by Diana Cosby
“She is important to me, but love her? I dinna believe ’tis possible. Too much lies before me to consider a life with a woman or a family.”
Though she made him want what he’d never considered before. Cailin shifted, winced at the shot of pain. ’Twas foolish to allow those needs in his life when naught lay before him but war. Notions of family were for those who had the luxury of preparing land to till, not for battle. Once all of Scotland lay beneath King Robert’s control and the day came to wed, if the king was involved, ’twould be to dictate whom he married.
But, because Rónán was his friend, Cailin would explain. “Regardless of what Elspet makes me feel, if she knew how much I cared for her and I were to die, ’twould break her heart.”
Rónán scoffed. “With her in love with you, if anything happens to you, her heart will be broken regardless. Telling her how you feel now, in the end, will spare her naught.”
Irritated that his friend could be right, he scowled. “And you are an expert because?”
His smile widening, Rónán held up his hands. “’Tis obvious, but then, my mind isna skewed by thoughts of a woman in my bed.”
Refusing to linger on the topic, Cailin scanned the distant castle, noted the guards making rounds on the wall walk. Inside, no doubt his uncle awaited reinforcements and prepared for war.
On a rough sigh, he glanced skyward. Clouds slowly drifted past, their thick puffs blocking out the sun before moving on and streaks of golden sunlight again illuminated the land.
“Until your arrival, I far from had enough men to attack the stronghold. Now, with my uncle’s losses, I believe the siege will secure his surrender.”
“Unless reinforcements arrive.”
“Aye.” He curled his hand into a fist. “Blast it, I canna allow him to gain any lord’s support!”
“What can you do?”
He scoured his mind for any answer, then an idea came to mind. “My uncle mentioned the Earl of Odhran. He is the closest noble who could offer him support and is but a two-day ride. More important, he was a close friend of my father. Though his runner has already set out, if I can reach the earl, regardless if he is en route, I believe I can convince him to join ranks with me.”
Rónán’s eyes narrowed. “God in heaven, with your leg injured, you canna be thinking of making such a hard ride.”
“I—” he gritted his teeth against the pain as he shifted—“had little trouble riding here.”
His friend scoffed. “There is a big difference between a few hours’ travel to lay siege to Tiran Castle and a hard, two-day ride.”
“Mayhap, but I have little choice. If my uncle receives reinforcements, he will ensure that we all die.”
Chapter 15
Hints of purple lingered in the western sky, an ode to the upcoming night. At best, they had another hour of daylight. Fighting to wash away the memories of battle all too clear, Elspet drew a deep, cleansing breath of the chilly, pine-scented air.
“Though Tiran Castle is now surrounded and my uncle’s ability to attack is contained,” Cailin said, a scowl in his voice, “I would have preferred that you had remained with Rónán rather than ride with me to Syridan Castle.”
Muscles aching, she glanced over. Snow littered Cailin’s red hair as he guided his destrier through a narrow stand of trees. “As I explained at camp, with my stepfather a close friend of the Earl of Odhran and his favoring me, if there are any issues, my presence will help him to shift his support to your cause.”
“There willna be problems.”
The defiance in his tone reminded her of how stubborn he could be. “Had you been sure, you wouldna have allowed me to ride with you.”
A muscle worked in his jaw.
“Do you think your uncle’s runner has arrived at Syridan Castle?”
He shook his head. “With the heavy snow throughout the day, I believe the earliest he will arrive is tomorrow. Even at our hard pace, at best ’twill take two more days to reach the stronghold.”
Limbs rattled overhead beneath a strong gust, and errant brown leaves tumbled across the blanket of white marred by stones breaking through.
On a shiver, she tugged her cape tighter and guided her mount around a fallen oak. “What if we encounter the Earl of Odhran’s men heading toward Tiran Castle?”
Cailin’s mount snorted as he forged his way up a steep incline. “A possibility I doubt. Even if Odhran gives my uncle his support, it should take a large force several days to ready their arms and prepare to ride.”
“What if the earl refuses to recognize that you are the rightful Earl of Dalkirk?” she asked, voicing her worst fear.
“If we canna gain Odhran, or any other lord’s support, we will fight with the troops we have.”
Memories of Cailin and Rónán’s discussion with Taog about various tactics to consider in seizing Tiran Castle last night came to mind. Though she’d listened to bards tell tales of battle, she wasn’t familiar with the various techniques in laying siege.
“’Tis amazing that a fire in the secret tunnel beneath a castle wall will cause the fortification to fail,” she said.
“’Tis a maneuver the Templars have used with great success. Once the wall collapses, in the ensuing mayhem, we storm the castle. With the benefit of surprise and my uncle’s troops severely depleted, even if by some chance reinforcements arrive, we have a chance to seize the stronghold.”
But he couldn’t be sure. Nor did she want to consider the risks, or how many more men could die. She noticed him shift in his saddle. “How does your leg fare?”
“’Tis better.”
That, she doubted. “’Twould have been best to have rested another day before starting the journey, but Rónán warned me that you wouldna be swayed.”
