His Enchantment (18 page)

“If the door to the gatehouse still is intact, we must secure it,” Catarine said. Thankfully, after prying the rusted gate loose, they moved beneath the gatehouse, then secured it.

“This way,” Trálin directed as he strode toward the keep. The door to the central portion of the fortress lay open in tatters. Perhaps destroyed during a skirmish? Little else explained such desecration, but with the exterior walls intact, the haphazard remnants would indeed provide welcome shelter.

Inside the remaining walls of the keep, a large hearth stood empty, the charred walls and remnants of wood proof that once life had flourished here.

Wind howled overhead. A burst of snow swirled above and the spray of flakes tumbled down around them.

“We can bed down here,” Trálin said as he reached the far wall. “Once we eat, we will set up guards to keep watch throughout the night.”

“Sionn and I will take the first shift,” Catarine stated. However much she wished to be with Trálin, the last thing she wanted was to inadvertently expose her men to any hint of how close they’d become.

Trálin nodded. “One of the Scottish knights and I will take over at matins.” The other men volunteered for the remaining hours.

Though her body ached and she wanted only to sleep, Catarine worked alongside the men to set the wine, bread, and dried meats out for everyone to eat. After she finished her meal, she wiped her hands, frustrated it had grown dark so fast.

“Are you ready?” Sionn asked.

She nodded and stood.

With shards of moonlight spilling between the breaks in clouds, they headed toward the decaying turret. The soft tap of their boots upon eroded stone echoed up the spiral walls as they started up. As they reached the wall walk, Catarine halted beside her friend, the broken landscape to the west, the rush of waves slamming against the sheer cliffs to the east making her catch her breath.

“’Tis amazing,” Sionn said, “one that reminds me of the cliffs of my youth.”

“Aye.” Though wind screamed past, the blasts of snow like shards of ice, neither could detract from the magnificence before her. “’Tis easy to see why this land was chosen to build a fortress. With the rocks jutting from the water along the coast, no enemy could slip in from the ocean, nor any contingent reach the gates to the west without being seen.” She exhaled. “’Twould take years to see every sight around us, then I doubt one person would see it all.”

Surprise flickered in her friend’s eyes. “You like it here then?”

“I do,” she replied, her voice rough with wishes of things that never could be. “Never will I forget the time spent here.”

“You mean your time with Lord Grey?”

With a quiet inhale, she met Sionn’s searching gaze. So, as Atair, he’d heard her speaking to Trálin in his chamber.

“How can I forget a man who saved my life?” she asked. “A man who like this rugged land moves me as no other.”

“Catar—”

“I know my duty to wed Prince Zacheus,” she interrupted with soft regard. “And as I assured Atair, regardless of my feelings for Lord Grey, I will see it through.”

In the errant wisps of moonlight, sad lines touched his brow. “Never did I question that you would do what was right. Know this, I have met many a man, but the earl is one of the finest. He is a warrior to admire, and a man of his word. With how deeply you care for him, I wish you could follow your heart.”

Her chest squeezed at his words. “We canna always have what we wish for, can we?”

“Your wishes,” Sionn said, his words somber, “I would like to see granted.”

Her throat tight with emotion, she scanned the rock and turf and snow-covered land. Caught within the wind, wisps of salty spray reached her. Catarine savored the rich taste, that of freedom and the rugged land below. With ease she could see herself remaining in Scotland.

“I know ’tis difficult,” Sionn said. “But with the way I catch Lord Grey looking at you when he thinks none are watching, neither will he forget you.”

“Why does it seem we meet the person we were meant to be with at the most ill-opportune time?”

He shrugged. “Who knows why life offers the challenges it does?”

“Challenges?”

“Aye,” Sionn replied. “Problems perplex us, challenges we can overcome.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “You are a philosopher now?”

Humor twinkled in his eyes. “When the time calls for it.”

A thick flake twirled past, then another. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

She straightened, searched the rough sweep of land. “Thunder when it is snowing?”

“Odd indeed.” Sionn pointed toward the west, where a flicker of lightning illuminated the sky. A moment later, another echo of thunder sounded. He grimaced. “I willna miss the unusual weather outside of the Otherworld.”

“Nay,” she replied, sadness slipping into her voice, “that I willna miss. Once I wed, will you continue to guard me at my new home?”

“Will Prince Zacheus allow that?”

