His Enchantment (9 page)

She lay still.

Fear tore through him. Damning the risk, he leaned forward and lifted his legs to increase his speed. The rush of snow hurled past him. Every jolt and bump tossed him, but he shifted his weight and arms to slide faster.

At the bottom as the land began to curve up, he slowed to a stop. Frantic, Trálin jumped to his feet. He stumbled, caught himself, and bolted toward where she lay. Breaths falling out in bursts of white, he knelt beside her, lay his palm on her shoulder. “Catarine?”

She moaned.

Emotion choked him. Thank God she was alive! With a gentle touch, he moved his hands over her body to ensure nothing was broken. A miracle that he felt naught out of place.

“Catarine,” he urged, needing her to open her eyes, to talk to him. Too many times had he witnessed knights injured in the cold who’d fallen asleep never to awake. “Catarine, can you hear me?”

As if a gift, turquoise eyes met his. “I-I lost my footing,” she breathed. “I tried to catch myself but . . .”

Her pain-filled whisper shook him to the core. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” she rasped.

“When I checked you, I did nae feel anything broken.”

She closed her eyes, and then opened them. “Bruises, then.” A whisper of a smile graced her mouth. “I should have been more careful.”

“Careful?” he muttered, anger taking hold that she’d blame herself with the dangerous footing. “’Tis icy and the wind is howling like an ornery old woman. In the slippery conditions, you did the best you could.”

Another shiver tore through her body. “So c-cold.”

Bedamned, she needed to be out of this wind. Trálin glanced toward Stirling Castle seated on the hill above them. Once inside the secret passage, he could use his body heat to warm her.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” she asked.

He glanced toward the castle, caught no sign of moment. “Nay. If so, we would have heard them sound the alarm by now. Can you stand?”

“I-I think so.”

Ignoring the aches battering his body, Trálin helped her to her feet. “Take it slow. You had a hard fall.”

As she pushed up, her legs gave.

He caught her, set her on the ground. Blast it, he’d missed an injury. “Where does it hurt?”

She rubbed her right thigh. “When I tumbled over the stones, I must have hit my leg.”

“Aye, you had a rough fall. Unfortunately, ’twill hurt for several days.” Trálin slid his arms beneath her, then picked her up.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you into the secret passage.”

“I can walk.”

“Aye,” he agreed dryly. With her shivering in his arms, he started walking.

With a groan, she laid her head against his chest. Her teeth began to chatter. “How much farther?”

“See the large fir ahead?”

She nodded.

“The secret entrance lies behind it.” Once inside and safe, if she was too sore to move, he’d leave her with oatcakes and water, then set about freeing the king and queen. Once they’d returned, they’d decide the best way to meet the fey warriors.

“There is a lot of snow around the fir,” she said.

He scanned the drifts over their destination, frowned. “Aye.” More than he wished to see.

“There is a road beyond. It leads to the castle, does it nae?”

“It does,” he replied. “Once we make it past this tree, keep watch for a stone that looks as if it is a cross.”

“A stone that looks like a cross? Wouldna such a bold display be noticed by the castle guard and under suspect?”

“The stone stood here long before they built Stirling Castle. The weave of rock was crafted by wind, rain, and time,” he explained. “Any suspicion held is long past.”

“Interesting.”

He shrugged. “It is. Some say ’twas left here by the fey.”

“You jest?”

“Nay,” he replied, “the Scots are a suspicious lot.”

Catarine shivered.

Bedamned, she needed to be warmed. What he wouldn’t give for a fire within a chamber awaiting them. Except little time remained for such luxury. The entire mission must be finished before the break of dawn. “We will be inside the secret passage soon.”

She nodded.

His admiration for her grew. Few women would endure what she had without complaint. Relief swept him as they reached the firs. Soon he’d have her out of the wind. He ducked beneath the thick, needled branches, and snow shuddered like a white mist around him.

She gestured ahead. “Is that the cross over there?”

He glanced to where she pointed. As he’d remembered, a stone jutted from the earth, now white beneath the assault of winter. Halfway up the stone, chiseled pieces crafted the upper half of a Celtic cross. Every time he’d seen the stone, it always reminded him of forbidden worlds merging. With her explanation of some of the fey cast out of the Otherworld for revealing the secret of handfasting, ’twould seem the mystery behind whoever had made this was solved.

At the half-carved cross he halted. Wind whipped loose snow against his face as he set her on her feet.

Except for a slight grimace, she stood fine.

“Wait here,” Trálin said.

