Forbidden Realm

by Diana Cosby

  Terror filled Lathir as she struggled to think of a way to rescue her father as well as save her home from being seized. None came. “I canna leave Wynshire Castle unprotected.”

  “Aye,” Lord Torridan agreed. “With our combined troops, we have more than enough men to defend the stronghold and send a contingent by land to rescue your father.”

  Her head was whirling, yet on some level, she was strangely calm. She’d damned her pending marriage, but now ’twould seem a blessing. Lathir met Rónán’s gaze.

  “I willna fail you,” Rónán whispered as he passed her, and she prayed he was right.

  After the door closed behind Rónán, Lord Torridan glanced at his son. “Once Sir Rónán returns, he will ride with you as you lead a force to Murchadh Castle. I will prepare our men for the aggressor’s arrival.” He nodded to her. “Lady Lathir, you will remain here and protect your home.”

  Fury sliced through her. “I will travel to rescue my father!”

  The man’s mouth tightened with disapproval.

  “I am skilled with weapons,” she snapped. “If I believed, even for a moment, that I would hinder the rescue of my father, I would remain here.”

  Eyes hard, Lord Torridan studied her. After a long moment, he nodded. “You will ride with Kieran. My son will protect you.”

  As would Rónán, though trained in weapons, she would need neither’s safeguard.

  Bran cleared his throat. “Lord Torridan—”

  Sage eyes turned to the pirate. “Aye?”

  “I believe ’twould be a mistake to wait for them to reach Wynshire Castle.”

  The noble’s eyes narrowed. “A mistake?”

  Confused, Lathir stared at Bran.

  “Aye.” Bran folded his arms across his chest. “The place for us to attack them is at sea.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lathir arched a brow as Lord Torridan said, “Us?”

  “Aye. I need little prodding to go after the Sassenach. More so when their warships are overloaded with crew, supplies, and weapons.” A devious glint sparkled in the captain’s eyes. “With their cogs slower than pigs stranded in muck, we could surround them and attack at our leisure.”

  With a satisfied nod, Lord Torridan leaned back. “Aye, ’tis a fine plan. We will depart at dawn. Ensure your crew is ready.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Bran paused. “One last thing.”

  Lathir stilled. Saint’s breath, now what?

  Bran lowered his arms to his sides. “I thought ’twas be best to send a messenger to King Robert to inform him of the situation.” He winked at Lathir. “I might have indicated the news came from you.”

  “Brilliant,” she said as she stood and gave the pirate a hug. His face flushed, but she didn’t care. If word reached the king in time, he could send men to aid them in rescuing her father.

  Lord Torridan stood. “Does anyone else have anything to add?”

  Silence filled the war chamber.

  The noble nodded. “There is much to attend to. I will see you when we sup.” Footsteps firm, he departed.

  Her mind filled with the details she needed to attend to prior to departing at first light, she started toward the door.

  “Lathir.”

  At Kieran’s voice, she turned. The solemn expression on his face had her guard up.

  “As your betrothed, I ask that you wait here.”

  “Like a defenseless woman needing tending?”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “There is naught weak about defending your home.”

  “Nor in leaving my castle in competent hands and riding to war. I believe,” she stated, her voice like ice, “I made it clear that once wed, we shall rule together.”

  Face taut, he stepped before her. “Aye, but this is not the same.”

  “Far from it.”

  “Blast it, if I didna give a damn about you, I wouldna care.”

  Her brow knitted. “But you love another!”

  “I do, but in the time we have spent together, I have come to care about you, to want you safe, or as safe as possible.”

  She should be happy, but the heartache of not having Rónán in her life lingered. Nor, however much she and Kieran became close, would that change. “I doubt there is anywhere truly safe,” she said, the anger of moments before waning. “I will go, with or without your blessing. ’Tis who I am.”

  A wry smile touched his mouth. “Tighearnán warned me that you were stubborn.”

  The last of her anger faded. “I am, nor will that change.”

  He chuckled. “I think I would be disappointed if it did.”

