SHE PAUSED FOR a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit space. The air was thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and smoke, that crept its way like a noxious soup, down the hallway towards her, while the raucous laughter of the guards echoed from every corner of the crowded tavern room.
Then she caught sight of Maeve moving between the tables, laughing at the men's off color remarks as she swatted away wandering hands and dodged those among the guards who tried to seize her by the arm and pull her into their laps.
Eldra watched her for a moment, a mixture of concern and admiration crossing her face.
Maeve seemed entirely unbothered by their crude behavior, slipping easily from one lecherous hand to another while continuing to wear the bright smile expected of her.
But Eldra knew better.
She could see the tension in Maeve's shoulders and the careful calculation in every step she took.
This was not the first time Maeve had learned how to survive among men who believed they had the right to take whatever they wanted.
Eldra caught Robert's eye from the shadows where she had concealed herself out of sight of Mowbray's men.
He gave her a slight nod, then subtly motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.
She turned and hurried in that direction, but nearly collided with one of Mowbray's mercenaries, who was relacing his trousers after returning from the privy.
"I beg your pardon," Eldra murmured.
The man looked down at her, his brow furrowing, a quizzical expression on his face.
Eldra hurried through the entrance to the kitchen, her heart pounding in her chest.
Robert followed moments later and found her standing near the hearth, her face pale with fear.
"I think one of the mercenaries recognized me," she blurted out, as soon as he entered the kitchen.
Robert's expression immediately hardened.
"The one with the blonde hair. I think," Eldra said in a panic. "Though I cannot be sure. I only glanced at him for a moment in the darkened hallway before quickly looking away. I think he was coming back from the privy."
Robert glanced toward the tavern room.
"You sit tight. I'll go and see if Mathew noticed one of the men coming back from the direction of the privies."
He guided her into the chair beside the hearth, and waited until she was safely seated before making his way out into the tavern.
Robert casually poured a glass of ale, then carried it across the crowded room, weaving between tables as though he had no particular destination. When he reached Mathew's table, he placed the glass before him, leaning close enough to his ear, so that he could hear what he needed to know over the men's voices that swirled around them.
"Have you seen one of Mowbray's men leave to use the privy recently?" Mathew looked up at him, his expression changed while his eyes swept across the crowded tavern.
The blonde haired mercenary sat near the far side of the room, laughing with two of his companions.
Mathew's gestured slightly in his direction.
"That one," he murmured. Robert followed his gaze. His stomach tightened.
Mathew had confirmed his suspicions. The blonde mercenary was the one who had passed by Eldra in the hallway.
Mathew rose from his seat and made his way toward the blonde haired man and his companions.
Robert watched him go, his hand tightening around the back of the chair that Mathew had vacated.
"Mathew," he called softly, but the smithy did not turn.
There was a determined set to his shoulders as he approached the men, his massive frame forcing them to look up as he came to a stop beside their table.
"Well, lads," Mathew said, forcing a jovial tone into his voice. "You look as though you could use another drink."
The blonde haired man looked up at him, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Aye. And who are ye?" Mathew grinned.
"Just a friendly local who happens to know where the best ale in the village is kept. It's far superior to the swill they serve here" He said from behind his hand, his eyes remaining fixed upon the blonde mercenary.
He needed to know exactly what the man had seen, and more importantly, whether he recognized the woman in the hallway.
"I think we are happy to stay here. Right, friends?" the blonde man said, surveying his companions.
"Aye!" they all agreed.
"And besides, the scenery is rather fine here," the blonde added leaning comfortably back in his seat, watching Maeve as she bustled between the tables, her hips swaying ever so slightly, while she carried drinks to the waiting patrons.
Mathew followed his gaze toward Maeve, then back to the his face.
A slow grin spread across Mathew's face, as a sly plan began to form in his mind.
"Aye, she is easy on the eyes, and much warmer in yer bed." He agreed. The men broke into raucous laugher, and Mathew joined them, careful to keep his expression light, but beneath the jovial facade, he was watching the blonde-haired man closely.
He had noticed Maeve, and perhaps he could turn that to their advantage, he considered.
Mathew leaned in close to the blonde haired man's ear.
"Ye know, I have heard the girl can be had for the right amount of coin," he whispered conspiratorially.
The mercenary glanced up, a broad grin spreading across his face.
"Is that right, friend?" he said, licking his lips as he eyed Maeve up and down. "Could you make the introductions?" he asked the smithy never taking his eyes off the girl.
Mathew chuckled and nodded toward Maeve.
"Aye, I reckon I could. But a man ought to be prepared to pay handsomely for such an introduction."
The mercenary reached for his purse, his attention fixed upon the red-haired serving wench.
