Castle In The Clouds, Chapters Thirty Nine and Forty (standard:drama, 2875 words) [19/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Nov 15 2010	Views/Reads: 2366/1868	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The castle is under siege, and another vies for Veronica's affections.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

eyes. 

'You cannot do that Veronica, I cannot allow it.' Llewellyn used his
free hand to clasp hers, dragging her with him towards the small window 
overlooking the entrance. He grimaced as his thigh struck the monk's 
bench and for a moment his hold on her was broken as he clutched his 
leg, retaining the sabre by the tiniest thread of his index fingers. 

She seized her chance, pushed him aside, causing him to lose balance
completely, and then kicking the saber beyond his reach ran towards the 
door. It unbolted readily enough and she heard shouting and hammering 
outside, and through it all, Rothman's cultured tones strained with 
urgency. But the door was thick and the voices muffled, and hope and 
expectation turned to despair as pulling at the handle she realised 
that Llewellyn still retained the keys. 

Llewellyn rose to his feet, his face contorted, his brow furrowed and
dark eyes incensed. 

'You would try to trick me – your intended? He rushed headlong towards
her, almost tripping over the sabre in his blind anger. You will pay 
for your treachery...' 

Veronica had no time to think. He was upon her, striking her below the
throat, the impact sending her reeling against the door. She felt the 
sharp pain in her back and bit her lip, but as he prepared to strike 
again she kicked out at his injured thigh, stopping his advance 
abruptly. She grabbed his injured arm, swung him round and then calling 
on all her strength hurled him across the hall's flagstone floor where 
he lay on his back. 

It was at that moment Veronica knew she was stronger than him, even in
his deranged state, she could force a conclusion and quickly. 

She walked forward and looking down upon him held out her hand. 'Thomas,
give me the key or I will take it myself.' 

Suddenly with a madman's agility Llewellyn sprung up, stumbled away
across the hall, forced the Gothic window open and then turned, facing 
Veronica, his face bitter and twisted. 'My dear Veronica, you have the 
strength of a demon and that is what you are – my vision has been 
clouded by your spell. Your beauty is no more than a mask.' 

Without looking over his shoulder Llewellyn tossed the key through the
opening. 'This castle will become our tomb.' 

Veronica strode to the window, looked down towards the volcanic mound to
the rear, saw the key glistening in a fleeting moment of sunlight, and 
sighed. 'You are merely postponing the inevitable Thomas; you cannot 
contain me here indefinitely. If the policemen do not force a way in I 
will find a way out. You cannot stop me.' 

'Oh but I can...' 

Veronica turned, alerted by the gravity in his unnaturally low voice,
and winced as the sabre flashed, slashing deep into her calf. She felt 
a warm, sickly pain. 

Slipping to the ground, she felt the weight of Llewellyn's boot on her
back. 'You will have the slow, tortuous death you deserve. Every 
quarter of the hour I will slash one of your limbs my precious, until I 
reach your divine hands.' And then holding the quivering sabre against 
her neck he added, ‘And ultimately your throat.' 

Chapter Forty 

'What was that? I thought I heard a cry.' Rothman turned in alarm to the
trio of policemen repeatedly ramming the door. 'It's no use, we'll 
never break through this without some kind of ram; we must find another 
way...' 

Taylor looked grim. 'We would need to travel to Berwick for that kind of
equipment. I very much doubt we could obtain the equipment before the 
tide returns across the causeway.' 

'Then we have no alternative, we must find a way in.' 

Taylor pushed a hand across his chin, surveyed the castle frontage and
shook his head. 'The place looks impregnable, what on earth has 
befallen this island?' 

Rothman was in no mood to dwell on such melancholy considerations. 'If
nobody else will, I shall scour the surrounds for another method of 
entry.' 

Taylor turned to him. ‘I remind you that you are a detained man.' 

'There is a life at stake sergeant.' 

'Perhaps even two.' Taylor grunted and turned to his two colleagues.
'Search the exterior thoroughly; we need to force entry quickly.' 

But nothing in Taylor's expression could convince Rothman of the
effectiveness of his words. 

