by Diana Cosby
Cailin glared at Sir Malcolm. “Why were you fighting?”
Sir Malcolm shrugged. “A difference of opinion.”
“I dinna give a damn what the issue is, we are all fortunate to be allowed in the Romani camp,” Cailin snarled. “We are all tired, and I refuse to tolerate any disrespect, much less fighting. If I hear a harsh word from either of you, a gripe, I will haul your arses from the camp and leave you for the wolves.” He shot both men a warning look. “Understand?”
“Aye,” the smaller man replied.
Face taut, Sir Malcolm gave a curt nod.
“Both of you, settle down for the night.” Cailin sheathed his broadsword but didn’t return their weapons. They’d get them back when they’d calmed. He shook his head in frustration as the men stormed off.
Taog’s mouth settled into a grim frown. “I will ensure my men keep a close watch on them while we are gone.”
With a look of equal disgust at each man, Sir James walked over. “There is bad blood between them. The fools. With our lives in danger, I would have thought, at least until we are safe, both would have put their differences aside.”
Cailin glared at the departing warriors. “If I didna need each man possible in the force to attack my uncle, I would toss them out this night.”
“As is your right.” Sir James paused. “My horse is ready.”
“Mine too,” Taog said.
Cailin nodded to them. “I will gather my gear and meet you both at the outskirts of camp.” He strode off.
Worry crowded her brow as Elspet fell in beside him as he walked to their tent. “Emotions are high.”
“For us all. They are knights and know better.” He ducked inside.
“When do you think you will return?”
“If all goes well,” Cailin said, retrieving his weapons, then donning his cape, “by late tomorrow.”
“Come back to me.”
At the quiver of emotion in her voice, Cailin looked over. She had asked this of him before, when he’d doubled back in the maze. Since he was a child, no one had worried for his safety as he’d set out on a dangerous mission or into battle. But here, now, Elspet was someone who cared about him as a friend and, if he were honest, more.
As well, she made him want her as he’d never anticipated and, in truth, made him contemplate a future beyond that of battle.
An ache built in his chest at the ramifications. He was no longer alone, or rather, no longer without someone who’d grown important to him in his life.
How had she broken through his defenses? Was it her stubborn nature that had him watching her in amazement, or her determination to defend those she loved that drew him? Nor could he forget her sweet taste, or how her body trembled beneath his touch.
For the first time in his life, he cursed the day when he would return to fight alongside the Bruce.
Cailin caressed her mouth with his thumb, then—unlike the previous kiss he’d stolen from her in the tunnel—took his time lowering his mouth to hers.
She wrapped her arms around him, and Cailin took the kiss deeper, lost himself in the way she left him strong as well as helpless, as if caught within a magical weave that tangled his every thought until ’twas naught but her.
A wish.
A need.
A necessity as urgent as each breath.
At last he drew back, satisfied to find the pulse at her throat racing beneath his fingers, her mouth slightly parted and her eyes dark with desire.
“I…” What? I want you for more than a friend? God’s teeth, with the way he’d kissed her, a fool could tell that. If naught for his leaving, with his growing feelings for her, he’d haul Elspet to his bed.
Shaken by his thoughts, he brushed his mouth against hers one last time. “I must go.” He strode away.
Taog and Sir James were mounted and awaiting him as he approached. Cailin swung up, glanced toward the tent.
Illuminated within the firelight, Elspet stood at the entry, the soft shimmer of golden light caressing her face.
He kicked his mount into a canter, aware that from this moment, his life had changed.
* * * *
Elspet turned for the eighth time on her pallet, gave up trying to sleep, and sat up. She’d never be able to rest after that kiss and surrounded by worry while he was away.
She scanned her surroundings. Several men sat by the fires, but tonight she noticed extra guards at the perimeter of the camp.
Chills crept up her skin, and she glanced at the cloudy skies. ’Twould make traveling difficult but aid Cailin, Taog, and Sir James—and Sir Petrus, once rescued—from being seen.