Cailin grunted. “I assure you, he has seen me in much worse condition.”
That he could make light of the seriousness of his wound amazed her. Most men would have been abed for a week or more. But then, Cailin wasn’t most. He favored his leg when he walked, little more.
Curious to know more about him, she guided her mount a bit closer. “Where did you and Rónán meet?”
“During a battle in the Holy Land, he saved my life. We have been friends since.”
A gust of wind swirled around them. “Rónán never mentioned that.”
“He wouldna. Though a fierce warrior, he is a proud and humble man.”
After speaking with Rónán, and given his actions since they’d met, that she believed. She smiled, thinking of his smooth, lyrical brogue. “How did an Irishman come to join the Brotherhood?”
“An orphan, he was taken in by a brutal man who beat him regularly and made him work from dawn ’til dusk. At the age of seven, barely surviving a severe thrashing and believing the next would kill him, he fled.” Cailin shoved through a stand of fir, then guided his mount down a steep incline, a tumble of loose snow rolling ahead of them. “With the man having sworn to kill him if he ever tried to bolt, Rónán kept in hiding for months. He never looked back or told anyone.”
Her heart went out to Rónán. “’Tis sad, knowing he never knew the love of a family.”
“He found a bond of brotherhood with the Templars.”
Mayhap, but kinship with men trained to fight was not the same as having a mother and father or memories of family. “Do you think one day he will return to confront the scoundrel?”
He shrugged. “Even if Rónán returned, with the years passed, the cur who took him in is probably dead.”
“How did Rónán live before he joined the Brotherhood?”
“For several years, by his wits, doing whatever he had to in order to survive; then he joined the galloglass. ’Twas while he was with them that he met several Knights Templar. Impressed by their discipline, code of honor, and fighting skills, Rónán departed with them and later swore his oa
th to the Brotherhood.”
“Incredible. After all he endured, he could easily have gone down a darker path.”
“He could have.”
“A fate you could have chosen as well.” That Cailin had not was a miracle, which made her heart fill with admiration and love for all he had conquered.
He shrugged. “I did naught but survive.”
“Nay,” she said, her voice softening, “like Rónán you persevered, overcame what would have overwhelmed most.
Another gust of wind skimmed past. Flakes of wind-driven snow spiraled between them, then gently sifted to the ground.
Cailin’s eyes lifted to hers, his gaze intense.
Warmth tingled up her skin, and his eyes darkened in response, and she believed the dreadful memories of the battle had faded. With one look he could do that: steal away her fears, the horrors of her day, and make her feel safe, wanted, desired.
How would a life with him be? Days filled with hard work, but friendship and laughter. Then there would be the nights. What would it feel like to be in his arms, to give herself to him completely?
Despite the cold, warmth surged through her at thoughts of his touch, of his muscled body against hers, and of his mouth skimming over her skin. Elspet wished they weren’t on a journey driven by strife, that they could find a place where they could spend days together and more.
A dream.
Or was it?
Her mind racing with possibilities, she glanced at the sinking sun. They had this night. Though only hours, ’twas time when they would be alone.
A while later, with their horses tended to, Elspet sat before the fire in their makeshift camp. The sharp smell of freshly split wood entwined with the char of smoke as she watched Cailin’s muscles flex as he chopped kindling.
So much had changed since they’d last stayed in a similar setting. Then, he’d viewed her as a woman he was unsure he could trust, and she’d been desperate to convince him to help her.
Wood clattered paces away as he set down a pile. He set several sticks into the fire. “That should hold us until the morning.”
“Aye.” Elspet handed him an oatcake, then ate her own. As she watched him eat, her thoughts strayed to when she’d told him that she’d loved him before the battle. But since they’d departed the Romani camp, he’d mentioned naught of her confession, much less his feelings for her.
As a child, she’d dreamed of a lord one day coming to sweep her away, but too well she knew those were the fantasies of youth, of those innocent to the treachery of life.
If she wasn’t careful, she could let herself drown in all the betrayals they’d each been dealt. His uncle. Her stepbrother. And the resulting aftermath. The gory battles.
“How can you sleep after a battle?” She rubbed her brow. “Dinna the horrific images haunt your mind?”
* * * *
Cailin hesitated as he noted her visible distress. He picked up a piece of wood, tossed it into the flames, understanding her struggles with the violence she’d faced this day, of how during the battle she’d taken several lives. A burst of sparks swirled up within the smoke. How could he explain the details of his past and her present in a way to help her overcome her concern? He settled on a simple version of the truth and prayed it brought her a sliver of comfort.
“For a while, every time you close your eyes, the skirmish plays over in your mind, the blood, the screams, and what you could have done differently to save a friend’s life or push the enemy back.” He met her gaze. “Out of sheer exhaustion, you sleep. After, you prepare for the next clash, but a part of you withdraws where you engage with a focus only on the goals of the battle, not that men are dying beneath your blade.”
She drew up her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “Do the memories ever disappear?”
“They fade, but they are always inside you.”
“Oh.”
