A Bullet Or Two

Chapter 8.5

Somehow, Delilah had managed to hull Charlotte and herself back to the former's room. Stick in one hand and Charlotte's waist in the other. She swore she had felt the stitches on her calf tug loose as she walked but persevered onwards. Hip against the door, she barged it open and led Charlotte to her bed. There, Delilah untied the ribbons plaited across Charlotte's back, pulling them loose enough to give her cousin breathing room.

Charlotte's breathing had returned to a regular pace as they sat leaning against the mattress, facing the window. Rain teetered down in trails as tears fell down Charlotte's cheeks.

They said nothing. Just stared out the window, listening to the rain and distant ruckus of the carriages. Charlotte was not ready. Delilah knew that much. And knew just as much that she could not let her cousin go. Baron would have to find another way. Another method of expanding his territory and alleging himself with the South. She would not let Charlotte go. At nineteen, her cousin had too much to learn, too much to experience, too much left in Farhilm to love. 

Billy would need her. Cornswald would need her. Delilah would...She felt her eyes welling. Placing her arm over her cousin's bare shoulders, she pulled her close. She would not let her go.

At some point, Charlotte's breathing labored and drifted into a relaxing pattern. One Delilah found herself mimicking. They breathed together, wordless and motionless. Treasuring the quiet. 

That was how they stayed until the doors flung open to the room. Disrupting their moment of peace. 

Delilah peeked over the mattress, finding Charlotte's bodyguard stood there, staring alarmed at the two of them. His hands gripped open the double doors and there he stayed. Not moving. Not speaking. Doing nothing.

"What is it, Barclay?" Delilah struggled to stop her annoyance seeping into her words. However, she failed to keep it from her actions. Huffing, she sat up and glared.

The man did not respond. Just stood there staring again. Until, suddenly, he opened his mouth and gargled blood dribbled out as he seeped to the floor. Blood drenched his black shirt, leaking from stabbing in his back where the knife still remained. "Barclay!" Delilah screamed, disturbing Charlotte from her stupor. 

Behind Barclay's body emerge three others of Baron's guards. Each with thick beards groomed across their round faces: one brown, one grey, one ginger. Their uniforms were as pristine as Jonnie's. She pulled herself to her feet, stumbling at the sudden weight on her left leg. "Did I permit you entry? Who did this?" The guards merely looked at her, then down to her cousin who remained on the bed frozen in horror at the sight of the corpse. "Do not come any closer." Again they merely looked at her. Examined her from head to toe in her gold dress. 

The ginger took the first step forward and the others joined him. He looked familiar, almost as recognizable to her as Nolan was that morning. Only, she could not recall where she knew him from. Delilah peered down to Charlotte, whose eyes widened once again through their puffiness. "What do you want from us? I will give you want you need, as long as you leave after." Tremors were joining her voice. Her fear started to seep outwards. 

The three guards ignored her. Continued in their approach, smirking.

Moving her hand to Charlotte's eye line, she closed it repeatedly, urging the distraught girl to pass the stick lying in front of them. Delilah needed it and needed it now. Misunderstanding, Charlotte shuffled closer to Delilah instead. She repeated the gesture. Hoping her cousin would realize.

The guards got closer, only meters away.

Grey badges were pinned to their hats, something she had not seen before. Nor was part of the distributed attire. Delilah could not make out the symbol on them. "Run," Delilah whispered, pushing Charlotte off of her. "Run!" She spoke louder before lunging to the floor for her stick. Her blade was hidden inside. Specially incorporated as an extra safety measure. She had never thought she would require it.

Charlotte scurried across the bed, her dress sagging down her torso to reveal her chemise. One of the guards broke away, following the Lady. Delilah grabbed her stick, pulling the knife free just as the grey one clasped her heel.

Crunching her stomach, she bent forward and drove the straight blade into his hand, slicing through it to her heel. They screamed in agony as she wrenched it loose and kicked at him.

Her way out was blocked – the brown and grey beards in front, and her body was not yet recovered enough for an elegant escape. All Delilah could hope was to be a distraction for Charlotte to flee.

Splinters of wood scattered alongside the legs of a chair. The grey-bearded man collapsed, stunned.

Blocks of wood in hand, Charlotte dropped the chair now in parts. And crouched over, breathing heavily. The brown beard seethed, switching between his fallen comrade and Delilah's cousin. Yet all Delilah could do was tremble. Terror tried to keep her in its saddle, strapping her in as it bucked. Her head dizzied, grasping for any thoughts of what to do.

The grey one knelt on the ground next to her. Charlotte was still there. Not running. Not doing what Delilah said.

Ginger beard strode from around the bed, head in hand, a white shoe in the other. Delilah pushed to her feet, struggling with the reins of her fear that threatened to paralyze her.

Protect.

Protect.

Protect.

"RUN!" She screamed for the last time before digging the knife into the chest of the grey beard, pushing her body into his as she did. Dig. Dig. Dig. She released her fear and rage upon him, every last ounce she had kept strapped in the saddle of the crazed horse. Every last ounce she had drunk deep down in her stomach, washed away by every ale.

Dig. Dig. Dig. Her pulse thundered in her ears as the storm outside did. Dropping the knife to the floor, she dared to see the corpse's face: pale cheeks, cold eyes, and blood pouring from his chapped lips. Vomit circled her innards. Her pulse thundered on.

Two hands restrained her arms from behind. Numerous obscenities scattered around the room.

Please be gone. Please be gone. Her mind begged.

But, as she forced her hand high, ready to languish in her triumph, she stalled at Charlotte's brown eyes. Three more guards stood in the doorway across the room. With a knife against her throat, Charlotte was in more of a mess, her face redder, puffier, and soaked. Delilah choked back a cry. She was not gone.