“Nay!” she called to him. “They’re here to give aid!”
He still looked skeptical. His men reflected his uncertainty.
“Feiyan brought them,” she tried. “She and Hallie are here with dozens of warriors.”
“’Tis true, m’laird,” William called down from the wall. “I can see a whole army comin’ through the gates.”
Jenefer noticed the English had ceased their attack. She peered over the battlements to see what was happening.
The English were muttering among themselves, a few frantically pointing at the incoming soldiers. Someone finally recognized the banner, and startled barks of “Rivenloch” circled their ranks.
No doubt they knew the Border clan by virtue of their reputation. Since the English couldn’t fight on two fronts at once, they were forced to abandon the battering ram and turn to engage Rivenloch.
“Archers, to the walls!” Jenefer commanded.
While the English awaited Rivenloch’s arrival, the archers were able to wound a few unwary soldiers.
Meanwhile, Morgan and his men waited in the courtyard. When the moment was right, they would move the cart and attack the English from the rear.
“At my signal!” Jenefer called down to Morgan.
Never doubting her for a moment, he answered with a curt nod.
She held her arm aloft, calculating how long it would take Morgan’s men to move the cart and get into place.
Rivenloch’s charge was awesome to behold. Jenefer, accustomed to being in their ranks, had never seen the army from this vantage point. She was astounded by their power to intimidate. The mass of warriors stormed toward the castle, shoulder-to-shoulder, shield-to-shield, brandishing their blades with a mighty roar.
“Archers, halt!” she cried as Rivenloch drew near. In the coming melee, the risk of shooting an ally was too great.
At the clash of the first two blades, Jenefer signaled Morgan with the drop of her arm.
Morgan ordered the cart rolled aside. The doors sagged inward. His men wrenched them out of the way. Then they began to engage the enemy from the rear.
Jenefer watched from the battlements, her bow at the ready.
It wasn’t difficult to distinguish the armies of Rivenloch and Creagor.
Rivenloch’s warriors were fitted with polished armor and flawless chain mail, armed with painted shields and gleaming broadswords.
But Creagor’s soldiers, despite their simple cotuns and trews, their crude targes and well-used claymores, fought ferociously.
Morgan was magnificent. With one powerful shove of his targe, he knocked three English foes onto their arses. With a sweep of his claymore, he sent another man sprawling.
At the fore of the battle, Jenefer saw Hallie fighting with cold, calculating menace, slashing one man’s thigh and another man’s arm with two expert blows.
Next to Hallie, Feiyan raised one of her heavy forks, catching and snapping off an enemy blade with the flick of her wrist.
Her Uncle Pagan used his shield to shove a knight toward her Aunt Deirdre, who dispatched him with ease.
Feiyan’s mother, Miriel, leaped about like lightning, stinging victims with a needle-like dagger, while her father, Rand, finished them off with thrusts of his broadsword.
And Jenefer’s own mother and father, Helena and Colin, sent up showers of sparks as they crossed swords with their foes, bellowing out curses and howling in triumph.
The tide was turning.
They just might win this battle.
Chapter 65
In his heart, Morgan was fighting for his life and the lives of his clansmen. But he had to admit that repelling the English from the gates of Creagor gave him great satisfaction.
He also had to admit he was glad Rivenloch wasn’t his foe.
Well-equipped and seasoned, menacing and effective, the army was the most impressive he’d ever seen.
To his surprise, he glimpsed Feiyan leaping among the fray. And he recognized Hallie as she hacked at the legs of a soldier who got too close to Feiyan. There were other female warriors in their midst. One of them saluted him after dispatching an enemy who’d taken a swing at Morgan’s head.
The battle didn’t last long. Morgan’s men had advanced mere yards past the broken doors when Roger realized he was outmatched.
“To Firthgate!” the English lord cried. “Retreat!”
Rivenloch’s forces could have slaughtered every last one of them as they turned their backs and funneled through the palisade gates. But Lady Deirdre was merciful. She gave orders not to pursue the fleeing army, allowing them to bolt to safety before closing the gates behind them.
That was fine with Morgan. The English had been deceived by Alicia, just as he had. They couldn’t be blamed for seeking out justice for their lord’s murder. On the other hand, they’d think twice before crossing the border to attack Creagor again.
As he watched the English flee, Morgan heard a sharp scream of rage from the courtyard behind him.
“Nay!” Alicia shrieked. “Cowards!”
He strode back through the splintered doors to see what was amiss.
Eager to welcome her clan, Jenefer had come down the stairs to the yard as well.
Alicia stood between the two of them, spitting mad. She’d clearly expected the English to seize the castle and oust Morgan. Her plans had been foiled. Her rescuers had abandoned her.
If she weren’t such a villain—making Morgan believe she was dead, killing her lover and her midwife, blaming Morgan for the murder, goading the English into attacking Creagor, threatening the life of his son—he might have felt sorry for her.
She had nowhere to go now. She’d managed to bind her gruesome wound. It had stopped bleeding. But her hand hung limp at her side. She might never recover from the damage to her arm. And her one hope of escape was retreating out the palisade gates.
“Come back here!” she screamed, her face purpling.
