The Avenger of Castle Wick, page 21
Fiona’s heart leapt with profound excitement.
Austin's annoyance fled, the relief noted in the relaxing of his stiff posture.
"Ye have my gratitude, Torsten," Austin said, a smiling diminishing his scowl. "Yer assistance will make all the difference."
"Come," Torsten said, gesturing toward a lone stand of trees in a sea of moorland, under which they would confer about their plans to overtake Castle Wick. "We’ve much to discuss and little time to waste."
Grace sidled closer to Fiona, threading her arm through hers. They followed behind the three men as they walked toward the shade of the birch trees.
“Sweet Mother Mary, but he’s fearsome, is he not?” Grace whispered.
Fiona imagined she almost heard a shiver in Grace’s tone.
“Aye, he is at that,” Fiona agreed, but with a wee more admiration than alarm.
“I know a man in want of a good woman when I see one,” Grace said, grinning as she stared at the broad back of Torsten de Graham. “And, my Lord, does he need a woman.”
Chapter Sixteen
ˈTwas so much easier now to march toward Auldearn and Castle Wick with more anticipation than dread, their outlook bolstered by the strength of their combined forces, which would number almost six hundred once they reunited with the Roses and Merricks.
As they marched with renewed purpose toward Auldearn late in the afternoon, Austin’s arms encircled Fiona’s middle, their bodies moving in unison with the rhythm of the horse's gait. Despite the availability of extra horses from de Graham's formidable force, they’d chosen to remain together, sharing both the journey and the anticipation of what lay ahead.
“With de Graham's army at our side,” Austin said when they were but a mile into this leg of the journey, “success is nearly a foregone conclusion. Four hundred fighters against their numbers—even if Urry’s account of eighty de Rathe men inside the castle is wrong as well—it's a battle we canna lose."
Fiona nodded, her expression resolute as she angled her face to the side against Austin’s chest. "Aye. It ne’er did sit well with me, leaving that undone as we would have had to do. Before the promise of de Graham, we would have been lucky to only recover those imprisoned. And as to that, I had nae idea how we might have accomplished it.”
“We’d have struggled at that,” Austin acknowledged. “Jesu, but this changes everything.” After a moment, he added, “I might have suspected that of ye, that ye would nae accept easily leaving that unfinished.”
“Does nae the failure taste bitter in yer mouth?”
“Och, it does,” he admitted. “Burns in my soul, but little could we have compensated with our small numbers. I’ll be pleased to set things right.”
As high as were his hopes and expectations in regard to Castle Wick now, at the same time a foreboding settled heavy in his stomach. It was the weight of impending loss, the realization that this brief respite with Fiona, removed from the harsh realities of war for the last several days, was drawing to a close. With every mile they covered, the distance between them and the end of their idyllic interlude seemed to shrink, until it loomed before him like an impossible barrier.
On the horizon was another siege in which they would be lost among a sea of six hundred. Added to that, being brought together again with Fraser, Fiona’s steadfast and over-protective captain, meant that there was little chance of advancing their current, wholly satisfying bond. Doubtless, when the siege was over, they would part ways, returning to their respective factions as enemies, as their families had been for generations.
Their relationship—however it might be defined by either him or her, whatever hope might dwell in either of their hearts—was tenuous, likely to be crushed beneath the weight of their duty to war and to their clans. As much as he might wish otherwise, as bitter as was the potion to swallow, there was no room for sentimentality on the battlefield.
Still, though Austin was nothing if not realistic, and though he knew that their relationship had no place in the brutal designs of conflict, he dreaded their inevitable parting.
Her newly discovered laughter—sweet, startling music in the midst of chaos—the way her eyes sparkled with both fierceness and tenderness, the taste of her kiss, the caress of her silken hands, these things he feared losing, the things for which he would likely yearn for quite some time.
And while he wished for one more night with her, one more occasion to know her kiss, to sink himself inside her exquisite warmth, it was not to be. After a brief stop to rest the horses late in the afternoon, de Graham urged them to march through the night, expecting to reach Auldearn by morn.
