Chapter Eighteen
Heart slamming against her chest, Alesone shoved open the hewn door, bolted into the war chamber. “’Tis a trap!” she yelled. “’Tis Sir Iames MacCheine. He isna the Bruce’s man, but Comyn’s.”
Chairs scraped as Thomas, his father, and brother shoved to their feet. The other knights in the large chamber turned to face her.
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“When I entered to care for the knight,” Alesone replied, damning Sir Iames with her every breath, “I recognized him.”
Thomas unsheathed his dagger. “God’s teeth, I will slay the bastard!”
“He is already dead.” She angled her jaw. “When he realized that I knew who he was, he grabbed me. I drove my dagger into his heart.”
Satisfaction settled on the duke’s face. “Tell us all you know.”
“The king’s man was tortured to gain information, and then killed,” she explained, temper riding her voice. “Sir Iames was sent with the Bruce’s missive to buy Comyn and his men time while they surround Dair Castle.
Thomas’s face drained of color as he sheathed his blade. “God’s teeth, Sir John MacLairish left earlier this day with a missive to update the king.”
Line’s furrowed Donnchadh’s brow. “Do you think he slipped past Comyn’s men?”
“I pray so,” Thomas replied.
Expression grim, the Duke of Westwyck eyed the men. “We must immediately—”
The ringing of the tower bell fractured his words.
Shouts of an attack blared within the castle.
“To your posts!” The duke ran for the door, Donnchadh at his side, and his warriors hurrying in their wake.
With the press of men rushing past, his expression fierce, Thomas caught Alesone’s hand. “Gather your bow and arrows. Meet me on the southern side of the wall walk.”
Calls for reinforcements echoed in the castle, and fear tore through her. “Thomas, I love you,” Alesone blurted out, the urgency of the moment making the heartfelt words tumble upon the other. “I needed to tell you in case—”
“Your father willna take you!” He caught her mouth in a hard kiss. “We must join the others, but know this, our discussion on what exists between us is far from through.”
Alesone opened her mouth to speak, but Thomas joined the rush of men running toward their stations, the mix of warriors quickly smothering him from her view.
On shaky legs, she hurried toward the turret.
Knight’s yells melded with curses and the scrape of steel as she entered the corridor. What did Thomas mean by their discussion about what exists between them was far from through? He cared for her, could he feel more? The joy of what he would say faded beneath the somber reality of the upcoming engagement.
Alesone scowled as she broke off from the mass of muscled bodies, then hurried to her chamber to retrieve her weapons. If her father believed that he could destroy the happiness she’d found, he was wrong.
With her quiver secured, she sprinted toward down the corridor. The stench of smoke assaulted her as she stepped onto the wall walk. She looked to the left, pleased at the numerous bubbling cauldrons of oil awaiting dispersal atop their enemy, then toward the baily where women and children carried replenishments for the imminent battle.
A horn sounded from the distance.
Nerves strung tight, Alesone glanced past the battlements.
Sunlight shimmered over the massive formation of mounted knights cantering across the frost bleached ground. At the forefront, a familiar standard rippled in the breeze.
Fury drove through her as she glared at the man riding at the head of the contingent. Disgusted with the man whose blood ran through her veins, she strode toward Thomas.
His eyes softened as she halted beside him, and he squeezed her hand.
Love for her stalwart protector swelled within. Nay, more than a protector, he was a Knight Templar, a warrior feared by many, a man who didna make promises he couldna keep.
’Twas surprising that she had not made the connection. The many times she’d caught him deep in prayer, or the focused, structured way about him, his expertise on many topics, the extent of his travel, and his knowledge of herbs, all indicators of his inclusion in the Brotherhood. Then again, she hadna known of the secret dissolution of the Templars, or of their sailing to Scotland.
Horns blared in the distance.
Thomas glared at the attacking force.
“Arrows readied,” the duke yelled.
