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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

G art couldn’t think about the silence beyond the door. He couldn’t let the deafening roar of nothingness fill his brain because it would shatter him. He blocked it out and kept swinging. He had to get to Emberley. It was the only thought that kept him going.

He was about to bring the axe down again, widening a small hole he had made, when the bolt suddenly twitched. He came to a grinding halt, panting with exertion, holding the axe aloft because he was sure Julian was about to step through the door and he was going to cave the man’s skull in. He waited, coiled, as the bolt was removed.

Christopher had retrieved his broadsword and stood next to Gart. Once the axe came down on Julian’s skull, Christopher intended to gut the man. They were all feeling furious and full of sorrow.

Christopher glanced at Gart as the iron bolt rattled, seeing tears streaming down the man’s face and feeling an enormous sense of anguish. It was sorrowful, the results of this day, and he deeply pitied Gart. He didn’t even know what to say to the man. He did the only thing he could– he stood there with his sword at the ready, preparing to help.

The door shifted, rattled again, as someone tried to open it. With the bolt thrown, the panel was unlocked and Gart kicked out a massive boot to shove the door open wide. With the axe raised, he saw movement in the doorway and blindly moved to bring the axe down. He was startled when Christopher threw up his broadsword and blocked him.

“Nay!” Christopher snapped. “Look!”

Gart did. Romney stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with bloodied hands. Gart stared at the boy and, with a cry of anguish, dropped the axe. He reached out and grabbed the child.

“Rom?” his voice cracked. “What happened? Are you injured?”

Romney shook his head. “Nay,” he wept. “But… my mother….”

He couldn’t finish, sobbing, and Gart picked him up and stepped into the room to view the carnage. He held the weeping boy tightly against him, trembling with horror as his gaze moved over the chamber. There were bodies everywhere.

“Oh, my dear God,” Gart breathed.

Father Jonas lay on the ground with a bloodied head wound, his brains spilling out onto the wooden floor. Gart’s gaze searched frantically for Emberley, spying her over in the corner with Julian lying across her legs. There was blood all over the two of them.

With a strangled cry, Gart set Romney down and raced to Emberley. She was sitting up, holding her head, weeping uncontrollably. Gart didn’t even bother to look at Julian– he shoved the man off her legs and swooped in to pick her up.

“Kitten,” he breathed. “Where are you injured?”

Emberley was weeping heavily. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. She was hysterical and battered, but she was alive. Gart’s warmth in her arms confirmed that. Nothing in her life had ever felt as wonderful as holding Gart at that very moment. It was relief beyond description.

“I am not injured,” she gasped, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. “He tried but he did not hurt me. But Romney… Romney killed him!”

A look of shock, then disbelief, washed over Gart’s face as he pulled back to look her in the face as if attempting to determine the validity of her statement. He simply couldn’t believe it. Still holding Emberley, his gaze sought out Romney. The boy was standing a few feet away, still rubbing his eyes and weeping. Gart held out a hand to the boy.

“Rom,” he said softly. “Come here, lad. Come here and tell me what happened.”

Romney went to Gart, falling against the man as he wept. Gart sat on his knees, Emberley in one arm and Romney in the other. Knowing they were both relatively unharmed, he was able to push aside his own terror to comfort them both.

“Calm down, lad,” he rubbed Romney’s back gently. “Tell me what happened.”

Romney sniffled, wiping his face with his bloodied hands. “He… he tried to kill my mother,” he said. “I could not let him do it. He was going to hit her with the poker and I could not let him. So… so I stabbed him. I had to stop him.”

Gart listened to the halting explanation, his heart aching for what the young man had to do but also feeling a great deal of pride and gratitude. He shifted, managing to get a look at Julian lying crumpled on his side. He could see the hilt of a dirk sticking out from his back and peering closer, he realized that he recognized the blade.

“Where did you get that dirk, Rom?” he asked, astonished.

Romney, his tears easing, pulled his face from Gart’s shoulder and looked at him. “It was upstairs. It was the one you were going to let me sharpen. I stole it. I am sorry.”

Gart shook his head, kissing the boy’s temple. He sighed heavily in understanding, in relief. Even if Gart had not been able to save Emberley, still, he had been there in spirit in the palm of Romney’s hand. It was all so incredibly ironic and incredible appropriate. He still couldn’t believe it.

“No need, lad,” he finally murmured. “You did me proud. It seems that you finally stole something worth stealing. You saved your mother when I could not.”

Romney didn’t seem so upset with Gart’s reassuring words. He looked at the knight, the man who had come to mean the world to him, and wiped the last of his tears from his face.

“I did not want to kill my father,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“I had to.”

“I understand.”

“You are not angry with me?”

Gart smiled at the boy, shaking his head. “You did what you had to do,” he said quietly. “I do not know many young lads who would have had the presence of mind to do what you did. I am very proud that you saved your mother’s life.”

Romney smiled timidly and Gart ruffled his blond head affectionately. Gart then turned to Emberley, who had her head against his shoulder, watching the interaction between Gart and Romney. Gart kissed her forehead.

“Are you sure you are well?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am,” she murmured. “My angel saved me.”

Gart turned his affectionate eye back to Romney. “He certainly did.”

Emberley put her hand on Gart’s chin, forcing him to look at her. Her gaze was filled with adoration, with respect. She ran a gentle finger over his lips. Gart forgot about his terror as he met her gaze, feeling only the great love he felt for her.

“Nay,” she whispered. “I did not mean him. I meant Gabriel.”