by Diana Cosby
Eyes unsure, she watched him.
God help them if the fey warriors didn’t make it. Their absence meant one of two things—they’d been caught, or, in the brutal snowstorm, they’d died. Neither did he wish to consider.
The crackle of wood burning in the hearth filled the tense silence. What more was there to say? Once they escaped this night, numerous challenges lay ahead.
A creak sounded. A burst of cold air whipped into the great room as the door opened wide.
With a curse at the bitter night, the guard who’d brought them to the keep stepped inside the great room and shoved the sturdy door shut. A dark scowl creased his brow as he scoured the room. As his gaze rested on Trálin and Catarine, he paused. In the flicker of torchlight and the flames from the hearth, the guard’s eyes narrowed.
Panic swept him. Had the guard recognized him? Beneath the tunic, keeping his movements slow, he clasped his dagger.
The guard grunted in disgust, then scanned the remainder of the great hall. As if satisfied naught was amiss, he strode to the turret and entered. The thud of his steps echoed up the winding stairs and, moments later, faded.
“With the way he looked us over,” she whispered, “I worry he suspects something.”
“As I.” But he wouldna linger on the discussion and concern her further. He studied her face. “You have color on your cheeks. A good sign.”
She gave a shudder. “Never have I been so cold.”
“And I pray you are never so cold again.”
Soft steps echoed toward them.
He glanced up. The woman that’d helped them earlier headed toward them with two bowls of stew and a hunk of bread. “We are in luck, lass. Warm food.”
The woman smiled as she halted before them. “You looked like you both were ready to eat.”
“We are, my thanks,” Trálin said.
“A pleasure, my lord,” she replied.
Trálin stilled. “What?”
A soft chuckle fell from her lips. “Nae worry,” she said in a low voice. “Many a time you have visited, but with you busy with your affairs with the king, I doubt you would have noticed me.”
God in heaven. “What do you mean?”
“With your beard shaved, Lord Grey, at first I didna recognize you.” She shook her head. “I will nae be informing the guards. Nasty business they have done, abducting King Alexander and Queen Margaret.”
Hope soared. “Do you know where they are?” he whispered.
“I do.” She laid out a platter before them. “The stew is hot, so do take care when you eat. ’Twill do you both good. As for the king and queen, they are in the royal chamber on the top floor, but under guard.”
As he’d suspected. If their luck continued, they’d all escape this night. “You are loyal to King Alexander then?”
“Aye,” she replied. “Upstarts the Comyns are. They think they blasted have a right to the throne and can manipulate a king with threats.”
“They plan to nae manipulate him,” Trálin whispered, “but kill both King Alexander and his queen if he does nae comply with their demands.”
The woman gasped. “That explains the activities since their arrival earlier this day.”
“What happened?” Trálin asked.
“I was nae privy to it all,” the woman replied, “but I heard whispers that the king had until tomorrow morning to make his decision. I didna know that if King Alexander refused their demands, ’twould cost him and the queen their lives.” She made the sign of the cross. “God help us.”
Indeed, the king’s men would attack Stirling Castle and many innocent people would die. “We are here to free them,” Trálin explained. “And when we return with substantial guard, we will ensure the Comyns receive their due.”
The woman nodded. “If you have need of anything, let me know. Several others beside myself were outraged when we saw our king led here beneath guard. Treasonous, it is. I assure you, if asked, they will offer their aid as well.”
“Your bravery along with that of others who help us will be remembered,” Trálin whispered.
Gratitude shone in the woman’s eyes. “King Alexander’s freedom is payment enough. Sleep well, my lord.” The woman returned to her daughter.
Catarine shook her head. “She recognized you,” she whispered.
“Aye.” He rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “I thought shaving my beard would conceal my identity for the wee bit of time we are to be here.”
“It fooled the guard.” Catarine said.
Unease cut through him. “Nae completely. Something about me seems familiar, but for now he has nae connected a name to my face.”
“But he will,” she said, her words filled with worry.
“Indeed, we must be long gone by then.” He studied her in the shimmers of firelight. Though her face was regaining color, ’twould take time for her to regain her full strength. Time they didn’t have before they must leave. “Will you be fit enough to travel this night?”
“Aye.”
Blast it, as if he expected her to say otherwise? She was a warrior, a woman of fortitude, and a woman who made him want her more than was wise. Shaken by the enormity of what she made him feel, he gestured to the steaming stew. “Eat, lass. We will be needing all of the strength we can have this eve.”
Several hours later, fed, warmed, and rested, Catarine and Lord Grey slipped from the great room. The soft tap of his boots echoed in the silence as Trálin walked beside her up the spiral steps.
Catarine’s breath caught in her throat as she peered up the wash of torchlight spilling upon the timeworn steps. “’Twill be dawn soon.”
“Aye,” he whispered, damning the passing hours. “The guard has made his rounds often. I worry my true identity will soon come to him. Neither can we delay in freeing the king. The Comyns will soon be demanding King Alexander’s answer. Then, any chance of saving my sovereign will be lost.”
In silence, they continued up. Near the top of the steps, Trálin held up a finger to his lips.
