Conquering the Dark Axe (29 page)

The fight in her had been swallowed by the weight of
her grief and the foreboding she'd felt the day Rourke had received that
message. Sick was too kind of a word to describe how she felt.

Days and nights she touched her cheeks to find them
wet, not even conscious she cried.

She looked to the horizon, hilly marshes with each
passing day for sight of his return. Yet her prayers produced naught.

Margaret’s soft voice and hand reached out to her
again and Alexa remained lost in her despair staring at the front doors. 
Margaret blinked back tears of relief when she managed to steer her lady to the
bench so she could smooth out the tangles in her amber hair. Then a smile
spread when she watched her lady pick up the cup she'd just filled with water
and brought it to her lips to drink. Finally. The lady had made a move to
succor herself and bring her back from that dark place.

It didn’t last long for loud voices coming from the
front of the manor broke the silence.

“My lady.”

Alexa heard Margaret call after her as she dashed
out toward the great doors in the direction of the ruckus.  The sight that
greeted Alexa halted her in her tracks. Hope shot to her throat and choked her
and then despair immediately followed.

Rourke’s horse had returned. 

Black looked wild, snorting heavily as Goran and
stable hands tried to calm the large warhorse. Seeing the dried blood spattered
over the horse tore a tortured cry from Alexa’s breast and she barely felt the
guard catch her as she stumbled sideways. Straightening, she called out to
Goran when he instructed the horse be removed from her sight.

She needed to see.

To touch

"My lady, please,” Goran pleaded

Alexa shook her head. Her fingers crumbled the
splashes of blood into fragments that fell to the dirt. The big horse, his wild
breath calmer now, had let her touch him.  Goran pulled her away when she
remained staring down at her hands.

“We don't know that 'tis his blood, my lady.” Goran
tried to sound reassuring.

Alexa felt herself nodding but she was not sure.
Nay! It could not be Rourke's blood. She would not believe it. He had to return
to her. He had to.

She let Goran guide her back inside the manor and
Alexa did not care that all in the yard witnessed her odd behavior. Angry,
grief and fear kept her tears at bay.

During the second week, Barnett manor had become an
even more somber place and Alexa paid little heed to the morning sickness that
assailed her. Had it not been for the healer and the attentive Margaret at her
side forcing what little broth they could down her, she'd not eaten at
all. 

Ever since the day Black had returned, she had
withdrawn into herself even more. 

But this particular eve the cold snap was the
strongest since deep winter had set in and the shivers that shook her frame
became unbearable as she practiced hard and long with her wooden sword. 
Her sore body finally drew her to the bed she and Rourke shared and  Alexa
climbed in and lay on her side in the space he usually lay his large body.

She was asleep by the time Margaret later entered
with Goran to lay more logs to the fire and pile more furs around her.

Goran watched her with an aching heart that bled for
her and his friend. When he turned to the moonless sky with a glance out the
window, he wiped a tear that had slipped from the corner of his eye and did
what he' not done in many years.

He knelt on one knee and prayed.

THIRTY-FIVE

It had been some time since Raven and his henchman
had returned to the dungeon or so Rourke thought. He’d lost all sense of time
and was not sure if hours or days had passed. Dizziness kept the room spinning
and lack of water had him gasping for each harsh and painful breath.  His
right eye had opened slightly, but ‘twas useless to him, for the milky film
that covered it, left him nigh blind. The ache in his chest had eased somewhat,
but not enough that he was able to muster much sensation and feeling back in
his limbs.

His men worked together on their manacles and had
loosened them to a great degree. The soldier next to him, after a few more
twists would soon be free. 

Rourke’s thoughts whirled with images of Alexa and
he tried to push her face away, but he could not. It was what was driving him.
The thought of her energized him and he held onto her image in his struggle not
to succumb to the weakness taking over his limbs.  Before he drew his last
breath he prayed he'd survive any wounds Raven inflicted upon him long enough
to make it back to her so he could tell her that he loved her.

His mouth turned down in anger when he heard the jangle
of the keys in the lock. Mayhap it was the jailer returning once again to give
water to his men.

Rourke’s anger ballooned into rage when Raven’s dark
head appeared. The man looked drunk, which could be a dangerous thing for him
and his men.

Rourke made a sound to the young soldier next to him
to stop working at his links.

The room was quiet outside of heavy breaths.

Raven stood in the middle of the room and stared at
him. Rourke knew immediately what he was planning to do.

"Come to exact your pound of flesh,
Raven?"

Raven's response was the slow curl of his lips into
an evil grin as he replied, “Ever the arrogant bastard. I’m going to enjoy
every minute of this.”

His guards rushed in and started a fire in the wall
pit.   Rourke couldn’t see what else they did, but he heard the metal
scraping of tools. The gasp from the young soldier at his side told him what he
already knew.

The torture weapons.

Raven walked further into the room and made a slow
show of pulling on his leather gloves. Rourke knew all too well how deep and
dark Raven's barbaric depravity ran, he'd seen it firsthand and had survived it
years ago. Now, Rourke prayed he'd survive it once more.

When the jailer came over and handed the long tongs
out to Raven, Rourke sucked in a deep breath.

The tongs would sear his flesh and be painful, but
bearable Rourke knew. He’d bite off his own tongue before he’d cry out. He just
hoped he remained conscious.

The jailer's hands holding the red hot steel tongs
shook badly. Rourke waited for the torture weapon to fall on Raven’s foot.

“What are you waiting for fool? Do it!” Raven
shouted at the man.

The jailer looked on in incredulous fright from
Raven to Rourke and stuttered out his response, “I-I cannot.  The Dark
Axe- he can reach from anywhere to get at us.”

