by Diana Cosby
Catarine rubbed her arm. “Why do you ask?”
Trálin grimaced as he shifted the weight off of his injured leg. “There is no reason for English knights to be on Scottish soil.”
“We had hoped to follow them to discover who had sent them,” she explained.
“For what purpose?” Trálin asked.
She paused. “They will lead us to whoever sent them to murder my uncle.”
“I am sorry, lass,” Trálin said, too aware of the difficult emotions one struggled with after the loss of one you loved.
“My thanks,” she replied. “We caught sight of them as they were leaving and have trailed them to the stone circle. Now, we canna find any trace of them.”
“Lady Catarine,” the knight with the black hair said. “I ask that you use caution in what you share.”
Trálin held the man’s gaze, far from intimidated by the fierce glare. The warrior she’d called Atair didna like him, which was fine with him. “My lady, what was your uncle doing to raise ire so that the English knights would be sent into Scotland with lethal intent?”
She hesitated.
The lass held secrets. Nor would a lone man against her and her warriors find out.
After a long moment, she nodded. “I do nae know who sent them or their reason for taking his life, but I must discover both.”
As much as he wanted to ask more, with each question she gave him little in reply. For now she’d tell him little more about her uncle’s murder or her. Regardless, he found her words sincere.
“Are you sure the men you chase are English?” Trálin asked.
“Aye,” she replied. “One of my guards caught a glimpse of the men as they were escaping.”
Trálin mulled over the information. “Do you believe the knights were sent by King Henry?”
She shrugged. “I am unsure.”
“My lady,” Trálin said. “If I am to help you—”
“My lord, you would help us?” she asked.
He needed to discover if a connection existed between King Henry, her uncle’s murder, and King Alexander’s abduction. God in heaven, all thoughts pointed to the English king preparing to make a bid to lay siege and claim Scotland. Except, that made little sense. King Henry was a man of peace. But then, many a man was lured by the temptation of power.
“Aye, I will help you,” Lord Grey replied, “But first you will help to free my king.”
Atair grunted. “We do nae need delays.”
“’Twould be but days.” Alone he could nae challenge the abductors and free his king.
“Why would you want us to help you first?” Catarine asked.
“Blast it,” Atair said. “You are nae considering his request?”
Shrewd eyes studied Trálin. “Atair, I want to hear him out.”
Her lead warrior’s mouth tightened. “If we help Lord Grey, by the time we return, any trace of the English knights’ trail would be long past.”
“And what have you found now?” Trálin asked, tired of his suspicion.
“Naught,” Catarine replied, “but how could you help us days from now if we have nay trail?”
Trálin glanced toward the stone circle where her men had searched, then back to the woman. “Once King Alexander and his queen are freed, with his gratitude at your assistance, I am confident he will agree to assign me a contingent of knights to help find the English knights you seek.” More so if he suspected the English king was plotting to seize Scotland.
The black-haired man cursed. “We do nae need this Scotsman’s aid.”
Her ire building, Catarine turned to Atair. “And what are we to do, return to our home and pray that no one else dies?”
Her senior fey knight’s mouth tightened. “You would be safe.”
“Would I?” she demanded. “Without us knowing exactly who is behind the assassination as well as the extent of their plans, my entire family’s lives may be in peril.”
“We canna find a trail, which leads me to ask why? ’Tis nae natural,” Atair said with emphasis. “So how is having this Scot or more men going to help us find what we canna see? In a sennight, the weather could easily have washed away any wisp of a trail.”
The Scot’s jaw tightened. “I know the land, the people who live here. If Englishmen have passed through, I will find out.”
Atair rounded on the Lord Grey. “If we help free your king and queen, then after you find naught, we will be left with but mere words.”
“And if we do nae try, we will be left with the same,” she stated, her heart aching. “Listen to me. By helping Lord Grey, we have a chance to find who is behind this treachery.” Eyes angry, Atair held her gaze, but Catarine refused to look away. “Tell me,” she whispered, damning that they had little but hope to risk their lives upon, “do we give up the slightest chance to find whoever murdered my uncle?”
Her senior fey warrior’s jaw tightened. “This discussion is moot. You promised after we searched for the trail, you would return . . . home.”
“I agreed only if you found a sign of the English knights,” Catarine replied, her voice crisp, “which you didna.”
Atair muttered a curse beneath his breath. “What if the reason is one we did nae consider—’tis erased?”
“Erased?” she asked, a sickening in her stomach.
“Aye,” Atair replied, “erased by whoever allowed the English knights entrance to our”—he glanced at the Scot—“castle.”
Atair meant the Otherworld, a fact he didna wish to disclose to the human. Blast it, he believed whoever led the English knights had enough power to erase the trail with magic. Angry tears burned her throat. If Atair was right, Lord Grey would be of nay help, and their aiding to free his king would be naught but a waste of precious time.
“Catarine,” Atair said, his words rough. “We must return. The risk is too high for us to remain here.”
She nodded. “Come, let us—” Wait! Why had she nae thought of it before! Mayhap the human was immune from fey magic and could indeed help?
“What is it?” Sionn asked her.
