Donnel's Promise

by Mackenzie, Anna

  At her look of confusion Nolan’s brows lifted. ‘Did Ciaran not mention it? Her brother spent seven years in service to your grand-da. He’ll have his own take on things, I expect.’

  Why would the woman not have mentioned that? ‘Do they get along?’ she asked. ‘Ciaran and Talben?’

  ‘As far as I know. When we reach Bray you’ll find out for yourself.’

  Bray

  Rather than being the town Risha had expected, Bray was a fortified farmhouse, grown over time into something grander than might have originally been intended. Ciaran laughed aloud when they came within sight of it, perched on a hillside above the road.

  ‘I’ve not been here in, oh, far too many years! It was my mother’s favourite house; we were always happiest here.’

  As they approached the sagging gates, Risha wondered whether Bray would live up to the woman’s memories. There was a sense of abandonment to the place that no amount of reminiscing could disperse.

  ‘Talben can’t be here yet,’ Ciaran said as she surveyed the empty yard.

  At a gesture from Nolan, Webb and Croft dismounted and disappeared into the buildings on either flank. The yard remained steadfastly empty.

  Risha studied the farmhouse. The original four-square dwelling had been extended at either side to abut the stables and barn. Croft appeared at the stable door, held up three fingers and ducked back out of sight.

  ‘Trill and Samin should be here, even if Talben is not,’ Ciaran said, twisting in her saddle to look around. ‘I don’t understand.’

  A man’s voice suddenly boomed across the yard. ‘Welcome! Welcome. Ride in. Forgive our state of ill-preparedness. Illness has visited of late and as a consequence we find ourselves a little understaffed. Come in.’

  ‘If there is illness, perhaps we are better riding on,’ Nolan replied, dancing his horse to gain a clearer view of the man, standing in the shadows of the loggia above the main door.

  ‘Not at all: it has passed and we are eager for company. I am expecting guests any hour. You are welcome to attend our happy occasion.’

  ‘We are but passing,’ Nolan replied. ‘We had hoped for directions.’

  ‘Sir, what is your name?’ Ciaran called. ‘This is Bray, is it not, estate of Talben of the Marches?’

  The man’s smile was wide and quick. ‘It is as you say. Make yourselves easy, I beg you. My people are gone to greet our guests but will be back shortly. They’ll have noted your arrival.’

  Risha watched uneasily as Nolan came to a decision. Before he had time to share it Ciaran answered. ‘Perhaps we might water the horses at least, before we travel on.’

  ‘Of course. You are welcome, mistress. Give me a moment and I’ll be down.’

  As the man ducked from view Nolan gave a reluctant command to dismount. Risha stared around the yard with its unsettling quiet. Where were the stable lads, kitchen maids, dogs? All the usual milling tumble of life was missing.

  She swung from the saddle and flipped Mica’s reins over her arm, pushing towards Nolan. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  He nodded. ‘Tuck your hair out of sight.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Discreetly.’

  Her hair was bound in a plait. Risha flicked it inside her shirt. ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘Not as far as I can spit.’

  Webb slipped around the end of the farm buildings at their left. ‘There are three dogs with their throats slit round behind the barn.’

  Nolan cursed. ‘Check the gate. Make it casual.’

  Webb wandered to the gate, stretched his arms above his head and swung one shoulder as if easing a cramp. When he sauntered back he walked past Nolan and bent to check the hoof of his mare.

  ‘Nothing on the road, but one of the chimneys at the back has just started belching black smoke — could be a signal to bring his friends back.’

  Nolan’s eyes skipped around the buildings, the loggia, the shadows within the stable. ‘Webb, that hayloft should give a view of the road. Let me know if there’s any sign of movement. Kahlen, you and Lark see if you can find a way in around the back. There are likely three inside, but it could be more.’

  Questions rose on Risha’s tongue, but the door was flung wide and their host sauntered into the yard. ‘Ladies, it’s my pleasure to welcome you! You are in need of refreshments I expect? We shall ransack the kitchens! Perhaps your attendants could fend for themselves until my people return to deal with them.’

  The man’s accent was strangely slippery, his bonhomie ringing false. Risha watched across Mica’s back as he strode towards Ciaran, arms widespread. His trousers and jacket were less than fresh, and above his ruddy cheeks and pale eyebrows his tangle of ginger hair was in need of a wash.