“Why would they?” Jenefer scoffed.
“Ye betrayed them, Alicia,” Morgan said, “just as ye betrayed me.”
He expected Alicia to try manipulating him again. To concoct a new, twisted version of events. To beseech him to forgive her.
He didn’t expect her to lash out at him. But her eyes were wild with fury. Venemous with revenge.
“This is your fault!” she barked.
He tightened his jaw.
“You knew I couldn’t abide the Highlands,” she spat. “You knew I was miserable. And yet you did nothing.”
His fist tensed on the hilt of his claymore.
She was right. He’d known for a long while how unhappy she was. He’d hoped that she’d grow to love his home. He’d hoped that having a bairn to care for would make her forget her loneliness.
“’Tis your fault I fled into the arms of another,” she insisted. “What else was I to do?”
He scowled. He knew he couldn’t be blamed for Alicia’s disloyalty. But was there a kernel of truth in what she was saying? Could he have done more to keep her happy?
Her voice softened with bitterness. “At least I left you the babe.”
That was true. She could have taken his heir with her. It was a sacrifice most mothers couldn’t have borne.
Jenefer, however, didn’t see it that way.
“You mean the babe you threatened to kill?” she snarled.
In an instant, Alicia’s eyes transformed from rueful to furious. “And you! You meant to steal his son from him!”
“What?” she exploded.
“You wheedled your way into his household,” Alicia bit out. “You knew if you commanded his heir, you could command his castle.” She peeled her lips back from her teeth and erupted in a mirthless cackle. “Well, the jest is on you. That babe you’re so desperate to protect?” She turned back to Morgan with a whisper that was cruel and full of malice. “’Tisn’t even yours.”
Alicia’s words hit him like the blow of a lance, collapsing his chest and piercing his heart.
Stunned, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
Jenefer apparently could. She reared back her fist and plowed it straight into Alicia’s face.
Alicia dropped like a stone.
There was a collective gasp of horror from the clan.
Alicia, not quite struck silent, was reduced to mumbling curses harmlessly into the dust.
Morgan wanted to feel pity for her. Instead, he felt satisfaction as Jenefer shook the pain of impact from her knuckles.
“Don’t listen to her,” Jenefer said. “Of course Miles is yours. You know that. She only said that to provoke you.” She stepped toward him, confiding, “I knew he was yours before you ever said a word. Remember? He has your eyes. Your smile. Your air of command.”
That he did. Miles could summon Jenefer to do his bidding with a single wail.
Alicia had heard enough.
She’d been utterly humiliated at the hands of that usurping whore. Irreparably wounded by her arrow. Laid low by her punishing fist.
Now the wicked woman had the gall to malign her to the clan and to her own husband.
Damn the wench! Alicia was mistress here. Lady Alicia mac Giric. And she wasn’t going to put up with any more.
She might be bleeding and battered. She might be reduced to crawling in the dust like a lizard. But she would rise like a dragon.
While the two lovesick doves cooed over her, Alicia blinked to clear the dazed fog from her eyes.
While they murmured sickeningly sweet reassurances at each other, she rooted through the grass with her undamaged hand.
While they bent their foolish, unwary heads together, her fingers finally found and closed around the dagger she’d dropped.
She grinned through bloody teeth.
She might never regain Morgan’s affections, not after the lie she’d told him about his son. But if she couldn’t have him back, neither could the scheming bitch who was clamoring for his affection.
Mustering her strength for one bold attack, she scraped the knife across the ground toward her and tested her wobbling legs.
As she moved, her weight shifted to her injured arm. She bit back a groan and blinked away the red haze of pain.
Then, with strength born of vengeance, she surged up all at once, stabbing toward the belly of the unsuspecting wench.
Time dragged to a slog as Alicia perceived the next moments in isolated flashes of detail.
The thrust of the knife in her left hand.
The insipid chatter of the woman.
The sudden sharp turn of Morgan’s head.
The widening of his eyes.
It was strange, she thought. She’d never known the exact color of his eyes. But she could see now that they matched his beloved Highland scrub. Brown. Green. Gold.
Then her attention was distracted by the loss of her target.
Morgan was shoving the wench aside with his left arm, moving her out of range.
Alicia’s brows drew together in frustration.
It wasn’t fair.
She deserved this. She deserved revenge.
With one last burst of effort, she angled the dagger, hoping to at least maim her victim if she couldn’t kill her.
But her lunge was cut short as Morgan’s claymore came down, colliding with her blade.
The impact of steel on steel jarred her, sending a shudder up her arm.
But she held tight to the dagger. She’d be damned if she’d let herself be disarmed again.
Before she could recoil for another strike, Morgan knocked her aside with the flat of his blade.
Weakened and off-balance, she staggered sideways. She fell onto her injured arm, which collapsed beneath her.
For an instant, she lay stunned on her belly. Numb. Confused. Unable to sort out what had just happened.
It made no sense.
Even Morgan’s words as he towered over her at first had no meaning to her.
“That’s the last time ye’ll attack the ones I love,” he proclaimed.
Then the truth of what she’d done sank in.
Strangely, she felt no pain.
