Chapter 20 | Cora

Chapter 20

Cora

C ora paced the length of the room, cursing Cillian under her breath. In the five minutes since he’d left, she’d called him every name she could think of and made up a few new ones on the spot.

How dare he leave her behind?

How dare he just... just leave ?

The irony of her feelings didn’t escape her. This was why she’d married him in the first place. His presence here—the risk to his life—was a condition of their marriage. She had brought him and the other luchthonn here, and if they died, it’d be her doing. And she’d have to live with that, knowing that while they fought for her people and her father’s lands, she hid in a castle, safely protected by its walls.

It wasn’t right.

She glanced at the door for what felt like the thousandth time. It was barred, but only from her side. There was no way to lock it, so she’d pushed a heavy chest in front of it to keep people out—and maybe to keep her from following him right out the door. It mocked her now, reminding her she was in a prison of her own making.

Outside, the guard’s shouts continued. She strained to hear their words, but everything muddled together until it sounded like another language. If she squinted, she could make out the little dots of English torches in the distance. They were no closer, from what she could tell, but it was difficult to be sure with such little light.

Cora’s heart lurched when she heard the first howl. Another followed, and she watched as a mass of shadowy figures raced away toward their enemy.

The luchthonn.

Her heart clenched in her chest as she strained to make out Cillian in the pack. Of course, they were too far away—there was no way to see one wolf separate from the others. Cora crossed herself and mumbled a prayer for her husband’s safety.

She stared out of the window until she couldn’t make out the luchthonn anymore. Placing her hand on the window, she whispered words she hadn’t yet had the courage to say out loud. If—when—Cillian came back, she swore that she’d tell him.

She had to.

The words had flitted through her mind often enough, but it had never seemed like the right moment. Even as they’d embraced before he left, she’d nearly said them, but the fear of being misunderstood—of him dismissing her words as desperate platitudes—stilled her tongue.

With the luchthonn out of sight, Cora peered down into the courtyard. She thought she could make out some madraí among her father’s guards, and she watched as they took up posts along the wall.

Helpless to do anything but watch, Cora turned away from the window. She went back to pacing, counting the stone tiles beneath her feet to give her mind something to do. There was nothing for her to do—no way to help him and no way to end the fighting any faster.

Cora was nearly half-mad with worry when the shouts began again. They’d faded when the luchthonn took to the field, but suddenly they were back—and louder. She rushed to the window, peering down into the courtyard. éogan stood in the center, hollering and gesturing toward the gates. Her father stood next to him, dressed in full armor.

Dread pooled in Cora’s belly at the sight of him. Though he hid it well, Lord Kilkenny had suffered a wound years ago that had left his sword arm permanently damaged. He could write, pick things up, feed himself, and do other everyday things, but he hadn’t swung a sword in years. He couldn’t—not without extreme pain.

What could he be thinking?

Cora wanted to shout at him; she wanted to bang on the windows and yell until he listened. It was madness for him to be there, and she couldn’t understand why éogan didn’t send him away.

Except she could. She knew exactly why her father was there, dressed in armor and holding a weapon he couldn’t use. He refused to watch others defend his land while he hid away—even if it cost him his life.

For a moment, she tried to tell herself that he’d be safe behind the walls, just as she would. Cillian and the luchthonn would defeat the English invaders, and her father would never have to fight. All would be well, just as Cillian promised.

Then she looked up and saw the torches.

Her initial fear was that Cillian had been killed and the English had already made it to the castle. When she saw the flickering lights still in the distance, she realized what had happened.

Upon seeing the size of the force heading their way, she made a decision. The English outnumbered them, and with Cillian and the luchthonn busy with the first wave, they’d be on their own. They would need every able hand.

Cora raced to the door, silently begging Cillian’s forgiveness. She grunted and groaned against the weight of the heavy chest but managed to push it out of the way. Then she raced down the stairs as quickly as she could.

A weapon , she thought. I need a weapon.

The armory would be the smart place to go, but it was across the castle. Where else?

The study—her father kept a spare set of weapons in his study! She skidded on a rug, rounded a corner, and took off up another set of stairs. The halls seemed longer than usual in her haste, but she reached the door to the study in mere minutes. Thankfully, it had been left unlocked in the chaos and opened easily. Cora scanned the room, eyes peeled for anything she could use. A small dagger caught her eye, and Cora slipped its sheath onto her belt.

Just as she closed the lid to the last chest in the study, the doors burst open. Cora yelped and pulled the dagger from its sheath just in time to recognize the intruder.

“Eoin! Holy Mother, what are you doing here?”

Eoin leaned against the door, panting as though he’d run for a full day. His dark wolf’s skin hung loosely about his shoulders, haphazardly pinned, as though he’d been in a rush. He wore no shirt, and his trousers and boots were just as helter-skelter as the rest of him.

“Lady Cora—thank the goddess! Quickly, we must go now! Fane is looking for you!”

Before Cora could respond, the bells rang again, their heavy clang echoing through the halls. Cora ran to the window and gasped at the sight of the English horde gathered outside the castle walls. A sickening crash came from outside the gate, and the guard’s shouts grew frantic.

Her father’s men and several of the madraí strained against the gate, using their bodies to hold it shut. Outside, there came another crash, and the wood of the gate shuddered and shook.

