"I bought you, witch. I paid a traitor and here you stand. You haven't proven a thing to me. And for my money, you owe that."
Sinead was furious, and her expression said as much. "Would you like to be afraid then, sire?"
"You do not frighten me."
Sinead snapped her fingers and fire appeared. She looked at the sheriff. "Like this castle, do you, Sheriff?" The man nodded, awed.
John gulped, his gaze riveted to the flames dancing on her palm.
"I'd step back, your highness," O'Brien said from behind, and the prince heeded.
Just as quickly the fire vanished, leaving behind a telling wisp of smoke.
"Continue," Prince John said. "Let us see the trained animal."
Sinead's eyes narrowed, her anger riding up her spine. She took a breath, calming herself, for she knew she could do much damage, and innocents would suffer. Yet not a man in this chamber was innocent. And suddenly she wanted justice. For Galeron, for Dillon and his family, for Ireland. Her temper crested.
She turned sharply, walking away and throwing her hands up. The windows shattered, a great wind stirring the glass. She faced her enemies and lowered her arms, and the room went still.
John stumbled back. "Lock her in chains."
"I've already tried that." The sheriff gawked at the floor and his expensive glass naught but powder at his feet.
"Then drug her, now!"
"Sire—"
John looked at her, his expression violent. "Drug her, and if she disobeys, use the old woman to keep her in tow."
Sinead took a step closer to the prince. "You wanted proof and now it scares you. Did I not warn you?"
"This power will be mine," he said, with almost giddy finality.
She nodded to O'Brien. "Ask him what happens to those who think they can abuse it. And if you hurt Murphy"—her temper rose, heating the room—"I swear by the Goddess I will break every rule of the craft and bring this castle down upon your ears!"
Men grabbed her arms, flanking her.
Prince John was smug. "So … you cannot do a thing now."
"Do not count on that, Prince."
Sinead was tempted to vanish right that moment, but they would only hurt Murphy. And naught could truly stop free will. Not even her.
"Take her away."
Sinead closed her eyes, and the men holding her let go, rubbing their palms. At the prince's scowl, they said, "It burns."
She met Prince John's gaze. "I will go of my own will, sire." Sinead walked past them and out the door.
John brushed fragments of glass from his sleeves and looked at O'Brien. "You said she could walk between worlds."
"She can, and I would bet a bag of gold she's not in the corridor."
"Then how are we to hold this woman?"
"I'll find a way," the sheriff said, marveling at the power he'd just witnessed and, admittedly, afraid of it.
"There must be a way, and if not, we must kill her. For her affection for Richard is clear enough to me." John looked at O'Brien. "How do we kill a witch?"
He shrugged. "She dies like any of us, sire."
"Well, that is not good enough." John approached O'Brien, his expression lethal. "We cannot touch her, she burns us. We anger her, she will destroy the castle and God knows what else. How do I kill her?"
"She survived a poisoned arrow, sire," O'Brien stammered. "I—think … mayhap…" He let out a breath. "I do not know, sire."
"Then you are of no use to me!"
Prince John pulled the blade from his belt and drove it downward into O'Brien's chest. The man choked, his face full of shock as he crumpled to the floor.
"God, I hate the Irish," John muttered, and strode out of the room, glass crunching beneath his boots.
* * *
The instant the guard turned the lock on her door, Sinead whispered into mist, appearing in a cell down the corridor. She cleared her throat, and the woman standing at the window turned sharply.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Her gaze shot to the door, then back to the woman.
"That matters not, but—"
"It matters a great deal. If you can get in, then we can get out." Marian rushed to the door, giving it a shake.
Sinead sighed. "Lady Marian, I am Sinead."
Marian turned. "PenDragon's wife? How did you get in here?"
"Magic."
Marian scoffed uneasily. "I beg your pardon?"
"Please do not be frightened."
"I am not afraid."
"Good, then we at least have that."
"I do not believe in magic."
Sinead shrugged. "'Tis your choice, m'lady. But I've come to tell you to be a bit patient. My husband will get us out."
