THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 41
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
It took Sam Winters one kick to break down
the door to Isabelle’s bedchamber.
Graham
didn’t remember entering, nor did he remember
drawing his sword, but he did remember the
three things he noticed first.
The priest with a knife to his throat. The prince
with murder in his eyes. The duchess, sagging
unconsciously in some foreign brute’s arms.
Graham didn’t have time to think before his
body moved.
Unfortunately, Leopold had the same thought.
The point of the foreign prince’s sword nestled
itself between Isabelle’s collarbones, dimpling
the delicate skin of her ne-ck and halting
Graham in his tracks. Behind him, Sam gr-unted
as one of Leopold’s three men crumpled to the
ground, the northerner’s blade slic-k with blood
as he yanked it free from the man’s belly.
“One more move and she joins her father,”
Leopold said, eyeing his fallen man. Sam
whirled at the sound of the prince’s voice, his
entire body tensing as he took in the sword
pressed to Isabelle’s ne-ck. Leopold backed
around Isabelle, the edge of his blade drawing
a trickle of blood as he positioned himself
behind the man still holding her.
“Let her go and I’ll let you walk out of here
alive,” Graham said, his knuckles white around
his sword.
“I daresay you’re in no position to negotiate,
your Highness,” Leopold drawled. “She leaves
here with me or she leaves this world.”
Sam growled as Graham’s mind raced. He
didn’t doubt that one wrong move would have
Leopold spilling Isabelle’s blood all over the
floor of her bedchamber. That sheer
knowledge alone had him battling down the
bloodlust that to-re throu-ghhis veins, screaming
for Leopold’s head.
“You’ve killed a member of my king’s court and
are now threatening to murder his daughter and
heiress as well,” Graham said, his voice deadly
calm. “I daresay you’ll be lucky to escape here
with your head still atop your shoulders.”
“If I don’t return to my camp by sunrise, my
for-ces march on Inverloch and we go to war,”
Leopold spat. “Can you afford that, Graham? Or
will your father cower in his castle while his
border lords turn on him for abandoning
Kentshire?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, this town is
swarming with my men,” Sam snarled. “I’d pit
a hundred Umberwood men against a thousand
Germanian bastards any day!”
Leopold laughed, if only to goad the
northerner. Graham bit his tongue and wished
that Sam would do the same.
Isabelle’s life hung in the balance.
“Look around, you pathetic oaf,” Leopold said.
“Your useless scouts were the ones who
provided us a means of entry. It was far too
easy to separate them from their uniforms,
something I daresay none of you noticed.
There’s so much damned red tartan in this
town that it was almost too easy for us to sli-p
in and ambush her.”
“I will kill you for this,” Sam swore. Leopold
laughed once again, sliding his sword ever so
slightly against Isabelle’s ne-ck. A bead of
blood bloomed along the edge of the blade
and Graham’s thoughts narrowed to one.
He was going to kill Leopold.
The sting of the sword had Isabelle’s eyes
fluttering open. Graham’s heart stopped,
hoping she wouldn’t move and alert Leopold to
her wakefulness. Thankfully, she blinked herself
aware of her surroundings, still limp as a rag
doll in the Germanian thug’s arms.
“Not before I kill your beloved future queen,”
Leopold said, baring his teeth. “Or did you
think I hadn’t figured out why you’d come
rushing in here to save her?”
Graham for-ced his eyes away from Isabelle,
relieved that the blow that had knocked her
unconscious hadn’t killed her.
“You’re wrong,” Graham said, wrapping his
mind in the icy calm he needed to succeed at
manipulating the situation back into his favour.
“I made her a duchess so she would remain in
Pretania of her own accord.
I didn’t have to
for-ce her hand, as you no doubt tried to, what
with having a priest here and all. Speaking of
whom, I would counsel you to release him,
unless you plan on eternally damning your
soul.”
“I’ve taken enough lives that one more won’t
matter,” Leopold said. He nodded at the
second man still holding a knife to the priest’s
throat. Isabelle’s eyes wide-ned and Graham
cursed, but Sam’s knife was quicker.
