His Enchantment

by Diana Cosby

  At their approach, she curtsied to the king and queen. “This way, Your Grace.” She guided them along the passageway.

  A creak sounded. Yellow candlelight spilled out of a door near the end.

  “Quickly,” the woman urged.

  Trálin followed, thankful to find the woman he’d seen talking earlier shaking out simple gowns and thick undergarments along with serviceable common garb.

  “Your Grace,” the red-haired woman called, “I will help the women. Please follow me.”

  Without hesitation, Queen Margaret and Catarine dashed into a private area to change.

  “This way, Your Grace, Lord Grey.” The other woman led them to a small chamber, handed them the serviceable garb. “The thick wool will help keep you warm as you travel.”

  “My thanks,” King Alexander said. “Your loyalty will be remembered.”

  A blush darkened her cheeks in the candlelight. “’Tis an honor to help you, Your Grace.” With a bow, she turned and departed.

  Once they’d finished securing their garb, Trálin and the king rejoined the others.

  A shuffle at the entry sounded, the door shoved open, and a dark-haired woman rushed inside, her face flushed. “The fire is set.”

  “Excellent,” the woman helping the group replied. “Your Grace—”

  “Fire!” a woman shouted from the great room.

  Screams echoed within the keep. Doors thumped, and guards shouted for water.

  “This way!” the woman helping them called.

  Keeping Catarine close to his side, Trálin followed the woman. As if in an odd maze, they wove through half-lit blackness, the scents of aged meat alerting him they passed through where they cured the venison and boar. A door creaked open, and he stepped out.

  Distant torchlight exposed the bailey. Trálin flattened himself within the shadows of the building. “Catarine.”

  “Here,” she whispered.

  “Please check around the corner to ensure no guards are about.”

  “I will.” She touched his shoulder. “Thank you for your trust.” Catarine crept to the corner. A step away her vague outline disappeared. A moment later, she came into view.

  “’Tis so dark,” the king whispered as he halted beside Trálin, “for a moment I lost sight of Lady Catarine.”

  “Indeed.” A smile tugged at his mouth. If only he knew the truth.

  “The guards have made a line from the well and are passing buckets of water to the keep,” Catarine explained as she halted beside Trálin.

  “Do we have a clear path to a side gate near the gatehouse?” King Alexander asked.

  “Regardless,” Trálin said, “we must keep close to the walls and use the broken shadows.”

  “’Twill take too long,” Catarine whispered.

  A muscle worked in Trálin’s jaw. As if he didna know the risks? “’Tis the safest to lure the guards at the gate.”

  Catarine leaned closer. “Remain here. I will go alone.”

  He caught the emphasis in the word alone. She meant she’d become invisible. Bedamned, she’d risked her life enough. “Nay!”

  “What is wrong?” the king asked.

  “Your Grace,” Catarine said before Trálin could speak. “I will take out the guards at the gatehouse. When I—”

  “With the distance necessary,” Trálin interrupted, upset she’d nae discussed it with him first, “’twill take you too long to—”

  Catarine bolted deep into the shadows.

  Bedamned! Trálin started after her, caught a vague shimmer, then she disappeared. With a muttered curse, he glanced toward the guards at the gate. With the yells from the top of the castle, their attention was focused on the fire.

  “Lord Grey,” the king softly called.

  Trálin cursed, slipped back beside the king.

  “Is the lass insane?” he asked.

  Nay, a fairy. “In part,” Trálin replied.

  “Never have I seen a woman with such bravado,” King Alexander said.

  “She is a trained knight,” Trálin explained.

  “A lass is a knight?” the king stated, the shock in his voice expected. “Never have I heard of such.”

  “Nor I.” Neither would the king learn more. Trálin scoured the bailey. Where was she? Blast it, if he could reach her, he’d throttle her. “I do nae see her,” the king whispered.

  “She is in the shadows,” Trálin replied, and prayed she could hold her breath that long.

  A blur came into view paces away from the first guard.

  “There she is,” the queen said.

  Catarine’s form faded.

