His Enchantment (12 page)

“The door to the side gate is open!” another man shouted.

Trálin cursed, shoved the door shut. “Run toward the cliffs!” Wind-fed snow pelted him as he pushed forward, the crunch of the iced surface giving way to a thick powdery white that slowed his each step.

Catarine dropped back. “The cliffs?”

“I know of a trail.” The gloom of night enveloped Trálin as he reached Catarine, then caught up with the king and queen. “Follow me!”

Yells echoed from the entry. Hinges creaked. The scrap of the iron sounded with a treacherous groan.

Catarine half-stumbled as she glanced back. “They are opening the portcullis!”

“We must make it around the side of the Stirling Castle,” Trálin called, “before they—”

“There they are!” a knight in the distance behind them yelled.

Catarine halted.

Trálin whirled. “What are you doing?”

Clouds broke overhead, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated her as if a magic spell cast. “I will slow them,” she replied. “Go, take the king and queen.”

“Catarine, you will—”

“Catch up with you.”

Snow whipped Trálin’s face as he caught Catarine’s hand. “Are you daft? Nay,” he muttered as he dragged her with him as he followed after the royal couple, “do nae answer that.”

Orders for more men to help find the royal couple rang out in their wake. The fierce gong of a bell sounded, backed by calls awakening those who still slept.

The king and queen hurried around the corner of Stirling Castle.

“Halt!” a distant guard yelled.

“This way. There is a hidden path down the cliffs.” Trálin headed toward a thicket of trees. As he neared, the limbs of the tree shook.

A burly guard leading several men brandishing swords stepped from the thick swath of firs before them. “Halt or be killed.”

The burly guard moving from the thick fir stilled. “Catarine?”

At Atair’s voice, her entire body sank with relief. In the racing clouds above, moonlight streamed through a break, exposing her senior fey warrior along with her other men moving out of the trees.

“Halt!” a deep voice boomed from near the castle walls.

Her breaths rushing out as puffs of white, Catarine sprinted toward Atair. “We escaped with the king and queen and are being chased. They must be taken to safety!”

Against the sparse moonbeams, a grimace flattened Atair’s mouth as he waved the men forward. “Drax, escort the king and queen down the trail. We will follow as soon as possible.”

“Aye.” Drax motioned for the king and queen to follow him. “This way, Your Grace, quickly.”

“Nay, I will fight.” The king gestured for the queen to follow Drax. “Go!”

Terror slid through Catarine. What was King Alexander doing? He could nae remain. “Your Grace, we are greatly outnumbered. Your safety is imperative.”

King Alexander withdrew his blade, “By God, ’tis my country, and I will face those who want me dead.”

A part of her damned the king’s decision of putting his life at risk, another held respect.

The queen hesitated, then nodded. “Be safe.”

King Alexander faced Catarine as the queen followed Drax through the fir boughs and out of sight. “Lady Catarine, go with her.”

“With respect, Your Grace,” she stated as she withdrew her sword. “I will remain and fight with my men.”

King Alexander stepped toward her. “’Tis nae—”

“Seize him!” the castle guard yelled as he closed.

With a curse, the king lifted his blade and joined the fey warriors as they charged the oncoming men.

Her mind shifting to tactics, Catarine followed. Wind hurled snow in her face as she met the first aggressor. She swung.

The screech of steel pierced the air.

She clenched her teeth, rounded her blade, swung. Metal slammed with a hard scrape.

The guard stumbled back.

Without hesitation, Catarine lunged forward, drove her sword into his heart, then withdrew. She whirled to face her next attacker. The cacophony of blades echoed around her as she delivered a fatal blow.

Her challenger crumpled to the smear of white.

Breaths coming fast, with no castle guards nearby, she glanced behind her. Near the trees where the queen and Drax had entered, Sionn was battling a tall knight, with Trálin engaged in a vicious clash of blades nearby.

Another knight ran around the castle corner, bolted toward Trálin.

Panic swept her. “Lord Grey, behind you!”

Trálin dispensed the knight before him with a savage blow, rounded on his heel, and angled his blade as the castle guard charged.

Steel scraped.

On a curse, Lord Grey shoved his attacker back.

“You will die for your treachery!” the knight roared as he swung.

Trálin’s sword caught the man’s blade at the hilt. He tossed it aside, then drove his sword deep. “Nay, ’tis your dishonor for which you will now pay the price.”

In the moonlight, the guard gasped, sank to his knees, then collapsed.

Sword readied for the next assailant, Catarine scanned the fractured moonlit area around him.

Several castle guards remained engaged in battle, but the king and fey warriors quickly finished them off.

“Your Grace,” Atair called, “we must go before reinforcements arrive!”

