Morning's Journey (54 page)

“Night fishers don’t do that, Denu?” Curiosity’s arousal conquered her aversion to the smell, and she shifted forward.

“Nay, me lady. ’Tis aye dangerous in these waters, running without lights. Any sort of wind blows up, and ye can find y’self dancing with the devil on the rocks.” Clucking his tongue, he slowly shook his head. “These were not fishermen.”

An invasion fleet, then, she mused. Their approaching Maun from the southeast could only mean…“Sasunaich!” In response to Denu’s confused look, she added, “Saxons.”

His expectant appraisal of her was broken by a long blink.

So. Arthur’s concerns hadn’t been unfounded, just a year too early. Her warrior’s blood began to tingle for the first time in far too long. She welcomed the feeling, allowing it to sweep through her body and purge her soul, exulting in the power it ignited within her.

She asked her fragrant visitor, “How many ships?”

Denu dropped his gaze to his hands, fingers and lips working silently. “Four hands. Maybe more.” His shoulders, broad from ten thousand days of casting and hauling nets, scrunched into a lopsided shrug. “No moon. Tough to see.”

Sasunach warships, she recalled from the intelligence reports, easily could hold sixty men. If Denu had counted aright, twenty ships meant twelve hundred warriors…

Her elation vanished. She tilted her head to meet the cold stone wall, a lump growing in the pit of her stomach. There weren’t that many Caledonach and Breatanach troops on the entire island, and only three hundred seventy-five at Port Dhoo-Glass, most of them Breatanaich.

No moon. Tough to see.

How could she possibly defeat such a force when even the elements of nature conspired against her?

“Me lady?”

She’d been born for this moment and just might die for it. The idea, in fact, had merit.

Briskly, she said, “Thank you, good Denu. You shall be rewarded.” She rose, preceded him to the door, and pulled it open. Rhys, seated at the table in the antechamber, rifling through a stack of reports, swiveled his head toward her. “Rhys, see that Denu gets—” She glanced over her shoulder at the fisherman. “What would you like?”

“A new net and sinkers.” He displayed a hopeful, black-toothed grin. “If it please yer ladyship.”

“See to it, Rhys. Who is on for courier duty?” The Manx Cohort had no need for a scout corps…until tonight.

Rhys studied the roster and regarded her levelly. “Aonar.”

A noise rumbled in Gyan’s chest, half growl and half groan. Her anger still smoldered at Arthur for foisting Angusel’s presence upon her. Putting him on the courier roster had been the only way to follow the letter of Arthur’s command and keep Angusel from her sight, leaving Rhys to give him his orders.

Tonight, however, Rhys would have more than enough to do. “Send him to me. Then have the centurions rouse their men quietly. Do not sound the general alarm. Order the lookouts to be extra sharp. If so much as a leaf trembles when it shouldn’t, I want to know at once.”

“Aye, Commander Gyan.” The approval gleaming in Rhys’s eyes salved her grief-weary spirit. They exchanged a nod. He saluted her and turned to leave.

Denu followed Rhys into the corridor, and the door swung to, making Gyan thankful he took most of the fishy smell with him.

She crossed to the window and stared into the night, hoping for some sign of the trouble marching her way. Like a cur with a bone, the inky vista held fast to its secrets.

No moon
…she recalled a lesson Arthur had taught her, while repressing memories of more pleasurable activities they’d shared, resulting in the birth of—no. No.
No!

Bracing against the window ledge with one palm, she pressed the other to her clammy forehead.

If that Hebrew general had defeated tens of thousands with a mere three hundred men, she might prevail against twelve hundred Sasunaich with the One God’s help—if He would deign to grant it.

It seemed futile to ask.

Respond in faith, and in love.

She jerked her head, wondering where that thought had originated. Then she remembered.
Dear Dafydd, you care more about my well-being than I care about myself.

Respond in faith.

For his sake, she had to try. She knelt.

And in love.

Love?
For her clansmen, certainly, but for these Breatanach soldiers, who didn’t spit at her only because they feared the Pendragon’s wrath? Who didn’t desert only because the sea penned them? Who would rather see her stiffening on a battlefield than follow her onto one? Did she wish the same fate for them?

Brutal memories surged forth: the mud and blood, the offal and vomit, the screams of dying men and horses, the flesh-greedy ravens, the stench of smoke and excrement, fear and death.

Tears streaming, she bowed her head and committed her men into the One God’s hands.

At the sound of footsteps, she scrambled to her feet, sniffing and drying her cheeks. She knew that tread, although it sounded heavier. A knock rattled the door. Anger erupted.

Respond in love.

Violently shaking her head, she wiped her sweating palms on her leather-clad thighs and tightened her jaw. She would tolerate his presence if she must and trust him as far as she dared, but as for divine protection, Angusel was on his own. Alone. Aonar.

“Enter.”

He marched in, eyes forward, body and head limned by the corridor’s torchlight, uniform flawless. He had gained in stature as well as girth. An unadorned iron dragon shone dully from his shield-side shoulder, indicating the noncommand junior-officer rank of optio, held by all the legion’s couriers. He halted and thumped his chest in the legion salute, which she acknowledged with a perfunctory nod.

“Optio, ride to South Cove to confirm the report of a Sasunach invasion force at least twelve hundred strong.” His eyes widened slightly. She narrowed hers. “I trust you can manage with no light?”

An offended look briefly darkened his features. He drew a breath, held it, let it out slowly, and drew another. “Aye, Commander,” he replied quietly.