Ah, but if only he’d known that last night or this morning would be the last time he would have kissed her....
The thought gnawed at him, an incessant ache. What might he have done differently with such an opportunity? Would he have confessed the emotions he barely understood himself, the feelings he hadn’t named or clearly identified? Perhaps he would have dared to speak of a future, imagining with her some way to defy the inevitable end to their imprecise relationship. Would he have asked her to wait for him, to find a way through the looming war and the ancient enmities between their families? Perhaps he’d simply have held her tighter, longer, savoring every moment, if he’d but known it was to be their last. The weight of unspoken words and the prospect of what might have been settled heavily in his heart.
But mayhap it was all for naught. Austin was subject to the whim and rule of his sire, who clung tenaciously to the feud with the Roses, never relenting in his hatred. Even if Austin had found the courage to voice his feelings or dream of a future with Fiona, what difference would it make? His father would never permit such a union, would never allow peace between their families. He could almost hear his father's harsh voice, condemning any hint of softness or the idea of reconciliation. As much as he longed to find a way around the inevitable, he imagined it was beyond his power to change their fate.
He held her a little tighter, occasionally resting his chin on top of her head and breathing in the delicate scent of roses.
AUSTIN MAINTAINED A steady grip on the reins, remaining vigilant throughout the nighttime march, foregoing sleep entirely. Fiona, on the other hand, drifted in and out of slumber, her restless sleep punctuated by longer bouts of wakefulness. Occasionally, their hushed voices carried in the stillness as they engaged in several whispered conversations.
“When I was younger,” she said to him at one point, leaning her cheek against his muscular chest, “tales were often told at Dunraig of the goings-on at Balenmore.”
“Were they now?”
“They were then,” Fiona correctly with a grin. “ˈTwas said, mainly by clan elders mind ye, that the Merricks had enchanted the stones at Balenmore to whisper secrets to them, divulging the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of the Roses and Dunraig.”
Austin’s quiet chuckle rumbled against her back. “And how old were ye when ye stopped believing those tales?”
Grinning to herself—surely Austin couldn’t see her smile beneath his chin or in the darkness—she replied, “I do believe. Why would the clan elders have lied about it? ˈTis too fantastic to be a falsehood. Is it nae said that reality oft proves stranger than any fiction concocted by man?”
“It is,” he allowed, his voice low, “but I promise ye if the walls had spoken to me, I’d have fled swifter than a fox from a pack of hounds.”
A wry smile played at the corner of her lips. “As would I.”
She grew quiet then, reflecting on dreams she had scarcely dared to entertain. In truth, mending the feud with the Merricks had never been among them. But now... a glimmer of possibility flickered in her mind. Perhaps, against all odds, there was a chance for reconciliation. The idea seemed both audacious and tantalizing, and Fiona bit her lip, envisioning a future where she and Austin fought side by side, their unity a powerful force against their enemies. Suddenly, her mind was filled with images of what could be. She imagined standing with Austin before their respective armies, announcing a truce forged by their love. She saw them—
Fiona’s eyes widened.
Love?
Her breath caught in her throat at the word that had slipped into her thoughts, unbidden yet...undeniable?
Love?
It resounded in her mind, its weight sinking in as she grappled with its implications. Fiona hadn’t named what she felt for Austin, hadn’t yet dared to acknowledge the depths of her affection. ˈTwas too new, too soon.
Yet, even as she was willing to embrace the notion, doubt crept in. Did she truly understand what love meant? Was it love she felt, or merely a longing for connection, for someone to stand beside her in a world that had always felt so cold and lonely?
As her mind wrestled with doubt, Fiona's heart began to whisper its own truths, listing the reasons why it might indeed be love. First and foremost was the way Austin made her feel. In his presence, the walls she had erected around her heart seemed to crumble, allowing her to be vulnerable in a way she had never been before and yet still feel safe. His rich laughter, his hypnotizing touch, the thrill of his kiss—all filled her with a sense of belonging she had never known.
