His Enchantment (20 page)

Tension rolled through Trálin. “Whoever he awaits must be arriving soon.”

“Is it just me,” she asked, “or is this the worst soup you have ever tasted in your life?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “’Tis awful.”

“It should be on the floor.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Mayhap it was.”

With a grimace, she shoved aside her bowl. “Though a jest,” she said as she wiped her mouth, “I am nae taking any chances.”

“I agree. It may be safer to finish only the bread.”

The rumble of voices filled the room, some low and secretive, others booming with their latest conquest. A man with unkempt hair scraggled around his shoulders leaned with menace toward another man.

At another table, a man grabbed a goblet of mead and upended the cup, sending the golden brew dripping from each corner of his mouth.

Trálin shifted to better protect Catarine. Braggarts, the lot of them. He would be pleased when they could depart this ill-gotten place.

With a yell of outrage, a man at a nearby table stood and drove his fist in the face of the man sitting across from him.

“Bloody hell,” Trálin hissed. He stood, shoved Catarine behind him as he withdrew his sword. “Stay.”

The man nearest them cursed, then dove over the table toward the aggressor.

The other man’s head snapped back with a loud crack as the fist connected.

The first man swung.

Both table and chair went over as they crashed to the floor. Curses spewed around them, some in outrage, others cheering the men on. Several shouted bets whether both men lived or died, or who would be the victor.

A glint flashed in the hand of the man on top.

“He has a knife!” Catarine gasped.

With a grunt, the man holding the blade slashed the other’s neck.

Wild eyed, the man sprawled on the floor screamed as blood spilled down his filthy garb. His face grew to a mottled purple. Then, his entire body began to shudder. A moment later, he stilled.

As the man’s lifeblood continued to seep out, a scraggly looking man nearby cursed, then handed over coin to his companion. Laughter echoed from across the chamber. Several occupants grunted with indifference and returned to their tables, talking and drinking their ale.

Amidst the flow of ribald conversation, two burly men lumbered over, hauled the body up, and dragged him toward the door.

Trálin glanced toward Catarine.

Shock widened her eyes as she watched.

Bedamned. He put his arm around her and turned her to face him. However strong she proclaimed herself, and though in battle—in self-defense—she’d claimed a life, what she’d seen this day should nae be witnessed by a woman.

A tremor rippled over her body. “’Tw-Twould seem this is a common occurrence.”

Lord Grey’s mouth tightened. “We will leave soon.”

Pale eyes met his, their determination clear. “We will, but only when we learn what we came to.”

His admiration for her grew. Many a woman would have retched at the grisly scene of moments before. And, it answered the question of what muck he had stepped in earlier, and what was the underlying stench in the room that neither food nor ale could nae smother. Bloody hell, the filth inhabiting this inn should all be hauled out and hanged.

One of the men holding the body shoved open the door. Together, they dragged the dead man out.

As the door started to close, a small, cloaked figure slipped inside and shut the door behind them with a soft thud.

Trálin stilled. The person they awaited?

Without hesitation, the figure headed toward the man they’d followed.

A thought flashed through Trálin’s mind that he’d nae considered before. If this was one of the fey, would they recognize Catarine? God’s teeth, would they nae sense her magic? Worried he’d placed her in danger, to shield her, he brushed kisses across her cheek. “Lass,” he whispered, “if one of the fey, they will sense your magic, even if they dinna see you!”

Her body tensed.

“Do nae try and look,” he said, “focus on me.”

“Is the robed person headed toward the man we followed?” she asked as he brushed his mouth over hers.

“Aye.” With a slow, subtle move, Trálin eyed the slender figure who, without hesitation, walked past the grim characters filling the inn.

“Nae worry, I brought along my bejeweled belt hidden beneath my garb for such a purpose. As long as I touch the stones upon it,” she explained, “none of the fey will be able to sense me, but ’twill nae keep me hidden from their view. Each within the royal family is given such.”

Trálin recalled catching sight of the belt when they’d first met. After everything he’d learned, he should have suspected it held magic. “What is happening now?” she whispered, her mouth against his, her hand remaining under the table and against the stones on the bejeweled belt.

“’Tis odd, none of the men within are paying the stranger any attention. Nae even a glance. ’Tis as if the person wasna here.”

“Or they have a spell upon them so they canna be seen,” she whispered.

“That doesna make sense,” he replied against her soft mouth.

“Why?”

“How can I see them?”