  “What the bloody devil?” The guard yelled as he withdrew his blade. “Behind you,” he shouted to the other sentry.

  The other knight whirled. “Bloody hell, ’tis a sword in the air.” He stumbled back, grabbing for his blade.

  “’Tis a curse!” the other guard called.

  Fear for her life tore through Trálin. “Follow me.” He bolted across the bailey.

  Blade drawn, her form becoming visible, Catarine swung.

  The knight gasped, angled his blade. Steel scraped. The knight’s sword flew to the ground.

  As she rounded her blade for her next swing, her entire body came into view.

  Fear tore through Trálin. “Leave her be!”

  The guard met her swing with a solid blow. He shoved her back and rounded on Lord Grey. “What blasted trickery is this?”

  In the wash of torchlight, her body wavered.

  Bedamned, she was too close to the knights to become invisible! Furious at the risks she was taking, Trálin shoved her aside and deflected the knight’s next assault, caught the man’s sword with his own, shoved.

  The knight stumbled back.

  Protectiveness pouring through him, Trálin charged, swung.

  Sparks glittered in the night, the shouts of the men trying to put out the fire echoing behind them.

  Trálin angled his hilt, slammed it against the knight’s head.

  A curse echoed, then the guard’s body slumped to the ground.

  In the dim shimmer of distant torchlight, Catarine’s eyes blazed. “Why did you shove me out of the way?”

  “Nay time to discuss it now.” With a quick glance behind to ensure they had nae been spotted, Trálin unbarred the door, jerked it open. Wind, thick with the cast of snow, hurled through. “Go!”

  She shot him a cool look. As Catarine made to pass, he caught her arm. “’Twas a foolish risk.”

  “Nae, necessary.” She jerked her arm free and ran through the entry.

  Footsteps echoed behind him; the king and queen hastened past.

  “The king has escaped!” a man’s voice boomed in the distance.

  Blast it! He’d hoped they’d had more time. “Run!” Trálin yelled. At his next step, a gust of wind hit him thick with flakes of white. In the gloom of night with only the meager reflection of the moon through the clouds, he lost sight of everyone ahead of him. A moment later, the wind slowed, and he caught their outline.

  “The door to the side gate is open!” another man shouted.

  Trálin cursed, shoved the door shut. “Run toward the cliffs!” Wind-fed snow pelted him as he pushed forward, the crunch of the iced surface giving way to a thick powdery white that slowed his each step.

  Catarine dropped back. “The cliffs?”

  “I know of a trail.” The gloom of night enveloped Trálin as he reached Catarine, then caught up with the king and queen. “Follow me!”

  Yells echoed from the entry. Hinges creaked. The scrap of the iron sounded with a treacherous groan.

  Catarine half-stumbled as she glanced back. “They are opening the portcullis!”

  “We must make it around the side of the Stirling Castle,” Trálin called, “before they—”

  “There they are!” a knight in the distance behind them yelled.

  Catarine halted.

  Trálin whirled. “What are you doing?”

 
Clouds broke overhead, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated her as if a magic spell cast. “I will slow them,” she replied. “Go, take the king and queen.”

  “Catarine, you will—”

  “Catch up with you.”

  Snow whipped Trálin’s face as he caught Catarine’s hand. “Are you daft? Nay,” he muttered as he dragged her with him as he followed after the royal couple, “do nae answer that.”

  Orders for more men to help find the royal couple rang out in their wake. The fierce gong of a bell sounded, backed by calls awakening those who still slept.

  The king and queen hurried around the corner of Stirling Castle.

  “Halt!” a distant guard yelled.

  “This way. There is a hidden path down the cliffs.” Trálin headed toward a thicket of trees. As he neared, the limbs of the tree shook.

  A burly guard leading several men brandishing swords stepped from the thick swath of firs before them. “Halt or be killed.”

  Chapter Ten

  The burly guard moving from the thick fir stilled. “Catarine?”

  At Atair’s voice, her entire body sank with relief. In the racing clouds above, moonlight streamed through a break, exposing her senior fey warrior along with her other men moving out of the trees.

