by Diana Cosby
The man turned. In the shimmer of firelight he came into clear view.
Her chest constricted. Sir Iames!
Through the wash of pain, satisfaction settled on the fierce knight’s face.
Alesone gasped. “They said you were…”
He gave a cold laugh. “Robert the Bruce’s man?”
Dread filled her as her mind clattered with horrified understanding. “Where is Comyn?”
“By now,” he said with vile satisfaction, “he has surrounded Dair Castle.”
“You killed King Robert’s man,” she charged.
“Nae until he told us where you were.” A smirk crawled along his mouth. “I was impressed by his loyalty, but there are inventive ways to make a man talk, some more pleasurable than others.”
Bile rose in her throat. She had to warn Thomas! Heart pounding, she stepped back.
With lightning speed, the man caught her wrist.
The flare of panic darkened to fury. Despising this man, all he represented, with a flick of her wrist, her sgian dubh fell into her palm. “This is for the man you tortured.” She slashed the blade across his hand clasped on her arm.
Shock widened the man’s eyes as he cried out.
“And this,” she rasped, “is for torturing and killing a man for my father’s cause.” She drove the dagger deep into his heart. As he slumped against the sheets, his blood dripping to the floor, Alesone sheathed her dagger and bolted toward the keep. God in heaven, she had to warn the duke!
Chapter Eighteen
Heart slamming against her chest, Alesone shoved open the hewn door, bolted into the war chamber. “’Tis a trap!” she yelled. “’Tis Sir Iames MacCheine. He isna the Bruce’s man, but Comyn’s.”
Chairs scraped as Thomas, his father, and brother shoved to their feet. The other knights in the large chamber turned to face her.
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“When I entered to care for the knight,” Alesone replied, damning Sir Iames with her every breath, “I recognized him.”
Thomas unsheathed his dagger. “God’s teeth, I will slay the bastard!”
“He is already dead.” She angled her jaw. “When he realized that I knew who he was, he grabbed me. I drove my dagger into his heart.”
Satisfaction settled on the duke’s face. “Tell us all you know.”
“The king’s man was tortured to gain information, and then killed,” she explained, temper riding her voice. “Sir Iames was sent with the Bruce’s missive to buy Comyn and his men time while they surround Dair Castle.
Thomas’s face drained of color as he sheathed his blade. “God’s teeth, Sir John MacLairish left earlier this day with a missive to update the king.”
Line’s furrowed Donnchadh’s brow. “Do you think he slipped past Comyn’s men?”
“I pray so,” Thomas replied.
Expression grim, the Duke of Westwyck eyed the men. “We must immediately—”
The ringing of the tower bell fractured his words.
Shouts of an attack blared within the castle.
“To your posts!” The duke ran for the door, Donnchadh at his side, and his warriors hurrying in their wake.
With the press of men rushing past, his expression fierce, Thomas caught Alesone’s hand. “Gather your bow and arrows. Meet me on the southern side of the wall walk.”
Calls for reinforcements echoed in the castle, and fear tore through her. “Thomas, I love you,” Alesone blurted out, the urgency of the moment making the heartfelt words tumble upon the other. “I needed to tell you in case—”
“Your father willna take you!” He caught her mouth in a hard kiss. “We must join the others, but know this, our discussion on what exists between us is far from through.”
Alesone opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas joined the rush of men running toward their stations, the mix of warriors quickly smothering him from her view.
On shaky legs, she hurried toward the turret.
Knight’s yells melded with curses and the scrape of steel as she entered the corridor. What did Thomas mean by their discussion about what exists between them was far from through? He cared for her, could he feel more? The joy of what he would say faded beneath the somber reality of the upcoming engagement.
Alesone scowled as she broke off from the mass of muscled bodies, then hurried to her chamber to retrieve her weapons. If her father believed that he could destroy the happiness she’d found, he was wrong.
With her quiver secured, she sprinted toward down the corridor. The stench of smoke assaulted her as she stepped onto the wall walk. She looked to the left, pleased at the numerous bubbling cauldrons of oil awaiting dispersal atop their enemy, then toward the baily where women and children carried replenishments for the imminent battle.
A horn sounded from the distance.
Nerves strung tight, Alesone glanced past the battlements.
Sunlight shimmered over the massive formation of mounted knights cantering across the frost bleached ground. At the forefront, a familiar standard rippled in the breeze.
Fury drove through her as she glared at the man riding at the head of the contingent. Disgusted with the man whose blood ran through her veins, she strode toward Thomas.
His eyes softened as she halted beside him, and he squeezed her hand.
Love for her stalwart protector swelled within. Nay, more than a protector, he was a Knight Templar, a warrior feared by many, a man who didna make promises he couldna keep.
’Twas surprising that she had not made the connection. The many times she’d caught him deep in prayer, or the focused, structured way about him, his expertise on many topics, the extent of his travel, and his knowledge of herbs, all indicators of his inclusion in the Brotherhood. Then again, she hadna known of the secret dissolution of the Templars, or of their sailing to Scotland.
Horns blared in the distance.
Thomas glared at the attacking force.
“Arrows readied,” the duke yelled.