Wrapping herself in a blanket, she left the tent and walked to the fire.
Several men shifted to make room for her to sit.
She smiled her thanks, then sat and held her hands out before the fire, enjoying the warm flicker of heat.
“I thought you would have been long asleep,” Odhran, an elder she’d met before, said.
Elspet gazed into the darkness for a moment, then turned back. “I canna sleep.”
“Your worry is understandable. Once Lord Dalkirk discovers a significant number of his men have deserted him to support his nephew, he will be furious.” The elder picked up a thick piece of wood, set it on the flames. Sparks shot out, curled up into the rising smoke. “Until now, though the noble had search parties out to capture his nephew and you, he believed that Sir Cailin had meager support and posed little threat.”
“With his learning how many of his men have shifted their loyalty to his nephew,” she said, her voice tense, “he will do whatever is necessary to ensure that this time, Cailin is dead.”
Odhran gave a somber nod.
Something Cailin had left knowing. Yet, with only three men, they could travel fast. She prayed ’twould be enough to keep them safe.
The elder tsked. “Lass, fretting will change naught.”
“I know.” She unfurled her fingers, picked up a stick, and tossed it into the flames. Another burst of sparks shot into the night.
“I tell you, he is gone,” an angry voice charged.
Shoving to her feet, Elspet turned and found the person speaking was the smaller man who’d gotten into the skirmish earlier.
Two of Taog’s men hauled the knight forward before the Romani leader’s men at the fire. “Tell them,” the larger of the two ordered.
Anger filled the younger knight’s eyes, and a streak of blood smeared his brow. “I was going to.” He jerked his arm away. “’Tis Sir Malcolm. I was gathering firewood when I saw him making to slip away. I tried to stop him, but he hit me over the head with a piece of wood. Once I came to, I hurried back to tell you as quickly as I could.”
She fought the rising panic. “Where is he going?”
Worry filled the young knight’s eyes. “To Tiran Castle to warn the earl that Sir Cailin and two others are sneaking into the castle to free the master-at-arms.”
Heart pounding, she stood, turned to the senior man, one of the two who had dragged the young knight forward. “We must warn Sir Cailin, Taog, and Sir James!”
“We canna catch up to them now,” the large Romani warrior said grimly, “but mayhap we can capture Sir Malcolm before he reaches the castle.”
Fear tore through Elspet as she nodded, and she prayed he was right. “I will meet you at my horse.”
The Romani warrior moved before her, his size leaving her within his shadow. “I am under orders. You will remain here, where you will be protected.”
He shouted out commands, overriding her protests, and within moments several riders galloped from the camp.
Chapter 13
The foul stench of blood and death permeated the secret tunnel, the air raw with the moans of the injured as Cailin lifted a small torch and moved forward behind the dungeon walls. “Ca
n you see Sir Petrus through any of the hidden peepholes?”
“Nay,” Taog whispered behind him.
“Nor I,” Sir James said a few paces away. “They must have moved him.”
The ominous drip of water plopped from above, and Cailin pushed on. Within the meager light, through the thin slits in the stone, he made out the smaller cells, each holding several men. “Blast it, I had hoped to be long gone from Tiran Castle by now.”
“We would have been,” Taog agreed, “if we hadna lost time digging out the secret entry.”
“A move I should have expected my uncle to make, one nay doubt he ordered since learning of my return to Dalkirk land.” He shook his head at his lack of forethought. “’Twas sheer luck Gaufrid hadna sealed that branch of the tunnel when Elspet and I visited the stronghold. God help us if he discovers we are here.”
Cailin made to step forward, then paused. In a cell along the far wall, an elder lay sprawled on the floor asleep, his gray hair tangled with smears of blood and dirt. His gaunt features evidence of his lack of food, his filthy garb of neglect.