The Germanian’s blade dragged across the
priest’s ne-ck as Leopold’s man crumpled to
the ground, Sam’s knife jutting from the place
where the foreigner’s eye had once been. The
priest stumbled forward, pressing a hand to the
wound on his ne-ck. But the blood did not
gush, it simply trickled, the knife having done
no more than graze Father Hammond’s ne-ck.
While all eyes were on the priest, Graham
looked to Isabelle. Her terrified blue eyes met
his and he knew in that instant that he’d stop
at nothing to save her.
For the moment, that
meant getting the blade away from her ne-ck.
Isabelle had the same thought, taking
advantage of the distraction to slowly inch her
hands up. Leopold’s sword was sharp, but
better her hands take the brunt of whatever he
unleashed rather than her ne-ck. Seeing what
she was doing, Graham to-re his eyes away
from hers to gauge Leopold’s reaction. His
stomach turned at how useless he was, at the
fact she would have to injure herself to break
free.
But the second she was free of Leopold’s
sword was the second he would strike.
Baring his teeth, the foreign prince shouldered
his crony out of the way, seizing Isabelle
around the wai-st so as to better hold the
sword against her ne-ck. She remained limp,
her hands finally coming to rest on the sword
as Leopold tugged her back against him.
Behind him, Graham heard Sam slide another
knife from the sheath at his belt.
“That is quite enough,” Leopold barked. “Drop
the knives, Winters, or I’ll slit her throat.”
Sam growled a Gallic curse in response, which
had Leopold pressing the blade against
Isabelle’s skin. She winced, but remained slack
in the foreign prince’s arms.
“Drop them, Sam,” Graham said, his eyes on
Leopold. He didn’t dare glance down at
Isabelle, not when the foreign prince still
seemed to be convinced that she was
unconscious.
“But-” Sam started.
“Drop them,” Graham replied,
his voice still icy
calm. With another curse, Sam let the throwing
knife thunk to the floor.
“The swords too, gentlemen,” Leopold
snapped. “Or do you take me for some kind
of-”
Graham watched the decision flit across
Isabelle’s face before she sque-ezed her eyes
closed. In one swift movement, she shoved
Leopold’s sword away as she slammed her
feet down to drive herself upwards. Her head
collided with the foreign prince’s chin, the
impact and shock of her movement sending
him reeling off balance. The arm that had been
pinning her to his che-st flailed wide as he
fought to regain his balance. Isabelle cut off
the scream that rose to her li-ps as Leopold’s
sword sliced into her hands, twisting away
from him as she lunged towards the door.
Graham didn’t waste a moment, leaping
forward to slash at Leopold’s man when he
reached for Isabelle.
His sword crunched as he
sliced throu-ghthe man’s arm clear to the
bone, ripping it free to the sound of his
screams. Leopold regained his balance as
Sam swooped down for his throwing knife and
crossed the room in one fluid, graceful
movement.
The throwing knife found its place inside the
last man’s throat as Sam’s sword collided with
the prince’s. Steel sang as they parried, but
Leopold was no match for Sam’s skill.
With a roar, Sam knocked Leopold’s sword
hand out of the way, slashing the prince across
the cheek. Leopold yelped in pain and Sam
took advantage of his distraction to press his
blade against the prince’s throat. Leopold’s
sword fell to the ground with a thunk.
Confident that the northerner had the foreign
prince un-der control,
Graham whirled around to
locate Isabelle.
Huddled against the wall by the door, her skin
had gone ashen as she stared at her shaking
hands. Blood leaked down her wrists, staining
the lace-trimmed cuffs of her mourning dress.
“Don’t look,” Graham said, falling to his knees
beside her. Throwing decorum to the wind, he
reached for the hem of her petticoats, slicing
throu-ghthem to produce a pair makeshift
bandages. She was still shaking as he
wrapped the torn petticoats around her hands,
compressing them as best he could.
Her
fingers were like ice as he worked, the sound
of Sam’s fists pummelling the foreign prince
filling the silence.
“Sam that’s enough,” Graham said, when
Leopold had stopped moa-ning but the fleshy
thud of Sam’s fists persisted. The northerner
let out a gr-unt.
“Tie him up,” Graham said, his eyes never
leaving Isabelle as he bound her other hand.
“And find a healer, quickly.”
