Forbidden Alliance

by Diana Cosby

  The Romani leader gestured toward the healer’s tent. “She is helping her restock herbs and—”

  The flap pushed aside, and Elspet glanced out. Her shoulders sagged with relief, then a smile curved her lips. She turned back toward the healer a moment, then hurried toward Cailin.

  Taog chuckled. “She has been watching for you.”

  Snowflakes tossed within the breeze swirled around her as she halted a pace away. Emerald eyes studied his, and the warmth within faded. “Your uncle refused your offer.”

  “Aye, what we are discussing. Considering his lack of options, a decision that doesna make sense.” Cailin rubbed the back of his neck, the prickling of unease growing. “Until he surrenders, I want extra scouts posted around the castle.”

  The Earl of Odhran nodded. “’Twill be done.”

  * * * *

  The snap of flames and hushed voices filled the cool night air as Cailin settled beside Elspet. Worry filled her at the deep lines of exhaustion on his face. After everyone had taken care of their duties and retired, he’d checked that all points of the encampment were secure.

  She filled a large bowl with stew and held it out to him. “You must be needing this.”

  Tired eyes grew tender. “I think I must be needing this more.” He leaned in, gently cupping her face. Cailin captured her mouth in a heated kiss that had desire storming her.

  With a soft moan, he drew her against him. “If I dinna stop, I will be taking you here.”

  Pulse racing, she smiled. “If you dinna stop, I could lose hold of the bowl and you will be wearing the stew.”

  He chuckled. “There is that.” After one more kiss, he leaned back, accepted the fare and took a bit. “’Tis wonderful.”

  She arched a brow as he gulped down the food. “As hungry as you are, I could have given you a bit of leather and you wouldna have noticed.”

  With a wink, Cailin downed the last of the stew, the easy gesture stealing her heart. With him, it would always be so. A simple touch, a look would make her want him and be thankful they’d share a life together.

  Warmth filled her of thoughts of the day they would say their vows, and of the nights to come. His love was more that she could have ever wished.

  Three heavily armed guards strode past, the wavering torchlight rippling across the weapons carried at their sides.

  A chill crept through her and she rubbed her arms. “I pray your uncle yields soon.”

  “As I,” he said, his voice grim, “but as I rode away from the castle today, he laughed. Not the action of a man who believes himself doomed.”

  Her fingers shook at this disclosure, and the ladle she’d lifted clattered into the bubbling stew. “You believe he will attack?”

  “However inconceivable, ’tis the only thing that makes sense.” He finished a second bowl, then set it aside. “Which is why, before I came here, I walked the circle of troops to see all was secure and doubled the guard around the main camp.”

  “But he is greatly outnumbered. With the castle and secret tunnel exits guarded, even if he tried to ride from Tiran Castle, he and his men would quickly be seen.”

  “Reasons why he should have already surrendered. That he didna tells me that he doesna plan to.”

  “So, what do we do now?” she asked, strain threading through her voice.

  “We remain on alert.” He wiped his hands and tossed the cloth aside. “We know Gaufrid hasna received any additional support. Whatever his plan, ’twill happen soon.”

  The thought of them waiting for his uncle to strike left her on edge. Nor would worrying about the upcoming days change anything. She waved Cailin away. “You are tired. Go rest.”

  “Only if,” he said, drawing her against him, “you accompany—”

  “Dalkirk’s men are attacking from the south!” a man shouted from across the field, where Odhran and Taog’s guards were stationed.

  Curses and the scrape of steel filled the air as men scrambled from their tents and grabbed their swords.

  In the flicker of the fire, fury slashed Cailin’s face. “Bloody hell, we had every castle exit guarded. The bastard must have another tunnel no one knew of!” He glanced at the Romani leader rushing toward him. “Taog, take twenty men and back up your guard. With the pitiful amount of men my uncle has, that should be enough to hold them. I will check the remainder of the camp’s defenses.”

  The Romani leader nodded, headed out with his men.

  Cailin gave Elspet a hard kiss, stepped back, and withdrew his sword. “Stay here and keep your weapon ready. This should be over soon.”

