A Bridge Through The Mist

by Denise A. Agnew

  As she continued to wander the castle grounds, she saw more poverty than she cared to view. Most of the women dressed in kirtles and surcoats of brown and grey, the men in tunics and knee breeches of various browns and dingy grey. Now that Alenna lived among the people of 1318, she had a true appreciation for her own time. The three kirtles and surcoats Clandon had delivered to her had been surprisingly clean. Her bra and panties kept some of the roughness of the dark, scratchy linen away from her most delicate skin.

  As she walked, a bitter cold wind lifted her heavy, fur- lined cloak and ate through her garments. Grateful for the cap completely covering the top and back of her hair and sheltering her against the elements, she decided her long walk needed to be cut short. Heavy dark clouds drifted high above the curtain walls. The air grew colder by the minute, and her unease in the environment larger by the second.

  "Mistress." A hushed whisper hailed her from an embrasure in a wall. She searched for the source of the voice and saw a young, stunningly beautiful woman standing in the niche, beckoning to her to come forward. Surprised by the woman’s gesture, she simply stared. A filmy white veil, held in place by a thick silk band, covered the woman’s dark hair. Gold braiding trimmed her purple surcoat made of fine velvet. Flawless pale skin surrounded her almond-shaped cocoa brown eyes. Indeed, these eyes probably melted male hearts faster than butter in a pan. No doubt she was a noblewoman.

  "Mistress," the woman whispered again, and gestured her forward. "Will ye speak with me?"

  Nodding, Alenna went to the woman and stood with her in the shelter of the alcove cut into an inner curtain wall.

  The pretty woman smiled. "I’m Caithleen, Clandon’s sister. Ye must be Alenna."

  How could Caithleen be outfitted like a princess, while Clandon dressed in rags? "How did you know?"

  The brunette smiled, showing white, even teeth. "Yer clothes, and Clandon told me what ye looked like."

  Alenna smiled. "Of course." She looked down at the almost too short garment and then at Caithleen. Caithleen stood only a couple of inches smaller than herself. "It’s a good thing we’re almost the same height."

  Caithleen’s laugh was musical, but soft. "A guid thing." She clasped Alenna’s wrist gently. "I wanted to speak with ye about somethin’ important, but I beg of ye not to speak about this in front of others. Especially now."

  "Especially now?"

  "Aye." A cloud passed over her youthful face like a thunderhead. She hesitated, as if uncertain about revealing something she wanted to say so urgently moments before. "I wished to meet ye and ask ye to give Tynan a message."

  Alenna nodded, wondering at the girl’s interest in Tynan. "Of course."

  "Tell him to meet me at the galley in the gloamin’."

  "Meet him?" Alenna asked, a suspicion growing fast in her mind.

  Caithleen clasped her hands in front of her and dipped her head, as if ashamed. "‘Tis important."

  The plot was getting thicker.

  An unrepentant disappointment welled within Alenna. Was Tynan dallying with Elizabet, Johanna and maybe even Caithleen? Caithleen appeared no older than Johanna. In this day and age, she realized, it didn’t matter. Older men no doubt married and made sport with women far younger then themselves. This knowledge did nothing to remedy her discomfort with the situation.

  "How old are you, Caithleen, if you don’t mind me asking?"

  "Seven-and-ten."

  Seventeen. Seventeen! "You’re so young."

  "I’m a woman fair grown for many years, Mistress."

  "Please, call me Alenna. Mistress makes me feel like an old crone."

  Caithleen laughed, and the melodic tones drifted on the air like a sweet fragrance. "Ye do speak most strange, Alenna."

  Alenna answered with a smile, but didn’t comment. She was just glad she was understood.

  "My brother has spoken of ye since ye arrived at the castle. He says Tynan came about ye in a strange way."

  "Well, he did help me once he realized my hus … my guidman had been killed."

  Caithleen’s smile was wry. "Nay. Ye need not hide the truth from me. Clandon told me how Tynan found you in the castle, and that ye appeared under Dragon’s hooves. From the thin air, Clandon said."

  Who else knew about her sudden appearance? "I hope you haven’t told anyone else about that."