As if she could discuss anything about the Otherworld with Lord Grey standing where he might hear? They dealt with someone holding powerful magic, a fact proven by the English knights’ ability to enter the Otherworld as well as the spell-tipped arrows designed to kill the fey. But the spell that was cast to erase the trail was intended for the fey. A chance existed that the human was immune to its powers and could help.
“However slight,” Catarine said with emphasis, “a chance exists that Lord Grey can aid us in our task. And, ’tis a chance I am willing to take.”
Atair arched a doubtful brow, and Drax crossed his arms. The other fey warriors watched her, equally as unconvinced.
“I will explain more later.” And she prayed she was right.
Chapter Three
Catarine faced Trálin. “We will aid you in freeing your king, but you must give me your word that after, you will help us as well.”
Though relieved, neither would Trálin let down his guard. Whatever the lass wished to explain to her warriors, she wanted to ensure he did nae hear. Secrets. Still, among the questions her actions raised, he sensed she was a woman he could trust, which made nae a whit of sense. But his instincts had saved his life in the past, and he’d heed them now.
He scanned the woman and her five knights. Whatever their relation, ’twas none like he’d ever witnessed between a noblewoman and her guard. “You have my word.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief.
“Since the knights who abducted the royal couple have taken them to Stirling Castle, then we will head west.” Trálin scanned the rough terrain they must cross. “On foot, ’twill take two days of hard travel.”
Lines of concern deepened on her brow. “With your injuries, a day’s rest would serve you well before we departed.”
“Mayhap,” Trálin replied, “but ’twill nae aid my king.”
“’Twould seem the Scot is as stub
born as you,” a blond-haired man said. He nodded to Trálin. “I am Sionn.”
“Sir Sionn,” Trálin replied.
“Our lead warrior”—Sionn gestured toward the outspoken black-haired man—“is Atair.”
“Sir Atair,” Trálin said, nae surprised to find the man who advised the woman and watched him with distrust was her senior knight.
Atair gave him a curt nod.
“The rest of the men are,” Sionn gestured to a red-haired man with a thick beard, “Kuricc.” With a wave, he introduced the bald warrior with a Celtic tattoo on the back of his head. “Magnus.” The man at the end of the group with his long black hair secured in a thong at his back nodded, “Ranulf.” He motioned toward a man with brown-red hair. “And Drax.”
“Good to meet you as well,” Trálin said, “and my thanks for helping free my king.”
A raven called in the distance.
Senses on alert, Lord Grey scanned the field. Emotions stormed him as he caught sight of his men slaughtered. “Before we leave, my lady, I seek your men’s aid in giving my knights a proper burial.”
Grief darkened her eyes. “Of course. I am sorry for your loss.”
The depth of her sincerity touched him. “My thanks, my lady. And I deeply regret the recent loss of your uncle as well.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she gave a solemn nod. “Lord Grey, we will be together for several days. I ask that as I bid my warriors, you call me Catarine.”
Atair’s mouth tightened with displeasure.
“Lady Catarine, ’tis my honor.” A smile touched her face, one he found he enjoyed causing. “And please, my lady, call me Trálin.”
A slight red hue slid up her cheeks. “Aye.”
“Let us begin so we can be on our way.” With somber steps, he walked with the others to where his men lay.
Hours later, the icy whip of wind cut through Catarine’s cape like daggers. Fatigue weighing her every step, she tugged the woven wool closer and continued up the steep incline. The rich tang of pine and the hint of snow filled her every breath as she moved. With her next step, she shoved aside a tree limb, pushed forward.
A gust of wind shook the limbs above.
She glanced skyward. Dark clouds thickened overhead. “’Tis going to snow.”
His breath rushing out in puff of white, Trálin nodded. “’Tis my worry. The trek to Stirling Castle will be dangerous enough without a storm slowing us down. Nor will we want the tracks we will leave in the snow exposing our approach.”
“Tell us about Stirling Castle,” Catarine said. “’Tis best if we know what we are up against.”
“’Tis a formidable stronghold,” Trálin explained. “Surrounded on three sides by cliffs. Our best hope, if we have time to wait, is to slip in beneath the cover of the night.”
“You know of a way to get in the stronghold then?” Drax asked.
“Aye,” Trálin replied.
“With Scotland’s king in residence,” Atair said, “’twill be heavily guarded.”
“Mayhap,” Trálin replied, “or confident any who witnessed the abduction are dead, they will nae bolster the strength of their guard. Regardless, ’twill be dangerous.”
“Do you know where they will be holding the king and queen?” Sionn asked.
Wind whipped past Trálin, cool air rich with the promise of winter. “I believe they would place them in the upper tower.”
A fat flake twirled past, then another, the late afternoon light shimmering through the thin weave of ice in a fluttering prism as if a spell.
As if a spell? Bloody hell. An odd thought. Nor had he seen a fairy hill. As if he believed that the fey lived beneath the large mounds of dirt? A smile touched his mouth. Aye, he believed in the fey, but as for them living beneath the earth, ’twas naught but a bard’s tale.
Trálin glanced at Catarine. “While your warriors and I go inside Stirling Castle, you remain hidden in the forest.”
With a dismissive glance, she kept walking. “We all go together.”