The king withdrew his blade from his attacker, sheathed it. “Aye.” He followed the senior fey warrior toward where the queen had entered the forest with Drax.

Breaths coming fast, Trálin ran to Catarine. “Are you hurt?”

“Nay,” she replied, her voice shaky.

“Thank God.” Trálin gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Come, we must hurry.”

Moonlight glittered upon the snow around her like fairy dust as she followed her fey warriors, Trálin at her side. As she reached the trees, she shoved aside a limb, ran through. A cloud of snow showered her, and she pushed forward.

Inside the cloak of trees, illuminated by wisps of moonlight, she navigated the needle-covered limbs, keeping up with her men ahead. With the grueling pace, she was thankful that the queen had a head start. They would need to keep moving throughout the night. Soon castle guards would arrive and find their men dead. Furious, they would send the full guard to recapture the king and queen—a fate she and her fey warriors could never allow, regardless the cost.

She rounded a large boulder, and the trees began to thin. In the distance, with the clouds clearing, she made out her warriors and the king as Drax led Queen Margaret down a narrow path.

Atair slowed. “We were to aid you in freeing the king,” he said, his voice cool, “nae meet you outside the castle walls after the fact.”

“Catarine had an accident and almost died,” Trálin stated without apology. “We were fortunate to be allowed inside Stirling Castle, more so that a few hours of rest, warmth, and food allowed her to recover.”

“God’s sword,” Atair rasped. “How fare thee now?”

In the shimmers of moonlight, Catarine pushed aside another bough of fir, the scent rich. “I fought well enough.”

“Stubborn lass,” Atair muttered.

“An opinion you and Trálin both hold,” she replied.

Atair dodged a tree. “As if you do nae hold the blasted trait?”

“Mayhap.” Her breaths coming fast, a smile touched Catarine’s mouth. Both men were—

“They have killed our men!” a man’s deep voice boomed from behind them.

Fear tore through her. “The reinforcements have arrived.”

Trálin caught her arm, shoved her ahead of him. “Go. Now!”

Aware now was nae the time to argue, she bolted forward. Moments later, the fey warriors aided the king and queen as they hurried into shadows of rock and began their descent down the dangerous cliffs.

Catarine didn’t peer over the edge, didn’t think, but focused on each snow-laden step. She refused to ponder her near fall from the wooden bridge spanning the gorge, or the mind-numbing fear. That her guards had made it to Stirling Castle safely, and that they had a path down the precarious cliffs, was more than enough reason to give thanks.

“If only our shield of invisibility would cover humans as well,” Catarine whispered to Trálin as she wedged her foot into the next rocky jut.

He angled his body, reached the next step down. “Aye.”

Weary, she clutched a sturdy branch, stepped down.

 

Throughout the night, beneath shimmers of moonlight mixed with shadows, they worked their way down. At times the sounds of the castle guards searching for them grew close, at others their shouts echoed from afar.

Wisps of purple gold illuminated the sky as Trálin held onto a sturdy limb, climbed down another precarious step of the treacherous ledge. He glanced up.

In the meager light of dawn, a mask of weariness painted Catarine’s face. Regardless, she pushed on without complaint.

Blast it, the lass would nae ask to halt unless she collapsed. Though she’d recovered from near freezing, another day’s rest would do her well. Nae that they had time for such luxury with the castle guards on their heels.

“The sun is beginning to rise,” Trálin said. “We must find a place to hide and rest.”

With a frustrated sigh, Catarine searched the rough trail ahead. “No doubt the king and queen are unused to such demanding travel. Do you know of anywhere nearby we can take cover for the day?”

“Nay,” Lord Grey replied. “The few times I passed this way, I did nae have a need to ask. But, below is a ledge hidden by boulders. ’Tis enough room for us all to take a break and discuss our next move.”

Her body trembling with fatigue, Catarine stepped down onto the rocky shelf. Wind swept snow rushed past as she followed Trálin to where the angled rock broke the gusts of windswept snow.

Amidst the swaths of orange red illuminating the morning sky, one by one, her men reached the landing.

The first rays of morning sun slipped through the crevices, leaving an unsettling glow around him as Catarine waited for everyone to gather.

“How fare thee, my queen?” King Alexander asked as he guided his wife toward the clearing.

Queen Margaret gave him a wilted smile. “Well enough.”

As the king reached the awaiting men, he nodded to each one, his expression fierce. “With Comyn’s guards out en force, we must decide our best strategy.”

Trálin rubbed his chin. “Your Grace, the Comyns will believe that you will attempt to reach Scone Castle.”

“Aye,” King Alexander agreed. “Instead, I will return to Loch Leven Castle.”

