Claire Delacroix (32 page)

She doubted she could kill the intruder from this distance in such poor lighting. Perhaps she could wound him so that he was readily identified later—or even injure him so severely that he would bleed beyond salvation.

She took her aim with care, fixing her sight upon his exposed throat. It was a narrow mark, but he wore a mail tabard. He had cast aside his helmet, doubtless because it impaired his vision. His head and throat were the only flesh unprotected, so she had little choice of where to injure him.

Nissa began to pray softly beside Aileen, her plea for aid fervent. Aileen felt her gaze sharpen in the familiar way that foretold that she would hit her mark. When the intruder leaned back to fire his third burning missile high, Aileen loosed her own arrow with vigor.

It whistled through the air, a dark missive fitting for a traitor. The bowsman’s arrow took flight and Nissa swore softly. He spun, turning to leap from the wall. All the same, Aileen’s arrow caught him in the shoulder before he could disappear.

He cried out, in shock and pain, then turned. He sought the arrow’s origin, even as he tried to worry the arrow from the wound.

He faced the tower, his features wreathed in shadows. He fitted another arrow to his bow, and took his aim.

Aileen realized that they must be cast in silhouette by the light of the brazier.

“Down to the floor!” She clutched Nissa’s shoulder and pushed the girl away from the window.

“But...”

An arrow whistled over their heads, so close that it fairly stirred their hair. It planted in the mortar of the far wall, quivering there with malicious intent. Nissa crossed herself, but Aileen peered over the sill.

It was clear why the intruder had not feared the sentries.

The sentries shouted with dismay and despair. Hundreds of shadows slipped over the walls, as plentiful as vermin. They overwhelmed the sentries as the women watched in horror, spilled into the bailey, and claimed Inverfyre for their own. The village must be occupied, as well, for there was no aid forthcoming from that settlement.

“They attacked this holding, knowing that the Hawk had ridden to claim the chapel,” Aileen murmured. “But they could only make such a plan, if someone in the Hawk’s company confided his scheme.” She turned to the maid. “Who knew of it, do you think?”

“I heard not a whisper,” Nissa confessed. “But I would wager that his six companions knew the truth. There are no secrets within that company, but many between them and the rest of the household.”

Footsteps and shouts echoed from the hall below and Nissa clutched Aileen’s hand so tightly that she nigh broke the bones. “What will happen to us, my lady?”

“We shall use our cunning, Nissa,” Aileen said with a confidence she did not quite feel. Revulsion rose within her as she guessed what scheme these men would have for herself and Nissa. “We shall survive until the Hawk’s return.”

Nissa began to pray again.

Aileen raced across the chamber and pushed a trunk against the locked door. Her thoughts flew as she tried to determine what prize these felons might seek. The only thing of value she could recall was the relic Nissa had mentioned, aside from the wealth of the holding itself. “What is said of this relic you found?”

Nissa blinked. “It is the
Titulus Croce
, the sign that was hung above Jesus when he was crucified, and a most holy relic indeed. It was surrendered to the care of the first Laird of Inverfyre.”

“Magnus Armstrong?”

“None other. The laird’s good care and protection of it ensures God’s favor for Inverfyre.”

“And it is not in the chapel, because the chapel is held by the MacLaren clan,” Aileen mused. “The Hawk awaits this last triumph before he invests the chapel with this prize.”

“I suppose as much. It would fulfill the old tale, for the rightful laird possesses the
Titulus
.”

“So, any man who would claim Inverfyre in the Hawk’s stead would have need of it.” Aileen concluded, remembering the prisoner’s insistence that the Hawk was the thief and Dubhglas MacLaren the rightful laird. He would need the
Titulus
to legitimize his claim. “Where is it, Nissa? We must ensure that the
Titulus
is secured for the Hawk.”

“But how, my lady? It is nigh as round and large as a loaf of bread!”

Aileen smiled. “Have you a needle and thread? If you sew quickly, we can see it concealed where no man would look.”

* * *

The forest was dark and silent as a tomb.

The Hawk’s company closed from all sides upon the stronghold of the MacLaren clan and his sense of foreboding grew with every step. They saw no soul. They heard no soul.