Cursing her father with her each breath, Alesone, knocked her arrow, aimed at the nearest enemy.
“Halt!” Lord Comyn yelled above the clamor.
The wall of approaching knights behind him halted.
Her father nudged his steed before the gatehouse. “Westwyck!”
“State your purpose,” the duke called down.
“I dinna wish to attack,” Comyn said. “I only want my daughter.”
Anger and guilt tangled inside her. The bow wobbled in Alesone’s hands.
Understanding eyes held hers, and the duke nodded. “Dinna worry, you are safe here.”
She gave a shaky nod. “I thank you, Your Grace.”
The noble glared at Comyn. “The lass doesna wish to go with you. Nor will I make her.”
Anger reddened her father’s face. “If you send her down, I will overlook your treachery of pledging fealty to the Bruce.”
“Lying bastard,” Thomas hissed, “if he had Alesone, he would still attack.
His father grunted. “Aye. Once he loses this battle, he will walk away with naught but disgrace. A fact that pleases me immensely.”
“Westwyck, send her down,” Comyn roared. “My patience is at an end.”
“So you can barter her like sheep?” the duke demanded.
“What I decide has naught to do with you. She is of my blood.” A scowl darkened his face. “’Tis my right to speak with the lass.”
“I will give him an answer,” Alesone seethed. Her hand shook as she sighted her arrow on Comyn. She no longer had a father, but Thomas and his family, whom she would defend with her dying breath!
The duke pushed her bow down. “Nae like this.” He faced Comyn. “The lass doesna wish to speak to you. Go on with you, and none will be harmed.”
“You dare threaten me!”
“If you attack, you will pay the consequence,” the duke warned. “Pray God has mercy on your treacherous soul, because I willna.”
Red mottled the noble’s face. “You will regret your decision!” Comyn whirled his mount, shouted commands as he galloped toward his men.
Tears burned Alesone’s eyes, and her respect for the duke grew tenfold.
A roar from below recaptured her attention.
Comyn’s soldiers charged.
“Release the arrows!” the duke roared.
Archers along the walls let loose their arrows; screams of the enemy filled the air. Horses reared while others, wild-eyed, were caught by footed soldiers.
“Ladders on the north wall!” Thomas yelled above the fray.
“Bring the hot oil!” Donnchadh ordered.
Women hauled over steaming buckets of hot oil strewn with bits of heated steel. They balanced their vessels atop the crenels.
Wood scraped as the advancing horde began to climb the rungs.
Donnchadh nodded. “Pour!”
Buckets were tipped.
Screams echoed from below.
The stench of burned flesh filled the air as a fresh rush of attackers ascended the ladders.
More pails of steaming-hot oil spewed over the side.
Agonized yells rang out.
The woman backed up, then rushed away with their emptied pots.
Another wave of Comyn’s men clambered up the ladders, this time several of the assailants reached the top.
Thomas swung. His blade slammed against the advancing attacker.
“Step back,” Alesone yelled.
Thomas complied.
The arrow hissed from her bow and embedded in the invader’s chest. With a cry, he tumbled back.
“Help me push off their ladders,” Thomas called to several knights nearby.
Alesone joined them.
With a mighty groan they shoved. Scores of men clinging to the structures plunged to the body laden earth.
Amidst the flurry of arrows and the stench of blood, several men on the ground hauled one of the ladders up. Wooden slats slammed against the wall.
In a trice, Thomas and others pushed the ladder away.
The sky lay savaged with raw yellows and bloody reds like a brutal portrait to the devastation below as Alesone reached for another arrow.
“Halt!” Comyn yelled.
She hesitated, glanced at Thomas. “Do you think he has given up?”
Thomas damned having to extinguish the hope in Alesone’s voice. “Nay. Comyn is desperate. Without King Philip’s aid or England’s support, he knows his hopes of winning against the Bruce is slim.”