She looked around. “Where is the entry?”

“See the large boulder by the firs?”

Catarine nodded.

“’Tis ten paces to the west from the cross.”

Intrigue lit her face. “Where no one would ever think to look.”

“Aye.” He stepped back. “’Twill take but a moment.” He headed to the back of the cross, started walking. Ten paces in, he leaned down, brushed away the snow.

The crunch of steps sounded behind him.

He glanced over, found Catarine walking toward him. Trálin focused on digging deeper in the snow.

She halted at his side.

Against his ministrations, the ice-crusted snow broke into little chunks. He muttered a curse, removed his dagger, and jabbed it into the frozen mix.

“Do you want me to help?”

“Nae.” Beneath his blade, the icy snow gave way to a slick sheet of ice. His gut sinking, he sat back. “The entry is frozen over.”

“Will you be able to open it?”

Frustrated, he glanced up, her face barely visible in the dimming twilight. “Aye, but ’twill take a long time.” Time—with her shivering from the cold—they didna have.

Teeth chattering, she knelt and withdrew her blade. “Then we will work together.”

Trálin hesitated, then nodded.

Shards of ice flew beneath their daggers, but as the last of the daylight gave way to the haze of night, a thick slab of ice still lay between them and the opening.

“Catarine, stop.”

“What?” she asked, her voice weary.

He blew out a rough breath. “We canna get inside.”

“Then how are we going to get into Stirling Castle?”

Damning the entire situation, he took her hand. “The only way left.”

“And that is?” she asked.

He helped her stand. “Through the castle entry.”

A pace away from Lord Grey, Catarine stared at him in disbelief. Was he daft? Her body shaking against the cold of the night and aching from her terrifying slide down the steep incline, she shoved to her feet.

“You expect to enter Stirling Castle th-through the main entry?” Catarine shook her head. “’Tis insane.”

“And the only way.”

She shivered as the snow swirled past, the bitter wind relentless. “As if the guards are going to let you in with but a wee request?”

“Nae for me, but us. And,” he said before she could speak, “they will.”

The determination in his voice shook her. Concerned for her, and with little hope of protecting them if the guards became suspicious, he feared for her life to where he risked capture, or even death. Her throat tightened at his selflessness. Humbled by his caring, more by his bravery, she nodded.

He withdrew his dagger.

Confused, she frowned. “Why do you need your weapon now?”

He placed the blade in her hands, curled her fingers around the hilt. “As we discussed before, I must change my appearance to nae be recognized. Though far from the place I’d choose, I need you to shave my beard.”

Her fingers trembled on the forged handle. “I said naught before as I believed we would have the advantage of the secret tunnel. Already if a guard sees you alone in the castle, more so with the king and queen held within, they would challenge you if nae raise the alarm.”

“I expect as much, and while inside I will try to ensure I am nae seen.”

“How can you avoid being seen by going through the main entry? I think ’tis p-prudent that we continue breaking the ice away from the secret entry.”

“And chance your freezing to death?” he asked, anger storming his voice. “’Tis a risk I refuse to take. Begin shaving me, lass.”

As if the blasted, stubborn Scot would see reason? In the first shimmers of moonlight beneath the clear sky, she placed the honed blade against his skin and scraped over his firm jaw. The first lengths of his beard curled free, then were swept away by the wind. With each stroke his squared chin came into view. As she finished, she studied his face in the growing moonbeams, the strong lines a fine portrayal of this warrior. Too aware of him, Catarine continued in silence.

As she took the last stroke, a chill swept her. Fingers trembling, she wiped the blade upon a bit of cloth, then handed it to him. “’Tis done.”

With a curse, he sheathed his blade, then swept her into his arms.

Catarine tried to fight him, but she began to shiver uncontrollably. For a moment the newborn night blurred, then her lids drooped. Groggy, she laid her head against his chest.

Trálin muttered a curse as he continued to walk. Her body was growing too cold. “Do nae go to sleep.”

She shuddered in his arms, her lids threatening to again slide down. “I find myself so tired.”

At her weakening voice, terror ripped through him. “Aye, and we will be before a warm fire soon enough, and then you can sleep.” A lie, but he’d tell her anything to keep her awake. Naught guaranteed the guard would allow them in. “You must stay awake.”

Silence.

“Promise me,” he stated, his voice firm.

“I—I will.”

As if he bloody believed her? With her shaking in his arms, he hurried up the slope toward Stirling Castle. With each step along the snow-covered road, he prayed she’d live; with each league closer, he worried they might be killed by suspicious guards upon their arrival.

