Battle Cry and The Berserker Read online

  Juliette’s thoughts took wing. She wanted to help. She needed to do something. It was not in her nature to just sit idly by. Turning swiftly, Juliette raced to Constantine’s chamber. She thrust open her armoire and took stock of its contents. Their father had been over indulgent with the both of them. Constantine had enough apparel for ten women. Juliette knew her sisters taste in clothing. At times their father had acquired gowns from distant places that had appealed not, yet the sisters would not be so cruel as to scoff at their father’s gifts. They loved him dearly. That thought made Juliette pause. Why had their father not interfered in these new chain of events? Juliette knew for certain he loved them more than life itself. Yet he had not demanded her safe return to him. Did he realize they needed to see one another? Or was he planning something else?

  Perhaps he wanted to see just how well Lord Christopher would take care of her. Well she was certain he had his answer, as had she. Lord Christopher cared nothing for her wellbeing. He had not bothered to seek her safe return. He only sought word on her vocal skills. Juliette slumped upon Constantine’s bed. How on earth could she cry love of Lord Christopher when it was apparent he did not want her? Constantine would never believe her. She knew her too well, and Juliette couldn’t lie. Yet they were betrothed. Not only would she never find love but her sister would fall into despair knowing Juliette was beyond sadness. Oh, what to do?

  Juliette straightened her shoulders. She was being very selfish, she was too old to act so childishly. People were cold, hungry, bewildered and she was flittering about concerned of love. What foolishness. With conviction Juliette sorted through a few of her sister’s old gowns and knowing what she would never wear, placed them atop the bed. Next she hastened to the kitchen. The men would be starving once they returned. So too would the villagers. Food must be prepared posthaste.

  It wasn’t long before Juliette had every spare blanket gathered. She had convinced the cook to roast up two cows and two pigs. Insisting it was Devon’s command all the people must be fed. Enough food was needed to be prepared while homes would be rebuilt in the days that followed. Every spare corner within the castle now sported clean hay to host the villagers who had no home for the evening. None must freeze. These were Constantine’s people. Juliette had heard from Mary how they adored her. How in favor of her saving they had been. They must truly care for her if they ventured their lord’s wrath by allowing Lord Christopher to take her. Juliette must endeavor to aid them. She felt positive it was what Constantine would seek if she were here.

  Devon was surprised upon his return from the village. The castle was a bustle of activity. People were racing madly about. Heavenly smells engulfed the castle. Long loaves of bread lined the numerous tables as well as hard cheese, turnip and stewed apples. A huge pot of thick soup simmered, waiting to be ladled into trenchers. Piles of meat upon trays were brought forth. Sweet smelling straw lay close to hearths as if for bedding. As well as dozens of blankets and spare clothing. He walked about wondering what was occurring.

  “Your bath awaits you, my lord.” Devon spun about surprised to see Mary standing before him.

  “I have ordered no bath as yet,” Devon stammered.

  “Nay, my lord, the request was Lady Juliette’s,” Mary informed him.

  “Lady Juliette?” Devon asked, dumbfounded.

  Then suddenly there she stood. Juliette giving orders to his people as they raced to do her bidding. The powerful knight he had assigned to protect her rearranging a mound of straw dropped hastily at her quiet plea. She but batted an eye and he could see the hardened knight falling all over himself to aid her. For some reason that thought angered Devon. She was his to protect, not that slobbering fool’s. The knight smiled at a spoken word from Juliette then placed a large hand to her slim shoulder and plucked a strand of straw that rested there. It was too much. Devon raced forward.

  “What do you?” Devon all but shouted at the man.

  Surprised at the deep furious harsh spoken words and his sudden appearance, the knight stepped back to stand before Juliette protectively. His hand automatically going for his sword hilt.

  “You think to challenge me?” Devon howled furious, his face turning crimson with anger.

  “Nay, my lord, Devon. You but startled me,” the poor man stammered. He had thought it was an attack on the Lady Juliette before he realized it was but Devon.

