by Alisa Adams
“I cannae! They are hurting him!” she said with her voice breaking. She turned to Bluebell, quickly signaling him to kneel, and flew up onto his back. She wasted no time but charged the giant horse into the fray of men attacking Tristan.
“Get off him!” she screamed. “Leave him be!” Her hands were not free so she had to use the big horse to butt into the men, being careful not to trample Tristan.
Finally the men scattered, standing there in a ring around Tristan. Tristan was bloody and badly battered, his chest heaving, his stance wide though swaying, his hands in fists at his sides as he glanced around at the men with narrowed eyes and a steely jaw.
Cenna circled Tristan with Bluebell, the horse’s powerful haunches to Tristan as the horse’s massive chest and head faced the attackers. Cenna put Bluebell into a large, slow, exaggerated trot as she circled and circled, ready to charge at them again if needed.
“Ye will not touch this man again!” she called out loudly in a strong, commanding voice.
Red came forward, pushing roughly through his men to stare at her.
“What do you think you are doing womon?” he seethed in a furious hiss. “This man is under arrest!”
“I willnae let ye harm him!” she raged. The wind kicked up and blew her skirts out behind her where she sat on the huge horse. Her hair twirled wildly out behind her head, flying in the wind. She raised her voice louder. “He has committed no crime and well ye know this!”
“I am the law here, and I will take him for whatever reason I see fit to,” Red seethed, his face turning a harsh red as he stared up at her in fury. “Now get off that horse or I will slit its throat and yours as well,” he hissed quietly as he pulled a knife from its sheath and held it towards Bluebell’s throat.
“Cenna, mo chridhe. Do what he says,” Tristan said quietly as he swayed on his feet. Blood was dripping from several cuts on his face and chest. Still, his deep voice rumbling through her, like liquid velvet, went straight to her heart.
Cenna turned to him, her bright, green eyes shining. “I willnae! I willnae let him take ye!” She swallowed hard. “I am keeping ye Tristan.” She looked hard at him, a smile trembling on her lips. “I am. I am keeping ye.” She smiled then. Bravely. Her eyes only for him. “Best ye get used to it.”
Red motioned again to his men. They came forward warily but Tristan raised his hands in the air. Not taking his eyes off of the magnificent woman on the horse. His Valkyrie. His fierce warrior. His love. He nodded to her with a crooked grin and a wink, and she nodded back.
“Tha gaol acham ort,” he said huskily.
Cenna smiled brightly at him. I love you, he had said.
She swallowed her tears. “Tha gaol acham ort,” she said hoarsely back to him with her heart in her eyes.
With a last smile and another wink at her, Tristan let the men take him. They put him in one of the wagon’s cages. Tristan’s eyes were on Cenna the whole way. The driver locked the large padlock on the door and shoved the key deep into his pocket.
Red stared up at her. “How very charming. Too bad I have other plans for you. I’ll be taking yer Fionnaghall and the ports that come with it, and I’ll be marrying ye. Get used to it now. Or I’ll just kill you after I marry you.” He shrugged, running his hand over his hair. It was still slicked back with some sort of grease; perhaps from his latest meal, holding it close to his head even in the wind. “Makes no difference to me if my wife is alive or dead.”
Cenna heard a roar and the bars of the cage shake and knew Tristan was furious.
“I cannae marry you.” Cenna spoke up loudly just as Red started to turn to leave. “Tristan MacDonell is me husband,” she said simply. Shrugging her shoulders, just as Red had shrugged his so indifferently.
“Then I will just have to make you a widow now won’t I? Though I know you are not wed to him.” Red laughed at her shocked expression as he walked out of the circle of his men. “Get those wagons moving!” he called over his shoulder to the wagon driver.
Cenna stared after him. She had to think. And think fast.
Friseal came over to her and held his arms up to her to help her off the horse.
“Come doon missy,” he said and added quietly, “we must make a plan.”
“Aye Friseal…” Cenna said as she accepted his help. “I must get Tristan and his men out of those cages before they get them to the prison.”
“Those poor weeping women would appreciate you getting their men out too. Perhaps their men could help us as well. We are none too many to fight the Munroe and his men.”
