His Enchantment (6 page)

Her senior fey warrior nodded.

Her body trembling from her near accident, she glanced down. Stilled. Far below, the churn of water pounded with angry slaps against the banks. With each slam against boulders littered within the surging water, the spray hurled up, hard blasts of white to coat thick icicles longer than a man.

“Catarine?”

At the concern in Trálin’s voice, she met his gaze.

“We are over halfway,” he said as he gave her hand a squeeze. “You can make it.”

She nodded. If she spoke, he’d hear the fear in her voice. With her hand tight in his, she made her way across, each step as if a miracle given.

Several paces from the opposite ledge, a gust of wind slammed them.

With an ominous groan, the bridge began to rock.

“Hold the rope tight!” Trálin ordered.

Catarine’s grip on the weathered line tightened. In moments, the swaying began to gentle.

He tugged her hand.

Relief swept her as he stepped onto the opposite ledge of the gorge. Now to—

A loud rumbling echoed from above.

She glanced up.

From the top of the mountain, a huge mass of snow and debris raced down the slope, growing with each moment.

“Avalanche!” Trálin pulled her toward him. “Catarine, jump!” Fear tore through him as Catarine’s fingers clutched his, her eyes wide with terror as the avalanche grew closer. “Move, lass!”

Her body shaking, she started forward.

Snow and debris crashed against her, jerked her from his hold, and hurled her onto the rocking bridge. Bloody hell! Trálin dove. Snow slapped his face as he grabbed her hand. He caught a post wedged in the sheer rock behind him, and clung tight.

“Hold on!” His arms aching, he pulled her toward the ledge.

Clumps of snow pummeled the wooden slats of the bridge as they moved back.

A loud groan echoed.

Hemp snapped. The wood beneath her shuddered, sagged.

God no!
“The bridge is going!” he yelled. Adrenaline pumping through him, Trálin wrapped his free arm around a sturdy pole, shoved to his feet, tugged.

Catarine’s body jerked against him.

He hung on.

Barely.

The slide of snow surged around them with a thunderous roar. The upheaval slowed, then another clutter of debris-laden snow plowed into her.

Muscles in his arm burned as he strained to hold her as she was tossed out, then slammed back against the ledge.

Swinging wildly from the end of his arm, she screamed. “Trálin!”

“Hold on, lass!” He clung tight, the churn of the river raging far below like a mutilated wash of death. He would nae lose her! “Dig your foot in the snow on the side of the cliff and push!”

Through the clearing tumble of snow, dazed eyes stared at him.

Blast it. She was in shock. “Lass,” he yelled, his breaths rolling out in puffs of broken white, “Dig your foot into the bank. When I tell you to, push!”

Catarine blinked. Terror widening her eyes, she dug her boot onto a half-crumbled ledge.

“Now!” He pulled.

Face strained, she shoved. Her upper body slid up.

“Again!” he urged as he tugged.

Her breaths coming fast, she wedged her foot on a higher stone and pushed up.

Wind, bitter and cold, battered his face. He gritted his teeth, and inch by painful inch, he hauled her up.

Her foot digging closer into the top of the bank, Catarine shoved, came over the edge, and collapsed against him.

They tumbled back. Body trembling, he held her tight. He’d almost lost her. “Th-thank God you are safe.”

“I . . . My warriors!” On unsteady limbs, she pushed herself up.

He shoved to his feet.

Through the thick whirl of snow, on the opposite bank, the remnants of the wooden bridge slapped the wind-battered rock in hopeless disarray. Several warriors lay sprawled along the cliff’s edge. Sionn clung to the top of the bank, and Atair clutched a half-broken post, his feet hanging off the cliff. Atair caught Drax’s offered hand. The warrior pulled him to his feet, then both scrambled away from the ledge.

Trálin did a quick count as on the opposite bank, snow blustering past. “Miraculously, they are all alive.”

Her body trembling, Catarine cupped her hands over her mouth. “Is anyone injured?” she yelled.

One by one the warriors shook their heads.

“Thank God,” she whispered.

The image of her hanging over the ledge left Trálin shaking. “How fare thee?”

