by Diana Cosby
She studied the Scottish knight a moment more. It appeared that Sir Rogier was upset. “If it is of significance, I must know.”
Sir Rogier cleared his throat. “My lady, I apologize for upsetting you. ’Twas nae my intent. Neither is anything wrong.”
Trálin frowned at the knight as if unconvinced. “You are sure?”
“Aye, my lord,” Sir Rogier replied.
“I am on edge,” Catarine said. With everything to consider, how could she nae be? She focused on the map. “Lord Grey, are you familiar with the territory?”
Trálin watched the Scot a moment longer, then glanced toward her and nodded. “Aye, I will lead us there.”
Once they’d finished discussing the last few details of the upcoming journey, Lord Grey started south with the rest following close behind.
As they picked their way through the sweep of land, at the bottom of the valley, Catarine glanced down to avoid a jutting rock. She frowned. “Odd, I would have thought we would see footsteps of the English knights.”
Several paces away Sionn studied the rough terrain. “As I.”
“What do you mean?” Trálin asked.
Stunned, she stared at him. “You see tracks?”
“Aye,” Lord Grey replied. “They are clear enough.”
She turned to Drax and Kuircc. “Do you see them?”
“Nay,” they replied in unison.
Catarine looked at Scottish knights. “Do you?”
Confusion on their faces, the Scots nodded.
Stunned, she met Sionn’s grim expression. “’Tis the same as before.” Confirmation magic had indeed erased the trail, but only to the fey. What other unwelcome surprises lay in store?
Frozen ground cracked beneath his boots as in the fading sunlight, Trálin shoved up the steep incline, the whirl of snow rushing past. His legs ached from the hours they’d moved at a grueling pace. With a deep breath, he pushed on.
The earlier revelation that only he and the Scots were able to see the footsteps haunted his mind. How did one deal with magic, or exactly what it entailed? Another brutal gust battered him. He tugged the hood of his cape lower over his face, continued up.
“Can you see the top?” Catarine called from behind him.
He glanced back, frowned at the shards of ice misting her brows, and those clinging to the strands of hair that’d broken free from her braid during over the hours of hard travel. “We are almost there.” At her nod, he found another foothold, moved on. Several steps later, he reached the pinnacle. Through the blowing snow, he scanned the weathered land, scoured the brutal gouges carved by rain and time. In the distance, he caught the distant roll of waves upon the shore.
“I can see the ocean,” Catarine said, her breaths coming fast as she halted at his side.
Trálin savored the faint tang of salt in the air, a fresh scent he always enjoyed. “I wanted us to reach the ocean before it grew dark.” The reason he’d pushed them so hard.
She scrutinized the churning sky, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. The snowstorm had been growing worse throughout the day. “We canna push on much longer.”
Trálin pointed toward where remnants of haphazard stone near the shore struggled toward the sky. “See the outline in the distance beyond the next ridge?”
She nodded.
“’Tis an abandoned castle,” he explained. “Parts of the internal walls have collapsed, but ’twill offer an excellent shelter. Though the storm will help shield us, we can nae build a fire. Other Englishmen who serve Princess Elspeth might be nearby.”
Catarine surveyed the land in a slow sweep. “We canna be too cautious.”
“A break from the wind will be welcome enough,” Sionn stated as he paused beside Catarine.
“With the fierce storms known about Scotland,” Trálin said, “my worry is that ’twill nae only slow us, but force us to remain here for days.”
Her mouth tightened. “Then we must continue on.”
With her uncle murdered, several of the Scottish knights dead, and her aunt behind the mayhem, Trálin understood her frustration. Neither would he allow her to make a dangerous choice. “We are all tired. ’Twill soon be night. In the morning, after a good night’s sleep, if indeed the storm makes our travel treacherous, then we will reconsider our plans.”
With a cool glance, she opened her mouth to speak.
“Nay arguments,” Lord Grey said, “you are exhausted and all but ready to fall down.” Before she could reply, he started down the next decline.
“Stubborn you are,” she called from behind him.
He shot her a smile. “That I am.”
As they reached the top of the next gouge of land, in the haze of the oncoming night, a rugged path worn by years of travel came into view. Hewn steps of stone led to the decaying walls of a once grand castle.
Breaths rolling out in a mist of white, Catarine halted beside him. “We made it.”
“With the snow falling harder,” Trálin said, “we arrived just in time.”
The echo of waves slamming against the sheer rock beyond the walls grew louder as Catarine walked beneath the gatehouse. With each step the smell of the sea and decaying grass grew stronger, the cold biting her lungs.
Fatigue rolling through her, she halted at the bailey’s entrance. Amidst the flakes of snow, somber greys of smothered light illuminated the muddle of stones long since toppled from the walls. Half-standing buildings stood helpless against the whip of wind while fragments of stone, wood, and abandoned household items from prior residents littered the ground.
“If the door to the gatehouse still is intact, we must secure it,” Catarine said. Thankfully, after prying the rusted gate loose, they moved beneath the gatehouse, then secured it.
“This way,” Trálin directed as he strode toward the keep. The door to the central portion of the fortress lay open in tatters. Perhaps destroyed during a skirmish? Little else explained such desecration, but with the exterior walls intact, the haphazard remnants would indeed provide welcome shelter.