All she felt was disbelief and a curious, comical irony. Morgan didn’t know how true his words were, she thought.
And even when the dagger lodged in her chest made it difficult to breathe and drew a filmy gray curtain over her eyes, she couldn’t help but see the black humor of it all.
She rolled onto her back, barely hearing the chorus of horrified gasps around her.
As she laughed with the last of her breath, her eyes rolled. She released her fingers from the dagger in her heart and felt blood gurgle from the wound.
Chapter 66
It was hard for Jenefer to feel sorry for Lady Alicia. After all, the woman had fallen on her own dagger in the act of trying to stab Jenefer.
But her gaze flew to Morgan in concern. He’d been the one to push Alicia aside. Would he think she’d died because of him?
His expression was grave as he stared down at his dead wife. For a long while he didn’t speak. No one spoke.
Finally he muttered, “Take her away. I don’t want Miles to see her like this.”
Three servants rushed to do his bidding.
“Miles doesn’t need to know,” Jenefer assured him. “’Twas an accident. Bury her in hallowed ground, someplace he can visit her when he’s grown.”
He didn’t reply.
“Morgan,” she insisted.
Still he didn’t answer.
“’Twasn’t your fault,” Jenefer murmured. “You know that, aye?”
He said nothing, only staring bleakly at the ground, stained by his wife’s blood.
It would take more to jar him from his spiraling guilt.
“Morgan, listen to me,” she said, seizing his arm. “I know you. You’re a man of honor. I know you gave her everything you had. A home. A title. A child. I know you tried to make her happy.”
He swallowed.
“And how did she repay you?” Jenefer asked. “With petulance. Disloyalty. Dishonor. Betrayal.” She shook her head. “For the love of God, the woman feigned her own death. She broke your heart. She abandoned her own son. She murdered her lover and then blamed you for it. She threatened to kill Miles. And if you hadn’t prevented her, she would have…” Her voice caught as the truth of how close she’d come to death sank in, then added under her breath, “She would have killed me.”
Morgan blinked, awakening from his daze. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“Jenefer,” he sighed. He knitted his brows in concern. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head.
“I’m alive,” Jenefer told him in no uncertain terms, “because you did what you had to, to save me.”
Then there was no more time to discuss what he’d done and why he’d done it. Rivenloch was coming through the doors.
For Jenefer, it seemed like weeks had passed since she’d been among her clansfolk, months since she’d seen her parents. In the last few days, a lifetime of events had forged her into a different woman.
So, in light of the tragic situation, it was with measured cheer that she greeted her kin.
“Morgan Mor mac Giric, this is my clan,” she said. “The laird, Deirdre, and Pagan Cameliard, Miriel and Rand la Nuit, and my parents, Helena and Colin du Lac.
He nodded respectfully. “My thanks for your help.”
“Of course,” Deirdre replied.
Her mother, Helena, stepped forward, sizing him up from head to toe. She crossed her arms and arched her brow. “Unlike you Highland folk, constantly quibbling among yourselves,” she told him with a sniff, “we Lowlanders always fight together against the English.”
“Hel!” Deirdre gave Helena a chiding cuff on the shoulder. “Put your sword away. The battle’s over.”
Her uncle Pagan scowled at Morgan from beneath stormy brows. One hand rested casuall
y on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “So you’re the one who took our daughters hostage?”
Jenefer’s father, Colin, ever the peacemaker, came between them with a disarming smile. “Now, Pagan, if I know my daughter, she likely fueled the fire.” He gave her a wink.
Before Jenefer could issue a halfhearted protest—he was right, after all—her aunt Miriel spoke. “We would have been here sooner, but Feiyan advised we approach with stealth.”
Her uncle Rand perused the courtyard. “’Twas a wise decision, daughter,” he said to Feiyan. “Aside from the doors, the castle is largely intact.”
“Feiyan!” Jenefer cried as Feiyan wove her way through the ranks of Rivenloch knights. She’d never been so glad to see her pesky cousin. “How did you escape? When did you…?”
“I saw soldiers in the woods last night,” Feiyan said. “I thought it was Rivenloch, come to rescue us. I went out to warn them not to attack.”
Morgan stopped her. “Went out? What do ye mean, ye went out?”
Feiyan shrugged. “’Twasn’t hard to get the palisade guards to fight. While they were quarreling, I slipped out the gates.”
Her answer didn’t please Morgan. He frowned.
“Once I found out the soldiers were English,” she continued, “I fled to fetch Rivenloch.”
“And you found Hallie?” Jenefer asked. She’d seen her cousin in the battle.
Behind Feiyan’s triumphant smile, her face darkened. “Aye. She was at Rivenloch all the time, as we thought.”
“And Colban?” Morgan asked.
“Here,” his man said. The Rivenloch knights cleared a path for him.
“Colban!” Morgan cried in relief.
But judging by Colban’s face, Jenefer thought it looked like he’d lost the battle.
And when she spied Hallie in the entryway—her face smudged with blood, her eyes resolute—standing in cool silence, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between them.
She’d have to wring the story from Hallie later.
For now, other things were more pressing. Burying the dead. Tending to the wounded. Repairing the damage.
Bride of Fire Page 31