  "Nay. Clandon made me promise to tell no one. Though Tynan might be angry if he had a notion Clandon spoke of it to me." She glanced around, her expression concentrated, almost as if she expected something to happen. "How is it ye go about here in the castle without a protector?"

  Alenna thought it ironic Caithleen would ask this when she trundled about without a protector as well. "I’ve never been in a castle quite like this before. I wanted to explore."

  "Have ye no heard the Ruthvens may be comin’ soon to fight?"

  "I’ve heard. What is the fight about?"

  "Some say Ruthven is but a cruel pagan who has no thought but to do the de’il’s work. Others say he wishes to take the castle for his own … in revenge for Ruthven’s daughter, Lady Mirabella."

  "Revenge?"

  Caithleen scanned the area around her again. She lowered her voice. "Lady Mirabella was stolen one day from Ruthven’s castle and never returned. ‘Twas about ten years hence. Ruthven believes, after all these years, that his daughter was slain by the baron."

  "And he’s willing to storm an entire castle in order to get revenge?"

  "Aye."

  "Then what are you doing out here? Aren’t you afraid? You have no protector."

  Looking guilty, Caithleen said, "I hoped to find Clandon. Have ye seen him about?"

  "No."

  Distress darkened Caithleen’s extraordinary eyes, and she reached up to tug at one sleeve of her gown.

  "Is everything all right?" Alenna asked.

  "Aye. Nothin’ has been better in all my life." Her smile glared as bright as a car on high beams. So much so that Alenna knew it wasn’t sincere.

  Alenna couldn’t restrain her curiosity about the young woman’s state of dress anymore. "I don’t mean to sound rude, Caithleen, but Clandon’s clothes are very … in need of repair. How is it your clothing is so regal?"

  A soft flush traveled up the creamy expanse of Caithleen’s neck and cheeks. Alenna instantly regretted her forwardness.

  Caithleen cleared her throat. "I ken how it looks to some. That I am able to dress so well while Clandon has little. But I am helpin’ Clandon. I give him some coins.

  Chagrined, Alenna shook her head. "I didn’t mean to make you feel as if you did something wrong."

  "I made clothin’ for Baron MacAulay’s last mistress. I can spin and weave. ‘Tis how I had garments to give ye. But she went on to a new man, and I was given some of her clothin’."

  Somehow the explanation seemed out of place, but Alenna couldn’t put a name to what made her ill at ease.

  Looking distinctly self-conscious, Caithleen gazed around again, as if she expected someone to jump out at them at any moment. "I must go. I’m expected at the great hall."

  Alenna clamped a lid on her inquisitiveness. "Of course. I hope to see you again soon."

  Clasping Alenna’s hand in both of hers, Caithleen smiled warmly. "Aye."

  As Alenna watched the girl walk away, her curiosity burned like the huge torches that illuminated the castle at night.

  Suddenly, a cry rent the misty air. "Riders! His lordship comes and the Ruthvens are fast behind him!"

  Her heart felt as if it had taken a jagged leap into her throat.

  As she moved toward the main gate of the castle and the sound of the cries, she almost tripped over the hem of her kirtle. Gathering the cumbersome gown up, she hurried toward the commotion. Women screamed, and men hurried women and children to places of safety.

  She’d barely reached the main gate when several men dressed in chain mail rushed into the two towers near the gate house.

  A huge white horse galloped through the gate
house and into the courtyard. The knight upon his back gripped the war horse with gauntlets splattered red. He wobbled on the horse’s back, on the verge of falling from the saddle. Instead of toppling, he straightened and turned his horse about as if he would charge back into the fray.

  "The baron!" came a cry from somewhere behind her.

  A body was hurled down in front of her, startling a scream from her. An archer lay dead at her feet.

  Before she could move or take a breath, another knight charged in on a huge black horse.

  Dragon!

  Alenna would recognize the beautiful horse anywhere. The man under all the chain mail must be Tynan, but the rounded helm on his head kept her from identifying him for certain.

  Tynan put his horse between the other knight and the barbican, lifting his claymore in one hand.

