by Diana Cosby
“Whoever was in my chamber indeed joined with others,” Catarine said.
“Still, I am surprised that their numbers are so small.”
“So they can travel for speed,” Lord Grey said, “’Tis what I would do if I wanted to make good time.”
“Regardless, their small rank works to our advantage,” Catarine said. “We should be able to capture them with minimal risk.”
“After they dared enter your chamber in Loch Leven Castle,” Lord Grey said, “I assure you, I have no problem interrogating them as to who is behind these attacks.”
“Nor I,” Atair growled.
Catarine frowned as her other warriors nodded in agreement. “The knights will remain unharmed unless they resist.”
A muscle worked in Trálin’s jaw.
Atair’s eyes narrowed.
Her other fey warrior’s expressions darkened, but they remained quiet.
“There they come,” Ranulf said.
Catarine turned.
Between several large boulders at the entrance to the valley, English knights marching at a quick stride came into view, all well armed. Every so often, they glanced around.
“Do you think they suspect our presence?” Catarine whispered.
“Mayhap, they seem worried,” Atair replied, “but if they tried to flee now, ’tis too late.”
Across the pass, from behind the thick of stones lining the windswept angled rocks, she caught a brief wave; the Scottish knights hidden on the opposite side were ready for her signal.
Catarine clasped her sword and waited for the English knights to move below them.
Closer.
A few steps more.
She raised her fingers to her lips, blew. Her piercing whistle echoed through the valley as she and her men jumped from their hidden positions from either side of the steep incline.
“We are under attack!” the Englishman leading the knights yelled. With regimented precision, the slide of steel echoed as he and his men withdrew their swords and moved back to form a defensive stance.
“Robbery is futile,” the lead English knight warned.
Catarine stepped to a lower stone, the nerves on the Englishman’s face easy to read. “We are nae here for coin, but answers.”
A distance below, the knight glanced at the other in disbelief. “Who are you?”
“Princess Catarine MacLaren.”
An English knight stepped from the line, put his hands on his hips. “A lie.”
Her anger built. “He didna deny knowing who I am,” she said to those around her.
“Indeed,” Trálin agreed, his voice hard. “To recognize your name, they are in league with whoever you seek.”
“Who do you serve?” Catarine called.
Silence.
As if the knights would tell her outright? “Why do they want me and my family dead?”
A distant curse. “’Tis true, she is the princess,” the lead English knight stated.
Murmurs rose from the men.
“Kill her!” the lead English knight ordered.
Fierce yells rose from the men as they charged up the incline.
“Remember, if possible we must save who we can so they can answer our questions,” Catarine said as she raised her weapon.
Trálin’s hard gaze met hers. “I will try, but I will nae allow any to threaten your life.” He joined her warriors as they charged the oncoming men.
Blades clashed, curses rang out, and blood-lashed snow stained the fall-chilled earth.
An aggressor charged Lord Grey.
Steel screamed as Trálin’s sword met the Englishman’s. Muscles quivering from the impact, he tossed the enemy’s weapon aside, moved his weapon to the man’s neck. “Who do you serve?”
The Englishman reached for his dagger.
Trálin delivered a mortal thrust. Screams filled the air around him broken by errant curses.
“Behind you!” Atair called.
His blade readied, Trálin whirled.
“Bastard!” The English knight charged.
The shudder of steel met each swing, but Trálin held. He deflected the next blow and rounded to swing again, then hesitated. “Bedamned.”
“What is wrong?” Catarine called from nearby.
“Look at their eyes!” Trálin replied.
She pushed back an aggressor, then gasped. “They are under a spell.”
Trálin had suspected so, after seeing the glazed look of the knight raising his sword for another attack. As much as he wished to kill him, ’twould nae serve their need.
The knight screamed, charged.
Trálin allowed his fury for Catarine’s life to drive his blade.
Sweat beaded the man’s brow, but he held his own.
“Who do you work for?” Trálin demanded.
Fear flashed in the man’s eyes, then they grew blank. “Why do you protect the fairy?”
“Why would a human care what happens in the Otherworld?” Lord Grey pressed as he delivered another blow.
The man’s eyes darkened. His mouth fell open and his face contorted with pain. He stumbled back. Gritting his teeth, steadying himself, he again rushed toward him.
Trálin sidestepped the attack, barely.
Like a man possessed, the knight attacked.
Blades clashed over and again. However much Trálin wanted to take this man alive, ’twould seem whoever had put the spell on this warrior would nae allow him to be captured.
The aggressor lifted his blade.
Trálin shoved his blade deep into the knight’s exposed armpit.
Shock, then pain seared the man’s eyes. He collapsed.
“Stay back,” Catarine warned from behind him.
Lord Grey whirled toward her.
Several paces away, two English knights closed in on where they’d cornered Catarine. To her right, Atair fought a man a foot taller than himself. The other fey warriors and Scottish knights were engaged with the remaining English knights.
Curse it! Trálin bolted toward her, taking the first aggressor down with one swing.
Breaths coming fast, her eyes widened. “Behind you!”
Trálin rounded, slashed his blade across the charging man’s neck. He spun on his heel and joined the nearby Scottish knight wielding his sword who’d moved to protect her. “Catarine, get behind me.”
