Forbidden Knight

by Diana Cosby

  “I shall go,” Thomas said. “I am well enough to travel, and my men are there as well. I can answer any questions and make plans during our return.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, his father nodded. “I will pen a writ for you to give the king.” He left.

  “I can ride along as well,” Donnchadh said.

  “’Tis best if I go alone. And,” he said, glancing toward Alesone, “I ask that you watch over her.”

  “I think,” she said, her voice cool, “that I have more than proven that I am able to take care of myself.”

  Pride filled Thomas. “You have, neither do I question your ability. ’Tis what any man would ensure for the woman who has become important to his life.”

  The irritation in her eyes faded to tenderness. “Oh,” she whispered.

  Donnchadh cleared his throat. “I will see you before you leave, Thomas.”

  He nodded.

  The crunch of snow beneath the earl’s boots faded as he departed.

  Emotion storming Thomas, he met Alesone’s worried gaze. “I must gather a few necessities. Walk with me.” Inside the stables, snow whirled in the whip of wind as he secured a sgian dubh at his ankle, and another dagger at his hip. “I will borrow a horse from the monastery. From there, ’twill take two days at most to reach the Bruce’s camp, unless I meet his contingent he sent en route.”

  “You believe John is still alive?”

  He clung to the hope in her voice. “Sir John and I fought together in the Holy Land. I know him, his instincts, and the creative methods he has utilized in the past against overwhelming odds.” He swallowed hard, and prayed he was right. “If he saw Comyn’s men, he would have evaded them and then delivered the writ to King Robert. I wanted to say as much to my father except…”

  “You are unsure?”

  Heaviness weighed on him. “We canna risk my being wrong.”

  “Here.” She placed a pouch of herbs in his hand. “’Tis ground white willow bark to help with any pain. I know you have recovered, but I will feel better knowing you have it with you.”

  “I thank you. The travel willna do more than cause a few aches and pains.” As long as he was able to slip away without being seen, he refused to add. He glanced down the stalls for a sign of his father.

  Naught.

  Thankful, he led her inside where they kept gear for the horses, and pushed the door until ’twas almost closed. His body humming with need, he drew Alesone into his arms. “I willna be gone long.”

  “Swear it. Nay,” she said, her face pale. “I know you canna, I am being foolish.”

  “Shhhh.” At the desperation in her voice, he stroked his fingers across her cheek. “I will return to you. Trust me.”

  “I-I do, ’tis with my father and the size of his force that troubles me.”

  “I—”

  The firm echo of boots had him looking into the main stable.

  His father appeared at the end of the corridor.

  However much he wanted to believe he would return, with the number of seasoned warriors surrounding the castle, the odds were slim at best.

  Neither could he forget the siege engines the enemy was constructing. How long before they finished? A day? Two? Once their weapons were ready, however they’d prepared, his father and his knights could keep Dair Castle safe for only so long. God help them if Comyn successfully destroyed a portion of the curtain wall before he returned.

  His father drew near.

  On a mumbled curse, wishing for more time, Thomas claimed Alesone’s mouth in a rough kiss. Her body softened against his, and she gave, demanded, and his hands trembled from wanting her. Needing more, on an unsteady breath, he broke away.

  “I love you,” she rasped.

  “And I—”

  “Thomas?” the duke called.

  The words twisted in his throat, ached to come out. “I must go.” With a hard kiss, he strode toward his father, damning every step that took him farther away from the woman he loved.

  * * *

  A day later, wisps of dawn smeared the sky as the duke yelled above the chaos, “They are attacking again!”

  Her every muscle screaming, Alesone nocked another arrow, aimed at the closest warrior as he climbed up the rungs of the ladder, released.

  The invader screamed as he tumbled to the earth.

  She loaded the next arrow and scanned the distant trees looking for any sign of the Bruce’s knights.

  Naught.

  A boom sounded to her left.

  Beneath her the wall walk shook. She whirled.

  Shattered stone tumbled to the ground, and a gaping hole lay at the top of the curtain wall.

