and soldiers, but no one tried to stop her. They were simply watching her, curiously, as she ran aimlessly. Every second that passed was a second that could see her recaptured, so she flew around the corner of the keep only to see the kitchen yard tucked up against the southwest side of the wall.

And a small postern gate was there.

Racing into the yard, Elysande kicked a couple of chickens accidentally, but she didn’t stop to see if she’d killed them. She just kept running, stopping long enough to throw the bolt on the postern gate, which had an enormous lock on it. But it was unlocked, thankfully, and she yanked the gate open and tore through it.

The deep ditch was on the other side, but a small path wound around it, leading to a wooden bridge that crossed the bulk of it. Elysande charged down the path, over the bridge, and into the clearing on the other side. She ran straight into the trees as fast as she could, trying to orient herself so she could find the road south. But she didn’t stop, fearful that men were close on her heels. Fear fed her, giving her the strength to continue running.

And run she did.

Through the trees and into a field, she continued running, realizing that she was paralleling the road south. She had no idea how far, or how long, she had run, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she get on that road and run home.

All the way.

As she neared the road, her exhaustion finally had the better of her and she ended up falling onto her already-tender right arm. She scored the yellow dress up with grass and mud, but she got her feet and, holding her arm, dared to turn around to see if anyone was following her.

The field was clear.

Back above the tree line, however, she could see the top of the Hell’s Forge keep. She could also see great clouds of black smoke billowing into the air, a clear sign that the fire in the hall had gotten out of control. With all of the dead rushes and tapestries, she wasn’t surprised. Alend had called it a tinder box, and he’d been right. Surely, all of the soldiers were trying to put it out, which meant there was no one to follow the escaped captive. The castle was burning and all hands were needed.

Realizing she wasn’t being followed and why, Elysande burst into tears. Tears of fear, of exhaustion, and of the stress of the entire situation. There was another tree line in front of her, between her and the road south, and she headed for it, half running, half stumbling. But the will to live was strong.

She was going to make it.

Bursting through the trees, she could see the road stretched out before her, miles of it, and upon that road she saw something she recognized. An army heading north, flying blue banners.

De Lohr.

The same army that had been mustered to rescue him was now mustered to rescue her.

Westley had returned.

The tears returned in force. Still half running, half stumbling, she began to move down the road, keeping her eye on the army, knowing that, at some point, Westley would see that she was coming. Hopefully, he would recognize her. Who else could be running down the road from Hell’s Forge? She’d run about another quarter of a mile when a charger broke off from the army and headed toward her at breakneck speed.

Her husband was coming.

Knowing this, Elysande started running faster. She drew on the last bit of strength she had, deep down, the strength that told her she was meant for the man she’d married, the one who would become her all for living and breathing. That deep, powerful, warm sense of strength that could never be broken, not by captors or bitter knights. Nothing they could do would crush the strength that came from the heart.

The strength of everlasting love.

Westley reined his horse up within a few feet of her, kicking up rocks and dirt as he did so. But he was off his horse before Elysande could come to a halt and she literally ran into his arms. Gasping, running, head swimming and all, she fell right into his embrace.

Now, she was finally safe.

Shortly thereafter, everything went black.

*

“We went in through the postern gate,” Andrew said. “No one was guarding it. In fact, the entire castle was in upheaval. Servants were packing up things from the keep and taking them out on carts. They are picking it clean.”

The de Lohr army had stopped where Elysande fainted. Westley had her cradled in his arms, sitting on the side of the road, as Curtis, Roi, and Myles were crowded around. The nephews had been sent ahead to Hell’s Forge because they, too, had seen the smoke. Thick black columns of it. Andrew and Rhodes had managed to get in the postern gate while the others went in through the gatehouse, which was open because the servants and soldiers were leaving. Now, the report was back and the older men could hardly believe what they were hearing.

“But where is Samson?” Westley said. “And where is the fire?”

“The great hall,” Rhodes said, his face smudged with ash because he’d gotten too close to the blaze. “The entire hall is burning. The servants said that Samson and another man, named Alend, were inside, as was a woman.”

Westley looked down at Elysande, who was starting to stir. “She’s not in there now, God be praised,” he muttered. Then he gently stroked her cheek. “Ella? Can you hear me, love?”

She sighed deeply and her eyes rolled open. It took her a minute to orient herself, staring up at Westley, but quickly, she came around.