Cora glanced back at Eoin. “What are you talking about? Where’s Cillian? Is he out there?”

Eoin shook his head, his eyes wide and frantic. “No, Lady—it was a trap! They knew we were coming! I don’t know how—so many wolves are dead! Fane was badly injured. Couldn’t come himself, so he sent me to fetch you to safety. Please, Lady, we must go!”

Images of Cillian broken and bloody flashed through Cora’s mind. “Oh God, no! Where is he? Are the others returning? They’ve got a battering ram—they’ll breach the castle soon!”

Eoin snarled and raked his fingers through his lank hair. “Those that still live will be here soon. Now, come! Fane’ll have my hide if I don’t get you out before the English overrun us!”

Cora nodded and followed Eoin toward the door. He heaved a sigh of relief and led her down the halls. A final, terrible crash echoed through the night, followed by screams and shouts from the courtyard. Eoin cursed under his breath and took her arm, pulling her faster down the corridor, away from the main hall and the battle.

“Where are we going? Is Cillian meeting us there?”

Eoin nodded, stopping at a corner long enough to scan both halls before pulling her down one that would take them to the kitchens. “Aye, he said he’d be there. Plans to ride off with you to safety, I think. Says there are too many English—too few of us. We’re all getting out.”

Cora slowed, her brows furrowed. “He means to abandon the castle? My father? He can’t! They’ll die without the luchthonn’s help!”

Eoin turned back, an impatient scowl on his face. “It’s us or them, isn’t it? No use in our kind dying just to save some warring humans! If I’d had my way, we wouldn’t have come at all! But we did, and now Fane has seen the truth—this isn’t our battle. He sent me to save you. Be grateful for that, and hurry your arse up!”

“How dare you—oh!”

When he saw she meant to argue more, Eoin growled and threw her over his shoulder without another word. Cora screeched and beat on his back with her fists.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The longer she was with Eoin, the more the uneasy feeling spread through her body. Cillian wouldn’t have sent Eoin to get her—he would have come himself. And he wouldn’t run away from the battle, especially not with her still inside.

Eoin was lying.

He had to be.

“Eoin, what’s going on?” she demanded. “Where are you taking me?”

Eoin made his way down the halls with her hanging off his shoulders like a sack of grain. “This could have gone much easier, you stupid cow. You just had to follow me! But no, couldn’t make anything easy, could you? We’re in this whole bloody mess because of you!”

“What are you talking about? What have I done to you?”

Cora cried out when Eoin slapped her thigh sharply. “You know what you did!” he hissed. “What you’ve done is unnatural, and it’s taken a lot of trouble to fix it. Once the elders see what I’ve done, let’s see who they name the bloody alpha!”

Dread turned her blood to ice. “What do you mean? Eoin, what have you done?”

“What I had to do,” he said, picking up his pace. “What had to be done to put things as they should be.”

Cora struggled, but even as a man, Eoin was much stronger than she’d ever be. She remembered the dagger in her pocket. Thankfully, it had gotten bunched in with the rest of her skirts, so he hadn’t noticed it in all the fabric.

Eoin carried her through the castle, but he didn’t seem to be looking for an exit. Outside, the battle roared on as her father’s men valiantly fought for their home. Somehow, despite her shouts, they hadn’t met a single other person in the castle. It occurred to her that all the staff would have fled or gone into hiding, and everyone able to fight would be outside in the courtyard. There was no one to hear her or save her.

Finally, they came to the main hall where her father met with petitioners, where she and Cillian had met with him to announce their agreement. It seemed so long ago, now, that she’d stood before her father and told him what she’d done to protect their people.

Eoin unceremoniously dropped her to the ground, snarling when she tried to scoot away. “You stay put, dall bitch! We’ll wait here, and you’ll stay still and quiet if you know what’s good for you. Said I’d bring you alive—made no promises about how bloody you’d be.”

Cora’s thoughts raced, desperately reaching for any way to get away. Eoin paced the floor in front of her, so agitated that his limbs shook. If she could just distract him enough—enough to keep him from noticing the dagger, then...

“What are we waiting for? Eoin, tell me what you’ve done. It’s not too late to make this right!”

His bark of laughter echoed off the stone of the hall. “I am making it right, you daft twig! You’re the ones who made it wrong—you and Fane. So I’m bagging two rabbits with one snare tonight. I’ll undo all this mess you’ve caused, and I’ll have the means to bring our pack back to the right way of things!”

“Cillian will never let you—”

Eoin’s laughter, cold and sharp, startled her. “Well, that won’t be a problem, now will it? Since he’ll be fucking dead!”

Cora scoffed, inching her hand toward the dagger. “If you’re thinking you’ll be the one to kill him, you’re off your head. You could never best Cillian alone!”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing he won’t have to, isn’t it?”

Cora’s head snapped toward the unknown voice. A man—a young man in full armor—stepped into the hall, pulling an ornate helm from his head. Cora didn’t recognize him, but his accent was easily recognizable.

“And who are you?” she spat. “One of Edwin’s lackeys come to do more of his dirty work?”

The man chuckled and shook his head. The sound sent a shiver of unease up Cora’s spine.

“No, my lady, I’m afraid not. King Edwin of England, at your service.”