***
Kyleigh wondered if she was losing her mind; maybe such danger made a person become like some of the people in the village who lived to an extreme old age and sometimes did not know who they were or what they were doing.
No. She knew who she was and what was happening. And something about her had changed; she had a power, and it was necessary to use it.
Even if she did not understand it and had no idea of just far it could take her.
They were in danger. And Padraic was heading out to slip around and spy on the enemy—or meet with the enemy.
They had to know which it was.
She slid next to the wall in the shadows and raised her sword, hoping the light from the torches would not cause a reflection.
“Sword! I have to get into the trees without being seen, please,” she murmured aloud.
She closed her eyes and opened them.
She was in the trees, to the far left of the landside of the wall.
The way Padraic had to have come if he was going to sweep around behind Brogan’s battle encampment.
“Thank you, sword!” she murmured. And she began quickly moving through the forest, pausing, listening, moving again. Padraic had to have climbed the wall and dropped down into the moat and swum across it to the shore, then slid into the forest.
He had to be ahead of her.
She could hear Brogan’s men as she neared the encampment. They had fires burning, and many sat around talking and laughing. She kept a distance and could not hear what they were saying.
Nor did she hear Padraic.
Not until he came behind her.
She whirled around, raising her sword as he brought a finger to his lips.
“What are you doing? Following me? This is dangerous, and I am fine on my own. My people have blended into the forest for decades now, defied the Romans and more!” he whispered fiercely.
She realized he did not know--at first--that she had been suspicious of him. She saw his realization as the truth dawned in his eyes, and he shook his head.
“I came to assess the strength here, not to betray anyone. If you knew and understood my people—we are honest. If we were to attack you, we would do so. Rowan and I keep to our land; there is no cause for bloodshed between us. But this threat is great to us all.”
Someone was near them.
They both heard the soft fall of footsteps. Padraic motioned for her to remain still and gave her a slight nudge; she moved out into a narrow path between the trees.
Bait! He needed her to be bait.
A man appeared, big and husky, wearing a combination of stolen leather armor and an old Roman helmet.
He looked at Kyleigh and started to laugh.
“They sent a girl into the forest, did they?”
“No one sent me,” she said.
“You are going to try to use that blade against me?” he demanded. “Against me?”
He had small, dark eyes and a crinkly, dirty face. His beard was stained with bits of whatever he had been eating.
But his shoulders were broad, and he was double—perhaps triple--her size.
She lifted her sword. Bait or no, she would not give an inch to this arrogant monster.
He laughed. “We have orders to kill, you know,” he said. “But that does not mean that we cannot have a bit of pleasure first, eh, lass? And you will not mind, because you believe someone might come along and save your wretched life!”
She never had to test her ability or use her sword; she had not seen Padraic as he had come up behind the man.
But the ugly brute accosting her suddenly went down without a whimper; Padraic was standing where he had been.
“Help me drag him into the bushes. I need to see their siege machines and try to count their number,” Padraic said.
She nodded, and though it repulsed her, she caught hold of one of the big man’s legs and helped Padraic drag him into the brush.
He brought his fingers to his lips again and caught her free hand, moving like a wraith in the night. He led her around through the trees, pausing when they had come to end of the enemy fires and tents.
The Saxons had cut down many trees on their way through the countryside, so it appeared. And in the clearing at the rear of their camp were the catapults. They had come with three of them, and the bases of all three were heavily laded with rocks, woods, and barrels of tar or pitch, ready to be used to light the different substances afire to be cast over the walls where wooden structures might catch fire and burn out the inhabitants.
Padraic was quiet. He studied everything the enemy held then he gave her a nod. He caught her hands, and they started back together, but he suddenly came to a halt.
An enemy lay dead in their path.
He jerked Kyleigh back into the brush with him; she could hear the pounding of his heart.
Perhaps it was her own.
But a man who was clad in a dark, hooded cape came from the brush and stood before them. He pushed back the hood and spoke.
“He was following you with a fine bloody knife; I did not think it wise that it reach you,” Rowan said softly. “In fact, we had best make haste. The enemy is not foolish. There might be more men about, seeking such as us on the outskirts of their encampment.”
Padraic nodded. He still held Kyleigh’s hand.
The three of them turned and silently began hurrying through the forest until they had to leave the cover of the trees to reach the walls of Kenzie.
Padraic let out a sound like the screech of a night owl while they remained in the woods.
A rope ladder was cast down.
They ran across the open plain and walked into the moat, swam to the wall and caught hold of the rope ladder.
Padraic looked at Kyleigh and nodded.
“Go, quickly,” Rowan said.
She wished desperately that she had a sword belt; she could only use her one hand with which to climb, and she feared they would find her incompetent.
Nor did she want to ask the sword for help, not with them near.
But both men climbed up behind her, not saying a word, as she made her way up the ladder. Despite the sword—or perhaps because of it—she managed to climb the ladder with dexterity.
