Forgotten Fate (Sisters of Danu Book 3), page 26
Already, he knew how deeply Treasa had altered him, for he betrayed his father by lying about their consummation and promising to return her willingly. He had never once considered going against his father’s orders, no matter how obtuse they had been. Looking around at the 400 warriors and serfs that prepared for battle, he shook his head at the slaughter that was soon to follow. These men were outnumbered and unprepared, he was sure of it.
Not only had it been rumored that Tuathal landed with 300 of his own warriors, but the majority of the kings in Ériu, along with their armies, the faery army, and the Sisters of Danu had sided with him and doubled his ranks. There was little hope of success for Elim.
Guilt tweaked at Jeoffrey, for he suddenly found himself hoping for a loss. His father had destroyed this country, all for his own purposes and had dragged Jeoffrey down with him. Defeat was his only escape. Death was the only means by which his torture would be eased. Even if he escaped, he would have to live a life without Treasa, and he suddenly realized that he could not. Death was a welcome companion, coming closer with every passing minute.
“Jeoffrey!” he heard his father bellow from his tent. Pulling back the flap, Jeoffrey gently touched Treasa’s lower back, urging her within as he followed. “They come. You and your wife need to be seen. Her family needs to see her, to know she is alive and stands to become queen upon our victory. Her family will betray Tuathal and fight for us!” He sounded like a mad man and Jeoffrey wondered why he had ever thought this ludicrous plan would work.
“Father,” Jeoffrey stepped forward with desperation in his voice. “I urge you to abandon this plan. It will not work. Treasa’s family will never abandon the man they believe to be their rightful king, just as your men will not abandon you. Putting Treasa in front of them as bait will only force their anger and guarantee your death.” He shook his head, hoping his father would, for once, heed his words. Treasa wrung her hands together, hoping Elim would listen, but also clearly fearing for Jeoffrey. He had never spoken thusly to his father and the danger that sparked in Elim’s eyes sent chills down his spine.
Elim reached out and grabbed Treasa, jerking her back up against his chest as he held her arms behind her back. “Do you love your wife, Jeoffrey?” he sneered.
Jeoffrey stepped forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to attack his own father to save Treasa. “You know I do.”
“Good. Then you would be wise to pray that our plan works, for she is worthless to me otherwise. If she fails in turning her family, then I will slit her throat, myself.” A sneer curled his lips and Treasa gasped in pain at Elim’s crushing grip.
“You would kill my wife?” Jeoffrey said, shaking his head in disgust. “After everything I have done for you? You bastard!” With nothing left to him, he shouted the one thing that he hoped would sway his father. “What if she is carrying my child?” He knew it to be an impossibility, but his father knew no such thing.
“What care I for her babe if we lose this battle?” he spat. “It will be nay heir to me if there is nay throne to claim.”
“Is that all you care about, father? The throne? Have you nay care for me or my child, even if we live on to be only common people?” Jeoffrey was panicking, trying anything he could to make his father release his wife.
“I will kill you and that babe myself before I let you live a common life!” Elim roared. “Tis all or nothing, Jeoffrey…for all of us!”
Jeoffrey wanted to shout, “nay!” and walk away, but Treasa’s life was now at risk. If he walked away, her life would be forfeit. He could see the fear in her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Aye. You are correct. We will succeed,” he nodded, appeasing his father. “Give me my wife and we will find our way to the top of the mountain.” He put his hand out, expecting his father to release Treasa, but Elim only jerked her back harder, making her head snap as she squealed in pain.
“Actually…she feels quite nice pressed up against me. I think I will keep her for myself. Perhaps I made an error in giving her to you. After all, what would sway her family more? To see her as your future queen? Or to see her as my present queen?” He cackled at his own deception, marveling at the pure genius of it and obviously wondering why he had never thought of it before. His black eyes glittered wickedly and he buried his face into her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. She cringed and tried to jerk away, but he only pulled her closer.