Her breaths coming fast, she nodded. “Fine.”

Worry dredging his face, her senior warrior looked across the gorge. “Any injuries?” he yelled.

She shook her head. “Nay.”

A blast of snow-laden wind battered her senior fey warrior’s face as he took in the broken bridge twisting in the wind. Then he scanned the sheer sides of the gorge before looking back. “Where can we cross?”

“You and the others will have to backtrack,” Trálin yelled back. “Once you are at the bottom of the ben, make your way around the base and come up from the south.”

A strong gust thick with snow howled past, temporarily blinding his visibility across the gorge.

When the sweep of snow cleared, Atair held his hand up to his ear. “What?”

Blast it. ’Twas difficult to talk, much less hear. Trálin gestured toward the valley from where they’d traveled, made a big half-circle with his hand. “Backtrack!”

Atair grimaced. “What about Stirling Castle?”

At the lull of the wind, Trálin cupped his hands to his mouth. “You will arrive at the base of the cliffs below Stirling Castle. Meet us there at the copse of trees.”

Atair glanced toward Catarine. “Take care!”

“I will be fine,” she called.

Atair hesitated, then gave a curt nod toward Trálin. “Keep her safe!”

Lord Grey nodded. ’Twas nae as much the fey warrior’s worry over her safety as much as her being alone with him that bothered the man. As if their separation was by choice?

With a wave, Atair turned and motioned for the fey warriors to follow. Wind swirled around them as they trudged down the icy incline toward the protection of the forest.

When the last warrior had disappeared into the thick firs, Trálin faced Catarine. “You hit the cliff hard. Are you sure you have no injuries?”

She gave him a flicker of a smile. “I am a bit shaken, but fine.”

Fine? Had he nae held her as she’d slammed against the cliff? Odds were she was injured. “Would you tell me if you were hurt?”

Blond hair torn from her braid extended against the sharp breeze in wild disarray as Catarine watched him. And remained silent.

“Blast it, being stubborn will do naught in the end but endanger your life. Lass, if you are hurt, tell me.”

“My injury is nothing so dramatic.”

As if he bloody cared about drama. “Where is it?”

She pointed to her upper right thigh. “When I slammed against the ledge, I hit a rock. I believe ’tis naught but a bruise. Had it been any more, I couldna stand.”

Stubborn to the last. “Walk with me a few steps. Tell me if you feel any sharp pains.”

Turquoise eyes narrowed. “I know how to check for injuries.”

“Do it.”

With a scowl, she took several careful steps, then shook her head. “Naught but deep soreness.”

Neither had he caught her wincing with any seriousness, exposing the sign of extreme pain. “As we travel, let me know if your injury feels worse.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you always give such dictates, Lord Grey?”

At the irritation in her voice, he shoved away a smile. “Only to those I care about.”

Frustration shadowed her eyes. “I thought we clarified that ’tis a poor decision to care about the other.”

Trálin arched a brow. “Did we agree on that?”

“We must.” Regret weighed in her voice.

“’Twould be wise.” But he found thoughts of nae thinking about her, caring, far from a choice. Nor would he reveal as much. Both had their own lives, destinies made, hers nae in this world.

With a hard swallow, she tugged her cape tighter against the slash of wind. “How long will it take my warriors to reach Stirling Castle?”

He rubbed his fingers through his beard. “Given the conditions, if they make good time, two days.”

Her face paled. “If your king does nae heed his captor’s wishes, by then he could be long dead.”

As if he bloody wasn’t aware of the fact. “Aye.”

“Do you think King Alexander will cede to his abductor?”

“Nay,” Trálin replied. “King Alexander is a proud man. He would die first.”

“Which is what is going to happen if we do nae reach him.” Catarine scraped her teeth over her lower lip. “What are we going to do?”

“I refuse to believe we will nae arrive in time,” he said. “Come, we have little time to waste. If your leg begins to hurt, tell me.”

Her mouth tightened. “There is no time for delay. If I canna keep up, leave me behind.”

He rounded on her. “We will discuss that
if
it becomes an issue.”

