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“Charge,” came a shout that sounded like Will. He rode through the gates with the villagers following. They all had their weapons and burst into the courtyard fighting against Sir Gregory’s soldiers. She even saw Jacob’s brother, Father Frank, with a rake in his hand.
Maira’s heart soared. Jacob’s army, as well as the servants, had come to his aid. She kneed the High Sheriff in the groin and managed to roll out from under him. She picked up her sword and started to fight with his soldiers to help the villagers.
Jacob managedto break out from the soldiers holding him, trying to ignore the pain of his leg as he picked up a sword in each hand and limped over toward Sir Gregory.
“No one is going to take what is mine,” he growled. “And no one is going to touch my wife and live to tell about it.”
The High Sheriff got up and grabbed his sword but it was too late. Jacob’s vengeance would finally be served. He took the man down and stuck both the swords through the High Sheriff’s heart. Then he looked up and shouted loudly.
“Stop the fighting,” he called out. “The High Sheriff is dead. I won’t have the deaths of innocent people on my head. Those knights and soldiers who will pay allegiance to me, drop your swords and get down on one knee. For those who still follow Sir Gregory, I will give you one minute to get the hell out of here and never return.”
There were some men who hightailed it out of the courtyard, but most of the soldiers vowed to honor Jacob and got down on one knee.
“Jacob!” Maira dropped her sword and ran to him. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her over and over again.
“Maira, I don’t ever want anything to come between us again.”
“And neither will it,” she said.
“Where is my son?” Jacob scanned the courtyard.
“There’s the boy,” someone yelled. He turned to see Cleo driving a horse and wagon into the courtyard. The Bishop of Durham was in the back with Ricker cradled safely on his lap. Behind them rode Alf and Morag and Branton and Tommy. They all came to join him.
“Ricker,” shouted Jacob, reaching over and taking the boy from the bishop. “Come here, Son.” He held the little boy to his chest and kissed him, keeping one arm around Maira at the same time. He was never going to let go of what was his again.
“Someone else approaches,” shouted one of the soldiers.
“Maira, I think it’s your father if I’m not mistaken,” Jacob told her.
Maira lookedup to see her father riding through the gate with a small army of men.
“Father,” she cried, running to him.
Rowen, her father, dismounted and gathered her into his arms.
“Maira, I’m sorry I sent you here. As soon as I realized it was a mistake, I came right away. I only hope I’m not too late.”
“Father, the High Sheriff was a horrible man and framed Sir Jacob for killing a bishop three years ago.”
“Sir Jacob?”
“Father, I’d like you to meet Sir Jacob Quincey. My husband.”
“Your . . . husband?” Rowen cocked his head and studied Jacob. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re married,” Maira told him. “Jacob is the man I chose to wed.”
“All right.” Rowen nodded, looking at the dead bodies of the High Sheriff, Delbert, and about a dozen others. “What the hell happened here?”
“My lord, if I may,” said Jacob, holding on to Ricker, limping over to them. “I would like to explain everything to you. But first I want to say I am in love with your daughter, Maira, and would like your permission to marry her.”
“But I thought you were already married,” said Rowen.
“We are, but I would like your blessing.”
“This is the man you want as your husband, Maira?” asked Rowen.
“He is, Father. I love him.”
