by Diana Cosby
Shrewd eyes studied him. “Would you take the risk if you traveled alone?”
“Why are you pushing this point, lass?”
“There is a shortcut,” she stated.
He muttered a curse beneath his breath. “As if you bloody well do nae know the answer?”
Catarine arched a brow. “And you dare call me stubborn?”
“’Tis naught to make light of.”
“On that we agree.” Hands on hips, she glanced up the slope, turned. “If we travel over the top, will that take us to Stirling Castle?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. The lass would rile the calmest man. “Aye.”
“And ’twould be faster?”
“Indeed.”
Catarine arched a questioning brow. “Did you want to lead, or should I go first . . . being a wee lass?”
At her bravado, a smile tugged at his mouth. “Pushy as well.”
“Lord Grey, I have been around stubborn men my entire life.” With a frustrated sigh, he studied the steep incline. She was right. If they crossed over the top of the ben, they should make up a good portion of the hours the abductors had ahead of them. ’Twas not the time to ponder how they would free the royal couple, then meet up with the fey warriors, nor the hard travel to bring the king and queen to safety after. Those challenges would come soon enough.
“We will go over the top,” he said, “but I will lead.”
She remained silent.
He grunted. Wise as well as stubborn—a smart lass indeed. Snow reached his knees as he moved from the trail and started up.
Sweat drenching her brow, Catarine followed Lord Grey’s tracks. From his grim expression, he worried for her safety in taking this shortcut. Regardless of the dangers, ’twas the prudent decision.
The sun’s golden rays glistened off the hard surface of the snow as she continued, crafting rainbows along the curves of the half-ice-covered rock. For a moment she took in the unexpected beauty, then pushed on. Her breaths coming fast, she shoved her foot upon another rock.
At a staggered crop of rock, Trálin turned. “Take my hand.”
Snow whipped her face as she glanced up.
Wedged at the base of a rock, he clung to a sturdy limb, his hand outstretched.
Thankful, she laced her fingers in his, pushed off. Her boot landed next to his.
A grimace on his face, he nodded. “We can take a break here.”
Her every muscle ached. “Nay.”
“We have made good time.”
“Mayhap,” she replied, “but until we reach Stirling Castle, ’tis nae good enough.”
His mouth a hard line, Lord Grey turned and started up.
A short while later she followed him around the last few boulders to the top. Fatigue weighing on every limb, Catarine halted next to him on a flat snow- and ice-covered rock and stared at the impressive outline in the distance.
Framed by the roll of snow-laden hills and mounted upon a crag stood a fortress of grand magnificence. Culled stone borne by hundreds of men rose into the air with sheer defiance. A shudder wove through her as she looked past the intimidating structure and studied the flat of land beyond, cut by a river that wound in a lazy flow.
“Stirling Castle.” Pride filled his voice.
“’Tis stunning,” she said. “And as fine as any castle in the Otherworld.”
“Indeed?”
Somber, she nodded, well aware that battle-trained men had crafted the design. “With the castle’s strategic position, a guard could easily see any who approached.”
“Which is why we must keep to the shadows and glens during our descent. However quickly I wish to travel, we must take every precaution to ensure we are nae seen.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “At least we have the angle of surprise. Few would dare to cross over the ben.”
With the steepness of the slope and the slick crust of snow, ’twas dangerous. “If by chance we are seen, that we are but two will nae offer a threat.”
“Normally I would agree,” he said. “Because they hold the king and queen hostage, due to the direction we came from, our presence will raise their suspicions.”
“We could tell them we risked crossing the top of the ben because we are freezing.”
Trálin wiped the snow off of his cloak. “’Twould be the blasted truth.”
“Though I have cursed it all day, the wind will keep any loose snow in the air and offer, however thin, a shield.” Catarine glanced toward the clear blue skies bright with sunshine, fierce with the whip of cold wind. “But if the wind dies with the night, without clouds and a full moon as we approach, we could easily be seen.”
“Then,” he said, “we shall hope for the skies to become overcast.”
Though Lord Grey made light of the challenges they faced, however much he tried to shield her from it, it was clear he was worried. As if she didna hold the same concerns?
He gestured forward. “On with you now. Lagging behind like a lame mule.”
Unbidden, she laughed as she followed him down. “Lame mule?”
He glanced back. “I was trying to charm you. How did I do?”
At the desire in his eyes, the moment shifted to something dangerous. A moment where she could envision him in her life forever.
Catarine halted.
His expression a mix of desire and frustration, Trálin closed the distance. “I find it hard to be with you and nae kiss you.”
Her pulse raced. “’Tis a fact I find myself struggling with as well.”
Green eyes darkened. “’Twould make a mess of an already convoluted situation.”
Throat dry, she nodded. “It would.”
On a ragged breath, he lifted her chin. “And be bloody worth it.” His mouth claimed hers, hot and hard. As quick he broke the kiss, then stared at her a long moment. “Ah lass, I wish we had met under different circumstance.”
Aching at his words, Catarine shook her head. “Trálin, why did we have to meet now? Here?”
