Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

D era knew these woods.

She'd grown up here, with Mount Wrath less than a half-mile away, and she'd spent many hours wandering through the trees near the river or finding the blackberry vines that would produce fruit in the summertime. As a child, she'd ridden her white pony all over these meadows, a sturdy little beast that was still alive, still in the stables of Mount Wrath, although she couldn't ride her any longer. Her name was Snow and with all of the other worries Dera felt, she found herself praying that Snow had survived the siege.

Funny how she should worry about an animal as much, if not more, than people.

The fields surrounding Mount Wrath brought back a multitude of memories as the battle raged not far away. Dera wasn't hard pressed to admit that when she and Cort returned to the encampment by the beach to find it empty, she had a sick feeling in her stomach. The armies had moved out and were even now engaged in a fight. The first blast of the bombard nearly had her jumping out of her skin, knowing the demolition was aimed at Mount Wrath.

It had been a difficult thing to stomach.

So, she waited with the rest of those who weren't actively involved in the fighting– the quartermaster, horse handlers, various pages and servants. Everyone else was up on the front line and although she had been in ambushes and skirmishes, she'd never been in a full-fledged battle with highly-trained English knights and frightening tubes of iron that belched out explosive devices.

It wasn't something she wanted to get involved in, mostly because she didn't want to anger Cort or even her brother, who were both up at the front. There wasn't anything she could do to help those inside the castle and, in any case, she didn't want to. Men she had fought beside and bonded with over their love for their country had turned on her. They'd turned on everything MacRohan. It was a difficult pill to swallow, knowing that she could no longer trust her countrymen, nor could they trust her.

And with good reason.

She was married to a Béarla now and there was no regret. She had never loved anyone so much in her entire life and she'd never felt part of someone as she felt part of Cort. Her big, strong, handsome husband was someone every maiden dreamed of, but she was the fortunate one. Those dreams had come true.

And he loved her, too.

Now, Dera found herself in the strange position of worrying over someone who was fighting in a battle. She wasn't a worrier by nature, but Cort was dealing with deadly things up at the front and she wasn't in a position to help him.

That made the wait more difficult.

The battle raged on all afternoon, with the great concussions of the bombard echoing off the hills, and she busied herself by helping the quartermasters build big bonfires to boil water for the wounded, trying not to let the sounds of explosions rattle her.

Closer to sunset, the wounded began to trickle in.

Mostly, it was the walking wounded, those who had been hit by arrows or injured in the fight but were still able to walk. Dera immediate set about helping those men, organizing them by the degree of their injury. She confiscated two big tents, both belonging to de Russe, to put them in because night was coming and she didn't think wounded men should be exposed to the cold and the elements.

Most men were simply exhausted and mildly injured with puncture wounds or gashes or broken bones. There were three physics, but they were all busy at the front, so she took charge of the wounded in camp, bathing dirty wounds, wrapping up broken arms. She didn't even stop to think how ironic it was that she should help wounded English. It was something she would have never imagined herself capable of. But then the stories on the fight at the castle began coming out and Dera struggled not to be horrified by them.

The rebels, she was told, were holed up in the keep while the rest of the castle belonged to the English. Animals from the stables of Mount Wrath began making their way back to the encampment, including the old and shaggy Snow, and although Dera was very grateful for her little pony, the men returning the animals told tales of the big trebuchet being repositioned to hurl giant stones inside the walls, aiming for the keep.

The bombard itself had been brought right to the edge of the moat and had been aimed at the keep, and even now they could hear it being set off. She was told that the goal was to collapse the keep, or at least damage it enough that the English could get inside, so as she listened to the cannon fire in the distance, she tried to focus on helping the injured. She tried not to think of Cort being right in the middle of the fight for Mount Wrath.

It was a struggle not to panic about it.

Dera was helping an injured man sip some beef broth with very soft vegetables in it when one of the quartermasters came for her.

"My lady?" he said. "They've brought in some seriously wounded men. Where do you want to put them?"

Dera helped the man sip the last of the soup and then aided him in laying back down. "The more seriously wounded men are in the other tent," she said. "Is there room?"

The quartermaster with dark red hair that stuck out like straw nodded. "There is," he said. "But the men they've brought in will probably not survive. There is a smaller de Winter tent we can use."

"Then put them there," she said. "I will come and see to them."

The quartermaster rushed out of the tent, into the torchlit compound. Servants bearing blazing sticks of flame for light were leading the way as soldiers carried severely wounded men between them. The first one Dera saw was missing an arm and part of his face, all wrapped up heavily in boiled linen.