Thoughts of his father flickered to Cailin’s mind. If he’d lived, he would have been about the same age. God’s blade, what had the man done to earn such despicable treatment?
He squinted through the dim light at the other prisoners locked within the surrounding cells. Their garb, though plain, was in good repair, and a pitcher of water was available, along with extra blankets in each corner.
A stark contrast to the elder’s empty cell. ’Twas as if the old man had earned his uncle’s personal censure. Whatever the reason, no one deserved to live in such squalor. Once he seized Tiran Castle, he’d find out the crime committed. If but a petty charge, which Cailin suspected, knowing Gaufrid, he’d ensure this elder was released.
“I see Sir Petrus is in the last cell,” Sir James whispered, having moved ahead.
Cailin crept to where the knight stood, secured his candle into an indentation in the wall. His jaw tightened as he took in the torchlit scene.
Within the wash of light, the master-at-arms was shackled to the wall. Blood matted his hair, and swollen cuts and bruises marred his muscled body. Only a vile scoundrel would subject anyone to such torture.
“Do you see any guards?” Cailin whispered, his voice shaking with fury.
“Nay.” Taog shook his head with disgust. “’Tis not fit for an animal.”
“Indeed.”
“I see nay guards either,” Sir James said.
After one more glance around, Cailin grabbed the extra keys to the cells and shackles hanging on a nearby hook known only to him, his mother, and father, then moved to the wall on the other side of the master-at-arms’s cell. He pressed his finger in an indentation, pushed. A slight grating sounded as the stone shifted.
Paces away, Sir Petrus remained limp, his eyes closed.
Cailin stormed over, wrestled open the shackles; Taog and Sir James caught his body as the knight collapsed.
After a quick inspection, Taog met Cailin’s gaze. “He is alive.”
“Barely.” Cailin returned the keys to their hiding place. “We must hurry before the guards return and find him gone.”
The distant bongs of the church bell melded with the soft scuff of steps as they made their way along the secret tunnel.
As they neared the stable, shouts from outside the thick walls made them pause.
Mouth grim, Taog glanced at Cailin. “Do you think the guards have discovered Sir Petrus is gone?”
“I pray not. Stay here.” Cailin hurried to the slits in the stable and scanned the bailey.
In the torchlight, a lone rider dismounted as other knights ran toward him.
“God’s teeth,” Cailin hissed, “’tis Sir Malcolm.”
“What is he doing here?” Taog asked as he held the master-at-arms propped between him and Sir James.
“’Twould seem,” Cailin spat, “his vow of fealty was naught but a ruse.”
The men surrounding the rider parted as his uncle strode toward them.
Cailin’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sir Malcolm’s animated figure while he spoke to the earl.
Gaufrid nodded, then began shouting commands. His knights ran toward the stable.
“What is happening?” Sir James asked.
“I couldna hear what Sir Malcolm said, but my uncle has ordered his men to prepare to ride, which could only mean one thing.”
Taog swore. “The bastard told Dalkirk the location of my camp. Nay doubt he also revealed that the knights who’d abandoned him were there, along with you and Elspet.”
“Aye,” Cailin agreed, meeting the Romani’s gaze, the fury there matching his. “We must alert them.”
“By now, my men will have discovered Sir Malcolm’s absence,” Taog said, “and have sent out men in search of him.”
“Except they dinna know that he isna missing but a traitor.” Cailin hurried over to Taog. “Ride back and warn the camp. Sir James and I will follow with Sir Petrus.”
The Romani’s brows slammed together. “I refuse to leave you—”
“Our people must be warned. Either you go or Sir James. Choose!”
Eyes hard, Taog glared at Cailin. “I will go, but by God, take care.”
Cailin gave a curt nod, then stepped next to the master-at-arms and took his weight from Taog. “Godspeed.”
After lighting a taper, the Romani leader hurried off.
Knights’ voices inside the stable grew louder.
Cailin placed his finger over his lips. “Can you hold him alone for a moment?”