She nodded.
Gut churning, after one glance down the turret, he crept up the last few steps. He peered down the long corridor, pulled back. Bedamned!
Soft steps came up behind him. “What is wrong?” she whispered.
“Three guards are posted at the royal chamber’s door. The distance to them is too far to have the element of surprise.”
“How will we get past them?” she asked.
Several thoughts stormed him, none of which held any appeal.
“Trálin, what if I go and—”
“Nay.”
In the spit of torchlight, her face grew taut. “I will become invisible and knock all three of them out. The guards will nae know I am there until ’tis too late.”
He wanted to argue, refuse to endanger her life. What man allowed a woman to face a guard even if invisible? “I canna, ’tis nae my way.”
“You are right,” she replied, “but ’tis the way of the Otherworld.”
Silence thrummed between them.
“For your peace of mind,” she said, “if I do nae come back in ten seconds, come after me.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he glared at her. And in seconds she could be dead. “I do nae like it.”
A soft smile curved her mouth as she laid her hand over his. “I wouldna expect you to.”
Far from amused, he narrowed his eyes. “Nae think tenderness will soften me.”
Catarine shot him a wink. “Mayhap it will.” She inhaled a deep breath.
Disappeared.
Blast her! One. Two. Three. Fo—”
A guard grunted.
“What in blasted—ugh,” the other guard groaned. A thud sounded.
Bedamned, he’d nae wait until the count of ten. Sword drawn, Trálin bolted around the corner.
At the doorway, the third knight crumpled to a heap.
With a confident smile on her face, Catarine appeared and sheathed her blade.
Stunned, he took
in the three highly trained guards who lay sprawled as if after a night of too much drink. “How did you knock them out so quickly?”
“The hilt of my sword,” she beamed.
He shook his head as he sheathed his blade. “Remind me never to upset you.”
The humor in Catarine’s expression fell away. “Never would I use it to harm anyone who didna deserve it.”
“That I believe,” he replied, humbled by her at every turn. “You are an amazing woman. One who I wish was human.”
For a long moment she held his gaze, her desire easy to see. She cleared her throat, and waved him forward. “Come, we need to awaken your king and queen.”
He shoved aside his own longings. “Let me go in first in case a guard is inside.”
With a brow raised in amusement, she stepped back.
On alert, Trálin slowly opened the door, peered inside. A candle burned on each side of the massive bed where the king and queen slept. No guards stood inside. The lack of protection within was easy to understand. With three guards outside their door, the Comyns would nae suspect someone would ever slip inside this near impenetrable fortress to try and free the king.
He waved Catarine to follow him. Once inside, he shut the door. “Wait here.” Trálin walked over to the bed. “Your Grace.”
King Alexander sat up, his eyes thick with sleep, widening with surprise. “Lord Grey?”
“Aye, Your Grace. I am here to help you and Queen Margaret escape.”
Emotion swept the king’s face, and he shoved the covers aside, stood. “I—I thought you were dead.”
Images of the massacre swamped him, and Trálin’s throat tightened. “I survived, Your Grace.”
“And your men?” the king asked, his voice rough.
Trálin shook his head.
“A sword’s blood,” the king spat. “The Comyns will pay for this.” Rubbing his eyes, he paused. “Your beard is gone?”
“A necessity for us to enter Stirling Castle unrecognized,” Trálin replied.
The king started to speak. Hesitated. “Us?” He glanced behind Trálin, frowned. “A lass?”
“’Tis a long story and there is no time to explain,” Trálin said. “Your Grace, we must hurry.”
“Aye, the bastard Comyn is to come at first light for an answer to his demands.” He turned to the queen who had been listening to his explanation. “We must leave now.”
With a nod, Queen Margaret hurried out of the bed.
While the royal pair dressed, Trálin pulled the unconscious guards into the chamber, removed their weapons, then hid them behind the massive bed. “Where is the escape tunnel, Your Grace?”
King Alexander shook his head. “’Tis blocked.”
Chapter Nine
The escape route was blocked? The anger in the king’s voice matched Trálin’s. This explained why they hadna escaped prior to his arrival. Queen Margaret was a strong-willed woman who would follow her king into the harsh weather without hesitation. So like Catarine.
“The Comyns made a wise decision to nae underestimate you, Your Grace.” Trálin turned to Catarine. “Before we leave, I wish to introduce you to Lady Catarine MacLaren.” ’Twould raise too many questions to reveal her title as princess.
King Alexander’s brows raised with surprise. “My sincere pleasure to meet you, Lady Catarine.”
“And mine,” the queen replied.
“I wish ’twas under difference circumstance,” Catarine replied.
“Indeed,” Trálin agreed, “but now we must leave.” He glanced toward the window overlooking the castle ledge. As quickly, he dismissed the idea of crafting a makeshift rope and attempting to reach the ledge below. Even if they had enough material, with the length of time the climb would take, the cold, brutal winds could easily mean death. “Is there another way we can escape Stirling Castle?”
The king shook his head. “None except through the gatehouse or a side door, but for either, first we would have to reach the bailey.”