Cenna looked at the women following the slow-moving wagons, staying with their men on their last journey. Then she looked at Friseal and smiled. It was a harsh, determined smile.
* * *
Red Munroe called for his men to make camp. It was just late enough that he didn’t want to get back on the road.
“Fizzle,” Red yelled. “Stay with her! Guard her or die with her.”
Cenna followed Friseal to a spot where they could sit and rest. Every now and then she glanced up the hill to the trees to see if she could spot Flori, Ina, and Loughlin.
Friseal shared his bread and some dried meat with Cenna. He gave some of the bread to the baby birds in his pocket and Cenna noted that he gave some of the meat to whatever was in his beard. He handed her a flask of water and she drank thirstily, giving him her thanks as she handed it back to him.
As evening fell on the camp and the Munroe soldiers drifted off to sleep, Cenna leaned towards Friseal. He was snoring loudly into his beard. His pocket was quiet, the baby birds having been fed earlier.
“Friseal!” Cenna hissed in a whisper. “Please wake up!”
Friseal came awake with a start. Seeing her he calmed, running his hands over his face. “What is it miss?”
“I need yer mither’s dress,” she insisted urgently.
“What for?” Friseal said with confusion.
“You need to put it on. The wagons have not got far. I can see their evening fires through the trees. There are only two guards awake guarding our camp. We are going to leave. We are going to sneak up to the prison camp,” Cenna said quietly.
“But why must I put me mither’s dress on?” Friseal asked again.
“Because we will blend in with the women following the wagons. Then I will give the dress to Tristan through the bars of the cage and we will get him out and he will blend in with the women!” Cenna stopped, staring at him with a smile. Proud of her plan. “It is just like Countess Winnifred, when she broke her beloved husband out of prison by disguising him as a woman, ye see?” she said with excitement.
“And he is yer beloved?” Friseal said with a shy smile.
Cenna stared at him. A smile slowly grew on her face. “Yes, he is Friseal. He is my beloved. And I am going to get him back.” She grinned openly now. “Will ye help me?”
“Ye are gaunnae rescue him?” He smiled at her. “Yes I will, and gladly, miss.” He scratched his bearded chin. “We will need to get those padlocks open, to get the men out.” He stared past her, deep in thought. Then he smiled mischievously. “But I think I can take care of that fer ye.”
Cenna leaned closer. Friseal kept petting his beard. “How Friseal? The wagon driver has the key to those locks.”
“Ye will see. When do we leave?”
* * *
They waited until well past dark. Cenna’s eyes were alert in the darkness. She had a feeling. It didn’t take long. She saw a white figured form in a flowing gown, with ethereal pale hair glide up to one of the guards in their camp. The guard moved towards the figure, away from his post. Cenna listened to the lilting feminine voice, then watched as the guard fell to the ground. Ina was here. Flori was sure to be close as well, and if Flori was close then so was Loughlin.
Friseal untied Cenna’s wrists and put his mother’s dress on. Cenna and Friseal made their way very, very quietly through camp. Friseal quietly sauntered up to another of the guards that had remained awake, sw
ishing his skirts as if to flirt. The curious guard watched him approach, startled at the sight of such a large woman. Friseal kept his head lowered to hide his beard, acting the shy maiden. His bushy, shoulder length hair looked like a maiden’s tresses in the darkness. As soon as he got close enough he knocked his fist against the shocked man’s head, dropping him to the ground instantly. Friseal made sure he was unconscious before they made their way out of the camp, through the sleeping soldiers, past where Red Munroe was snoring loudly and through the woods to where the prison wagons had stopped for the night.
They met up with Cenna’s sisters and Loughlin. Cenna introduced them to Friseal.
Loughlin and Friseal sized each other up, not used to seeing another man as big as themselves.
“Nice dress,” Loughlin grunted.
“Tis me mither’s,” Friseal rumbled.
“Frightening,” Loughlin grunted.
“What is the plan?” Ina’s soft voice asked Cenna.
“We are going to do what Countess Winnifred did,” Cenna said firmly.
“Oh dear,” Flori whispered.