“How foolish of me to not see the benefit of making her my own bride! I admit, I only told you she was beautiful to convince you of the deed. I never knew how truly beautiful she was, or I would have never given her to you!” He snarled at his son. “You are a coward, Jeoff, not capable of the deception this requires. Thank you for convincing me that my original plan was defective, for I would never have thought of such an improvement. What say you, my queen?” he ran his tongue up her neck and bit on her earlobe, making her gag at his putrid breath.
“Nay. She is my wife, by law.” How glad Jeoffrey was that Treasa had agreed to lie about bedding him. That lie made his father incapable of stealing her for his own. “You cannot have her.”
Elim laughed. “Oh, I can…if you are dead. Guards!” he shouted. Two men came rushing into the tent, their hands on the hilts of their swords. “Take my son away. Kill him, for he is nay longer of use to me.” The guards’ eyebrows rose in shock, not understanding this command.
“You would kill your own son, just to steal his wife?” Jeoffrey shouted as the men grabbed his arms and prepared to carry him away.
Treasa was kicking and screaming now, trying to throw herself at Jeoffrey. “Nay! Do not kill him!” Jeoffrey heard the panic rising in her voice as he was dragged away. “He is not my husband!” she sobbed. Her breathing was frantic and she was beginning to hyperventilate.
“Nay, Treasa…do not do this!” Jeoffrey warned. Her confession may save him, but it would doom her to his father’s clutches. “Do not…” he silently mouthed to her, pleading with his eyes.
She looked at him as a tear ran down her cheek and shook her head slowly in resignation. He begged her silently to not speak the truth, but he could tell by the determined set of her shoulders that she was not going to stand back and let him be slaughtered. “I-I…never…bed…him!” she bellowed, panting in between hysterical breaths. “Our marriage is unconsummated! You need not kill him!” she screamed.
Elim laughed like a mad man. “Is this true, Jeoffrey? It seems you have successfully bedded every woman you have ever met, yet you were unsuccessful in bedding the one required of you?” he laughed wildly at the irony. “I should have you killed anyway, but I suppose your little lass here has affection enough to save your life. Nay need in losing my heir now, and I can keep her as well.” He sounded satisfied. “Hie yourself back to your tent, Jeoffrey. Consider yourself fortunate, for one more wrong move, and I will lay my odds upon getting my new bride with an heir to replace you.”
Jeoffrey struggled in the strong grip of the two guards, desperate to save Treasa from the disaster she had found herself in. He locked eyes with her and was shocked to see her smile. It was not a smile of pleasure, but one of reassurance. She had put herself in this position to save his life and was urging him not to ruin her sacrifice. One wrong move and she would not only be Elim’s captive, but Jeoffrey would die. “Go,” she mouthed at him and nodded. “Go.”
He shook his head at her, his mouth dropping into a deep frown, tears beginning to blur his vision. But before he could decide on his own, the guards guided him out of the tent.
“What a turn of events,” Elim said with glee. “I have now claimed a wife of my own, thus intensifying my chances of turning my enemies against Tuathal. Come,” he pulled her alongside him, dragging her from the tent. “Battle is imminent. You are mine now and will stay by my side, or Jeoffrey dies. Do you understand?” She shook her head in agreement, but it was not enough for Elim. He whirled on her and gripped her face tightly with his hand, forcing her lips together and indenting her cheeks as he squeezed. “Nay. I want to hear the words on those bonny lips of yours. Tell me you understand.”
“Aye,” she forced through her pushed together lips. He released her face and began dragging her away again.
“This day only improves by the hour. By nightfall, Tuathal will be dead and you will be mine,” he laughed. Treasa only listened, having no words for the crazed man who held her captive. Now she understood why Jeoffrey had abducted her, for there was no consequence except death for defying Elim Mac Conrach. Treasa was not ready to die. She would keep her thoughts to herself and do his bidding. Once Eoin arrived, he would slay Elim, and unlike his son’s life, she had no desire to preserve his.