At his question, Catarine paused. “He will accept that I will keep my personal guard.” But she wasna sure. Before, having accepted her fate to wed to bring peace between their lands, she’d nae given much thought of her life after she’d wed. She’d assumed if they chose, her fey warriors would stay with her and protect her in her new home.

What other details had she nae considered? As if she wanted to think about being another man’s wife. The thought of the prince touching her with any intimacy made her cringe. Trálin had made her feel special, a woman cherished, their time together making her yearn to be with him forever.

How could she allow another man to join with her in the night? But the prince would require that she give him an heir. If she gave birth to a princess, with him an only child, Prince Zacheus would insist on his marital rights until she provided him with a son.

Numb, she scanned the rugged land, the churn of dark clouds casting large flakes of snow. Indeed she wished for a child, one with Trálin’s green eyes, a child born from their love.

Breaks in the clouds overhead flooded the land with moonlight. A blur of movement flickered on a nearby hilltop.

A moment later, another shadowed figure followed.

“Sionn,” she said, her words tumbling out, “men are creeping up on the hill to the south.”

Boots grated on stone as she leaned closer to the shambles remaining of the wall walk. “’Tis the English! How could they have bloody found us?”

“I am unsure,” she replied. “We must warn the others we are—”

A man halted at the top of the hill, waved his arms forward. “Attack the castle!”

Yells echoed from outside the castle walls as Catarine bolted toward the decaying steps of the turret.

In the fractured play of moonlight and shadows, an arrow hissed past.

She ducked, reached the turret, then hurried down. “We are under attack!” she yelled as she ran into the great room.

Illuminated by the wisps of moonlight streaming through the holes in the ceiling, the men scrambled to their feet.

“How many are there?” Trálin asked as he and the others withdrew their swords.

“I am unsure,” Catarine replied to the gathering men. “Sionn is holding off those trying to scale the walls to the west, but he needs help.”

A boom echoed at the gatehouse.

Wood shuddered, groaned.

“They are smashing through the entry!” she gasped.

“I will aid Sionn on the wall walk.” Drax ran toward the turret.

“Sir William,” Trálin ordered, “take three men to close the entry and protect the gatehouse. Catarine, Sir Rogier and I will defend the southern portion of the castle walls. Everyone else, stay in pairs and fend off anyone who tries to enter elsewhere.”

“Aye, my lord,” Sir William and the other knights replied in unison. The Scots hurried toward their destinations.

“Come!” Trálin bolted toward the southern portion of the steps to the wall walk.

Yells and shouts rang from outside as Catarine raced beside him, Sir Rogier in their wake. “With the blowing snow filling in our tracks as we traveled, how could they have found us?”

“They should nae have been able to,” Trálin replied, and wove around a large chunk of fallen stone.

The slap of their footsteps echoed as they ran up the steps, fell away where the stone walls had crumbled to expose the snow-laden fields beyond. A moment later, the crenellations topping the wall of the southern exposure came into view.

At a break in the crumbling structure, in the fragments of moonlight, as she glanced over the edge and made out several men. “They are near the top of the collapsed portion of the walls!”

“Grab rocks,” Trálin called. “We must hold them off.”

Her muscles screamed as she lifted nearby stones toppled from a battle long ago and tossed them over the edge.

At her side, Trálin and Sir Rogier followed suit, half-rolling, half-shoving large rocks to the crenellations, then pushing them over.

The clatter of stone and screams from below melded with the whip of wind.

Lifting another rock, she turned, shoved it to the edge. As she reached to grab another stone, she caught the shadow of a man moving up the exterior wall on her left. Angling her body, she shoved the stone toward him.

The man’s scream rent the air.

Solid booms echoed from the gatehouse.

“Blast it,” Trálin spat as he threw another rock, “From the sounds of it, they are close to destroying the entry!”

“Once we are finished here”—she lifted another large stone over the side—“we will join them.” She shoved.

A gut-wrenching scream pierced the night as the attacker plummeted to the rubble far below.

“I see no one else coming up,” Trálin said as he surveyed fragments of moonlight scraping the wall.

“Mayhap they have given up trying to scale the wall,” Catarine replied, “and are joining forces outside the gatehouse to break through.”

“Aye,” Lord Grey agreed. “Come, we must help—”

“Agh!” Sir Rogier screamed.

Catarine whirled, stilled. “Mother of God!”

At the shock in her voice, Trálin spun on his heel.

His face carved in pain, the Scottish knight grabbed at his throat.

Bedamned, he thought they’d stopped all the men scaling the castle wall. “Are you hit?” Trálin asked as he strode toward Sir Rogier, searching for an arrow, finding naught.