His aged face streaked with splatters of blood, the duke strode over, grimaced toward where Comyn and his men were withdrawing. “He is trying to convince us that he will wait until dawn to attack.” He grunted. “Once night falls, I suspect his men will try again.”
“A belief I share,” Thomas said.
Sweat and blood streaking his mail, Donnchadh joined them. He sheathed his sword. “All is secure—for now.”
His father nodded. “Indeed, ’tis far from over. Pass to the men to remain in their positions throughout the night, and to take turns catching sleep.”
“Aye, Father.” Donnchadh strode down the wall walk.
He faced Thomas. “And you—”
“Aye, Father,” he said with pride, “I shall inform the men on the far side.”
Alesone wiped the sweat from her brow as she watched Thomas pause and speak with several knights before moving on.
“They are good men,” the duke said, “sons any father would be proud to have.”
She smiled. “They are, Your Grace. You are fortunate.”
“I am.” Beneath the glow of torchlight, he rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to his side. “There are many nobles who rule with a fair hand, and sadly, a few who become caught up in the need for power.”
Like her father. From her birth he’d shunned her, until he’d found her of value to his cause. “A person’s decisions create consequences. I find little forgiveness in people who ignore the blood spilled for their gains.”
“Well said.” The duke paused. “’Tis late. If you wish to go below and rest, do so.”
“I will remain,” she said, ignoring the fatigue weighing on her mind. “’Tis my father plotting another attack. However much I wish otherwise, he has made the confrontation personal.”
Approval shimmered in the noble’s gaze. “Comyn is a fool to overlook what an exemplary woman you are.”
Humbled by his praise, she shook her head. “My life is one far outside that of inviting commendation, more so with my skills as an archer.”
Aged eyes crinkled with warmth. “Aye, your skills with the bow compare to few archers I have seen, and your spirit and courage, those,” he said with pride, “are traits to admire.”
Humbled by his praise, she nodded. “I thank you.”
“I agree,” Thomas said as he halted by her side as she finished. “’Tis how we met.”
Heat stroked her cheeks.
Against the fading light, the duke arched a brow. “You didna mention how you were introduced.”
“’Tis a long story.” Thomas paused. “The knights have been informed of our plans.”
“I thank you.” On a heavy sigh, the duke strode toward Donnchadh who was halfway down the wall walk, then they headed toward the far tower.
Murmurs of men talking, errant scrapes of steel as knights cleaned their weapons, and the whisper of wind filled the air as within the golden shimmers of torchlight as Thomas studied her. “How do you fare?”
“Tired,” she replied, “but nay more than anyone else.”
A fatigued smile touched his mouth. “With your expertise with a bow, several times I thanked God that you were on our side.”
“I am proud to be fighting alongside your father’s warriors. They are skilled men.”
“They are.” His eyes darkened with warmth.
She drew a steading breath. Was he thinking about her earlier declaration of love? Was this the later he’d mentioned? Nerves tangled her mind as she scanned the flicker of distant fires beyond the wall walk. What if he didna share her feelings? Once they’d reached Avalon Castle and he departed, would he forget her? Her heart ached at the thought.
Mayhap she was creating strife where none existed. Until he explained, she wouldna know. Neither would she press him. Well she understood the struggle to bear one’s soul.
Tension churning inside, she glanced toward the heavens darkening to a milky purple. “I can see a star.”
“The sky is clear,” Thomas said. “’Twill be cold.”
“My father’s men have started several campfires. Mayhap they willna attack this night.” And she prayed ’twas true.
Thomas grunted. “The fires are but a decoy. Before this night is over, Comyn will strike again.”
“’Twas what I feared.” Shivering, she tucked her hands beneath her cloak. On edge, she glanced over, frustrated that shadows had claimed his face. “About earlier…when I said I loved you.”
He remained silent.
The building of nerves overrode her intent to say naught until he was ready. “With the battle upon us, and unsure of the outcome…” She blew out a rough breath, and an icy cloud misted between them faded. “I wanted you to know.”
