Daughter of Darkness & Light

by Shannon Drake

  He had a way of speaking that seemed to command attention. His voice was rich and deep. That surely helped. Or perhaps he was just accustomed to giving commands.

  People moved.

  She started to walk forward with Rowan and Alistair, but decided it would be best to have someone watching the rear.

  “Alistair,” she said, “I will run to the rear. I will try to see that none fall back.”

  “Two of Rowan’s men have promised to keep up the rear,” Alistair told her. “But you should be where you choose. Take care!”

  “Of course,” she told him.

  She felt the Lord of Kenzie’s eyes on her as she hurried past men, women, children, and beasts to come to the end of the line. There she found two of Rowan’s knights walking along beside Taryn and Gareth.

  “Why are you not ahead with Alistair?” Taryn asked her.

  Although they both knew Kyleigh was adopted, Taryn was a true cousin to her. He supported her quietly when she managed to get into trouble. He comforted her when she was down. He was a redheaded boy with a friendly, freckled face. His smile could be deceptive; she had seen him with a sword and he could wield it well.

  He was also good with a pitchfork.

  “He said to go where I thought I would be most helpful,” Kyleigh told him.

  Gareth spoke softly, for her ears only.

  “Did you not come back here for the pleasure of our company?”

  She had to smile. “Ah, always a pleasure, but...I did not know you were back here!”

  “Do you think we will have trouble?” Gareth asked her worriedly.

  “From here...no. I do not think we have far to walk to arrive at the fortress. We are not moving with much speed, but we had come far before we—before the party—met with the first of Rowan’s men, and then...well, I do not believe we are far!”

  “And Lord Rowan of Kenzie will have archers on that wall, watching for us!” Gareth said. “He is a man of strategy and courage. We will be safe in his keeping.”

  Kyleigh did not say anything. She was not certain about Lord Kenzie at all; the great King Arthur was gone. Men need something, someone, to believe in.

  They needed hope. Rowan was hope.

  She hoped he halfway deserved the admiration he seemed to receive.

  But he had not mocked her—nor betrayed her. And she had not asked he keep silent about their meeting. She was not at all sure why she was so wary of him. Simply because he was Lord of Kenzie?

  “I hope to join in the battle when it comes,” Gareth said. “I hope to prove my abilities; I want to be knighted.”

  Taryn made a sound in his throat.

  “It can happen!” Gareth argued. “I am as good a scout as any man he could hope to find!”

  “That is true,” Kyleigh assured him.

  “Indeed. But knights come from great families,” Taryn said. “They are born riding and practicing with arms.”

  Gareth glanced at Taryn and sighed. “You look at a seed and it grows!” he said. “You talk to a cow, and she doubles her milk production. You’re a happy man on a farm, and you’re good at what you do, and the land makes you happy.”

  “It is true,” Taryn agreed. “My lot in life agrees with me. I wish you were as happy working as you are when there is some danger you must seek. Gareth, I would always wish the best for you, but I hate seeing you so hopeful.”

  “We have practiced,” Gareth reminded him bitterly. “We are farmers, but we practice! Alistair and others have insisted we be ready. And Alistair might be a farmer, but he remembers a time of war. And Anne! Old Anne has said I am like a wraith in the darkness. I am good at what I do. I am good with a sword and more. What landed knight knows how best to use a pitchfork?”

  “You are going to become a knight by announcing your prowess with a pitchfork?” Taryn teased.

  “It is an added skill!” Gareth said.

  “I believe Rowan of Kenzie has scouts—and his scouts are not among his knights. His fortress was built by the Romans. He has Roman blood and Celtic and Briton blood, but his father and grandfather or grandfather before claimed the fortress even as the Romans left. They took the science and medicine and architecture and much more from the Romans. He follows protocols, and I believe he will see you as a good and useful man, Gareth, but not as a knight!”

