He could feel Catriona’s uncertainty and spoke to her quietly. “At parlay, the terms are defined. They will tell us of their desire.”
“Ravensmuir,” Gunter muttered.
“And we shall give our response,” Malcolm continued.
“Leave now or die,” Tristan contributed.
Malcolm glanced over his grim fellows. “It is possible to negotiate at parlay,” he reminded them.
“But highly unlikely when an army camps outside your gates,” Amaury provided. “They do not come to leave with empty hands, my lady.”
“And we know the prize they desire,” Gunter declared.
“They will not claim it with ease,” Ranulf said.
Tristan and Reynaud carried the trunk up the stairs of the gatehouse, keeping it out of sight of the opposing force. Louis was hunkered down on the roof already, his crossbow loaded and trained on the leading party.
“They will not leave with naught,” Malcolm said. “But they will leave with something they did not expect.”
He watched Catriona’s gaze flick to the trunk and back to him again. She appeared to be mystified, so she had not seen what his men had done.
“As in many things, lady mine, surprise is key to gaining the upper hand.” He led her to the stairs, hesitating when he looked over the army. “They have bowsmen and their bows are loaded. Remain here and listen.” Her eyes widened, but she did as bidden, pressing herself back against the stone wall as Ranulf indicated.
Malcolm doffed his helm and stepped onto the roof of the gatehouse, choosing to greet them with bravado. “I am Malcolm Lammergeier, Laird of Ravensmuir!” he cried, acting as if he and the earl had not parted just hours before. “Who comes to my gates in such unfriendly fashion?”
Banners were unfurled and drums beaten as a trio of men urged their destriers forward. They were fine horses, chestnut of hue with white socks, and finely caparisoned in the colors of the house of Douglas. A palfrey was led behind them, a maiden with red hair riding upon it.
So, Jeanne had decided not to abandon her ambition just yet.
Rafael flicked a glance at Catriona. “I grow fond of you, my lady, now that you vex this earl’s scheme.” He lowered his gaze to one of the arrow slits, peering through it at the approaching party. “He is a man I like to deny.”
“As you well know, I am Archibald, Earl of Wigtown and Fifth Earl of Douglas,” the earl declared. “And you know why I have returned, Malcolm. I have brought Jeanne to you this day, that your nuptials could be celebrated before us all.”
“We have discussed this already, and agreed to disagree.”
“We have not discussed this detail!” The earl rode forward and stood in his stirrups. “You owe me, Malcolm Lammergeier, and I demand the debt be paid.”
“I owe you naught!”
“You abandoned my father’s forces in Verneuil! You left the army without permission, and without your blade raised alongside all the others, my father, my brother and my sister’s husband all lost their lives in a single day.”
“That is a weighty loss indeed, but I had need of no permission to leave that army.”
“You pledged your blade…”
“To an honest battle fairly fought,” Malcolm cried, interrupting the earl. “I did not ride forth to see people who surrendered to our armies be mistreated and women abused. If there is no honor in a man’s word, then there is no honor lost in breaking a pledge to serve him.”
“You insult my kin!”
“And you assaulted my wife.” Malcolm gave a nod and the trunk was opened, its contents tipped over the lip of the roof. The corpse of the intruder fell to the ground, and the earl’s shock of recognition was clear. “You have no honor. You have no right here. Take what is yours and leave my holding forever.” Malcolm donned his helm and left the parapet, even as a roar rose from the army assembled behind Douglas.
“Negotiate,” Tristan mocked with a roll of his eyes. “I knew that was not your intent, and not just because I stuffed the trunk.”
“It will take them most of the day to array themselves and prepare,” Malcolm said briskly. “We have preparations to make of our own.” He offered Catriona his hand and led her back to the keep. A single arrow came whistling out of the sky and he tucked her before himself. The point buried itself in the ground not three steps away but she did not start. Indeed, her gaze was as steely as that of his comrades.
“This will be war, then,” she said, no fainting demoiselle, and Malcolm nodded agreement.
In addition to the preparations for the keep, there was one deed he needed to do to prepare Catriona for the days ahead.
War it would be, but he must allow for the possibility of his own demise.
* * *
To Catriona’s surprise, Malcolm led her back to the solar. He crossed the chamber, and unlocked the door to the treasury. He lit a lantern just inside the door, then beckoned to her. The light glinted on the contents of the chamber, making it look like a pirate’s cave of riches. There were trunks of gold coins against the far wall, still more trunks filled with silver, all of which had to be the riches he had brought home. The chamber was not so crowded as it might have been, but he had paid the masons richly.
Before that, it must have been crowded indeed.
To her delight, the chamber was of the same size as she expected. She paced the width of the chamber twice, then nodded with satisfaction. “I thought it must be this deep,” she murmured.
Malcolm looked to be startled. “You knew its size as well as its entry?”
She smiled at him. “The solar is not large enough. I knew that several paces from this end were disguised and assumed it to be your treasury.”
“And you found the portal.”
“Only by the key hole. We should hang a tapestry on that wall to better disguise it.” She eyed the chests of coins. “Is this your plunder?”
