by Diana Cosby
Unease filled Thomas as he spotted Alesone down the wall walk with her bow lowered, staring into the darkened void of night. He damned the second assault that had interrupted them, nor would he make the mistake of discussing something so important when they could be interrupted. Once the battle was over and the castle secure, then he would tell her that he loved her.
He grimaced. What of John MacLairish? He prayed his friend had reached the Bruce. Still, they must take every precaution that the king was warned. “Father.”
“Aye,” the duke replied.
“I think ’twould be wise to send another runner to King Robert,” Thomas said, damning his words.
“Had I of known the enemy was so close…” His father gave a weary sigh. “Another man will be sent.”
Donnchadh glanced over. “Whoever goes, we must choose wisely,” he said. “Given the situation, I believe we have but one chance for a runner to make it past the enemy.”
Thomas nodded. “As I am familiar with where Bruce was camped and given my experience, I am the best choice to make the journey.”
“With your injury, I only allowed you to fight as each man is necessary,” his father said, temper sliding into his voice.
“My injuries are all but healed,” Thomas pressed. “I could steal a horse and slip away before anyone notices.”
“Your wound will slow you,” his brother snapped. “I should be the one who—”
“Enough,” their father interrupted. “In a day, mayhap two, if the battle continues, then I will decide who rides to our king.”
Thomas muttered a silent curse. Many things could change in a day. A force could lay siege, or they could wake up to find Comyn and his men gone. As much as he wished, with the stakes so high, he didna expect the latter.
He glanced toward Alesone. She now sat with her back against the stone. “I will check on the lass.”
The soft tap of steps grew closer. Alesone shifted, but she didna open her eyes.
“Are you well?” Thomas asked.
At the concern in his voice, she peered out. “As anyone else.” He settled beside her, and any chance of her drifting off faded. As if she could sleep without thinking of him? As of late, Thomas filled her every thought. She opened her eyes. “Are their campfires still out?”
“Aye.”
Hope slid through her. “Do you think they have left?”
“They are staying. It is what they are planning that causes concern.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“With their failed attempt to scale the walls, mayhap they willna lay siege and have decided upon another method.”
Frustration rolled through her. “Do you have any thoughts of what they could be plotting?”
He shrugged. “There are several possibilities. Until sunrise, ’tis too dangerous to send anyone outside the walls to check.”
Alesone worried her fingers on the curve of her bow. “I dinna like it.”
“Nor I, but ’tis the way of war.”
“As a Knight Templar, how do you endure it?” she asked, emotion sliding into her voice. “The waiting, the fighting, watching those you care for die, only to pick up your sword and continue?”
“There is little place in war for emotion,” he said, his voice cool.
“But you do feel,” she said, trying to understand. “How do you keep the hurt of the loss of your friends, the sight of the slaughter from marring your soul? And dinna tell me that you are unaffected by battle. You are a deep and caring person. However much you wish, you canna smother it all.”
The flicker of torchlight wavering across his face, accenting the tautness of his mouth. “For some, incredibly, they are unmoved by the blood, screams, and gruesome sights of war. Then there are those who after the first battle fall apart at the witnessed atrocities.”
He paused, the strain on his face a testament to the suffering he’d endured.
“Many men, as I, stow the terrible memories deep inside,” Thomas said, his expression grim. “Aye, it does affect me, and at times the horror threatens to overwhelm me where I want to walk away from the bloodshed. Then I remember why I fight, understand that if I, as the other Templars, didna champion the Christians in the Holy Land, they would be slaughtered.”
Tears burned her eyes as she stared at him, the appalling events he’d witnessed leaving her aching inside. This day’s fighting was naught compared to what Thomas had endured. “I had never considered such, but you are right. With each believing their faith is supreme, or with the desire for power, the fighting will never end.”
“Which is why ’tis important to live, to experience, and to thank God each day for the blessings in our lives.” He gently drew her into his arms. “As I do with you.”
Her throat tightened.
“I never meant you to become important to me, you were to be naught more than a duty.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “In that I failed.”
Emotion stormed her. He hadna said he loved her, but given the mayhem of this day, she embraced his confession. The morrow would bring its own questions, and mayhap he would admit more. For now ’twas enough.
“Lie your head on my shoulder and try to sleep,” Thomas said. “We both need to catch a bit of rest.”
Alesone glanced around, surprised to note many of the knights along the wall were asleep while others stood watch. “We do.” Thankful for this man in her life, she complied and though naught was guaranteed, savored the rightness of this moment.
* * *
The low thud of steel on wood had Thomas opening his eyes. Blood-red hues streaked the morning sky littered with clouds, broken by errant rays of light. At the slap of steps, he glanced over.
Donnchadh was rushing toward him.
Ignoring the aches, he shifted. Alesone lay against him still asleep. With regret, he carefully extracted himself from her warmth, stood, and walked over to meet his brother. At the deep scowl on his face, unease filtered through Thomas. “What is wrong?”
His breaths coming fast, his brother pointed toward the east. “Look!”