  Oh God, they’d moved the fourth trebuchet into position!

  The duke shouted orders for reinforcement where his men had been injured or killed.

  Sickened, Alesone focused on the next target, praying for Thomas to arrive.

  Hurled stone slammed nearby.

  She stumbled back.

  “Move to the right,” the duke yelled. “The curtain wall is—”

  An explosion of rock shattered paces away. Shards bit into her skin, driving Alesone to her knees. The mill of bodies around her blurred.

  Donnchadh’s strong arms caught her, hauled her back.

  Beneath the next volley, the wall walk where she’d been standing collapsed.

  A tremor rolled through her. “Y-you saved my life.”

  Donnchadh’s eyes dark with concern narrowed as he released her. “Are you hurt?”

  Hurt? She gasped for breath, then another. She’d almost died.

  Another round shook the castle wall to her right.

  She jumped. “Oh God, all four siege engines are in place!”

  The earl ran over, caught her arm. “Come. For your safety we must reach the keep.”

  Furious, she jerked free. Snow whipped past, the icy shards driving against her skin as Alesone met the duke’s gaze. “I will fight, teach the bastard that he canna always have what he wants.”

  As she started to nock her bow, Comyn’s command to halt rang out.

  She glanced east, searched for signs of Thomas. The euphoria pouring through her faded as naught but her father’s men surrounding the castle came into view.

  “Westwyck,” her father yelled.

  The duke glared at his enemy. “Aye.”

  “Send my daughter out, and I willna destroy Dair Castle.”

  The bloody bastard, the duke hissed. “Rot in Hades!”

  Comyn’s face darkened with fury. “If I order my men to attack, ’twill be your bones buried in the earth.”

  Given the odds, the truth. Helplessness merged with outrage. Bedamned her father, his greed, and the devastation he’d caused so many. Nor could this standoff continue. “Your Grace. The castle canna take much more. A shot, mayhap three if we are fortunate, then they will have smashed a hole in the curtain wall to the east.”

  The noble scowled at where gaps fissured down the interior wall. “By God, Comyn willna take you.”

  Nor did she want to go with the scoundrel, except without reinforcements little hope remained. Sickened at the thought, aching that she’d never see Thomas again, the time had come to make the hardest decision in her life.

  “Enough people have died because me,” she whispered. “Let me go to him; save yourself, your son, and your home.”

  Outrage glittered in the duke’s eyes. “What we fight for today is more than the loss of the lives of my men, my family, or my home. If your father seals the pact with King Philip, Scotland’s freedom will be lost.”

  Humbled, she nodded. “Aye, let us fight!”

  The stench of blood, soot, and fear filled the air as the hours dragged by, the loss of life on both sides leaving Alesone overwhelmed. Charred edges scarred buildings they’d been able to extinguish wove in a horrific mix with smoldering ashes where they hadna.

  A boom resonated on the we
stern side of the castle.

  Screams of men melded with the slam of rock. Fractures in the castle walls by earlier attacks deepened, and several chunks toppled to the body-littered earth.

  “Donnchadh,” the duke yelled, “send more knights to ensure the enemy doesna breach the western wall.”

  “Aye!” The earl shouted orders, and several warriors ran toward the gaping hole.

  Another volley from a siege engine slammed against the wall walk paces from Alesone. She clung to the trembling rock, kept her balance, barely.

  “Lass, are you—”

  “I am fine, Your Grace.” Her fingers raw, she reloaded her bow, fought to smother the building fear. Ever since her father’s men had completed the fourth siege engine, they’d assaulted Dair Castle with merciless intent.

  Though the duke refused to admit defeat, with many of his warriors lying dead or dying, ’twas clear that the time to cede was drawing near.

  Her hand shaking, she knocked another arrow, aimed, and released. Numb, Alesone scanned the line of trees. She willed Thomas and the reinforcements to appear. And as the hours before, naught but falling snow smeared with blood, bodies, and the roar of the enemy greeted her.

