“I worry for you and Alistair. You are always working. Are you sleeping? Are you well?” Kyleigh asked her.
“I am better working than when I am not,” Mary said. “And there are so many here; there is so much to be done. But all who are able help. All seek to survive this scourge.”
“Of course. And I was hoping you could tell me where I should be working.”
Mary never had a chance to answer to her. She heard her name called and turned.
Gareth was there.
“Sir Gareth!” she said.
“May we speak?” he asked her.
“Of course!” Kyleigh turned to Mary. “I will come back and you tell me where I should be!”
She smiled and walked over to Gareth and realized he was not smiling in return.
He headed toward a path by the blacksmith’s where there was a lot of activity and noise so they might not be heard.
He had come to scold her, she quickly realized.
“You followed me last night,” he said flatly.
“Rowan told you—”
“Lord Rowan told me nothing. I heard noise and saw nothing, but I knew it was you. Kyleigh! I know I have long dreamed you might be my wife, and you have not dreamed at all of marriage, but at the least, I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend. I care for you deeply. That is why—”
“I must be own man, Kyleigh. Padraic and Rowan are great leaders; Lord Rowan has made me a knight. I intend to be a great knight, Kyleigh. That is a dream that can come true.”
They had been walking. Kyleigh stopped, looking at him, shaking her head. “But I do have something, Gareth. Was it so wrong I wanted to assure myself you would live?”
“Had you but asked me!” he said.
“How could I ask you if I might accompany you since you did not tell me what you were about?” she demanded.
He sighed. “We do not what is coming! You have proven yourself.”
“And you have nothing more to prove. You have behaved admirably at every turn.”
“Perhaps there is more I need to prove to myself, Kyleigh.”
“Oh, Gareth. If I offended you, I am sorry. Please believe it was done for love!”
He shook his head and then embraced her. She accepted the embrace.
“Kyleigh, you do not see your value; maybe none of us knows quite what that value is. But you are needed here.”
“What is my worth if those I love are in danger?” she asked.
“There are many we love,” he said. “Promise me you will not secret yourself and follow after me always?”
“I promise that I will not secret myself and follow after you always,” she said.
“Of course, if I am in trouble and you are around with your magic, feel free to save my life,” he said lightly.
“As you wish!” She frowned. “Are you going out again tonight?”
“I believe Rowan has Padraic going tonight. Or perhaps he is going himself.” He hesitated, frowning. “Rowan was speaking to all, seeking opinions until this morning. Now he is reflective, saying little. Only Col seems to know what he is thinking.” He drew a deep breath. “This man is frightening. The rumor about him having a creature with special powers at his side is frightening. I can tell you, last night his men were not at all concerned there might be an attack. Even after we managed to destroy the catapults—if not completely, as least damage them so badly he will need time for extensive repair. But I do fear more people will come under his banner.”
“We all fear that happening,” Kyleigh said.
She fell silent.
Padraic was out in the courtyard, apparently looking for her or Gareth. He stopped to speak to Mary.
“The golden Celt!” Gareth murmured.
“Why do you say that?”
“He is too...perfect. He swears loyalty; he is fierce in battle. The day we met with Brogan’s troops, I saw him dodge a dozen spears and lances, and slash swords from men’s hands when they might have fallen upon one of our number. He makes others laughs, and never backs away. And he seeks you out all the time.” He hesitated, studying her. “Is he the one you are seeking? Take care. He is Laird Padraic, even if that is more a chief of his mixed tribal Celts than what we see here as a lord. Kyleigh, I believe he seeks your company often.”
She smiled at him, feeling an irony deep inside. “Trust me, Gareth. I will not be seeing Padraic in any way carnal.”
“I did not mean to speak so bluntly—”
“So, forgive my blunt reply. But we will not be together. I promise you that.”
Gareth grinned. “If I were Padraic, I would seek the company of Caitlin. What poise and talent the woman possesses!”
“She is impressive,” Kyleigh agreed.
Padraic had found them and was now walking toward them.
The man was her half-brother!
She had been born out of wedlock, but it was far better to discover Merlin was her father than to believe she had been sired by Mordred.
And still...
She had thought before his interest in her had been great.
“Padraic,” she murmured as he approached them.
“Kyleigh, Gareth,” he said in response. But then he looked at Gareth.
“Sir Gareth! Your presence is requested. Rowan has asked you help teach some of our farmers who have had no experience with war the art of using spears and pitchforks. Many of our men are far more comfortable with weapons other than swords, but need assistance. Alistair has said there is no one better than you with turning farm implements into weapons.”
“Indeed, I am happy to assist in any way,” Gareth assured him.
Padraic nodded to Kyleigh and the two of them walked away.
For a moment she stood where she was, feeling the sun as it crept through the clouds. It seemed as if her very world could not be real. Just days ago, she had gone out early with Alistair to fish. Then the most horrible thing had happened when Brogan’s men had come...