She shivered. “Because you are linked with me.”

“Linked to you?” He drew back, watched her eyes. “You meant by kissing you?”

A blush touched her cheeks. “Nae, because to a degree, we have been intimate.”

Confusion shifted to concern. “If indeed ’tis an accomplice from the Otherworld, will they be able to detect our . . . link?”

Uneasy eyes held his. “I am nae sure.”

The last thing he wished to do was to put her in harm’s way. As if he hadn’t been doing a bloody fine job since they’d met. He nuzzled her hair.

“What does the person look like?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Whoever it is, as if taking every precaution, he or she is still cloaked and wearing a hood pulled low to shield the face,” he replied.

“Build?”

“Slender.”

“How tall?” she asked.

“About your height. The person walks with almost an uncanny grace. If asked anywhere else, I would say ’tis a woman.”

“A woman?” she whispered, dread filling her voice. “Oh God, ’tis Princess Elspeth!”

Fear tore through Catarine as she fought for calm within the smoke-filled inn. “Though she keeps her hood up as a precaution, I canna believe my aunt would dare risk exposing herself.”

“’Tis brazen.” Trálin whispered, his body continuing to block hers from the woman’s view.

“Indeed.” The savage deeds her aunt had initiated proved how strong she’d become. And her suspicions of her needing to join with the Comyns or to be in league in the abduction of King Alexander fell away.

A shard of hope filtered through her, a hope nurtured by the years past. “Trálin, mayhap ’tis nae her? If I saw her, regardless of her cover, I would know.”

“If ’tis Princess Elspeth,” he cautioned, “’tis dangerous to risk her catching a glimpse of you.”

She swallowed hard. “The stakes are too high. We must be sure.”

Trálin hesitated a moment, then with a muttered curse, he shifted a degree.

The slender figure walked with a steady gait toward the man who sat two tables away, but the thick robe shielded any other discerning features. From the way the person moved, ’twas indeed a woman, but was it her aunt? The height was correct, but without seeing at least a glimpse of her face, Catarine could nae be sure. And as her hand was hidden within the cloak, if indeed it was Elspeth, Catarine would nae be able to detect such.

As the mysterious woman sat, the flowing robe settled around her in a shielding heap. Naught but the tip of a boot lay exposed.

Trálin shifted closer and kissed her. “Do you recognize her?”

“I canna see her face,” Catarine replied. “Mayhap if I heard her voice.”

The mysterious person leaned forward.

Catarine focused, listened with her extra sensitive fey hearing.

The man nodded once. A moment later, he shook his head.

“Anything?” Trálin whispered.

Frustration built as she tried to catch a wisp, an inflection of the tone. “’Tis too noisy for me to hear either of them.”

“Blast it,” he whispered. “The reason I suspect she chose this inn as a meeting place. Still, given your fey sensitivities, I would have thought you would have heard something.”

“I as well.”

Frustration carved his brow as Trálin moved and shielded her from the woman’s view. “Should we confront them?”

“Without the fey guard to back us up, and with her power,” she replied, “’twould be too dangerous.”

He paused a long moment. “You do believe we will be able to stop her?”

Nausea churned in her gut. “I do nae know.” She shifted again to catch a glimpse of the woman. “But there is—”

The robed figure stiffened, turned toward them.

Catarine stilled.

“What is it?” Trálin asked.

“Whatever it is, it has turned our way!” she whispered.

Bedamned! He put his arm around her, drew her face against his neck, but allowed a wedge of space so she could continue to see. “Is the figure still looking at us?”

Her body trembled. “Aye.”

“Can you see who it is?”

A long second passed, broken by crude laughter a table away.

“Nae . . . Oh no!” she whispered. “The person is standing.”

Trálin clasped the hilt of his dagger.

“Wait,” she cautioned in a low voice. “It is turning toward the front entry.”

On a rough breath he dropped his hand. “Once they leave, then we will follow.”

On an unsteady breath, she nodded.

Through the crowd of men, a faint scrape of the door sounded. Trálin shot a covert glance toward the entry. A wisp of the robed figure exited into the night, then the lone stranger departed in their wake.

He caught Catarine’s hand. “Come. We will keep our pace easy to nae alert anyone.”

Her fingers trembling in his hand, after several steps, she tugged him to a halt. “You are heading for the stairs.”

“Aye,” he whispered. “We canna use the front door. No doubt whoever is behind this has someone inside this chamber watching for anything suspicious, or if anyone tries to follow.”