"If you're so magical, then why do you not go to him as you came in here?" Marian glanced at the door, frowning, trying to understand and truly not wanting to admit the woman was a sorceress.
"I can but will not. My friend is kept prisoner, too, and I know the prince or the sheriff will do her harm if I leave." She'd regretted showing her gift and blamed her temper.
Marian sighed and dropped to the thin bed tucked against the wall. "'Tis why I am here—to keep me from going to Richard and to force Robert to come to me."
"He won't?"
"Not without a plan, and to be honest, I cannot see him getting all the way up here."
"He will not have to."
Marian looked up, frowning.
"When the time is right and Connal is inside, I will free you."
"Do it now."
"Nay. We will never get out with all the guards. There are four on the stairs alone. The sheriff sleeps only one floor below us. They have to come to us, but I can make it a wee bit easier."
"How?" Sinead opened her mouth, but Marian put a hand up. "I know, magic." She looked thoughtful. "Why do you not just knock out the guards, club the sheriff, and get us out?"
Sinead folded her arms and tapped her foot, disappointed. "I cannot, nor will I, do harm to anyone."
"Ah, but you'd let them harm me."
Sinead glanced her over. "You look fit enough, m'lady, and if you wish me to protect that body, then you must ask."
"Ask for a … spell cast on me? You must be mad."
Sinead shrugged. "Fine. 'Tis your choice. Now, who is Robert?"
Marian's expression softened and she smiled. "Robert of Locksley, known now as Robin of the Hood." Marian explained her situation to Sinead, and in the middle of it, they heard voices in the corridor. Sinead rushed to the door, then looked at Marian. "Someone comes." They bring the potion of sleep, she thought.
"What does Prince John want with you?"
"Like most men of power, they want my magic."
"'Tis ridiculous."
"I would not doubt that the prince thinks I can move armies and create gold from thin air."
Marian swallowed. "Ca—can you?"
Sinead gave her a sour look. "I have the gift of the elements, Lady Marian, 'tis all."
Sinead turned and melted into red mist.
Lady Marian stared at the empty spot, then swiped the air and watched the mist dissipate. "Well now, 'tis a bit more than elements, that!"
* * *
The hint of dusk brushed the day, pushing it into night, creating shadows and secrets to cover the silent attack. Dressed in common rags, Robert's woodsmen and a few of Connal's vassals strolled into Nottingham's bailey, some hawking wares, some begging for alms. The remainder of Connal's vassals—mostly the Irishmen, for their accents would raise suspicions—were in the forest, prepared to attack under Monroe's command.
Following Robert, he and Connal moved to the west wall and the portal there. "Now we wait."
Connal gritted his teeth in frustration. The men inside were to work their way to the door and unlock it, and he hoped they killed the guards silently. For if they could not get inside, they had no hope. And Connal was rapidly losing his, for he could not sense Sinead clearly. She had not come to him in the forest, no
t once, and his mind was a terrible creature, rearing up to torture him with images of her.
The door rattled, something falling against it. Connal looked at Robert. The man shrugged and tried the lock. It sprang free but would not move.
"Hold yer arse there, Robin," came from the other side, and the door shifted a fraction. Robert peered around it to see John and Will drag the unconscious guard aside.
They stepped through, hunching low and finding a shield behind the cart.
"I heard talk she's in the tower."
"Both of them?" Connal said.
Little John shook his head. "Lady Marian is, but your wife—"
Connal's impatience showed in his face and Will gestured.
"Good God," Robert said, looking skyward. Connal looked up to the tower, then higher, and his heart sank like a stone. "I will kill him," he vowed, and Robert grabbed his arm, stopping him from rushing forward.
"Do not be rash, old friend."
Connal jerked from his grasp, glaring up at the tower. On the parapet, a plank hung over the bailey, a rope extending off the edge. And dangling from it was a body. He knew without doubt 'twas Sinead. She was powerful, and only frightened men would be forced to do that to another human. She was wrapped for burial, her body tightly shrouded in white cloth, yet Nottingham had made a point of leaving her hair free to stream down her back. The silver charms were unmistakable.