  Where was he? Had he reached the king? Were he and Bruce’s forces en route? Or was he lying somewhere injured, dying, or dead?

  A sob built in her throat, and she shoved it aside. Thomas had promised that he would return. They only needed to buy time. She didna care how panicked she sounded, or if her rational was skewed.

  A blast shook the wall to her left.

  Alesone crashed against the wall walk, and rolled toward the edge.

  Donnchadh caught her hand. “Hang on!”

  Another blast tore into a large gap; shards toppled to the baily with a violent clatter. Three more volleys simultaneously slammed the castle.

  “Comyn’s men are breeching the curtain wall to the east!” the duke yelled.

  “Bedamned!” Donnchadh helped her to her feet.

  “Tell everyone to withdraw to the keep,” his father ordered. “I will take Mistress Alesone to the secret tunnel.”

  “Aye.” Donnchadh bolted toward their warriors.

  The duke waved her forward. “Hurry!”

  Heart pounding, she followed him down the turret, prayed they’d make it in time. Then what? With their forces devastated, they couldna hold the enemy off for long. Or with the men pouring into the castle, would they even reach the escape route?

  Sickened, she entered the keep, the roar of battle in her wake. Comyn had proven that he would do whatever he must to achieve his goal.

  “Seal the door!” the duke roared after his son and the remaining knights ran inside.

  Barricades slammed into place as women rushed their children deep into the castle.

  Booms rocked the exterior door below, and the duke’s face paled. “Mistress Alesone, follow me.”

  As they reached the great hall, the entry shuddered against another volley.

  Weapons raised, knights stood a safe distance from the entry awaiting the inevitable charge.

  A frenzy of explosions sounded outside, mixed with the screams of men.

  “Hurry!” The duke led her down a corridor, then waved her into a small chamber. He shoved aside a sturdy table, lifted a tapestry, and then wedged his fingers against a small, nondescript crevice.

  He pushed.

  A soft scrape echoed.

  The stone panel shifted. Errant spider webs hung inside a tunnel fading to blackness musty with the scent of time. The duke nodded. “Go.”

  Another blast echoed against the entry door, this time louder.

  “Your Grace, we must wait for Donnchadh.”

  His face paled. “Nay.”

  “Let me take—”

  An explosion of wood melded with screams. The scrape of blades sounded.

  “Oh God,” she gasped, “they have breached the entry!”

  The duke shoved a torch from a nearby sconce into her hand. “At the end of the tunnel you will hit a dirt wall. There isna much, but ’tis only for a layer of safety. Once you dig through, you will come up inside of a rotting trunk. From there travel west.”

  An ached burned in her chest, despising this moment, hating Comyn even more. She withdrew her sgian dubh from its sheath. “I willna run, Your Grace.”

  The echoes of screams and blades rose to a fevered pitch. The sound of boots slammed down the entry.

  “God in heaven,” he rasped, “’tis too late!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Halfway across the bailey, feet braced, sweat, soot, and blood streaked Thomas’s face. He rammed his blade against an attacking warrior, slashed his throat with a dagger, then shoved him back. He whirled to face the next assailant. With a curse, Thomas angled his weapon, and drove deep. The enemy crumpled, joining the bodies scattered around him.

  A distance away, wood crunched as Comyn’s men, working in unison, slammed a massive log into the door of the keep.

  “They are using a battering ram to gain entry!” Aiden MacConnell, his close friend and fellow Templar Knight, yelled.

  A command rang out for another round, and Comyn’s knights again slammed into the honed wood.

  Splinters flew.

  Ragged shards hung above the gaping hole exposing the great room.

  Thomas cursed. He must reach Alesone! “Rónán, Cailin, and Aiden, gather the others knight we trained en route. Tell them we are forming a shield wall.”

  His men’s yells rang out. The slap of crafted iron and wood clattered amidst the scream of swords as the men overlapped their shields against the other.

  “Forward!” Thomas ordered. With deadly efficiency, they shoved ahead.

  A hand reached over the sturdy defense.