  Pulse racing, she nodded as Rónán and Odhran ran over.

  “Lord Odhran,” Cailin said as he withdrew his broadsword, “select four guards and—”

  A scream near the forest had Elspet unsheathing her sword. Illuminated in the wash of torchlight, several men bearing Dalkirk’s colors stormed the camp from the east. On the opposite side of the main camp, a small contingent charged from the north.

  “Get them!” Cailin roared.

  Blades clashed and screams filled the air.

  Breath coming fast, Elspet clutched her sword, moved closer to Cailin. Horrified, she watched as Dalkirk’s men were cut down with brutal efficiency, their screams of pain wrenching her heart. Damn the earl that he could cast away the lives of those who served him without care.

  “Behind you, Cailin!” Rónán shouted.

  Cailin whirled as two knights rushed him. In an incredible display of skill, he blocked the first swing and drove his dagger into that assailant, before driving his sword into the other man.

  Stunned disbelief fell over the warriors’ faces as they crumpled to the bloodstained snow.

  Movement from behind Cailin caught her attention. She glanced over. Dalkirk’s warriors were creeping toward Cailin. “Cailin, three men are behind you!”

  He whirled as the first man charged. Cailin slashed his blade across the assailant’s throat; the attacker collapsed.

  Screaming Lord Dalkirk’s name, the last two men charged.

  Cailin swung hard, deflecting the first aggressor’s strike, then rammed his blade against the other man. The second knight stumbled back as the first man again charged.

  From the corner of her eye, Elspet caught sight of a new assailant behind the others, his knife raised, aimed straight toward Cailin, threw; the dagger sliced through the night toward Cailin’s heart.

  Merciful saints! As Cailin’s sword shoved deep into the second attacker, he didn’t see the threat, nor was there time to warn him.

  Terrified for his life, refusing to allow the man she loved to die, she shoved Cailin out of the way. Hot, burning pain sliced through her side and her world faded away.

  Chapter 18

  Cailin knelt beside Elspet as she lay near one of the fires at the Romani camp. Eyes closed, sweat beaded her brow and her face was deathly pale. Opposite him, the healer secured a new bandage over the dagger thrust she’d taken in her abdomen the night before.

  His gut wrenched at memories of their struggle to stop the bleeding. In the end, they’d cauterized the wound. Thankfully, Elspet had fainted, only to develop a fever hours later.

  God’s teeth, he couldna lose her. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, where a soft tinge of purple smeared the sky. Please God, let her live. She is my life.

  The healer secured the last knot and sat back, her face haggard. “She has lost much blood, and the fever has me worried. God help her if the wound begins to fester.”

  Cailin strangled on the words lodged in his throat, too aware that she barely clung to life but needing a wisp of hope. “Do you think she will live?”

  Eyes dark with anguish were lifted to his. The woman sighed. “I am unsure.”

  Like a wounded animal, a deep cry built within against the soul-tearing fear. Breath trembling, Cail
in brushed his thumb against her pale cheek. “I love you, Elspet, come back to me.”

  Instead, she lay still, a large bruise peeking from the bandage at her side.

  A hand settled on Cailin’s shoulder. He glanced up.

  Rónán’s somber gaze held his. “You have been with Elspet all night. Go and rest; I will sit with her. If there is any change, I will wake you.”

  As if a dam collapsed, the frustration and rage boiling within him was unleashed. Cailin shoved to his feet. “Wake me? As if I give a damn if I am tired when Elspeth may…” He stalked off, whirled and stormed back. “God’s teeth, if I had attacked Tiran Castle yesterday, as Lord Odhran suggested, she wouldna have taken a dagger meant for me!”

  “Blast it,” Rónán snarled. “You thought to spare those within the stronghold innocent of your uncle’s treachery, a noble decision.”

  “A fact that, in the end, with the number of his guard we killed, matters little.” Cailin looked toward the ravine, where Taog’s men had moved the deceased knights from last night’s assault, the ground too frozen to give them a proper burial. “They all died in an effort to get to me.”

  “A command given by Lord Dalkirk.”

