Chapter 38

Strenuously Stephane pushed open the door to the stables and scanned the building for Catherine's whereabout.
But before he could even take a step, a sharp blade was forcefully run into his right side.
"I should have killed you right away!" Esteban spat at him and lunged at the Lord Chancellor.
Quite obviously the other man had been expecting him.

The force of the impact tore the two opponents off their feet. Stephane ignored the burning pain emanating from his injured side and dodged the blade that darted down on him. He blindly palpated the ground in search of something to defend himself with.
But Stephane grasped at nothing and the cold stare Esteban pierced him with seemed as sharp and deadly as his blade.

He was able to avoid being stabbed a second time at the very last second by rolling to the side with a groan until he bumped into a stall wall. His collision knocked over some devices that crashed on the fighting men on the ground.
All of a sudden Stephane's fingers touched a wooden rod. With great presence of mind he raised the rod the moment the blade neared his face with deadly speed. Only then did he realize that the thing he was holding was a pitchfork.

Blazingly fast he turned the tool so that the tines pierced his attacker's chest. Stephane mobilized all his strength and pressed the pitchfork against his opponent. Breathing heavily he watched the tips of the prongs digging themselves into the other man's flesh until his shirt turned bloody.
But before Stephane could free himself or push Esteban away, the other man rammed his dagger deeply into the flesh of his thigh, prompting Narcisse to cry out in pain.
Esteban used this moment of pure agony to wrench the pitchfork - Stephanes only means of defense - out of his hand. The other man didn't even seem to notice his own injury in his delusion, his face a grim mask of rage and vengeance.

"Say your prayer, Narcisse," Esteban whispered wickedly and Stephane saw the blade of the dagger flashing once again. Then the bloody blade slowly but steadily descended upon his upper body. Feeling the cold steel against his chest, the Lord Chancellor pressed his hands against his opponent body with the might of despair, but the other man had evoked a strengh an unarmed man could do nothing about.

Was this his last moment on earth? Was it time to make peace with his maker? But how could this be the end? Was a shared future with his wife to much to ask for? With the woman he had started not only to appreciate but above all he had learned to love. The woman he wanted to grow old with.

And while Stephane Narcisse bemoan his own fate and his approaching death, the other man's expression changed. His mien froze, then it altered from a manic grin to a look of surprise, followed by a pained expression.
Then fresh blood seeped through his lips and dripped on Stephane's face.

With his last remaining strength he raised his elbow and rammed the dagger out of Esteban's hand. A split second later he collapsed on top of Stephane.
Behind him, the face of his determined looking wife emerged, furiously pushing the other man away. In her hand she was holding a second, blood covered, familiar looking dagger. Was this Fabrice's weapon?

"Stephane!" Catherine uttered and sank to her knees next to him. "Are you all right? Please tell me you're alright," she begged breathlessly and seemed rather rattled.
But what was alarming Narcisse the most were the tears that were running down her cheeks. Why was she cry?
"Catherine! Did he hurt you, ma Belle?" He laboriously managed to ask and blinked up at her in fear.
"What? No! It's you who's been hurt!"

"It's not that bad," he groaned but simply couldn't get tired of looking at her beautiful, tear-stained face.
"She is the Medici whore after all!? You lied." A hateful hiss escaped Esteban's lips, who tried to straighten up with the power of his discovery.

Stephane jerked around, what sparked a burning sensation in his side that made him moan. Nevertheless he crawled back to the other man and loomed over him threateningly. His face reflected both his pain and his thirst for revenge.
"Nobody insults or threatens my wife, nor does he manhandle her with impunity and comes away with his pathetic life to tell the tale," Stephane pressed out between his teeth angrily and reached for the man's dagger.

"It seems you two deserve each other." Esteban whispered with lots of hatred in his raspy voice.
"That might be the only thing we two agree upon," the Lord Chancellor answered with a lethal smile on his face that announced imminence. "But it's you who deserves to burn in hell."

Stephane gave the traitor no time for another reply. Instead, he lowered the dagger until the blade burried itself with deadly force in Esteban's chest.
He just stared at the couple wide-eyed. There was amazement in his eyes, as if he couldn't believe that all was coming to an end for him, here and now. On the dusty floor of a horse barn.
Though it was still too good for this monster in Stephane's opinion.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Without taking his eyes off the dying man, he reached for Catherine's fingers to acknowledge her gesture.
"It's over," she whispered to him and Stephane finally looked up at his wife.

Her lower lip was bloody and swollen, as was her cheek and he could already detect the slight discoloration of a growing haematoma on her chin.
But she was alive. Alive and breathing.
And she was looking at him with her big, brown eyes he risked loosing himself inside.

And she had saved his life. His beautiful, stubborn and unpredictable wife had saved his life. Despite all their differences, despite their constant struggle for power and her unwillingness to engage with this marriage, he had somehow and against all odds regained her loyalty.

"Ma Belle," he managed to say hoarsely but then came to a halt.
"He's dead," she said softly and her words prompted him to turn his attention back to Esteban, whose empty and glassy eyes stared at the ceiling.

Suddenly the door behind them was torn open and a dozen soldiers stormed into the stables.
"Finally," Narcisse murmured, squeezing his wife's hand again.
"Stephane? Catherine?" Rafael hurried towards them with his sword drawn. "How are you? Are you okay?"
"We'll live," murmured the Lord Chancellor, getting up with his wife's help.

"What about the other guy?" He asked Catherine, remembering that Esteban wasn't the only one who had stayed with her.
"Dead," was her curt answer and he thought he caught some satisfaction in her tone.

"Go to the tack room, that's where they held our stable master and the stable boy prisoner," the Queenmother instructed the soldiers that accompanied her brother-in-law. One of them nodded and hurried along the stable aisle with two other men in order to free the captured men.

"Can you walk?" She wanted to know from her husband. Stephane waved her concern off with false pride but grimaced in pain immediately.
Catherine's ironic answer came promptly.
"Oh yes, I can see that."

She put an arm around his waist and nevertheless offered Stephane her support. However she couldn't help herself and shook her head in disbelief over his unreasonableness.

That's it, another Chapter done. Three to go. I hope you like it.
So who's the hero (ahm, heroine) of the day?

Thank you for your recent reviews: Leryn, Medicibitch,EstefanyAlvarez, seriphilegirl, CallmeCordelia1, Millie, Guest (serval of you guys actually), Cowgirl and everyone else who took the time to write down some feedback. This means the world to me.

I'd like to comment something Millie said: You are absolutely right, normally there would be enough guards and staff etc. around.
But – and that's the great thing about writing fanfiction – we sometimes need to work a little hole into the plot in order to create such a situation (a hostage situation in my case). This wouldn't have worked with hundreds of soldiers at their back and call. ;o)