  “Come,” she said with a smile, “let us prepare our troops to depart on the morrow.” In silence, they strode down the corridor side by side.

  * * * *

  The crash of waves sounded from far below the steep incline as large, thick flakes of snow drifted down, the rich scent of pine and chilly sea air filling Rónán’s every breath as he crawled to the cliff’s edge.

  On any other day he’d find beauty in the shimmers of white, of how they coated the rough landscape within their gentle embrace. Now, with his entire focus on the upcoming rescuing of Lord Sionn, naught about this day invited whimsy.

  He pushed aside the limb of a dense fir. Clumps of snow splatted on his head. With a muttered curse, he wiped the icy mess from his neck, then crawled under. Thankful for the cover from this vantage, he studied Murchadh Castle. The crunch of snow had him glancing back.

  On his belly, Lord Craigshyre edged up beside him. Lathir moved to his other side.

  She stared down the cliff. “Thank God you were able to learn of a secret passage into Murchadh Castle.”

  “Aye,” agreed the earl. “I pray we can free Lord Sionn with the small contingent we will lead inside.”

  Rónán nodded. The massive fortress situated on the rock-laden peninsula angled up with merciless disregard. On three sides, steep slopes cut away to where large swells pounded the coastline, an unforgiving mix of jutting, angled rock and sheer cliff.

  Between a break in the crag and in view of the guard on the wall walk, a single road wound down the rough patch of land to the stronghold. The narrowed path forced anyone who sought entry to ride no more than two abreast. Three quarters of the way down, the track branched off to the small inlet, where the castle could receive replenishments from the sea.

  Rónán grimaced. Whoever built Murchadh Castle had considered every angle to ensure that once it stood, the fortress was nearly impenetrable. Had he not spoken with a galloglass who knew of a secret entry to the castle, little hope would have existed that they could reach, much less free, Lord Sionn.

  Regardless, before they could slip inside, he, Lathir, Craigshyre, and the handful of warriors chosen for this task must reach the inlet unobserved.

  Thankful for the map drawn by a galloglass rolled in his pocket, he grimaced at the sun sinking in the west. When they reached the cove, he prayed enough light remained to find the hidden passage. God help them if they were discovered. Given the solitary location of the castle and the stronghold’s formidable defense, if their plan was thwarted, all in their party could die.

  A fact that had pushed him to speak with Lathir alone before he’d shared his plan with the others. Her refusal was expected, but he damned placing her life in great danger when they had the choice to leave her protected by the remainder of their combined contingent.

  If only they were sure Lathir’s father still lived.

  Jaw tight, Rónán glanced over. “Ready?”

  Expressions grim, Lathir and Craigshyre nodded.

  Rónán waved forward the remaining men chosen to accompany them.

  Snow began to fall at a steady rate as they made their way down a break in the rocks. Though the thick wash of white made the trek dangerous, ’twould provide cover from the gua
rds on the wall walk.

  A snow-filled gust blustered past, then another. Rónán tugged up the hood of his cape, glanced at Lathir. “I was hoping we would be inside the tunnel before the wind picked up.”

  “As I.” She stepped onto the stone he’d vacated. “The weather is beginning to worsen.”

  Teeth clenched, Rónán reached out, caught the ledge. He used the fragment to steady himself as he wedged his boot onto a jagged rock.

  The thunder of waves below pounding the sheer rock grew as they neared the bottom.

  With care, Rónán stepped down. His boot slipped on the foothold. With a curse, he tightened his hold on a wedge of stone, steadied himself. “Take care. Ice is forming on the rocks and ’twill be slick the rest of the way down.” A complication they didn’t need. Rónán again lowered his leg, this time bracing his boot against the damp rock.

  The heavy scent of sea filled each breath, and the muted thud and errant clack of shifting rock clattered in the wind as they continued. By the time he reached the bottom, the sun was a ball of orange on the horizon.

