“No!” Lily was the first and the loudest to refuse. Alan and Norman were not far behind.
“There are only three of them,” Elias argued. “I will have no trouble with them. Ye will do I say in this,” he said to all of them but stared at Lily. “The children need their mother, my love.”
“They need their father, as well.”
“They will have him,” he promised with a tender smile. “I will be well. Now go.”
She went, rather than have it appear as if he had a wife who defied him at every turn.
In truth, she was happy to get back to the children. They looked terrified. They had been through so much, each one of them. “There are only three men,” she said, reassuring Charlie when he insisted on going above stairs to help Elias. “I have seen him fight. He will return to us.”
Still, Charlie climbed the stairs and sat at the top, by the door. He pressed his ear to the wood and closed his eyes.
Lily wiped hers and went to Father Benedict and asked him to lead them in prayer.
#
Bertram hunkered down on the other side of a slight ridge to the west of Alan and Helen’s cottage and watched everything. When he saw Parrock arrive, his blood went cold. How could the commander’s men have arrived before him? Granted, it had taken him and Tristan a little longer to arrive because of his condition. He could not help from slipping out of the saddle. The pain of bouncing was unbearable. A few times, MacPherson had threatened to throw him from the saddle and continue on without him. But Bertram knew that he was now a pawn in the hands of a proficient killer for hire. For that’s what the Highlander did to earn coin. He killed and, according to him, many prominent Scottish barons wanted Louis killed and had hired MacPherson to do it.
“Why do they want Louis dead?” Bertram had asked him before they got here.
“Because he is a madman. He should never have been given the honor of his title but Edward needed a man in the church as cruel and as devious as he was.”
Bertram looked at Tristan now, lying on his back in the grass, knocked out cold by a rock to his head. What was he supposed to do? Tristan was never going to let him kill Lilyorthe boy. He only wanted to make certain Lion Heart was alive and well and then he was going to go after Louis.
Bertram didn’t kill the Highlander. If it weren’t for him, Bertram would have died at Parrock’s hands. But he hoped his good deed didn’t come back to bite his arse. It was only the second one he’d done in his lifetime. The first was when he let the babe, called little Eddie after his father, live.
He would have liked to use MacPherson’s bow and arrow but he feared the man would awaken. He could have killed Tristan but all he had was the rock and hitting the Highlander hard enough to knock him out had taken every bit of strength Bertram had.
He had to move. He took his time, holding on to trees. He needed to rest after a moment or two, but Tristan would not sleep all day and Bertram wanted Lily dead, so he kept moving. He didn’t care about escaping. She had taken everything from him and then tried to take even more. If he died, so be it. He was taking her to hell with him.
He made his way toward the church at about the same time as Parrock’s men did.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Elias kicked open the heavy, wooden church door. He waited with his axe in one hand and his sword in the other. He didn’t step outside. He had the advantage over the soldiers since they had to come at him through a doorway. The first man in received a chop to the throat with Elias’ axe. He left it where it landed and blocked the heavy blade of the second man with two hands. He rolled his wrist around and made his blade dance through the air. It sliced across the second soldier’s face, neck, chest, and belly. All in a matter of seconds. The man dropped to the floor bleeding from everywhere.
Elias didn’t think either man was Parrock. No, the commander waited outside for him.
With one last look at the basement door, Elias left the church. His eyes were like that of a hawk’s on its prey. Patient and merciless. Where was Parrock hiding? He would come out soon enough. He was alone, and he should be afraid.
Elias made his way to Eleanor’s cottage carefully, and then to Joan and Clare’s empty houses. “What kind of fearful boys does the bishop send to fight me?” he called out.
He heard a movement in Clare’s cottage and went closer to it. “Come now, Parrock. Surely everythin’ ye heard aboot me isna true. What matter is it that I killed eight of yer men? It only means ye hired unskilled peasants. Come oot and fight me and let us see who stands at the end.”
Elias could almost hear Simon admonishing him for being so reckless.
He caught a movement at the end of the path to Clare’s cottage. He turned to see a man coming toward him.
He readied his sword.
The man held his own blade in his hands but he did not hurry his steps.
His eyes were dark, matching his slicked back hair. He looked to be living in his late thirties or early forties. His skin was weathered and rough looking, like leather.
“I have heard nothing about you stranger,” he corrected Elias’ earlier presumption.
Elias quirked his mouth to one side. “Perfect. ‘Tis more merciful that way. Ye dinna know what is aboot to befall ye.”