  ‘You are most kind.’ Ciaran dismounted and turned to assist Lyse.

  The man’s eyes slithered across them. ‘Is the young lady your daughter, madam? The likeness is clear.’

  Ciaran hesitated only briefly. ‘My niece. My servants will attend me, sir. Would you honour us with your name?’

  ‘Friends call me Bond: my word as my name.’ His broad smile displayed the ragged line of his teeth.

  ‘I knew the factor here, years ago,’ Ciaran said. ‘Is he within?’

  ‘I regret the last factor met with ill luck not long ago. I have taken his place. But let us not linger in the yard when we can catch up on this talk within. Do, please, step inside.’

  He swung towards the open door just as Kahlen walked through it, a man with a roughly bandaged thigh and freshly bleeding nose limping before him.

  ‘There’s this one and a pile of bodies out back that says we’ve yet to hear the whole truth,’ Kahlen said.

  Bond took a step sideways and found the point of Nolan’s sword at his neck. ‘I was being cautious, I confess, but I have told no untruths. We were attacked two days ago. I’ve sent for aid and look to it arriving any hour. I am not the villain here.’

  ‘No? The corpse of the old woman in the kitchen tells a different story. Her wound is freshly bleeding.’

  ‘Trill?’ Ciaran took two hurried steps forward and Nolan half-turned. Bond took his chance and swung fast as a snake, kicking out at Nolan’s knee before lunging towards Ciaran. Croft threw himself forward, tackling the man around the knees. They landed hard. Webb pulled Ciaran aside as Bond aimed a kick at Croft’s face.

  Bond was quick. Within a second he was up. Heedless of the swords that bristled in a protective arc around Ciaran, he snarled and spun like a cornered beast, his dagger weaving before him. With a wild shout he flapped his arms causing the horses to shy, then, with the guardsmen’s attention divided, he launched forward again, aiming not for Ciaran, but for Lyse.

  The girl squeaked in distress as the man crashed into her, driving her back against her horse. The placid mare jittered sideways and Bond pivoted with it, his left arm clamping around Lyse’s neck, his mouth twisted into a snarl.

  Lyse cried out, her hands clutching at his arm. He growled in her ear and, keeping the horse at his back, pulled her away from the guardsmen. ‘That changes things, don’t it?’ He sneered, his accent suddenly feral. ‘Not so sure of yerselves now, are yer?’

  ‘Release her. You have no chance.’ Nolan’s sword was raised, his eyes cold.

  ‘No chance, is it?’ Bond raised his dagger to Lyse’s throat, and her eyes grew wild as a bead of blood appeared beneath its tip. ‘I’m thinking it’s this little dumpling has no chance. Now, unless you want her filleted, I suggest you lay down yer weapons. Starting with him.’

  At the lift of the man’s chin Risha turned to see Kahlen. He had his knee in the small of the second stranger’s back, one of his arms twisted in a shoulder-lock. They were some distance from the step and Kahlen had a slightly scuffed air about him. Warily, his eyes on Lyse, Kahlen pushed to his feet and stepped away. The man on the ground groaned and rolled onto his side but made no attempt to rise.

  ‘Yer weapons, I said.’

  Nolan sheathed his sword. �
�No.’

  Lyse whimpered.

  ‘No?’ Blood threaded down Lyse’s neck, staining the collar of her jacket.

  ‘Harm her and you’re a dead man,’ Nolan said, his tone matter-of-fact rather than threatening.

  ‘Says you.’

  ‘Says Goltoy. And I’ll be handing you back to him myself.’

  Bond looked uncertain.

  ‘I doubt he’ll go easy. I doubt it very much.’

  ‘What yer sayin’?’

  ‘Work it out,’ Nolan snapped. ‘Kahlen hog-tie that piece of scum. Lark, steady the horses. Mistress, perhaps you should sit down.’

  Ciaran was very pale. Croft gripped her arm as she swayed on her feet.

  The last thing Bond expected was to be ignored. ‘Now, you jus’ listen to me. I’m calling the shots here. You want this girl alive, I’m telling yer—’

  ‘Trust me on this: it’s you that wants her alive — alive and unharmed. I wouldn’t want to be in your skin if she isn’t. Doubt you’ll want to be in it either, once Goltoy learns who harmed her.’