He cast aside the tale of them being married. If the guards did nae believe him, he wanted no tie of her to him. But what? A simple story would do. He’d explain how he found her freezing and wandering about. As long as the castle guards thought her nae with him, they would give her shelter. And in time, her fey warriors would find and rescue her. In brief, he described his plan to Catarine.

Her moves sluggish, she gave a slow nod of understanding.

Bedamned, never should he have asked for her and her warriors’ aid. He’d done naught but put their lives at risk.

The curve of ground angled up, and captured by the sheen of the moon, the daunting fortress he’d visited many times came into full view. Except this time, if the guards learned who he was, he could very well be killed.

Catarine shivered in his arms, and he glanced down. “Are you awake, lass?”

In the moonlight, dazed eyes stared at him.

“Lass?”

“Aye,” she replied, her voice slurred.

Bloody hell! Many a time in the winter he’d witnessed warriors taken over by the cold. Slurred speech and the inability to stay awake often foretold their freezing to death.

His legs protesting, he pushed up the steep incline faster.

Cast in the moonlight, fierce stone walls towered before him, imposing culled stone designed to intimidate.

Wind whipped past as he approached the gatehouse.

“Halt, who goes there?” a guard yelled from the wall walk above.

Trálin stopped, looked up. He made out a faint outline of the guard. “A trader. I came across this lass on the icy roads early this morning. Her wagon was destroyed, and her horse had run away. Due to the length we have traveled, she is near frozen and needs warmth posthaste.”

Silence.

“Please, let us in,” Trálin called up. “If she remains outside much longer, she will die.”

“Is anyone else with you?” Suspicion echoed in the guard’s voice.

“Nay.” And why would their appearance nae raise doubts? The guards held Scotland’s king and queen inside and would have been warned to be on alert for anything suspicious.

Long moments passed.

“Open the gates,” the guard yelled from above.

A creak, then a telltale rattle of chains echoed into the windswept night. With a clunk, the forged-iron gate clamored closed.

Catarine groaned as he hurried forward. “Steady now, lass, we are almost inside.”

“Halt!” a deep voice boomed.

Trálin stopped inside the gatehouse. At least they were out of the wind. “The lass is freezing.”

“I know what you stated,” the guard replied. “Remain there.” The slap of footsteps on cobblestone echoed as he drew close. Fractured light from the torch scraped the curved walls with ominous lashes at his approach. Several more paces and the guard paused. He lifted the torch high. Wary eyes scoured Catarine’s pale face, then shifted to him. “Your name.”

“Fergus Anecol,” he replied, remembering having met a trader in a Highland village who had helped him many times over. If the name was recognized, odds were they would remember the man being a trader. But, with Fergus selling his wares to the north of Scotland, they would nae know the man’s description.

The guard grunted. “Never have I heard your name.”

Terrified he would refuse them entry, Trálin allowed his fear to reach his voice. “The woman is dying. I will answer any questions later. Please, let us inside. She needs warmth.”

A muscle worked in the guard’s jaw. “There is little room inside for travelers.”

Aye, the guard was under orders to use caution with who was allowed within Stirling Castle. “Please, anyplace where she can be warm will be enough.”

With a suspicious eye, the guard scanned the road beyond, a wash of yellow torchlight flickering across a long scar over his left cheek that’d long since healed. Far from looking pleased, he spun on his heel, started off at a fast clip.

“Follow me,” the guard snapped.

Relief swept through Trálin as he hurried after the guard.

Inside the bailey, instead of turning toward where the horses were bedded where he’d expected they would be settled, the knight headed toward the keep.

Thank God in heaven. Within she would have heat. He glanced at Catarine. Her pallor beneath the torchlight ignited a new round of fear. “Lass, wake up.”

Tired eyes flickered open. “Where are we?” she whispered.

“Stirling Castle,” he replied in a low voice. “Soon you will be warm.”

She started to nod, but ended up shivering.

Bedamned! At the top of the steps, the guard swung the keep door open, gestured them inside.

Grateful, Trálin carried her in.

“Go near the hearth,” the guard said, his voice gruff. “You will sleep there for the night.”

“My thanks,” Lord Grey replied.

The guard’s face grew taut. “Do nae go anywhere else until you depart.”

“We willna.”
Until Catarine is able to move.

The fierce-looking man watched them for a long moment. “If I find you have left the great room, regardless if you do nae know the woman, you both will be killed.”