“Look around his neck!” Catarine gasped.

Trálin halted, glanced lower. “Something is glowing.”

“A gemstone,” she replied, her words filled with dread. “Remember after the battle with the English knights, how Sir Rogier acted apprehensive when I caught him kneeling beside the dead man?”

“Aye,” Trálin replied.

“He must have seen me leave the gemstone on the dead English knight,” she explained. “Believing it held worth, he removed it. Once we started our journey, he must have held the chain and slipped it over his head. And, it was the reason the men found us.”

“Which makes bloody sense,” Trálin agreed.

“We must take it off before it kills him,” Catarine warned.

As it had the other man who’d died a tortured death. Bedamned! Trálin reached for the chain.

Eyes wide, the Scottish knight jerked back, shoved to his feet, and drew his blade.

“What in bloody hell?” Trálin demanded.

“Watch out!” Catarine screamed.

Sword held high, Sir Rogier charged Lord Grey.

Trálin deflected his blade, keeping his body between the knight and Catarine. “Put your weapon down,” he ordered the Scot.

“He can nae hear you,” Catarine yelled.

In the whisper of moonlight, Trálin understood. The knight’s dull eyes stared at him, glazed with pain and confusion, the gemstone glowing with a fierce light at his neck.

“My aunt controls him.”

With a yell, the knight raised his sword, again charged.

Sparks streaked into the murky night as their blades scraped over and again. Using his full strength, Trálin blocked his swing, then shoved the Scottish knight back.

Catarine moved to his side.

“Stay behind me!”

She readied her blade. “’Twill take both of us. We must hold him down and cut the necklace off, or he will continue to attack until we are both dead.”

Bloody damn.

The Scottish knight regained his balance. Wild eyed, he raised his sword, charged.

Trálin deflected his blade, blocked the middle of his sword with his own. Hand trembling with effort, he pushed.

Sir Rogier lost his balance, stumbled back.

Before the knight regained his balance, Trálin dove atop him.

Arms guided by evil magic clasped around his neck, rolled him over.

In the fragments of moonlight, he caught the blur of Catarine jumping on the Scottish knight’s back.

Trálin struggled to throw the knight off, failed.

The knight’s body twisted as he released his neck with one hand and reached toward Catarine.

Nay!
Trálin fought to break free of the man’s inhuman hold as he struggled to breathe.

The knight’s hand around Trálin’s neck tightened.

Sir Rogier’s face dimmed before him.

Catarine’s blade flashed in the moonlight.

The glowing stone tied to the leather strap around Sir Rogier’s neck slipped to the ground. In the waver of eerie light, confusion filled the Scottish knight’s eyes, then he collapsed.

Catarine grabbed the strap of the gemstone, flung it over the wall.

Coughing, gasping for breath, Trálin sat up. He rubbed his neck. “You shouldna have jumped atop of him.”

“A fine thank-you indeed.”

Humbled, Trálin accepted Catarine’s hand and stood. “My thanks. Still, you shouldna have risked your life.”

“And let him kill you?” She released his hand, stepped back. “Admit it,” she demanded, her voice a blend of anger and fear. “You are only upset because you didna protect me.”

The Scottish knight groaned.

“He is coming to.” Catarine knelt by his side.

Sir Rogier rubbed the back of his neck and stared up confused. “What happened?”

“You attacked Lord Grey,” she stated.

Disbelief widened the knight’s eyes as he sat. “Please, tell me ’tis a lie?”

“’Tis truth,” Trálin’s said, indeed irritated that he’d nae protected Catarine.

“My lord, my deepest apologies,” he rasped. “I dinna know why I would do such a traitorous act.”

“You took a pendant from one of the English knights, did you nae?” she asked.

The knight hesitated, then looked down. “Aye.”

Trálin strode to the man. “Why?”

“I d-didna intend to.” His face filled with regret, Sir Rogier glanced at each of them, then shook his head. “My fingers bumped against the strap holding the gemstone. I canna explain except to say that at that moment, I had to have it.” He paused. “I know it sounds as if a lie crafted, but I swear to you both, ’tis truth.”

Catarine hissed, met Trálin’s hard gaze. A spell, she mouthed.

Lord Grey gave a curt nod.

“My lady,” the knight pleaded, “please forgive me. Never have I done such before or can believe I have. ’Tis shame on my family I bring.”

Yells and the clash of blades echoed below.

