by Jillian Hart
“Keep to the shadows, Giles.” Malcolm took the lead. “We do not want to draw their attention.”
The night claimed him before her very eyes. Like a mantle, it wrapped around him until he was more wraith than man and his armor reflected only darkness. “Here is the wall. And your hidden gate?”
“This way.” She took the lead, aware of the fierce knight half a step behind. The heat from his breath fanned the back of her neck. The steel of his gaze prickled along her spine.
“Men, quietly now.” Malcolm’s words sounded hardly human, more like the whisper of low grass beneath their feet. “A watchtower lies ahead.”
Any sound would alert the guards. Fear crackled in Elin’s chest, and she set each foot carefully upon the earth. Her fingers found by memory the crack along the wall. The night hid all manner of shadows, and she had to find the old lock by feel.
It was directly beneath the watchtower and the mercenaries searching the night for signs of them.
“’Twill make too much noise to break the lock.” She leaned close so that her words carried only to le Farouche.
“Then you climb the wall and draw the enemy’s fire away from us.”
“What?”
His chuckle brushed heat across her brow. “Fear not, dove. I’ve been a warrior for many years, and I have managed to solve problems greater than this one.”
Fie on the man and his sense of humor.
’Twas too dark to see what he did, but she heard the rustle of wool and the slight creak of the old lock. Giles moved close to aid him. She saw Malcolm’s powerful arm raise, and the deadly spike he held struck the lock with only a muffled thud. Why, he’d wrapped wool around both the weapon and the lock.
“Quietly now.” His strong fingers gripped her elbow. “Remember we work together on this, Elin, and I depend upon your loyalty. Do not disappoint me.”
How many times must he warn her? He was a distrusting fellow, but her temper died at the silence behind his words. She felt his grim sadness, and any protests stilled upon her tongue. Why did he believe she would side with murderers?
“It would take but a word from you,” Giles told her, “and we would all be killed. Even the great le Farouche cannot fight a hundred men.”
Her throat closed. Despite the cloak of night she could make out the silent plea on Giles’s face and on the visages of the men flanking him. They truly believed her to be like her father, a traitor and a killer. And it daunted her that even believing this, they would follow her. They would risk their lives to take back this pile of rocks for their king.
Well, she would show them. She might be a woman born, but she was warrior trained. Peter would not hesitate were he alive, and neither would she.
“This way.” She drew her sword, as they did, and followed Malcolm through the gate. “The kitchens.” She gestured at the stone building ahead, tucked against the curtain wall and the towering keep. “There is a door just to the right. Follow me.”
Malcolm could see the devastation. Workshops had been laid to ruin, littering the bailey with wood and thatch and broken furniture. He scanned the yard and the crenellations above. He saw no sign of guards closing in on them, but he could sense the danger.
Elin led them through the deep shadows between the wall and the kitchen. He heard the creak of a steel hinge. “In here.”
She could be leading them into a trap. But he had to follow her. He would risk this and more for his king.
Spices and smoked meats scented the air. The boards beneath his feet creaked as Elin led them past the buttery and into the kitchen. No fire burned in the pit and no light glowed in the room.
Then he heard the scrape of a leather shoe upon stone. Something stirred in the darkness. Had the woman betrayed them? He caught her shoulder and dragged the sword from her grip. She fought him, but he shoved her back to Giles.
He should not have trusted her, but she had gotten them into the keep. He pushed aside his disappointment in her and took another guarded step. He could not tell how many warriors hid in the dark, ready to attack.
“Pray, do not harm me,” a thin voice called through the blackness. “I am but an old woman. If the Great One wants a meal, I’ll heat him one.”
“Light a candle.” Malcolm’s demand echoed against the high ceiling above.
A single flame flared to life, illuminating that end of the kitchen. He saw no fighters, but only a frail old woman with dried blood at her temple.
“Florie!” Elin tore past him and into the woman’s outstretched arms. “What have they done to you? I’ll make those brutal pigs pay for hurting you.”