“Naught in this chamber is plunder.”
Catriona glanced up, confused. “But you rode forth to earn your fortune and returned with all of this.”
“I do not take what is not mine to claim,” Malcolm reminded her sternly, though he did not elaborate. “The ledgers are here,” he said, clearly intending to orient her in case of his demise. “I know you cannot read them, but you can trust my brother Alexander to help you in this, or his castellan Anthony. They are both honest men.”
Catriona inhaled and surveyed the contents of the treasury. “Does Rafael have a similar hoard?”
“His is more modest, though I do not know where he keeps it.”
Catriona could not bite back the question. “He knows where you keep yours.”
“But not where I hide the key.” Malcolm took the key to the treasury, which hung on a chain around his neck, and put it over her neck. It, like the cross, disappeared inside her chemise.
Catriona knew immediately what she must do. She removed the chain of the cross and lifted it over Malcolm’s head, letting the gem drop behind his chemise and mail.
“Catriona!”
“The cross is a way to defeat the Fae,” she reminded him. “It may protect you. I must gather clover leaves this day, as in the tale, and bind them to you.” She shrugged. “They are small talismans, but I would use every weapon we have against them.”
“As I will against the earl,” Malcolm agreed. He kissed her brow once more. “Do not step into the bailey alone, lady mine. The long bows have greater range than you realize.”
“Aye, Malcolm,” Catriona agreed, for her husband knew more of warfare than she.
* * *
Malcolm was not surprised by his comrade’s delight when he revealed the provisions stored in Ravensmuir’s cellar. The trap door disguised in the floor of the great hall was opened and a ladder lowered into it. Rafael joined Malcolm in the space revealed, though there was precious little room there.
“You knew he would assault your gates!” Bertrand declared, his face but one of the many that peered down into the opening.
Rafael offered a cauldron, of an excellent size for dumping oil. Two squires were sent into the cellar and the contents were emptied and admired with all speed.
Ranulf fingered a selection of metal balls with obvious admiration. They were cast and of the diameter of a man’s hand, with a spigot on one side. “My favorites,” he said, and Malcolm saw Catriona’s curiosity. “Greek fire, my lady,” Ranulf confided, grinning as Malcolm handed up the first container of the necessary ingredients. “A weapon I took to heart in Palestine and still favor above all others.”
The cellar was emptied with all speed. Malcolm and Rafael climbed back into the hall, Malcolm noting that his fellows were already sorting the weapons and contributing their own. Louis was tearing cloth into strips, and he sent the boys to gather what firewood they could find.
Malcolm dipped his finger into the soot on the hearth and drew the outline of the point of land Ravensmuir occupied on the stone floor. The others gathered close, his wife in their midst. “Here is the cliff of Ravensmuir, and here the keep. The thorn hedge extends from here to here, with the gatehouse at its middle. There is no longer any approach from the sea. If they have any wits, they will assume that we are weakest at the ends of the hedge, and so we must drive them back to the middle.”
“There is no real passage there,” Reynaud said, pointing to the ends of the hedge.
“They may make one,” Georgio noted. “I saw them carry saws to the ends of the hedge. Louis and his crew fire upon them, but they may see the gap widened.”
“We will guard either end of the hedge,” Rafael said, “so that no horse can pass that way.”
“Rocks,” Reynaud said. “The boys can pile them in quantity, so the footing is loose and uneven.”
“And fire,” Malcolm said. “For the horses dislike it. Set a blaze just inside the bailey and lay the bonfire wide. We will place archers inside of that.”
“And slay them one by one if they come through that way,” Amaury said with satisfaction. “Even the corpses will add to the barrier.”
“At the gatehouse,” Malcolm said, pointing to that place. “We will have the first of the oil. The roof is made of stone, with sufficient space to heat the oil.”
Tristan rubbed his hands together. “It is a fine thing to serve a lord who has planned his keep so well.”
“They will likely attack on horseback, and this will be our advantage. From the gatehouse, Ranulf will throw Greek fire.” He slid his finger across his sketch. “Archers again on the gatehouse and the roof of the keep itself. We will use the arrow storm to create more confusion.”
“Burning arrows,” Georgio contributed.
“Poison arrows,” added his whore. She looked at Catriona. “Have you wolf’s bane or belladonna?”
“Wolf’s bane,” Catriona said and ran to fetch her satchel of herbs. For once she was glad of Ruari’s complaints about his aching joints, for she had used the herb to ease his discomfort.
“Any who reach the hall can be assaulted from above, or cut down in the entry.” Malcolm continued. “Two more fires should be set on either side of the hall itself, in order to drive them toward the cliffs.”
“Smoking fires would be best,” Gunter mused. “I have a means to encourage that.”
“Can they dig beneath the hedge?” asked Louis.
Malcolm shook his head. “It will take time, for the land is rocky, and such tunnels might collapse upon them.”
“What of food?” Rafael asked. “They might mean to starve us out. It would be simpler.”
