Conquering the Dark Axe (27 page)

Rourke, seeing the man blast with rapid speed
through five of his men who jumped in the space between them to slow the man
down, braced himself and motioned for the next group of his soldiers to back
away.

He’d not lose more of his men to this large beast of
a man.

The giant crashed forward swinging with agility and
skill.  A shaft loosed from a longbow whizzed through the air, catching
the giant in one shoulder, still the man charged forth.  

For one so big himself and lauded for his moves on
the battlefield, Rourke wheeled about and threw his body at the giant's head
before the ogre could even react to the surprise move.

After a struggle, Rourke brought his axe down in one
mighty hack, tearing through flesh and bone of the giant's right arm. The giant
let out another eerie roar when his arm that carried his own axe fell to the
ground. 

Rourke felt the violent shudder ripple under him
just before the giant, with a snap of his neck, sent him flying from his
shoulders.

Rourke felt himself sailing through the air. Dead
bodies cushioned his fall when he landed, but, he'd still fallen hard enough to
be winded and long enough for the giant’s swift approach.

The giant leaned over him with the great club mace
arced in a swing, level with his chest.

There was naught Rourke could do to deflect the
blow. 

Were he to raise his right arm that held his axe, he
would lose to a crushed and useless arm. A blow to the chest- he could die.

Either way he had a split second.

Turning his body to take the force of the blow, he
relaxed at the last minute, taking the blow square in the middle of his chest
just as the mongrel spat.

“I'm going to bleed ye like a stuck pig.”

Rourke's body went airborne like a rag doll and
landed on a pile of more bodies. He managed to turn his head. The strain of
drawing in a breath tore a ragged wheeze from him. He caught sight of the tall
familiar silhouette of a man walking toward him just before darkness snatched
him in its crushing and painful tentacles pulling him down.

THIRTY-THREE

Commotion outside the hall drew Alexa from her
worried state and turning from the hearth she cried out with relief when she
watched Goran enter the hall.

Finally! He had returned.

Then she halted when she spotted the fierce looking
man enter behind him.

Although he walked beside her husband’s man, Alexa
still found herself taking a step back to place one hand on the table behind
her to still the quaking inside. 

His very presence commanded attention and was
intimidating.

A formidable force to reckon with - Rourke was
indeed but this one- ‘twas easy to see how the Normans had won. With a countenance
as the one he bore and with such size, the deep scar that ran the length of the
left side of his face made it even worse.

Goran noting her reaction, waved the man closer with
a friendly gesture and announced, “Baron Darc Renald, my lady. Your husband and
I fought under his regimen. There we called him lieutenant. He is a friend I
assure you, my lady.”

Piercing blue eyes met hers and Alexa feared she'd
not be able to return the slash across his mouth that she guessed was a
smile.   His accent was richer than Rourke’s when he addressed her in
her Saxon tongue.

"No reason to be so formal among friends. Call
me Darc, my lady.”

Alexa swallowed with a nod. Fierce and dangerous was
what she thought.

Still she returned his greeting. More important
things were at hand.

Days had passed and she’d gone out of her mind
waiting for Rourke and Goran’s return. She wished it were her husband whom had
returned alongside Goran instead of this blue-eyed dark-haired looking devil.

“Any news from your husband?” Darc asked.

“Did you not cross paths with him on your way here?”
Alexa questioned looking only at Goran.

Goran's shoulders straightened and he spoke in a
tone she'd never heard come from him before.

"What do you mean, my lady? The guard your
husband sent told me my lord wanted me to come here straight away."

The bad feeling that had plagued her since Rourke
had left crept up her spine. "I thought he went to retrieve you before he
carried out the king’s order."

Proper etiquette cast to the wind, both men closed
the distance and were in front of her in seconds.

"On his way where?” Goran pressed with urgency.

Alexa's eyes shifted between both men as alarm
filled her gut.  "The king's missive-"

"What missive?" this exploded from Darc
and it rattled her nerves even more.

His blue eyes darkened and Alexa stepped back from
the fire shooting from them as he reached inside his cloak. When she saw the
parchment, she nigh fainted.

"What-What is that? Nay!" she said in a
hoarse cry before her eyes fell on the king’s seal.

Both men shouted simultaneously, "My
lady!"

Alexa had sprinted from them and they followed
swiftly behind her across the hall to a room there. When she held out the
rolled parchment, her hands shook. 

Both men frowned and Alexa stood next to them
watching as they carefully compared the documents. 

After a while, Darc lifted his head, his striking
blue eyes shifted to Goran and the men shared a knowing look.

"Treachery’s afoot." Darc’s angry tone
started Alexa’s heart pumping again. 

His long fingers flitted over the seal Rourke had
broken on the parchment he'd opened. Curiosity caused her to stare longer than
she should have and drew those blue eyes back to
her.       

“Is that one not from the king?” Alexa heard the
quaver in her tone as she asked what she already knew the answer to.  She
had told Rourke something had been off about that herald. Aye. He’d known but
had gone nonetheless. Alexa’s brows knitted as an angry chill enveloped her.

"William has returned to Normandy. I crossed
the channel with his message and reached your husband’s estate to retrieve
twenty five trained men. I met Goran en route to gather the remainder ten here.
Seems these maggots think to play a game they will surely lose. Do not fear, my
lady. Those responsible William will see dead as shall I.  ‘Tis a foe your
husband knows, I am sure of it- to go through such lengths to get him and risk
William's wrath. We will find him, on that you have my promise, my lady.”