  “Taryn, what you say may be true. But nothing—as I understand it—has been hard set since King Arthur died,” Kyleigh put in. “And even then, I was told, Arthur was a thinking man who judged someone for their worth, not their parents. Perhaps Gareth can prove his worth to this Lord of Kenzie. I think this Rowan—if he is at all like most say he is—will listen to what Gareth has to say.”

  “I don’t think any man can just say something and become a knight,” Taryn said.

  “He can test me!” Gareth said. “I bring something not every man does.”

  “And what is that?” Taryn teased. “A pitchfork?”

  Gareth glared at him. “Loyalty. Absolute loyalty!” he declared.

  Kyleigh realized Rowan’s men were walking back, frowning. The three of them had lagged and they were concerned.

  “We will hurry our steps!” Kyleigh promised.

  Both men sent were young and well-muscled. They had swords and shields and leather skirts over their breeches in the Roman style—a good style to adapt for a fighting man, Kyleigh thought. The leather helped to protect a warrior’s limbs and lower middle.

  They appeared polished, and ready to brave anything upon the field. At its height, she had heard, the Roman legions had been a fighting force like no other.

  “Ah, girl, I could carry you, if need be, with no trouble!” one of the men said.

  She smiled and assured him, “I walk well, but thank you for the offer. Taryn, Gareth! We must not lag, lest these good men think we are in trouble.”

  “We will not lag!” Taryn said.

  And they did not. They hurried forward, only stopping when they reached the last of those walking along behind the horses.

  “Carry you!” Gareth exploded. “He was looking to bed you, Kyleigh!”

  “Perhaps he was worried,” she murmured.

  “Aye—no!” Gareth said. “Kyleigh, you must take grave care. These men...you must take care. They think us simple—they will think you simple, the daughter of a mere farmer.”

  “We all live off the land! I doubt they mock my father for being a farmer,” Kyleigh said.

  “They think themselves better—trust me, believe me. Take great care!” Gareth said earnestly. “I beg of you, do not be seduced. Such men...such men use women for a night’s pleasure and move on quickly when the time is spent!”

  She sighed deeply. “Trust me, Gareth. As it stands, I assure you, I am no man’s pleasure!”

  “You could be mine—for life,” he whispered.

  “Gareth, you are a good man! But now...well, we must get to the fortress at Kenzie, and we must survive the day and tomorrow—and the tomorrows after that until this scourge is purged from our land.”

  He appeared crestfallen.

  She smiled, set a hand on his shoulder, and said, “I am not in the least taken with either of those men, I promise. I will not be led astray.”

  He looked at her searchingly and then nodded.

  She heard a cry coming down the line.

  They were moving around the river bend.

  The great fortress at Kenzie was in their view.

  “We made it,” Gareth murmured.

  “We have to get our injured in first,” Kyleigh murmured. “Now we need to run ahead and see they are all safely across the bridge over the moat. The guards will want to get that bridge up as quickly as possible.”

  Rowan’s men were already moving ahead to help and see that the weary file of horses, injured men, women, and children moved safely over the bridge. Kyleigh hurried to reach the rear of the river side of the bridge, helping Fanon, the young woman with the babe, when she nearly slipped. Fanon thanked her and caug
ht her balance and moved on. A few of the boys and girls in their early teens were helping to urge the younger children forward.

  Kyleigh looked up to the sky. It was difficult to believe she had begun the day at dawn down by the lake, and all this had come to pass with the sun just now falling from the sky. In that time, a great enemy had attacked them and the fortress at Kenzie. Many had died, and now their ragged little party was arriving at last at what they hoped would prove to be a sanctuary.

  The last of the party started through. Kyleigh saw Lord Rowan of Kenzie was across the bridge from her seeing to the safety of others.

  She also heard a rustle of foliage from the trees that edged the northern side of the fortress and river.

  She looked at Rowan. “Someone is there,” she told him.

  He had not heard the noise, she realized. But he believed her.

  “Get to safety,” he told her.

  “No, you...need me.”