Inside the remaining walls of the keep, a large hearth stood empty, the charred walls and remnants of wood proof that once life had flourished here.
Wind howled overhead. A burst of snow swirled above and the spray of flakes tumbled down around them.
“We can bed down here,” Trálin said as he reached the far wall. “Once we eat, we will set up guards to keep watch throughout the night.”
“Sionn and I will take the first shift,” Catarine stated. However much she wished to be with Trálin, the last thing she wanted was to inadvertently expose her men to any hint of how close they’d become.
Trálin nodded. “One of the Scottish knights and I will take over at matins.” The other men volunteered for the remaining hours.
Though her body ached and she wanted only to sleep, Catarine worked alongside the men to set the wine, bread, and dried meats out for everyone to eat. After she finished her meal, she wiped her hands, frustrated it had grown dark so fast.
“Are you ready?” Sionn asked.
She nodded and stood.
With shards of moonlight spilling between the breaks in clouds, they headed toward the decaying turret. The soft tap of their boots upon eroded stone echoed up the spiral walls as they started up. As they reached the wall walk, Catarine halted beside her friend, the broken landscape to the west, the rush of waves slamming against the sheer cliffs to the east making her catch her breath.
“’Tis amazing,” Sionn said, “one that reminds me of the cliffs of my youth.”
“Aye.” Though wind screamed past, the blasts of snow like shards of ice, neither could detract from the magnificence before her. “’Tis easy to see why this land was chosen to build a fortress. With the rocks jutting from the water along the coast, no enemy could slip in from the ocean, nor any contingent reach the gates to the west without being seen.” She exhaled. “’Twould take years to see every sight around us, then I doubt one person would see it all.”
Surprise flickered in her friend’s eyes. “You like it here then?”
“I do,” she replied, her voice rough with wishes of things that never could be. “Never will I forget the time spent here.”
“You mean your time with Lord Grey?”
With a quiet inhale, she met Sionn’s searching gaze. So, as Atair, he’d heard her speaking to Trálin in his chamber.
“How can I forget a man who saved my life?” she asked. “A man who like this rugged land moves me as no other.”
“Catar—”
“I know my duty to wed Prince Zacheus,” she interrupted with soft regard. “And as I assured Atair, regardless of my feelings for Lord Grey, I will see it through.”
In the errant wisps of moonlight, sad lines touched his brow. “Never did I question that you would do what was right. Know this, I have met many a man, but the earl is one of the finest. He is a warrior to admire, and a man of his word. With how deeply you care for him, I wish you could follow your heart.”
Her chest squeezed at his words. “We canna always have what we wish for, can we?”
“Your wishes,” Sionn said, his words somber, “I would like to see granted.”
Her throat tight with emotion, she scanned the rock and turf and snow-covered land. Caught within the wind, wisps of salty spray reached her. Catarine savored the rich taste, that of freedom and the rugged land below. With ease she could see herself remaining in Scotland.
“I know ’tis difficult,” Sionn said. “But with the way I catch Lord Grey looking at you when he thinks none are watching, neither will he forget you.”
“Why does it seem we meet the person we were meant to be with at the most ill-opportune time?”
He shrugged. “Who knows why life offers the challenges it does?”
“Challenges?”
“Aye,” Sionn replied. “Problems perplex us, challenges we can overcome.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “You are a philosopher now?”
Humor twinkled in his eyes. “When the time calls for it.”
A thick flake twirled past, then another. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.
She straightened, searched the rough sweep of land. “Thunder when it is snowing?”
“Odd indeed.” Sionn pointed toward the west, where a flicker of lightning illuminated the sky. A moment later, another echo of thunder sounded. He grimaced. “I willna miss the unusual weather outside of the Otherworld.”
“Nay,” she replied, sadness slipping into her voice, “that I willna miss. Once I wed, will you continue to guard me at my new home?”
“Will Prince Zacheus allow that?”
At his question, Catarine paused. “He will accept that I will keep my personal guard.” But she wasna sure. Before, having accepted her fate to wed to bring peace between their lands, she’d nae given much thought of her life after she’d wed. She’d assumed if they chose, her fey warriors would stay with her and protect her in her new home.
What other details had she nae considered? As if she wanted to think about being another man’s wife. The thought of the prince touching her with any intimacy made her cringe. Trálin had made her feel special, a woman cherished, their time together making her yearn to be with him forever.
How could she allow another man to join with her in the night? But the prince would require that she give him an heir. If she gave birth to a princess, with him an only child, Prince Zacheus would insist on his marital rights until she provided him with a son.
Numb, she scanned the rugged land, the churn of dark clouds casting large flakes of snow. Indeed she wished for a child, one with Trálin’s green eyes, a child born from their love.
Breaks in the clouds overhead flooded the land with moonlight. A blur of movement flickered on a nearby hilltop.
A moment later, another shadowed figure followed.
“Sionn,” she said, her words tumbling out, “men are creeping up on the hill to the south.”
Boots grated on stone as she leaned closer to the shambles remaining of the wall walk. “’Tis the English! How could they have bloody found us?”