Mathew's smile remained in place, but his eyes sharpened. He handed the massive man some coins from his purse.
The Blonde man thought he had bought himself an opportunity, and if all went according to plan, he had in fact just paid for his own funeral.
Now Mathew only needed to make certain the mercenary was too distracted by Maeve's charms to notice when he snapped his neck.
"Give me but a moment to make the arrangements with the girl, and then meet her out back behind the tavern, and trust me you will be well compensated for yer coin." Mathew told the blonde mercenary, striking him hard upon the back with one of his massive hands.
The blow causing the ale he was raising to his lips to slosh over the rim of his cup.
The man jumped back as ale splashed across the table, then grinned broadly and nodded.
Already, he was looking forward to his rendezvous with the buxom redhead.
Mathew made his way across the crowded tavern, pulling Maeve aside.
Robert watched as he spoke to her, a grim look crossing her face for a moment.
Then Mathew nodded toward the blonde mercenary sitting in the corner with his companions.
Maeve glanced in his direction, smiling brightly.
She turned her back to him as Mathew leaned in close and whispered something into her ear. After a moment, she nodded hesitantly, and made her way toward the hallway, disappearing into its shadows.
Mathew caught the blonde mercenary's attention and gave a subtle flick of his head, signaling that everything had been arranged.
The man rose immediately.
"Jesus Christ," Robert muttered beneath his breath. "What in the hell is Mathew doing?"
He watched in growing alarm as the blonde mercenary followed Maeve into the hallway.
A few moments later, Mathew followed after him.
Robert's heart dropped into his stomach as realization dawned upon him.
Mathew had not arranged a tryst for the mercenary, he had lured him away from his companions, and judging by the grim expression Mathew had worn when he left, Robert suspected the blonde haired man was about to discover exactly how lethal the village smithy could be.
Robert made his way back to the kitchen, where Eldra waited anxiously for his return.
She sprang to her feet when he entered, immediately reading the grim expression upon his face.
"What did Mathew say?" she asked, fear evident in her voice.
Robert looked down into Eldra's face, uncertain how much he should tell her. For a moment, he considered softening the truth, but he knew she would see through his lie.
Finally, he decided she deserved to know what price the man's silence would cost him.
"Mathew is handling the situation. You will have nothing more to fear from the mercenary," he said quietly. "Maeve and Mathew have lured him out behind the tavern. He will cause no more trouble after Mathew has finished with him."
Robert lowered his eyes to the stone floor, unable to meet her gaze.
"No," Eldra whispered.
Her eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in.
She turned abruptly and ran from the kitchen, through the tavern, and out into the moonlit night.
" Damn it all to hell" Robert exclaimed, before he hurried after her, but by the time he reached the back entrance, she had already disappeared into the darkness, and with Maeve otherwise engaged he could not leave the tavern unattended to follow her.
Maeve leaned coyly again the brick of the tavern's wall as the blonde man pressed his body against hers while he drooled kisses along her neck.
She moaned softly, pretending to enjoy his attention, while her eyes swept the shadows for any sign of Mathew's presence in the darkness.
Growing bolder the mercenary began to roughly handle Maeve's breasts as she stood motionless, panic growing within her, praying that Mathew would appear from the shadows, and just get whatever he intended to do to the man over with before he managed to lower his trousers, exposing his prick.
Maeve was beginning to regret agreeing to Mathew's little plan, when he abruptly stepped out of the shadows and onto the moonlit grass behind the man giving her a single nod of his head.
Maeve immediately pushed the blonde mercenary away from her. A look of surprise swept across his face.
But before he could react, Mathew seized him by the chin, and sharply twisted his head to the side.
For a moment, Maeve simply stood, staring at the body in stunned silence.
Mathew looked down at the fallen man, then turned toward her.
"Are ye all right, lass?"
Maeve swallowed hard and nodded, though her hands were trembling. "Yes," she croaked out. "I think so." Then she began to sob quietly before Mathew drew her into his massive arms, clutching her closely against him. "Don't ever ask me to do that again," she whispered, into his chest.
Eldra picked that inconvenient moment to come rushing around the corner of the tavern, skidding to a stop on the damp grass.
She looked down in horror at the dead man lying at Mathew's feet, then up at the giant smithy, who stood with Maeve gathered safely in his arms as she sobbed softly against his chest.
Eldra's face turned ghostly white, and for a moment Mathew thought she was going to be sick.
She stared at Mathew, disbelief and anguish written across her features.
"How could you?" she whispered. Mathew met her gaze, his expression grim. "To save yer skin," was all he said.
Eldra stared at him, unable to answer.
Mathew glanced down at Maeve, then back toward the tavern.
"If he recognized ye, if he had told the others, they would have come for ye."