Moved, needing to touch her, Thomas cupped her face, his words of love trembling on his lips. On a rough breath he stilled them. “Never have I met a lass like you.
Within the cast of torchlight, hurt flickered on her face, and he damned that he couldna give her the answer she wished. He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “You are an amazing woman, never doubt that.”
“I shouldna have told you,” she whispered. “’Twas foolish.”
She tried to turn away, but he held her. “When a person speaks her heart, ’tis never foolish.”
Memoires of their plans for intimacy this night left him aching. Thomas refused to utter promises he couldna keep, nor would he leave her with naught. “I spoke with my father earlier. If Bruce agrees, once Comyn is defeated, you are welcome to live in Dair Castle. Your skills as a healer and archer are welcome.”
“And you?”
“I will fight alongside our king until Scotland is united.”
“I see.”
He damned the tremor in her voice, and his intent to say naught of what she made him feel dissolved. His father was right, naught was guaranteed. Thomas took her hand, love for Alesone filling his heart
“They are scaling the wall on the south end!” a knight shouted.
“Ladders are hitting the east side as well,” another warrior on their left yelled.
With a curse that he’d allowed his thoughts to wander from duty, Thomas glanced over the side. “There are ladders on north side!”
“Prepare for a full scale attack,” the duke roared.
Scrapes of steel melded with the cries of death as Thomas drove his blade into an ascending knight, the falling man quickly replaced by another. Hours passed as he battled until slowly silence filled the night. Nae convinced the enemy had left, he scoured the night, the lingering stars nae lending enough light to detect where their enemy had withdrawn to.
As dawn’s faint glow shimmered in the distance, his brother, exhaustion lining his face, walked over. “They have extinguished all of their fires.”
“To move to new positions, nay doubt.” Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow.
The clack of authoritative steps sounded. His father paused beside them. “Have you seen or heard any movement?”
“Nay,” Donnchadh replied.
Thomas scanned the roll of land blackened by shadows. “Nor I.”
“The bastard’s havena given up,” their father growled. “They are out there. The question is where and what will be their next move.”
A gust of wind raced through the castle, casting flakes of snow from the merlon into the air. Spirals of white shimmered against the backdrop of fading stars, and then the flakes drifted toward the blood-stained earth below.
“I know one thing,” Thomas grunted, “wherever they are hidden, they are freezing their arses off.”
His brother laughed. “They are at that.”
Unease filled Thomas as he spotted Alesone down the wall walk with her bow lowered, staring into the darkened void of night. He damned the second assault that had interrupted them, nor would he make the mistake of discussing something so important when they could be interrupted. Once the battle was over and the castle secure, then he would tell her that he loved her.
He grimaced. What of John MacLairish? He prayed his friend had reached the Bruce. Still, they must take every precaution that the king was warned. “Father.”
“Aye,” the duke replied.
“I think ’twould be wise to send another runner to King Robert,” Thomas said, damning his words.
“Had I of known the enemy was so close…” His father gave a weary sigh. “Another man will be sent.”
Donnchadh glanced over. “Whoever goes, we must choose wisely,” he said. “Given the situation, I believe we have but one chance for a runner to make it past the enemy.”
Thomas nodded. “As I am familiar with where Bruce was camped and given my experience, I am the best choice to make the journey.”
“With your injury, I only allowed you to fight as each man is necessary,” his father said, temper sliding into his voice.
“My injuries are all but healed,” Thomas pressed. “I could steal a horse and slip away before anyone notices.”
“Your wound will slow you,” his brother snapped. “I should be the one who—”
“Enough,” their father interrupted. “In a day, mayhap two, if the battle continues, then I will decide who rides to our king.”
Thomas muttered a silent curse. Many things could change in a day. A force could lay siege, or they could wake up to find Comyn and his men gone. As much as he wished, with the stakes so high, he didna expect the latter.
He glanced toward Alesone. She now sat with her back against the stone. “I will check on the lass.”