Bedamned. Without the added ranks of his men, or the fey warriors, little hope existed to challenge the castle guards. Catarine’s ability to become invisible came to mind. Except she would have to hold her breath the entire way across the bailey to remain invisible and reach the guards and render them unconscious. He shoved aside the thought. ’Twas too dangerous.
“Trálin,” Catarine said. “We also have help from the servants.”
“Help from the servants?” the king asked, his voice skeptical.
“Aye,” he replied. “Your Grace, a servant below recognized me.” At the king’s horror, Trálin shook his head. “Nay, she kept her silence and explained that she and others in Stirling Castle are outraged by the Comyns abducting you and Queen Margaret. And, if we needed their aid, they would be there.”
King Alexander frowned. “If so, why have those in the castle who support me nae banded to free us before now?”
“Your Grace,” Trálin explained, “though substantial in number, they are afraid to confront a well trained and very large guard.”
The king’s mouth tightened. “That makes sense. The Comyns will regret using their men for their own greed.” King Alexander glanced toward the door. “As for our escape, while those loyal to me distract the guards, if we don common garb, we could slip out the castle gates.”
“In the dark of the night with naught but torchlight, I believe it will work,” Trálin agreed, thankful he’d nae asked Catarine to endanger herself by facing the guards alone. “One more thing, Your Grace.” In brief, he explained about the guard who had allowed them entry into the castle and had warned them nae to leave the great room. “Once he returns on rounds and finds us gone—”
“He will sound the alarm,” the king finished, his expression grim.
“Aye, ’tis why we must hurry.” Lord Grey met the queen’s worried gaze. “Your Grace, will you be able to travel?”
A determined grimace tightened Queen Margaret’s lips. “None will stop me.”
Aye, she was Scotland’s queen indeed, a woman her knights were proud to follow. Trálin handed the king a sword, then a dagger before handing a second dagger to the queen. “For your safety, I will go first.”
King Alexander nodded.
With a glance at Catarine, Trálin led them from the chamber. The batter of wind against a window echoed through the corridor as they hurried toward the steps. At the entry to the turret, he halted and raised his hand. With a prayer nay guards ascended the curved steps, he peered around the corner.
“’Tis empty,” Lord Grey whispered.
“Good,” King Alexander replied.
Torchlight scraped the hewn stone like angry claws that left ominous swaths of black twisted light on the curved walls as Trálin led them down. The soft pad of their steps echoed against the silence, each moan of wind, each distant call of a castle guard leaving him further on edge. Blast it, time was running out. They must escape. To fail meant they all would die.
Near the bottom, the murmur of voices echoed with a soft whisper.
Trálin raised his hand and halted. On edge, he leaned forward and scanned the great room. Against the glow of flames burning in the hearth, he made out two women sitting on the floor together in quiet conversation. The others within the massive chamber lay tucked beneath their blankets in haphazard groups.
Relief swept through him. “No guards are about, Your Grace.”
“Excellent,” the king replied.
Catarine exhaled with relief.
“Your Grace, “Trálin whispered. “I will be but a moment.”
The king nodded.
With quiet steps, he started across the great room. As he passed the two women in discussion, the woman with red hair glanced over, stiffened.
Trálin nodded at her, kept walking toward the woman who’d offered help before. From the corner of his eye, he saw the red-haired woman hesitate. Please let her return to her discussion.
Shrewd eyes narrowed as she continued to stare a
t him. After a long moment, the red-haired woman returned to her conversation.
Thank God in heaven. Lord Grey glanced toward the entry.
The heavy wooden door remained closed.
Except the guard would soon make his rounds. Several steps later, he knelt beside the woman who’d offered aid. “Are you awake?”
Groggy eyes opened, looked up. She quickly sat up. “My lord.”
He placed his finger over his lips. “I need your help.”
Her eyes widened. “The king and queen?”
“Aye,” he replied. “They are hidden in the turret with the woman I came with.”
Trálin made a quick scan around the chamber to ensure they remained unwatched, then faced her. “We all need common garb. Warm cloaks to travel. Can you procure them?”
“Aye, Lord Grey.”
“You said there are others who would help us as well?” Trálin asked.
“They will, my lord,” she replied.
“Excellent,” Trálin said. “Once we have donned our garb, we will need you and the others to create a disturbance while we escape.”
The woman hesitated. “My lord, regardless of our distraction, the gatehouse will remain guarded.”
“It will, but the guards’ attention will be on the mayhem, and give us the opportunity to knock them out and escape.”
She nodded. “My Lord, I will be but a moment.” After a quick look around, the woman stood. Dust motes swirled in her wake as she hurried toward the two women still deep in conversation.
Trálin curled his hand on his dagger. Had he misjudged her?
At her approach, the two women turned. The woman with the red hair motioned them closer. After furious whispers, the two women hurried down a corridor.
Trálin exhaled, released his hold on the hilt.
The elder woman returned to his side. “My lord, the women are gathering others and will set a fire in the upper rooms of the castle. Posthaste, tell King Alexander and Queen Margaret to follow me.”
He nodded and rushed to the turret. “Everything is set. Come.” He led them toward a darkened corridor where the woman waited.