Seize The Dawn (43 page)

If only she could stay.

The cheering paused as the last of the sacred rite was spoken for Margot and Eric, then once again the cheering rose, and skins of wine were passed. Then another cry went up. "To Scotland, aye, to the sons and daughters of Scotland!"

Men seized her, held her, kissed her cheek. She found herself moved through the hall, receiving the congratulations of all in attendance, not the least of whom was Corbin.

"Don't be. My brother is not a coward." "All the courage in the world cannot save a man from a knife in his back."

"Eleanor, we'll get through this battle first." He smiled, and kissed her cheek again. "Be happy." "I am being sent away; you will stay." "Eleanor, you cannot stay. And I must." She found herself tapped on the shoulder by Hagar, who gave her such a mighty hug it threatened to break her. She kissed his cheek, and found that she was passed on more quickly, and moving again through the hall.

She was back with Brendan when she neared the entrance. * In a second he had her hand firmly in his once again. He led her through it, and to the courtyard outside the main tower.

' 'We've received notice already. Fitzgerald has raised a large number of men from the north, and is very close. He lost no time after we left him tied on the road, but raised a hue and cry immediately. My riders have already come back with word that he has crossed the border. Horsemen ride fast. You will not be able to move with such speed. You must be on your way. The castle will soon be under attack."

Near them now, the crowd was gathering; Eric and Margot, the two close and intimate and whispering; the mighty Hagar, ready to mount his great, heavy horse; Collum, ready to lead their party north. Bridie was there, with her beloved Lars. She was busy seeing to the pack animals, that nothing necessary had been forgotten.

Tears stung her eyes. Despite him, she managed to dismount before he could stop her, and come to him, hands upon his chest. "Brendan, please, for the love of God, don't send me away so!"

Something within him seemed to give. His arms came around her, engulfing her; she felt his lips at the top of her head.

"Eleanor, you must go. I have to meet this battle without you. I never falter in a fight, never. And yet ... if you were here, my thoughts would not be on strategy, or battle. I would worry constantly about your position. Fitzgerald is a vindictive man. Many northern landholders have deep grudges, and are ready for a fight that the king will say he condemns, but secretly applauds. Eleanor, you must go. I pray that Fitzgerald will quickly be defeated, and that I will come for you soon. But you must go."

"Brendan—"

"Don't you understand that is anguish for me, too?" he whispered, and drew away, and she saw his eyes, the blue depths, the passion ... the love.

Such things were worth fighting for.

She suddenly understood something about him. He loved the land; his land. Not his property, but his land. Valleys, gorges, great, towering tors, the colors of spring and summer, the ancient histories of peoples long gone. But it wasn't the land that caused his battle; it was the ideal in which he believed, of a people. Different, unique, quarrelsome among themselves perhaps, but with a right to be what they were. His loyalty to the battle was as elusive, but deep and passionate. The same fierce loyalty and passion he gave to her.

He held her very close, then lifted her chin, and kissed her lips with a tenderness that seemed to bring the sun into her very being. She felt again the stirring of their child inside her.

"I will keep the babe safe," she swore. "To bear your name."

> He lifted her chin, his knuckles brushing her face and his eyes searching its every facet, as if he would engrave a remembrance in his mind.

"You bear it as well now, my love," he reminded her. "I had meant to give you so much. A ceremony at a grand cathedral—"

"I had a ceremony at a grand cathedral," she told him. "Had we been in the woods, in a sty, in the mud, it would have been sacred, and beautiful, to me."

His smile deepened; she was glad of her words, and glad that her pride had not forced her to let him send her away in anger. This was cruel enough.

"They've a huge siege engine," Gregory reported to Brendan. Fast, agile, and wily, he had been sent to observe the movement of Fitzgerald's column.

Brendan had been busy giving commands for the defense of the walls. He had seen that quivers of arrows were counted and dispersed, and oil had been set in cauldrons to be burned, and that the last of the people living on the outer farms and homesteads of the parish were drawn into the relative safety of the outer walls, bringing with them their children, their animals, their most prized possessions.

"A huge engine ... a catapult?" Brendan queried.

"Aye," Gregory agreed.

Brendan thought for a moment, aware that such a war machine could send flaming missiles into the castle, destroying them from within rather than without.

"I'm riding out, taking a party of men, to destroy the road," Brendan said. "They'll bog down with their catapult, and buy time for us. Wallace has taken a group of men around the eastern side of the forest; they can inflict some heavy damage from the woods, especially if we can create a noose around the English in the road."