Perhaps most revealing was the thought of losing any of those sensations—never again surrendering to his touch, never again basking in the warmth of his captivating gaze, never hearing her name whispered in moments of passion. The mere notion caused dread to rise in her, a pang of longing coupled with fear.
“Jesu, lass,” Austin said, startling Fiona, “ye’ve gone stiff as a pike. What fills ye with dismay?”
Opening her mouth to respond, Fiona felt her throat clogging. The heat of tears pricked at her eyes.
Fairly quickly, she found her voice. “Nae dismay,” she lied, her voice wooden. “Naught but anticipation. We’re getting closer.”
Dismay did come, though. Austin and Fiona, knowing where in Auldearn they needed to go, moved to the front of the huge army. They arrived in Auldearn hours before the sun would rise, the small burgh shrouded in pre-dawn darkness.
Fiona’s heart dropped in her chest when they saw not one Rose or Merrick. Having reached the site where all the forces under Urry’s command had once convened, they found no signs of life. The camp was deserted, flattened grass and cold fire pits the only evidence that anyone had been there.
“Shite,” Austin growled, stiffening against her. “I hope they dinna follow the English marching away after all.”
“We would have...seen them,” Fiona contended, just as confused as Austin, wondering what this could mean. “We’d have kent, they’d have made sure we did.”
At their side, wearing a brooding scowl, Torsten de Graham shot a disapproving look at the apparent intimacy between Austin and Fiona. Displaying little concern for the armies they’d expected but failed to find, he instructed Austin to lead them to Castle Wick itself. With or without the Roses and Merricks, the siege was still imminent.
“The scouts will return,” said de Graham of the half dozen men who regularly rode far ahead of the moving army and then back to report to their chieftain. “Most likely, they’ll have determined the direction in which your armies went."
With a heavy sense of foreboding, they marched on, away from the deserted campsite and toward Castle Wick.
“Austin, what if—”
“Dinna beg sorrow, lass,” he cautioned firmly, an edge to his voice. “We’ll find them. Or they’ll find us.”
They hadn’t gone more than a mile, and still had another two to go to reach Castle Wick when two of de Graham’s scouts rode hard toward them, reining in abruptly so that dirt and stones were kicked up by the chargers’ hooves.
“We’re nae the only ones meaning to lay siege, laird,” said one of them. “Sixty men, give or take, positioned just outside firing range. Naught going on at the moment, with the sun yet to come, but they’re creeping round.”
Austin plucked at the breacan draped over his shoulder. “This tartan?” He asked with some urgency.
“Canna say,” the man answered. “We dinna get too close. They’re scattered about a thin woodland.”
“It must be them,” Fiona decided. “They believe we’re still inside,” she explained to de Graham. “They’ve probably been at it all week.”
A fleeting lightness eased de Graham’s stern features. “Let’s give ˈem a hand.”
At Fiona’s suggestion, they approached from behind the party with naught but one unit of de Grahams accompanying Austin, Fiona, and the mac Caileans. They saw first in the gray darkness the faint glow of campfires as they neared and heard low murmurs of their armies preparing for the day’s siege.
Austin produced a low and distinctive whistle, a signal likely known to his men.
A scrambling ensued and more voices were heard.
“Hold!” a voice called from the darkness ahead. “Who comes?”
“Austin Merrick and Fiona Rose,” Austin responded loudly but calmly, his voice carrying the authority that came naturally to him. “We’ve returned. Make way.”
A moment of silence followed, in all probability provoked by either shock or disbelief.
“Straun!” Austin shouted, singling out one of his men. “Open the line!” He ordered, referring to the sentries who were posted behind the sitting armies.
“Open the bluidy line!” was shouted from a distance. “ˈTis Merrick, ye eejits! Make way!”
Safe now to proceed, Austin and Fiona walked the horse through the trees, being met by Merrick several men on foot, holding small torches, and guiding them forward.