Isabelle was still staring at the bandages, too
easily soaking throu-ghwith blood. With a quick
apology, Graham took her hands into his,
squeezing them in an attempt to staunch the
bleeding with pressure. She bit her li-p but
didn’t let out a noise as he did so, his heart
splintering at having to cause her such pain.
But she was free. She was alive.
Hopefully not
maimed, but alive.
“You came,” she managed, tearing her eyes
from the bloody bandages and the carnage
surrounding them.
“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out as
a thousand thoughts battled their way throu-gh
his mind.
Of course he’d come. She might hate him after
everything that had transpired between them,
but the fact remained that he was very much in
love with her. It was a stupid, foolish thing to
have allowed to happen, but he couldn’t dance
around the truth of it any longer. He loved her.
He would always come for her. He would
protect her from whatever threats she
encountered, whether it be a foreign prince or
his own father. Perhaps he hadn’t done so
good a job of it thus far, but she was alive.
He’d spend the rest of his life making it up to
her, if she’d let him.
The smile she gave him, despite the pain
clouding her eyes and the still-fresh heartbreak
from losing her father, seared itself into
Graham’s memory.
“I was wondering when I’d hear you say it,” she
said, before her smile faltered. “I think I’d like
to lie down…”
Graham caught her as she tipped sideways,
the shock and pain finally catching up to her.
~*~
Graham didn’t allow himself the luxury of sleep
that night, not while the threat of the
approaching Germanian troops still loomed
over them. Leopold was locked away in one of
the cells in the castle dungeon, both eyes
bruised and nearly swollen shut from the
beating Sam Winters had unleashed before
Graham had stopped him. Truth be told,
Graham was more than a little disappointed
that he hadn’t been the one to do it. But part of
him knew that he would not have shown nearly
as much restraint had he been the one to
disarm the foreign prince.
Leopold would no longer be breathing had
Graham been the one to deliver the beating. It
was a fortunate fact indeed that Sam had taken
that from him, given that killing Leopold would
have guaranteed war with Germania.
When he was certain that Isabelle was going to
be all right, un-der the care of the trio of
Highcastle healers that had been sent in an
attempt to save the late duke, Graham retired
to the study with Lord Winters, Sam, and
Kentshire’s estate agent, Marcus, to plan their
next move.
Sam Winters, upon seeing what had been done
to Isabelle’s hands, had very nearly ordered his
men to march on the Germanian camp. His
father had been the voice of reason, siding
with Graham instead. Now was not the time
for rash action, not unless they wanted to
incite a war with the Germanians.
They had a substantial bargaining chip in the
form of Crown Prince Leopold, battered and
bloodied as he was. As much as it made the
bile rise into his throat, Graham had ordered
the foreign prince tended to, if only to maintain
what little goodwill they had left between the
two kingdoms. If they returned a maimed
crown prince to the prideful King of Germania,
they wouldn’t be able to avoid a war. If they
returned a bruised prince, there was still a
slim chance that their relations remained
diplomatic.
They had the manpower to hold Inverloch, but
once word got back to Rhysalia that they were
holding Leopold hostage, Graham couldn’t
predict what the Germanian king would do. It
would be easy enough for the Germanian for-ce
to skirt Inverloch and cut off their supplies, but
the men that his father had sent to arrest
Isabelle would be directly in their path. The
king’s soldiers would have no choice but to
respond to such an invasion of Pretania.
As they pored over scenarios, Graham became
more and more convinced that there were no
solutions that did not lead to war. As much as
he wanted to kill as many Germanians as he
could in retaliation for what they’d done to
Isabelle, he knew that Pretania could not afford
a war. Umberwood would ally itself with
Kentshire and Eastcliffe would no doubt join
them to form an allied gauntlet along the
border. The king would be for-ced to support
them or destroy whatever loyalty he had left
among the nobility, something his father would
not take gracefully. Graham knew beyond the
shadow of a doubt that he would be the one to
bear the punishment for forcing his father’s
hand.
It was the desperation for a solution that did
not lead to war that had Graham descending
into Kentshire castle’s dungeons, shortly before
dawn, to bargain with the man that had
attempted to murder the woman he loved.
To be continued……