Stunned, Trálin shook his head. “Your Grace, with my knights slaughtered and only the castle guard to protect you, ’tis too dangerous to return.”

“I too believe ’tis wise to return to Loch Leven Castle,” the queen stated. “Those who abducted you will think that with the lack of your security, you would hesitate to return. Fools that they are, they do nae know you.” Her mouth thinned. “Evident by their brazen abduction.”

“A point well made,” the king agreed. “Nor are the Comyns aware of the secret chambers within Loch Leven Castle. From there, I can send runners to lords I trust to deal with the Comyns’ treachery.”

“Aye,” Trálin agreed, then met Catarine’s gaze. “Your Grace, ’tis one other issue I wish to discuss.”

King Alexander arched a thick brow. “Go on, Lord Grey.”

“Your Grace, while I lay wounded and dying on the field outside Loch Leven Castle, Lady Catarine and her men saved me. ’Twas due to their help that we were able to set you and the queen free.”

His gaze somber, the king nodded. “My deepest thanks to you all. Your brave actions saved a man who is like a brother to me, and freed the queen and I.”

Heat swept Catarine’s cheeks. “’Twas my honor to aid you, and the queen, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace,” Trálin said. “I mention their brave actions as they have need of your aid.”

“Indeed?” King Alexander asked. “Explain.”

“Lady Catarine and her men were en route to complete their own task when they came upon my men and I fighting after your abduction,” Lord Grey replied. “For the risks she and her men have made in your behalf, I ask that you grant them aid in completing their quest.”

The king’s somber eyes focused on her. “Lady Catarine, ask what you will, and I will grant it.”

The image of her uncle sprawled on the floor came to mind, and emotion stormed her. “Your Grace, my uncle was murdered,” she explained, avoiding any mention of her being nobility, or that she and her warriors were fey. “We were following the attacker’s trail in the vicinity of Loch Leven Castle when we lost it near where Lord Grey and his men were attacked.” She took a calming breath. “We believe with Lord Grey and several of your knights helping us search, we can pick up the trail and find whoever is behind the treachery.”

King Alexander rubbed his jaw as he studied her. “Why do you believe Lord Grey and extra men will help you find the trail?”

As if she could admit she believed magic had erased the assassin’s tracks to the fey and that ’twas still visible to humans? She shot Trálin a nervous look before focusing on the king. “Your Grace, we have traveled far in our quest. We know nae the land, nor its people.”

The king studied her a moment. “A fair request. We will discuss the number of men needed once we reach Loch Leven Castle.”

Catarine exhaled with relief. Regardless of the snow covering the tracks, she refused to believe they wouldn’t catch who was behind the treachery, more so with Trálin knowing the land and those who lived there. “My thanks, Your Grace. ’Tis generous of you.”

“’Tis little for the risks you and your men have taken to free Queen Margaret and I,” the king replied.

A gust of wind swept past. Like an omen, snowflakes spiraled around them, then sifted to the ground like fairy dust cast. Nerves swept her. What was her family doing now? Was everyone safe? Had anyone tried to follow her and the fey warriors through the stone circle?
Please let them all be safe.

The king rubbed his chin. “Who is your father, Lady Catarine? I am sure we have met.”

Catarine caught her breath. As if she could answer that? “I—”

“Your Grace,” Trálin interrupted, “though we are tired, we must nae tarry. No doubt Comyn’s men are scouring the cliffs. We must then find a place to stay during the daylight. Once the sun sets, I believe ’tis best if we continue toward Loch Leven Castle beneath the darkness of night.”

She shot Lord Grey a thankful glance.

“Aye,” the king agreed, thankfully ignorant to the near disaster of her trying to explain. He took in his wife. “My queen, how do you fare?”

“A bit cold, but no more than anyone else here,” Queen Margaret replied, determination riding her voice. “And able to travel wherever we need to go.”

Pride swept the king’s face. “You are a woman to make your country proud.”

Trálin turned to the fey warriors. “In your travels here, did you find anywhere large enough where we can rest for the day that will give us cover?”

“Aye, Lord Grey” Atair replied. “We can stay where we bedded down last night. ’Tis a wee bit farther down the cliffs, but ’twill work.”

“Excellent,” the king replied.

“Before we depart,” Sionn said, “I have a bit of wine if anyone has thirst.” He held out a flask.

“My thanks.” The king took a long draught, then handed it to the queen.

After everyone had taken a drink, Trálin secured the top of the flask and handed it to Atair. “My thanks.”

The lead fey warrior secured his flask, nodded. “Thank you for keeping your word to help us,” he said in a low voice.

“You had doubts?” Trálin asked.

His face solemn, Atair secured the flask in his belt, met his gaze. “No longer.”