But he smelled roasting meat. The scent was strong enough that he was tempted to retreat, the aroma of burning flesh and singed hair enough to make his innards churn.

“They cannot be far,” he muttered to Sebastien. “Not if they have cooked meat this day.”

Sebastien looked to him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Do you not smell the meat?”

Sebastien shook his head. “There is no scent of food that I can discern, my lord, no smell of fire or meat or horses.” He peered into the darkness. “It is as if we approach an abandoned keep or even the wilderness itself.”

“But the smell. Surely you smell it!”

Sebastien shook his head.

“And look!” The Hawk pointed through the thick growth of the forest to a bonfire that crackled far ahead of them. “There are the flames themselves! The fire must burn in the old holding itself.”

Sebastien regarded him as if he had gone mad. “I see no flames, my lord,” he said softly.

“I do,” the Hawk insisted and lunged toward the bonfire with purpose. He suspected no trap, for the MacLarens had no knowledge of this assault. All the same, the Hawk drew his sword and moved stealthily through the forest.

The flames crackled as he drew closer and he felt their heat. They cast dancing lights onto the silent forest, and still he saw no soul. There was no one tending the blaze, evidently, and no one gathered close to its warmth. This puzzling fact made him pause and consider his surroundings.

Was it a trap? He looked down and saw by the light of the fire that the ruins of the old stone walls were directly before him, though the forest had nearly reclaimed them. The fire crackled, the scent of sizzling skin tormented him, but he stepped over the walls and approached the bonfire.

It was built as high as a pyre and a dark shadow was consumed in its midst. What did the MacLaren clan burn? What did they destroy of his birthright?

The Hawk rounded the fire with quick steps, his blade at the ready, and nigh vomited at what he finally saw.

A woman was bound in the middle of the fire. It was her burning flesh he smelled, her singed hair. He shouted and lunged toward the fire, thinking to save her afore it was too late, and she lifted her agonized gaze to him.

It was the maiden Anna, her blue blue eyes filled with torment. “Be not deceived, my love,” she whispered hoarsely, then lifted her hand toward him. A serpent writhed in her palm, then bared its fangs.

And the vision was gone, as surely as if it had never been.

The Hawk raced forward, touched the ground where the fire had been. It was damp and cold, as if there had never been flames kindled here. The shadows were dark and silent on all sides, and the Hawk spun in place, that cursed scent still filling his nostrils.

“Did you see it?” he demanded of Sebastien, who had hung back.

That man shook his head once again. “I see nothing,” he said, kicking at the loose stones in what had been the bailey as he approached the Hawk. “They are not here,” he continued with disgust. “They knew we would assault them this night and have taken to the forest.”

“That makes little sense. Why would they so willingly cede the last portion of Inverfyre to me?”

Their gazes met in horror as they guessed in the same moment where the MacLaren clan had gone. “They could not seize the keep!” Sebastien whispered, his tone by no means certain.

“They could, if they had surprise within their ranks,” the Hawk said grimly. He thought of Aileen and feared mightily for her fate. “But who could have told them? Only we seven knew of the scheme.”

Sebastien’s lips tightened to a thin line. “Then one of your must trusted cohorts must have betrayed you, my lord.”

Indeed. The solution was unassailable.

“Someone advised the MacLarens that we had ridden out,” the Hawk mused. He watched as his men appeared from other points of entry. Reinhard and Ahearn came from the MacLaren’s sorry hall, shaking their heads and sheathing their blades as they crossed the clearing.

“They have left only the breadcrumbs,” Ahearn said.

“They have been gone at least a day,” Reinhard concurred.

“Were you two together every moment since leaving Inverfyre?” the Hawk demanded and the pair sobered, understanding immediately the portent of his question.

Ahearn nodded. “We left you at the first fork in the road, as you recall, and have been inseparable since.”

Reinhard nodded agreement.

The other three men came from the ruins of the chapel, Ewen’s disgust nearly tangible. “Gone!” he cried with undisguised frustration. He swung his blade. “Fled like chickens! Grant the word, my lord, and we shall hunt them down with the hounds.”

“You need not hunt them, for it is clear where they are,” the Hawk said, watching the three men.

“A clever ruse,” Fernando said, obviously seeing the Hawk’s meaning. “Though one that requires a traitor in your ranks.”