Sadness shadowed his gaze, and he stepped back. Wind spiraled between them as if in a myth. “I dinna know the why of it, only that you and I can never be.” Regret wrinkling his brow, he turned on his heel and started down the ben.
And if all went well, this night they would free his king and never again would they be alone.
For the best.
Except his passionate kiss lingered on her lips, his tenderness exposing how his feelings were growing toward her. More unsettling, though innocent, Trálin was a man who lured her to give in to temptation, and tread on a forbidden path she’d heard whispers of from women within her castle.
“’Tis a mistake.”
At his gruff voice, she jumped. Heat stroked her cheeks as she’d nae noticed he’d halted and was staring at her, his face rough with desire. “What is?”
“By the look in your eyes,” he replied, “’tis safer to nae answer.”
It was, but often those who took the risks of life were rewarded the most. “Why must we come from different worlds?”
The hard line of his mouth tightened. “And if I came from the Otherworld, with your pledge to handfast with Prince Zacheus, how would it change anything?”
“’Twould nae.” She swallowed hard. “’Tis best if we move on.”
“Catarine.”
The soft burr of his voice slid through her like warmed wine. “What?”
“That you are happy in your life is what I desire. Never can it be more.”
Tears burning her throat, Catarine stepped past him and started down the perilous trek. She would focus on their reaching Stirling Castle, on saving his king and queen, then on discovering who had murdered her uncle. To mull over thoughts of a life with Trálin would invite naught but angst.
She stepped around a large boulder. Time would help her forget him, forget the feelings he inspired, forget that for the first time in her life she’d found a man who made her feel complete. As she took her next step, her boot landed on an ice-covered rock and she slip
ped. Arms flailing, she tried to regain her foothold.
Trálin’s hand caught her shoulder. “Careful, lass. ’Twill be slick the entire way down.”
Her pulse racing, she nodded, refusing to look at him and allow him to see her tears, the foolish reason for her near tumble. “It will.”
“Let me go first,” he stated.
“What does it matter?” she asked. “If either of us starts to slide down, neither of us will be able to stop the other.”
He strode past her. “Nor will walking with your emotions mulling your thoughts allow you to make wise choices in your steps.”
His expression taut, he turned and started down the steep incline.
Trembling, she followed.
Streaks of orange-red sheeted the sky as, halfway down, they reached the clutter of boulders jutting out in a reckless array. Beyond the snow-covered shield rose the land embracing Stirling Castle.
“Do you need to rest?” he asked.
However much she wanted to agree, she shook her head. Except for stopping for short breaks on their way down and a few oatcakes she’d eaten as they’d walked, they’d continued at a grueling pace. Nor did it help that she’d slept little last eve. But, with Stirling Castle in sight, ’twas worth every step.
“Careful,” Trálin cautioned as he glanced back. “Though the slope appears smooth, there are many drop-offs hidden beneath the thick snow.”
Exhausted, Catarine wiped her brow and nodded. “’Twill be nice to get out of the cold.”
“Aye.” He started forward.
Shielding her face against the wind, she began her descent. With her each step, clumps of snow broke free, then tumbled down the steep incline before they hit errant rocks to shatter into a mist-laden smear.
Ahead, Trálin navigated the knee-deep drifts. As he passed a clump of shrubs half-covered in the deep snow, he glanced back. “How fare thee?”
“I am fine.”
A frown dipped his mouth as he studied her. “Are you sure, lass?”
She forced a smile. “Aye.”
Legs trembling from fatigue, she took another step. Snow broke off the edge of the bank before her, then rolled down to slam against a sturdy shrub. Horrific memories of the avalanche and her near death assailed her. Her body tense, she made to take another step; her foot slipped. Catarine steadied herself, barely.
Trálin whirled. “What is wrong?”
Embarrassed to be caught up in her musings, she shook her head and straightened. “Naught. I was but—”
The snowbank beneath her gave way. “Trálin!”
He grabbed for her.
Their fingers touched.
Broke free.
She screamed. Air, cold and brutal, rushed down her throat as she slid down the slope. Blurs of white and dark swept past. “Catarine!” The wind mutilated Trálin’s distant shout.
Snow clogged her throat as a shrub down the slope came into focus.
She reached out.
The leafless branch whipped her hands.
Missed!
Ahead, the frozen snow curved over a partially exposed bolder.
Struggling to keep her wits, she shifted her weight to avoid the half-barren ground. She missed the first jut of rock, then was again thrown up. She slammed to the ground.
And began to roll.
Panic tore through Trálin as he hurried down the battered snow trail in her wake.
Far below, Catarine’s body continued to roll.
Bedamned! Trálin lunged over the broken bank. Snow battered him as he slid, rocks threatened his precarious balance, but he used his arms and legs in a controlled slide, his fear for Catarine’s life growing with every second. He shifted, barely missed a dense leafless thicket sprinkled with barren rock.
Far below, Catarine’s body came to a halt.
She lay still.
Fear tore through him. Damning the risk, he leaned forward and lifted his legs to increase his speed. The rush of snow hurled past him. Every jolt and bump tossed him, but he shifted his weight and arms to slide faster.