“I thought you were gone!” Tears leaked from the old woman’s eyes. “Linus said your father sold you to pay his passage across the channel. We mourned never seeing you again!”
“What? Why, that no good—”
So, she had not betrayed them. Yet. Malcolm held the small sword out to Elin. “Talk later. We have no time to waste.”
Light brushed her face as she looked at him, and her beautiful eyes betrayed her fear—her fear of him. His chest tightened.
She took the sword he offered. “See? I did not betray you. No doubt those mercenaries would want me dead, too.”
“Or worse.” He would not feel guilty. He’d seen the deceptive side of this traitor’s daughter. He addressed the old woman. “Tell me the name of their leader.”
The crone trembled. “His men call him the Great One.”
“Rees the Great?” Could it be the same man? Black fury blinded Malcolm. “That whoreson tried to turn Edward over to the Saracens. I gave up a year of my life to those bastards. Where is he?”
“Malcolm.” Giles stayed his sword. “We will kill the great betrayer later, after our men have joined us. To do it now would be suicide.”
“I care not. Where is he?”
The old woman paled. “He sleeps in the lord’s solar. ’Tis up the main stairs from the great hall—”
Long had he waited to get his hands on that betrayer. Malcolm dove out the door, sword raised in one hand, spike in the other. “Giles, Justus, keep an eye on Elin.”
“This way to the sally port.” She dodged in front of him, graceful even now, when his vision was distorted by rage.
“You will lead the men there.” A year of torture he’d endured in the Outremer. Now the time had come to avenge that suffering, and if it cost his life, then so be it. ’Twas a price he’d willingly pay.
“Hold,” he ordered in a whisper, but Elin darted ahead, drawing the attention of a guard.
He spread the alarm with a shout, and a weapon glinted.
“Go!” Malcolm commanded. “Carry out our mission. The gate must be lowered.”
The guard lunged, and Malcolm met his blade stroke for stroke. He heard the drum of more boots on the wall overhead. He thrust hard, and his blade dropped the mercenary to the ground.
“Go!” He caught a glimpse of Elin hesitating at the door to the keep, mouth open and eyes wide. He saw Giles pull her by the arm into the keep and out of sight. Malcolm swallowed, raising his sword. A dozen warriors raced down the stairs toward him. His meeting with Rees the Great would have to wait.
More mercenaries descended, and he was alone with them. He kept his sword ready, and the wall at his back.
“Death to you, le Farouche!” one enemy shouted, and he was the first to attack.
Malcolm blocked and thrust, and his blade sank deep into the enemy’s abdomen. But another attacked, then another. He swung and parried.
“I will not leave.” Giles joined him, sword ringing as it struck a foe’s. “Justus and the men will complete our mission.”
“’Tis death to stay.” Malcolm dodged a lethal thrust and wielded one of his own.
“I have not met death at your side yet, my friend.”
There were too many armed men descending upon them. Alas, that meant success for his knights. These heathens had not spied the forces gathering in stealth at the back of the keep, or they wou
ld not be fighting him in the inner bailey.
“We cannot leave him!” Elin fought against Justus’s grip as he dragged her up the narrow steps. Stone bit into her shin as she tried to break away. “He is outnumbered. We must help.”
“We must follow his orders.” Justus hauled her up the stairs after him. “I cannot stomach abandoning him, but he knows what he does. He is the great le Farouche. He alone saved Edward from a thousand Saracens. He alone.”
“’Tis only a tale. He is made but of flesh and bone like any man, and if they kill him, I’ll probably end up married to Caradoc. Even Malcolm is a better choice.” Elin batted at the tears in her eyes. “They will kill him, Justus.”
He hung his head, releasing his steely grip on her sleeve. “I cannot disobey him. I cannot!”
“Then send back the one with the crossbow.” What was wrong with this man, that he would abandon Malcolm to certain death? “One archer can take out many warriors.”
“’Tis a wise strategy.” In the dim stairwell, Justus eyed her cautiously. “Lulach, take your bow and hurry.”