She hesitated. “I—”
“Now!” Trálin yelled.
With a cool look, she complied.
Trálin focused on the aggressor, thankful to hear the silence of blades around them, praying their men’s casualties were low if none.
Steps echoed.
Trálin glanced over.
Atair ran to his side.
A moment later, Drax and Kuircc joined them.
Encircled by the fey warriors, the English knight’s eyes widened.
Trálin held his gaze. “You are outnumbered, lower your sword.”
His blade held high, a dazed look shielded the knight’s eyes as he searched for a way to escape.
Bedamned, they needed answers. Trálin jumped toward the knight. Before the man could react, he laid his sword against his neck.
“I did not want to kill her,” the knight rasped.
Catarine stepped forward. “Who wants me dead?
The Englishman began to tremble with fear. “If I tell you I will die.”
Anger stormed Trálin. “And if you do nae, I will deliver the same.”
“Have m-mercy,” the Englishman begged, “you do not understand.”
“We know whoever you serve is a fairy,” Catarine stated.
The Englishman’s eyes widened with incredibility. “How?”
“It matters nae,” she stated. “Their name.”
Trálin hardened the pressure of his blade against the man’s neck. “Tell us now or . . .”
The knight swallowed hard. “El-Elspeth.”
Shock rolled through Catarine, then fury. “Where is she?”
At the knigh
t’s hesitation, Trálin pressed the sword harder. Blood trickled out, slid down his blade, then dropped onto the frozen ground. “Tell her.”
“She is—” The knight’s face paled. His face turned a mottled shade of red, then purple. Froth oozed from his mouth. On a gasp, he grabbed for his neck as he collapsed and writhed on the ground as if a man tortured.
Trálin knelt, tried to hold the man down.
The knight’s body jerked. On a garbled breath, he stiffened, gave a desperate, bloodcurdling scream.
“Help me hold him,” Lord Grey yelled.
Atair and Kuircc rushed over. As they knelt, the Englishman’s body slumped to the ground.
A long second passed. Then another.
The man didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed.
Lord Grey pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, met Catarine’s worried gaze. “Dead.”
“Elspeth killed him,” she whispered, her voice a raw emptiness laden with heartbreak.
Unsure what was bloody going on, Trálin stood. With the emotions rolling in her voice, how her body trembled, something of great magnitude had occurred—beyond the fact the betrayer was a woman.
“Who is Elspeth?” Trálin asked.
“A woman I believed my friend,” Catarine replied. “A woman who is now my enemy.”
“You know her well then?” Trálin asked.
A shuddering breath fell from Catarine. “Aye, she is my aunt.”
Chapter Sixteen
The cold truth echoed through Catarine’s mind like a blade of betrayal—her aunt was behind her own brother’s death, and was plotting to kill her entire family. Hot tears rolled down her face, violent with the need for justice.
“Catarine?”
At the worry in Trálin’s voice she looked up. “I . . .” Her body began to tremble.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed. Trálin started to move toward her.
Frustrated at her show of emotion, Catarine wiped the tears from her cheeks, stepped back. Never did she wish to show weakness before her men.
Understanding flickered in Trálin’s eyes and he stilled. He glanced at the others standing nearby, and then toward her.
The fey warriors remained silent; anger carved each man’s face.
Trálin scanned the surrounding rough terrain, faced her. “How did she kill the man?”
With disgust she knelt beside the dead English knight, reached beneath his tunic. Careful nae to touch the gemstone, she jerked the pendant around his neck free. Bitterness rolled through her as she stood, lifted the glowing sphere twisting at the end of the chain for all to see. “Princess Elspeth uses gemstones to control the men. ’Tis a known method of directing a person’s mind with magic.”
His mouth slamming to a frown, Atair crossed his arms. “At least now we know who is behind the attacks.”
“We do,” she agreed. A part of her struggled to believe her aunt, a woman who’d taught her to shoot an arrow and to tend wounds to prevent infection, would have turned against her family. Or had ordered her own brother murdered. Except, the final tortured admission of the dead Englishman sprawled before her was devastating proof. “I had nae thought she delved in black magic. With her ability to control from afar, she must have practiced the craft for many years.”
“Aye,” Atair agreed, “she is indeed powerful to nae be within sight and wield her will through the man.”
“Do you think she is near?” Trálin asked as he again scoured the narrowed valley.
“If so, and if she witnessed her knights’ devastation,” Catarine replied, “she is long gone.”
Lord Grey cursed. “And without knowing her whereabouts, she could be headed anywhere.”
“Except the stone circle,” Catarine stated. “The open field around it prevents her from trying to cross with us in view.” With a frustrated sigh, she laid the gemstone and chain on the dead man’s chest. “My family must be warned.”
“Aye,” Atair agreed. “Blast her traitorous heart. I will kill her with my own two hands.”
“Nay,” Catarine stated, her voice slow, even, concealing the unbound fury burning to her core. “The blade that takes my aunt’s traitorous life shall be mine.” She took a deep breath, fighting for calm. To make a decision founded in anger could put their lives at risk. If any died, ’twould be Princess Elspeth. “We must split up. Several warriors will return to—”
Stones clattered nearby.