“Aye,” her men agreed.
Anger swept Trálin. He shot each of the warriors a cool glance. “By God, she is a lass. I refuse to endanger her life.”
The slide of steel sounded as Catarine whirled and laid the blade against his neck. Flakes of snow plopped on the forged metal as she lifted his head slightly with the honed tip. “And a woman who can wield a weapon as well as any man.”
Stunned by the press of cold iron against his neck, Trálin stared at her. “Blast it, lass, where did you learn to handle a blade like that?” Except for the swoosh of the sword, she’d moved too quickly for him to catch her intent. However much it hurt his pride to admit, if she’d have wanted, he would now be dead.
With an indignant sniff, she withdrew her blade, then secured it in her sheath. “I am a warrior and have trained with weapons since my youth.”
From the first, he’d noted her lithe movements, and the confidence when she spoke, but he’d nae made the connection to weaponry training. It was his penance, if he was truthful, for allowing his mind to linger on the curves of her body and a voice that would seduce a saint. At Atair’s soft chuckle, he glanced at the warrior.
“Mayhap you have learned that next time you ask Lady Catarine, nae order her about,” the lead warrior said.
Trálin grimaced. ’Twould seem there was good reason the men hadn’t hesitated in having Catarine along. “Though the lass is quick with a blade, it still doesna mean I wish to place her in danger, nor can I forget she is nobility.”
“Enough,” Catarine stated. “I will go inside Stirling Castle. More important, the sun will be down soon. We need to cover as much distance as possible before then.”
As Trálin reached the bottom of the brae, fat flakes of snow began to fall at a steady rate covering their tracks. The land angled up. Muscles aching, his wounds throbbing with pain, he pushed on. With his next step, dizziness swept him, and he stumbled.
Drax reached out, caught him. “Steady there, Lord Grey.”
Trálin nodded. “A bit winded. My thanks.”
“Winded?” Catarine halted. “A fool can see you are weak and in pain. We will make camp here.”
“We can travel another league, mayhap two, before we lose daylight,” Trálin stated.
She angled her jaw. “We can, but I have doubts of you lasting that long before you pass out. Nor will I have my men carry you.”
“Blast it, has anyone ever told you that you have a penchant for ordering people about?” As quickly as he spoke, Trálin regretted his terse words. He needed their aid to save his king. “My lady—”
She chuckled, a wee bit at first, then gave a full-fledged laugh.
Smiles broke out on her warriors’ faces as well, except for Atair, whose grimace remained.
Irritation smothered Trálin’s regret. “I see naught that is funny.”
“You do nae know me,” she said, a smile in her eyes, “but my men do. Aye, you have the right of it. At times I tend to have my say.”
“And then some,” Sionn added, a twinkle in his eyes.
The warriors chuckled, and the tension hanging between them since they’d met lightened.
Though he appreciated the levity between her and her men, neither would Trálin relax his guard. Too many questions stood unanswered, and at every turn, he discovered that Catarine was nae the woman he’d first believed her to be. But, with his body trembling from pain and weakness, a rest would do him well.
“We will continue at first light,” Trálin agreed.
“A fine choice,” Catarine replied. As if the Scot had another? If Lord Grey had tried to continue, he would have passed out before they reached the bottom of the brae. She turned to her men. “Make camp.”
In short order, Lord Grey and her warriors used limbs to craft a large angled overhang beneath which they could all sleep. They wove boughs of fir and limbs to shield any breaks. Several times, she caught the Scot stumbling, but she held her tongue. The man did nae
know that in the Otherworld, women held the same authority as men. Nor with his stubbornness would it do any good to ask him to sit down and let them finish. For the meager time they would be together, ’twas best to nae raise further questions.
As her men finished covering the top of the makeshift shelter, Catarine carried a heap of dried moss inside, and began spreading it atop the snow-dusted ground. As she patted down the last bit, the crunch of snow beneath boots sounded behind her. A smile touched her mouth. Atair had come to speak with her.
“That should give us a bit of comfort this night,” she said as she wiped her hands, stood, and turned.
Stilled.
Trálin MacGruder stood in the doorway, his gaze riveted on her, nae a man with a question, but with a look of passion. As if realizing he was staring, red slashed his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me lass. I startled you.”
“Na-Nay.” She gave him a confident smile while her insides churned with awareness. His muscled body told of a man who handled himself with pride and care. With his deftness with a blade, he was a man who none except a fool would challenge. But to a woman he offered a quick mind, protection, and a body so tempting ’twas as if carved by the gods. “I was just finishing spreading the last of the moss.” And she needed to leave before she made a foolish mistake. Like move closer.
“And doing a verra fine job,” he said, his words soft. “’Twill serve us well this night.”
Us. The intimacy of his words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, ignited images of his mouth covering hers, and of his hands slowly caressing her with deft intent. Her body ignited with need.
Stunned, she blinked. What was going on? Never had a man affected her like Trálin. And blast it, he was a human.
And forbidden.
As if her attraction to Trálin MacGruder mattered? She was promised to Zacheus, Prince of Olghar. With the arrival of Beltane would come the time for her vows, ones nae for love, but for duty.