And then the most absurd thing had happened as her fish had become a sword.
She had feared she was Mordred’s daughter...
And now she wondered if she had dreamed the presence of Merlin in her room, telling her she must not tarry with Padraic as he was her half-brother.
The very thought sickened her. Mordred had been the result of such incest. He had been a monster, had there ever been one.
And yet Brogan was even worse. His message was clear. He meant to kill.
She gave herself a mental shake and hurried back over to the area where Mary worked. She did not see Aileen anywhere; the archers had moved on. She had heard the rear drawbridge would be going down long enough for fish to be swept from the river.
She should have been among those fishing.
But Mary called out to her. “Ah, child, thank you! We need to get this soup distributed to our wounded. If you would help me, I would be most grateful. Several other women are working, but we came with wounded and many more were injured in that first clash with Brogan.”
“Of course!” she told Mary.
And as the day waned, she served bowls of food to the injured, and with her cousin Taryn, she helped poultice and bandage wounds.
She tried to be cheerful, even when she saw wounds festering, and knew in her heart those who were so gravely wounded and infected would most likely die. Some of the wounds still gaped and oozed pus. Some appeared to be healed, but the flesh around them was turning strange colors.
The scent of a few was staggering.
Father Peter was there. He was bald and plump but moving quickly for such a solid man. He was excellent with the wounded because he had spent time studying ancient Greek medicine through Latin texts at a monastery in the south. He had learned to use herbs that seemed to work magic on many gashes and cuts that many had suffered.
When he could not help the injured, he was there to give them his spiritual blessing. She found herself stopping to listen as he gave Last Rites to one
of Rowan’s men. He spoke of Heaven with such glowing words, the man was no longer afraid of death.
Kyleigh feared he would look at her differently now. Sometimes, those who had embraced Christianity believed magic in any form had to be the work of the devil, or Satan.
But he smiled at her and applauded her work with the wounded.
“You apply the poultices just right, and I do not believe I work the linen of a bandage with half the deftness you manage with those long fingers!” he told her.
“Father, no one speaks as eloquently as you. There is little help I give the dying.”
“Ah, but you see, there is a life after this one—with no more pain,” he assured her. “Let me move on; I fear that man over at the far wall will not make the night.”
She smiled and watched him go and filled bowls of food for the men coming off the wall as others went up to keep guard.
Those who had been fishing brought in the catch from the river; the fish had to be cleaned and salted quickly for the next meal.
Night came again at last.
She believed as Gareth did that Rowan would be sending someone out again that night.
She did not know if he would send Padraic—or go himself.
And she intended to find out.
When Mary, exhausted, stretched backwards to ease her muscles and said she was going to go lie down, Kyleigh said she must do just that. To the best of her knowledge, all had been done for the wounded that could be done.
She did not know where to find Rowan; he worked all day as did others.
But she hurried to the main tower and the great hall.
She found him there, his hand on the stone mantle above the great hearth. He looked weary, but she thought, too, he looked especially noble. His great cape was cast over his shoulder, clasped there by a brooch in simple metal with his family crest upon it, a great falcon with spread wings. He wore leggings and a belted linen tunic. His metal breast plate and helmet and the shredded leather skirt he wore in battle were at the edge of the hearth.
He looked up warily as she entered and came to him.
“You will send someone out tonight or go yourself,” she said, coming to him. “I beg you, let me go with whoever is due to go out. I can...”
He smiled. A weary smile. “So, tonight you will ask permission?”
“I am asking.”
“And if I say no?”
“I will fear for whoever goes.”
“You are worried for Padraic?”
“I am worried for whoever goes. I do not know all that I can do, but Lord Rowan, thus far I have been helpful when needed,” she said firmly.
“And so, you have.”
“Then?”
“I am the one going tonight.”
She was quiet, waiting.
“Kyleigh, I never ask of another man what I will not do myself.”
“You are going. I can help. I know I can help.”
“I cause a rustle in the leaves; you cause a rustle in the leaves. It is more for the enemy to hear.”
“I will not cause any rustles.”
His smile deepened.
“Aye.”
“Your pardon, my Lord?”
“You may accompany me. We will head out as soon as darkness has fully fallen.”
Kyleigh nodded. “I will be at the wall,” she told him.
Then she turned and fled up the stairs.
She did not want to give him a chance to change his mind.
***
Rowan was not sure if was relieved Kyleigh had come to him...
Or that he wished that she had not.
But she would have worried and she would have followed him. And that might have proven to be dangerous for them both.
She was a greater defense than she knew. If he were to be taken and killed, Col knew the defenses of the fortress well. He would be an able commander.
Especially if he had Kyleigh’s magic.
But Kyleigh had a will of her own.
They would be alone, and he did not trust himself with her when they were alone. She did nothing wrong, and yet she seduced. Perhaps part of her enchantment was in her determination that while she did not know fully her powers, she would use them when needed, and there was not a time when she would not. When she spoke to him...