At the bottom as the land began to curve up, he slowed to a stop. Frantic, Trálin jumped to his feet. He stumbled, caught himself, and bolted toward where she lay. Breaths falling out in bursts of white, he knelt beside her, lay his palm on her shoulder. “Catarine?”
She moaned.
Emotion choked him. Thank God she was alive! With a gentle touch, he moved his hands over her body to ensure nothing was broken. A miracle that he felt naught out of place.
“Catarine,” he urged, needing her to open her eyes, to talk to him. Too many times had he witnessed knights injured in the cold who’d fallen asleep never to awake. “Catarine, can you hear me?”
As if a gift, turquoise eyes met his. “I-I lost my footing,” she breathed. “I tried to catch myself but . . .”
Her pain-filled whisper shook him to the core. “Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” she rasped.
“When I checked you, I did nae feel anything broken.”
She closed her eyes, and then opened them. “Bruises, then.” A whisper of a smile graced her mouth. “I should have been more careful.”
“Careful?” he muttered, anger taking hold that she’d blame herself with the dangerous footing. “’Tis icy and the wind is howling like an ornery old woman. In the slippery conditions, you did the best you could.”
Another shiver tore through her body. “So c-cold.”
Bedamned, she needed to be out of this wind. Trálin glanced toward Stirling Castle seated on the hill above them. Once inside the secret passage, he could use his body heat to warm her.
“Do you think anyone saw us?” she asked.
He glanced toward the castle, caught no sign of moment. “Nay. If so, we would have heard them sound the alarm by now. Can you stand?”
“I-I think so.”
Ignoring the aches battering his body, Trálin helped her to her feet. “Take it slow. You had a hard fall.”
As she pushed up, her legs gave.
He caught her, set her on the ground. Blast it, he’d missed an injury. “Where does it hurt?”
She rubbed her right thigh. “When I tumbled over the stones, I must have hit my leg.”
“Aye, you had a rough fall. Unfortunately, ’twill hurt for several days.” Trálin slid his arms beneath her, then picked her up.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you into the secret passage.”
“I can walk.”
“Aye,” he agreed dryly. With her shivering in his arms, he started walking.
With a groan, she laid her head against his chest. Her teeth began to chatter. “How much farther?”
“See the large fir ahead?”
She nodded.
“The secret entrance lies behind it.” Once inside and safe, if she was too sore to move, he’d leave her with oatcakes and water, then set about freeing the king and queen. Once they’d returned, they’d decide the best way to meet the fey warriors.
“There is a lot of snow around the fir,” she said.
He scanned the drifts over their destination, frowned. “Aye.” More than he wished to see.
“There is a road beyond. It leads to the castle, does it nae?”
“It does,” he replied. “Once we make it past this tree, keep watch for a stone that looks as if it is a cross.”
“A stone that looks like a cross? Wouldna such a bold display be noticed by the castle guard and under suspect?”
“The stone stood here long before they built Stirling Castle. The weave of rock was crafted by wind, rain, and time,” he explained. “Any suspicion held is long past.”
“Interesting.”
He shrugged. “It is. Some say ’twas left here by the fey.”
“You jest?”
“Nay,” he replied, “the Scots are a suspicious lot.”
Catarine shivered.
Bedamned, she needed to be warmed. What he wouldn’t give for a fire
within a chamber awaiting them. Except little time remained for such luxury. The entire mission must be finished before the break of dawn. “We will be inside the secret passage soon.”
She nodded.
His admiration for her grew. Few women would endure what she had without complaint. Relief swept him as they reached the firs. Soon he’d have her out of the wind. He ducked beneath the thick, needled branches, and snow shuddered like a white mist around him.
She gestured ahead. “Is that the cross over there?”
He glanced to where she pointed. As he’d remembered, a stone jutted from the earth, now white beneath the assault of winter. Halfway up the stone, chiseled pieces crafted the upper half of a Celtic cross. Every time he’d seen the stone, it always reminded him of forbidden worlds merging. With her explanation of some of the fey cast out of the Otherworld for revealing the secret of handfasting, ’twould seem the mystery behind whoever had made this was solved.
At the half-carved cross he halted. Wind whipped loose snow against his face as he set her on her feet.
Except for a slight grimace, she stood fine.
“Wait here,” Trálin said.
She looked around. “Where is the entry?”
“See the large boulder by the firs?”
Catarine nodded.
“’Tis ten paces to the west from the cross.”
Intrigue lit her face. “Where no one would ever think to look.”
“Aye.” He stepped back. “’Twill take but a moment.” He headed to the back of the cross, started walking. Ten paces in, he leaned down, brushed away the snow.
The crunch of steps sounded behind him.
He glanced over, found Catarine walking toward him. Trálin focused on digging deeper in the snow.
She halted at his side.
Against his ministrations, the ice-crusted snow broke into little chunks. He muttered a curse, removed his dagger, and jabbed it into the frozen mix.
“Do you want me to help?”
“Nae.” Beneath his blade, the icy snow gave way to a slick sheet of ice. His gut sinking, he sat back. “The entry is frozen over.”
“Will you be able to open it?”
Frustrated, he glanced up, her face barely visible in the dimming twilight. “Aye, but ’twill take a long time.” Time—with her shivering from the cold—they didna have.