Conquering the Dark Axe (26 page)

THIRTY-ONE

The noise wafting up from the courtyard woke Alexa
from her deep relaxed slumber. She opened her eyes to see that she was alone
and jolted up to run to the window. Her husbands' men filled the yard below readying
to leave. A cry caught in her throat. Dressing quickly and donning her
slippers, Alexa exited the chamber and ran for the wall walk on the north side.

Cold seeped under Rourke’s cloak when he stepped out
from the stables into the yard. Although the skies were clear this morn, frost
clung heavily to a few trees. He watched his men kiss their wives and families
goodbye. His own thoughts on his wife.  He’d not wanted to tell her he'd
known something was afoot when the herald had presented him with William’s
message alleging an uprising near the river. Had not the same like message been
the reason he’d sent Goran out a day ago. Heaven help anyone deigning to
overthrow their new overlord, for the penalty was death. Still, Rourke could
not refuse what appeared the authentic king’s seal, even if he did believe
games were afoot.  The reason he’d sent two of his men out immediately to
reach Goran before the herald had even exited the hall.  He wanted Goran
here with Alexa while he was out seeing to this latest upset.

He’d grown quite fond of his hellion. He wished that
the gentleness she'd shown him last night was real and true. But Rourke knew
better. She enjoyed him bedding her and she simply missed it as had he.

And God's teeth, had he ever! Wanton she had been
indeed.

He shifted in the saddle as his groin swelled a
little. He grunted. The weeks he'd be away he wondered how she would fare. Had
she spoken truth? Would she truly try not to flee him?

Could she live with what had reviled Jacqueline so?
Ignore the scars and ugliness that covered his hulk of a frame. See him as more
than a rutting beast? 

He could only hope.

The memory, feel of her soft hands against his skin
last night in their bed told him yes. But they'd not spoken in the aftermath.

He needed a clear head before he rode out the gates.

Rourke closed his eyes a moment and inhaled sharply.
The cold air filled his chest and lungs, clearing his senses.

He opened his eyes again when the soldier on his
left, a young soldier he'd trained himself queried with an expectant look.

"My lord? Are we ready?"

Alexa’s gaze swept over the yard filled with over
fifty men armed and dressed for battle. Some carried long spears, hand to hand
metal axes, battle hammers, and maces. A dozen archers were just coming from
around a side building with their weapons strapped to their backs. Triangular
shields bore her husband’s emblem.  His men stood proud and fierce
awaiting his leadership. Anger and dread filled her as what she had feared the
contents of missive held unfolded before her eyes.

She found herself leaning forward, nearly mounting
the thick wall in her search for a glimpse of him below.

Oblivious to the frigid air and breathing heavy,
Alexa did not know that she gripped the stone wall until her knuckles turned
white and the stone dug painfully into her skin.

He was not hard to find and was armed to the teeth.

The biggest horse and man there and in all black
save the brown leather covering his destrier and the flash of silver of the
small daggers at his calves.

Those too were soon covered as his squire attended
him and pulled down the flap concealing the deadly weapons. Her heart raced in
anguish. She held her breath, tried to control her breathing and damned herself
all in the same painful breath. Would the man not look up?

Look up, Alexa screamed inside almost willing him to
turn in her direction.

A young soldier rode up next to him then moved away
to lead the procession out. Her heart dropped.

Damn him.

Images of their heated and explosive passion came
back to her and her legs weakened. She swallowed. Her throat resisted filling
with the sobs she refused to release. She hated the man.

She stared at the back of his golden head. She hated
him for making her love him. Alexa gasped over the revelation.

She did love him so.

He turned and looked up in that moment. Alexa let
out a breath. The feeling in her stomach told her his gaze had found her.

She stared at him long and hard. His emerald gaze
impaled her where she stood.  The moment seemed suspended in time as she
shook under his hard glower.  Then she watched as he pulled his great helm
down over his head. He remained looking up at her for another moment before he
finally turned away and followed after the troop.

She wanted to scream for him to come back.

She watched him long after the forest had swallowed
him whole with each step of Black taking him farther and farther away from her.
Knives cut into her heart.

A school of raven birds squawked and came from the
top of the trees where he had entered. Alexa watched the birds as they flew
toward the manor.

One swooped down and landed on the pole that stood
at the high end of the wall walk; its glassy eyes looked down at her before it
turned to clean its shiny wing. Alexa’s hand flew to her chest, a gasp escaped
her lips and she shivered with a prayer ‘twas not a sign of a bad omen.

She did not realize that tears streamed down her
face until they ran down her neck and inside her gown. Stepping away from the
wall, she slid her hands down over her belly. She'd thought she would not miss
him. But her heart yearned now, longed for him to turn back now.

She had wanted to scream for him not to go and stay here
with her. Now as she moved back toward the steps, her gaze on the preening
raven, she cursed herself for her stubbornness and willfulness since meeting
him. 

She had a feeling Rourke rode toward a faceless foe
worse than northern Saxon barons.

Would he fight hard to come back to her?

He may not love her, but he wanted her, that she
knew. Her head hanging low, the raven forgotten, Alexa went to their chamber
overcome by the depth of the misery that assailed her.

THIRTY-TWO

Unease did not come to Rourke until several days
later as they crested the rise. Something in the trees far off to the side drew
his attention. They weren't a few miles yet from the river when he’d spotted
the approaching small army to his left.  He held up his hand and stopped his
men.

Sneaky Saxon bastards.

