Page 71 of Retribution

The Cleodora before Aidric would have simply bowed her head and agreed, fearful of Cambridge’s rage, of his punishment. But the Cleodora who had just spent the day in the arms of a man she was going to marry didn’t have so much fear. Perhaps she’d absorbed some of his bravery because she could see, quite plainly, what needed to be done. It was either her death or Cambridge’s, and she wasn’t ready to die yet. She knew that Aidric and his men were going to come up with a plan for her, but she didn’t think she could wait until tomorrow. At this moment, Cambridge was drunk and sluggish and vulnerable.

She had to take advantage of that.

God help her, she had to be clever.

She lowered her gaze and saw the sharp knife next to her plate. It was the only weapon she had. But it gave her an idea, so she pretended to be clumsy and knocked it off the table.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I know you value your knives. I will retrieve it.”

He grunted something she didn’t understand as she ducked under the table to retrieve the knife. But that was only part of it. The knife was very sharp, with a bone handle carved in the shape of a lion, and it was about six inches long. Long enough to stab him with.

But she had to be brave enough to do it.

Brave…

Aidric’s words came back to her as she crawled around under the table.

I admire you greatly for your bravery, my angel. You are strong. You can do this and do it well.

No one had ever believed in her and Aidric’s faith gave her strength. Gripping the knife, she crawled toward Cambridge as he poured himself yet more wine. She came very close to his legs, his big belly protruding under the table. She reasoned that stabbing him in the belly wouldn’t do the damage she hoped for because of his layers of fat, but stabbing him in the leg—where there were vital veins filled with blood—might cause him to bleed to death quicker. Taking a deep breath for courage, she brought the knife to bear on the inside of his right leg.

Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab!

Cleodora plunged the knife into his leg five times in quick succession. Cambridge howled and kicked out, plowing his booted foot right into her chin. She fell back, immediately tasting blood where he’d driven her teeth into her tongue. But now she was panicking and she still had the knife in her hand, bringing it around to stab him many more times in both the right and left leg. Cambridge screamed and kicked out again, trying to get out of his chair, but he was too drunk to do it.

But he wasn’t too drunk to reach under the table and grab her by the hair.

“You little whore!” he roared. “What did you do? What did you do?”

Cleodora was still holding the knife as he pushed the chair back and pulled her out from underneath the table. As he yanked her up by her hair, she slashed out with the knife yet again, catching him in the arm and the neck. She was slashing wildly, now crying out in pain because he was hurting her and she was genuinely panicking. She hadn’t counted on his getting his hands on her and she knew that if she didn’t kill him now, he would have the chance to kill her. He was bigger and stronger.

He could snap her neck like a twig.

Somehow, Cambridge managed to toss her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her. Bleeding profusely, he propelled himself out of his chair and landed on top of her. He was big and heavy and as he trapped her, his hands went around her neck.

He began to squeeze.

“I will kill you,” he spat, spittle dripping from his lips and onto her forehead. “You wicked creature, I will make sure my face is the last one you see in this life. See who has the power of life and death over you!”

Cleodora was screaming, thrashing around as his hands tightened. He had her in a bad way and the more he squeezed, the more her vision began to dim. The knife was still in her right hand and she slashed at him, stabbing his right arm. He was forced to release her neck with his left hand, using it to try to grab the slashing blade. Because he only had one hand around her neck now, her death was slower, but she was still seeing stars. Her eyes were still dimming. He finally managed to get a grip on her right wrist, stopping her from piercing him again.

That seemed to make the way clear for her end.

“Look at me,” he said, putting his weight on his right hand to crush her windpipe. “Look at me and know that I am your God. I have the power to take your life, you little chit. How foolish you were to defy me. How—”

He never finished his sentence. Suddenly, a hand was reaching around from behind him and as Cleodora watched with her fading vision, she could see someone dragging a dagger across Cambridge’s throat. His entire neck opened up, spilling out blood and fluids and God only knew what else. It came gushing down over Cleodora as Cambridge fell off her, lying on his back and trying to scream. But nothing would come out.

Only blood.

Lots of blood.

Coughing, seeing stars from the blood supply to her brain being cut off, Cleodora rolled onto her stomach and crawled away from Cambridge as fast as she could manage. She was gasping and sobbing, crawling to the table and grabbing at it to steady herself. When she finally turned around, it was to see Langford standing over Cambridge to check if he was still breathing.

Langford was holding a bloodied knife.

In her muddled mind, Cleodora was certain that Langford was about to use that knife on her, so in a panic, she pulled herself up to her knees, grabbed Cambridge’s knife off the table, and pointed it at Langford.

“If you try to kill me, know that I will not make an easy target,” she gasped. “Leave me alone!”