The soft tap of steps grew closer. Alesone shifted, but she didna open her eyes.
“Are you well?” Thomas asked.
At the concern in his voice, she peered out. “As anyone else.” He settled beside her, and any chance of her drifting off faded. As if she could sleep without thinking of him? As of late, Thomas filled her every thought. She opened her eyes. “Are their campfires still out?”
“Aye.”
Hope slid through her. “Do you think they have left?”
“They are staying. It is what they are planning that causes concern.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“With their failed attempt to scale the walls, mayhap they willna lay siege and have decided upon another method.”
Frustration rolled through her. “Do you have any thoughts of what they could be plotting?”
He shrugged. “There are several possibilities. Until sunrise, ’tis too dangerous to send anyone outside the walls to check.”
Alesone worried her fingers on the curve of her bow. “I dinna like it.”
“Nor I, but ’tis the way of war.”
“As a Knight Templar, how do you endure it?” she asked, emotion sliding into her voice. “The waiting, the fighting, watching those you care for die, only to pick up your sword and continue?”
“There is little place in war for emotion,” he said, his voice cool.
“But you do feel,” she said, trying to understand. “How do you keep the hurt of the loss of your friends, the sight of the slaughter from marring your soul? And dinna tell me that you are unaffected by battle. You are a deep and caring person. However much you wish, you canna smother it all.”
The flicker of torchlight wavering across his face, accenting the tautness of his mouth. “For some, incredibly, they are unmoved by the blood, screams, and gruesome sights of war. Then there are those who after the first battle fall apart at the witnessed atrocities.”
He paused, the strain on his face a testament to the suffering he’d endured.
“Many men, as I, stow the terrible memories deep inside,” Thomas said, his expression grim. “Aye, it does affect me, and at times the horror threatens to overwhelm me where I want to walk away from the bloodshed. Then I remember why I fight, understand that if I, as the other Templars, didna champion the Christians in the Holy Land, they would be slaughtered.”
Tears burned her eyes as she stared at him, the appalling events he’d witnessed leaving her aching inside. This day’s fighting was naught compared to what Thomas had endured. “I had never considered such, but you are right. With each believing their faith is supreme, or with the desire for power, the fighting will never end.”
“Which is why ’tis important to live, to experience, and to thank God each day for the blessings in our lives.” He gently drew her into his arms. “As I do with you.”
Her throat tightened.
“I never meant you to become important to me, you were to be naught more than a duty.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “In that I failed.”
Emotion stormed her. He hadna said he loved her, but given the mayhem of this day, she embraced his confession. The morrow would bring its own questions, and mayhap he would admit more. For now ’twas enough.
“Lie your head on my shoulder and try to sleep,” Thomas said. “We both need to catch a bit of rest.”
Alesone glanced around, surprised to note many of the knights along the wall were asleep while others stood watch. “We do.” Thankful for this man in her life, she complied and though naught was guaranteed, savored the rightness of this moment.
* * *
The low thud of steel on wood had Thomas opening his eyes. Blood-red hues streaked the morning sky littered with clouds, broken by errant rays of light. At the slap of steps, he glanced over.
Donnchadh was rushing toward him.
Ignoring the aches, he shifted. Alesone lay against him still asleep. With regret, he carefully extracted himself from her warmth, stood, and walked over to meet his brother. At the deep scowl on his face, unease filtered through Thomas. “What is wrong?”
His breaths coming fast, his brother pointed toward the east. “Look!”
Thomas turned. Stilled. A short distance from the castle, the enemy lashed together sturdy hewn logs, with a basket secured at the end of a long beam that they’d use for the counterweight once filled with stones. “God in heaven. A traction trebuchet!” Tension churned inside as Thomas took in Alesone’s pale face as she sat beside him. Cursing the situation, he glanced toward his father standing before the knights filling the chamber.