Alexa could barely nod with the terror that ripped
through her heart.

The memory of the ravens swooping down came back to
her. It had indeed been a bad omen. 

She knew 'twas what Darc had not said that made her
want to run. Aye. They would find Rourke and bring him back to her dead or
alive.

Goran added, “They brought me his message and were
gone by the time I rode out. I thought they had set out before me. Now we know
different.”

Alexa recalled the scrawny soldiers her husband had
sent out.

"Aye. Traitors under this roof. Round up the
rest of the men out front and we shall see who knows what. If any disloyal ones
remain...” Darc stopped short and looked away from her, his hand on the hilt of
the thick sword at his waist.

Goran spoke, "My lady…”

"Sir Goran, I’m going.” Alexa told them.

Both men looked at her as if she were crazy.

Darc was the one to respond.  "Considering
we do not know who this faceless enemy is we've yet to confront. I’m sorry, my
lady I cannot allow it. Besides, your husband would have both Goran and my head
on a platter were I to even think it. You will remain within these walls. When
we are done with your husband’s men, my men will keep watch.”

Alexa would have protested, but the look in those
gleaming blue eyes told her it was unwise.

He was as bad as her husband and at the thought,
Alexa’s heart wrenched painfully in her chest. He was right. She could hear
Rourke’s booming voice reprimanding all three of them if she were to go. If it
meant they could get to him all the sooner, she’d do nothing to slow it down.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded and said firmly. “Then bring him back to me.”

Both men nodded and left her.

A groan of agony slipped from between his dry and
cracked lips and Rourke cursed. Something cold splashed his face again. The few
times the cold water had hit his face drawing him from deep darkness, followed
by a thud, he now knew was a bucket. The sound of it hitting the floor beside
him usually had the splitting headache rob him of alertness.

But not this day. 

He blinked and tried to focus with the one eye that
was not swollen shut. Distorted moans to his left filled his water logged ears.
A low whisper to his right drew his attention when it said his name. 

Rourke bit back another groan of pain the movement
caused and prayed this time he remained awake long enough to see where he was.

The pressure and wheeze in his chest told him he’d
more than bruised his muscles.

The mace had broken bones.

Within seconds he tested his sore extremities and
knew both his legs and hands were bound and he hung just an inch or so off the
ground. The way he had been strung up was often used to not only render the
victim helpless but to cause nonstop pain.  A torture tactic. Burning pain
radiated the length of his body and he threw his chained arms and shoulder
forward.

Vision limited by cloudiness, he was able to make
out the small dungeon. 

It held two long tables, a rack and about six of his
men. One on either side of him chained too and sat on their rumps unlike his
torturous pose. The other four were chained near the rack.

Blood spatter dotted the dirt floor and Rourke’s
gaze followed the trail to a table covered with weapons and other odd
instruments. A shudder shot through him when he saw the larger pool of blood
under it.

Instruments of torture.

Looking back over his men he saw they were bloodied
and bruised, but none from what little he could see with his one eye had
sustained an injury so deep to produce that great amount of blood. Something
stirred in his gut and Rourke tried to pull himself up to bring some sort of
relief to his arms. But there was no room.

By Thor, finally a blessing came to him and
clearness came to his one good eye and thoughts. Turning to the soldier who'd
whispered his name next to him, Rourke had to swallow a few times to get his
throat to work. Thick stubble lined the young man’s upper lip and chin.

"How long?" soreness throbbed in his neck.

"A full moon or so has passed from what little
I've seen through yon hole in the ceiling, my lord”

Rourke's hands fisted or so he thought he curled
them into fists. He could feel nothing in his hands from the crushing numbness
and tingling. Nigh a fortnight in this hellhole! It couldn't be.

"Our fine host?"

"I did not recognize him, my lord. He has told
us naught. But he is a nobleman, a Saxon. We have lost three of our men to him
in this room. Their blood soaks the ground in which we stand. They met their
deaths, my lord with honor and bravery."

Rourke growled and although the muscles in his neck
protested mightily, he angled his head so his good eye could fall upon the
soldier.

‘Twas the young knight who’d ridden out at the start
of the battle at his side. The young man's cheek was gashed open, crusted with
blood, but his young eyes gleamed brightly with revenge.

He read the question in Rourke’s eyes and continued,
"You had a nasty wound on your skull and it took some time before the
bleeding stopped. The nobleman was so furious over what that ogre had done he
had him butchered.” Rourke’s head spun at the young soldier’s words. The
soldier’s voice dropped to a whisper when he added, “My lord, the nobleman was
not kind to your person when the fever kept you under.”

Rourke’s eye met his and he had a feeling he did not
wish to know anymore. His body ached and burned in too many places just to be
the result from the mace and hanging from the wall. But he needed to know. “Go
on,” he ordered.

The young man licked his lips; a look of shame
crossed his face as he looked away for a brief moment. “They beat and kicked
you, my lord.” Rourke gritted his teeth and waited. “The three of our men had
been chained loosely together and fought hard and valiantly to free you, my
lord."

Rourke closed his eye. They had lost their lives
trying to save him.

The sound of keys and muffled voices drew his
attention to the wide double doors. He closed his eye and heard the door creak
open. By the sound of the footfalls, he counted that five people had entered.

"I thought you said he was awake?"

Rourke stiffened at the familiar voice and his
breath tightened in his chest. The voice belonged to a man he'd thought long
dead. Rage grew in him anew.