Sir James nodded.
He shifted the weight of the prone man to the knight; Sir Petrus made the slightest of groans. A moment later, Cailin crept to where he could look out.
“’Tis foolhardy traveling in the dead of night,” a knight entering the stable grumbled.
“Aye,” the man at his side agreed. “Sir Malcolm told the earl that he slipped away. Those at the Romani camp willna likely discover him gone till morning. A fool could see that if we leave at first light, we would still have time to surround the camp and surprise them.”
Blast it, he must buy Taog time to warn Elspet and the others at the camp. Cailin crept back to Sir James, who’d shifted and propped Sir Petrus’s unconscious body against a wall.
“They are preparing to attack the Romani camp, as we feared,” Cailin said. “I am going to create a diversion to delay their departure.”
On a groan, the master-at-arms’s eyelids flickered open, and he gave a rough cough. Pain-filled eyes held Cailin’s. “I—” His entire body shook. “I‒can help.”
That Cailin doubted. “If you can walk when we depart, ’twill help us immensely.”
“I can. The bastard willna keep me down,” his mentor rasped. “Y‒you mentioned a diversion. What are you going to do?”
He took another candle from a nearby indentation, lit it, and handed the taper to Sir James. “I am going to start a fire in the stable. You and Sir James head down the tunnel. I will catch up with you.”
“Aye.” After wedging his shoulder beneath Sir Petrus’s arm, a candle in his free hand, wavers of yellow illuminated the blackness as Sir James helped him hobble into the shaft.
Cailin peered through the slit, thankful to find only two guards near the secret exit. He crept into the stable and to the first knight, then slammed the hilt of his dagger against his head.
With a grunt, the warrior dropped to the hay.
The horse shifted, but thankfully, the other knight, three stalls down, was securing the girth on the saddle, his back to Cailin. Moments later, Cailin knocked out the second man and hauled both guards into the shadows of the bailey. After a quick glance around, thankful no other knights had entered, he freed the horses, then set the hay ablaze.
Squeals and snorts fil
led the air as smoke began to billow from the stable. A stallion bolted for the bailey; the rest followed.
Shouts filled the air as Cailin slipped inside the secret tunnel. Taper in hand, he hurried down the blackened passageway to catch up with Sir James and Sir Petrus, and prayed they’d reach camp to warn the others before the earl’s men attacked.
* * * *
Positioned behind a large rock, Elspet scanned the dense stand of trees, searching for any sign of movement as she and Taog’s men hid in the woods surrounding the encampment.
Sunlight highlighted errant flakes of snow whirling to the ground like shimmers of hope. Dull thuds rang out as a woodpecker tapped on a nearby oak while several doves sat upon a barren limb and a squirrel chased another through the tangle of branches.
At any other time, she would have appreciated the beauty, lingered on how the soft sheen of white coated the landscape in a pristine glow, but with each hour passing since Taog’s return at first light, her worry grew.
Where were Cailin, Sir James, and Sir Petrus? Had they been forced to hide en route? Traveling with an injured man would slow them, evading the earl’s guard more so. Please God, let them have safely escaped the castle.
“I see nay sign of anyone,” Taog said at her side.
“Nor I. They should be here by now. Do you think they were caught?” Elspet asked, voicing her worst fear.
“Nay,” Taog said. “Cailin is too smart. If he sensed danger, they would have hidden until the earl’s guard had passed.”
The truth, ’twas foolish to worry. Cailin was a Knight Templar, trained above most, with skills he would use to ensure that he and the others were safe. If anything, she should be thankful a man of such caliber would soon rule Dalkirk. He was intelligent, fair, and did naught without sound reason.
Memories of his kiss, the tenderness of his touch, sifted through her mind as she scoured the sweep of trees. An ache built in her chest at how within days he’d become important to her, more than she could have ever imagined. It should be impossible, but however foolish, she wanted more with him, wanted…