Corbin had come to their group as they spoke.

"I might be more useful riding with you. I'm trained for combat, far more deft with a sword than you might imagine, and good in battle; many of your men are not."

He hesitated, watching the man. Corbin of Clarin had proved to be more than a model prisoner; he had chosen to stay. And though he wanted to trust Eleanor's kinsman, he had learned to be wary of even his own countrymen.

But there was no question of Corbin coming with them.

"You're an Englishman," he said. "If the rest of us are caught and taken, we stand some chance of ransom or prison. You would be inflicted with dire punishment; enough to wish that you were dead."

Corbin shook his head. "You think you stand any chance against Fitzgerald, any more than I? No, my friend, they will but cut your bowels with a duller knife, and do it more slowly."

"Still, you're needed here. You have defended such a fortification before."

That he was necessary inside the walls was a lie. He knew the truth, even as Brendan spoke. But the lie was what would I be, and Corbin knew it too.

"You will miss my sword arm," he said.

"I believe I will," Brendan agreed.

Corbin turned back to the task he had been assigned, and soon, Brendan was riding with a group of men from the castle walls. Deep into the south where the road was most heavily surrounded by forest, he called a halt. He thanked God for the spring rains that had already rendered the poor road treacherous and muddy. He called a halt, and his party of twenty men— farmers many, those who knew how to turn the earth, began to dig. Within an hour, they had created a gully that would bog down not just a siege engine, but many a heavy horse and rider as well. The Scots, knowing every small trail through the forests, would not face the same trap as the English, for he sent Gregory in search of Wallace with the new plan, and knew that the wily strategist would bring his forces up behind Fitzgerald's raiders.

The farmers were sent back to the safety of the castle. Brendan left the walls again, aware that the English were very close to the trap. Eric stayed behind, in command of the defenses behind the walls. Corbin would work with him.

Liam rode with Brendan, ready to flank his efforts on left and right.

In time, they saw the English army approaching. From a distance, it appeared that Fitzgerald rode in front. He was heavily armored that day, a helm hid his face, but he wore his colors, and at his rear, his squire carried his standard.

The first horse rode through the woods. From his vantage point in the trees, Brendan watched them near the gully. He calculated the distance between the first riders and the catapult being dragged through the trees by a team of six heavy draft horses. The catapult was a lethal looking weapon, and a merciless one, for properly aimed, a missile sent from it could destroy walls—and flesh and bone. Yet, he thought, it was good that Fitzgerald had thought to bring such a weapon; the transportation of it had surely slowed him down, giving Robert Bruce time to warn them of the attack.

"They're nearly there," Liam said quiedy, his voice just carrying from across the road. He rode the branch as if it were a horse; ready with his bow and arrow.

Brendan nodded. "Aim for Fitzgerald. The throat."

"Aye, Brendan."

The riders came closer. Brendan narrowed his eyes, and saw then that the man wearing Fitzgerald's colors and riding in the position that should justly be his was not the English baron.

Liam sent out the first arrow. His aim was true, and the man clutched his throat before falling from his horse in such sudden silence that he hit the ground before others realized the danger.

Brendan motioned with his hand. More arrows began to fly in a coordinated rain. The arrows soared, whispered against the wind, and fell.

"Now!" Brendan shouted, and the men chosen to harry the army emerged from the trees, some rushing onto the road with fierce cries, others falling from the trees like spiders skimming down webs. Horses screamed and shrieked; there was a mighty thud as the catapult careened into the deep muddy groove in the road, then Brendan heard little else above the clash of steel that arose around them. He gave his attention to each enemy he faced.

In a copse a good distance from the battle, Miles Fitzgerald > stood beside his horse, listening to the sounds of the battle. One of his men came riding hard to find him. "There was an ambush?" Fitzgerald said, but it was hardly a question.

"Aye, as you expected, yet worse. We've lost the catapult"

"Lost it?'' Fitzgerald inquired in a voice with such a hard edge it was difficult for even the messenger to reply.

"Cracked hard into the mud," the messenger replied. "It would take days to pull it out, and ... days to repair it."

"A sorry loss," Fitzgerald said irritably.

"We've lost scores of men in the mud as well," the messenger said.

"Thank God, then, that I did not ride at the fore," he murmured. Then he told his man, "Go back; keep your distance. Whatever is lost, see that the horse surrounds the walls. They may keep a distance, but be obvious to those in the castle."

"That had been my intent. The situation has changed. Sir Roger Lawton will lead in my stead; tell him so, and give him my orders that he must be seen from the parapets."