by Diana Cosby
Forever.
Elspet struggled to catch her breath. Merciful saints, she loved him!
With the meager time they’d known the other, it should be unfathomable, but with every beat of her heart, and however much she’d tried to control her growing feelings before, she could no longer deny something that resonated straight down to her soul.
The joy of the realization faded beneath the memory of everything that stood in their path. More so as they had many hurdles to overcome before their mission was successful. And though he cared for her, would he ever want more?
Once he seized Tiran Castle, he would regain his rightful position as Earl of Dalkirk, while she had naught but the clothes on her back. Aye, he’d offered her shelter and had kissed her with passion, both a far cry from a promise of love.
Elspet shook her head at herself for mulling over her feelings like an empty-headed lass. Though she loved Cailin, if he never wanted more than what they had, however much it would hurt, she’d go on, find something that mattered to immerse herself into.
But it couldn’t be in Dalkirk.
In time he would be required to find a woman of noble stature to bear him an heir, but thoughts of him with another broke her heart.
Mayhap she would—
“I see movement on the northern outskirts of camp,” a man called a distance away.
Smothering her dismal thoughts, Elspet focused on the barren oaks, their limbs rattling in the wind like bony fingers reaching skyward, with a few stubborn leaves clinging to errant branches, long since faded to a dreary brown.
Between the weathered trunks, flashes of riders came into view.
Heart pounding, she nocked her bow, prayed it was Cailin and the others.
Masked within the shadows, a horse and rider came into view, followed by a large man slumped over his mount’s hindquarters.
They rode into the sunlight, and she lowered the bow and sheathed her arrow. “’Tis Sir Cailin, Sir James, and Sir Petrus!”
Cheers rose and the men surrounded the small party as they rode into camp.
Face weary, Cailin halted his destrier, swung down, and reached up for Sir Petrus.
“Let me help you,” Taog said as he stepped next to him.
The master-at-arms grunted as he was lifted down, then he slumped over.
“He has passed out,” Taog said.
Cailin grimaced. “With how badly he had been beaten, ’tis a miracle he is still alive.” He turned, and his eyes met hers.
Beyond the exhaustion, the tenderness in his gaze had Elspet wanting to run to him, needing his touch and, however foolish, filled with hope that a future for them existed. Though before the warriors, she refused to offer him less than the respect he deserved.
Worry had her glancing toward the forest before moving to his side. “Thank God you have returned safely. Taog warned us that you had seen Sir Malcolm.”
Cailin nodded. “We were unsure if you knew that the knight had betrayed us.”
“They knew,” the Romani leader said as he joined them. “I met my men halfway back, and during the ride to camp they told me what had happened. While we awaited your return, I used our combined forces to set up a defense around the camp. Also, I positioned runners a distance away to keep watch for any sign of Dalkirk’s men.”
A shiver swept through Elspet. “You believe the earl will attack this day?”
Cailin gave a somber nod. “Now that my uncle knows where I am, he wants to kill me and my loyal supporters before I can raise a significant force.”
Nausea welled in her throat.
“One of our scouts is returning!” a perimeter guard shouted.
A rider broke through the brush. A layer of froth covered his steed as he drew him to a halt. “The earl leads at least three hundred armed men and they are headed this way!”
Cailin muttered a soft curse. They were outnumbered by at least seven to one. “How far away are they?”
“An hour, two at most,” the rider replied.
Taog glanced toward Cailin. “Go. A warm meal and rest will serve you well before the soldiers arrive.”
Cailin glanced toward where the master-at-arms was being taken, then shook his head. “We have no time to waste. I know a few strategies that could help make a difference.”
“Explain,” Taog said.
Elspet listened and was impressed by the procedures Cailin laid out, many she’d never heard of. Templar techniques, no doubt.
Once he was through, Cailin glanced around. “Any questions?”
Appreciation in his eyes, Taog shook his head. “Nay. These tactics will give the earl and his men more than they bargained for, and us a chance.”
“They will,” Cailin agreed. “I will check on Sir Petrus, then oversee the preparations.”
“I will have the men start felling small trees.” Taog departed.
Face taut, Cailin strode to where two men were settling Sir Petrus inside a tent.
Elspet walked beside him, impressed by his control. Instead of allowing fury at the brutality served to the master-at-arms to guide him, he focused on a plan that would equal the odds, if not give them an edge against the earl’s forces. How many men would have reacted with such precision, such control?
Strong-scented herbs filled the air as they reached the tent. Inside, an elderly woman dipped a cloth into an herbal concoction, then cleaned each cut with care.
A dark frown on his face, Cailin entered and knelt beside the healer.
The elder tended to the next wound, dipped the cloth into the mixture, then looked up, her eyes grave. “I canna say if he will live through the day, but I swear to you, I will do all I can.”
Cailin nodded. “I thank you.” He placed his hand on the master-at-arms’s shoulder, closed his eyes, then his lips moved in silent prayer.
Kneeling, Elspet added her own entreaty to God that Sir Petrus lived. After making the sign of the cross, Cailin departed. Throat thick with emotion, she fell into step beside him as he strode toward the large rocks where many of Taog’s men were taking position with numerous weapons.