Her eyes were like emeralds.
Her hair was fire.
She was much like the Celtic archer, Caitlin.
He wondered about that. But the girl did not know her parentage; it was likely she had Celtic blood.
The Celts were also known for their magic. Perhaps...
They were at war; he could not think about Kyleigh, nor give in to any dalliance while they struggled with Brogan. No matter what a man’s desire.
To continue breathing had to be the ultimate desire he felt now.
Kyleigh was at the wall as the moon rose. Col would stand guard himself until they returned.
The rope ladder was cast down and the two descended and swam across the moat; he thought they could have lowered the drawbridge.
Brogan was not coming yet; it was, in truth, as if the man knew he was not coming with his warriors by night.
But with Col he had decided to take the gravest care.
Dripping, they started into the forest together. At first, they moved quickly, not talking.
But away from the fortress and still far from the enemy camp, deep within the forest, Rowan turned to Kyleigh and asked, “What is your thought on waiting? Perhaps I do allow Brogan to grow stronger. Perhaps we should have attacked immediately after the destruction of his catapults.”
“I do not know the strategy of warfare,” she said. “But we had too many wounded; some, with just minor wounds, are gaining strength each day. And some are dying, of course,” she added softly, but then shook her head. “Brogan would see an army coming; he would have the cover of the forest. Even for the men who are experienced with such tactics would not have an advantage, for their archers would have clean shots while ours were firing into trees. I do not see how falling into his encampment would be a wise move.”
He was silent.
“Do you think I am wrong?” she asked him.
“I worry he will repair the damage we have done. And while his men may appear to be at ease—certain we are not coming—I believe he will have doubled his guard at his weapons, and it would be foolish to attempt slipping into the camp to cause further destruction. But I agree as well; I would kill half our men before reaching his position,” Rowan said. Then he brought his fingers to his lips for they were nearing the camp.
They silently crept as close as they dared.
As Gareth had reported, men sat about fires. They drank and ate, riches from the forest, roasted upon open fires.
But as Rowan had thought, the catapults—fresh wood filling the gaps caused by their night of destruction—were now surrounded by men.
They watched from the darkness of the forest and then Rowan motioned it was time for them to return.
A twig snapped.
They looked at one another. Neither had taken a step. There was someone from Brogan’s camp near them, perhaps watching them as they watched the camp.
He brought his fingers to his lips and indicated a circuitous route through the trees. She nodded and followed him silently.
They moved further and further away. But then they heard rustling and twigs snapping from several directions.
Kyleigh reached for Rowan, her heart thundering as she pulled him close, raised her sword, and prayed even as she spoke.
“Invisible!” she whispered.
And so, it was.
While she held on to Rowan, he was invisible, too. She kept one arm around his waist; with the other, she kept her sword raised high.
The sword was magical, yes. And still, it was agony to hold it thus so long!
But they walked more quickly and silently. Then, past those who might have been on their trail, they ran, close, touching, and Kyleigh almos
t cried out, her arm hurt her so badly.
And at last they neared the fortress. They were about to streak from the trees and across to the moat when they stopped suddenly.
Fire suddenly burst into the sky from behind the walls of the fortress of Kenzie.
Chapter 9
“What the bloody hell?” Rowan cried out, racing across the open ground, heedless then of Kyleigh’s presence.
She followed him with all speed.
Whatever had happened, it had not deterred Col from his position at the wall. The rope ladder was cast down.
Rowan plunged first into the moat with Kyleigh at his heels. They reached the rope and he caught her arm allowing her climb up first.
She could hear shouting as they climbed the rope ladder; men rushing about to quench the fire.
When they reached the top of the wall, Col said, “No one knows. Something at the smithy just exploded. They are getting the fires out. No horses were injured; no one was working at the smithy so we have no deaths. A few men were leaned against walls working on their weapons. We surely have a few minor injuries.”
Rowan listened and then raced down the steps, quickly falling into line with those fighting the fires. Kyleigh felt Col’s grave eyes upon her.
She ran after Rowan, thinking she would join the line passing huge buckets of water from the wells to the smithy.
But she paused a distance from him, alone, just beneath the stairs to the top of the wall and lifted her face to the sky.
“Water? Please,” she said softly. As she did so, she wondered about the magic in the sword. Was it Merlin’s magic, coming through for her? Was any of it her own ability?
She asked for water.
And there was water.
She heard laughter and rejoicing as the heavens opened, and the rain came down.
Kyleigh felt it wash over her; there was nothing more she could that night. She hurried past the those standing about gaping in fear and those who had fought the fire, and made her way to the main tower, and from there quickly up the stairs to her room.
She stripped off her wet clothing, shivered, and dressed in the soft white linen gown left her to sleep in. She sat at the edge of the bed, hugging her arms around herself, shaking. She was good; she was helpful, she knew.
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