Malcolm drummed his fingers on the board. “There is hard sausage. There is a well in the bailey that I do not believe can be readily tainted.” He nodded. “But this might be the one advantage that they hold.”
“Kinfairlie will be hard pressed to assist,” Elizabeth noted, her contribution surprising the others. “Even if Alexander guesses you are besieged, he will have to cut through the earl’s army to be of aid.”
“Then we must provoke them to hasten the battle,” Rafael said easily. “For I do not intend to starve.”
“Nor I!” echoed Ranulf and the men gave a cry of assent. They raised their fists in salute to Malcolm.
“To Ravensmuir!” Bertrand cried. “May it stand long beneath Laird Malcolm’s hand!”
And as his former comrades cheered for him, lending their abilities to the fight for his abode, Malcolm was glad indeed that they had arrived within his hall. “I thank you all!” he said. “And can only believe that Providence sent you to my gates.”
“I have never been called by so pretty a title,” Rafael said, prompting them all to laugh.
Malcolm raised his voice again. “Now, there is labor to be done!”
* * *
Catriona felt as if shields had been lifted from her eyes.
It turned out that there were bogles in the dungeon.
And that was but the beginning.
She saw a bean-nighe, an old woman washing the clothes of those soon to die, as soon as she had drunk Elizabeth’s potion. The herb was potent indeed, for even the scent cleared her vision, though on Elizabeth’s advice, Catriona gave no hint that she could see the Fae.
The sight of the bean-nighe made her flesh creep, though, for she feared that one man in particular might die soon.
She had to save Malcolm.
There were spriggans in the treasury.
There was a cluricaun inside the empty cask of wine that had been brought full from Kinfairlie.
There were a dozen fir darrigs in the thorn hedge, cackling as they tried to stab birds and wild creatures with the thorns, using them as weapons.
There were pixies in the kitchens and Catriona did not doubt that there were more of them in the stables.
There were redcaps in the ruins of old Ravensmuir, and Catriona shivered at the sight of their hats, reputed to be dyed in human blood.
Catriona was startled to find that the Fae were everywhere within Ravensmuir, although she had not been able to see them before she imbibed the potion. The wild thyme showed her quite clearly that they were not alone within the new keep.
And that all those old tales had their roots in the truth.
The men were methodical about their labor then, preparing cauldrons of hot oil on the parapet even as she nursed Avery yet again. Catriona offered the herbs of choice to Georgio’s whore, who proved to be named Guilia. She showed considerable skill with the mixing and preparation of the toxin, so Catriona left her to it.
“The waiting,” Ranulf muttered when they consumed a quick evening meal. All was prepared, but the silence beyond the hedge was chilling. “It is the waiting that wears down the spirit.”
The men merely nodded their agreement.
The Fae danced merrily in the hall.
The sky darkened, Midsummer’s Eve drew a little closer, and they took an uneasy rest. The darkness was filled with will-o’-the-wisp, Fae lights that could draw a man to his demise, and Catriona scarce slept a wink.
She knew that Malcolm was alert beside her, his hand locked over her own.
But at the dawn, the drums began.
Tuesday, June 22, 1428
Feast Day of Saint Alban and the Apostle James (the Less).
Midsummer’s Eve.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
It was foggy on that morn, the invading army concealed in a white mist. The sun rose like a ball of red fire, an angry sun that did naught to dispel the fog. Sounds were both muffled and carried far, and walking through the bailey could leave a man’s garb wet.
It seemed to Malcolm that the air crackled in anticipation of Midsummer’s Eve.
The drums beat incessantly, a regular rhythm intended to distract the inhabitants of Ravensmuir. “They mean to drive us mad
,” Rafael said when he joined Malcolm on the roof of the gatehouse.
“They have not the means to do that,” Malcolm replied. “At noon, if they have not commenced, we will provoke them.”
Rafael nodded and left to pass the word to the others.
Malcolm both wanted the day to be behind him and feared its outcome. He wanted to awaken in the solar on Midsummer’s Day with Catriona beside him and Ravensmuir secure.
But as the drums pounded, he feared that might not be.
* * *
It was a battle fit for a Hellhound.
Indeed, as Catriona watched the bonfires crackle, dark smoke roiling from them to stain the air, she thought she stood in a land transformed. Ravensmuir appeared a wasteland, and even the Fae disappeared from view beneath that angry red sun. Her husband was a stranger to her, as impassive as he had been when first they met, his attention fixed completely on the battle ahead.
And that was before the fighting began.
At noon, Malcolm kissed her brow, leaving her in the solar with Elizabeth, Vera and Avery. Ruari had not returned from Kinfairlie, though there was no telling whether he had tried and been turned back by the earl’s army. Catriona hoped he had not been captured. She knew without Malcolm saying a word that she might not see him alive again, but she would not weep or beg for a reassurance he could not give.
Instead she caught his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. “I love you,” she said, for it was true.
His gaze brightened and he surveyed her with that familiar intensity. “And I would earn the right this day to claim that love as my own,” he murmured, touching his lips to her brow again.
Then he was gone, striding from the solar. She barred the door as he had instructed, then returned to the window.
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