“But who will protect our men as they storm the castle?”
“I will.” Elin saw the doubt on the knights’ faces and pitied these men their ignorance. “I know where the weapons are stored. I’ll take a crossbow and enough arrows to fell every one of these vicious murderers.”
Tears twisted in her throat, for in truth she did not know if she could make good on her promise.
“Then go, Lulach,” Justus commanded. “Elin, let us arm you first. We’ll need the power of a crossbow before we lower the bridge.”
Air caught in her chest and hurt with every breath she took. How scared she was. But she kept up to the trained knights. They dashed up flights of stairs and down corridors. She gave directions to the sally port, and the men raced to carry out their orders.
Justus ran with her down a dark passageway to the armory. The door was unguarded, and it took her but a moment to locate a crossbow and a small barrel of bolts. Her fingers shook with uncertainty as she clutched the weapons.
“You look unsteady.” Justus caught her gaze. “Can you do this?”
“I gave my word. I will.” Somehow.
“Good, because our men await. They need your protection, lady.”
“You will go with me?”
Kindness flickered in his eyes. “Aye. You’ll need a strong sword at your back. ’Tis dangerous what you’ve volunteered to do.”
She led Justus to the back of the keep and up the stairs to one of two towers. Fie, how her knees knocked. Justus burst out onto the battlements, sword raised. Surprised mercenaries shouted and charged. Justus brought down one man, then two. Elin tasted death in the air, and the horror of it raced in her blood.
Men’s lives depended upon her. Somehow she forced her feet forward. Her fingers trembled as she dropped the barrel on the stones near the crenellations.
“Elin, begin. Our men must be advancing!”
She fitted a bolt into place. She placed the bow on the steady stone wall and drew back the windlass. The string stretched taut, building tension. Behind her she heard the shouts of battle and the clash of swords. Below her she felt the stealth of the advancing troops. The drawbridge squeaked as it was lowered. Men’s surprised shouts came from the adjacent tower. The hiss of arrows sliced the air. The shout of a wounded soldier rose from below.
She could not do this. She could not kill anyone. And yet Malcolm’s knights depended upon her to defend them.
“Protect our men!” Justus shouted. “You need not try to kill the mercenaries. Just aim your bow in their direction and fire as many bolts as you can. ’Twill distract them from trying to destroy our men.”
She released the nut. The bolt hissed through the air. She reloaded the crossbow, and fired at random, again and again. With fear beating in her heart, she worked as fast as she could, raining arrows on those horrible murderers.
The battle on the wall behind her continued. How long could Justus fight so many men alone? He was outnumbered, just as Malcolm was. How could either of them win?
The night looked bleak, with heavy rolling clouds cloaking the sky. Giles was wrong. Heaven did not smile upon them this night. Only darkness watched as the battle raged.
Despite the wound in his back, Malcolm served the last of the paid killers a fast death. No more came, and he heard the rising shouts of alarm from the darkness above.
“You’re wounded!” Giles tossed down his sword and helm. “Let me see. Fie, ’tis a bloody rent. I failed in protecting your back.”
“You were busy protecting yours.” He did not feel the pain. Too much fury roiled within his veins. “Come, you need to help our men. By the sound, they are within the castle.”
“If your wife did not betray us to the enemy.” Giles inspected the wound. “Malcolm, you cannot fight with this.”
“What choice do I have?” He could not lift that shoulder and arm well, but it did not matter. “What would you have me do? Go hide in the kitchen with the women? Grab your weapon and follow me.”
They saw the flare of torches suddenly light up the battlements. Mercenaries dashed the length of the high walls, their shouted orders sharp with alarm.
“Mayhap I was wrong about your wife,” Giles admitted with humility. “I was harsh to her.”
As was I. Yet she’d not failed them this night, just as she vowed. “Make certain she returns to the kitchens where she’s safe. I am handing over the command to you. I have an old battle to fight.”