“We do nae know the room we are supposed to stay in.”

“Indeed.” Trálin took Catarine’s hand. “Mildryth is carrying food to a back table. We will ask her.”

Moments later, with the location of the room supplied, he led her toward the steps, keeping their pace slow.

The soft thud of wood echoed below them as they headed up to the next floor.

Out of sight, he dropped her hand. “Hurry.” He sprinted toward an open door facing the front of the building. After Catarine entered, he shut the door, then crossed to the window. Through the smear of filth, Trálin scanned the area below.

“What do you see?”

“The man at the stable is bringing out their horses,” he replied. “Once we know what direction they are riding, we will alert the others and follow.”

“With them on horseback, how are we ever going to pick up their trail once we rejoin with our men?”

Trálin scanned the sky. “Clouds are shielding the moon, so odds are, with the rough lay of land, wherever they are traveling, ’tis nae far.”

Catarine crossed to the window. In silence she watched as the two figures mounted, then guided their steeds into the night. “They are headed southwest.”

“Aye.” A soft scrape broke the silence as Trálin lifted the window. “Follow me.” He paused, turned to give her a quick, hard kiss, then slipped out the window to a nearby tree.

With a glimpse at the unused bed, on a sigh, Catarine followed in his wake.

 

Several hours later, thankful to have rejoined with their men and for the clearing skies that’d allowed them to pick up the trail, Catarine guided her mount across the uneven ground.

“We have nae seen tracks for a while,” she said as she glanced toward Drax. “With the many places to hide, I doubt we will find the pair unless we stumble upon them.”

“Aye,” Drax agreed.

On edge, she navigated her steed down a steep incline, the hard clip of hooves upon the frozen ground. Were the riders close enough to hear them? And what of her fey guard she’d sent to the Otherworld to warn her family? Had Sionn reached her father as well?

Riding at her side, Trálin reined in his steed. “I see a light ahead. Everyone hold!”

Along with the others, she drew her horse to a halt. A bundle of nerves, Catarine peered through the clusters of rock and errant brush. In the distance beyond a snow-dusted ledge, she caught a faint glow. “’Tis a campfire, but I see only one person.”

“As do I,” Kuircc said.

Drax shifted in his saddle. “Whoever was with the man should be nearby.”

“Or, they have left to meet with others,” Catarine said.

“Aye,” Lord Grey agreed. “If so, why leave the man there, unless his presence is meant to lure us in?”

Uneasy, Catarine glanced over, the scent of cold earth and the night filling her every breath. “Do you think the robed woman suspected that we would follow her?”

Trálin shrugged. “I do nae know. We caught signs of their passing since we picked up their trail, but we canna be sure that she is nearby or has continued on.”

“There is only one way to find out,” Drax said. “We go in.”

Frustration slammed her. “We canna risk riding much closer. With the lack of cover, if ’tis indeed a trap, ’twill be too easy to be seen.”

Trálin cursed. “We must wait for sunrise.”

Thankful the clouds had cleared throughout the night, she scanned the hue-laden heavens. “With faint hints of the dawn streaking the sky, ’twill nae be long.” Logic suggested that the man’s campfire and supposed lack of concern of being seen was a ploy to catch them, but a part of her held doubt. “Mayhap the mysterious person has continued on. I agree with Lord Grey, ’tis best if we wait here.”

Leather creaked as Drax dismounted. “Never have I seen the likes of our surroundings. The blasted land is a maze of cliffs and flat sweeps of land.”

“I have heard of this odd lay of land before,” Trálin said as he swung off his mount, then walked his steed to a nearby boulder, “but I have nae been this far Southwest in England and seen it or the myth it holds.”

Unease swept through her as she jumped to the ground. “Myth it holds?”

“Aye,” Trálin replied. “If you continue southwest, ’tis said to be a maze of caves crafted by an underground river over the years.”

Her disquiet grew. “You know someone who dared enter the caves?”

“Aye,” Trálin replied, “or so he said. I know the man and he is given to tell a tale or two, so I dismissed his stories as naught but a bard’s tale.”

“What did he tell?” Kuircc asked, his voice tense.

Lord Grey hesitated. “You believe the caves are important?”

“I do,” Kuircc replied.

“Did the trail on the map end near here?” Catarine asked.

“Blast it,” Trálin said. “I should have mentioned them before. With the area so barren and disbelieving the stories, I dismissed the caves as a possibility.”