Expression grave, the duke scanned the warriors. “With the speed Comyn’s knights are building the siege engine, ’twill be finished on the morrow. If given the opportunity, beneath heavy cover of their archers they will move the trebuchet to a lethal distance, which we canna allow.” Wizened eyes narrowed. “We must destroy their war machine this night.”
Grim faced men nodded.
Thomas stood. “Beneath the cover of darkness, I will slip outside and destroy the siege engine.”
Donnchadh shoved to his feet. “I will accompany you.”
The duke frowned, but remained silent.
As much as his father worried over the last two of his sons risking their lives, he would have been ashamed if they hadna offered. Thomas nodded to his brother. “Once ’tis dark, meet me in the great room.”
“I could arrange a small contingent of men to accompany you,” his father said.
Thomas shook his head. “’Tis best to keep our number small. Once we signal that we are ready, if you start a diversion, ’twill distract them while we set the trebuchet ablaze.”
His father nodded. “’Twill be done.”
Once the last of the plans were finalized, the warriors departed for their positions along the wall walk.
Thomas entered the corridor, and Alesone fell into step at his side. “I thank you for letting me lean on you last night to sleep.”
The lyrical flow of her voice wove around him like a blanket of hope, the memory of her lying against him bringing its own comfort. “You needed rest.”
“Thomas…”
At the concern in her voice, he glanced over.
Her lower lip trembled, and worry darkened her gaze. “I will pray for your safety.”
For the first time in his life the danger of the battle ahead weighed heavy on his mind, of the risks, of what he had to lose.
He took her hand and skimmed his thumb across her palm, wishing they were alone, the castle was safe, and that uninterrupted hours lay ahead of them where he could take her into his arms and show her how much she meant to him, tell the words filling his heart. “I shall come back to you.”
“What if—”
“With the throng of flaming arrows raining upon Comyn’s men,” he interrupted, wanting to ease her worry, “the enemy will be too busy defending themselves to notice my brother and me setting their siege engine ablaze.”
Eyes churning with emotion held his. “They will be.”
But he heard the nerves edging her voice, ones that lingered inside. ’Twasna a simple battle they fought. The outcome of Comyn’s attack could shape more than their future together, but Scotland’s history.
Like an omen, torchlight cast angry shadows as they hurried up the turret. Thomas glared at the mix of darkness and light, hurried past.
As Alesone stepped onto the wall walk, a snow laden gust tugged at her blond hair. “How can you slip back inside the castle without being seen?”
“Hidden tunnels are scattered about known only to family.”
“What of their stockpile of beams near the forest?”
“Once the siege engine is burning, we shall torch any supplies they could use to rebuild.” He grimaced at the distant stack of timber. “We only have this one opportunity. Once your father realizes we can sneak out of the castle, he will double the guards around any weaponry or supplies.”
She released a shaky breath.
Waves of the oncoming night scarred the last wisps of the sun’s rays on the horizon as Thomas paused beside the corner tower. “We canna fail. If they destroy the curtain wall, naught can prevent them from storming the castle.”
“Mayhap,” she said, her voice unsteady, “Sir John MacLairish has reached our sovereign.”
“However much I pray he has, unless my men and the Bruce’s forces arrive, we canna count on such.” He rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck. “My hope is that destroying their siege engine and stockpile will dissuade your father from believing that he can take you and that he will leave.”
“Given the stakes,” she said, her words unsteady, “do you believe he will ever go without me?”
On a curse, he hauled her against him. “Nay.”
* * *
Heart pounding, Alesone again scanned the night, waited for the sign from Thomas to begin the diversion. With clouds smothering any starlight, blackness drenched the land.
A flash from a flaming arrow flew high into the air.
The sign!
“Fire,” the duke boomed.
Pulse racing, Alesone, along with the other archers lined along the wall walk, lit their arrows. Lethal gold cut through the sky, punctuated by shouts of enemy knights caught beneath the fiery barrage. Time dragged as she released arrow after flame-tipped arrow.