As he'd suspected, they’d been tracked. He’d spotted
two riders a few miles back over an hour ago. 

The splash of color flitted through the trees once
again before the first enemy emerged.  Rourke cursed.

He’d done what he'd sworn never to do. Let a woman
get under his skin again and in doing so he'd carried thoughts of one into
battle.  A dire distraction that caused him not to trust his judgment.

Alexa had ensnared and won his heart and Rourke only
hoped that he could make things right when he returned from this tiresome
journey.  Her face up there on the walk came back to him. 

He’d wanted to take her into his arms, hold her
against his chest and never let her go.  Lose himself in her tender
embrace and let her lick his wounds. 

She was the only one fascinated and bold enough to
have asked how he’d gotten his largest scar.  He had wanted to ignore it
then, nay!

He had not wished to see it then, the wounded look
in her amber eyes when she’d listened to his tale.  She had not looked at
him with disgust. She had gazed at him with eyes that said she’d been stricken
too.

Her eyes had wanted to take his pain away. And how
had he’d repaid her?

He’d turned her away and acted a fool.

She was beautiful and at the mere thought of her
smiling face, warmth filled his chest.  ‘Twas just now in all his
thirty-one summers, he was ready to settle down and be done with all of
it. 

This was his last year, his debt of military service
paid above and beyond. And not a moment too soon, for he was more than deeply
fond of Alexa.

He was falling in love with the hellion. 

Absently he rubbed a large hand over his heart
through his chain mail, just as the first wave of combatants emerged from the
trees. 

Rourke was not worried.  His estate and
peasants huts were just over the rise. The bloodshed would remain here and away
from his people.   

Their weapons held high and flags waving in the
brisk wind as their horse’s hooves kicked up dust as they moved into
formation. 

Just by looking at their small number, Rourke
cringed. The battle would be quick and many of the fighters were on foot,
swords drawn. He sat, feeling his men behind him awaiting his directive.

He would not give it ‘til the gap was nigh
closed.  He wanted the poor soul’s deaths to be quick and merciful. These
were turbulent times and he could only hope that the bloodletting would soon
end.

He was tired of war.

Jeers came from the idiots on foot.

Rourke remained where he was, then a moment later;
he straightened and rolled his massive shoulders back when more infantry rebels
poured out from the forest.

This ambush indeed had been well thought out.

Anger swept over him like a prickly blanket and any
mercy he had vanished. 

Black stirred, restless as the jeers of the enemy
increased, Rourke’s thighs tightening quieted the large warhorse.

In measured steps Rourke urged Black in front of his
men and gave his directives.

"Let them come to us. Out in the open and fight
here. Although there are many, they are ill armed with more on foot than horse.
Arms!” His orders fell from his lips clear and rapid. He made a motion to the
young soldier to lower the war horn. They would not need it.

The clink of mail and horse breath filled the space
as the men did as bid soon followed by an eerie quiet.

Rourke’s eyes narrowed, never leaving the enemy as
more rebels continued to pour from between the oak trees.

Fools.

Completely exposed the rebels let out a war cry
splitting the quiet and charged.

“Stand! Bring this fight to us!" Rourke hissed
loud enough for his own men to hear.

His plan worked well and the sounds of battle filled
the dusk falling sky with the poor souls cut down in quick succession at
Rourke’s feet and those of his men.  The rebels had fought without
direction and many died within minutes.

When Rourke felt it was safe enough to pause, he
dismounted and continued to use his sword, although his axe was strapped to his
back. One of his men called out to him against it as most of his men were on
the other side away from him and fallen trees and the piling dead separated
them.

Slain and for what purpose?

The death around him sickened him and wiping his
dripping blade on the cape of a slain man at his feet, Rourke wondered who was
behind the attack.

He’d made many an enemy on and off the battlefield
over the years. But he had thought most of his enemies lay long dead now.

He surveyed the remnants of the blood bath. Fury
raged through him at the senseless lives lost for this ill planned
ambush.  He heard a rebel behind him make the mistake to laugh alerting
Rourke to his presence.

"Ye bastard heathen spawn. Say your prayers for
yer days of infamy end this hour."

Rourke turned to see a snaggletooth man with a
bloody stump as he used his good arm to raise a heavy broadsword from a slain
body nearby.

One blow of his axe and the man would join his
fallen comrades, Rourke thought. Blood already bubbled from the man’s mouth.
Weary and ready for this to end, Rourke exhaled a tight breath.

"If you tell me what I want to hear and who is
behind this attack, you are free to go without your limb. Know this, I grant
you passage only once."

The man gnashed his rotted teeth and choked on blood
as he dragged the sword up. "Mercy from ye, sir knight? I'd rather die
under yer blade than his." As ever, ignorance won out and the crazed man
rushed him.

Rourke turned, easily deflecting the weak blow with
an arc of his own sword. The man fell and let out a whoosh. Rourke bent near to
see he'd fallen on the up end of the same broadsword he'd planned to use on
him.

Just then a shrill blood-curdling roar rent the air,
the likes of which Rourke had never heard before and sent a ripple of unease
through him.

He turned at the sound and hesitated but a moment.

A giant of a man- ungodly in size- was almost upon
him. Rourke blinked a trickle of blood out of his eye to clear his vision.

The giant stomping his way was ugly, shaggy blond
hair hung around his broad shoulders and he was round like a barrel from leg to
chest and carried a large club mace in one hand and a battle axe in the other.