  In the waning light, Lathir’s betrothed reached the cove, his face flushed with effort, but satisfaction as well. Craigshyre glanced up the cliff, frowned. “In truth, I had my doubts ’twas passable.”

  “Which is why none in the stronghold will expect us,” Rónán said. “If only we didna have to climb back up, more so as even if all goes as planned, we will scale the break in the cliff at night.”

  Eyes dark with concern, Lathir stepped over a jagged rock and paused a pace away. “I pray my father is able to walk.”

  “As I.” After Bran’s report of Lord Sionn’s condition, doubts plagued Rónán. He suspected if he was still alive, they’d have to carry him out. Given the icy rocks, the steep climb, a dangerous challenge.

  A gust howled past, blinding him for a moment. The soft, fluffy flakes had hardened to frozen barbs that pelted his face and fought to slip beneath any crevice in his garb.

  Once all the men had reached the slick, rocky shore, Rónán stepped inside a worn indentation in the large rock, waved everyone to follow.

  With the small contingent crowded inside the shelter, Rónán withdrew the map. He shifted the drawing to catch the last of the fading light. “Look for a large boulder that is angled on its side.”

  Craigshyre scanned the area, scowled. “That could be several.”

  “Aye.” Rónán again glanced at the map, tapped the parchment. “The entry will be marked by three small stones at the base. Come.” He exited their shelter; all following, then they began spreading out.

  “There,” Lathir said, excitement filling her voice. “To the left.”

  The others hurried over, and after several tries, in the last rays of sunset, they pried open the half-frozen entry. After a quick glance around to ensure they hadn’t alerted the guard, he led them into the tunnel.

  Inside, Rónán noted the clever design that after breaking the icy bond, allowed them to push the large rock open with minimal effort. One used by the Templars.

  Unease filtered through him. Had the Brotherhood been involved with crafting this stronghold? ’Twould explain why the fortress had been built in such a strategic location, though neither King Robert nor Stephan MacQuistan had mentioned Murchadh Castle as a previous Templar stronghold.

  Though over a year and a half had passed, thoughts of the way the French king had sacrificed men who’d protected him over the years for power and greed, fury still burned through Rónán. Nor could he allow his anger to overshadow the need to free Lathir’s father.

  In the wisps of gray coming from the opening, Rónán turned. “Wait while I locate the flint, candles, and dry tinder.” Once he’d retrieved these items, after a few strikes of his knife on the flint, a cascade of sparks ignited a flame on the dry shavings. He lit one of the tapers.

  Stone scraped as two knights near the entry moved the stone back into place.

  Once each person had lit a candle, Rónán raised his taper. Golden light wavered upon the damp walls. “Let us find Lord Sionn.”

  * * * *

  Lathir kept her hand near her dagger as they worked their way through the narrow passage. She wrinkled her nose at the growing stench as they neared the dungeon. A soft glow from a hidden opening allowed her a peek into the dank confines.

  Torchlight exposed narrow cells, many with prisoners inside, sprawled upon the cold stone floor. Errant groans sifted within the muted howl of wind and the roar of the sea outside. Fury ignited that in addition to the brutality her father had suffered, he endured such filth.

  Had she not despised Earl of Ardgar before, out of contempt that he permitted anyone to live in such squalor, she would do so now.

  Throat tight with fear, she scanned the foul confines. Please God, let him be alive!

  “Lord Sionn is in the cell next to the end,” Rónán whispered.

  She shifted her gaze. Sprawled on the floor, her father’s right leg lay at an unnatural angle, and blood smeared his torn garb. Her body shook with fury. “I will kill Lord Ardgar for what he has done to my father!”

  “He will pay for his foul deed,” Kieran hissed. “That I swear.”

  “As I. Nay doubt Sir Feradach played a part in your father’s suffering as well.” A muscle worked in Rónán’s jaw, the outrage matching her own. “Once Lord Sionn is safe, he will taste my blade.”

  At the reminder of Rónán’s horrific past, of the man who’d served him with such cruelty, another surge of anger shot through her. “Aye, all involved will regret their misdeeds.”