“When the earl attacks, I want you to stay near me.” Eyes dark with concern met hers. “If I could spare you the horrors of battle, I would.”
She shook her head at his misplaced sense of responsibility for her. “None of this is your fault. Any blame for those who will be harmed lies at your uncle’s feet. Nor does he care who dies as long as he remains in power.”
Cailin’s mouth tightened. “The truth, but it doesna change that you, as the other women in camp, are in danger. If there was somewhere I could have you all hide, I would.”
“There isna. Nor would I be asking for shelter when each person is needed to defend the camp.”
Deep lines carved his brow. For a breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her, but the instant passed.
Jaw tight, Cailin halted where men stood awaiting instructions and began shouting orders. Some men began digging pits, while others sharpened stakes and jammed them into the ground to build a palisade.
Elspet was amazed at how, when one job was completed, without hesitation, Cailin moved men to another, each task adding another layer of defense.
When she’d first heard the news of the pending attack, of the number of men led by the earl, she’d feared they had little chance. Now, as she scanned the camp that in a short time had been transformed to a makeshift fortress, hope flickered inside.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Cailin walked over to where she was piling stones to use in the catapult. He shot her a fierce scowl. “Once the battle begins, if I tell you to do something, do it!”
If she’d seen only anger in his eyes, the hard rebuttal on her tongue would have been unleashed without hesitation, but she saw the fear, the concern, because he cared for her. “I will.”
With each passing momen
t, amid the shouts, orders, and curses, she fought the growing dread. However brutal the attack on her home almost a fortnight ago, she sensed that ’twas naught compared to the assault the earl planned this day.
But this time the bastard wouldna win. Elspet wiped her brow, returned to her task. Whatever she needed to do to give Cailin success she would. A grim smile touched her mouth. And the earl would soon learn that he far from faced a haphazard band, but a well-armed force.
* * * *
An arrow nocked in his bow, beneath the crystal-clear skies, Cailin stared at the swath of forest littered with towering rocks as the earl’s well-armed knights rode into view, followed by endless rows of foot soldiers.
As he’d expected, Gaufrid’s men had surrounded the encampment and were now closing in; his uncle wanted to ensure that no one escaped, that all who’d sworn fealty to Cailin would die.
He glared at the man he’d once believed loved him, a man who was the only family he still had. But now he knew the truth, something his uncle would regret.
A grim smile touched his mouth as he glanced at the various weapons the Romani, the knights, and he and Elspet had prepared this day. Trebuchets lay strategically placed, pits with sharpened sticks at the bottom covered with sticks and brush were cleverly positioned, and hot oil was boiling in cauldrons along with numerous piles of stones stacked by each siege engine awaiting use.
His uncle stopped at the edge of the forest, raised his hand. His knights halted. “Sir Cailin,” he shouted, “if you and Elspet give yourselves up, my men and I will leave the camp untouched.”
Taog grunted at Cailin’s side. “A lie.”
“Aye,” Cailin agreed. “The bastard wants us all dead.”
“Sir Cailin, if you dinna cede willingly,” his uncle continued, “you give me no choice but to attack.”
“Sir Cailin? You mean the rightful Earl of Dalkirk,” Cailin called. “If you look around, you will see that you are far from in a position to offer threats.”
A scowl marred his uncle’s face as he glared at the siege engines before turning back to him. “You are greatly outnumbered. Are you so selfish that you would sacrifice the lives of innocent men and women?”
“Selfish? A rich claim when ’twas you who murdered my father and mother,” Cailin shouted, “and paid to have me killed.”
“’Tis lies,” his uncle called back. “Your parents’ deaths were an accident.”
“A witness informed me otherwise,” Cailin stated, his voice ice. “And before the captain you hired to kill me sold me to pirates, he admitted your treachery. The only thing you care about is ensuring that I am dead so you can keep my legacy.”
Rage mottled his uncle’s face. “I am deeply wounded that you would believe such mistruths. You are my nephew, my only family, and I am willing to help you.”
“You know not the meaning of family,” Cailin spat. “Save your lies for someone who believes you. I never will.”
“Then you leave me no choice.” Expression fierce, the earl raised his hand, scanned his men lining the camp. “Kill them all!”
Chapter 14
The screams of men, the stench of burning flesh, and the clash of blades filled the air. Each volley of the catapults from the Romani camp splintered the Earl of Dalkirk’s ranks, as they had since the initial attack hours before, forcing his men to fall back and regroup.
In Gaufrid’s calculated attack, he’d omitted one critical factor: that he would encounter formidable and organized resistance.
Elspet and several other women lifted another pile of stones into the pouch of the trebuchet. Once full, they hurried back; Elspet jerked the strap free.
The counterweight dropped and the sling hurled the load.
Pain-filled screams sounded from the enemy ranks as the wall of attackers again parted.
Three more volleys in quick succession drove the foot soldiers to withdraw from bow range.
Cailin glanced toward the setting sun. Bedamned, by now he’d hoped to have crushed his uncle’s invasion. But with his uncle’s forces having destroyed two of their siege engines, his combined forces with Taog were losing ground. His uncle boomed orders with twisted glee.