"Why were these men not brought here sooner?" she asked the soldier lugging him.

The soldier was weary and grimy. "The physics wanted to treat the wounds first before moving them," he said, grunting under his burden. "The knight back there had an arrow through his chest. The physic had to remove the arrow and cauterize the wound so he wouldn't bleed to death."

The knight with an arrow to his chest.

That was all Dera needed to hear as panic seized her. As the severely wounded were shuttled over to a smaller de Winter tent, she rushed back in the line of approaching men only to see four men carrying an armored body between them. Each man had a leg, trying to keep the knight level, as the physic walked alongside to watch his patient.

As Dera rushed up, she could see that the downed knight was Brend.

She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out as she rushed to Brend's side. He was unconscious, thankfully, for he surely could not have withstood the pain had he been conscious. Trying desperately not to cry, she looked at the physic.

"How is he?" she asked tightly. "Will he live?"

The physic's gaze never left Brend's face. "The arrow went all the way through him," he said. "It punctured his lung and nicked his spine. I will not know how badly yet until he awakens, if he awakens. He has lost a good deal of blood."

Tears were forming in her eyes as she gazed down at her eldest brother, a man she hardly knew. They'd had their difficulties, but that didn't mean she didn't admire him greatly. He was the de Winter legacy knight, a position of great respect. Or, at least, it had been, once, but to Brend, it still was.

She should not have made it seem otherwise.

As Dera looked at Brend's ashen face, her more pressing concern was Arabella. She loved Arabella and she knew the woman would be absolutely devastated by what had happened. The man she'd loved most of her life was wounded, perhaps mortally. It was tragedy beyond measure.

Already, Dera's heart was broken for them both.

"What would you have me do for him?" she asked the physic. "Can anything be done at all?"

The physic shook his head. "Not now," he said. "He needs to lie flat and be kept warm. Will you do that?"

Dera nodded eagerly. "What else?"

"If he awakens, have him drink water with some salt in it. He needs it."

"I will."

They had reached the smaller tent by this time and the four men and the physic took Brend inside. Dera found one of the servants and told the man to find four or five blankets and warm them by the fire before bringing them to her. As the man ran off to do her bidding, Dera went inside the tent.

They had laid Brend on a nice traveling bed that had been set up, probably for Damon or one of his knights. It was comfortable and a little small for Brend's bulk, but it would do. Dera came up beside the physic as the man tightened up the bandages on Brend's chest.

"Where are the blankets?" the man demanded.

"They are coming," Dera replied, her gaze never leaving Brend's face. "The servants are warming them. I will have a brazier brought in, too."

"Good," the physic said, his focus lingering on Brend. "I've done all I can for him, but I will return later."

"Are there many wounded?"

"There are enough now that there is fighting inside the castle."

"No more… knights?"

"Not as far as I know."

That was huge relief to Dera. The physic headed out just as two servants entered with the first of the warmed blankets. Dera immediately took them, tucking them in around Brend. She removed his boots so she could tuck the blankets in around his feet. As she fussed over him, Brend began to come around.

"Dera?" he said weakly.

She knelt beside him, her arms around his shoulders to keep the warm blanket against his skin. "It is me," she said, smiling at him though she felt like weeping. "I thought you knew better to stay away from flying projectiles."

Brend's eyes were half-open and a flicker of a smile crossed his lips. "I tried," he said thickly. "Do not be too angry."

"I am not angry. But I am going to take care of you so that you can make it back to Bella."

He didn't say anything for a moment. "I have seen enough battle wounds to know that I will not make it back to Bella," he said softly. "You know… how much I love her. You know ."

Dera's resolve not to weep was smashed and the tears began to come. "I know," she said. "Bella loves you so much, Brend. You must fight. For her, you must do this. She will be lost without you."

"Dera?"

"Aye, Brend?"

"I love you, too. You are my sister. I am… sorry for the unpleasantness between us."

Dera's face crumpled. "I love you, too," she whispered. "You are a very good brother."

Brend closed his eyes, fading off to sleep. Dera watched him as he drifted off, letting the tears come freely as she lay her head upon his chest, sobbing softly for the brother she never knew, the one whose loyalties had been so terribly twisted by a legacy that had been drilled into him. Brend had never had a chance to know anything other than submission to the English.

It simply wasn't fair.

"Dera?"

She heard a voice from behind and her head shot up. Turning swiftly, she could see Cort standing in the tent entry.

