Chapter 17
The deep purples of night, devoid of any hint of the oncoming day, infused the heavens, the sliver of moon but a faint whisper in the sky. From the ridge, Aiden peered between the bushes, pleased the sea fog, illuminated by the soft brush of starlight, had begun moving inland.
He smiled as the dense layer of white edged up the shore, engulfed all within its path until naught was visible except the torchlight upon the wall walk.
Time was on his side. He would wait a few more hours to allow the fog to creep farther onshore before he moved his men into position.
At the clatter of rock to his right, Aiden clasped his blade and peered through the fog. “Who is there?”
“’Tis Gwendolyn.”
His body tightened at the throaty slide of her voice. She materialized from the mist, a maiden who drove him mad with desire. His hand relaxed as a new battle built inside. Sheathing his weapon, he fought to smother the ache in his heart at her nearness.
A warm rush filled him as she moved closer.
“Why are you here without a guard?” he snapped as he scoured their surroundings. Distance between them ’twas for the best for her, if not for his own renegade heart. More time together would do naught but strengthen a bond he’d sworn to sever.
“I needed to speak with you.”
He glanced toward her, and the shot of desire almost drove him to his knees. “Though I believe the English are ignorant of our presence, ’tis dangerous to be away from camp.”
“I am not foolish enough to be unarmed.” The slight waver in her voice betrayed her confident stance, and Gwendolyn started to step back.
“Tell me,” Aiden said, damning his growing weakness for her.
“You have avoided me since we departed the king’s camp. Why?”
Pain slashed his gut, and he cursed her question, that he’d made her doubt herself in any manner. For her strength, wit, and fierce determination, she deserved naught but respect. “Given our unwanted marriage, I thought you would find my staying away a welcome reprieve.”
The taut lines of her face softened. “Had I despised you, aye. But I dinna.”
Panic prickled over his skin. What was she saying? Once the Bruce had claimed Scotland, did she want him to return to Latharn Castle? Nay, ’twas naught but his own yearning.
Aiden cleared his throat, wanting to pull her into his arms and, if only for a moment, feel her mouth against his. “I am relieved you dinna hate me.”
“However angry I was with you, I never could. Throughout our time together you have always acted loyally, have done your best to protect me.”
Too aware of her, of her taste, of how her body felt against his, he exhaled. “We should return to camp.”
“Tell me about your family?”
Heart pounding, he froze. “What?”
“I was thinking of how little I know of you.”
His chest tightened beneath thoughts of his family torn from his life, of his guilt for having survived. With cool precision, Aiden removed her hand, not wanting to discuss this time in his life with her. “My past matters little.”
“It matters to me,” she said, the sincerity of her words wrapping around his anguished memories with a strangling hold. “You know about me, my father, my brief marriage. Yet I know naught about you except for your being a Templar.”
His denial to tell her anything about his youth was ingrained, but against all logic he found the thought of sharing his past with her important.
A cool gust of wind laden with the salty tang of the sea whipped past. Leaves rattled in the shrubs, then stilled.
“During my twelfth summer, my family and I were returning to Scotland after a visit to France. En route, a violent storm destroyed the ship.”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice raw with dread.
A shudder swept him, then another, as his mind lurched back to the screams, the explosions of thunder, and the towering waves battering the bow with merciless force. “Storm-fed winds destroyed the sails, leaving the ship helpless in the tempest’s fury. My father ordered us to remain below, but with the foolish confidence of a lad, I climbed above deck. The cog plunged into the next trough, and a wall of water crashed over the bow, tearing crates free and ripping me off the ladder and over the side.”
“Oh, God!” she gasped.
“Tossed about within the rough seas, by sheer luck I caught the edge of a plank. In the…” His voice began to break, and he looked away, swallowed hard. “In the darkness I clung to the wood, prayed for help, for any sign of life. Hours passed, and with each one, hope that somehow the ship had survived, that my family still lived, faded. Exhausted, numb from the cold, I lost consciousness.”
Her hand lay on his arm, but, raw with emotion, he did not turn to her. With the grief of his youth exposed and struggling for control, he refused to risk the desire to take her into his arms and accept the comfort offered when it could lead to naught.
