The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death by Brendan Carroll Page B

butt struck the floor and both barrels discharged into
the ceiling, barely missing his head. Mark Andrew cursed, Merry
screamed and the shotgun clattered away across the marble
floor.
    The big man stopped screeching, turned around
and opened her eyes and saw his chance. He tackled Mark before he
could get up again; grabbing two handfuls of the long, black hair.
The bigger man put his weight into the desperate move and cracked
Mark Andrew’s head against the base of a marble pedestal. The
Knight grabbed his head with both hands and tried to get up, but
darkness overwhelmed him and he was out cold.
    Maxie struggled to his feet, picked up the
shotgun and smirked down at Merry, who sat crying beside her fallen
Knight as flakes of plaster floated down from the ceiling like
falling snowflakes.
    “Thanks for the help,” he told her and
laughed.

Chapter Three of Twelve
    O God, thou knowest my foolishness; and my
sins are not hid from thee.
    Mark Andrew Ramsay awoke thankfully enough knowing who he was, but
unappreciative of the one errant ray of sunshine, which had found a
home directly in his eyes. When he tried to move, pain radiated
from a spot on the top of his head.
    Voices… subdued, angry voices had awakened
him from a nightmare wherein he was starving in a dark place made
of stone, dank, oppressive. He had been chasing rats with his
dagger. Fortunately, he hadn't caught any of them. A distinctive
relief since he knew that he was planning to eat one of them. The
dream’s disturbing horror faded gradually, but as his vision
cleared, he was dismayed to find that he was, once again tied in a
very bad position. He could see that his wrists were rather
sloppily bound with tasseled satin ropes. At least he could
remember where he was and why his head was hurting, though he could
not imagine when or how he might have allowed himself to be tied to
Merry’s bedposts. The pains of hunger had returned rivaling those
in his head. The persistent sunbeam precluded further forays in the
direction of the voices, threatening to blind him if he insisted.
He closed his eyes, lay still and concentrated on the word.
    The Pixie’s voice he recognized. She was
apparently near the windows speaking to a second woman somewhere
else in the room, possibly near the door. His clothes were gone
again, though he didn’t remember taking them off a second time.
Only a feather light comforter of smooth satin covered him
partially. He moved his leg and the smooth fabric slipped several
inches to the right. Not a good idea. He relaxed again and
listened.
    “I did not!” Merry was saying.
    “That’s not what Maxie told me,” the other
said angrily.
    “Maxie is a pervert!” Merry objected
indignantly.”
    “He’s in your bed, Merry, just like Maxie
said he was.”
    “He was hurt, Cecile,” Merry explained
unconvincingly. “Maxie caused him to bang his head. Maybe even gave
him a concussion or something. He’s a sadistic bastard. Maxie
wanted to kill him and he was going to shoot him. Right there in
the hall. Murder him. Did he tell you that?”
    “You’re lying, Merry. You always lie. If I
didn’t love you so much, I would send you packing. Maxie is not a
murderer. He was just doing his job. I told him to watch him. He’s
dangerous. I told you that. And you let him loose in the house. How
could you be so irresponsible?”
    “I am not lying. Maxie wanted to kill him and
leave him in the ditch even before we brought him home,” the Pixie
began to cry. “I slept on the couch. You can see that he takes up
the whole bed! For Pete’s sake, how could I have slept with him
like that? You’re being stupid.”
    “Yeah, right. I’m always the stupid one, huh?
Then why did you bolt the door?”
    “I was afraid of Maxie. You know I’m afraid
of him. I asked you not to leave me here at night with him! How
many times have I asked you not to leave me with him? I always lock
my door. Get rid of him, Cecile, puh-lease? I hate him. We can