Cursing her father with her each breath, Alesone, knocked her arrow, aimed at the nearest enemy.
“Halt!” Lord Comyn yelled above the clamor.
The wall of approaching knights behind him halted.
Her father nudged his steed before the gatehouse. “Westwyck!”
“State your purpose,” the duke called down.
“I dinna wish to attack,” Comyn said. “I only want my daughter.”
Anger and guilt tangled inside her. The bow wobbled in Alesone’s hands.
Understanding eyes held hers, and the duke nodded. “Dinna worry, you are safe here.”
She gave a shaky nod. “I thank you, Your Grace.”
The noble glared at Comyn. “The lass doesna wish to go with you. Nor will I make her.”
Anger reddened her father’s face. “If you send her down, I will overlook your treachery of pledging fealty to the Bruce.”
“Lying bastard,” Thomas hissed, “if he had Alesone, he would still attack.
His father grunted. “Aye. Once he loses this battle, he will walk away with naught but disgrace. A fact that pleases me immensely.”
“Westwyck, send her down,” Comyn roared. “My patience is at an end.”
“So you can barter her like sheep?” the duke demanded.
“What I decide has naught to do with you. She is of my blood.” A scowl darkened his face. “’Tis my right to speak with the lass.”
“I will give him an answer,” Alesone seethed. Her hand shook as she sighted her arrow on Comyn. She no longer had a father, but Thomas and his family, whom she would defend with her dying breath!
The duke pushed her bow down. “Nae like this.” He faced Comyn. “The lass doesna wish to speak to you. Go on with you, and none will be harmed.”
“You dare threaten me!”
“If you attack, you will pay the consequence,” the duke warned. “Pray God has mercy on your trea
cherous soul, because I willna.”
Red mottled the noble’s face. “You will regret your decision!” Comyn whirled his mount, shouted commands as he galloped toward his men.
Tears burned Alesone’s eyes, and her respect for the duke grew tenfold.
A roar from below recaptured her attention.
Comyn’s soldiers charged.
“Release the arrows!” the duke roared.
Archers along the walls let loose their arrows; screams of the enemy filled the air. Horses reared while others, wild-eyed, were caught by footed soldiers.
“Ladders on the north wall!” Thomas yelled above the fray.
“Bring the hot oil!” Donnchadh ordered.
Women hauled over steaming buckets of hot oil strewn with bits of heated steel. They balanced their vessels atop the crenels.
Wood scraped as the advancing horde began to climb the rungs.
Donnchadh nodded. “Pour!”
Buckets were tipped.
Screams echoed from below.
The stench of burned flesh filled the air as a fresh rush of attackers ascended the ladders.
More pails of steaming-hot oil spewed over the side.
Agonized yells rang out.
The woman backed up, then rushed away with their emptied pots.
Another wave of Comyn’s men clambered up the ladders, this time several of the assailants reached the top.
Thomas swung. His blade slammed against the advancing attacker.
“Step back,” Alesone yelled.
Thomas complied.
The arrow hissed from her bow and embedded in the invader’s chest. With a cry, he tumbled back.
“Help me push off their ladders,” Thomas called to several knights nearby.
Alesone joined them.
With a mighty groan they shoved. Scores of men clinging to the structures plunged to the body laden earth.
Amidst the flurry of arrows and the stench of blood, several men on the ground hauled one of the ladders up. Wooden slats slammed against the wall.
In a trice, Thomas and others pushed the ladder away.
The sky lay savaged with raw yellows and bloody reds like a brutal portrait to the devastation below as Alesone reached for another arrow.
“Halt!” Comyn yelled.
She hesitated, glanced at Thomas. “Do you think he has given up?”
Thomas damned having to extinguish the hope in Alesone’s voice. “Nay. Comyn is desperate. Without King Philip’s aid or England’s support, he knows his hopes of winning against the Bruce is slim.”
His aged face streaked with splatters of blood, the duke strode over, grimaced toward where Comyn and his men were withdrawing. “He is trying to convince us that he will wait until dawn to attack.” He grunted. “Once night falls, I suspect his men will try again.”
“A belief I share,” Thomas said.
Sweat and blood streaking his mail, Donnchadh joined them. He sheathed his sword. “All is secure—for now.”
His father nodded. “Indeed, ’tis far from over. Pass to the men to remain in their positions throughout the night, and to take turns catching sleep.”
“Aye, Father.” Donnchadh strode down the wall walk.
He faced Thomas. “And you—”
“Aye, Father,” he said with pride, “I shall inform the men on the far side.”
Alesone wiped the sweat from her brow as she watched Thomas pause and speak with several knights before moving on.
“They are good men,” the duke said, “sons any father would be proud to have.”
She smiled. “They are, Your Grace. You are fortunate.”
“I am.” Beneath the glow of torchlight, he rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to his side. “There are many nobles who rule with a fair hand, and sadly, a few who become caught up in the need for power.”
Like her father. From her birth he’d shunned her, until he’d found her of value to his cause. “A person’s decisions create consequences. I find little forgiveness in people who ignore the blood spilled for their gains.”