Thomas turned. Stilled. A short distance from the castle, the enemy lashed together sturdy hewn logs, with a basket secured at the end of a long beam that they’d use for the counterweight once filled with stones. “God in heaven. A traction trebuchet!” Tension churned inside as Thomas took in Alesone’s pale face as she sat beside him. Cursing the situation, he glanced toward his father standing before the knights filling the chamber.
Expression grave, the duke scanned the warriors. “With the speed Comyn’s knights are building the siege engine, ’twill be finished on the morrow. If given the opportunity, beneath heavy cover of their archers they will move the trebuchet to a lethal distance, which we canna allow.” Wizened eyes narrowed. “We must destroy their war machine this night.”
Grim faced men nodded.
Thomas stood. “Beneath the cover of darkness, I will slip outside and destroy the siege engine.”
Donnchadh shoved to his feet. “I will accompany you.”
The duke frowned, but remained silent.
As much as his father worried over the last two of his sons risking their lives, he would have been ashamed if they hadna offered. Thomas nodded to his brother. “Once ’tis dark, meet me in the great room.”
“I could arrange a small contingent of men to accompany you,” his father said.
Thomas shook his head. “’Tis best to keep our number small. Once we signal that we are ready, if you start a diversion, ’twill distract them while we set the trebuchet ablaze.”
His father nodded. “’Twill be done.”
Once the last of the plans were finalized, the warriors departed for their positions along the wall walk.
Thomas entered the corridor, and Alesone fell into step at his side. “I thank you for letting me lean on you last night to sleep.”
The lyrical flow of her voice wove around him like a blanket of
hope, the memory of her lying against him bringing its own comfort. “You needed rest.”
“Thomas…”
At the concern in her voice, he glanced over.
Her lower lip trembled, and worry darkened her gaze. “I will pray for your safety.”
For the first time in his life the danger of the battle ahead weighed heavy on his mind, of the risks, of what he had to lose.
He took her hand and skimmed his thumb across her palm, wishing they were alone, the castle was safe, and that uninterrupted hours lay ahead of them where he could take her into his arms and show her how much she meant to him, tell the words filling his heart. “I shall come back to you.”
“What if—”
“With the throng of flaming arrows raining upon Comyn’s men,” he interrupted, wanting to ease her worry, “the enemy will be too busy defending themselves to notice my brother and me setting their siege engine ablaze.”
Eyes churning with emotion held his. “They will be.”
But he heard the nerves edging her voice, ones that lingered inside. ’Twasna a simple battle they fought. The outcome of Comyn’s attack could shape more than their future together, but Scotland’s history.
Like an omen, torchlight cast angry shadows as they hurried up the turret. Thomas glared at the mix of darkness and light, hurried past.
As Alesone stepped onto the wall walk, a snow laden gust tugged at her blond hair. “How can you slip back inside the castle without being seen?”
“Hidden tunnels are scattered about known only to family.”
“What of their stockpile of beams near the forest?”
“Once the siege engine is burning, we shall torch any supplies they could use to rebuild.” He grimaced at the distant stack of timber. “We only have this one opportunity. Once your father realizes we can sneak out of the castle, he will double the guards around any weaponry or supplies.”
She released a shaky breath.
Waves of the oncoming night scarred the last wisps of the sun’s rays on the horizon as Thomas paused beside the corner tower. “We canna fail. If they destroy the curtain wall, naught can prevent them from storming the castle.”
“Mayhap,” she said, her voice unsteady, “Sir John MacLairish has reached our sovereign.”
“However much I pray he has, unless my men and the Bruce’s forces arrive, we canna count on such.” He rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck. “My hope is that destroying their siege engine and stockpile will dissuade your father from believing that he can take you and that he will leave.”
“Given the stakes,” she said, her words unsteady, “do you believe he will ever go without me?”
On a curse, he hauled her against him. “Nay.”
* * *
Heart pounding, Alesone again scanned the night, waited for the sign from Thomas to begin the diversion. With clouds smothering any starlight, blackness drenched the land.
A flash from a flaming arrow flew high into the air.
The sign!
“Fire,” the duke boomed.
Pulse racing, Alesone, along with the other archers lined along the wall walk, lit their arrows. Lethal gold cut through the sky, punctuated by shouts of enemy knights caught beneath the fiery barrage. Time dragged as she released arrow after flame-tipped arrow.
Her arm ached, her muscles bunched in knots as she pulled back her bowstring. An arrow hissed past a breath from head. Narrowing her gaze, Alesone aimed toward the blur of movement, released.
A scream sounded.
She jerked another arrow from the quiver, took aim on the next victim.
“The trebuchet is on fire!” the duke roared.
Alesone released her arrow, turned. Outlined within the lick of flames, the nearly built siege engine burned bright. Cheers thundered around her, but she scanned the pile of timber stacked near the forest’s edge.
A distant blur of moment wavered within the wash of flames.
Thomas!
The echo of wood against stone slammed to her right.
“Ladders on the wall!” a knight warned.