  He grunted. “Now I understand why my uncle laughed as I departed. He had built a secret tunnel to set up an attack that nay one, including Father Lamond, knew of.”

  “And he failed,” Taog said as he stalked over.

  Anger built in Cailin’s chest as he gazed upon Elspet. She hadn’t roused for hours and looked lifeless on her pallet. “If she dies,” he rasped, “my uncle will have won. Naught matters without her.”

  Expression hard, the Earl of Odhran stepped up beside the Romani leader. “We can attack Tiran Castle now. Though we followed their tracks and found the secret tunnel caved in to forbid us entry, nor is it critical. After the loss of Dalkirk’s troops last night, his ranks are decimated and the stronghold can be taken with ease.”

  Taog and Rónán nodded.

  Cailin dragged his gaze away from Elspet. “And if we do, because of Gaufrid’s greed, more people will die.”

  “Then we must wait until their supplies run out,” Rónán said.

  Blood pounding hot, Cailin struggled against the rage pouring through him, fury so vile that ’twas as if it blackened his soul. He damned his uncle, whose greed had driven him to kill Cailin’s mother and father. But destroying the lives of his brother and sister-in-law wasn’t enough. He’d arranged for his only nephew who held the title of Earl of Dalkirk, to die.

  Gaufrid had ruled with a brutal hand, spreading fear among those within his control, torturing and murdering any he considered a threat, including Elspet’s mother and stepfather. Under his hand, no one was safe.

  A tremor whipped through Cailin as he lowered his gaze to Elspet, her face fragile, like if he reached out and touched her, she’d break.

  He closed his eyes against the burst of pain, then slowly opened them. She’d suffered so much, lost so much—her home and family. When most women would have given in, she’d stood her ground and sought revenge. God’s blade, what an incredible lass. Such bravado. To dare confront a Knight Templar. Confront? No, steal from him to save a stepbrother she loved.

  A man who, in the end, had betrayed her.

  By God, she, as others, had suffered enough!

  Jaw tight, he met Rónán’s gaze, shifted to Taog, then to Odhran. “From this day,” he stated, “nay more will die beneath my uncle’s deceitful hand save one—him.” With a last tender look toward Elspet, Cailin stormed to his warhorse.

  Rónán caught up with him. “What in God’s name are you going to do?”

  He jerked the reins of his horse free. “I intend to issue an honor challenge to my uncle.”

  The Templar stepped in front of him. “’Tis a challenge used for tournaments, nay battle.”

  “I know what ’tis for.” Cailin started to walk around him.

  Rónán caught his arm. “God in heaven, your uncle isna a man of honor!”

  “A fact I well know, but my decision is made.” He glared at the fingers upon his forearm. “Release me.”

  “Cailin—”

  “Of anyone,” he growled, aware of his friend’s own tumultuous youth, “you understand why I must go.”

  Pain flashed in his friend’s face, and Rónán released him.

  Cailin checked his mount’s saddle. “If for some reason I dinna return and Elspet lives, take care of her. If I fail, ensure my uncle receives his due.”

  “I will,” Rónán rasped. “That I swear. God go with you.”

  The many things that could go wrong when he arrived at Tiran Castle flooded Cailin’s mind. Not giving a damn, he swung up on his horse.

  The thrum of hooves shattered the silence as he cantered across the snow-smeared expanse. A short distance from the gatehouse, he halted his destrier. Clouds smothered the sun as he glared up at where his uncle stood, Elspet’s stepbrother, Blar at his side. “Your pathetic plan to kill me failed,” Cailin called up, finding a small bit of satisfaction as his uncle’s face darkened with outrage that he still lived.

  “Come inside and we will talk.” The earl nodded toward a guard. “Sir Donnach, call to open the gate.”

  The knight turned toward the bailey. “Raise the gate!”

  Chains rattled, then the scrape of wood and steel.

  Cailin didn’t move.

  “Enter!” his uncle demanded.

  Did Gaufrid believe him a fool? If he rode into the stronghold, he would be killed. “The fight isna between those within the castle,” Cailin shouted so everyone along the wall walk and within the bailey could hear. “Just us. I challenge you to an honor challenge of single combat to the death, with the weapon of your choice!”