  He surely thought she was ridiculous. He was a lord who had been knighted as a teen, trained and efficient.

  And she was a farmer’s daughter.

  Until today, she would have found herself to be ridiculous.

  She headed off the bridge and across the embankment to the river. There were people there, across the stream of the river. They were blending in with the foliage; she realized some had painted faces. Picts. Maybe Caledoni?

  She started out into the water, walking in the shallow area by the embankment.

  Rowan was behind her, mounted. His great war steed had been returned to him at the bridge. He reached for her arm, dragging her atop his horse. She started to protest but the horse managed the water and two riders with no difficulty.

  They emerged wet on the side of the river.

  “How many?” he whispered.

  “Five? I believe,” she murmured.

  On the riverbank she slipped off of his horse, drawing her sword, raising it high. There was someone watching from the brush. A man. She could barely make out the face.

  Rowan began to speak to speak softly to her. She ignored him; it was as if the sword she held was propelling her.

  But as she raced for the brush, the man slipped away. She held still, the sword high, challenging anyone who should appear.

  “Careful!” Rowan warned softly, behind her again, and then he spoke loudly, his voice deep, rich, and assured, “I do not believe you have come to attack! Show yourselves! You may skirmish here or wait and fall to the other-lander invasion about to fall down upon us all!”

  A man emerged from the trees. He was clad in a simple tunic, breeches, and a sword belt. He wore no helmet and his hair was long and blond, streaming over his shoulders.

  His sword was in his belt. Rowan was right; he did not mean to attack.

  The man’s face was painted in shades of blue and green.

  He could blend in well with the sky and the forest, she thought.

  “Padraic?” Rowan asked.

  Padraic! She had heard the name. The young laird of a band of Caledoni and Picts and other Celts who had banded together in the north.

  “Aye,” came the reply in as deep and assured a voice as that used by Rowan. “I am Padraic. Laird of an alliance of northern peoples, Lord Rowan. Past the great wall the Romans built, a wall we elude by making use of the river. Your father and my father were not enemies; neither should we be. We have heard of these invaders; our scouts saw much of your battle today. We can offer you the finest archers you may hope to find anywhere. In return, we ask protection for our women and babes. My men excel at slipping into enemy camps by darkness as well. I offer scouts who can enter the enemy camp this night, should they spend the hours preparing for their assault.”

  He spoke the language well, but there was a different sound to his words. The people she had always known spoke Latin, learned from the Romans, from religious rites, but in their usual speech, they spoke a Saxon tongue. She was certain this man had first known another language.

  “Laird Padraic, aye,” Rowan said, his voice ringing loud and clear. “Your people are welcome. This enemy intends to lay siege to the fortress, I am sure. Summon all quickly, while the bridge is down. When we raise it, all must be in. The Brogan is a clever man at the strategy of war; he has already sent out scouts. He will send more.”

  “We are in your service,” Padraic said. He was still looking at Kyleigh. “A slip of a girl for a warrior,” he murmured. He appeared slightly amused. “You have my respect, Lord of Kenzie. You came to meet me at what might have been an ambush—with a lass.”

  “She is a most unusual lass,” Rowan said simply. “And perhaps you should be glad she did not take up that sword against you!”

  “Aye?” The man—Padraic—studied her again. He smiled. “Ah, well, a tournament game then, at some time, though I am not accustomed to besting girls.”

  “Perhaps you would not best me,” Kyleigh murmured. He was another man who had garnered fame, and she did not know what was told as legend and what was real. He was invisible! They said. Well, he was not, but he could blend himself into the forest or trees. He moved with the stealth of the wind, they said. Perhaps. He might be fleet of foot—she had yet to see him run. He could slip in and out of the darkness with the speed and ease of the night. Maybe. What was true, she knew, was that none had attempted any assault on him or his men that had been successful. He came from a long line of warriors—wild men, she had heard—who kept the Romans at bay long before the time of Arthur.