  “Halt!” a deep voice boomed from near the castle walls.

  Her breaths rushing out as puffs of white, Catarine sprinted toward Atair. “We escaped with the king and queen and are being chased. They must be taken to safety!”

  Against the sparse moonbeams, a grimace flattened Atair’s mouth as he waved the men forward. “Drax, escort the king and queen down the trail. We will follow as soon as possible.”

  “Aye.” Drax motioned for the king and queen to follow him. “This way, Your Grace, quickly.”

  “Nay, I will fight.” The king gestured for the queen to follow Drax. “Go!”

  Terror slid through Catarine. What was King Alexander doing? He could nae remain. “Your Grace, we are greatly outnumbered. Your safety is imperative.”

  King Alexander withdrew his blade, “By God, ’tis my country, and I will face those who want me dead.”

  A part of her damned the king’s decision of putting his life at risk, another held respect.

  The queen hesitated, then nodded. “Be safe.”

  King Alexander faced Catarine as the queen followed Drax through the fir boughs and out of sight. “Lady Catarine, go with her.”

  “With respect, Your Grace,” she stated as she withdrew her sword. “I will remain and fight with my men.”

  King Alexander stepped toward her. “’Tis nae—”

  “Seize him!” the castle guard yelled as he closed.

  With a curse, the king lifted his blade and joined the fey warriors as they charged the oncoming men.

  Her mind shifting to tactics, Catarine followed. Wind hurled snow in her face as she met the first aggressor. She swung.

  The screech of steel pierced the air.

  She clenched her teeth, rounded her blade, swung. Metal slammed with a hard scrape.

  The guard stumbled back.

  Without hesitation, Catarine lunged forward, drove her sword into his heart, then withdrew. She whirled to face her next attacker. The cacophony of blades echoed around her as she delivered a fatal blow.

  Her challenger crumpled to the smear of white.

  Breaths coming fast, with no castle guards nearby, she glanced behind her. Near the trees where the queen and Drax had entered, Sionn was battling a tall knight, with Trálin engaged in a vicious clash of blades nearby.

  Another knight ran around the castle corner, bolted toward Trálin.

  Panic swept her. “Lord Grey, behind you!”

  Trálin dispensed the knight before him with a savage blow, rounded on his heel, and angled his blade as the castle guard charged.

  Steel scraped.

  On a curse, Lord Grey shoved his attacker back.

  “You will die for your treachery!” the knight roared as he swung.

  Trálin’s sword caught the man’s blade at the hilt. He tossed it aside, then drove his sword deep. “Nay, ’tis your dishonor for which you will now pay the price.”

  In the moonlight, the guard gasped, sank to his knees, then collapsed.

  Sword readied for the next assailant, Catarine scanned the fractured moonlit area around him.

  Several castle guards remained engaged in battle, but the king and fey warriors quickly finished them off.

  “Your Grace,” Atair called, “we must go before reinforcements arrive!”

  The king withdrew his blade from his attacker, sheathed it. “Aye.” He followed the senior fey warrior toward where the queen had entered the forest with Drax.

  Breaths coming fast, Trálin ran to Catarine. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nay,” she replied, her voice shaky.

  “Thank God.” Trálin gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Come, we must hurry.”

  Moonlight glittered upon the snow around her like fairy dust as she followed her fey warriors, Trálin at her side. As she reached the trees, she shoved aside a limb, ran through. A cloud of snow showered her, and she pushed forward.

  Inside the cloak of trees, illuminated by wisps of moonlight, she navigated the needle-covered limbs, keeping up with her men ahead. With the grueling pace, she was thankful that the queen had a head start. They would need to keep moving throughout the night. Soon castle guards would arrive and find their men dead. Furious, they would send the full guard to recapture the king and queen—a fate she and her fey warriors could never allow, regardless the cost.

  She rounded a large boulder, and the trees began to thin. In the distance, with the clouds clearing, she made out her warriors and the king as Drax led Queen Margaret down a narrow path.