"Oh Sweet Christ," Connal whispered. "How do I get her down from that?"
"We first must get up there, lads," John Little said and pulled the uniform off the unconscious guard and handed it to Will. "Too small for me," he said, then nodded. "This way, and for the love of Christ, Connal, do not talk."
Connal walked behind them, uncertain of the layout, though it had been described to him countless times during the night. He glanced up at the tower, his heart ripping at the horrible sight.
This is why she has not come to me. Sinead, he called silently, and kept calling in his mind, praying he'd gain something. All he knew was that her heart still beat.
Their backs to the wall, the four moved quietly to the west entrance, around the cook house and buttery. Connal picked up a bucket and strode easily closer, hunching his shoulder and praying none spoke to him. Robert hefted a sack of seed and followed. John and Will split off and moved to the next entrance into the castle.
Inside, Connal set the bucket aside and was surprised no one in the kitchen made a bit of noise when they entered. Robert pushed off his hood, and the cook smiled, nudging the girl next to her.
The girl gasped. "Robin Hood," she whispered.
"Where is Lady Marian?"
"The tower, I think."
Robert strode closer, pressing a handful of coins into the girl's hand, then kissing her forehead. Connal eyed them both with an arched brow, and the wench all but swooned as he moved past.
"A sideline, Robert? Charming the lasses," Connal whispered.
"Outlaws are a thrill," he said, then wiggled his brows. "I gave them money we stole from the barons. 'Twas their tithe to John."
Connal smirked, shaking his head. Robert hushed him, and they flattened against the wall. A pair of guards strode down the hall, and Robert inclined his head. Connal stepped out with him, and together they each clubbed one in the back of the head, then caught the men. Dragging them into an alcove, they made quick work of their garments.
"This should help," Robert said, pulling on the mail hood.
They hurried down the corridor, their boot heels echoing. "What are the chambers below the tower?" Connal asked.
Robert frowned. "The sheriff's private rooms."
"That is where I must go to reach Sinead."
Robert frowned, then nodded, and the pair headed forward. They met the first onslaught outside the chapel.
Robert warned them, "Lay down your weapons. My fight is not with you," but the prince's soldiers came. Robert took the first attack, his sword running cleanly into the man's gullet as Connal knocked another off his feet, then pushed his sword into his opponent's chest. Two more fell, the metal sabers ringing in the darkened corridor, and bringing more. One looked at Connal striding purposely toward them and half retreated, calling to arms. But Connal kept coming, slaying the first man brave enough to remain, the serrated edge of his Celtic sword ripping fabric and flesh.
"Connal," Robert shouted from farther down the hall, and gestured to the staircase. "There are two stairwells; both lead to the chambers above, then the tower."
Connal hesitated, not wanting to leave his friend alone.
"Go. Marian is this way." Robert swung at a soldier, and when the strike sent him to the right, Robert slammed his head into the stone. He was tired of killing, he thought, stepping over the groaning man and mounting the stairs.
At the noise, the sheriff ran from his rooms and down the corridor. The way was clear, with not a guard in sight. He took the landing and several steps down to the next level, only to find himself face to face with Robert of Locksley.
Robert smiled. "You are under siege."
"Impossible!"
"Not really. You did not count on PenDragon throwing in with me."
PenDragon, he thought, withdrawing his sword. "I should have known that Irish whelp would survive. I should have killed the man myself."
"Where is she?" Robert demanded, his sword at the sheriff's chest. Nottingham batted it away with his own and the battle began.
"She's dead."
"You lie!" Robert swiped at him, the blade cutting his chest.
The sheriff winced and grabbed the spot. "Have I lied about your father? Your holdings that are forfeit to me?" He said the last word with glee, and Robert felt blinding rage engulf him. She could not be dead. Connal swore Sinead would protect her.
Then Marian screamed his name and Robert looked to the staircase, then to the sheriff. Hope flooded him and he smiled, slashing at Nottingham, forcing him back up the staircase. The clash of swords rang loud in the corridor, an echo of death.
