His Enchantment (17 page)

The man’s eyes darkened. His mouth fell open and his face contorted with pain. He stumbled back. Gritting his teeth, steadying himself, he again rushed toward him.

Trálin sidestepped the attack, barely.

Like a man possessed, the knight attacked.

Blades clashed over and again. However much Trálin wanted to take this man alive, ’twould seem whoever had put the spell on this warrior would nae allow him to be captured.

The aggressor lifted his blade.

Trálin shoved his blade deep into the knight’s exposed armpit.

Shock, then pain seared the man’s eyes. He collapsed.

“Stay back,” Catarine warned from behind him.

Lord Grey whirled toward her.

Several paces away, two English knights closed in on where they’d cornered Catarine. To her right, Atair fought a man a foot taller than himself. The other fey warriors and Scottish knights were engaged with the remaining English knights.

Curse it! Trálin bolted toward her, taking the first aggressor down with one swing.

Breaths coming fast, her eyes widened. “Behind you!”

Trálin rounded, slashed his blade across the charging man’s neck. He spun on his heel and joined the nearby Scottish knight wielding his sword who’d moved to protect her. “Catarine, get behind me.”

She hesitated. “I—”

“Now!” Trálin yelled.

With a cool look, she complied.

Trálin focused on the aggressor, thankful to hear the silence of blades around them, praying their men’s casualties were low if none.

Steps echoed.

Trálin glanced over.

Atair ran to his side.

A moment later, Drax and Kuircc joined them.

Encircled by the fey warriors, the English knight’s eyes widened.

Trálin held his gaze. “You are outnumbered, lower your sword.”

His blade held high, a dazed look shielded the knight’s eyes as he searched for a way to escape.

Bedamned, they needed answers. Trálin jumped toward the knight. Before the man could react, he laid his sword against his neck.

“I did not want to kill her,” the knight rasped.

Catarine stepped forward. “Who wants me dead?

The Englishman began to tremble with fear. “If I tell you I will die.”

Anger stormed Trálin. “And if you do nae, I will deliver the same.”

“Have m-mercy,” the Englishman begged, “you do not understand.”

“We know whoever you serve is a fairy,” Catarine stated.

The Englishman’s eyes widened with incredibility. “How?”

“It matters nae,” she stated. “Their name.”

Trálin hardened the pressure of his blade against the man’s neck. “Tell us now or . . .”

The knight swallowed hard. “El-Elspeth.”

Shock rolled through Catarine, then fury. “Where is she?”

At the knight’s hesitation, Trálin pressed the sword harder. Blood trickled out, slid down his blade, then dropped onto the frozen ground. “Tell her.”

“She is—” The knight’s face paled. His face turned a mottled shade of red, then purple. Froth oozed from his mouth. On a gasp, he grabbed for his neck as he collapsed and writhed on the ground as if a man tortured.

Trálin knelt, tried to hold the man down.

The knight’s body jerked. On a garbled breath, he stiffened, gave a desperate, bloodcurdling scream.

“Help me hold him,” Lord Grey yelled.

Atair and Kuircc rushed over. As they knelt, the Englishman’s body slumped to the ground.

A long second passed. Then another.

The man didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed.

Lord Grey pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, met Catarine’s worried gaze. “Dead.”

“Elspeth killed him,” she whispered, her voice a raw emptiness laden with heartbreak.

Unsure what was bloody going on, Trálin stood. With the emotions rolling in her voice, how her body trembled, something of great magnitude had occurred—beyond the fact the betrayer was a woman.

“Who is Elspeth?” Trálin asked.

“A woman I believed my friend,” Catarine replied. “A woman who is now my enemy.”

“You know her well then?” Trálin asked.

A shuddering breath fell from Catarine. “Aye, she is my aunt.”

The cold truth echoed through Catarine’s mind like a blade of betrayal—her aunt was behind her own brother’s death, and was plotting to kill her entire family. Hot tears rolled down her face, violent with the need for justice.

“Catarine?”

At the worry in Trálin’s voice she looked up. “I . . .” Her body began to tremble.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. Trálin started to move toward her.