  “Devon, what ails you?” Juliette demanded, emerging from around the knight.

  “I thought... it was just...” Devon stammered. He felt ridiculous. All within the castle were now staring at him with pensive curious expressions, the red upon his face deepened with embarrassment.

  “Be still, my Lord Devon. ’Tis nothing a hot bath and good food will not cure, you’ve had a rough time of it today,” Juliette said, placing her hand atop his arm.

  Poor Devon was covered from head to toe in soot, soaked and chilled from cold lake water and looked beyond exhausted. The man must be weary to the bone, his emotions must be in turmoil to be so jumpy of his own man. “Come, my lord,” Juliette said. “I have asked that a bath be prepared upon your return. Wash and come down to dinner. I have taken care of food for your knights and the villagers. I have made certain a place to rest is offered for those in need of it. You have more than done your part. ’Tis time to let others step in whilst you recover and regain your strength and peace of mind.”

  Juliette signaled Mary who came forward to take Devon to his chamber. He allowed her to propel him away in his confusion. He was amazed at what Juliette had accomplished. None had asked her. They had kidnaped her, yet here she was issuing orders. As a lady of the keep would, as she was raised to. She was truly remarkable.

  Left alone to undress, Devon sank wearily into his tub. The day had been overlong and he was in fact exhausted. The village would require many repairs. It was good of Juliette’s insight, many were without a warm bed for the night. As to how the fires started it was apparent it was deliberate, but as to who had done such a despicable act he could not fathom. Devon lay back with his eyes closed until he heard his chamber door open and he looked up expecting Mary. His concern escalated when Juliette appeared before him.

  “What do you in here?” Devon demanded, sinking to his chin into the steaming water.

  “I have come to aid in your bathing,” Juliette said innocently, surprised he would ask.

  “What mean you aid?” Devon all but squeaked. She had no business offering her help now...in here...with him...naked.

  “Constantine is not here. I will take her place until she arrives with your brother,” Juliette informed him. She crouched beside the tub and sank her hand into the water in search of soap.

  “Heeeyyyy,” Devon yelped as her hand grasped unknowingly upon his manhood and yanked to bring it to the surface.

  “Oh, I am sorry. Perhaps you should aid me,” Juliette replied.

  Juliette released him with embarrassment. ’Twas un-seeming a woman should grab at a man’s growth, yet she had never bathed a man before. It would not be good if she made it pop in his bath. She would no longer be a virgin and most definitely Lord Christopher would never want her. Juliette’s hand stilled. Her thoughts raced madly. If Lord Christopher did not want her and she were ruined she could remain at Rory’s castle with Constantine. She felt certain both she and her sister could beg her acceptance from Rory.

  Juliette’s hand roamed the water once more slowly, fearfully. She remembered Constantine had bled after. Taking a deep breath Juliette sought out Devon’s manhood with a purpose. Devon squirmed and twisted beneath her searching hand, his hands batting at hers. Juliette reached between his powerful thighs triumphantly and took hold. Devon groaned and held still as Juliette gripped him and began to rub.

  “What do you, Juliette?” Devon ground out between hard gritted teeth.

  “Be still, Devon, I know what I am doing,” Juliette declared. Obviously it was Devon’s first time. She determined to be very gentle with him.

  “Juli
ette,” Devon moaned. He knew he should stop her but was gripped with a hungry

  mounting need of his own. How many times had he envisioned this? How often had he wanted her hands thus upon his person? His eyes squeezed tightly shut.

  “Do not fear, Devon, I will not hurt you,” Juliette informed him taking note of his fear.

  Devon wanted to be overtaken by the lust he felt consumed by. She was so beautiful. So completely innocent... in need of his protection. Devon leaped out of the bath splashing water all over Juliette’s surprised form. He raced to don his breeches.

  “Juliette you have no idea what you do,” Devon exclaimed.