An issue? Her life against his king’s? Nay, the decision ’twas simple. Regardless of Trálin’s wishes, if she became a detriment to their reaching his sovereign in time, he
would
go on alone. Nae that she would tell him that now. He would waste precious time and argue.

Lord Grey started forward.

With a shaky exhale, Catarine followed as he climbed over the large banks of snow. She’d come so close to dying. When the wooden bridge had collapsed, she thought she’d fall to her death.

But he’d saved her life.

Humbled by his selfless action, she kept pace, ignoring her leg that throbbed as if beaten. ’Twas lucky an injured leg was all she suffered.

A strong gust pummeled them.

Trálin glanced up, frowned. “I had hoped to make it to shelter before the storm hit,” he shouted, his voice broken by the rush of wind.

She squinted as she searched the blur of white. “I see naught to take cover in.”

“I know of a place nearby.”

Nearby? Again she studied the battered terrain, saw naught to offer shelter. And what of those who had abducted the king and queen? Had they reached their destination? She prayed they were slowed by the storm as well.

Step by step, she forged against the howl of wind. Dark, angry clouds thickened overhead, and the light darkened to a murky gloom.

A distance down the trail, Trálin veered away and started to climb.

“Where are you going?”

“’Tis hard to see,” he called back, “but up a ways lies a cave where we can rest.”

A distance up the incline, against the blur of tossed snow, she caught the slight outline of an opening. Exhausted, Catarine followed, stepping where his boots had broken the snow.

After climbing over several large rocks, Trálin turned, extended his hand, and shot her a frown. “I know your leg is bothering you; do nae refuse my help.”

“Why would you think I would?”

He arched a brow. “Because you are stubborn, proven overmuch this day.”

She tried nae to be charmed by his concern, failed. “So I am.” She laid her hand in his.

Trálin helped her up. “Duck,” he cautioned as he led her below a large rock overhang.

They stepped inside. Blocked by the timeworn rock, the blast of wind ceased. Thankful, she took in the surroundings. At the entry of the cave, snow tumbled past, but deeper inside, a layer of dirt covered the floor, the cave large enough to fit her warriors if they had made it across. Where were they now? Had they made it to the base of the mountain? Wherever they were, she hoped they, too, had found a place to keep out of the weather to rest this night.

“Sit and rest, lass.”

With slow, aching steps, she walked toward the back of the shelter.

Trálin hurried to her side. “Let me help you.”

“Thank you.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the back.

A soft groan fell from her lips as she settled on the flat rock. Body throbbing, her mind weary with exhaustion, she closed her eyes.

Pebbles and dirt shifted, and she felt the solid warmth of his body, alerting her that he’d settled next to her. “How bad does your leg hurt?”

“A good bit. After a night’s rest, I am confident I will be able to continue.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “We will see how your leg feels in the morning. At best, ’twill be sore and stiff.”

And if she was nae fit to travel, she would remain behind.

Eyes dark with concern, Trálin watched her. “You have had a rough day of it.”

She’d fortified herself to maintain her composure, to try and keep the mayhem of this day from her thoughts, but the exhaustion and the soft concern in his voice unleashed the terror churning in her mind.

Tears burned her eyes, and her entire body trembled. “I almost d-died.”

Firm hands drew her against his chest. Tender fingers stroked her hair. “But you didna. And miraculously, no one was hurt.”

Images of the splintering bridge, the hurl of snow as the river churned far below, ravaged her mind as if a curse. A shudder tore through her. “Had we been a moment slower in crossing, had my men been closer to us—”

“But we were nae and everyone is safe.” Outside, the rush of wind roared as if a battle fought. “You are cold.” He released her and stood. After he’d removed his cloak, he tucked it around her, then sat beside her and drew the remainder around him.

“M-my thanks,” she said as she snuggled closer. “The warmth is welcome.”

“Aye.”

“As is the company.”

Desire flickered in his eyes, and her body stirred with need. With their awareness of each other, she must choose her words with care. Now was nae the time to think of him, or of their kiss. She was promised to Prince Zacheus. A fact which, when around Trálin, seemed to fade.