Snow lashing her face, Alesone whispered a prayer that Thomas and Donnchadh reached the safety of the tunnel, and then focused on the men scaling the wall.
Leaning forward, with deft accuracy, time and again she loosed her arrows, the roars of anger melding with pain-filled screams of her enemy.
The stench of blood and rancid oil from the earlier pots dumped over the side burned her lungs as she nocked another ash arrow, aimed, then released. Weaving on her feet, she glanced toward the east. A wash of purple smeared the sky. Her fingers tightened on the bow. God in heaven ’twas almost dawn, where were they?
“A ladder to your right,” a nearby knight called.
Alesone ignored the ache in her shoulders, aimed, and took out the lead man.
Two women hurried over, lifted a steaming bucket of oil.
She stepped back.
“Heave!” the woman on the right called. They upended the container.
Screams rang out.
The women carried the empty container away.
Several knights rushed forward, caught the tip of the ladder, shoved.
“They are withdrawing,” the duke called. “Cease fire!”
Fingers numb, Alesone lowered her bow and flexed her hand. “Thank God.”
“Aye,” Thomas agreed, his voice rough with fatigue.
Alesone whirled. On a cry, she launched herself into his arms. “You are safe!”
He wrapped his arms tight around her. “Did you ever doubt me?”
Her eyes blurred, and her body trembled with relief. “Nay.”
“Here now.” Thomas lifted her chin, and a tear she fought to control slid down her cheek.
“I-I was so afraid for you.”
Tenderness softened his gaze. “I swore that I would come back to you.”
She sniffed, wanting to laugh, to cry, the emotions storming her making her feel strong and weak at the same time. On an unsteady breath, she stepped back. “And look at your face all covered in soot.”
“Donnchadh looks the same,” he said with pride. “We slathered a mixture of lard and ash onto our skin to blend in with the night.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Please tell me that isna you that I smell?”
Thomas chuckled. “Penance for success.”
Her heart warmed. “And here I was thinking of kissing you. Now ’twill wait until you have scrubbed up.”
Laughter in his eyes, he brushed a swath of hair from her face. “Are you saying that you dinna want a kiss?”
At his teasing, the remainder of the tension weighing heavy upon her faded. “Nay, I—”
“You and your brother have bought us much-needed time,” the duke stated with pride as he strode toward them.
In the wash of the first rays of golden light, Thomas studied the charred outlines of the trebuchet, the weave of black smoke littered with sparks curling into the lightening sky. “Aye.”
On edge, Alesone glanced into the murky light where Comyn’s men battled the blazes, a potent reminder of the dangers Thomas and his brother had faced.
“Once all of the fires are put out,” Thomas said, his voice grim, “they will be deciding their next plan of attack.”
“They will.” The duke paused. “Donnchadh left to scrub off at least the top layer of grime.” Humor touched the noble’s face. “I canna say that I envied either of you smearing on such filth.”
“However foul,” Thomas said, “it allowed us to accomplish the task.”
His father nodded. “That it did.”
Alesone prayed that repelling the attack had gained them enough time to allow King Bruce’s men to arrive. Or had the enemy killed Sir John MacLairish before he could deliver his missive? Dread crept through her. If so, this entire night been for naught.
Chapter Nineteen
Through the soft fall of snow,
Thomas cursed as he stood on the battlement, stared at the new construction beginning in Comyn’s encampment. Two blasted days had passed and during that time they’d received more supplies. He’d expected them to build another trebuchet, but nae so soon. With each sunrise, he’d prayed to see signs of the Templar Knights riding with the Bruce’s men, hope that with each sunset faded.
Against the first rays of light, he glanced toward his father. “This time they are building four siege engines.”
The duke frowned. “Aye, one for each side of Dair Castle. After you and Donnchadh torched their first trebuchet they will nae be foolish enough to leave their war machines unprotected.”
On a rough swallow, Thomas met his brother’s frustrated gaze before facing his father. “Regardless, we must try to destroy them.”
“If I thought a chance existed, I would send you and your brother out this night.” The duke glared at the encampment. “Since their last attack, their numbers have doubled, and they have tripled the amount of men guarding their supplies and siege engines. With our surprise factor lost, any attempt to infiltrate their camp will fail.”
However much Thomas wanted to argue, he agreed. Nor was that their only concern. “Though Comyn’s men have kept out of arrow range, throughout the morning they have begun to surround the castle.”
“You think they are going to attack?” Alesone asked as she joined them.
Thomas damned the nerves in her voice. “Nae until they have finished the war machines.”
“Their few failed attempts have assured them that without proper weaponry any attempt would end in further defeat,” Donnchadh said. “For now they are laying siege.”
“Which tells me,” Thomas said, “they are confident we willna be receiving any reinforcement.”
Fear slid into her eyes. “You think Sir John didna make it past my father’s forces?”
His gut churned at the thought. Thomas shrugged. “We canna be sure.”
The scowl on his father’s face deepened. “Neither can we sit here and do naught. The day I give up without a fight is the day my bones are buried deep in the earth.” He eyed his sons. “We will send a second runner to the Bruce.”