“They are camped just over that hill,” Finmall pointed. “Nay doubt, they know we come.”
Tuathal nodded and ran his fingers through his short beard as he decided his next move. The metal of his iron helm shone in the bright morning sun and his exquisitely molded breastplate with runes etched into the surface boasted of his power and influence.
All women and servants had been left back in the safety of their camp. Liam, Brocc, and Garreth rode up front with Tuathal, Brocc with the Spear of Lugh and Garreth with the Sword of Light. Just before Tuathal gave the signal to charge, Garreth held out the sword he had sheathed secretly for protection, never wanting any man to steal it. It lit up brightly as if the sun itself was contained within the precious golden blade, its gem-encrusted hilt gleaming in its own light. Tuathal breathed deeply at the sight of this strange sword. “What kind of sword is that?” Tuathal exclaimed. “Tis unlike anything I have ever seen…”
Garreth held out the exquisite treasure. “This is the Sword of Light. Have you heard of it?”
“Aye,” Tuathal whispered in awe, his deep blue eyes glaring into its light. “But I thought it was lost, never to be found again!”
Garreth grunted with mirth. “So had we. Part of our quest was to seek out this lost treasure of the Danann before arriving at your camp. You saw the Dagda Cauldron last night. Brocc has the Spear of Lugh, and I have the Sword. It lights up to warn its wielder of impending danger. Apparently, it senses Elim,” Garreth smirked at its glowing surface. “This sword is said to never miss its mark.” Garreth handed the glittering hilt over to Tuathal.
“You will let me use it?” Tuathal asked in shock.
“Our only goal is to support you in your claim of the throne, my king. And, to retrieve my niece. If this sword helps bring you victory, then I would rather it go to you.”
Tuathal looked at the gleaming gold sword, swathed in a white glow as he grabbed the jeweled hilt. It was heavy and powerful in his hands. “My thanks, Garreth,” Tuathal said with feeling. “I am blessed to have you and your family by my side. When this battle is over, you all shall be handsomely rewarded.” Before Garreth could reply that no reward was necessary for their loyalty, Tuathal held the brilliant sword in the air for his army of 600 to follow. “To battle we go, men! Victory will be ours!” he charged his black steed toward the hill that would lead him to Elim.
“To Victory!” the warriors all shouted in unison as the rumble of horses and feet hitting the earth all at once caused the ground to shake. Battle had begun. Battle cries and shouts filled the air as the men allowed adrenaline and bloodlust to fill their veins, preparing them to fight to the death if necessary.
Eoin rode next to his father, silently focusing straight ahead, single-mindedly seeking his wife. As the men came over the rise of the hill, they thundered down it again, filling the valley below with the sounds of metal on metal as the two armies collided with a thunderous crash. A storm of arrows rained down over the heads of the horsed warriors from the back of their ranks, connecting with the front line of Elim’s army. Screams of agony filled the valley and blood began to cover the lush grass, now trampled and destroyed by the warfare of men.
Raised swords gleamed in the light of the sun above, illuminating the blue sky as clouds lazily floated overhead, oblivious to the deadly battle raging below. The sound of creaking wheels thundered passed Eoin on his right as a chariot pulled up and two warriors armed with mail chest plates and horned helms charged out of the back with swords held high, releasing a battle cry that shook Eoin’s skull. Their cry was rewarded with a response from half their men and he realized these were Tuathal’s men from Alba. Only elite warriors rode upon chariots and earned the rare mail armor of a king’s champion.
Some men had horses, but most only their feet. Arrows, swords, spears, and shields clashed together as cries of pain and death rang out. Hills surrounded the battlefield on all sides, containing the battle within a wall of death. Eoin raised his sword and slashed at his enemies, taking down two men charging at him on foot. They wore rags and carried blunted rusty daggers. These poor souls never stood a chance against Eoin’s razor sharp blade, warrior training, and his single-minded goal of finding Treasa amongst the chaos.