*                             *                             * 

John Gibbings could stand the tension no longer. The pain in his neck
and upper body seared but was nothing like the concern he felt for 
Veronica. He was bare from the waist up, save for the bandaging applied 
by the doctor. His coat had been placed on the rack in the hall and 
that was all he took now as protection from the fierce elements as 
unnoticed by Robertson he slipped out of the rectory. 

Veronica had walked away with the madman, in doing so she had been
saving him and he had been lying there when every crevice of his mind 
screamed out that she was in mortal danger. 

No longer though. No longer. 

By the time Robertson had realised what had transpired Gibbings was
halfway towards the castle. Taylor's carriage was visible at the foot 
of the castle approach, the pony seeming restless in the storm. 

How stupid he'd been, if he hadn't been so stubborn all of this could
have been averted – the bloodshed, the peril that Veronica was in – but 
she was of a different breed, like the man with the red hair – Rothman, 
was his name – in truth they were made for each other. But at least he 
had the chance to put things right. 

The figures around the castle entrance were more definable now, high up
on the slope, scurrying back and forth to no avail, while one hammered 
on the door. 

Didn't they realise that from their position the castle was impenetrable
– that only if the madman allowed them access would they ever get in. 

And what were the chances of that? 

None at all. 

If there was any chance it would be at the rear, where the Gothic
windows looked out across the gardens, closer to the ground. The rock 
that formed the castle's foundations could be scaled with difficulty, 
but once having done that there was a small chance he might be able to 
force entry. 

Ignoring the policemen and the one he recognised as Rothman, Gibbings
diverted from the path, cutting across fields at the rear of the 
volcanic mound. 

The climb was wet and slippery, the rock fragmented and interspersed
with clumps of green moss made ascent all the more hazardous. The rain 
fell intermittently now, but in squalls, the strength of the wind 
threatening his stability. 

The pain in his chest as sharp as the blade that had pierced it,
Gibbings edged across the rocky castle base until he was beneath a 
dining room window, and only then did he realise the futility of his 
task: the narrowness of the windows reinforced by the thick central 
strut running down its centre ruled out any chance of his breaking in. 

Despairingly Gibbings glanced at the ground, his eyes falling upon a
silver object laying on the wet rock. He examined it between his 
fingers, his pulse quickening as awareness dawned. 

*                     *                         * 

Llewellyn whirled as the trio burst in, his flailing sabre catching
Taylor's arm. Taylor let out a yell as Gibbings surged past him, 
driving his fist into the pit of Llewellyn's stomach, and as Llewellyn 
doubled up, snatched the weapon from his hand. 

Gibbings glanced as Rothman pushed past, rushing to Veronica's aid,
clutching the wound. 'My darling your leg, let me tend it.' Rothman 
threw off his trench coat, ripped the sleeve from his shirt and bent 
down to her. 

Veronica shook her head, groaned, 'No, help John,' but Rothman appeared
not to have heard, wrapping the cloth tightly around her leg while the 
scuffle continued behind them. 

'That should stem the flow, darling, I feel the wound is not as severe
as it seemed...' 

'Yes, yes... now please go and help John.' Veronica pushed forward,
struggled against him as Rothman seemed unwilling to remove her leg 
from his grasp, stemming any resistance she could offer. 

With Taylor reeling in agony, Gibbings felt the wrath of Llewellyn's
insane anger. A wild forearm caught him on the chin, knocking him 
sideways as Llewellyn seized the chance to retrieve the sabre from the 
floor. 

Gibbings began to fall, colliding with a stone column, saw the sabre
rise in Llewellyn's frenzied hands and, as the madman closed in, 
expected at any moment the fatal strike. But just as it seemed that 
strike would come Llewellyn wheeled away in the direction of Veronica 
and the attentive Rothman. 

Veronica saw him coming, thrust herself up; she found the strength this
time to wrench free from Rothman's grasp and as Llewellyn plunged 
towards them lashed out with the leg Rothman had been attending. The 
kick was powerful, catching Llewellyn below the groin. Recovering, 
Gibbings seized his chance, diving forward and grasping Llewellyn's 
thigh. 