The anguish in that single word had him reaching out and cupping her chin. “You did what you had to do. Your skill, determination, saved many lives.”
“But because of me,” she whispered, “several men are dead.”
“Warriors who would have killed you if given the chance.”
She closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them again, the anger and frustration there easy to read. “I despise war.”
“As I, but ’tis a necessity against those who immerse their lives in evil, concern themselves with the accumulation of wealth and power above all else.”
“Indeed.” She released a rough exhale. “’Tis sad, knowing there will always be conflict, that regardless of how one man fights for power, another plots with the same intent.”
“Mayhap, but beyond those consumed by the need to control, there are many more who care, who touch lives and assure others that good remains in the world. Like you.”
Her lips parted slightly. “I…I have done little.”
“Nay,” he said, his gaze tender, “you have done much. You fight for those for whom you care, and take time to help those less fortunate.”
Elspet arched a brow. “And you know this because…?”
He swept his thumb along her lower lip, the silken slide luring him to kiss her. Foolish thoughts given the feelings she inspired, dangerous ones he had no business lingering upon. “Taog told me. And I have seen with my own eyes your conviction.”
“Oh…”
Her claim that she loved Cailin kindled in his mind. He wondered what she’d say if, with imminent danger behind them, he asked her if she’d meant her admission.
If she confirmed her declaration, how would he reply?
With his life as a Templar, he’d never considered a woman in his life, but as of late, thoughts of Elspet invaded his mind and made him wonder what life would be like for them together as husband and wife. As now, with her body a hand’s breadth from his, her emerald eyes watching him with a mixture of confusion and desire.
He wondered if she realized how much he wanted her, how tempted he was to skim his hand along the soft column of her neck, to pause upon the erratic pulse beating at the base.
“Cailin, I—”
His intent to keep her at a distance faded beneath memories of the silky slide of her taste, and he claimed her mouth, her soft gasp, then acceptance, emboldening him further.
Beneath his heated kiss, she took, gave, demanded more.
Blood pounding hot, Cailin drew back, cupped her face in his, the tenderness there, the desire, almost dropping him to his knees.
Her lips swollen from his kiss, confusion flickered in Elspet’s eyes.
Though he wanted her, ’twas wrong. He released her. “Sleep. We have a hard day of travel tomorrow.”
Her hand caught his. “When I confessed that I loved you, I meant what I said. Though ’tis wrong to admit such,” she breathed, “I want you as well.”
His body hardened, her soft scent of woman and earth luring him to accept what she offered. Through sheer will, he withdrew from her touch, wanting only to stay. “I canna give you what you seek.”
Hurt streaked across her face, and he damned that he’d caused it. “Then why do you kiss me as if you want more?”
He should walk away, leave her alone, but however dangerous, finding he needed to share what she made him feel. “Because I want you more than ’tis right. Nor had I expected to find someone like you. Someone who makes me care more than I had ever imagined.”
Hope ignited in her eyes. “I know you must leave once you have reclaimed your home to fight for King Robert, but once the battles are over, you will return.”
Warmth seeped through him at the hope in her voice. Until recently, he’d never allowed himself to consider a future of more than the next conflict. After spending time with her, he found himself wanting a family, a child to leave a legacy.
Coldness invaded his heart. Too
well he knew that naught could be guaranteed in battle, but blast it, he wanted her in his life.
Torn, he took her hand, a storm of feelings swamping him until his chest tightened against his struggles. “Though I must leave once Tiran Castle is mine, I ask that you wait for me.”
Warmth filled her eyes. “And I ask that you wait for me. That you invite no other into your bed.”
The audacity of her entreaty caught him off guard. He arched a brow. “Few women would dare to make such a bold request.”
A smile touched her mouth. “Few women would dare rob a knight of his sword, then seek him out to ask forgiveness or to help her with her cause.”
The tension pouring through him eased. He chuckled. “Indeed.”
“Nor have you replied to my request.”
“I havena.” He pressed a soft kiss upon her lips. “Until I return, there will be nay one else but you.”
She nodded. “I swear the same.”
Cailin drew her against him, and for the first time in his life felt complete.
Why?
He didna love her.
She intrigued him, made him want. With her beauty, intelligence, and a body that would make any man ache for her, ’twas expected. But love?
Unsure how to explain the needs she inspired, the sense of destiny, he shoved aside his musings and focused on her, on this moment. He brushed away a swath of hair from her cheek, paused on the finely braided strip of leather around her neck. Though he’d noticed this before, with his mind focused on the mayhem, he’d dismissed any further thought. Now, a sense of familiarity nagged at him.
He slid his finger beneath the cord, lifted. A silver-forged Celtic cross hung before him, a ruby embedded at the center. Heart pounding, he stared in disbelief, lifted his gaze. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.
Confused eyes searched his. “My mother found the necklace in the woods when she and my stepfather were traveling and she gave it to me.” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”
Because,” he rasped, “it belonged to my mother. ’Twas lost the day she died in the hunting accident.” His throat tightened with emotion as he swept his thumb over the gemstone. “Never did I believe I would see it again.”