Between the screams and shouts, the earl’s men formed a solid line around the camp in preparation for another charge.
Dread crawled up Cailin’s spine as he nocked another arrow. With most of their defenses destroyed and their piles of stones to throw in the trebuchet down to a single rock, they couldn’t turn back the next attack.
Face pale, Elspet shoved the last stone into the siege engine’s pouch, then met his gaze. “We have naught more to throw. What are we going to do?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, faced with the horrendous reality that in the next few moments when his uncle’s troops stormed the camp, many people would die.
Cailin didn’t care about himself, but he did care that Elspet, Taog and his people, and the knights who’d recently sworn fealty to him would suffer for his uncle’s twisted need for power.
“We are going to fight.” He muttered a curse. “Never did I mean to involve you in this.”
“After what the earl did to my family,” Elspet withdrew her sword, “’tis my fight as well. Though you have sought to protect me, I willna hide behind you or any man but seek my own justice.”
Humbled, he nodded. Mouth grim, he met Taog’s gaze, worry lining the leader’s brow, but resolve as well. “Let us give the bastard more than he bargained for,” Cailin called.
Taog raised his sword. “Aye!”
The Romani people cheered.
In the face of impossible odds, unsure whether this would be their end, Cailin looked at Elspet, and his heart wrenched. Never had he imagined that he would find a woman he wanted so much, one who touched him as no other. His emotions in turmoil, giving into his heart’s demand, he strode to Elspet, caught her mouth in a fierce kiss, hot with need, demanding with a fierce desperation. “I wanted more for you, I wanted—”
“Charge!” his uncle screamed from behind his ranks. The roar of men and the whinny of horses filled the air.
With brutal precision, his uncle’s foot soldiers cut through the stakes of the palisade, then engaged the outer guard, steadily moving forward.
“Stay beside me, Elspet!” Cailin ordered as he secured his bow and arrow and withdrew his broadsword, fighting exhaustion and damning that once surrounded ’twould be but a matter of time until the inevitable.
“I love you, Cailin!” she blurted out.
Stunned by Elspet’s words, the emptiness in his heart since losing his parents eased. Never had he imagined he would find a woman he’d want in his life, much less one who loved him. What he wouldn’t give for another day, more time to spend with her.
A stocky knight rushed him.
Cailin bunched his arms, dropped him in a single blow.
From the side, three men stormed past Taog’s men and headed straight toward Elspet.
“Watch out!” Cailin yelled as he lunged forward, driving his sword deep into the lead knight’s chest, slashed his dagger across the other warrior’s throat, then whirled to face the final assailant.
The fighter’s blade was driving toward Cailin’s heart.
Bracing his feet, Cailin angled his broadsword to block the swing. Forged steel scraped with an angry hiss. Teeth clenched, he twisted his sword free, drove it into the attacker. He glanced toward Elspet.
She ducked as a large knight charged, plunged her dagger into his chest as he rushed past, then yanked her blade free.
The warrior wove, toppled to the ground.
The blur of movement to his side had Cailin whirling to meet the next challenger.
As the new combatant raised his broadsword, a large man battling Taog collapsed against Cailin, throwing him off balance.
Cailin’s swing missed; his u
ncle’s knight’s blade sliced through his thigh.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Cailin rolled, pushed to his feet, drove his sword deep into his attacker.
A look of pure shock widened the man’s eyes as he dropped into a lifeless heap.
Cailin ignored the blood flowing down his leg, turned to fend off several warriors charging him. His entire body trembled with exhaustion as he raised his arm for the next swing. If he would die, by God he’d take as many of the bastards he could with him!
A horn sounded.
The thunder of men’s shouts rose above the clash of battle.
Cailin’s heart sank. God’s blade, more men; they were doomed.
No, he refused to quit, would fight until his last breath. Struggling against the pain, he disposed of the next assailant, whirled toward the fresh influx of troops.
Stilled.
A fierce-looking man holding King Robert’s banner led the sizable force into the fray.
Rónán!
A fresh surge of energy filled Cailin. The Bruce had made good his pledge that, if possible, he would send a fighting force, one that would rout his uncle’s men.
“’Tis Rónán O’Connor, a friend, who is here to aid us!” Cailin shouted.
Stunned relief swept Taog and his people’s dirt- and blood-streaked faces as in a steady wave, the new combatants cut through Dalkirk’s men.
Body trembling, Elspet lowered her sword. “Thank God.”
In the mill of horses and retreating fighters, face flushed with outrage, his uncle raised his sword at Cailin. “’Tis far from over! I will be back. Next time my forces will be united with the Earl of Odhran’s!” He whirled his mount and fled into the woods, his men on his heels.
Cheers rose within the Romani camp.
With a weary smile, Taog wiped his blade, then sheathed his sword. “’Tis a prayer answered.”
“Aye,” Cailin agreed, “but my uncle’s threat to combine his forces with the Earl of Odhran’s is a union we canna allow.”
“How can we stop him?” Taog asked.
“We must lay siege to Tiran Castle and prevent him from sending a messenger to Odhran. Gather any of your men who are able and tell them to prepare to ride.”