"I will see you die this night."
"Oh, really?" Nottingham said, grabbing Robert's tunic and shoving him down the case.
He hit the wall hard, yet when Marian called his name he rushed the sheriff, driving his sword into his chest. The sheriff stared at him, shocked, and Robert turned, trading places on the staircase, then pushing him back. He held on to his sword, and as Nottingham fell back, it came free. Robert did not waste time watching him fall. As he overtook the landing, Marian appeared.
"I knew you would come," she said tearily, and they fell into each other's arms.
"Marian, thank God," he groaned, breathing in her scent, reveling in her touch.
"Sinead, is she—?" His look stopped her cold.
"Nay, oh nay," Marian cried. "She fulfilled her promises to release me, yet I haven't seen her."
"There is hope, love. Come, I must signal the others now."
* * *
Outside the sheriff's chamber, Connal kicked in the door and rushed to the window, pulling it open. "Sinead."
She didn't respond, her body twirling like a ball on a string. Connal eased onto the ledge, trying to reach for her, but she was too far out. He stepped back in the chamber, tearing the room apart for something he could use to catch her and bring her within his grasp. Beyond the walls, he heard the men attack, and knew Monroe had seen Robert's signal. A flaming arrow over the wall; Marian was safe. The thought brought little relief and Connal's frustration mounted. He would have to try the roof. Leaving the chamber, he raced up the staircase, rushing past Robert and Marian and hitting the parapet door, fracturing it off its hinges. He would pare Prince John down to naught fit for pigs if Sinead died.
He hurried to the ledge, the plank held down with massive stones. The effort to get them up there spoke of their fear of her. He leaned over the edge, his heart seizing. She was trapped in the cloth, the rope netted around her torso, threading up behind her to the plank and running its length along the wood. He looked back at the bou
lders. Both the plank and the rope were secured beneath the stones.
He was alone and time was wasting. She could be dying wrapped in there, smothering. She could turn to mist, he reasoned, but drugged, and without control of her mind, she was helpless. Connal knew no other way than to lift her from the plank. The rope would cut if it scraped along the plank over long, and though she was light in his arms, against the jagged lumber, it would be a saw against a blade.
"Sinead," he called down.
She did not respond, her body twirling. He called again, his voice growing hoarse. Then, cursing, he tested the plank, easing out. In his mind he called to her, shouting his love while his world was focused on one piece of wood, one rope. He swallowed, inching his way to the end, thinking he'd have to pull her up slowly to be certain the rope did not wear.
Connal, he heard in the recess of his mind.
He stilled. "Ah, sweet God, Sinead. I'm here."
Nay, stay back.
"You will fall!" he shouted, and laying flat on the plank, he started pulling on the rope. His muscles strained as he yanked, his wound at his side opening. She swung like a pendulum and he cursed the prince. They never meant her to live through this.
Almost there.
Trust in me, my love.
I do! But you need your hands for your strongest power.
Trust in my magic. Connal, whispered through his mind, I love you. You are my soul.
His eyes burned. "I love you," Connal whispered, and prayed 'twas not the last time he spoke the words. The plank mapped under his weight, fracturing in half and jerking the rope. It slipped through his finger and severed. And as Connal grabbed the rope leading from the stones, the force swung him back against the wall. He smashed hard, watching in horror as Sinead plummeted toward the ground.
"Nay!" he screamed, the sound tortured, savage.
Seconds before she hit, the burial sack fluttered in the air, spinning, light and empty. He blinked, swiping at tears as a dove rose from the folds, climbing toward the sky as the fabric settled softly on the ground. Connal dangled, tipping his head to the sun as the bird climbed.
He looked at the ground again, at the soldiers fighting, at the few standing still to look at the empty sack. Hand over hand, he climbed the rope, and found Robert pulling the end. Connal flung his leg over the edge and fell to the floor, choking on his heart, and then looking up.
THE IRISH KNIGHT Page 27