“Your family?” she breathed.
He swallowed hard. “I was the only one aboard who survived. Naught was retrieved of the ship except for fragments of wood strewn along the shore, one plank bearing the vessel’s name.
“I am so sorry.”
Aiden gave into his growing need to touch her and linked his fingers with hers. Another breeze swept past, thick with the scent of the sea. “’Twas a long time ago.”
“It was, but I understand the hurt.”
She did, and however dangerous, the tension knotted in his chest eased with the telling.
“I am confused,” she said.
He rubbed his thumb over her silky skin. “About what?”
“Why would the Bruce bestow your father’s title and castle upon you when they were already yours to claim?”
“Because,” he whispered, the fury he’d buried all these years raging through his words, “once I was rescued and returned to Thorburn Castle, ’twas to discover the English had seized my home.”
Her fingers tightened on his. “Mary’s will, what did you do?”
Shame filled him, and he withdrew his hand. “Terrified, alone, and unsure of how to proceed, I fled. In the end, I was taken in by the Knights Templar.” He stared into the star-filled night sky. “In their teachings, I found a sense of peace, although the anger and grief refused to be silenced. I poured myself into training, used each crusade to hone my skills. Though my goal was to protect the Christians traveling to the Holy Land, ’twas mired in my need for revenge.”
* * * *
The horror of what Aiden had endured left Gwendolyn aching for him, and for the guilt he struggled to hide. “Anyone who had shared your experience would crave vengeance. That you rose above your grief, your fury, says much about you.”
He whirled, his eyes narrowing. “Dinna paint me a hero.”
How could she do otherwise? He had overcome insurmountable odds and had not only lived but had become a fierce warrior, a leader of men many admired, including her.
“With my vow given to the Templars, never did I expect to reclaim my heritage. If given the opportunity,” he continued, “I would sacrifice my birthright to save the Brotherhood tortured and killed beneath King Philip’s treacherous hand.” He abruptly turned and with long, ground-eating strides, headed toward camp.
Grief swept her at all he had endured, and she caught up to him and fell into step at his side.
At their tent, he halted. “Try to sleep.”
Gwendolyn moved before him, overwhelmed by all he had made her feel. “What of you?”
“I will make a pallet outside.” He stepped back. “Sleep ’til I wake you. In a few hours, once my men are in position, you will be escorted to the secret tunnel.” With a curt nod, he walked away.
An ache twisted in her heart as Gwendolyn watched him go, understanding Cailin’s reason for her to learn of Aiden’s past, to see all he had endured. He was a man who had lost his family, a tragedy that had dictated his actions since.
And as for her…
The urge to call out to him, to beg Aiden to stay with her this night, wavered on her lips. She caught the flap of the tent, torn as to what to do.
His stride steady, his muscled outline faded in the night.
Gwendolyn’s fingers tightened on the fabric as she wondered if letting him go was indeed a mistake. On a shaky breath, she stepped inside the tent, settled on her pallet. There would be time after the battle to speak with her husband, to decide what she truly wanted, though warmth at thoughts of Aiden left nay doubt what she would choose.
* * * *
Enshrouded by dense fog Aiden crept forward, his every step on the sand, along with the handful of his men who followed, amplified. The deep rumble of the swells rolling up the beach echoed into the night, the raw smell of salt and night a potent mix. Sound carried a great distance in the mist, the reason he’d instructed his men to remain silent until he gave the order to attack.
Through the first layer of white, he made out the faint glimmer of stars, the claws of night upon the land firm within its grasp.
Glutted with pompous superiority, the English would believe themselves safe from an attack, more so at night. An arrogance they would rue.
A short while later, with his men hidden below the cliffs, Aiden turned to where Gwendolyn had stopped paces away with the two guards he’d assigned to her. His heart ached at her fierce beauty, and he cursed that once the castle was secured, he must let her go.
She held his gaze, her mouth tight, her eyes filled with determination.