Frustrated at her show of emotion, Catarine wiped the tears from her cheeks, stepped back. Never did she wish to show weakness before her men.

Understanding flickered in Trálin’s eyes and he stilled. He glanced at the others standing nearby, and then toward her.

The fey warriors remained silent; anger carved each man’s face.

Trálin scanned the surrounding rough terrain, faced her. “How did she kill the man?”

With disgust she knelt beside the dead English knight, reached beneath his tunic. Careful nae to touch the gemstone, she jerked the pendant around his neck free. Bitterness rolled through her as she stood, lifted the glowing sphere twisting at the end of the chain for all to see. “Princess Elspeth uses gemstones to control the men. ’Tis a known method of directing a person’s mind with magic.”

His mouth slamming to a frown, Atair crossed his arms. “At least now we know who is behind the attacks.”

“We do,” she agreed. A part of her struggled to believe her aunt, a woman who’d taught her to shoot an arrow and to tend wounds to prevent infection, would have turned against her family. Or had ordered her own brother murdered. Except, the final tortured admission of the dead Englishman sprawled before her was devastating proof. “I had nae thought she delved in black magic. With her ability to control from afar, she must have practiced the craft for many years.”

“Aye,” Atair agreed, “she is indeed powerful to nae be within sight and wield her will through the man.”

“Do you think she is near?” Trálin asked as he again scoured the narrowed valley.

“If so, and if she witnessed her knights’ devastation,” Catarine replied, “she is long gone.”

Lord Grey cursed. “And without knowing her whereabouts, she could be headed anywhere.”

“Except the stone circle,” Catarine stated. “The open field around it prevents her from trying to cross with us in view.” With a frustrated sigh, she laid the gemstone and chain on the dead man’s chest. “My family must be warned.”

“Aye,” Atair agreed. “Blast her traitorous heart. I will kill her with my own two hands.”

“Nay,” Catarine stated, her voice slow, even, concealing the unbound fury burning to her core. “The blade that takes my aunt’s traitorous life shall be mine.” She took a deep breath, fighting for calm. To make a decision founded in anger could put their lives at risk. If any died, ’twould be Princess Elspeth. “We must split up. Several warriors will return to—”

Stones clattered nearby.

Her hand clasping her sword, she glanced toward the sound. ’Twas the Scottish knights King Alexander had sent with them coming up the steep incline. Catarine cast a warning look to her fey warriors to say nae more.

Her warriors gave a subtle nod.

The lead Scot heading the party stopped before them, and the remaining knights halted nearby.

Lord Grey nodded to the men. “We were discussing how to proceed.”

“Aye, my lord,” the head Scottish knight replied. “We await your command.”

Thankful for his intervention, Catarine stepped forward. “We have learned that ’tis my aunt who is behind the treachery. Several of my warriors will return to my home and relay the news. The rest of us will remain together and track her down.”

Atair’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis dangerous to allow you to remain
here
without your full warrior guard.”

“But necessary,” she replied, her voice cool. “And, do nae forget that our number has been reinforced.”

“Men who are unfamiliar with our ways,” Atair said with intent, “and do nae hold their full protection for you in case of inescapable danger.”

She stiffened. Atair spoke of the gemstones her warriors wore around their necks and the power sent out to protect her when joined. Regardless of the risk, her family must be warned.

At the tense silence, expression grim, the lead Scottish knight stepped forward. “I regret to report that we lost several of my men.”

She damned her aunt’s senseless greed. Yet more unforgivable atrocities.

“Lord Grey,” she said. “Upon the completion of this mission, when you return to King Alexander with his warriors, please share my deepest regrets.”

Deep lines deepened in Trálin’s brow. “Aye.”

“Atair, Magnus, and Ranulf,” Catarine called, her voice betraying none of her angst. “Travel to my family’s hidden locations. Inform them of all we have learned. They must move to a safer hideaway.”

“With Princess Elspeth’s knowledge of the royal family’s hideouts,” Atair said, his voice tight, “as well as her powerful friends, is there truly anywhere they will be safe?”

