His Enchantment (3 page)

“Catarine,” Atair said, his words rough. “We must return. The risk is too high for us to remain
here
.”

She nodded. “Come, let us—” Wait! Why had she nae thought of it before! Mayhap the human was immune from fey magic and could indeed help?

“What is it?” Sionn asked her.

As if she could discuss anything about the Otherworld with Lord Grey standing where he might hear? They dealt with someone holding powerful magic, a fact proven by the English knights’ ability to enter the Otherworld as well as the spell-tipped arrows designed to kill the fey. But the spell that was cast to erase the trail was intended for the fey. A chance existed that the human was immune to its powers and could help.

“However slight,” Catarine said with emphasis, “a chance exists that Lord Grey can aid us in our task. And, ’tis a chance I am willing to take.”

Atair arched a doubtful brow, and Drax crossed his arms. The other fey warriors watched her, equally as unconvinced.

“I will explain more later.” And she prayed she was right.

Catarine faced Trálin. “We will aid you in freeing your king, but you must give me your word that after, you will help us as well.”

Though relieved, neither would Trálin let down his guard. Whatever the lass wished to explain to her warriors, she wanted to ensure he did nae hear. Secrets. Still, among the questions her actions raised, he sensed she was a woman he could trust, which made nae a whit of sense. But his instincts had saved his life in the past, and he’d heed them now.

He scanned the woman and her five knights. Whatever their relation, ’twas none like he’d ever witnessed between a noblewoman and her guard. “You have my word.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief.

“Since the knights who abducted the royal couple have taken them to Stirling Castle, then we will head west.” Trálin scanned the rough terrain they must cross. “On foot, ’twill take two days of hard travel.”

Lines of concern deepened on her brow. “With your injuries, a day’s rest would serve you well before we departed.”

“Mayhap,” Trálin replied, “but ’twill nae aid my king.”

“’Twould seem the Scot is as stubborn as you,” a blond-haired man said. He nodded to Trálin. “I am Sionn.”

“Sir Sionn,” Trálin replied.

“Our lead warrior”—Sionn gestured toward the outspoken black-haired man—“is Atair.”

“Sir Atair,” Trálin said, nae surprised to find the man who advised the woman and watched him with distrust was her senior knight.

Atair gave him a curt nod.

“The rest of the men are,” Sionn gestured to a red-haired man with a thick beard, “Kuricc.” With a wave, he introduced the bald warrior with a Celtic tattoo on the back of his head. “Magnus.” The man at the end of the group with his long black hair secured in a thong at his back nodded, “Ranulf.” He motioned toward a man with brown-red hair. “And Drax.”

“Good to meet you as well,” Trálin said, “and my thanks for helping free my king.”

A raven called in the distance.

Senses on alert, Lord Grey scanned the field. Emotions stormed him as he caught sight of his men slaughtered. “Before we leave, my lady, I seek your men’s aid in giving my knights a proper burial.”

Grief darkened her eyes. “Of course. I am sorry for your loss.”

The depth of her sincerity touched him. “My thanks, my lady. And I deeply regret the recent loss of your uncle as well.”

Her lower lip trembled, and she gave a solemn nod. “Lord Grey, we will be together for several days. I ask that as I bid my warriors, you call me Catarine.”

Atair’s mouth tightened with displeasure.

“Lady Catarine, ’tis my honor.” A smile touched her face, one he found he enjoyed causing. “And please, my lady, call me Trálin.”

A slight red hue slid up her cheeks. “Aye.”

“Let us begin so we can be on our way.” With somber steps, he walked with the others to where his men lay.

Hours later, the icy whip of wind cut through Catarine’s cape like daggers. Fatigue weighing her every step, she tugged the woven wool closer and continued up the steep incline. The rich tang of pine and the hint of snow filled her every breath as she moved. With her next step, she shoved aside a tree limb, pushed forward.

A gust of wind shook the limbs above.

She glanced skyward. Dark clouds thickened overhead. “’Tis going to snow.”

His breath rushing out in puff of white, Trálin nodded. “’Tis my worry. The trek to Stirling Castle will be dangerous enough without a storm slowing us down. Nor will we want the tracks we will leave in the snow exposing our approach.”

“Tell us about Stirling Castle,” Catarine said. “’Tis best if we know what we are up against.”

“’Tis a formidable stronghold,” Trálin explained. “Surrounded on three sides by cliffs. Our best hope, if we have time to wait, is to slip in beneath the cover of the night.”