“After you are within the tunnel, stay there until you are told the fighting is over,” Aiden whispered. “Once I receive word you are inside, my men and I will row out and set fire to their ships. When they are ablaze and the English surge from the castle to save their fleet, my force will attack.” He paused. “Do you have any questions?”
“Nay.” Gwendolyn stepped before him, her face white within the silvery smears of light. “I thank you for all you have done.”
He fisted his hand, not wanting her thanks, but her. A desire, given his vow, that would never be. “Latharn Castle is far from ours.”
Her eyes darkened with pride. “But ’twill be. Because of you.” She pressed a soft kiss on his mouth. “Know that I will pray for you.” Her voice broke on the last words.
Aiden caught her shoulders. “I will come back to you. That I swear!” Her soft gasp made him realize his error. Blast it, never was she to know how much she meant to him. His heart breaking, he gave her a gentle shove. “Go.”
“Godspeed.” The soft crunch of leather on the sand filled the silence as she and her guard crept down the beach.
Aiden watched her go, damned each step that took her farther away from him. He’d fought in many battles, but the stakes hadn’t been so high.
Nor had he been in love.
A soft cry of a hawk echoed in the night.
The sign. Aiden turned to Cailin. “Take charge of the remaining men. Keep hidden until the ships are ablaze and the English storm from the castle. Once they are too far from the stronghold to retreat, attack.”
“Aye,” Cailin replied.
Aiden glanced toward the fortress. “Is Rónán in place?”
His friend nodded. “He, along with twenty men, are hidden near the stronghold. Once we have cut off the English, they will slip inside and seize the castle.”
“Excellent.” Aiden turned, then hesitated. “My friend, we have been through much. If anything should happen to me, ensure Gwendolyn is taken care of.”
Somber eyes held his. “I swear it.”
“I thank you. And now,” Aiden said, focusing on their mission, “I think ’tis time to teach these English bastards a lesson!”
“Aye,” Cailin agreed, “’tis indeed.”
Waves rolled up the shore as Aiden led the few men he’d selected to the wooden boats pulled onto the sand. Once the crafts were shoved into the surf, they rowed toward the moored cogs.
Halfway there, as he dipped his oars into an oncoming swell, the edge of the tidal current caught him. Muscles bunched, Aiden rowed beyond the dangerous pull of water, aware that the intense flow could drag an unsuspecting man a great distance out to sea.
A short while later, he halted near the anchor of the farthest craft, severed the mooring. Freed, the ship drifted toward the main fleet. Aiden climbed aboard, then slayed the guard, the resistance from the Englishman pathetic. After binding several lengths of wood, he soaked them in oil and set them ablaze.
Thick black smoke billowed above the flames, the stench of the burning rags filling the air as Aiden climbed down the ladder, the putrid bundle firm in his grip.
At the bottom, he glanced around the crates for signs of another guard. Seeing none, he lit fires around the hull.
The roaring flames built and spread around him. A sharp snap sounded to his side, then a hiss. Wood groaned beneath collapsing wood, and he whirled.
God’s sword, whatever cargo they carried was fueling the blaze, the ship going up faster than expected. He drew back to heave the torch onto the crates near the end of the hull.
A blur appeared before him a moment before he caught the glint of steel.
Aiden blocked the swing with the torch, withdrew his sword with his free hand.
“Ye bastard!” his attacker shouted.
Forged steel sank into the flaming wood, driving Aiden back. Sweat streaming down his face, heat building with each breath, he swung.
The assailant screamed as Aiden’s blade drove a huge gash along his side. Fury and pain marred the man’s face. With a curse, he lunged.
Aiden shoved his dagger deep into the warrior’s chest, but, still in motion, the attacker’s body collided with his. Arms flailing, Aiden stumbled back, tripping on several collapsed timbers. He grabbed for a nearby post, missed, slammed against the planks below.
Pain exploded in his head. Against the roar of the growing flames and the cloying smoke, he gasped for breath.
Blackness threatened.
Heat an inferno around him, he forced himself to sit. He heaved his enemy’s body away and shoved to his feet. Flames consumed most of the interior hull and soot-drenched smoke billowed through the hatch he had climbed down only moments before.