  Bond frowned. ‘Yer sayin’ this is the bint Goltoy’s after, is that it? Well, I’m getting the finder’s fee.’

  Nolan shrugged. ‘I might be convinced to give you a cut.’

  ‘What yer bring the other along for? That’s just trouble, that is. I’m telling yer—’ He pointed the blade of his knife at Nolan. There was a thunk and he staggered back against the mare, arms wide, an arrow embedded just below his left eye.

  Across the yard Webb stepped from the shadowed door of the barn, his bow still poised. Nolan ran a hand across his face, his cool dispassion gone. Lyse had slumped to her knees. As one of the guardsmen made a grab for the spooked mare, Risha ran forward.

  ‘It’s all right Lyse.’ She wrapped her arm around the girl’s quivering shoulders. ‘It’s over.’

  Lyse’s breath was coming in sharp panting gasps. ‘He was … he would … he—’

  ‘We wouldn’t have let him. No one was going to let him hurt you. Webb couldn’t shoot until he had a clear line, that was all. It just took a few moments. Breathe now.’

  Nolan had begun barking commands. Lyse shuddered and turned into Risha’s embrace.

  Kahlen placed a hand beneath Lyse’s elbow. ‘Let’s get you inside. You’ve had a shock, and my nan always said the best thing for shock is a nice sweet cup of tea.’

  Lyse raised her head and he made a disapproving sound. ‘Here now.’ He towed her to her feet, Risha rising beside them. With his sleeve he dabbed the blood from Lyse’s neck.

  Her eyes widened suddenly. ‘Where is he? Can he—’ She started to turn but Kahlen held her firm.

  ‘He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe, I swear it. He’s gone.’

  She stared at him, nodded and nodded again. ‘Good. I’ll — I’ll make tea.’

  ‘You won’t,’ Kahlen huffed. ‘You’ll sit down while we make it. Silly girl.’

  As he led Lyse towards the house Risha was startled to find the yard largely emptied. Bond’s body was gone. The other man, too, had disappeared. She looked around for Nolan and found him at the gate.

  ‘Captain.’

  He turned, frowning. ‘You should be inside. When the rest of them arrive you need to stay out of sight.’ He took her arm and began walking her across the yard. ‘In fact …’ His steps slowed.

  ‘Would you have let him harm her?’ She was startled to hear the words coming from her mouth. ‘No, don’t answer. That wasn’t a fair question. I—’

  ‘It was my intention to ensure he didn’t,’ Nolan said stiffly.

  ‘I know. I realise that. Your bluff, it was very …’ She couldn’t think of the word. ‘Ingenious. It was ingenious.’

  He studied her face. ‘Inside, Arishara. We’ve got bigger problems on the way than that mangy cur. And when they get here we’ll be needing a sight more than ingenuity.’

  Webb stuck his head through the doorway. ‘Thirty or more, riding fast, just out of the trees. We’ve got five minutes, I’d guess.’

  ‘It could be Talben,’ Ciaran said.

  Nolan’s expression was severe. ‘Aye. It could be.’ Shucking off his jerkin he handed it to Risha. ‘If you’d get ready please, my lady. Lyse?’

  The girl swallowed visibly and smoothed the skirt of her dress — Risha’s dress — over her hips. ‘I’m ready.’

  She sounded terrified. Ciaran forestalled Risha’s objection. ‘He’s right, Risha. It’s the best hope we have. Do as he asks.’

  Risha’s eyes skittered between them but found no hope of compromise in their faces. With a muttered expletive she tugged Nolan’s jerkin over her head. It was too big for her, hanging loose from shoulders to thighs but at least covering the shapeliness that her riding trousers failed to mask.

  There was a shout from outside. Nolan crossed the room in two strides and was gone.

  Risha met Lyse’s eyes. ‘That dress suits you,’ she said. She slipped off her mother’s ring and fumbled in her saddlebag for Cattra’s brooch. ‘Here.’ She held them out.

  Lyse’s eyes widened. ‘You’re sure?’

  Risha forced a tight smile. ‘Don’t forget to be imperious.’

  ‘And stubborn.’ Lyse’s response had a slightly desperate air.