  He surveyed her still with amusement and curiosity. But he turned to Rowan.

  “I would not needlessly shed any blood, by death or injury at this time. We have kept our peace; we have both respected the lines of one another. A common enemy comes.”

  “Send your men for your people,” Rowan told him. “I will have my knights escort them to join the others we have brought here for safety. I will thank you to join me. We will study my plan of warfare against the invaders and best determine the aid you can give.”

  Padraic let out a whistle. His men—painted as he was—appeared, coming from the trees as if they had been a part of them.

  A horse came trotting out of the woods as well. It had no saddle. Padraic caught hold of the horse’s mane and leapt upon its back and then nodded gravely to Rowan.

  “Kyleigh, come,” Rowan said, stretching out his hand to her.

  She was not sure why she was afraid to accept that hand. She hesitated just briefly and then did so, and he easily drew her up behind him on his horse.

  Padraic controlled his horse and nodded. Rowan turned his mount, and they headed across the river to the embankment that led to the bridge across the moat.

  She felt the eyes of the yellow-haired Celt upon her back as they made their way through to the bridge.

  There Rowan paused, lifting a hand to the men in the tower where the levers and pulleys that controlled the bridge were managed.

  The men nodded gravely to him, watching as Padraic entered along with Rowan.

  And her.

  In the courtyard, she slipped down from his horse. She had been there before as a child but not in years. Then, people moved about calmly. The smith had been busy shoeing horses, there had been laughter from the brewhouse, and wares had been sold at small wooden stands with thatched roofs.

  People were everywhere; everyone was in motion. There were stalls about the courtyard where farmers came to sell their wares. Now, men and women—Mary among them Kyleigh noted—were preparing food for those who were dragging great cauldrons up the stone steps to the high walls. She could smell both the delicious scent of bread coming from the bakery, and oil which would be deadly and burning when used on arrows or other projectiles against the enemy.

  But the courtyard and the towers were now going to hold hundreds more people than customary.

  And livestock.

  Goats were bleating as they were ushered in. An angry cow mooed loudly.

  A host of teenaged boys ran from the smith’s with great
pots and firewood; they would be needed on the wall to heat the oil when the time was right. A store of arrows lay in a massive pile; archers were preparing. Archers were filling their quivers.

  Many men sat about the smithy, honing their swords and knives.

  Kyleigh paused, looking at all the activity. She then saw women were scurrying about with water and rags to tend to wounds.

  Perhaps she should be helping with the wounded.

  What did she do with her newfound sword?

  It was just an ordinary sword; Alistair had studied it. There were no inscriptions. It was a fine sword—it had proven fine indeed—but she had no sword belt, and she could not leave it...where others might pick it up mistakenly or no.

  And it was her sword.

  And it was a magical sword.

  She winced. She could not be the child of someone as horrible as Mordred! Even if Alistair tried to convince her that she was herself, raised by him and Mary; she would not believe someone so evil could have been her father.

  As she stood there, Mary came upon her.

  “Child? Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

  Mary had been kinder than many a natural mother Kyleigh had seen. She was gentle and good; she cared for a hurt puppy, a hurt child...she was always sure to make more food when neighbors were ill, feeding those who were hurt, sick, or in trouble. She had iron gray hair now, braided and knotted at her nape. Her eyes were a soft, sky blue, and her voice was as gentle as the breeze. She was the perfect mate for Alistair.

  Now she looked worried.

  Kyleigh smiled. “I am quite fine, thank you, Mary. I am trying to figure out where I will be most useful.”

  “Ah, child, if you can bear it, come with me. We have wounds to bind. That way, far across the courtyard. The tower is grand and lovely. Of course, there are not beds for so many, and more are coming. At least none of the new arrivals is wounded. I have heard the wild man is here.”

  “The wild man?”

  “The leader of the Celts. Laird Padraic of the northern people! They say that he saved his life once when his sword was lost in battle by biting his opponent to death!”

  “I have seen him, Mary.”