Ina clasped her hands together and sighed. “Och, Aunt Hexy and Aunt Burnie are missing this! Ye are going to rescue yer sweetheart, yer darling, yer love, yer chridhe, yer graidh, yer—”
“Yes, Ina, I am,” Cenna said, cutting off her little sister, who she knew would have gone on for quite a bit.
Flori reached over and placed her hand on Cenna’s. “Truly?” she asked her softly.
Cenna grasped Flori’s hand. “Yes, truly,” she said quietly.
“Ye love him then?” Flori asked again in her soft voice.
“Aye, I do,” Cenna said with a smile.
Flori squeezed her hand and nodded her head, a smile on her face as she looked at her sister. “Then let’s get him out of there ‘Countess Winnifred’.”
Cenna nodded her head in thanks and they all turned to study the camp.
“Where are the aunts?” Cenna asked suddenly.
“Guarding the horses,” Loughlin grunted. “Despite their disagreement.”
Cenna nodded at that and turned back to study the camp.
They could hear the soft weeping of several of the women. Some of them clung stubbornly to their men’s hands through the bars of the cages. The guards kept trying to shoo them away from the wagon. Others were sleeping, resting near the wagons.
There were guards everywhere.
Cenna stayed in the cover of the woods as she looked around for the driver she had seen with the key. She tugged on Friseal’s’ sleeve and pointed to the driver, sleeping near the wagon wheel of the first wagon. “That one has the key,” she mouthed.
Friseal nodded his head. He reached into the bodice of the dress he wore and pulled out a roll of something.
It was another dress.
Cenna looked at him curiously. “Ye purchased two for yer mither? Or is that fer yer wife?”
Friseal looked insulted. “Me wife would niver fit into this dress. Tis fer yer man to put on.” Without further explanation, he reached under his beard and pulled out what looked like a rat.
Cenna backed away from where they had been hiding in the brush.
“A rat, Friseal?” she squeaked in a whisper.
“Aye, King Georgey likes to take things. He took this other dress. I guess he saw me take the one I’m wearing now. Came dragging it along out of the shop he did. What could I do? I took it from him and thanked him for it. It’s a purty dress after all. He has good taste, I’d say.”
Cenna just stared at the beady-eyed little rat, staring at her so inquisitively.
“Oh goodness,” Flori said as she too backed away, abruptly coming up against Loughlin’s chest. She turned and looked up at him. “Loughlin, I told you, please stop hovering.”
“It’s a rat,” Loughlin said. “I thought ye may be afeered of it, Flori.”
“Well I am not.” She waved her hands at him. “Give me some space if ye please then.”
Loughlin had on his face what could only be described as a pout. Flori stared at him.
“I was only doing me job,” Loughlin explained. “I am keeping ye so I must protect ye. Always.”
Flori frowned and started to say something but Cenna interrupted her. “Aye, by keeping ye he is pledging his heart to ye. He is pledging his love and his protection. His safekeeping, for he wants ye beside him forever; as his love, as his partner. So he must keep ye safe,” Cenna said.
Her sisters stared at her. Flori was silent. Ina sighed. She had a dreamy smile on her face as she looked at Cenna. Their fierce warrior of a sister had just waxed on about love and keeping someone when she had scoffed at the very thought at the beginning of this journey!
Loughlin was nodding his head in agreement.
“But Cenna—” Flori started to say something, for her sister had always been only a fighter, a warrior. Had Tristan changed her? Softened the fierce woman that she knew her to be?
Ina hastily said, “Tis all very true, and very well said Cenna. I can only hope to be so lucky,” she said and sighed again. “When ye are one ye are alone, but when ye become two, ye are invincible. Love makes ye stronger, not softer…” Cenna is truly in love with Tristan, Ina thought. She stared happily at her sister.
“But Ina—” Flori stammered in confusion as she looked at Cenna and then at Loughlin standing so protectively close to her.