Nausea swept Catarine at the impact of his question. She considered the places her family could retreat to in times of danger—all safe havens known by her aunt.

“I do nae know,” she replied. “Regardless, my family must be warned. My father will be out with his men; after you tell those hidden, find him.”

The three fey warriors nodded. Sadness swept her for her father. Once he learned of Princess Elspeth’s treachery, he would suffer the emotional cost of her betrayal and blame himself for missing signs of his sister’s intent. As if any within the family had held suspicions of her nefarious aspirations? ’Twould see that whatever love her aunt had once held had rotted to vicious, selfish greed.

She shoved aside anxious thoughts. “Atair, once you reach my father, the three of you will remain with him.”

Her senior fey warrior nodded. “As you request.”

Catarine glanced to Sionn, Drax, and Kuircc. “The rest of you will stay with me. If Elspeth is foolish enough to remain nearby, we will find her.”

“Take care,” Atair said, then waved Magnus and Ranulf forward. The three fey warriors worked their way down the steep slope.

How she wished she could join them, see her family, and explain everything, but she must confront her aunt.

At the bottom, the fey warriors headed toward where the English knights had entered the valley. A necessity. Once she and the others had departed, her warriors would double back and enter the stone circle.

“There are many places Princess Elspeth might hide,” Sionn said.

Catarine grimaced as she scanned the stark mountains carved against the beauty of the rugged land. “We will follow the men’s tracks to where the others joined them.”

Trálin rubbed his chin, paused. “What if the knights did nae come from her hideout?”

Frustration rolled through her. “A valid point.”

“I am bothered by the fact that the English knights know their way about Scotland with such expertise,” Trálin said.

“Given instructions I presume,” Sionn said, “’tis a logical answer.”

“Or”—Lord Grey scanned the bodies of the English knights strewn about—“mayhap they were following a map.”

Hope ignited inside her. “A map. Of course, which the lead knight should have on him. Or another of his guard. We must search them.”

A short while later, fatigue and grief weighed heavy on Catarine as she picked through the last pouch of the dead English knight before her. Blast it. Nothing.

“Here!”

At Drax’s excited cry, she shoved to her feet and hurried over.

Parchment scraped as the fey warrior unfurled the map. Analytical eyes scanned the prepared skin, his mouth tightening at the edge.

Catarine halted a pace away. “Where does it lead?”

Brows drawn, Drax handed it to her. “See for yourself.”

Uneasy, she took the map, scanned it as Trálin, Sionn, and Kuircc moved to her side.

“Bedamned,” Trálin rasped, “they came up from England.”

“How long will it take us to reach where the map ends?” she asked, her frustration matching his.

“’Tis rough terrain,” Lord Grey replied. “Three days by foot at best.”

Three days at best? Time they didn’t have.

One of the Scottish knights who stood farthest away, who she was introduced to as Sir Rogier, was kneeling beside the Englishman who’d died after he’d admitted her aunt’s name. At her gaze, Sir Rogier froze. Guilt flickered in his eyes, then he hurried to stand.

Unease slid through her. “Sir Rogier, did you find something else?”

He shook his head.

Gaze narrowed, Trálin glanced at the Scottish knight, then back to her. “Is something wrong?”

She studied the Scottish knight a moment more. It appeared that Sir Rogier was upset. “If it is of significance, I must know.”

Sir Rogier cleared his throat. “My lady, I apologize for upsetting you. ’Twas nae my intent. Neither is anything wrong.”

Trálin frowned at the knight as if unconvinced. “You are sure?”

“Aye, my lord,” Sir Rogier replied.

“I am on edge,” Catarine said. With everything to consider, how could she nae be? She focused on the map. “Lord Grey, are you familiar with the territory?”

Trálin watched the Scot a moment longer, then glanced toward her and nodded. “Aye, I will lead us there.”

Once they’d finished discussing the last few details of the upcoming journey, Lord Grey started south with the rest following close behind.