Fiona glimpsed both relief and confusion in the gazes that tracked their progress. They moved quickly toward the command tent, knowing that the news of their safe return would spread swiftly.
The first familiar face Fiona saw was Sparrow’s.
Fiona slid from Austin’s arms and the saddle and landed on her feet only half a second before Sparrow launched herself at her.
“We kent ye were dead,” Sparrow cried into her shoulder.
“Nae yet,” Fiona promised, holding her friend tightly. “Christ, but I’m glad to see ye.”
A massive and savage man, whom Fiona recalled as giving grief to Sparrow when first they met, did not wait for Austin to dismount, but shouted out a warrior’s cry and pulled his commander from the saddle and into a tight bear hug.
“Cheeky lad!” The big man crowed, his joy palpable. “Ye’re the devil if I find out ye’ve been watching our efforts to free ye, sitting pretty somewhere with—”
“Nae, Straun,” Austin said, laughing, thumping the larger man on the back. “We’ve only just returned, escaped from the English that ye were wise nae to follow.”
Abruptly, Straun pushed Austin back to arms’ length. He stared, nearly horrified, and then turned sharply and pinned a dark-haired man with a wide-eyed glare! “Dinna I tell ye? I told ye, they might be spiriting them away!”
Fiona listened with half an ear to what was said next between the Merrick men. With her arm around Sparrow’s narrow shoulders, she accepted happy and sometimes gushing greetings from some of the Roses, including Knobby and Kieran. And when Kieran shifted a bit in front of her, she spied another formidable figure moving toward her.
Fraser!
Her heart constricted and tears welled in her eyes. She removed her arm from around Sparrow and rushed toward her captain.
He opened his arms wide, his face twisting a bit, as if fighting to hold back tears. As she reached him, he enveloped her in a crushing embrace, lifting her off her feet.
"Lass!" he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought I'd lost ye."
“I’m all right,” she wept into his neck. “I’m all right, Fraser.”
He set her back on her feet but kept his hands on her shoulders, looking her over with concern. "Are ye hurt? Did they harm ye?"
She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Nae, Fraser, I'm whole. Thanks to Merrick and a fair bit of luck."
His eyes flicked to Austin, then back to Fiona. "I was worried sick," he admitted gruffly. "The thought of ye in their hands... scared the hell out of me,” he murmured gruffly, pulling her back into his embrace. “I go first, nae ye. Dinna ever do that to me again.”
Fiona laughed easily, joy nearly overwhelming her. “Aye, Fraser.”
As Fiona was embraced tightly by Fraser, she was aware somewhere in her periphery of Grace’s awed voice. “Good heavens, he does resemble God as I imagine Him.”
When next they parted, Fiona held onto his thick arm a wee bit longer. They watched while Austin greeted more of his men; smiles were easy to come by now.
“Jesu, but ye’ve brought a cavalry of angels,” the man named Straun said loudly, squinting beyond Austin and Fiona. “Shite. De Graham! Is that de Graham! Och!” and he laughed uproariously. “Coming at ye, de Rathe! Bluidy hell, this’ll be some fun now, mates!”
Fraser welcomed de Graham as well, a bit more sedately, obviously familiar with each other, Fiona assuming they might have met while Fraser had served her brother, when her role had been smaller and less active, less likely to meet other army commanders.
Of course, there was discussion about how and when they’d escaped, as was presumed. Austin and Fiona shared the telling of the tale, each relating different elements of what had transpired and what they’d endured since the failed siege. Further, they spoke of those who’d been imprisoned with them; Fiona specifically assure Kieran and Sparrow that when she’d been taken away from the dungeon, Keegan had been alive and well.
Straun and Fraser, seemingly sharing authority of their combined armies in their absence, subsequently conveyed what they’d been about.
“One hundred and six of us,” Fraser informed them, “and nae enough to make a proper assault. Their archers are nae without skill. We’ve been digging trenches, managing about ten yards a day. So far, the trenches have mostly been protected against sallies from the castle guards. Of course, the closer we get, the less protection we have.”