She winced as she reached the wall, receiving help up from Col, Rowan’s cousin, who met them with drying cloths. And there was no doubt Col would have something to say to Rowan about the fact she had slipped out and was not just returning with him, but with Padraic as well.
It did not matter that Col would have an opinion. She had been discovered out with Padraic when Rowan had come after them.
Padraic, coming up behind her, immediately began to speak to Col and Rowan, and she realized Padraic probably assumed she had permission to follow him—or perhaps she had been ordered to follow him.
Whatever his opinion of her and the fact she was there, Col kept it to himself.
His interest was, of course, what had been seen and assessed.
And maybe he, too, had worried that their Celtic friend was interested mostly in betrayal.
“Three, eh? The catapults are the biggest worry indeed,” Col said.
“He has also had more men arrive; perhaps he had left them behind to secure some other place. Or perhaps, he had his second set of armed men following all the while,” Rowan said.
“Come, we will go to the main hall and discuss what we have learned,” Rowan said. “I did not find much of what we saw to be different than what we had surmised.”
With little other choice, Kyleigh followed the three men. She was aware of the eyes of the others on the wall, watching her.
Speculating.
She joined Rowan, Padraic, and Col now, as they headed down the wall, across the courtyard, and to the great hall.
That Rowan had his table in the great hall—round, just as that which Arthur had declared to be best; each man with a say, and each say as important as another—still brought a small smile to her lips. Arthur had been human. Now, he was legend.
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But the legend was one of a great King, fair and just.
And it was certainly not a bad thing for other men to emulate such a king.
She saw Rowan’s eyes, but other than the fire that seemed to burn within them, he gave no other sign of the anger he must be feeling toward her.
“You followed to assure my loyalty?” Padraic asked Rowan as they sat.
“I came to see the force with my own eyes,” Rowan said easily. “I did not doubt you. But I believe some might have done so. Therefore, my following allowed me to see with my own eyes and assure others of what I believed—that you are true and honest, and our alliance is solid. I believe you have a greater skill at slipping through enemy lines, but I am not without my own abilities. The action made sense.”
Rowan stared at Kyleigh. “And you?” he asked politely.
She did not have to answer.
Padraic laughed softly. “I believe she was doubting me for you.”
Col cleared his throat and spoke. “The good here, and most important, is the three of you have seen the enemy’s strength.”
Rowan nodded. “The archers you mentioned, Padraic. I do not believe we should use them in the first round of our fire. If they are as good as you say—”
“They are, I so swear it,” Padraic interrupted.
“Then we must wait to make use of their abilities until Brogan’s men pull up the catapults,” Rowan said. “We must assault the men working the machinery with a barrage of such fire and see that our knights and foot soldiers are racing onto the field just as the arrows fly to take down all the power that remains.”
“They will not expect the power at the distance,” Padraic agreed.
“Then it stands as we have planned, other than we hold our long-range archers until the catapults are within range,” Rowan said.
Padraic nodded and started out of the great hall. He turned back and grinned at Rowan.
“I think I might have been disappointed if you had not followed me, Lord Rowan,” he said.
Rowan grinned at him. “Seize the time left, Laird Padraic!”
Padraic nodded and walked on out. Rowan turned on Kyleigh.
“What were you doing?” he demanded. “And,” he said, looking at Col, “what were you doing—letting her leave with him?”
“What? She was with you!” Col said. “I saw Padraic leave! She did not leave with him.”
“Col is not at any fault; he could not have seen me. I followed Padraic. I believed in him, but like you, I felt my belief must be affirmed for the sake of many,” Kyleigh said. “I followed him because I—I felt it was necessary.”
“She is telling the truth. I did not see her go, I swear,” Col said.
“I never doubt Col’s words,” Rowan said. “But you make it quite difficult to understand just when and how things are happening!”
Kyleigh looked at Rowan and Col, weighing her words.
“Whatever my power is, I know I can use it and I did use it. We would be fools not to have made certain Padraic was not a traitor—allied with the ruthless invaders coming at us! Padraic’s men are within this fortress—we had to know. Of course, I know now you also knew that...we had to be sure. But I did not know, and...”
Her voice trailed. She was not getting anywhere.
“I have faith in myself,” she said simply.
“And I have faith in myself,” Rowan said. “And I know when not to risk myself, and when risk is prudent. You have faith—you have magic. The extent of your magic, no one knows. But tomorrow is the battle—tomorrow, you will be desperately needed. It was reckless of you to have risked yourself tonight!”
She stood very still, growing angry herself. She had thought he had cared about her—herself, a human being, a woman.
He cared about her as he might a prized weapon.
“I did not see my journey as a risk; Padraic, laird of the Celts, has spent years fighting with the Picti—the painted people. They know the art of moving through the darkness—and even the day—as part of the landscape. I do believe the risk was far greater on your side, Lord Rowan. What will this great battle be, the battle for Kenzie, without Rowan, the Laird of Kenzie?”
“It grows late. Or early. I must return to the wall,” Col said.
“Aye, Col, thank you, for you have a keen eye, and you are needed,” Rowan said.
