Chapter Nineteen
Through the soft fall of snow, Thomas cursed as he stood on the battlement, stared at the new construction beginning in Comyn’s encampment. Two blasted days had passed and during that time they’d received more supplies. He’d expected them to build another trebuchet, but nae so soon. With each sunrise, he’d prayed to see signs of the Templar Knights riding with the Bruce’s men, hope that with each sunset faded.
Against the first rays of light, he glanced toward his father. “This time they are building four siege engines.”
The duke frowned. “Aye, one for each side of Dair Castle. After you and Donnchadh torched their first trebuchet they will nae be foolish enough to leave their war machines unprotected.”
On a rough swallow, Thomas met his brother’s frustrated gaze before facing his father. “Regardless, we must try to destroy them.”
“If I thought a chance existed, I would send you and your brother out this night.” The duke glared at the encampment. “Since their last attack, their numbers have doubled, and they have tripled the amount of men guarding their supplies and siege engines. With our surprise factor lost, any attempt to infiltrate their camp will fail.”
However much Thomas wanted to argue, he agreed. Nor was that their only concern. “Though Comyn’s men have kept out of arrow range, throughout the morning they have begun to surround the castle.”
“You think they are going to attack?” Alesone asked as she joined them.
Thomas damned the nerves in her voice. “Nae until they have finished the war machines.”
“Their few failed attempts have assured them that without proper weaponry any attempt would end in further defeat,” Donnchadh said. “For now they are laying siege.”
“Which tells me,” Thomas said, “they are confident we willna be receiving any reinforcement.”
Fear slid into her eyes. “You think Sir John didna make it past my father’s forces?”
His gut churned at the thought. Thomas shrugged. “We canna be sure.”
The scowl on his father’s face deepened. “Neither can we sit here and do naught. The day I give up without a fight is the day my bones are buried deep in the earth.” He eyed his sons. “We will send a second runner to the Bruce.”
“I shall go,” Thomas said. “I am well enough to travel, and my men are there as well. I can answer any questions and make plans during our return.”
After a moment’s hesitation, his father nodded. “I will pen a writ for you to give the king.” He left.
“I can ride along as well,” Donnchadh said.
“’Tis best if I go alone. And,” he said, glancing toward Alesone, “I ask that you watch over her.”
“I think,” she said, her voice cool, “that I have more than proven that I am able to take care of myself.”
Pride filled Thomas. “You have, neither do I question your ability. ’Tis what any man would ensure for the woman who has become important to his life.”
The irritation in her eyes faded to tenderness. “Oh,” she whispered.
Donnchadh cleared his throat. “I will see you before you leave, Thomas.”
He nodded.
The crunch of snow beneath the earl’s boots faded as he departed.
Emotion storming Thomas, he met Alesone’s worried gaze. “I must gather a few necessities. Walk with me.” Inside the stables, snow whirled in the whip of wind as he secured a sgian dubh at his ankle, and another dagger at his hip. “I will borrow a horse from the monastery. From there, ’twill take two days at most to reach the Bruce’s camp, unless I meet his contingent he sent en route.”
“You believe John is still alive?”
He clung to the hope in her voice. “Sir John and I fought together in the Holy Land. I know him, his instincts, and the creative methods he has utilized in the past against overwhelming odds.” He swallowed hard, and prayed he was right. “If he saw Comyn’s men, he would have evaded them and then delivered the writ to King Robert. I wanted to say as much to my father except…”
“You are unsure?”
Heaviness weighed on him. “We canna risk my being wrong.”
“Here.” She placed a pouch of herbs in his hand. “’Tis ground white willow bark to help with any pain. I know you have recovered, but I will feel better knowing you have it with you.”
“I thank you. The travel willna do more than cause a few aches and pains.” As long as he was able to slip away without being seen, he refused to add. He glanced down the stalls for a sign of his father.
Naught.
Thankful, he led her inside where they kept gear for the horses, and pushed the door until ’twas almost closed. His body humming with need, he drew Alesone into his arms. “I willna be gone long.”
“Swear it. Nay,” she said, her face pale. “I know you canna, I am being foolish.”