Enraged, Raven cracked the jailer against the side
of the head with the back of his hand. “Imbecile! Do it or find yourself
chained to that wall next to him.”

The jailer, reduced to a blubbering mass, dropped
the tongs just missing Raven’s booted foot and backed away. Raven gave orders
to two guards and they each grabbed the jailer by an arm.  Raven bent and
picked up the tongs and waved them under the jailer’s nose. 

Rourke knew his intent and gritted his teeth.

“He is but flesh and bone… like us.  Therefore
he can be wounded… like us. Trust me, I well know it.”  Raven turned
swiftly and pressed the hot iron into the exposed tender flesh under Rourke’s
right arm.

Skin burned, popped and sizzled. 

Red hot pain ripped through his body as the blade
burned layers of his flesh away.  Yet Rourke uttered not a word, breathing
heavily in his struggle not to pass out or lose unconsciousness.

He knew the bastard wanted to elicit some kind of
reaction from him, but he would not give Raven the satisfaction.  He was
no longer that youth whom Raven had aimed to kill years ago. He held on to the
fact, that when he got out of these chains, he would relish killing him.

Boiling with rage that his action did not exact the
measure he wanted, Raven reared back with a snarl. Removing the weapon, he
turned on the jailer. He nodded to the two guards holding the shorter man and
the jailer fought, but ‘twas futile.

Hot heat still clung to the tongs and Rourke watched
through a searing haze of pain as Raven stuck the iron to the jailer’s cheeks.

The man’s high pitched wailing seemed to satisfy
Raven and he motioned for his men to remove him from the room.

He handed the tongs to another guard and said, “To
hear the Dark Axe yelp like that would be the best gift the almighty could
bestow upon me. A lesson learned I am sure. Now the next time I expect to hear
the same from you. Hmm?”

Rourke said nothing and only stared at him. 
Raven arched a brow and said to the nearby guard, “Put salt in his wound and
rub it deep. I will be back in an hour or two to tear his flesh slowly from his
bones.”

Rourke groaned in frustration when the soldier next
to him yelled. “Bastard! You will never get away with this.”

“Nay,” Rourke said hoarsely through clenched teeth.

‘Twas too late.  The smug grin Raven turned on
the soldier told Rourke the boy had sealed his fate.

"Leave him be," Rourke said on a forced
painful breath hoping to salvage the situation. "Your quarrel is with me.
Take me down and do what you will."

"Mercy for your man, eh? What do you think of
it, John?"

John, one of the guards, stepped forward. “He is
awfully young, my lord.”

Raven shot the guard an offensive look and growled
out, “Go see if there is word from the watchers.”

John left with another guard in tow. Raven turned
back to him, “Worry not, Dark Axe, your time is coming. But not yet. As for
this wet behind the ears whelp, I think time has come to teach him how to
respect his betters. What think you, Rourke? Will he be a good student?”

A painful cough stopped Rourke from speaking again
when Raven dragged the blade of a short dagger he’d pulled from his waist of
miniature weapons and down the side of the soldier’s face, drawing a trickle of
blood.

The remaining guards in the room laughed and egged
Raven on.

Rourke gave a look to his other men to be quiet
before he turned his eyes back to the young soldier.

He could see the fright in the soldier's eyes but he
also saw the bravery there as well. The kid would face his death. Rourke could
only hope it would be swift.

"Raven. I’m going to enjoy killing you."
Rourke said with conviction.

"If I didn’t know better, I’d say you actually
believe that,”' Raven laughed, adding sarcastically, "You and my brother
tried that once and failed. You will fail this time too and rot in this
hellhole. Your flayed carcass will be fodder for the crows and ravens.”

“He will come hunting for you,” Rourke’s dead calm
voice broke through Raven’s cackle of laughter.

“That is the idea! After all he is next. I’m going
to take and destroy everything my dear brother has right before his eyes, and
then I will kill him slowly.”

“You tried that once and failed,” Rourke spit his
own words back at him and took painful pleasure in watching Raven’s step
falter, and the red color seep up his neck.

Raven shrugged his shoulders and said with a nervous
laugh, “Your stalling is only going to make it worse for your man, Dark Axe.
God knows I wish I had split you to your skull that day as well.” Raven
motioned for his men to continue. 

Rourke locked his gaze with the young soldier until
they removed his chains and strapped him down to the table, blocking his view
from him.

The guards held the struggling boy down and the ache
in Rourke tore through him as he watched the heathens pour from a spout a
stream of yellow liquid and excrement down the soldier’s throat. 

The soldier fought not to swallow, but he had little
choice as he gagged and coughed up the revolting mixture. The spray of filth
flew all over the two guards as they held their large hands over the soldier’s
nose.

Rourke roared, fought and raged against his chains
like a madman, helpless and drawing blood at his raw wrists in agony over the
torturous act. His heart ached for the loss of another young life because of
him.

The guard’s laughter and Raven’s resonated off the
dungeon walls as the young soldier fought for his breath, his body convulsing
and struggled beneath them until he moved no more. They removed their hands and
continued laughing, before their eyes turned to Rourke. He wanted to kill every
single one of them with his bare hands. 

Their laughter died.

The silence was deafening except for the sniffles of
Rourke’s remaining men.

One of Raven’s guards swallowed so loudly, Rourke
heard it through his haze of black rage.  They must have read his promise
in his eyes for the guards wiped their hands on their soiled tunics and averted
their gazes. Raven growled over their cowardice and waved them out of the room
as he followed. At the door he turned back and spoke to the rest of Rourke’s
men.

“Well then. That will be the fate of the lot of you
if you dare speak out to me again.”