Seize The Dawn (44 page)

When the messenger had departed, he signaled another man to emerge from the tent he'd erected in the copse. The fellow was Dirk of Pawley. He had served the king for a time, in the tower of London, until too much drink had cost him his work.

No matter. Fitzgerald had known a true artist when he had seen one.

Dirk was nearly as broad as he was tall, but his weight was muscle. He'd lost an eye in a tavern brawl, and a patch of his scalp was missing as well. He was uglier than sin; the broader

his smile, the uglier the man. He smiled a lot. He liked his work.

"Bring him out," Fitzgerald said.

Dirk nodded, and returned to the tent, dragging out the man a group of riders had caught in the woods that morning. There had been something familiar about the young man, who seemed to have a talent for talking and charm. He'd spoken poorly, pretended that his French was bad, and that he was a simple farmer, cast from his desolate lands by the extent of warfare, and looking for nothing other than an evening meal.

But Fitzgerald knew he'd seen the man before, among other young men taken from the northern tenant lands to train for battle. His first thought had been to string up the lad from the next available tree. Dirk would have been glad to manage a noose that would strangle the man to death slowly, rather than breaking his neck; a good end to a traitor. Dirk was a good man to have, he knew.

Just as King Edward knew that Fitzgerald himself made a fine sheriff, a servant in the king's name. Edward thought of himself as a great hammer of justice. A hammer of justice needed men who were not afraid to use force themselves.

The captive was not so cheerful and charming now. He couldn't walk; Dirk literally dragged him by the scruff of his neck. The hold must have been painful; the fellow could no longer cry out.

Dirk dropped the man. Fitzgerald stepped forward, picking him up by the hair. "Once again; the lady is no longer in the caste?"

Dirk hefted the man, carrying him through the woods like a carcass. Still south of the action, he threw the man into the mud. Fitzgerald had mounted when he returned. "To horse, man," he said impatiently.

He let out a long whistle.

The ten men he had picked to ride with him gathered from their hiding places within the woods. Two could play at such a game of warfare.

"Northward, and at as fast a clip as we dare. There is open field between the castle and the next passable road. We bypass die ditches through the routes learned from the traitor."

Horses stamped their feet; his men nodded their agreement.

A good lot he had chosen, he thought. They were all from his own holdings; men with much to lose if they betrayed him or faltered in any way, and much to gain if they fulfilled their quest. Some of them had been with him when Sir Brendan Graham delivered his humiliation upon them at the stream on the road to London. They would be thirsting for vengeance as well.

"Speed matters," he said. "Don't fear the open ground; the other flank of our forces will keep die Scots busy at their walls."

Now he knew where
she
was. And he could almost see the

stature that her capture would give him,
taste
the importance his name would take on ...

They fought until the advance troops lay on the road along with the fallen catapult; then, when the rearguard began to swarm around the obstruction, they began their retreat to the castle walls. They could hear shouts of surprise when Wallace's men began attacking from behind, and they made good their hard ride back to the castle.

Eric saw their advance, ordered the gates thrown open, and when the last of their number made it through the gates, they were quickly closed again.

Brendan shouted out orders, racing up the steps to the parapets. They saw the troops advance and disperse around the front of the fortification. Riders surged forward, but as the first hail of arrows rained, a large group fell; those who made it closer were met with the boiling oil. They retreated; hovering at the edge of the forest.

Corbin had come to stand with them as they stared out at the line of opposition. The English had lit fires, and appeared to be bedding down for the night at the edge of the forest. They were easy to see; they remained at a distance.

"How can you be certain Fitzgerald isn't there? He isn't wearing his colors; he doesn't want to be seen," Corbin said.

Brendan shook his head. "He isn't there. He wasn't in the lead with his men; we were on foot with the front guard, hand to hand. He was not among them."

"He is cowering behind all those forces," Eric suggested.

Suddenly, Corbin pointed beyond the gates. "Look, there! A lone rider, one of ours!"

It was true; Brendan saw a horseman, dead low against his animal, rushing for the gates. He carried no standard, but Brendan recognized the tunic he wore.

"One of Bruce's men," he said briefly. He was amazed; it had been a feat of true courage for the rider to brazen his way through the English line with speed alone. Indeed, he was followed by an awkward, uncoordinated spate of arrows; each flew, and missed its mark, but struck the ground dangerously near the horse and rider. "The gates!" he roared. "Open the gates!"

A shout had gone up among the English; a group hastily mounted their horses to come in chase, perhaps hoping to rush the gates as well, though it would be a foolish attack, since there was no time for the men to organize.