“Shhhh.” At the desperation in her voice, he stroked his fingers across her cheek. “I will return to you. Trust me.”
“I-I do, ’tis with my father and the size of his force that troubles me.”
“I—”
The firm echo of boots had him looking into the main stable.
His father appeared at the end of the corridor.
However much he wanted to believe he would return, with the number of seasoned warriors surrounding the castle, the odds were slim at best.
Neither could he forget the siege engines the enemy was constructing. How long before they finished? A day? Two? Once their weapons were ready, however they’d prepared, his father and his knights could keep Dair Castle safe for only so long. God help them if Comyn successfully destroyed a portion of the curtain wall before he returned.
His father drew near.
On a mumbled curse, wishing for more time, Thomas claimed Alesone’s mouth in a rough kiss. Her body softened against his, and she gave, demanded, and his hands trembled from wanting her. Needing more, on an unsteady breath, he broke away.
“I love you,” she rasped.
“And I—”
“Thomas?” the duke called.
The words twisted in his throat, ached to come out. “I must go.” With a hard kiss, he strode toward his father, damning every step that took him farther away from the woman he loved.
* * *
A day later, wisps of dawn smeared the sky as the duke yelled above the chaos, “They are attacking again!”
Her every muscle screaming, Alesone nocked another arrow, aimed at the closest warrior as he climbed up the rungs of the ladder, released.
The invader screamed as he tumbled to the earth.
She loaded the next arrow and scanned the distant trees looking for any sign of the Bruce’s knights.
Naught.
A boom sounded to her left.
Beneath her the wall walk shook. She whirled.
Shattered stone tumbled to the ground, and a gaping hole lay at the top of the curtain wall.
Oh God, they’d moved the fourth trebuchet into position!
The duke shouted orders for reinforcement where his men had been injured or killed.
Sickened, Alesone focused on the next target, praying for Thomas to arrive.
Hurled stone slammed nearby.
She stumbled back.
“Move to the right,” the duke yelled. “The curtain wall is—”
An explosion of rock shattered paces away. Shards bit into her skin, driving Alesone to her knees. The mill of bodies around her blurred.
Donnchadh’s strong arms caught her, hauled her back.
Beneath the next volley, the wall walk where she’d been standing collapsed.
A tremor rolled through her. “Y-you saved my life.”
Donnchadh’s eyes dark with concern narrowed as he released her. “Are you hurt?”
Hurt? She gasped for breath, then another. She’d almost died.
Another round shook the castle wall to her right.
She jumped. “Oh God, all four siege engines are in place!”
The earl ran over, caught her arm. “Come. For your safety we must reach the keep.”
Furious, she jerked free. Snow whipped past, the icy shards driving against her skin as Alesone met the duke’s gaze. “I will fight, teach the bastard that he canna always have what he wants.”
As she started to nock her bow, Comyn’s command to halt rang out.
She glanced east, searched for signs of Thomas. The euphoria pouring through her faded as naught but her father’s men surrounding the castle came into view.
“Westwyck,” her father yelled.
The duke glared at his enemy. “Aye.”
“Send my daughter out, and I willna destroy Dair Castle.”
The bloody bastard, the duke hissed. “Rot in Hades!”
Comyn’s face darkened with fury. “If I order my men to attack, ’twill be your bones buried in the earth.”
Given the odds, the truth. Helplessness merged with outrage. Bedamned her father, his greed, and the devastation he’d caused so many. Nor could this standoff continue. “Your Grace. The castle canna take much more. A shot, mayhap three if we are fortunate, then they will have smashed a hole in the curtain wall to the east.”
The noble scowled at where gaps fissured down the interior wall. “By God, Comyn willna take you.”
Nor did she want to go with the scoundrel, except without reinforcements little hope remained. Sickened at the thought, aching that she’d never see Thomas again, the time had come to make the hardest decision in her life.
“Enough people have died because me,” she whispered. “Let me go to him; save yourself, your son, and your home.”
Outrage glittered in the duke’s eyes. “What we fight for today is more than the loss of the lives of my men, my family, or my home. If your father seals the pact with King Philip, Scotland’s freedom will be lost.”
Humbled, she nodded. “Aye, let us fight!”