His eyes remained on Kyleigh.
Col left the great hall.
Rowan was silent. Kyleigh held silent, too.
Finally, she spoke.
“I should get back. There are many sleeping in the far tower, and I will do my best not to wake them.”
“You do not need to go back to the tower; we have a room here where you may sleep the night; it is kept for knights and clergy who come a distance and need a place to rest while here. Come; I will show you.”
He headed up the stairs. She feared that following him might be awkward, but she was not fond of going back to the tower where a hundred or more lay on the ground.
Where many snored.
And passed gas, both loudly and silently, as they slept.
Indeed it was something one tried not to think about. Hundreds of unwashed bodies. Infants, the young, the injured, and the very old. Smells that had to be ignored, and still...
It was a lot of bodies! Human bodies, with human functions.
A room to herself?
But...
“There; just to right,” Rowan said. “I will warn Astir, who tends to the chambers, you are here, though the hour will be early for us to be out. Then again, all will be awake when it commences. Haman can help you with anything in the tower. He is a great man with strategy and weapons, but he served with my father, and I guard him the best I may for his age. But seek him if you need something and do not see me. Or Astir. She will tend to you and your chamber.”
“Thank you.”
“I cannot imagine much sleep in a hall with hundreds of others.”
“No,” Kyleigh admitted. She hesitated and then asked him, “How did you know Brogan would not come at the fortress by night? An attack in the darkness, unexpected, might have been something that could have stood in his favor.”
“Men like Brogan want the light; they want the new sun to shine on their helmets and buckles and the metal in their armor. They believe they will create a grand display of power, and thus instill hopelessness and fear in their enemy. I also believe he wanted assurance his reinforcements had arrived. I believe he easily swept through many villages but did not intend a full front attack here until he had all the men and supplies he could muster.”
“Well, you were right; he has not attacked yet. And we saw...we saw him encamped. And we did see the power he brings. The catapults...”
“Are fearsome,” Rowan agreed.
Kyleigh hesitated and then said, “You did not really doubt Padraic, did you?”
“His father was a man of his word. From everything I have known and heard, Padraic has always been a man of honor. Nor would it be prudent for him to come here—in an attempt to make the fortress fall from within—for such a man as Brogan. But I am also the laird of Kenzie; it would not be fair for me to make a judgement that could bring on horror for everyone in this fortress. I cannot risk lives without being sure.”
She nodded.
He was watching her.
“He is a likeable man,” he said.
“He enjoys laughing, though he sees all that is serious—and deadly.”
“Indeed. He manages to make me smile. Well,” he murmured, for they were at the door to the room he had indicated for her, “try for some rest.”
She nodded, feeling awkward and not sure why. Except she had not imagined she might be seeking a few hours sleep in the main tower at the fortress of Kenzie less than a day ago.
Or that she would feel she was coming to know the Lord of Kinzie.
And Padraic, Laird of the Celts and Northern Tribes.
She turned stiffly and walked into the room.
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br /> It was simple. Plain.
There was a simple pallet for a bed and simple pegs for a few necessary items.
There was also a beautiful large cross hung above the arched door frame.
Something to make visiting clergy feel at home, she thought.
She stared at the cross; Father Peter had taught her all about Christianity. He had always spoken of a beautiful man who gave commandments to be gentle and kind. She had loved the stories, and both Alistair and Mary were Christian.
And so was she...
She smiled at the cross. Maybe God and Jesus and magic went together.
Maybe God provided for magic when slaughter might be imminent.
She was about to lay down where there was a tap at the door. She rose quickly and hurried to it.
Rowan was there. For a moment, everything within her seemed to freeze and steam at the same time. He had come to her. The Lord of Kenzie.
He was holding a fine belt of leather and metal.
He handed it to her.
“It belonged to my mother,” he said. “She was a lovely woman, even tempered, quick to listen. She was also as fierce as any warrior I have ever met. My father met her after a battle when—once before long ago—the Lord of Kenzie and the Laird of the Celts fought a common foe. My mother was a granddaughter of a Roman soldier, a Briton, an Angle, and a Saxon, though she claimed she did not even know just how many tribes went into them all. She stood by father and weighed disputes carefully. She said this land was fine and generous; and that if we used it fairly, it could give to all.”
“You must have loved her very much,” Kyleigh said.
He nodded. “I did. She had many accomplishments—one being that she was an excellent swordswoman. She would be proud to have you wear this in her honor.” He gave her a slight, rueful smile. “Then again there is that fact you do have power—and we will need you. I would not have you fall prey to an enraged warrior because you have not been able to move about, sheathe and bare your sword!”
Kyleigh smiled, accepting the gift.
“Thank you. I will try to give it all the honor due the woman who first wore it.”
“I expect you will.”
He stood there.
Battle was coming. Dawn was coming, all too quickly now.
And yet, for a spell, it seemed time stood still. She just looked at him, into his eyes, and knew she appreciated all that the man stood for—and all that he was.
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