"But you killed him," Eldra whispered. "Aye," Mathew replied quietly. "I did." He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer.
"And I would do it again to keep ye safe, and ye know if Vincent would have been here he would have done the same."
Eldra looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding her head, knowing he was right.
"I am sorry for judging you, Mathew. You're right. Vincent would have done the same," she said softly. "And thank you."
Mathew gave a solemn nod.
"Take Maeve back inside the tavern and get her cleaned up. I have to dispose of the body."
Eldra turned toward Maeve slipping an arm around her shoulders, giving her a motherly squeeze.
"And thank you, too," she said gently. "I cannot imagine what it cost you to do that for me."
Maeve gave her a weak nod, still shaken by what she had seen. The two women made their way back toward the tavern.
Mathew waited until they had disappeared around the corner of the building before turning back to the blonde mercenaries body.
He bent down and lifted the body from the ground as though it weighed little more than a sack of grain.
Glancing around to make certain he was unobserved, Mathew carried the body toward the graveyard wall. He pushed the body over the low wall before climbing over after it.
He knew the location of a freshly dug grave nearby, its dark earth still loose from the recent digging.
It would make an excellent resting place for the mercenary, and he was certain whoever was interred above him would not mind the company.
With the dead man still slung over his shoulder, Mathew made his way through the silent graveyard toward his awaiting grave.
When he reached the freshly dug grave he lifted the man from his shoulder and slid him neatly onto the freshly earth at its bottom, then jumped down to join him in his final resting place.
As Mathew used his hands to lightly cover the blonde man's corpse so he would not be observed while lying within its depth as the coffin was lowered from above, he could not help but feeling a bit sick himself over what he had done.
Though he had done what he had to do to protect Eldra he had promised himself that he would never again kill another man after returning home from war.
Now he had broken that long ago promise, and he feared that before all was said and done he would have to break that promise many more times. Mathew pulled himself up out of the grave reaching into his purse drawing out the coins that the dead man had given him to pay for his imagined tryst with Maeve.
He stared down at the coins where they lay within his massive palm, even the weight of them making him feel ill.
Then he carelessly tossed them into the open grave.
Mathew wanted nothing to do with Mowbray's blood money.
* * *
Robert kept watch on the shadowed hallway, anxiously awaiting the return of Eldra and the others.
Relief washed over him when he finally saw the women enter the tavern making their way toward the tavern's kitchen.
He tossed down the rag he had been using to wipe spilled ale from the bars top, thanking the stars that the crowd had begun to thin.
Mowbray's men having either climbed their way drunkenly up the stairs to their beds for the night, or abandoning the tavern altogether in search of female companionship down by the docks.
Exchanging their hard won coin for the favors of the women who worked there.
"And may God be with you," he thought bitterly, watching them disappear into the night.
Then he remembered, to his shame, that until recently, Maeve had lived amongst those poor unfortunate women who, having no other means of supporting themselves, were forced to trade their favors for whatever minuscule amount of coin the greedy bawdy house Madams were willing to offer them to merely survive.
And his expression softened.
Maeve had escaped that life, and Robert silently vowed that she would never have to return to that life as long as there was breath in his body.
Robert felt deeply ashamed that, when Maeve had come to him after what Johnas had done to her, he had not done more to help her.
He had recognized the fear in her eyes then, and yet he had fooled himself into believing that there was little he could do for her without making matters worse. He should have confronted Johnas about what he had done to Maeve, but instead, he had been a coward and done nothing.
Remembering the life she had been forced to endure, his shame weighed heavily upon him.
He sighed heavily and made his way back toward the kitchen to check on Maeve and Eldra, hoping that, in some small way, he might yet make amends for having failed the girl when she had needed him most.
He silently swore he would not fail her again, and he also swore that he would not fail Eldra either, even if it meant putting his own life at risk to do so.
* * *
After searching Johnas' study for the key to the padlock that opened the cage holding Vincent prisoner, Bertha and Mary made their way to Mowbray's chamber at the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs, cautiously lifting the latch and slipping inside.
Like the man himself, the room was almost militarily neat, the only exception being the table beside the bed, upon which sat an astonishing array of bottles containing mixtures of animal and plant fats, along with various powders, all scented with his all too familiar rose hip fragrance the same scent that always turned Lady Mary's stomach whenever he stood too near to her at court, which thankfully, was not often.
Being careful not to leave any obvious evidence of their search, knowing that Mowbray would notice even the handle of a brush left askance, the two women desperately scoured the room for any sign of the key.
"Damn it to hell!" Mary exclaimed after finding no evidence of the key among Mowbray's belongings.
"He must have it secreted somewhere upon his person."