  Another man charged into the castle on a bay horse, his claymore raised above his head. He was clearly determined to strike Tynan or the man on the white horse. In a split second she noted his attire wasn’t that of a MacAulay knight.

  One of Ruthven’s men?

  The man on the bay horse swung at Tynan, but he blocked the thrust. Immediately the man swung again and dealt Tynan a staggering blow to the side, unseating him.

  "Tynan!" Terrified he would be slain before her very eyes, Alenna reacted.

  She reached down and snatched the bow from the lifeless hands of the archer and retrieved an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back. While Alenna hadn’t participated in archery for several years, she’d always had talent. She drew back and aimed, straining with the effort. As the knight on the bay jumped from his horse, ready to attack again, she aimed at him and released the arrow.

  It sailed through the air and hit the man, square in the middle of his helm. She winced, sickened by the gasping gurgle coming from the man’s lips as he staggered and dropped straight back. She may not have killed him, but she’d knocked him unconscious.

  "Oh, God," she whispered. She’d never attacked anyone before, and knowledge of what she had just done seemed to envelop her body, paralyzing her.

  "Mistress, look out!"

  She glanced to her left and saw Clandon a few yards away, kneeling behind a wagon. He peered around the side of the vehicle, his eyes wide with warning.

  A sharp sting hit her right arm. Automatically she clamped her left hand to her upper arm, gasping at the pain.

  "The archer!" Clandon’s voice broke into her daze.

  She turned and looked toward the battlements. One of the archers stood at the top of a battlement and pointed his bow and arrow straight at her.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  "Alenna!" Tynan’s deep voice roared. She looked up and saw Tynan upon Dragon’s back once again. "Get down!"

  She dropped to the ground as an arrow zinged past her, scarcely missing her side.

  "Lower the portcullis!" someone cried. "Draw up the bridge!"

  Shouting and screaming mixed with the sounds of the huge chains lowering the portcullis and pulling up the drawbridge.

  The sound of horse’s hooves pounding the ground sent a surge of strength into her and she pushed herself to her feet, ready to run or be trampled.

  "Alenna!"

  Before she could blink, a powerful arm grabbed her just under her breasts, putting tremendous pressure on her ribs as she was lifted. Jerked onto the saddle in front of a knight, she considered struggling, but the man urged the horse into a gallop.

  If she struggled she’d fall and possibly be killed.

  "Damned wee taupie!" growled a voice close to her ear.

  She’d know that gruff voice anywhere. She turned slightly and scowled at her captor, relief mingling with anger.

  "Tynan!"

  "Aye, and ye damned well better be glad I’m not one of Ruthven’s men!"

  He yanked off his helm. His dark brows drew together in a furious scowl, his lips curled in disgust. In the short time she’d known him she’d never seen him so incensed.

  "You’re hurting me," she hissed. She turned away from the acid in his glance.

  Tynan drew Dragon to an abrupt halt by the Black Tower and dismounted. Adrenaline pounded through her, and she felt light- headed as she looked down at him.

  "God’s blood!" he gasped suddenly, his expression changing drastically to distress. "Ye are wounded!"

  Alenna glanced at her right arm and noted her blood-stained cloak and kirtle. "He barely winged me."

  He muttered something under his breath she didn’t understand and dropped his helm on the ground. He reached up for her and pulled her against him. Before her feet could touch the ground, he lifted her into his arms. "Of all the foolish, silly—"

  "Shut up!" She struck out at him with her fist and came up against chain mail. She cursed at the added pain.

  He strode into the tower room and promptly dumped her on the pallet. "Don’t ye dare do that again! Do ye hear me?"

  Tears of fury stung her eyes as she swung her feet off the pallet. "What? Hit you, or save your life?"

  He snatched off his coif and his gauntlets, dropping them to the floor. "Ye were supposed to be here! Here in this tower and not dawdlin’ about the castle. Are ye cuif?"

  Defiant heat rose to her face. "I’m not staying cooped up in this room twenty-four hours a day."

  "By God, ye will do it if I tell ye!" he roared, pure venom in his voice. "If another archer hadna taken out the man on the battlement, ye might be dead now."

  Alenna remembered the real reason she was probably alive. Clandon. "Clandon is out in this—"

  "And a damned idiot he is!" he snarled. "The pair of ye are both alike!"