  “But Devon do you not see. If I am ruined Lord Christopher will not covet me. He will demand our betrothal declared null and void and I may stay with my sister,” Juliette cried. She slumped suddenly in a heap and wept with all of her pent up sorrow and anguish. “Do you not think you could even try to want me?” she begged in anguish.

  “My brother has entrusted me with your care. I will not dishonor him,” Devon said while wrapping a rug about his waist. He moved across the room to lift Juliette into his arms. She clung tightly to him wishing she could be held forever, her pain was so great.

  Devon lifted her face with a gentle finger. He gazed into her agonized expression. His heart near breaking at her hurt. He realized now why he had been so fearful when Juliette had appeared at his side by the fire. Understanding dawned as to why the knights close proximity to her enraged him. Devon was in love. He wanted her to stay. He chided himself for taunting his brother that he had been smitten. Now it would seem it was his turn. Though he liked not the circumstances.

  “Perhaps it is time I sought an audience with your father,” Devon told her.

  “You are returning me?” Juliette asked, anxious, her saddened expression stared woefully up at him.

  “I am keeping you,” Devon declared, his own expression now fierce. He would not let her go. He would present his case to Lord Campbell. If he would not agree he would wed her without his blessing. He felt positive Rory would aid him.

  “What say you, my little berserker, wilt thou marry me?” Devon asked grandly. Hoping to ease the mood he swept out a gracious hand.

  “Well you are awfully annoying,” Juliette replied seriously. Devon’s eyes widened. “You are always threatening me. If you were to be my husband at least Rory would be close to defend me.”

  “’Tis your own disobedience that is at fault.” Devon snorted.

  “Though your growth is quite impressive,” Juliette declared, still pondering aloud.

  “My growth?”

  “You are rather handsome. Our children would indeed be beautiful. Perhaps in time you could learn to control your temper,” Juliette said.

  “There is nothing wrong with my temper.” Devon growled.

  “Perhaps we should start with that snarl and growling problem,” Juliette said gazing into his scowling expression.

  Devon raised a hand and ran it over his face. He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?” he suddenly shouted down at her.

  Juliette raised her eyebrows high. “Well you needn’t shout, I stand right before you. Most certainly my sister’s howling has not rendered me deaf.”

  Devon slumped, and she claimed he was annoying?

  “Yes, I suppose if my father gives us his blessing I could marry you. ’Tis a good bargain. I get my sister back and you get my dowry,” Juliette mused.

  Devon looked at her a bit concerned. She did not feel as he did. She only sought her dearest sister and assumed he wanted her wealth. Devon had not even been thinking of her dowry. Though it would be more than he had thought possible to attain. He was after all only the second son. Yet Devon wanted more. He coveted a relationship like Rory and Constantine’s. Was it attainable? Looking into Juliette’s face Devon decided if it was at all possible he would make it happen. He would be loving and gentle. Most certainly his little berserker would come round soon enough.

  * * * *

  With Constantine’s aid Rory was soon dressed again. The hour waned and the

  temperature dipped. Rory wrapped the fur tight around Constantine.

  “You are beautiful,” Rory told her, his eyes still smoldering from their passionate liaison.

  “And you are most handsome, my lord. I once again beg your mercy. I am tired and hungry and am looking most forward to seeing Juliette,” Constantine replied.

  Rory smiled down at her. She did look well spent. Their lovemaking had been more wild and heated than ever. He determined he wanted to return her home as fast as Adamas could thunder. He would allow her to visit a short time with her sister then he would claim her again. It would be a long while before he would let his precious little vixen from his sight.

  “You are right, little one. ’Tis time I took you home to bed,” Rory told her, his gruff tone was filled with meaning.

  Constantine could see the double implication to his words and her heart quickened. She would spend a short time with Juliette and claim exhaustion. Though it was not a lie. She was beyond tired. She wanted to curl herself around Rory in their own bed. Though not fearful of Lord Christopher’s intent she could not help but cry at his castle at night. Her loneliness so overwhelming. Finally she was reunited with her love. Constantine clasped him eagerly as he placed her atop his mount. For a lingering moment she gazed down into his depth filled eyes and marveled at his handsome face. Adamas gave a high pitched whinny and stomped a hoof.