“My God,” she said, struggling to sit up as Westley propped her into a sitting position on the ground. She blinked, trying to clear her muddled mind. “Did I faint?”

Westley smiled. “Only for a moment,” he said. “You’ve had quite a substantial morning.”

Elysande nodded, smiling weakly at him, as she looked around at the knights standing over her. “I’m quite well, I assure you,” she said. “May I stand?”

“Are you certain?”

“I am. Please.”

Westley stood up and pulled her to her feet. Curtis helped steady her because she seemed quite shaky. Elysande’s gaze moved to the black smoke belching up into the sky, and she pointed.

“Hell’s Forge,” she said. “It is burning!”

Westley nodded. “It is,” he said. “Andrew says the great hall has gone up in flames. Do you know what happened?”

She nodded, trying not to throw herself off balance as she did so. “Samson attacked me,” she said of the memories that had her shaken. “He was trying to kill me and Alend stopped him. He pushed him into the hearth. The last I saw, the two of them were going up in flames. Both of them. And I… ran. I ran until I found you.”

Westley pulled her close because she was growing distraught. “But you are well?” he asked gently. “He did not hurt you?”

Elysande relished her husband’s embrace, pressing herself up against him. She felt as if had been a thousand years since he last held her, and it was something she never, ever wanted to be without again. For a woman who had never known emotional security in her life, it was a feeling that she was finally home.

Finally safe.

Finally loved.

“Nay,” she said, eyes closed as he held her head against his chest. “He did not hurt me. At least, nothing I will not quickly recover from.”

As they stood there, two more young knights came charging down the road. Gabriel and Nicholas seemed terribly excited about something.

“The castle is for the taking!” Gabriel said. “Fitz Walter is dead. His servants and soldiers are fleeing. Uncle Curtis, should we secure the castle and claim it for the de Lohr empire?”

Curtis looked at Myles. “What do you think?” he said. “Can we hold it?”

Myles nodded. “Aye,” he said. “We can hold it and Roi, as England’s chief justiciar, will ensure that we keep it. Spoils of war, brother. It’s the least Fitz Walter can do for the anguish he has caused Papa. The score will never be even, but it’s a start.”

Curtis looked to the four excitable knights who had done the initial reconnaissance. “Very well,” he said. “Andrew, you are in command. Take half the army with you and secure Hell’s Forge. Clean the damn thing out. Anything, or anyone, that is part of Fitz Walter’s army or house is to be corralled. Empty the keep and everything else, and make sure that fire is out before it spreads. The place will be flying de Lohr banners by nightfall.”

“Aye, my lord,” Andrew said sharply, trying to contain his excitable horse because his brothers were already racing back to the bulk of the army to collect some men. “What do we do with Fitz Walter’s body if we find it?”

“Burn it until there is nothing left,” Westley said, deadly serious. “But Alend de Bisby will be there, too. If he is indeed dead, then we will bury him appropriately. Were it not for him, I would not have escaped.”

“Nor I,” Elysande said. “He sacrificed himself so that I could escape, too.”

Westley smiled at her, lifting a big hand to smooth back her hair. “Then he is due all great honors of a burial.”

She thought on his words. “It’s appropriate you should say that,” she said. “He told me that he had served Fitz Walter for so long that he wanted to regain his honor by serving with de Lohr. I think he meant it.”

Westley nodded. “He said the same thing to me,” he replied. “Unlike his cousin, who has no honor, it would seem that Alend had a good deal.”

“Fitz Walter did not deserve him.”

“Nay, he did not.”

As they stood there, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the men around them began to disperse. Curtis and Myles headed back to the army while Andrew, Rhodes, Gabriel, and Nicholas headed on to Hell’s Forge in the company of about three hundred soldiers. Plenty of men to clear out a castle and secure it. But, as it turned out, there was no need.

Hell’s Forge surrendered without a fight.

As for Westley, he took his wife home. As she rode in front of him in the saddle, she couldn’t remember ever seeing the sky brighter. The birds had never sung more sweetly. Everything seemed bigger and brighter and better now that she was with Westley.

And that included the rest of her life.

For a young woman who had tried to chase her suitor away on that first day to the contented wife wrapped in the arms of her beloved, the future had never looked so positive or hopeful.

A future that almost never happened.

And a dream that almost never came into being.

For Westley and Elysande, their dream was only just beginning.

Together.