  Atair slowed. “We were to aid you in freeing the king,” he said, his voice cool, “nae meet you outside the castle walls after the fact.”

  “Catarine had an accident and almost died,” Trálin stated without apology. “We were fortunate to be allowed inside Stirling Castle, more so that a few hours of rest, warmth, and food allowed her to recover.”

  “God’s sword,” Atair rasped. “How fare thee now?”

  In the shimmers of moonlight, Catarine pushed aside another bough of fir, the scent rich. “I fought well enough.”

  “Stubborn lass,” Atair muttered.

  “An opinion you and Trálin both hold,” she replied.

  Atair dodged a tree. “As if you do nae hold the blasted trait?”

  “Mayhap.” Her breaths coming fast, a smile touched Catarine’s mouth. Both men were—

  “They have killed our men!” a man’s deep voice boomed from behind them.

  Fear tore through her. “The reinforcements have arrived.”

  Trálin caught her arm, shoved her ahead of him. “Go. Now!”

  Aware now was nae the time to argue, she bolted forward. Moments later, the fey warriors aided the king and queen as they hurried into shadows of rock and began their descent down the dangerous cliffs.

  Catarine didn’t peer over the edge, didn’t think, but focused on each snow-laden step. She refused to ponder her near fall from the wooden bridge spanning the gorge, or the mind-numbing fear. That her guards had made it to Stirling Castle safely, and that they had a path down the precarious cliffs, was more than enough reason to give thanks.

  “If only our shield of invisibility would cover humans as well,” Catarine whispered to Trálin as she wedged her foot into the next rocky jut.

  He angled his body, reached the next step down. “Aye.”

  Weary, she clutched a sturdy branch, stepped down.

  Throughout the night, beneath shimmers of moonlight mixed with shadows, they worked their way down. At times the sounds of the castle guards searching for them grew close, at others their shouts echoed from afar.

  Wisps of purple gold illuminated the sky as Trálin held onto a sturdy limb, climbed down another precarious step of the treacherous ledge. He
glanced up.

  In the meager light of dawn, a mask of weariness painted Catarine’s face. Regardless, she pushed on without complaint.

  Blast it, the lass would nae ask to halt unless she collapsed. Though she’d recovered from near freezing, another day’s rest would do her well. Nae that they had time for such luxury with the castle guards on their heels.

  “The sun is beginning to rise,” Trálin said. “We must find a place to hide and rest.”

  With a frustrated sigh, Catarine searched the rough trail ahead. “No doubt the king and queen are unused to such demanding travel. Do you know of anywhere nearby we can take cover for the day?”

  “Nay,” Lord Grey replied. “The few times I passed this way, I did nae have a need to ask. But, below is a ledge hidden by boulders. ’Tis enough room for us all to take a break and discuss our next move.”

  Her body trembling with fatigue, Catarine stepped down onto the rocky shelf. Wind swept snow rushed past as she followed Trálin to where the angled rock broke the gusts of windswept snow.

  Amidst the swaths of orange red illuminating the morning sky, one by one, her men reached the landing.

  The first rays of morning sun slipped through the crevices, leaving an unsettling glow around him as Catarine waited for everyone to gather.

  “How fare thee, my queen?” King Alexander asked as he guided his wife toward the clearing.

  Queen Margaret gave him a wilted smile. “Well enough.”

  As the king reached the awaiting men, he nodded to each one, his expression fierce. “With Comyn’s guards out en force, we must decide our best strategy.”

  Trálin rubbed his chin. “Your Grace, the Comyns will believe that you will attempt to reach Scone Castle.”

  “Aye,” King Alexander agreed. “Instead, I will return to Loch Leven Castle.”

  Stunned, Trálin shook his head. “Your Grace, with my knights slaughtered and only the castle guard to protect you, ’tis too dangerous to return.”

  “I too believe ’tis wise to return to Loch Leven Castle,” the queen stated. “Those who abducted you will think that with the lack of your security, you would hesitate to return. Fools that they are, they do nae know you.” Her mouth thinned. “Evident by their brazen abduction.”