Trálin glanced toward the gatehouse. “’Tis done. We must join the others before the English break inside.”

“Indeed.” The Scot shoved to his feet, wavered a bit, then hurried down the steps.

“’Twas a spell,” Catarine explained to Trálin. “Once Sir Rogier’s fingers brushed against the stone, ’twas the connection my aunt needed to link with his mind.”

“Why would she want me dead?” Trálin shook his head. “I have more questions, but first we must help the others.” He bolted for the turret and prayed they would indeed overcome the attackers this night.

Purple streaks haunted the morning sky as Catarine completed one last check of her mount’s saddle, the shambles of the castle sprawled in her wake. Without the reinforcements of the Scottish knights, too easily it could have been them lying dead. Overwhelmed by the emotions from the last few hours of battle, of how her aunt’s treachery had left many more men dead, she laid her head on her steed’s withers.

“Are you ready to depart?” Trálin asked as he walked up to his mount secured nearby.

At the exhaustion in his voice, guilt swept her, and she glanced toward him. “I am.”

Trálin checked his steed’s cinch, then glanced over. “’Tis a boon the English knights rode in to attack us. With their horses, ’twill cut down the time of our travel.”

“Indeed.”

Shrewd eyes studied her. “What is wrong?”

She took a steadying breath, rubbed her mount’s withers. “So many lives have been lost because of my aunt’s greed.”

“Her choice,” Trálin stated, anger brisk in his voice.

“’Tis, but I canna understand how she could make such a decision. Even the loss of one life outweighs whatever her goals of wealth or power could offer.”

He grunted. “Sadly, for many, greed smothers any care for the atrocities committed against others.”

A horse whinnied from the far end of the dilapidated stable.

For a moment she took in fey warriors working along with the Scottish knights as they finished preparing their mounts for the ride ahead.

“Catarine?” Trálin asked.

She met his gaze, his weariness a trait they all shared. “Aye?” “A question haunts me. If your aunt controls the person wearing the gemstone, why would she direct the Scottish knight to ensure that I am dead?”

With all of the mayhem of the past few hours, she’d nae pondered his earlier question. Except now, with the English knights dead and a token of calm rumbling around them, his reminder sent shivers of dread through her.

“You are right. Beneath my aunt’s influence, the Scottish knight should have tried to kill me. It makes nay sense that your life would be at risk. ’Tis nae as if my aunt knows you, or that you and I . . .” Fear crawled through her like acid, destroying her every shard of calm with painful intent.

And she knew.

Understood with shuddering clarity.

Green eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

Her body trembled as she held Trálin’s gaze, wanting to be wrong, but ’twas the only answer. “My aunt is aware of my feelings for you.” Her whisper clattered against the silence as if crystals shattering upon rock.

“How would she?” he asked. “We are nae from the same world.”

“’Tis because of the stone,” she explained. “’Twould seem, when the gemstone is worn around a person’s neck, she can see what the wearer sees and somehow sense what others around the person are feeling.”

Skepticism darkened his gaze. “It sounds incredible.”

“Aye,” she agreed, shaken by this unforeseen threat. “I have heard of this before, but only in those who have immense power. ’Tis so rare, I thought the ability a myth of fables. But, ’twould seem ’tis true.”

“And you never suspected?” Trálin asked.

“Nay.” She stroked her mount’s neck, her fingers shaking. “All my life I thought my aunt was a bit different, her travels without proper chaperone earning many a censure from my grandparents. Except, I doubt even they, or any in my family, knew that she had immersed herself in the art of black magic.”

He gave a rough sigh. “I understand nae wanting to see a darker side to those we love. Though, it sounds as if your aunt kept her studies secret.”

She nodded. “A wise choice, as she would have been cast out of the Otherworld if my family had learned the truth.”

“As if the news will nae earn her the same now?”

“It will”—Catarine’s hand stilled—“if my family lives.”

Snorts of horses broke the tense silence.

Trálin cleared his throat, then glanced around the dilapidated stable. “The men are almost ready to go.”

’Twas only moments until they departed. She must tell him. “Trálin,” she said, her mind weighted with guilt, “when I first asked you to aid us, never did I mean to endanger your life.”

Tenderness touched his face as he laid his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “More than once you have risked your life for me as well, a fact I deeply regret.”

She withdrew her hand, fisted it at her side. “But I lived. With Princess Elspeth aware of your importance to me, the more I weigh the circumstance, the more I fear ’tis a fact she will use.”

Shrewd eyes studied her. “How so?”