“You know of a way to get in the stronghold then?” Drax asked.

“Aye,” Trálin replied.

“With Scotland’s king in residence,” Atair said, “’twill be heavily guarded.”

“Mayhap,” Trálin replied, “or confident any who witnessed the abduction are dead, they will nae bolster the strength of their guard. Regardless, ’twill be dangerous.”

“Do you know where they will be holding the king and queen?” Sionn asked.

Wind whipped past Trálin, cool air rich with the promise of winter. “I believe they would place them in the upper tower.”

A fat flake twirled past, then another, the late afternoon light shimmering through the thin weave of ice in a fluttering prism as if a spell.

As if a spell?
Bloody hell. An odd thought. Nor had he seen a fairy hill. As if he believed that the fey lived beneath the large mounds of dirt? A smile touched his mouth. Aye, he believed in the fey, but as for them living beneath the earth, ’twas naught but a bard’s tale.

Trálin glanced at Catarine. “While your warriors and I go inside Stirling Castle, you remain hidden in the forest.”

With a dismissive glance, she kept walking. “We all go together.”

“Aye,” her men agreed.

Anger swept Trálin. He shot each of the warriors a cool glance. “By God, she is a lass. I refuse to endanger her life.”

The slide of steel sounded as Catarine whirled and laid the blade against his neck. Flakes of snow plopped on the forged metal as she lifted his head slightly with the honed tip. “And a woman who can wield a weapon as well as any man.”

Stunned by the press of cold iron against his neck, Trálin stared at her. “Blast it, lass, where did you learn to handle a blade like that?” Except for the swoosh of the sword, she’d moved too quickly for him to catch her intent. However much it hurt his pride to admit, if she’d have wanted, he would now be dead.

With an indignant sniff, she withdrew her blade, then secured it in her sheath. “I am a warrior and have trained with weapons since my youth.”

From the first, he’d noted her lithe movements, and the confidence when she spoke, but he’d nae made the connection to weaponry training. It was his penance, if he was truthful, for allowing his mind to linger on the curves of her body and a voice that would seduce a saint. At Atair’s soft chuckle, he glanced at the warrior.

“Mayhap you have learned that next time you
ask
Lady Catarine, nae order her about,” the lead warrior said.

Trálin grimaced. ’Twould seem there was good reason the men hadn’t hesitated in having Catarine along. “Though the lass is quick with a blade, it still doesna mean I wish to place her in danger, nor can I forget she is nobility.”

“Enough,” Catarine stated. “I will go inside Stirling Castle. More important, the sun will be down soon. We need to cover as much distance as possible before then.”

As Trálin reached the bottom of the brae, fat flakes of snow began to fall at a steady rate covering their tracks. The land angled up. Muscles aching, his wounds throbbing with pain, he pushed on. With his next step, dizziness swept him, and he stumbled.

Drax reached out, caught him. “Steady there, Lord Grey.”

Trálin nodded. “A bit winded. My thanks.”

“Winded?” Catarine halted. “A fool can see you are weak and in pain. We will make camp here.”

“We can travel another league, mayhap two, before we lose daylight,” Trálin stated.

She angled her jaw. “We can, but I have doubts of you lasting that long before you pass out. Nor will I have my men carry you.”

“Blast it, has anyone ever told you that you have a penchant for ordering people about?” As quickly as he spoke, Trálin regretted his terse words. He needed their aid to save his king. “My lady—”

She chuckled, a wee bit at first, then gave a full-fledged laugh.

Smiles broke out on her warriors’ faces as well, except for Atair, whose grimace remained.

Irritation smothered Trálin’s regret. “I see naught that is funny.”

“You do nae know me,” she said, a smile in her eyes, “but my men do. Aye, you have the right of it. At times I tend to have my say.”

“And then some,” Sionn added, a twinkle in his eyes.

The warriors chuckled, and the tension hanging between them since they’d met lightened.

Though he appreciated the levity between her and her men, neither would Trálin relax his guard. Too many questions stood unanswered, and at every turn, he discovered that Catarine was nae the woman he’d first believed her to be. But, with his body trembling from pain and weakness, a rest would do him well.

“We will continue at first light,” Trálin agreed.

“A fine choice,” Catarine replied. As if the Scot had another? If Lord Grey had tried to continue, he would have passed out before they reached the bottom of the brae. She turned to her men. “Make camp.”