“Good. The security of Maun rides upon your mission. Leave at once, and see that you do not fail.” As he saluted and turned to go, she couldn’t resist adding, “Again.”

He flinched, but his stride didn’t falter. In moments, he was gone. Regret pierced her heart.

Quelling it, she summoned the roster’s next horseman, a Breatan, but easier to deal with than Angusel. She handed him a parchment leaf detailing orders for Per to march his detachment to Dhoo-Glass, which would add two hundred fifty. Far better to mobilize Tanroc based on an unconfirmed report than to wait on Angusel and risk sealing the island’s doom.

As the courier started to leave, she considered giving him an additional order. But St. Padraic’s monks had already suffered enough from the last war into which she’d dragged them. She couldn’t do that to them again, no matter how much she craved their abbot’s counsel.

She alerted another messenger to prepare for the ride to the Mount Snaefell signal beacon to send word to Arthur upon confirmation of the Shasunaich presence. Her consort had left the staging area to inspect recovering troops at headquarters, which she viewed as a mixed blessing. Her message would be delivered sooner, but the last thing she needed was Arthur’s rebuke for assembling the legion needlessly should this fleet prove to be the phantom of an overtired imagination.

ANGUSEL LET Stonn pick his way through the hills south of Dhoo-Glass but balked at the pace, itching to put as much distance between himself and Gyan as possible.

She expected him to fail.
Again.
His face burned; sweat trickled down his neck.

He dashed moisture from his eyes, upbraiding himself for succumbing to her doubts. Succeed he must! Or die in the attempt.

Death seemed far better than suffering her scorn.

The brush rustled. Twigs snapped. Stonn’s head jerked. Murmuring soothing words and stroking his stallion’s neck, Angusel fixed his gaze to the path. A small creature ran squealing into the night. With the reins wrapped around one hand, Angusel dropped the other to his sword hilt.

He dared not push Stonn any faster and risk injury to either of them. Injury bred failure.

Near the top of the southernmost rise but far enough down the hill to hide their silhouettes, he halted Stonn, dismounted, and threw the reins over a limb. He squirmed on his belly over rocks, roots, grass, and sand to an outcropping.

The lowlands spread out before him like a great sable blanket, sprinkled with dozens of points of light that didn’t belong. He puffed out his cheeks, releasing a breath.
Gods!

His heart thudding, he squinted at the advancing army, yet several miles to the south. They appeared to be marching with just enough light to keep out of rodent burrows, snake dens, and cow dung, maybe one torch for ten men. He estimated the size of the force at close to fifteen hundred.

He chewed his lip, salty from sweat and sea spray. Four-to-one odds…five-to-two, if Tanroc’s troops arrived in time. Ignoring the “if,” it didn’t sound too bad. The invaders might have the numbers, but the Manx Cohort knew the land, with or without light.

What a battle this would be!

Movement at the bottom of the ridge caught his eye. Instinct brayed a silent alarm. An enemy scout? He strained his senses, but the pounding breakers drowned all other sounds.

A sharp crack and a yelp of pain pierced the waves’ thunder. Two voices exchanged a few guttural Sasunaiche words directly below him. Angusel grinned. Surprising them would be pathetically easy.

He freed his sword and crouched.

The memory of his time-devouring encounter with the one-eyed Dailriatanach traitor flooded back. Gyan needed time more desperately than numbers. He sheathed his sword and crept back to Stonn, thankful for the surf crashing against the cliffs to mask his departure. Surely, she would be pleased! He urged his stallion toward Dhoo-Glass.

OF THE duties around the fort assigned to those of his rank—one step above raw recruit, his choice and damned proud of it—Gawain map Loth rated nightwatch lower than stable mucking. Officers often congregated at the stables with news to share. Even if half of it proved false, it made for a far more exciting shift than tromping back and forth along the palisade beneath the mute stars.

Gazing northeastward, his thoughts turned toward Dunpeldyr. Worry gnawed at him for his mother, brothers, and baby sister. Even for his father.

At leave-taking this past summer, Loth didn’t even grant him a farewell, which wounded far deeper than Gawain had expected. He couldn’t help the fact that becoming Chieftain of Clan Lothian ranked lower in his mind than nightwatch duty.

His elbow tingled where it contacted the cold stone. Realizing he’d been standing too long in one place, he shouldered his spear and continued his rounds.

Gawain couldn’t help the fact that his father chose to punish him for failing to live up to archaic notions of filial duty.

He had enjoyed the time spent with his younger siblings between the cattle raids, thankful that Loth’s attitude toward him hadn’t tainted theirs, and his mother had gone out of her way to smother him with love and kindness, as if her efforts could compensate for Loth’s lack. For their sakes, Gawain regretted his decision to return to Maun with Aunt Gyan. If the Angli believed that Arthur and Loth could attack at any time, God alone knew what those foreign bastards might do as a preemptive measure…and Gawain wouldn’t learn about it here until it was too late to attend the funerals.

But his aunt’s anguish still wrenched his heart, causing fresh hatred for Angusel to gust through his soul.

He wondered where that vehemence came from. He loved Aunt Gyan—Commander Gyan—as kin, but there had to be something more. Like, maybe, by watching her devastation, it was like watching his own emotions regarding his father’s choices being paraded for everyone.

But his father wasn’t dead. He couldn’t stop the thought before adding the damnable, inevitable
yet
.

Feeling a chill not entirely due to the night’s breeze, he stepped into the guard tower to warm up and found Claudius adjusting his helmet. They exchanged grunts of greeting. The striped candle showed one ring, marking the last hour in their duty shift. Claudius retrieved his spear and left the tower.