Her arm ached, her muscles bunched in knots as she pulled back her bowstring. An arrow hissed past a breath from head. Narrowing her gaze, Alesone aimed toward the blur of movement, released.
A scream sounded.
She jerked another arrow from the quiver, took aim on the next victim.
“The trebuchet is on fire!” the duke roared.
Alesone released her arrow, turned. Outlined within the lick of flames, the nearly built siege engine burned bright. Cheers thundered around her, but she scanned the pile of timber stacked near the forest’s edge.
A distant blur of moment wavered within the wash of flames.
Thomas!
The echo of wood against stone slammed to her right.
“Ladders on the wall!” a knight warned.
Snow lashing her face, Alesone whispered a prayer that Thomas and Donnchadh reached the safety of the tunnel, and then focused on the men scaling the wall.
Leaning forward, with deft accuracy, time and again she loosed her arrows, the roars of anger melding with pain-filled screams of her enemy.
The stench of blood and rancid oil from the earlier pots dumped over the side burned her lungs as she nocked another ash arrow, aimed, then released. Weaving on her feet, she glanced toward the east. A wash of purple smeared the sky. Her fingers tightened on the bow. God in heaven ’twas almost dawn, where were they?
“A ladder to your right,” a nearby knight called.
Alesone ignored the ache in her shoulders, aimed, and took out the lead man.
Two women hurried over, lifted a steaming bucket of oil.
She stepped back.
“Heave!” the woman on the right called. They upended the container.
Screams rang out.
The women carried the empty container away.
Several knights rushed forward, caught the tip of the ladder, shoved.
“They are withdrawing,” the duke called. “Cease fire!”
Fingers numb, Alesone lowered her bow and flexed her hand. “Thank God.”
“Aye,” Thomas agreed, his voice rough with fatigue.
Alesone whirled. On a cry, she launched herself into his arms. “You are safe!”
He wrapped his arms tight around her. “Did you ever doubt me?”
Her eyes blurred, and her body trembled with relief. “Nay.”
“Here now.” Thomas lifted her chin, and a tear she fought to control slid down her cheek.
“I-I was so afraid for you.”
Tenderness softened his gaze. “I swore that I would come back to you.”
She sniffed, wanting to laugh, to cry, the emotions storming her making her feel strong and weak at the same time. On an unsteady breath, she stepped back. “And look at your face all covered in soot.”
“Donnchadh looks the same,” he said with pride. “We slathered a mixture of lard and ash onto our skin to blend in with the night.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Please tell me that isna you that I smell?”
Thomas chuckled. “Penance for success.”
Her heart warmed. “And here I was thinking of kissing you. Now ’twill wait until you have scrubbed up.”
Laughter in his eyes, he brushed a swath of hair from her face. “Are you saying that you dinna want a kiss?”
At his teasing, the remainder of the tension weighing heavy upon her faded. “Nay, I—”
“You and your brother have bought us much-needed time,” the duke stated with pride as he strode toward them.
In the wash of the first rays of golden light, Thomas studied the charred outlines of the trebuchet, the weave of black smoke littered with sparks curling into the lightening sky. “Aye.”
On edge, Alesone glanced into the murky light where Comyn’s men battled the blazes, a potent reminder of the dangers Thomas and his brother had faced.
“Once all of the fires are put out,” Thomas said, his voice grim, “they will be deciding their next plan of attack.”
“They will.” The duke paused. “Donnchadh left to scrub off at least the top layer of grime.” Humor touched the noble’s face. “I canna say that I envied either of you smearing on such filth.”
“However foul,” Thomas said, “it allowed us to accomplish the task.”
His father nodded. “That it did.”
Alesone prayed that repelling the attack had gained them enough time to allow King Bruce’s men to arrive. Or had the enemy killed Sir John MacLairish before he could deliver his missive? Dread crept through her. If so, this entire night been for naught.