She sat down on the edge of the bed in frustration, jumping abruptly to her feet as she heard the men entering the house, their voices carrying up the stairs.
She and Bertha hurried from Mowbray's room, pulling the door silently closed behind them before slipping across the landing, and into Mary's bed chamber.
They had barely stepped inside when they heard Mowbray wearily climbing the stairs, his heavy footsteps drawing nearer before enter his own chamber.
Bertha gave Mary a concerned look as they stood in silence, scarcely daring to breathe, and praying that Mowbray would not notice that they had recently been inside.
Mowbray removed his tunic, preparing to lay it neatly upon the bed, when he noticed it, the unmistakable wrinkles of someone having recently sat upon the blankets at the foot of the bed
He turned toward the door, eyeing it suspiciously. Then a wide grin spread across his face.
So that's their game is it? He thought to himself.
His wife and the insubordinate old maid had plotted together to free the vampire from his prison.
Mowbray chuckled to himself, absentmindedly fingering the key that hung around his neck.
"Let them try," he murmured beneath his breath. "Perhaps they, too, shall feel the poker's hot kiss upon their tender flesh, just as Vincent shall tonight," he whispered to himself, the flames from the fire that burned in the grate reflecting in his eyes.
* * *
Vincent heard Mowbray and Johnas return, his panicked heart beating like the wings of a caged bird within his chest.
He knew with a heart-rending certainty that the two men would soon make their way down the narrow staircase to the cellar, and then his trials would truly begin.
He longed to reach out to Eldra once more.
To gaze upon her beautiful face, and see her emerald green eyes glowing brightly, once more before he met his fate.
To hold her in his arms, even if only in the illusion of standing together at the center of the strange monoliths on that faraway plain.
But he knew that if he did, his courage would falter.
He would not be able to endure what awaited him with her by his side, and he could not bear the thought of her watching him die, calling out to her in agony, just as Aurelius had done as he had burned, while Vincent had cowered in the shadows, too afraid to go to his aid.
Too much of a coward to face death bravely as so many of his kin had done, so instead he had chosen flee.
And now that his time had come, he pledged to meet his end with as much courage as he could muster.
He closed his silver-blue eyes tightly, and prayed to the old gods to grant him the strength to do so.
"I'm sorry my little raven," he whispered into the darkness, then leaned back against the cages bars to await his death.
* * *
Mary clung to the old housekeeper, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks as they listened to the anguished screams rising from below. Bertha prayed fervently for the man's agony to end, beseeching God to welcome him into his arms and granting him peace at last.
Unable to bear Vincent's cries any longer, Mary fled from the house in search of Eldra, feeling that if nothing was done to help him, Vincent would not survive the night. She raced through the darkened streets in desperation, nearly losing her footing on the rain slick cobbles as a cold drizzle began to fall.
She burst through the tavern door looking like a madwoman, her wet dress clinging to her body as she frantically scanned the room for Mathew. For anyone who could come to Vincent's aid.
Mathew leapt from his chair at the sight of her.
Mary stood shaking in the doorway, dragging ragged gulps of air into her lungs after her frantic sprint through the streets.
Water pooling around the hem of her soaked skirts as she looked wildly about the room, her face pale with fear.
Mathew swept her into his arms and carried her into the kitchen settling her in the chair by the fire, before pulling a blanket around her, calling for Robert before kneeling before her.
"What has happened?" he asked her.
Mary looked at him with haunted eyes, taking the hot cup of chamomile tea that Robert offered her before speaking.
"They are killing him! Vincent is dying!" she cried out in anguish, her eyes darted wildly between them.
Fear clouded the men's faces.
Robert immediately rushed from the kitchen, his footsteps pounding up the stairs.
Moments later, Mary and Mathew heard him knocking loudly upon Eldra's door, calling out to her in a panicked voice.
Mathew tilted his head upward, straining to catch any snippets of the whispered conversation between Robert and Eldra.
Failing to do so, he stared down at Mary's pale face, her hair hanging in limp strands that obscured her features.
He gently brushed a few strands away from her face as she gazed into the distance with haunted eyes.
Eldra rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen, terror plainly visible upon her face. She ran to Mary's side and knelt beside her, grasping the hand that did not hold the cup of tea.
"What are Mowbray and Johnas doing to Vincent?" she asked, taking Mary's face gently between her hands, forcing her to focus her eyes upon her.
"Mowbray is torturing Vincent. I know not how or with what, but the terrible screams rising from the cellar are unbearable! Nothing human could make those cries!" she wailed before breaking into uncontrollable sobs.
"Call Maeve to watch over Mary. Mathew, round up whatever men you can, and Robert, fetch the priest. We may have need of him before the night is through," Eldra commanded, steel in her voice.