“Have you all remained together?”

Alasdair nodded, though the other two men were not so hasty to agree. “We were,” he insisted.

“Except when your horse threw its shoe,” Fernando said quietly.

Alasdair scoffed. “I followed fast behind you though on foot, you know as much.”

“We know no such thing,” Ewen argued quietly. “Save by your own tale.”

“You were fair out of breath,” Fernando commented.

Alasdair grinned. “I have not run sufficiently of late, it is clear.”

Fernando abruptly touched Alasdair’s upper arm and that man flinched. Fernando caught his sleeve and tore the cloth away. Alasdair had bound a length of linen around his arm, though it was stained with blood. “And you favored your arm. How did you sustain a wound, when we faced no attack?”

“I fell when my steed stumbled and impaled it upon some dead tree,” Alasdair said crossly. “What is the root of this suspicion? Have you need of some soul to blame for this failure, and I have been chosen?” He sauntered toward the Hawk, challenge in his eyes. “Have I not served you well these years?”

The Hawk studied him, not wanting to be unfair and knowing that he had no evidence against this man. Fernando’s suspicion, though, was never roused without cause. He flicked away the length of linen and revealed that Alasdair’s tattoo was that of two entwined serpents.

And the wound, curiously like that wrought by an arrow, marred the head of one serpent.

Here was Anna’s signal to him.

Something must have gleamed in the Hawk’s eyes at his realization, for Alasdair suddenly lunged forward with a snarl. The Hawk ducked but Alasdair’s blade caught his cheek, drawing blood. Alasdair kicked the Hawk’s sword from his hand, then caught the Hawk around the neck and tucked his blade beneath the Hawk’s chin.

“All of you shall back away, or I will kill him,” he declared, gesturing to the other five men.

“You will never conquer the Hawk,” snorted Sebastien.

Alasdair stiffened and the Hawk knew to expect more trickery from this man. “Tell us of your brilliant scheme,” the Hawk urged softly. “I had no reason to suspect you.”

“Because you are not so clever as I,” Alasdair said. “I came to serve you, seeking adventure. I yearned to follow a brave and lawless man, but you, you wish only to be a landholder.” He pulled the Hawk to one side and sneered in his very face.

The Hawk remained passive even as he considered his choices.

“You wished only to feed your vassals and hold fair courts and collect your tithes and bed your wife,” Alasdair continued with disdain. “What manner of life is this for a man whose blood runs red?” He drew the blade across the Hawk’s throat, and the Hawk did not flinch as he felt his blood trickle down his flesh.

Ahearn stepped forward to intervene, but Alasdair waved him off. “Assault me and I will kill the Hawk.”

“Then we will kill you!” said Ewen.

Alasdair smiled. “You will never manage it. I vowed to kill the Hawk, even if it is the last deed I do, and God favors my cause.”

“And what did Dubhglas MacLaren offer you in return for this deed?” the Hawk asked mildly.

“Silver! Enough coin that I could claim a ship myself and commandeer a crew, enough riches that I could seek that adventure upon the seas.”

“My coin, I suppose,” the Hawk mused.

Alasdair shrugged. “What do I care of its source? The bounty will be mine, for I will not fail at this deed.” He gave the Hawk a shove. “Hasten yourselves, for Dubhglas insisted you must die in the chapel.”

The Hawk gave his men a minute nod. He did not doubt that some trap had been contrived in the chapel that would see his men disabled while Alasdair fled.

He had to outwit Alasdair before his men were injured. Despite his hope, there was no opportunity to surprise the warrior, who was keenly observant of every detail. The men were backed into the chapel, predictably concerned for their leader’s fate. When Alasdair demanded that they retreat further and punctuated his demand with a jab at the Hawk’s throat, they stepped back of one accord.

And the floor gave beneath their feet. The five men tumbled with a shout into one of the old crypts and the Hawk was left alone with his assailant. He did not doubt that they could free themselves, but Alasdair would have time enough to steal a steed and escape.

“How wickedly clever!” The Hawk spoke with an admiration he did not feel. “You have cornered us most cunningly. I salute your intellect.” He withdrew slightly, letting the warrior preen. “I must confess, Alasdair, that I never guessed at the full power of wits and sorely misused your abilities.”