“Well said.” The duke paused. “’Tis late. If you wish to go below and rest, do so.”
“I will remain,” she said, ignoring the fatigue weighing on her mind. “’Tis my father plotting another attack. However much I wish otherwise, he has made the confrontation personal.”
Approval shimmered in the noble’s gaze. “Comyn is a fool to overlook what an exemplary woman you are.”
Humbled by his praise, she shook her head. “My life is one far outside that of inviting commendation, more so with my skills as an archer.”
Aged eyes crinkled with warmth. “Aye, your skills with the bow compare to few archers I have seen, and your spirit and courage, those,” he said with pride, “are traits to admire.”
Humbled by his praise, she nodded. “I thank you.”
“I agree,” Thomas said as he halted by her side as she finished. “’Tis how we met.”
Heat stroked her cheeks.
Against the fading light, the duke arched a brow. “You didna mention how you were introduced.”
“’Tis a long story.” Thomas paused. “The knights have been informed of our plans.”
“I thank you.” On a heavy sigh, the duke strode toward Donnchadh who was halfway down the wall walk, then they headed toward the far tower.
Murmurs of men talking, errant scrapes of steel as knights cleaned their weapons, and the whisper of wind filled the air as within the golden shimmers of torchlight as Thomas studied her. “How do you fare?”
“Tired,” she replied, “but nay more than anyone else.”
A fatigued smile touched his mouth. “With your expertise with a bow, several times I thanked God that you were on our side.”
“I am proud to be fighting alongside your father’s warriors. They are skilled men.”
“They are.” His eyes darkened with warmth.
She drew a steading breath. Was he thinking about her earlier declaration of love? Was this the later he’d mentioned? Nerves tangled her mind as she scanned the flicker of distant fires beyond the wall walk. What if he didna share her feelings? Once they’d reached Avalon Castle and he departed, would he forget her? Her heart ached at the thought.
Mayhap she was creating strife where none existed. Until he explained, she wouldna know. Neither would she press him. Well she understood the struggle to bear one’s soul.
Tension churning inside, she glanced toward the heavens darkening to a milky purple. “I can see a star.”
“The sky is clear,” Thomas said. “’Twill be cold.”
“My father’s men have started several campfires. Mayhap they willna attack this night.” And she prayed ’twas true.
Thomas grunted. “The fires are but a decoy. Before this night is over, Comyn will strike again.”
“’Twas what I feared.” Shivering, she tucked her hands beneath her cloak. On edge, she glanced over, frustrated that shadows had claimed his face. “About earlier…when I said I loved you.”
He remained silent.
The building of nerves overrode her intent to say naught until he was ready. “With the battle upon us, and unsure of the outcome…” She blew out a rough breath, and an icy cloud misted between them faded. “I wanted you to know.”
Moved, needing to touch her, Thomas cupped her face, his words of love trembling on his lips. On a rough breath he stilled them. “Never have I met a lass like you.
Within the cast of torchlight, hurt flickered on her face, and he damned that he couldna give her the answer she wished. He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “You are an amazing woman, never doubt that.”
“I shouldna have told you,” she whispered. “’Twas foolish.”
She tried to turn away, but he held her. “When a person speaks her heart, ’tis never foolish.”
Memoires of their plans for intimacy this night left him aching. Tho
mas refused to utter promises he couldna keep, nor would he leave her with naught. “I spoke with my father earlier. If Bruce agrees, once Comyn is defeated, you are welcome to live in Dair Castle. Your skills as a healer and archer are welcome.”
“And you?”
“I will fight alongside our king until Scotland is united.”
“I see.”
He damned the tremor in her voice, and his intent to say naught of what she made him feel dissolved. His father was right, naught was guaranteed. Thomas took her hand, love for Alesone filling his heart
“They are scaling the wall on the south end!” a knight shouted.
“Ladders are hitting the east side as well,” another warrior on their left yelled.
With a curse that he’d allowed his thoughts to wander from duty, Thomas glanced over the side. “There are ladders on north side!”
“Prepare for a full scale attack,” the duke roared.
Scrapes of steel melded with the cries of death as Thomas drove his blade into an ascending knight, the falling man quickly replaced by another. Hours passed as he battled until slowly silence filled the night. Nae convinced the enemy had left, he scoured the night, the lingering stars nae lending enough light to detect where their enemy had withdrawn to.
As dawn’s faint glow shimmered in the distance, his brother, exhaustion lining his face, walked over. “They have extinguished all of their fires.”
“To move to new positions, nay doubt.” Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow.
The clack of authoritative steps sounded. His father paused beside them. “Have you seen or heard any movement?”
“Nay,” Donnchadh replied.
Thomas scanned the roll of land blackened by shadows. “Nor I.”
“The bastard’s havena given up,” their father growled. “They are out there. The question is where and what will be their next move.”
A gust of wind raced through the castle, casting flakes of snow from the merlon into the air. Spirals of white shimmered against the backdrop of fading stars, and then the flakes drifted toward the blood-stained earth below.
“I know one thing,” Thomas grunted, “wherever they are hidden, they are freezing their arses off.”
His brother laughed. “They are at that.”