Trálin gave a curt nod. Aye, the man was nae taking any chances.

The guard opened the door, strode out, then slammed it shut. Against the torchlight spilling from the sconces on the wall, snow that’d slipped in near the entry spiraled in a hazy wash, then drifted to the floor.

With Catarine trembling in his arms, he walked toward the roaring fire in the hearth. As he neared, several dogs lying near the flames raised their heads, sniffed. With no food offered to them, the mongrels settled back onto the floor and closed their eyes.

In the flicker of light, he noted that scattered about, several women along with their children lay nearby. With the chores finished for the night, the staff would seek the fire’s warmth to sleep.

As he neared, he caught the scent of meat and herbs from the earlier meal. His stomach growled. The last time they’d broken their fast had been midday with oatcakes. Mayhap he could talk one of the women within the chamber to fetch Catarine some warm food? ’Twould help her recover.

At their approach, the woman closest to him with her grey hair braided stood and gave them a measuring look. “Who are you?”

At the suspicion in her voice, nerves edged through him. “A trader. I came across this woman on the icy roads early this morning. It took most of the day, but we were able to make it here.”

The aged lines on her face settled in horror as her gaze shifted to Catarine. “With the bitter wind, the poor lass is half frozen.” The woman hurried over.

Thank God she’d believed him. “She is, which is my greatest concern.”

“Come with you now.” The woman motioned them forward. “’Tis colder than a beggar’s wish outside. While the fire warms her, I will fetch her a bit of wine.” She tsked. “Once she is lucid, I will bring you both some stew.”

Humbled by her generosity, he nodded. “’Tis deeply appreciated.”

“I have stood in her shoes,” the woman said. “’Tis a nasty thing to survive such a fate.” She motioned to Catarine. “Remove her boots and rub her feet. I will return in a moment.” With one last worried look, she crossed to the other side of the hearth to a small pixie-looking girl no more than eight summers and knelt before her. After a few hushed words, the woman rose and hurried off.

Beneath the curious eyes of the surrounding staff, Trálin gently knelt with Catarine beside the hearth.

“Me mum said you would be needing this,” a small girl’s voice said.

He glanced to his side. The child the woman had spoken to now stood beside them holding out a tattered woolen blanket. Trálin glanced over to where they had made their pallet, and noticed several more blankets still remained spread out for the child and woman.

“My thanks, lass.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and then she scurried off to her bedding spread near the hearth.

Catarine trembled.

“Easy now.” With gentle movements, Trálin removed her cloak, then wrapped her in the blanket. Once he had Catarine settled, he tucked her cloak atop her trembling body, then removed her boots as instructed and began to rub her feet until warmth came to her skin. With everyone in Stirling Castle believing them strangers, he must ensure his actions toward her raised nay questions.

When Catarine’s shivers began to lessen, he sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him found comfort in tending to her, another found regret that their time together would soon end.

Soft steps echoed on the stone floor.

He glanced up.

A goblet of wine in her hands, the woman returned. “’Tis warmed.”

Grateful she’d taken time to heat the wine, Trálin nodded as he accepted the handcrafted goblet. “My thanks.”

“If you need anything else,” she said, “do nae hesitate to ask.”

“You are very kind.”

She hesitated as she stared at him, and a blush touched her cheeks. “As are you.” She turned, walked to where the girl lay curled on the blanket.

An odd comment. They’d never before met. With his beard shaven, mayhap he looked as someone she’d seen before? Catarine moaned, and Trálin dismissed his musings to worry. If the woman recognized him, she would have sounded the alert.

Lord Grey lifted the goblet to Catarine’s lips. “Drink, lass.”

Sleep-laden lids fought to open, fell back. “W-want to sleep.” “In a bit. For now you must remain awake.” He nudged the cup against her mouth. “Take a drink. Please.”

Trembling fingers lay atop his. On a soft exhale, she tipped the mug up. Her throat worked. After several sips, her hand fell to her side. “Nay more.”

“You must.”

Thick lids lifted, and in the murky torchlight, confused eyes met his.

Bedamned, she would comply! “Finish the goblet.”

Hands trembling, she raised her hand to the cup and took another drink.

Long moments passed as he coaxed her until she drained the wine. “Well done.” He set the forged cup aside and prayed they’d reached the castle in time to prevent complications from the cold.

She shivered and the confusion in her eyes cleared. “The fire f-feels like heaven.”

“Indeed.” He gave her a tender smile, and wiggled his pinkie before her. “I had thought never to feel my fingers again.”