Her hand clasping her sword, she glanced toward the sound. ’Twas the Scottish knights King Alexander had sent with them coming up the steep incline. Catarine cast a warning look to her fey warriors to say nae more.
Her warriors gave a subtle nod.
The lead Scot heading the party stopped before them, and the remaining knights halted nearby.
Lord Grey nodded to the men. “We were discussing how to proceed.”
“Aye, my lord,” the head Scottish knight replied. “We await your command.”
Thankful for his intervention, Catarine stepped forward. “We have learned that ’tis my aunt who is behind the treachery. Several of my warriors will return to my home and relay the news. The rest of us will remain together and track her down.”
Atair’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis dangerous to allow you to remain here without your full warrior guard.”
“But necessary,” she replied, her voice cool. “And, do nae forget that our number has been reinforced.”
“Men who are unfamiliar with our ways,” Atair said with intent, “and do nae hold their full protection for you in case of inescapable danger.”
She stiffened. Atair spoke of the gemstones her warriors wore around their necks and the power sent out to protect her when joined. Regardless of the risk, her family must be warned.
At the tense silence, expression grim, the lead Scottish knight stepped forward. “I regret to report that we lost several of my men.”
She damned her aunt’s senseless greed. Yet more unforgivable atrocities.
“Lord Grey,” she said. “Upon the completion of this mission, when you return to King Alexander with his warriors, please share my deepest regrets.”
Deep lines deepened in Trálin’s brow. “Aye.”
“Atair, Magnus, and Ranulf,” Catarine called, her voice betraying none of her angst. “Travel to my family’s hidden locations. Inform them of all we have learned. They must move to a safer hideaway.”
“With Princess Elspeth’s knowledge of the royal family’s hideouts,” Atair said, his voice tight, “as well as her powerful friends, is there truly anywhere they will be safe?”
Nausea swept Catarine at the impact of his question. She considered the places her family could retreat to in times of danger—all safe havens known by her aunt.
“I do nae know,” she replied. “Regardless, my family must be warned. My father will be out with his men; after you tell those hidden, find him.”
The three fey warriors nodded. Sadness swept her for her father. Once he learned of Princess Elspeth’s treachery, he would suffer the emotional cost of her betrayal and blame himself for missing signs of his sister’s intent. As if any within the family had held suspicions of her nefarious aspirations? ’Twould see that whatever love her aunt had once held had rotted to vicious, selfish greed.
She shoved aside anxious thoughts. “Atair, once you reach my father, the three of you will remain with him.”
Her senior fey warrior nodded. “As you request.”
Catarine glanced to Sionn, Drax, and Kuircc. “The rest of you will stay with me. If Elspeth is foolish enough to remain nearby, we will find her.”
“Take care,” Atair said, then waved Magnus and Ranulf forward. The three fey warriors worked their way down the steep slope.
How she wished she could join them, see her family, and explain everything, but she must confront her aunt.
At the bottom, the fey warriors headed toward where the English knights had entered the valley. A necessity. Once she and the others had departed, her w
arriors would double back and enter the stone circle.
“There are many places Princess Elspeth might hide,” Sionn said.
Catarine grimaced as she scanned the stark mountains carved against the beauty of the rugged land. “We will follow the men’s tracks to where the others joined them.”
Trálin rubbed his chin, paused. “What if the knights did nae come from her hideout?”
Frustration rolled through her. “A valid point.”
“I am bothered by the fact that the English knights know their way about Scotland with such expertise,” Trálin said.
“Given instructions I presume,” Sionn said, “’tis a logical answer.”
“Or”—Lord Grey scanned the bodies of the English knights strewn about—“mayhap they were following a map.”
Hope ignited inside her. “A map. Of course, which the lead knight should have on him. Or another of his guard. We must search them.”
A short while later, fatigue and grief weighed heavy on Catarine as she picked through the last pouch of the dead English knight before her. Blast it. Nothing.
“Here!”
At Drax’s excited cry, she shoved to her feet and hurried over.
Parchment scraped as the fey warrior unfurled the map. Analytical eyes scanned the prepared skin, his mouth tightening at the edge.
Catarine halted a pace away. “Where does it lead?”
Brows drawn, Drax handed it to her. “See for yourself.”
Uneasy, she took the map, scanned it as Trálin, Sionn, and Kuircc moved to her side.
“Bedamned,” Trálin rasped, “they came up from England.”
“How long will it take us to reach where the map ends?” she asked, her frustration matching his.
“’Tis rough terrain,” Lord Grey replied. “Three days by foot at best.”
Three days at best? Time they didn’t have.
One of the Scottish knights who stood farthest away, who she was introduced to as Sir Rogier, was kneeling beside the Englishman who’d died after he’d admitted her aunt’s name. At her gaze, Sir Rogier froze. Guilt flickered in his eyes, then he hurried to stand.
Unease slid through her. “Sir Rogier, did you find something else?”
He shook his head.
Gaze narrowed, Trálin glanced at the Scottish knight, then back to her. “Is something wrong?”