“We find out that, then we find out who it is,” Kinnell said.
“Make sure the men keep a keen eye on Walsh,” Torin ordered. “He could have purposely killed that other mercenary so he could not tell us anything. He also could be waiting for the right time to carry out his mission and make his escape. See he is kept away from my wife.”
“The men keep an eye on him,” Kinnell assured him.
Torin heard the crack of a branch followed by another, then it grew quiet, much too quiet. He let out a roar as he pulled his sword from its sheath just as several warriors emerged from the woods their battle roars echoing through the trees as they charged at Torin and his small troop.
The battle did not last long to Torin’s surprise and suspicion, the men who attacked running off, not finishing the fight.
“Bloody hell,” Torin said, wiping his blood-stained sword on a dead man’s chest as he surveyed the damage.
Only two men lay dead, and neither were his men. All his men were unharmed.
“Why attack and run?” Kinnell asked, shaking his head.
Torin’s eyes sparked with anger, and he called out, “Get to your horses, we head home.” He threw Kinnell a quick look. “It was meant to delay us, giving someone time to breach the bridge.”
He need not say anymore, Kinnell and the others understood… someone was trying to make it to the keep knowing Lord Torin was not there. Torches were quickly lit, and a quick pace set for home.
Fear twisted at Torin’s stomach that he would be too late. That somehow a man would make his way unnoticed into the village, the dark night his cover, then into the keep to find his wife and kill her. The thought sent a fury racing through him, and he raised his torch to cast a wider light and picked up his pace.
When he finally spotted the bridge, his heart pounded against his chest seeing far too many torches not only at the start of the bridge but at the end as well. Something was not right, and he prayed he was not too late.
* * *
Flora feltthe wind at her bare feet as if urging her up the stairs and she followed slowly, cautiously, worried what might await her around each curve in the staircase, though she knew in her heart where it was taking her… to the tower room.
A torch burned low in the sconce there, and she did not recall having ordered it lit, though her husband could have, a more plausible conclusion.
The wind turned soft and moved up around her ankles as if shackling her there. She shook her head. It was nothing more than a wind that ran through the keep, coming somewhere from within the tower room. No doubt after all these years the windows’ shutters had decayed and fallen off the windows leaving the wind to rip through the windows and along the stone and down through the keep making it sound like a moan.
It was a reasonable explanation and if the shutters were restored, she believed it just might solve the ghost problem.
In case she was wrong, she decided to continue her one-sided communication with the supposed ghost.
“I will help you however I can if only I knew what you wanted me to do,” she said.
After a few minutes of silence, she shook her head at her own foolishness and turned to go. That was when she heard the strange noise. She was not sure what it was, so she listened more closely and that’s when it caught her eye.
She looked closer to see that a corner of one of the stones, about her height, which sealed the door was crumbling, the pieces falling to the floor. She stared in disbelief, to her the answer was clear.
“You want the door unsealed,” she said, and the torch suddenly blew out.
She had not expected a response, but she got one.
That was enough for one night for Flora and she eased herself along the wall to help safely guide her in the dark and down along the stairs, her heart pounding madly and her feet icy from the cold stones, to get to the next floor where a torch would light her way.
With relief she made it to her bedchamber when she heard footfalls pounding in a rush up the stairs. Was it her husband? Dare she call out? What if it wasn’t? What if someone had gotten in the keep and meant her harm?
She hurried into the room and hid behind the door, the dagger tight in her hand. The pounding footfalls drew closer and closer. When they approached the door to rush in, she raised the dagger ready to strike.
Her wrist was grabbed and her back slammed against a hard chest.
“Let a man get a dagger from you, and you are doomed, wife,” Torin scolded. “He yanked the dagger from her hand and tossed it aside. “Now you are mine to do with whatever I please.”
Flora understood he was letting her know what could happen if she failed to use the dagger correctly, but she wanted him to know that dagger or not…
“You are the only man who I will ever allow to touch me intimately,” Flora said.