  Drips of water plopped in the distance as she started forward.

  At the wall adjacent to her father’s cell, she peered through the hidden slit. This close, she could make out the bruises atop the swelling on his face.

  Tears burned her eyes. “Saint’s breath.”

  “I dinna see any guard,” Rónán said.

  “Nor I.” Kieran grunted. “Given the location of the fortress, neither am I surprised.”

  After one last glance around the dungeon, Rónán knelt, ran his fingers along the chiseled stone as the galloglass he’d spoken to had described. After a gentle push, the hewn stone scraped open.

  “I know you are anxious to see your father,” her betrothed said, “but I will go first.” Hand on his sword, Kieran crept inside the cell. After looking around, he pressed his finger over his lips, then waved her forward.

  Pulse racing, she hurried over and knelt beside him. “Father, ’tis Lathir.”

  On a groan, swollen lids flickered open. Confusion lined his brow, softened to joy. “Lathir?” he rasped.

  Tears burning her throat, she nodded. “We are taking you home.”

  Lord Sionn glanced at the men moving into the cell; his gaze settled on Rónán. His throat worked. “You shouldna have allowed Lathir to come.”

  “My lord, have you ever tried to dissuade your daughter?” Rónán asked, his voice dry.

  A pain-filled smile flickered on the man’s face. “Aye, she is a stubborn lass.”

  “I had to see you, ensure you were…” Her voice almost broke. She took a deep, steadying breath. “You are alive, Father. ’Tis all that matters.”

  Groans from nearby cells echoed in the dank space as her betrothed stepped to her side. “My lord, thank God we found you in time.”

  “Lord Craigshyre.” Her father shot him a questioning look. “I didna expect to see you.”

  “Nor did I upon my arrival home,” Lathir said, hurt that her father had arranged her betrothal without so much as a by your leave. Nor was this the time to discuss it. “There will be time to talk later. We must leave before a guard comes on rounds.”

  Pain contorted her father’s face as he braced his hands on the floor and tried to stand. On a hiss, he slumped to the floor. “Blast it, I canna stand.”

 
Rónán accepted a length of wood from another knight, lay it flush against Lord Sionn’s injury. “Once we bind your leg so it remains still, we can carry you out.” In quick, efficient movements born of tending many an injured man, he wrapped strips of cloth around the makeshift splint. After he secured the last tie, he glanced at Craigshyre, kneeling near Lord Sionn’s other shoulder. “Ready?”

  “Aye.”

  Together they lifted her father. Rónán searched the dungeon’s entry, thankful it remained closed, then scanned the men locked within. If any of the others noticed them, they said naught, or didn’t care.

  How many within were wrongfully imprisoned? Too familiar with Sir Feradach O’Dowd’s love of violence, Rónán would guess most. However much he wished to help them, they could not linger. After he’d delivered the arms to King Robert, he could seek Lord Sionn’s aid in freeing the innocent.

  Rónán motioned the knights they’d brought toward the tunnel. “Go ahead; keep watch for any sign of trouble.”

  A broad-shouldered man nodded, then departed. The other warriors fell in behind him.

  “Lathir, stay near the knights. Lord Craigshyre and I and your father will be right behind you.”

  She slipped into the secret tunnel.

  Shimmers of candlelight wavered on the walls as they made their way along the dank confines. In the distance, the pounding of wave upon rock grew.

  Worry lining her brow, Lathir glanced back. “We are nearing the exit.”

  “Aye.” Nor did he relax. Somehow, in the black of night, they had to carry the earl to where the rest of their contingent was camped.

  The scrape of stone grated down the passageway as the guards opened the entry, and the tangy rush of salt-laden air swirled within the musty stench.

  Once they reached the opening, all extinguished their tapers.

  Smothered in blackness, after a few moments, Rónán’s eyes adjusted to the night. Against the roar of the sea and batter of wind, he scanned the night.

  A full moon was rising in the east. The silvery light illuminated the white caps tipping the swells as they crashed ashore.