His gut told him to look high and away from the battle. She had been taken for a reason, to be used as bait, no doubt. The enemy would not be foolish enough to keep her within the range of battle. Nay, they would have her away from the fighting, and most likely upon one of the many hills. He tried to look around him as he searched the hills, but the sun was too bright and he had to squint against its rays, blinded by the glare of weapons. Enemies were throwing themselves in his way, forcing him to avert his eyes and focus on his attackers.
A man on a horse wielding a spear came charging at him, but he quickly swerved Banshee away and slashed at the man’s side with his sword. The warrior fell off his horse, blood pouring out of the lethal gash. Eoin continued to charge through the battle, taking men out as he sought the high ground for a better view. He could see Liam still on his horse, also skillfully fighting the enemy as he searched for his daughter.
By now, the two armies had melded together into one chaotic mass. Knowing friend from foe was a challenge, the only indication being the clothing of the men. Elim’s army consisted mostly of the poorest of men, bearing no more than tattered rags. Eoin almost felt sorry for these men who had been led astray in hopes of a better life. But the destruction they wrought only left him feeling disgusted and there was no room for pity in battle, for his enemies would show him none.
As Eoin successfully cut his way through to the other side of the valley, he was able to ride Banshee up to the top of a small hill, giving him a better view of the fighting and the surrounding area. He could see Freyne fighting like a true warrior, having taken out a dozen men by himself simply with his bow, but he had since come down from the high ground to fight in hand to hand combat, thrusting his sword into the stomach of an oncoming serf, then shoving a boot onto the man’s chest, pushing his body off Freyne’s weapon.
As Eoin spun Banshee in a circle, he squinted once again through the rays of sun, trying to identify any sign of his wife. His heart started to quake as his search for Treasa kept coming up empty. Had they killed her after all? Perhaps they never meant to return her to her family, only to deal the enemy a blow by murdering her. But if that were the case, why wouldn’t they have killed him as well? Nay, they had meant to keep him alive, knowing he would seek her out and bring her family. It made no sense. Her family was coming either way and they knew this. What benefit did they gain by stealing her away?
He squeezed his thighs tightly into Banshee’s side, urging her forward as she pushed at a breakneck pace along the hillside while he scanned the terrain in desperation. After several minutes of searching the green hills without success, he finally saw her. She was still several yards away and he could barely make out more than her black silhouette, but it was definitely Treasa. Her petite form stood in relief against the blue sky, her curly hair blowing around her face. She was bound to something, some sort of a massive stone that had been set into the soft earth. A man stood beside her with his arm around her and five men guarded them.
Was she set there as a trap, or were they really trying to hide her from her family? He did not know, nor did he care. He shouted a battle cry so loud that it seemed to shake the earth around him as he charged Banshee toward his wife and her captors. His shout must have been even louder than he believed, for several of his men came out of the crowd to charge toward Treasa as well. Liam was racing up the steep hill with Tuathal beside him, wielding the Sword of Light, still glowing brightly in his hands. Brocc and Garreth came up behind them with Brennain, Flynn, and Freyne in their wake. There would be six of them to take down six of the enemy. The rest of the battle continued down at the bottom of the valley.
As he drew closer to the scene, he could clearly see Treasa now, tied around some large monolithic stone with a long rope of leather. The man huddled close to her was not the young man described to him by Katriona, but instead an older man with black hair and black eyes. He appeared small and frail, not at all a warrior. And yet, his clothing was of the highest quality. He wore leather trousers and a long fur trimmed cloak that whipped about in the wind. He was a man of consequence, not one of the many serfs. The five warriors surrounding him, however, were quite large and armed with swords and iron shields all lined up to create a barrier.
Treasa’s head popped up as she heard them approaching. “Eoin!” she shouted as she saw him atop Banshee. “Stop!”