  “Challenge me?” his uncle scoffed. “To a foolish tournament game for a title I already possess? Enter, before I order my guard to kill you.”

  Blar smirked.

  The bastard, he’d… Cailin’s gaze settled on the knight near his uncle, the one he’d called Donnach. Though years had passed, he recognized the strong cut of his jaw, the lean frame now crowded with muscle, and the black hair of his childhood friend.

  Cailin met the warrior’s hard stare, prayed their youthful bond still held firm.

  He slanted his gaze to his uncle. “I offered my challenge.” He kicked his steed to walk parallel to the castle wall where the guards standing above watched. “But,” he shouted, “are you a man of honor?”

  Gaufrid’s face grew redder. “I gave you an order!”

  “A command,” Cailin called out, meeting the gazes of those above who watched, “from a man who killed my father and mother, his brother and his sister-in-law, a man who paid to have me murdered at sea as a lad.” He turned his horse, rode back along the castle. “Enough people have died for something that is between us. Through this last confrontation, I seek by honor to reclaim my birthright. A challenge, as I am the rightful heir, that is mine to demand!”

  Murmurs filtered through the castle, and his uncle slashed his hand in the air. “You had your chance.” He nodded to Sir Donnach. “Kill him!”

  At his uncle’s order, Cailin’s heart slammed against his chest.

  The knight didn’t move.

  “You bloody traitor!” Blar withdrew his dagger, lunged for Sir Donnach.

  In a violent slash, the warrior drove his broadsword into Blar’s chest, jerked the blade free.

  Shock melded with pain on Blar’s face as he stumbled back, collapsed.

  Bloody sword in hand, Sir Donnach’s gaze narrowed on Lord Dalkirk; then he pivoted to address his fellow guards. “Sir Cailin has made a just challenge, one I support.”

  Murmurs of assent rumbled from the wall walk, and Cailin blew out a relieved breath.

  His uncle motioned to the knights near Sir Donnach. “Seize h
im!”

  No one moved.

  Gaufrid stared around in disbelief.

  Satisfaction filled Cailin the moment his uncle realized that if he refused to fight, he’d lost any hope to reclaim his people’s loyalty.

  Jaw tight, the earl withdrew his blade, glared at those around him, before meeting Cailin’s gaze. “I accept your challenge, one you will regret!”

  That Cailin doubted. He glanced back toward the main camp, noted that Rónán and the others had ridden beyond the line of trees in a show of force.

  Gaufrid stormed toward the turret. Moments later, the thud of hooves sounded, then the clatter of wood as his uncle rode over the drawbridge.

  Several riders followed, including Sir Donnach.

  Paces away, the noble dismounted, then unsheathed his weapon, his gaunt face weathered by age, his stocky frame sporting layers of fat absent in his youth. One of the guards led his horse away.

  Cailin dismounted, unsheathed his blade as he kept his eye on his uncle, his skill with a broadsword well known, nor would he trust Gaufrid to fight fair. As with the ruthless decisions of his past, the scoundrel would use any means, however deceitful, to win.

  Ready to end his uncle’s tyranny, to avenge his parents’ deaths, his grip firm on his sword, Cailin slowly began to step sideways in a circle.

  His uncle mimicked his action, keeping his weapon ready. The noble feigned to the right, then thrust.

  Cailin’s blade blocked his strike. With a snarl, he shoved him back, swung.

  The cacophony of steel crashing filled the air as each attacked over and again. A long while later, sweat streaming down his uncle’s face, Gaufrid ducked, slashed his blade in a small arc.

  Cloth fluttered in the wind as a thick line of red lay across Cailin’s arm. Blast it! He stepped away, avoided his uncle’s next strike.

  Growling, the earl rounded on Cailin. “I should have killed you myself!” Gaufrid attacked with punishing blows.

  Honed steel scraped with a violent hiss as Cailin met each assault, delivered his own, damned the pain screaming in his leg from his earlier injury. An image of Elspet’s pale face swam to his mind. He gritted his teeth and swung hard.