He sounded like a nervous idiot, clearly drunk. Sean eyed the man before dismounting his steed to speak with him face to face.
“My name is Sean de Lara,” he said. “I serve your father in the capacity of personal guard. The men with me are also royal guards. We have come with a message from your father.”
FitzRoy looked at the collection of very big knights, all of them, and one small lady sitting on de Lara’s horse. His fear turned to confusion and he continued to clutch the jug of wine to his breast as his attention returned to de Lara.
“A message?” he repeated. “What message?”
Sean indicated the lady sitting atop the horse. “It is your father’s wish that you marry this lady,” he said. “Her name is Christin de Lohr and her father is a powerful warlord. Your father wishes to be related to de Lohr by marriage, so you must do your duty.”
FitzRoy looked at Christin a moment before returning his focus to Sean. “I cannot marry her,” he said as if it were a ludicrous suggestion. “I already have a wife!”
That brought a reaction from the group of men, who glanced at each other in shock. This was an element they’d not anticipated.
FitzRoy is already married!
“Your father did not know you were married,” Sean said after a moment. “He was under the impression that you’d not taken a wife.”
FitzRoy hugged his jug with one arm, scratching his head with the other. “That is because he does not care for me,” he said. “He has ignored me most of my life. And now he sends me a bride? He did not even bother to ask me if I had already taken one. I have, you know, but she’s a worthless whore. She’s inside right now, drinking all of my wine.”
No one seemed to know quite what to do, but Alexander did. He wanted to take Christin and get the hell out of there. If FitzRoy was already married, there was no reason to remain. Sean must have had the same idea because he didn’t reply to FitzRoy. He simply turned back to his horse and was preparing to mount when FitzRoy stopped him.
“Wait,” he said, edging closer to Sean’s horse and looking up at Christin. “I want to see what my father sent me. Get down from there.”
Christin, who had so far remained silent and stoic, glanced at Sean, who nodded imperceptibly. Without a word, she climbed down and presented herself to FitzRoy, who was seriously looking her over. His gaze raked her from top to bottom, and everything in between.
It was enough to make Christin’s skin crawl.
“So, he wanted me to marry you, did he?” he said, his voice sounding very much like John’s – lascivious and chilling. “You’re quite pretty. Your name is Christin?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“How old are you?”
“I have seen eighteen summers, my lord.”
Suddenly, FitzRoy didn’t seem so drunk. He took another step towards her, looking Christin in the eye.
“My God, you are beautiful,” he said seductively. “If my father sent you to me, then I would not be rude enough to refuse. I do believe that I will keep you.”
Christin’s eyes narrowed. “I will not be your whore, my lord.”
FitzRoy lifted an eyebrow. “Resistance,” he said. “I like that. I like it when my women fight back. De Lara, return to my father and thank him for this exquisite… gift. I will keep her.”
Sean eyed the man. “You are meant to marry her, not keep her as a concubine,” he said. “Your father wants the bond that only marriage can bring. If you cannot marry her, then I shall return her to your father. He will find someone else for her to marry.”
FitzRoy’s response was to reach out and grab Christin by her braid, yanking her with him as he took several steps back, away from the knights.
“My father has never done anything for me,” he said. “He has sent me this beautiful gift and I intend to keep her. Call it compensation for all of those years my father preferred to pretend I did not exist. Get out of here, all of you. The woman stays with me.”
The situation suddenly turned edgy as an unanticipated element took hold. He wasn’t really hurting her, but it was uncomfortable. Christin let herself be dragged along because she really couldn’t fight him the way he held her. But the advice from Alexander and Sean kept rolling through her head, advice on what she was to do when she found herself in this position.
She knew what she had to do.
Alexander had told her to view the man as her prey, not as her captor. Sean had told her to move swiftly with her actions and not wait. She was going to do both, for the moment he let go of her braid and went to grab her hand, she unleashed on him.
A balled fist when flying at him, catching him in the nose and sending his wine jug flying. As he screamed and put his hands on his face, blood streaming from between his fingers, Christin hit him in the face again, so hard that he fell onto the stone steps of his manse, striking his head.
The blow was enough to daze him, but he was still conscious and Christin was in panic mode. She was terrified of what would happen if she didn’t kill the man immediately, terrified that he would get up and try to hurt her. Terrified he would drag her into the house and the battle would continue inside, behind locked doors where no one could help her.
Where Alexander couldn’t get to her.
FitzRoy lay on the steps, his head on the first stone step while his body was sprawled out in the dirt. Leaping on his chest, Christin put all of her strength into his neck, using her knee and ramming it into his throat as hard as she could. He tried to scream, but she had crushed his windpipe. When she went in for another blow, however, he lashed out with his long legs, kicking her over so that she toppled into the corner of the stone manse. Striking her left side hard, she fell to her knees.
But FitzRoy was strong. With his windpipe crushed, he was slowly suffocating, but he could still move. He could still kill. He spied Christin crumpled a few feet away and he rolled to his side, reaching towards her with claw-like hands. He was going to grab her and ram her face right into the ground.
But he never had the chance.
Alexander charged.
No one tried to stop him, not even Sean. Alexander moved with the speed of a cat, rushing FitzRoy, who was struggling to rise. Swinging his broadsword in a skilled, tight fashion, Alexander brought the blade to bear right on FitzRoy’s neck. In one clean slice, the body fell away as the head remained on the stairs.
With startling speed, the situation was over.
Furious, Alexander kicked the body aside as he went for Christin, who was picking herself up from the ground. He caught her by the arm, helping her to her feet.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
Christin shook her head, though she was holding her left elbow. “I… I do not think so,” she said. “Sherry, you killed him!”
Alexander had to force himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Christin was not terribly injured and FitzRoy was dead.
That was all he cared about.
“I had to,” he said quietly. “I know we told you that this was your duty, but you belong to me and when the duty became yours, it became mine. I could not stand by and not help you. I hope you understand that.”
She looked at him, a weary smile on her face. “Of course I do,” she murmured. “I am glad you did.”