He was battered, beaten, and slashed. That heavy armor he wore looked as if it had been through a grinder. His helm was off, his long hair pulled to the back of his head with a strip of fabric, tied off to keep it away from his face. With a gasp, she bolted to her feet but stopped short of running into his arms no matter how badly she wanted to.

"Cort," she gasped. "Are you well?"

He nodded, but his movements were extremely weary. "I am well," he said. Then, his gaze moved to Brend. "How is he?"

Dera turned to look at her brother, too. "He sleeps," she said. "I told him that I would stay with him. The physic… he does not know if…"

She trailed off, unable to finish, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. They came faster than she could wipe them away. As she stood there, Cort came over to her. Bending over, he kissed her gently on the head, but made no other move to touch her.

"I know," he whispered. "I am sorry you had to find out before I could tell you."

She sniffled, feeling great comfort from his kiss. "You needn't worry," she said. "Brend and I have spoken. I told him I loved him. I told him Bella loved him. All we can do now is pray."

Cort nodded, looking over her head to Brend's sleeping form and feeling such devastation. "He is in God's hands now," he muttered. "Can you leave him for a moment? I must speak with you."

Dera was hesitant at first, but Cort gently convinced her to come out of the tent. He took her behind it, where they were out of the view of most people in the encampment. Under the light of the half-moon, they faced each other.

"I wish I could hold you, but I cannot risk it," he whispered. "It is bad enough if we are discovered here alone, but this is something I must risk. You must know what we discovered once we entered the keep of Mount Wrath."

Her eyes widened as her tears were momentarily forgotten. "Then you breached the keep?"

He nodded, but it was with great effort. "Aye," he said. "I searched the entire keep myself, Dera. Every floor, including the vault. You must be strong with what I am about to tell you. It is not pleasant."

She looked at him with some horror, but admirably stilled herself. "I am not a weakling," she said. "Please tell me the truth."

Cort couldn't help it; he reached out, gently touching her cheek before letting his hand drop. "Your father and brother, Ardmore, have not been buried. They were kept in the vault along with your mother and other two brothers, but your mother did not survive. Declan and Finn did. I found them among the corpses of the rest of your family. They are being brought back here and should arrive soon."

Dera stared at him for a moment, but that was as long as she could be brave. She broke down into gut-busting sobs and Cort forgot his reserve. He went to her, wrapping her up in his enormous arms, and held her tightly. He held her as she sobbed for a family lost, for the only life she'd ever known destroyed. His face was buried in the top of her head as he tried to bring her some comfort.

"I am so sorry," he whispered. "Declan and Finn are on their way here. They are weak, but unharmed. I have given orders that your mother, father, and Ardmore should be buried immediately, so some of my soldiers are wrapping the bodies in whatever they can find. They will be bringing them back here, too, eventually, but I beg you not to view them. You do not need to distress yourself unnecessarily."

She wept deeply into his chest. "And Brend," she sobbed. "What will become of Brend? Is he truly dying, Cort?"

Cort sighed deeply, his hand on her head, holding it against his chest. "I do not know, sweetheart," he said softly. "He is badly wounded. The physic has done what he can. I suppose time will tell."

Dera couldn't stop her tears. She'd always been the strong type, always strong for everyone else. She'd never needed comfort because it wasn't something she'd ever really known. She didn't know what she was missing.

But now, she did.

Being cradled in the arms of the man she loved was the most glorious comfort she could imagine.

"And Bella," she wept. "She should be here, with him. We must send for her right away."

"We cannot," Cort said. "It would take her weeks to get here and by then, Brend's fate will be determined. Either he will live or he won't. Bringing Bella here will not change that."

"But she could at least say her farewells to him," she said. "I know that I would move heaven and earth to say my farewells to you if anything happened. Nothing could keep me from your side."

"I know," he said, kissing the top of her head. "And I love you for it. But it would not be reasonable to bring Bella here. You will have to give Brend as much comfort as you can."

"I will try."

With that, she took a deep breath, stilling her tears and wiping at her face. Cort let her go, standing back from her and using his thumbs to clean up the tears on her chin. When she looked at him, he smiled bravely.

"That's a good lass," he said. "Go back in and sit with Brend. I will come to you when I can."

"Will you let me know when my brothers arrive?"

"I will," he said. "Go, now. I will see you later."

Dera nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she headed around the side of the tent. Cort stood there a moment, greatly troubled by her distress, by Brend's wound, and struggling not to let it drag him down too terribly. There was much more he had to deal with that needed his full focus.

The tribulations were not over yet.