Malcolm kicked open the keep’s door and was relieved when no armed warriors greeted them. He headed up the stairs. “We have their garrison outnumbered. Protect the men, Giles, and see to their victory. If I die, tell Edward of these events. Tell him I want you to take my place. And be good to Elin.”
“Speak not of such things! You’re injured and rambling from blood loss. Pray, do not—”
“The men need you, Giles.” He towered on the steps above, cold as steel. “Obey me.”
“Then let me say this. ’Tis been an honor serving you, Fierce One. May you teach that vile betrayer the greatest of lessons.” Giles turned, weapons in hand, and disappeared down the unlit corridor.
Aye, he would serve Edward well.
Only the distant sounds of ringing shouts and clashing swords echoed throughout the keep. Malcolm ascended into the thick shadows, and not even his boots made noise upon the stones. His fate awaited him up these stairs, a destiny that had been born in the brutal deserts of a faraway land.
A sword rose out of the dark corridor. Instincts honed, Malcolm attacked. He knocked the sword away with swift ease. “Where is Rees?” he demanded as he shoved the armed soldier against the cold wall.
“Malcolm? You’re hurting me!” Elin scolded.
“Why are you sneaking about?” Malcolm saw that it wasn’t weapons she carried but a basket of crocks and bandages. He heard a shout from down below and knew the battle was already close. By the rood, he could not spare the time to guard her. “Run to the kitchens ere it is too late.”
“The kitchens? Malcolm, you’re bleeding.” Surprise lit her voice. Or was that concern? “Why, ’tis a deep and dangerous wound. Come, my chamber is just up these stairs. I can mend that so you can continue to fight.”
Her eyes alone could lure a man and surprise him with their depths. For whatever her nature, Elin of Evenbough was no traitor, and her concern touched him, but it was misplaced. “Do as I say. You’ll be safe enough in the kitchens.”
He released her, and it took willpower to turn his back on her. “Obey me, Elin.” He wanted her safe.
“Where are you going?” Her voice rang in the corridor, high with emotion. “Have some sense. You’ll faint or bleed to death ere you lift that sword ten times. Let me—”
“Nay, dove. You’ve fought like a true warrior this night. Your brother no doubt watches from above and is proud of you.” He kept walking, but looked over his shoulder. He saw the glint of tears u
pon the little dove’s face.
It only made him hate what he’d become. He was no fit husband for a woman of gentleness and fire. ’Twas just as well. Rees awaited him in the dark, and two men without souls would find their just punishments.
Chapter Eight
“I knew you would come, le Farouche.” Rees’s deep voice grated with a cold confidence. “Your knights attack in vain. My men are greater than yours, trained to kill and not to defend. ’Twas always your weakness, the need to protect others.”
“There was a time you thought otherwise.”
“’Twas a time when I called you friend.” A single taper filled the room with webby shadows, and they flickered across Rees’s face. “Le Farouche, you and I are wiser now.”
“True. I no longer trust a friend.” All these years, Malcolm had not forgotten. And that rage burned like ice in his veins. “You handed me over to the Saracens and sold your king for gold. Did that gold serve you well?”
“Aye, I’ve enjoyed pleasures you have never dreamed of. Yet I’ve not grown soft. I am still a seasoned warrior.” Rees unsheathed his sword, ornately hewn so that it glittered like fire when the meager light touched it. “A warrior able now to defeat you.”
“You could not win in the Outremer.” Calm and cold all the way to his soul, Malcolm faced the man who had cost him much more. “And you will not win now. I took down fifty of your warriors in the bailey with just two of my men.”
“Ah, I’d not forgotten the great legends of Malcolm le Farouche.” Still, Rees circled. Tension crackled in the thickened air. “They even know of you in Spain. Too bad the tales are only exaggerations. They do not know of your weaknesses.”
Malcolm let Rees set the pace as they slowly circled through the undulating light and shadow. “I care not what others think. Did you believe you could defeat me for this castle?” He chuckled when Rees volleyed, a vicious thrust that he knocked aside with one sparking blow. “Run while you still can.”