  Nolan couldn’t have it both ways, Risha decided. Avoiding Ciaran’s eyes she buckled her sword around her waist and slung crossbow and quiver across her shoulder. ‘I’m going to watch the back entry. Bolt the door behind me.’

  Ignoring both women’s protests she slipped through the scullery and out the door beyond. The midden was to her left against the rear wall of the yard. To her right the narrow space between stables and encircling wall had been roofed to provide shelter for firewood and assorted supplies. She worked her way along until she found a small door.

  It led into a tack-room overflowing with jumbled fittings. She stared around the dim space, sorting saddles, harnesses and collars from the gloom as her eyes adjusted. There was a strong smell of leather and beeswax. Nudging past a bench she reached for the partly open door. It creaked beneath her hand. Someone moved on the far side. Risha froze.

  The creature stamped. Huffing in relief Risha slipped into the stable. With one hand on the horse’s soft nose she ducked beneath its neck and looked toward the door that led out into the yard. It was a mistake. The brightness of the open doorway dazzled her. Blinking blindly she reached a hand to the wall, feeling her way past the box stalls and circuiting a row of feed bins. Something clinked above her head; a small sound of metal moving against metal. Shrinking back, Risha found herself pressed against something solid and ridged. She groped behind her back. In a rush of understanding she turned and gripped the rungs of a ladder.

  ‘You’re supposed to be out of harm’s way.’

  It was Croft, his voice greeting her as her head rose above the loft floor.

  ‘I am.’ She grinned. ‘And one more bow can’t hurt.’

  ‘Hasn’t come to that yet.’ He paused. ‘You take the window at the end there. Keep an eye on the hill. Be good to know if someone takes it into their head to creep up on us from behind.’

  The window was shuttered by rotating wooden slats. Risha eased them a little wider, gaining a view of the midden wall and the porch above the scullery door. She couldn’t see the roof extension, which was a pity. If someone was planning to climb the wall, that would be the place to do it. She scanned the hill for movement. There was none.

  Minutes passed. Risha risked a glance at Croft. He was kneeling beside the open loft door, an arrow notched in the bow that he held lowered but ready, his attention fixed on something outside.

  She turned back to the hill. A flicker of movement caught at the edge of her vision but it was gone before she could be sure. She scanned the slope. Nothing. Long minutes of nothing. A tiny scrape of leather against stone brought her to full alert. If only the slats were at a different angle. She was about to try sliding one out when a booted leg appeared. Risha stifled a gasp
.

  The Westlarn passed so close to the window she could have pushed him from his perch but for the slats. She held her breath. Stepping light as a hunter the man crept down the roof and dropped with a soft thud to the ground. Risha lifted her crossbow. The man’s hand was on the door into the scullery. She steadied her breath and nudged the tip of the arrow between the slats.

  Her line of fire was obscured as a second man moved in front of the window. As he scrambled left Risha looked for the first. He was gone. Just as panic rose in her chest he reappeared in the doorway. Ciaran must have followed her advice and barred the inner door. The Westlarn stepped out, shook his head, and made a circling movement with his hand. Risha had no more time to decide. Aiming quickly she shot, loading another arrow even as he fell, blocking her ears to the wet thunk of it and the brief, animal cry. Where was the second man?

  A boot smashed through the window, shards of wood splintering into her face, pain spiralling through her chest. The kick knocked her backwards, crossbow flying from her hand.

  ‘Shit.’ Croft’s voice.

  Something blocked the light. Risha scrabbled backwards but she was not fast enough. The man was through the low opening, his weight landing heavily across her thighs. She cried out. Croft dived past, driving the man sideways. Risha dragged ragged breaths into her bruised chest. Croft and their assailant were rolling across the floor. The Westlarn’s hands closed around Croft’s throat. Croft gouged for his opponent’s eyes.

  Sweeping her hands across the dusty boards, Risha found her crossbow. Fumbling a bolt into position she looked up. A third man was poised to climb through the shattered slats of the window. She fired at point-blank range and he stumbled backwards, tumbling noisily from the roof.

  Hands still trembling she reloaded. The struggling men had rolled away across the floor. She couldn’t risk hitting Croft. There was a shout from outside, then another.

  Retreating until she had her back against the wall she flicked a glance towards the window then back to the struggling men. There was a guttural wheeze and Croft surged upright. Blood streamed from his nose. He swung a boot and she winced at the sound it made.