Ina was petting the tiny rat’s head. She quickly spoke, cutting off whatever Flori was about to say. “Ye love yer Friseal, dinnae ye?” she said to the rat. “And it has made ye strong hasn’t it? Ye can do things no other wee creature can do because of this.” She smiled as she stroked his head. “Ye are a gallus, cocky, canny, minkle rat that is a thief. How wonderful ye are!” she crooned in a hushed voice to the rat. “Ye will skuttle yer wee little self to that ill whilly, naft, numpty wagon driver and take the scunner’s key from his pocket like the canny rat ye are. Ye are a good King Georgey ye are,” Ina murmured as she stroked him.
Cenna looked at Friseal. “How will ye get him to take the key, and not something else?” she asked the proud Friseal who was listening with rapt attention to all of Ina’s crooning to his rat. “Friseal!” Cenna said again, giving him a sharp nudge in the shoulder.
Friseal looked at Cenna in surprise. “Och, sorry miss. Well, it may take a couple of tries. But King Georgey does prefer shiny things.” He felt around under his dress, in one of his pockets. The opposite pocket from his “wee ones.” He opened his giant fist to Cenna.
There in his fist were a number of her dirks. Cenna gasped and felt around her leather belt. All the dirks in the back of her belt were missing. The sly little rat had been busy at night it seemed. She took the dirks and placed them carefully back into the slits in her belt. “Thank ye,” she whispered to Friseal. “I think,” she said, looking at the rat.
Friseal shrugged his shoulders. “I dinnae always know what he is doing or where he goes at night, but he always comes back in the morning,” he shrugged again with an embarrassed smile.
“Off we go then, “ Cenna said. “Flori, Ina, and I will be “weeping wives.” We will make a scene to keep attention on us. Friseal, ye get yer rat; er King Georgey, close to the first wagon driver, and in particular to his pocket and that key.” Cenna turned to Loughlin. “We may need ye if things get rough, but otherwise I want to do this quietly and with the least amount of commotion possible. We are too near Red Munroe’s camp and his men and there are at least thirty men here guarding these prison wagons.” Cenna took a breath.
“We need the men in those wagons,” Loughlin said to her.
“Aye, but first I must get Tristan out of there. He has been badly beaten,” Cenna said adamantly. “We will get them out, but not all at once. In small groups to not attract attention. Without their weapons they will be slaughtered by all these guards.”
“Ye underestimate our men,” Loughlin said curtly.
Cenna raised an eyebrow at him.
“Aye, we are outnumbered. We will sneak them out in small groups as ye say,” Loughlin grumbled.
“Friseal,” Cenna said as she turned to the other giant man looming over her, “you get the key and unlock his cage, I will get the dress to him and walk him out with us. Friseal, you must then wander to the other wagons as if looking for yer husband and unlock the others. But tell the men inside to wait until all or most of the soldiers are asleep. We will tie up the guards, but they must wait. They must be patient.” She stared hard at Friseal. “We will gather in the woods once they are all sleeping, between the two camps, and act as one unit. We must take the prison camp and get our men’s weapons back, then we take the other camp. Otherwise we do not have a chance!”
Loughlin had his arms across his chest. Friseal was stroking his beard. They both were looking down at Cenna.
Loughlin grunted and nodded his head. “Tis a sound plan.” He patted Cena’s shoulder roughly with his huge hand.
Cenna winced at his heavy hand on her shoulder.
Friseal nodded slowly as well. He low voice rumbled in agreement. He patted her other shoulder.
Cenna felt like they were pounding her into the ground with their giant hands on each of her shoulders trying to out-do each other with their patting her for her good plan. She shrugged them off and stepped out from under their hands.
Loughlin looked at Friseal. “What if they dinnae take orders from him and willnae wait? He doesnae look like a fit MacDonell soldier. Bit wide in the belly I would say. Well, truthfully not a bit; he’s vera wide.”
Cenna looked at Loughlin with one eyebrow raised. “Do ye want to wear the dress then?”
A short laugh rumbled out of Friseal’s chest. “Aye, ye are prettier than me, even with all those scars all over yer face. But that long, blond hair? Aye, vera pretty.” Friseal stroked his beard, studying Loughlin. “Shame with that face though. Couldnae wear a dress with a face like that.” Friseal rumbled another sound that was a laugh.
Loughlin stood up straight and proud. “I could wear a dress if I had to.”