“I am unsure,” she replied. “We must warn the others we are—”
A man halted at the top of the hill, waved his arms forward. “Attack the castle!”
Chapter Seventeen
Yells echoed from outside the castle walls as Catarine bolted toward the decaying steps of the turret.
In the fractured play of moonlight and shadows, an arrow hissed past.
She ducked, reached the turret, then hurried down. “We are under attack!” she yelled as she ran into the great room.
Illuminated by the wisps of moonlight streaming through the holes in the ceiling, the men scrambled to their feet.
“How many are there?” Trálin asked as he and the others withdrew their swords.
“I am unsure,” Catarine replied to the gathering men. “Sionn is holding off those trying to scale the walls to the west, but he needs help.”
A boom echoed at the gatehouse.
Wood shuddered, groaned.
“They are smashing through the entry!” she gasped.
“I will aid Sionn on the wall walk.” Drax ran toward the turret.
“Sir William,” Trálin ordered, “take three men to close the entry and protect the gatehouse. Catarine, Sir Rogier and I will defend the southern portion of the castle walls. Everyone else, stay in pairs and fend off anyone who tries to enter elsewhere.”
“Aye, my lord,” Sir William and the other knights replied in unison. The Scots hurried toward their destinations.
“Come!” Trálin bolted toward the southern portion of the steps to the wall walk.
Yells and shouts rang from outside as Catarine raced beside him, Sir Rogier in their wake. “With the blowing snow filling in our tracks as we traveled, how could they have found us?”
“They should nae have been able to,” Trálin replied, and wove around a large chunk of fallen stone.
The slap of their footsteps echoed as they ran up the steps, fell away where the stone walls had crumbled to expose the snow-laden fields beyond. A moment later, the crenellations topping the wall of the southern exposure came into view.
At a break in the crumbling structure, in the fragments of moonlight, as she glanced over the edge and made out several men. “They are near the top of the collapsed portion of the walls!”
“Grab rocks,” Trálin called. “We must hold them off.”
Her muscles screamed as she lifted nearby stones toppled from a battle long ago and tossed them over the edge.
At her side, Trálin and Sir Rogier followed suit, half-rolling, half-shoving large rocks to the crenellations, then pushing them over.
The clatter of stone and screams from below melded with the whip of wind.
Lifting another rock, she turned, shoved it to the edge. As she reached to grab another stone, she caught the shadow of a man moving up the exterior wall on her left. Angling her body, she shoved the stone toward him.
The man’s scream rent the air.
Solid booms echoed from the gatehouse.
“Blast it,” Trálin spat as he threw another rock, “From the sounds of it, they are close to destroying the entry!”
“Once we are finished here”—she lifted another large stone over the side—“we will join them.” She shoved.
A gut-wrenching scream pierced the night as the attacker plummeted to the rubble far below.
“I see no one else coming up,” Trálin said as he surveyed fragments of moonlight scraping the wall.
“Mayhap they have given up trying to scale the wall,” Catarine replied, “and are joining forces outside the gatehouse to break through.”
“Aye,” Lord Grey agreed. “Come, we must help—”
“Agh!” Sir Rogier screamed.
Catarine whirled, stilled. “Mother of God!”
At the shock in her voice, Trálin spun on his heel.
His face carved in pain, t
he Scottish knight grabbed at his throat.
Bedamned, he thought they’d stopped all the men scaling the castle wall. “Are you hit?” Trálin asked as he strode toward Sir Rogier, searching for an arrow, finding naught.
“Look around his neck!” Catarine gasped.
Trálin halted, glanced lower. “Something is glowing.”
“A gemstone,” she replied, her words filled with dread. “Remember after the battle with the English knights, how Sir Rogier acted apprehensive when I caught him kneeling beside the dead man?”
“Aye,” Trálin replied.
“He must have seen me leave the gemstone on the dead English knight,” she explained. “Believing it held worth, he removed it. Once we started our journey, he must have held the chain and slipped it over his head. And, it was the reason the men found us.”
“Which makes bloody sense,” Trálin agreed.
“We must take it off before it kills him,” Catarine warned.
As it had the other man who’d died a tortured death. Bedamned! Trálin reached for the chain.
Eyes wide, the Scottish knight jerked back, shoved to his feet, and drew his blade.
“What in bloody hell?” Trálin demanded.
“Watch out!” Catarine screamed.
Sword held high, Sir Rogier charged Lord Grey.
Trálin deflected his blade, keeping his body between the knight and Catarine. “Put your weapon down,” he ordered the Scot.
“He can nae hear you,” Catarine yelled.
In the whisper of moonlight, Trálin understood. The knight’s dull eyes stared at him, glazed with pain and confusion, the gemstone glowing with a fierce light at his neck.
“My aunt controls him.”
With a yell, the knight raised his sword, again charged.
Sparks streaked into the murky night as their blades scraped over and again. Using his full strength, Trálin blocked his swing, then shoved the Scottish knight back.
Catarine moved to his side.
“Stay behind me!”
She readied her blade. “’Twill take both of us. We must hold him down and cut the necklace off, or he will continue to attack until we are both dead.”