  Rapidly, Tynan retreated to the next room, and she could hear him ripping some material. He returned and knelt beside her. He said something that sounded like a curse and reached for her arm. He grabbed the top part of the sleeve and ripped the sleeve completely off, to reveal a bloody wound. She winced.

  "I’ll have to pour wine on it," he said.

  Great. It’s going to sting like hell.

  Tynan turned back to the table and grabbed a flagon. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and splashed the liquid onto the wound. Her breath hissed inward as a burning sting lanced her arm.

  "God, Alenna. I’m sorry, sweet."

  Sweet?

  The endearment caught her off guard. The man had been shouting at her, and now he called her sweet? She stared at him as he tended to her wound. He secured the makeshift bandage around her arm while his dark eyes held the undeniable light of worry. She reached for the flagon of wine and took a deep swallow, coughed and put the vessel down on the floor.

  The tight line of his lips softened. "Are ye in pain?"

  "Not much," Alenna said softly, realizing the wound wasn’t deep. He knotted the bandage but didn’t draw it too tightly.

  "That will do for ye until Elizabet can bring a poultice."

  As he gently brushed her hair back from her face, his gaze dropped to her bodice.

  She followed his look and realized when he’d ripped her sleeve he’d torn part of her bodice as well, revealing a healthy portion of skin. The strap of her bra had fallen, and one of her breasts peeked from the security of the cup.

  A small gasp escaped her as he continued to look at her naked flesh. She pushed the bra strap back in place, essentially covering his view. When he brought his gaze back to hers, she saw pure male enjoyment in Tynan’s eyes.

  "Saint George have mercy. I should tie ye to the bed," he said.

  A smile touched her lips, and she let out a small laugh. She reached for the flagon and took another generous swallow of the sour liquid. "I didn’t know you were into kinky sex."

  His eyes narrowed. "Eh?"

  She sighed. "Never mind."

  Still looking baffled, he cupped her face in both his large palms. "Why did ye disobey me, Alenna?"

  "You know why. I’m sick of being in this room. When did you plan on letting me out? A month from now?"

&nbs
p; One of his dark brows rose sardonically. "It did cross my mind."

  Wariness and darkness remained in Tynan’s gaze. If anything, she should be thankful he’d taken her away from the brawl outside, but his superior attitude still rankled. Slowly he pulled his hands away and continued to gaze at her.

  "What?" she asked, self-conscious of his scrutiny.

  He shook his head and rose to his feet. "Ye are a wonder, Alenna. And yer bravery is equal to many a man I’ve seen in battle. But I willna have another woman’s blood on my hands."

  He started for the door.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked.

  He turned as she started to rise. "Sit down and dinna move until Elizabet comes."

  "I will not," Alenna said, gritting the words out. "I want to know what you mean about having another woman’s blood on your hands."

  A black cloud hovered over his entire expression. His hands clutched into fists at his sides. "I dinna need a woman fightin’ my battles for me."

  It finally dawned on her what his problem was, and she put her hands on her hips, sighing in amazement. "Wait a minute. Are you saying you’re angry because I saved your life?" She threw her hands up. "And here I thought you might be angry because you were worried about me."

  His expression darkened even more, and she waited for him to shout. Instead, he turned and reached for the door, his hand resting on it idly.

  Without looking at her he said, "I willna let ye put yer life in danger for me."

  She crossed her arms. "Fine. It sounds like I’ve already done what I was brought here to do. I saved yer life. Maybe I can get the hell out of Dodge now."

  Tynan turned back to look at her. "Dodge?"

  She shrugged. "It’s just an expression." Alenna sighed and moved toward him slightly, aware of an increasing need to make him understand. "Now that I’ve fulfilled Elizabet’s prophecy, I can go back home to the future."

  "Aye. Now ye can go home."

  Closing her eyes, she wondered if when she opened them would she suddenly pop back home the way Dorothy had in Oz. Not really believing that it could be so easy, she opened her eyes. Tynan watched her, his gaze doing a painstaking foray over her body. A shaft of heat melted through her, surprising her with its force.