Head throbbing, Aiden wrapped his hands around the woven hemp, cursed with each effort as he pulled himself onto the deck.
Fire blocked his path to the severed mooring.
At the screams of men and the clash of swords, he glanced to the shore. Outlined within a haze of murky white, a violent battle came into view.
Bedamned, he had to reach his men! Teeth clenched against the pain, Aiden slashed a nearby coil of rope, secured one end to the rail, tossed the rest over the side. He swung his leg over the polished wood, paused.
The boat had broken loose and was drifting away.
Wood groaned below, and a blast of heat slapped him.
He turned.
Flames surrounded him.
Bedamned, once he reached the sea, he’d have to swim. With a tug to ensure the knot was secure, he began his descent.
Halfway, the line dropped further.
With a curse, Aiden glanced up.
Fire danced along the top of the hemp. A twisted piece frayed. Smoke belched, and flames consumed the loosened line.
The rope groaned.
Snapped.
Aiden fell.
* * * *
The faint roar of battle and the screams of pain echoed down the tunnel. Gwendolyn’s fingers on her dagger tightened.
“Steady, lass,” a deep male voice said.
She glanced toward Sir Vide. “I should be fighting alongside Aiden’s men to reclaim my home.”
“Aiden wants you safe.”
She scoffed. “Safe doing naught.” She glanced toward the exit. Sunlight streamed inside, assuring her hours had passed. Frustrated, she paced. She should have insisted she be allowed to fight.
“Lady Gwendolyn?”
Rónán’s distant call had her whirling. Heart pounding, she watched as the honorable knight came into view, realized that now, naught but the rumble of waves filled the air. Hope ignited. “Is the battle over?”
Smears of blood on his mail, the knight halted before her. “Aye,” Rónán said, grim satisfaction on his face. “Latharn Castle is secure.”
She steadied herself as relief threatened to buckle her knees. “Thank God.”
“My lady.” Sir Vide gestured toward the blackened portion of the tunnel. “Does this passageway lead inside the stronghold?”
“Aye, it comes out at the stables.”
“I ask you to go inside the keep and remain there until we have cleared away the dead.” The Templar grimaced. “’Tis not a sight I, or any of the warriors, would wish you to see.”
“I thank you, but good men have risked their lives to reclaim my home. I willna shame them by cringing in a corner whilst I hide from the realities of war.”
Respect flickered in the knight’s gaze. “Aye, my lady.”
Sand crunched beneath her slippers as she hurried past the knights to the seaward exit, needing to see Aiden. To thank him, she assured herself, but with her castle seized, his leaving weighed heavy upon her mind.
At the entrance, Gwendolyn paused.
An icy shiver swept her at the bodies of the English strewn over the shore, the spill of blood staining the outgoing swells and smearing the sweep of the beach she so loved.
Rónán’s gentle hand touched her shoulder. “My lady, return to the castle through the tunnel.”
She stepped free. “Nay.” Head held high, she walked toward where the men loyal to King Robert were standing on the beach, staring at the billowing smoke from the Englishmen’s cogs. Aiden and his men had sunk their fleet.
Anxious to see him, she scoured the shore as she made her way toward Cailin. Where was Aiden?
At her approach, Cailin turned.
The grief in his eyes stole her breath, and time slowed to one breath. Heart pounding, refusing to acknowledge his silent revelation, she searched the men working around them, spotted those who had been chosen to row out and set the ships ablaze.
Everyone except Aiden.
Nay, he’d returned and had joined his men in the castle. Fisting her hands against the rush of fear, she faced Cailin. “Aiden?”
Face ashen, the Templar gestured toward a nearby boat scarred with blackened wood. “We found the craft he took down the shore and brought it back.”
The fragile control of her emotions broke. “W-where is he?”
Cailin’s somber eyes held hers. “He didna return.”
“Nay,” she said as her legs weakened and fear stole every shred of composure.
“We have scoured the shore,” the knight rasped, “nor has anyone seen him.”
She gasped for air,once then again. No, he couldna be dead! Grief swamped her, and she tried to breathe, but the world became a mist around her. Her body swayed, and hands caught her as she fell.