As they picked their way through the sweep of land, at the bottom of the valley, Catarine glanced down to avoid a jutting rock. She frowned. “Odd, I would have thought we would see footsteps of the English knights.”

Several paces away Sionn studied the rough terrain. “As I.”

“What do you mean?” Trálin asked.

Stunned, she stared at him. “You see tracks?”

“Aye,” Lord Grey replied. “They are clear enough.”

She turned to Drax and Kuircc. “Do you see them?”

“Nay,” they replied in unison.

Catarine looked at Scottish knights. “Do you?”

Confusion on their faces, the Scots nodded.

Stunned, she met Sionn’s grim expression. “’Tis the same as before.” Confirmation magic had indeed erased the trail, but only to the fey. What other unwelcome surprises lay in store?

Frozen ground cracked beneath his boots as in the fading sunlight, Trálin shoved up the steep incline, the whirl of snow rushing past. His legs ached from the hours they’d moved at a grueling pace. With a deep breath, he pushed on.

The earlier revelation that only he and the Scots were able to see the footsteps haunted his mind. How did one deal with magic, or exactly what it entailed? Another brutal gust battered him. He tugged the hood of his cape lower over his face, continued up.

“Can you see the top?” Catarine called from behind him.

He glanced back, frowned at the shards of ice misting her brows, and those clinging to the strands of hair that’d broken free from her braid during over the hours of hard travel. “We are almost there.” At her nod, he found another foothold, moved on. Several steps later, he reached the pinnacle. Through the blowing snow, he scanned the weathered land, scoured the brutal gouges carved by rain and time. In the distance, he caught the distant roll of waves upon the shore.

“I can see the ocean,” Catarine said, her breaths coming fast as she halted at his side.

Trálin savored the faint tang of salt in the air, a fresh scent he always enjoyed. “I wanted us to reach the ocean before it grew dark.” The reason he’d pushed them so hard.

She scrutinized the churning sky, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. The snowstorm had been growing worse throughout the day. “We canna push on much longer.”

Trálin pointed toward where remnants of haphazard stone near the shore struggled toward the sky. “See the outline in the distance beyond the next ridge?”

She nodded.

“’Tis an abandoned castle,” he explained. “Parts of the internal walls have collapsed, but ’twill offer an excellent shelter. Though the storm will help shield us, we can nae build a fire. Other Englishmen who serve Princess Elspeth might be nearby.”

Catarine surveyed the land in a slow sweep. “We canna be too cautious.”

“A break from the wind will be welcome enough,” Sionn stated as he paused beside Catarine.

“With the fierce storms known about Scotland,” Trálin said, “my worry is that ’twill nae only slow us, but force us to remain here for days.”

Her mouth tightened. “Then we must continue on.”

With her uncle murdered, several of the Scottish knights dead, and her aunt behind the mayhem, Trálin understood her frustration. Neither would he allow her to make a dangerous choice. “We are all tired. ’Twill soon be night. In the morning, after a good night’s sleep, if indeed the storm makes our travel treacherous, then we will reconsider our plans.”

With a cool glance, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Nay arguments,” Lord Grey said, “you are exhausted and all but ready to fall down.” Before she could reply, he started down the next decline.

“Stubborn you are,” she called from behind him.

He shot her a smile. “That I am.”

As they reached the top of the next gouge of land, in the haze of the oncoming night, a rugged path worn by years of travel came into view. Hewn steps of stone led to the decaying walls of a once grand castle.

Breaths rolling out in a mist of white, Catarine halted beside him. “We made it.”

“With the snow falling harder,” Trálin said, “we arrived just in time.”

The echo of waves slamming against the sheer rock beyond the walls grew louder as Catarine walked beneath the gatehouse. With each step the smell of the sea and decaying grass grew stronger, the cold biting her lungs.

Fatigue rolling through her, she halted at the bailey’s entrance. Amidst the flakes of snow, somber greys of smothered light illuminated the muddle of stones long since toppled from the walls. Half-standing buildings stood helpless against the whip of wind while fragments of stone, wood, and abandoned household items from prior residents littered the ground.