“’Tis no time for regrets,” Catarine said as she led her steed to where the others secured theirs. “Tell us what you were told.”

Lord Grey nodded. “Inside, the man spoke of rock formations as thin as your finger in clusters hanging from the ceiling, and of underground waterfalls. He also mentioned odd faces crafted by the water.” He paused. “And, the man said when he exited the cave, ’twas as if voices chased him out. At the time I thought his words were a bunch of rot.”

Her entire body stilled. “What type of rock are the caves made from?”

“Limestone,” Lord Grey replied.

Catarine shivered. God help them. “I was afraid of that.”

Drax cursed. “Are you thinking what I am?”

“Unfortunately,” Catarine agreed.

Trálin glanced from one to the other. “What does it matter?”

She swallowed hard, then glanced toward the Scottish knights in accompaniment, thankful they rested far enough away so they could hear naught. “To bathe in a pool of water filled in a limestone is how a fairy goes into deep meditation.”

“Meditation?” Trálin asked.

“Aye,” she replied. “It is how the fey recover if they receive a serious wound. Or, if they are involved with magic, ’tis how they become more powerful.”

Lord Grey’s breath left him with a hiss. “You are saying the stories the man told me are nae only true, but you believe Princess Elspeth is using the caves to build her powers?”

“Along with the strength of her army,” Catarine added.

“’Twould explain why no one else searched the caves further after the man’s stories,” Trálin said. “Or, if they indeed found the entry, dared to go inside.”

“Dared to go inside?” she asked. “Why?”

“Remember how I told you the man railed of how he had heard voices as he was leaving?”

What else would he reveal? On edge, she nodded.

“When the man told others of what he’d seen and heard,” Trálin explained, “like wildfire word spread that the caves are haunted. And with each telling, the fable grew to include ghosts, and outrageous tales of evil that if witnessed, ’twould turn a man into stone.”

“That explains why the caves remain left alone,” Drax grumbled.

Realization dawned. “’Twas planned,” Catarine whispered. “The caves are difficult to find, are they nae?”

Lord Grey nodded. “Very much so, the entry is all but hidden.”

“And if any came across what they suspected the entrance, with the whispers of evil haunting the caverns,” she explained, “none would dare go inside.”

“Blast it,” Trálin said. “It makes sense.”

The curl of wind slid past, casting loose snow and leaves past. As she stared at the flicker of distant flames, trepidation filled her. “Princess Elspeth used fear and humans’ belief that the caves were haunted to ensure no one dared to venture near.”

“How long ago was it that the man told you about the caves?” Drax asked.

“Before I was knighted,” Trálin replied. “’Twould be more than eight summers ago. Even then, the man told me his experience had happened many years prior.”

“From the few things we have seen,” Catarine said, “Princess Elspeth has been there a long time and used her time well. She has grown strong in her magic and is extremely dangerous. Regardless of the risk, we must search the caves. She and her men may still be within.”

God in heaven knew what they would find inside the twist of stone. How many weapons had her aunt ordered crafted? No doubt all spell-tipped to allow the English knights to kill the fey? And with the years passed, how many well-trained knights stood readied to destroy her home? However many men they faced, somehow, they must figure out a way to stop them.

“First,” Catarine said, refusing to allow her fears to guide her, “if the man ahead is alone, we must find out what he knows.”

“If ’tis possible,” Trálin stated. “Like the other two men, she might kill him before he reveals anything.

“I pray this time is different.” But she held doubts.

Muscles aching, she stretched her shoulders, then caught herself before she yawned. “With the hard miles we have traveled, however brief, we all can use the rest. Kuircc, pass word to the men we are taking a short break.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked toward the outcrop of rocks near the edge of a stone-shielded cliff.

His mouth tight, Trálin watched her leave. However worn out she was, and regardless of her brave words, she grieved her aunt’s transition to evil, a woman she loved and respected—an important person in her life whom she could no longer trust. Mayhap he could say something to help ease the emotional burden she carried? He started after her.

Drax stepped before him. “Lord Grey, she wishes to be alone.”

He met her fey warrior’s cool stare. “A warning?”

The fey warrior crossed his arms over his chest. “A caution.”

As if he’d bloody stay away. Catarine was struggling, and however much he could, he would be there for her. His heart aching at all she struggled with, Trálin moved past the warrior and walked to the flat slab of rock she sat upon, her knees up, her head resting against her legs.