In short order, Lord Grey and her warriors used limbs to craft a large angled overhang beneath which they could all sleep. They wove boughs of fir and limbs to shield any breaks. Several times, she caught the Scot stumbling, but she held her tongue. The man did nae know that in the Otherworld, women held the same authority as men. Nor with his stubbornness would it do any good to ask him to sit down and let them finish. For the meager time they would be together, ’twas best to nae raise further questions.

As her men finished covering the top of the makeshift shelter, Catarine carried a heap of dried moss inside, and began spreading it atop the snow-dusted ground. As she patted down the last bit, the crunch of snow beneath boots sounded behind her. A smile touched her mouth. Atair had come to speak with her.

“That should give us a bit of comfort this night,” she said as she wiped her hands, stood, and turned.

Stilled.

Trálin MacGruder stood in the doorway, his gaze riveted on her, nae a man with a question, but with a look of passion. As if realizing he was staring, red slashed his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me lass. I startled you.”

“Na-Nay.” She gave him a confident smile while her insides churned with awareness. His muscled body told of a man who handled himself with pride and care. With his deftness with a blade, he was a man who none except a fool would challenge. But to a woman he offered a quick mind, protection, and a body so tempting ’twas as if carved by the gods. “I was just finishing spreading the last of the moss.” And she needed to leave before she made a foolish mistake. Like move closer.

“And doing a verra fine job,” he said, his words soft. “’Twill serve us well this night.”

Us.
The intimacy of his words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, ignited images of his mouth covering hers, and of his hands slowly caressing her with deft intent. Her body ignited with need.

Stunned, she blinked. What was going on? Never had a man affected her like Trálin. And blast it, he was a human.

And forbidden.

As if her attraction to Trálin MacGruder mattered? She was promised to Zacheus, Prince of Olghar. With the arrival of Beltane would come the time for her vows, ones nae for love, but for duty.

She forced a smile and stepped back. “We are all tired and in need of a good night’s sleep. With the falling snow, the morrow and the travel ahead will be arduous.”

“Aye, ’twill,” Atair stated from behind her.

Guilt swept her as she composed herself. “Is everything finished?” Catarine asked as she nodded to the lead warrior. He was upset to find them alone, as she should be. Except she wished for a few moments with Lord Grey, to discover the taste of his kiss.

“There are several things that I must speak to you about,” Atair replied, his voice gruff. “In private.”

Trálin stepped to her side. “My lady, do you need me to come?”

The lead warrior crossed his arms. “Nay.”

“Lady Catarine?” Lord Grey repeated, his voice hard.

Her guilt escalated. From the roughness of his voice, he wanted her still, and blast it, she wanted him as well. She forced a smile. “Nay. I will be away but a brief while.” Before she said something she’d regret, she left.

Snowflakes fat and wet spiraled before her as she stepped outside.

“This way.” Atair turned on his heel and headed toward a stand of trees a short distance away. “Everyone is awaiting
our
arrival.”

In silence she walked by his side, the blasts of snow-ridden wind a stark reminder of her reason to be here. Shame filled her. How could she think of Lord Grey as anything but a means to find her uncle’s killer? Limbs rattled overhead battered by another gust, and she tugged her cape tighter.

Atair glanced over, his face drawn. “I thought it best for you to brief the fey warriors on your suspicions.”

“My thanks.”

Atair sighed. “Catarine, he is human.”

“I know what he is.”

Her senior fey warrior slowed. “I know you care for him, as I understand you are well aware to consider helping—much less being with—a human is forbidden.”

Though her senior fey warrior, Atair was a friend, one who she turned to when she needed advice. “Our situation is critical, and my decision is one I am confident my father would make. As for my duties, I will handfast while the sun rises on Beltane.”

Sage eyes met her. “A wise decision to follow the dictate of necessity, nae that of the heart.”

“’Tis the way of my ancestors.”

He shrugged. “It does nae mean you canna wish for someone to love.”

“Like you?” she asked.

“We are nae speaking of me,” Atair replied, his voice soft with concern. “Catarine, I do nae want to see you hurt.”

“Nor will I be. We will remain away from the Otherworld for a sennight, a fortnight at most.”

“Attraction can happen in a moment. For everyone involved, I pray yours with Lord Grey will pass.”

“I will do my royal duty when the time comes.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Exhausted, she scanned the sky. Her mind churning with unwanted emotions for Trálin MacGruder, Catarine studied the top of the ben to the west where jagged peaks scraped the low sky like angry fingers of grey. A shiver whipped through her.