The madman lost his balance, was drawn backward into Gibbings' hold,
falling heavily, his skull thumping into the flagstone floor.  He 
managed to raise his head, but was restrained by two of Taylor's 
officers from regaining his footing. 

Veronica sighed, finally her ordeal was over. She glanced into Gibbings'
eyes and as he rose to his feet, saw him meet her gaze for an instant 
before casting his own eyes down, draw a deep breath and turn away 
towards the groaning Taylor. 

Rothman's arms were around her, helping her up, his expression full of
concern – but it wasn't his concern that she wanted – longed for. 

*                                *                              * 

'Ghastly business,' Taylor muttered, then staring at Llewellyn, 'stay
with this man until I can arrange his removal.' Looking to the others 
he added, 'With the exception of Mr. Rothman you are free to leave the 
castle, but I must request you all remain on the island until this 
unfortunate business is concluded. Mr. Gibbings, I thank you for your 
contribution, even if it was somewhat foolhardy; I will transport you 
to the rectory, the vicar will no doubt be anxious as to your welfare.' 


'I'll be all right.' Gibbings turned away. 'I need no further
attention.' With a brief glance over his shoulder he headed for the 
door. 

'Thomas wait!'  Veronica called after him as Rothman placed two
restraining hands on her arms. 

'Please don't exert yourself my dear. You must come with me and lie
down.' 

'I will not lie down –John...' she called over Rothman's shoulder,
'where are you going – wait.' She glared at Rothman. 'Let me go!' 

'He is not for the likes of you Veronica, please...' 

'Do as she says, let her go,' Taylor said sternly, walking towards him.
'You are not currently a free man. I need to speak with you on the 
subject of the dead man in the main street, and of the body on the 
shore. Please desist in restraining Miss Day.' 

Rothman yielded reluctantly and Veronica met Taylor's eyes briefly
before hurrying after Gibbings. 'John, I said wait!' 

Gibbings had begun descending the slope, he took a step further and then
half turned, halting on the cobbles. 'If that's an order, Miss 
Veronica.' 

'Oh John, please don't revert to that nonsense.' Veronica placed a hand
on the drawbridge framework, steadying herself. 

Gibbings looked at her bandaged leg and the blood slowly seeping through
the makeshift bandaging. 'You shouldn't be out here, not with your leg 
like that, you need rest.' 

'My leg will be fine John. I will be fine thanks to you.' She drew
breath, forced herself away from the support, took his hand and 
searched his eyes. 'What is it John, what's wrong?' 

Gibbings shrugged. 'It won't work Veronica, it isn't right.' Veronica
squeezed his hand. 'Is that what you think John? Before this happened 
you were ready to leave the island with me – what's happened to change 
things? And it doesn't involve Llewellyn and this damned place. Don't 
you try to tell me that.' 

Gibbings' eyes finally met hers, with a dark severity. 'I belong here,
you belong – oh to hell!' Gibbings struck the wall with his balled fist 
in a rare display of anger. 'I don't know where you belong, but it 
isn't here with the likes of me – nice fine places with nice fine 
people...' 

Veronica clenched her teeth, so tightly a sharp pain seared the veins of
her neck. 'You haven't listened to a word I've been saying these last 
few days.' Her anger disturbed her sense of balance as a violent gust 
of wind took her sideways, her shoulder striking the drawbridge 
surround; her leg, complaining from the impact, began to buckle beneath 
her. 

She was aware of Gibbings' sudden movement and his facial agony as he
took her in his arms and carried her inside the castle hall, laying her 
gently down on the chaise -longue. 

Gibbings paid scant attention to the others as he left the hall and
Veronica covered her eyes; it hadn't been the pain caused by her 
collision with the wall that caused her reaction but the thought that 
she might never see him again. 

Again he'd come to her aid, once more she'd been unable to bridge the
gap that continually seemed to separate them. 

'My darling, I said you needed rest.' Rothman was at her side, kneeling
over her, taking her hand. 'Now you can appreciate the wisdom of my 
words. Rest my love for you are in dire need of it.' 

'I am in need of only one thing.' But Veronica's lips were stiffening
and her words fading as she lapsed into unwanted sleep. 


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