"Archers!" Brendan cried, running down the ramparts and grabbing a bow and arrow himself, taking aim over the form of the man now spurring his horse desperately to reach the opening gates.

Brendan let his arrow fly. He was not the archer Liam was, but his missile flew true, catching the first of the Englishmen in the chest. The man had opted for speed rather than safety.

In the courtyard, the man's horse stood, trembling, foaming. The man instantly leaped from his horse. Brendan saw that it was the Brace's rider, Griffin.

He was breathless, but strode with hurried purpose to Brendan.

"I've news from Wallace," he said quickly.

"Wallace?" Brendan said, startled, frowning. He set a hand on Griffin's shoulder. "He is well? He was to harry the rearguard, and retreat with his men into the trees."

"Aye, and that he did. Sir William is fine." He drew a breath. "The Brace gave me orders to observe what I could—" He hesitated, and shrugged, "give what aid possible if needed ..."

"Gregory of Clarin. They came upon him half dead in the road, but he was desperate to speak. He met with some torture at the hands of a talented master and was left for dead. His lips were swollen, his teeth having gone through them, but he was determined to let Wallace know his deep sorrow—he told Fitzgerald everything he knew about your defenses.
And
die fact that Lady Eleanor was not here, but had been sent on with a large party."

Brendan stared at Griffin, feeling as if his life's blood fled from him.

"What?" he demanded harshly, the wind seemed to rush in his ears.

"Fitzgerald has been no part of the attack, and never was. He avoided the front, afraid you'd have an ambush. And when he discovered the truth, he skirted the forest, using the battle to cover his movements. He doesn't care if his men ever take the castle." He hesitated just long enough to catch his breath.

"Sir Brendan, Miles Fitzgerald has gone straight for the Lady Eleanor. And he is now hours ahead of any possible pursuit."

Chapter 21

"We'll stop here for the night," Collum announced.

Eleanor wasn't at all sure where "here" was, for it seemed that Collum had chosen nothing more than a place in the middle of the road, surrounded by trees and darkness. Though distraught at leaving, she had not found the ride unpleasant—the landscape was beautiful. They had ridden for hours once they left the fortification, stopping only once to water the horses, and then riding again, if not at a breakneck speed, with steady determination.

They had passed through beautiful countryside, hills and vales that rolled gently, filled with glorious colors. Heaths had seemed the color of royal purple, carpeted in wild flowers; the
₍
forests they passed were heavy and rich with deep greens. They had traveled through mud, as well—sticky black and brown, but in all, the sun had broken through trees, then it had begun to set, and the colors changed all over again, cast into the gentle shades of the coming night.

The twilight seemed to meld the forest now into a wall, but Collum, far more accustomed to riding by twilight, knew the landscape, and seemed able to see in the dark. He continued riding into what appeared a great void, but it was not—a trail broke through the trees.

The trees here were very close; the trail such that it seemed the horses would be too great to pass through it. But in moments more, the growth gave way; they entered a copse.

Collum dismounted. "A moment, my lady."

He dismounted. She saw that there was a structure in the woods, wattle and daub, and covered with thatch. Soon after Collum ducked his way beneath the small, open doorway, dim light appeared from within. Collum reappeared, coming to Eleanor's horse, ready to help her dismount. " 'Tis not much, but a shelter. We'll be out of the weather."

The crude little house had an opening in the front, a low arch Collum had to duck through, and another like it in the rear. The place had long been open to the elements, but there was a pit of stone in the center for a fire, and the walls seemed sturdy enough. Its very closeness made it warm enough, with the front and rear opening allowing for clean air to pass through. A small opening in the roof overhead would help clear the smoke once a fire was built.

"Ah, well, here we are," Collum said, somewhat helplessly, as if he were not accustomed to being the one to make a lady comfortable on a rough journey.

Eleanor set a hand on his shoulder. "It's a fine shelter," she assured him. "A good place to rest for the night."

"Aye, and we'll make it comfortable enough," Hagar said. "We'll get the blankets and the food.

"And I'll be seeing that you don't make a mess of my packing," Bridie said, giving a firm nod to Eleanor, who wondered how Bridie could still have so much energy, when she suddenly felt so exhausted herself.

She stood alone in the shelter with Margot. Margot walked over to her, taking both her hands. "Thank you," she said fervency. "Thank you ... you made something happen that... might have taken a lifetime. No, it would never have happened—"

"He loves you very much," Eleanor told her.

"Well, I've always believed that," Margot said with a small smile. "If not ... well, I love him, loved him enough just to be with him. But what you managed... and taking the occasion of your own wedding ..."