The stench of blood, soot, and fear filled the air as the hours dragged by, the loss of life on both sides leaving Alesone overwhelmed. Charred edges scarred buildings they’d been able to extinguish wove in a horrific mix with smoldering ashes where they hadna.
A boom resonated on the western side of the castle.
Screams of men melded with the slam of rock. Fractures in the castle walls by earlier attacks deepened, and several chunks toppled to the body-littered earth.
“Donnchadh,” the duke yelled, “send more knights to ensure the enemy doesna breach the western wall.”
“Aye!” The earl shouted orders, and several warriors ran toward the gaping hole.
Another volley from a siege engine slammed against the wall walk paces from Alesone. She clung to the trembling rock, kept her balance, barely.
“Lass, are you—”
“I am fine, Your Grace.” Her fingers raw, she reloaded her bow, fought to smother the building fear. Ever since her father’s men had completed the fourth siege engine, they’d assaulted Dair Castle with merciless intent.
Though the duke refused to admit defeat, with many of his warriors lying dead or dying, ’twas clear that the time to cede was drawing near.
Her hand shaking, she knocked another arrow, aimed, and released. Numb, Alesone scanned the line of trees. She willed Thomas and the reinforcements to appear. And as the hours before, naught but falling snow smeared with blood, bodies, and the roar of the enemy greeted her.
Where was he? Had he reached the king? Were he and Bruce’s forces en route? Or was he lying somewhere injured, dying, or dead?
A sob built in her throat, and she shoved it aside. Thomas had promised that he would return. They only needed to buy time. She didna care how panicked she sounded, or if her rational was skewed.
A blast shook the wall to her left.
Alesone crashed against the wall walk, and rolled toward the edge.
Donnchadh caught her hand. “Hang on!”
Another blast tore into a large gap; shards toppled to the baily with a violent clatter. Three more volleys simultaneously slammed the castle.
“Comyn’s men are breeching the curtain wall to the east!” the duke yelled.
“Bedamned!” Donnchadh helped her to her feet.
“Tell everyone to withdraw to the keep,” his father ordered. “I will take Mistress Alesone to the secret tunnel.”
“Aye.” Donnchadh bolted toward their warriors.
The duke waved her forward. “Hurry!”
Heart pounding, she followed him down the turret, prayed they’d make it in time. Then what? With their forces devastated, they couldna hold the enemy off for long. Or with the men pouring into the castle, would they even reach the escape route?
Sickened, she entered the keep, the roar of battle in her wake. Comyn had proven that he would do whatever he must to achieve his goal.
“Seal the door!” the duke roared after his son and the remaining knights ran inside.
Barricades slammed into place as women rushed their children deep into the castle.
Booms rocked the exterior door below, and the duke’s face paled. “Mistress Alesone, follow me.”
As they reached the great hall, the entry shuddered against another volley.
Weapons raised, knights stood a safe distance from the entry awaiting the inevitable charge.
A frenzy of explosions sounded outside, mixed with the screams of men.
“Hurry!” The duke led her down a corridor, then waved her into a small chamber. He shoved aside a sturdy table, lifted a tapestry, and then wedged his fingers against a small, nondescript crevice.
He pushed.
A soft scrape echoed.
The stone panel shifted. Errant spider webs hung inside a tunnel fading to blackness musty with the scent of time. The duke nodded. “Go.”
Another blast echoed against the entry door, this time louder.
“Your Grace, we must wait for Donnchadh.”
His face paled. “Nay.”
“Let me take—”
An explosion of wood melded with screams. The scrape of blades sounded.
“Oh God,” she gasped, “they have breached the entry!”
The duke shoved a torch from a nearby sconce into her hand. “At the end of the tunnel you will hit a dirt wall. There isna much, but ’tis only for a layer of safety. Once you dig through, you will come up inside of a rotting trunk. From there travel west.”
An ached burned in her chest, despising this moment, hating Comyn even more. She withdrew her sgian dubh from its sheath. “I willna run, Your Grace.”
The echoes of screams and blades rose to a fevered pitch. The sound of boots slammed down the entry.
“God in heaven,” he rasped, “’tis too late!”