  Thomas slashed his dirk across the attacker’s wrist. Blood spilled to the frozen ground, and he pushed the warrior back. Wind-whipped snow battered his face as the crack of blades vibrated against smithed iron.

  Inch by inch he and his knights edged closer, the clash of swords in their wake diminishing as King Robert’s troops continued to surge into the baily and overwhelm the enemy.

  “Halt,” Thomas called as they neared the steps. “Aiden and Cailin, when I give the order to lower the shields, use your bows to take out the men holding the battering ram.”

  “Aye,” his knights replied.

  Thomas nodded. “Now!”

  The melee swam into view. Arrows hissed past.

  Men’s screams rang out.

  “Another volley,” Thomas yelled.

  Arrows whooshed into the snow-laden sky.

  Screams sounded, and the men holding the battering ram toppled, the thick log crashing atop their unmoving bodies.

  Thomas cursed as at least twenty of Comyn’s knights bolted inside. “Follow me!” He shoved his sword into an attacker ahead of him, withdrew his blade, then jumped over the man’s falling body and bolted inside.

  With a roar, three of Comyn’s men charged.

  Thomas slashed the first man’s throat, drove his dagger into the next, and kicked the third man back before a slash ended his assault.

  A scream rang out from down the corridor.

  His blood iced. Alesone! “Follow me!” Damning each second lost, with each swing, each scrape of steel, Thomas carved his way through the chamber, the Templars fighting by his side.

  Men’s yells filled the chamber in his wake.

  Thomas whirled.

  A fresh wave of knights poured into the chamber, all wearing Bruce’s colors.

  Confident they’d seized Dair Castle and naught but a handful of resistance remained, he drove his blade into the aggressor who stood between him and the woman he loved.

  “Release her!” Thomas’s father ordered from an open doorway.

  Heart pounding, Thomas shoved the man aside, and ran down the corridor. Through the open doorway, he saw a knight jerk Alesone against him with
a harsh pull.

  “Dinna move,” Comyn’s man warned Thomas’s father, who stood paces away.

  The duke’s face paled.

  Eyes hard, the warrior pressed his blade against her throat. “Sheath your blade or die.”

  Her eyes widened.

  The grating of blades and screams of pain blended in a lethal backdrop as Thomas waved his men to halt.

  Torchlight glinted across the duke’s sword as his gaze flickered on him, returned to the enemy.

  At his father’s covert acknowledgment, Thomas narrowed his eyes on the intruder.

  The noble scowled. “Let the lass go and you shall be allowed to live.”

  “You dare much to threaten me, Your Grace,” the man scoffed, “when ’tis you who are now my prisoner.” With the knife still flush against her throat, the aggressor jerked her captured arms higher up her back.

  Pain darkened Alesone’s eyes.

  “Drop the blade, Your Grace!”

  His sword half raised, the duke angled a step toward the back of the chamber, forcing the man to turn away from Thomas to keep the noble in his sight.

  Thomas withdrew his bow, nocked an arrow.

  Sadistic pleasure rode the warrior’s expression as the duke lowered his weapon, then he lowered the dagger. “Now I will—”

  Without warning, Alesone dropped her full weight. Free of her captor’s hold, she withdrew her sgian dubh, twisted to her feet and slashed his throat.

  Shock widening the warrior’s eyes, he stumbled back. Blood streamed through his fingers as he clenched his throat then collapsed.

  On a rough breath, Thomas lowered his bow. “Remind me to never upset you.”

  Alesone whirled, her fingers still clenching her blade. Eyes wide with disbelief softened, and she sheathed her dagger. “Thomas!”

  He stepped forward, and he crushed her against him. Love for her swamped him, and he pressed his face against her hair. “Thank God you are okay.”

  “I w-wasna sure if you had made it out,” she whispered, “or if you would return in time.”

  His chest aching, he brushed a lock of hair from her dirt smeared face. “Naught would stop me from reaching you.” Movement at the entry had him glancing toward his men. However much he wished to remain, the stronghold must be secured. “The castle’s status?”