  “Hold,” came a hard voice from their left.

  Rory swung round, his hand removing his sword only to have it struck from his grasp. The attack had been unexpected and Rory took a solid blow to his temple. He dropped to his knees as another hard hit smashed into his face. Constantine screamed and the destrier reared to fend off the attack of the smaller knight who had emerged suddenly before him. Constantine had been unprepared for the horse’s reaction and almost toppled off sideways yet managed to grip his long flowing black mane. The huge horse struck out with a massive hoof and connected soundly with the smaller knight.

  “Ah.” Louis howled. “He’s wounded me.” The smaller man retreated, stumbling in his haste to get away.

  Having downed Rory, Frederick paused, watching the pawing snorting destrier. The massive horse had been said to have accompanied Lord Broc on the Crusades. Stories had been told the huge stallion had once had his life saved by Broc from a sand pit. Another story was of Broc mending his own horse after he had been struck by an arrow. The story went Lord Broc had held the doctor by sword and demanded he fix his wounded mount or threat of death would unfold. Afterwards he kept vigil and administered the medications himself until his mount was whole and hearty.

  “Easy lad,” Frederick coaxed, ’twas only a horse after all, there were so many rumors of Broc floating around it was impossible to tell truth from fiction. Still the powerful knight approached with caution.

  “Rory.” Constantine howled at the top of her lungs in anguish. Her agonized face took in Rory’s slumped form. He remained unmoving just off to the horse’s left.

  “Be silent,” Frederick hissed. He approached the black with caution.

  Slowly, with arms outstretched, Frederick offered calming words. He noted Lady Constantine clutched the powerful horse’s mane with a death grip. He smiled evilly, soon she would be gripping him thus. The destrier’s eyes were as wild as Constantine’s and he reared once more. His sharp hooves flailing at the approach of the huge knight. Frederick danced backward away from the enraged beast.

  Constantine, terrified, entangled her fingers into the stallion’s mane wrapping it round her hands. She knew the war horse would not let the men get near, yet she had never in her life been alone atop such a powerful mount and the destrier seemed enraged. She remembered the stories Rory had regaled with pride at the horse’s accomplishments. He spoke of the huge beast not as just an animal but his friend and trusted companion.

  “Adamas,” Constantine whimpered with fear. The
horse’s ears flickered at his name. Rory mentioned the horse’s name meant ‘rock hard’ and Rory thought the name was justly fitting for his powerful strong mount, Constantine agreed. Muscles bunched under her hands on either side of his neck.

  Adamas snorted and shifted his huge body to stand over Rory’s fallen form covering him protectively. He pawed the ground sending clods of dirt to fly backward. His scream of anger raised the hair on Louis’s neck. The man cradled an arm closely to his chest that the destrier had struck and blood oozed through his fingers to drip to the ground. Again Frederick approached, this time his sword held high. His intent was clear. He meant to kill. Frederick’s face twisted into an evil grin.

  “No horse will best me. Die you little rodent. Fall atop your master, it will be a fitting end.”

  The blade rose upward and came swiftly in a downward strike. Constantine screamed terrified and slumped atop the horse, her fear too great not to succumb to oblivion. Last moment Adamas turned and struck sharply with two powerful hind hoofs. His strike connecting to Frederick’s belly. Frederick took flight on an exhaled surprised, “oomph.” His large body sailed through the air until it struck a solid oak tree, his sword clattered to the ground. Frederick hit with a decided thunk and slid lower down the tree until his breeches became entangled in a branch. He stopped abruptly and lay, hands hanging precariously forward.

  Adamas snorted and turned with care, not wanting to dismount his unconscious charge. His head lowered and a large lip curled in Louis’s direction.

  The smaller knight trembled. Louis took in his huge friend’s slumped form amidst the tree. As his thoughts took flight so too did he. Louis ran for all he was worth into the tree line to find his own mount.