Chapter Seventeen

The sword that Ewan had given him was suitable, but it was a little lighter and slightly smaller than what he was accustomed to. He searched through what few remained in the provisions' cart and found one that more closely resembled the weight and length of the one that had been confiscated from him. From the same wagon, he claimed a shield and dagger, the latter which he tucked into his belt.

Armed now more to his liking, Austin turned and saw Fiona speaking to two Rose soldiers.

He paused, his gazed fixed on her from thirty feet away. The early morning light caught and highlighted all the red and gold in her blonde hair, which she was fashioning into a tight braid as she spoke to her men. She wore a concerted frown which contrasted with the softness of her lips as they moved around her words. Mesmerized again by her beauty, a stark light of brightness amidst the grim reality around them, he lamented that their time together, those fleeting blissful days, were now done and gone.

Determined to steal one last moment, he strode toward her just as the men she'd been speaking turned and went off. Fiona sensed his approach and turned, her expression softening. Without a word, he cupped her cheek in his hand when he reached her and bent his head, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was brief but intense, a silent promise and a stolen comfort within the impending storm. He ran his thumb over her lip and searched her face. What he sought, he could not say. What more he imagined saying remained unspoken.

Believing the gesture lost to the bustle around them as others prepared to deploy, he pulled back, his eyes locking with hers. "Be safe," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din.

She nodded, her green eyes bright as she returned his somber regard, her fingers lingering on his arm for a heartbeat longer. "Ye as well."

With that, they separated, each moving to their assigned positions. It had been determined that Austin and a unit comprised mostly of Merrick men would lead the assault with the battering ram while Fiona and the Rose army would support de Graham's right flank, ensuring the hastily constructed scaling ladders were deployed, and that the archers would be protected.

Austin passed Ruairi and the mac Caileans, and frowned with some bewilderment over Grace's presence, yet by Ruairi's side even as he prepared to set out with his men. Though the mac Caileans were but few, they were experienced and resourceful, and it had been decided they would be best utilized embedded with the left flank, who were to work on sapping beneath the curtain wall with the hopes of bringing down a large portion. They would be under heavy fire from above if de Graham's archers could not or did not take out Wick's bowmen.

"Ye'll want to tuck Grace somewhere safe," Austin supposed, more a question than a statement.

"Och, she'd go daft with worry," Ruairi said with a self-satisfied grin, "if she canna have her eyes on me every moment."

"Her first full-scale siege," Rob added. "She dinna want to miss it." Rob's tone, lacking the solemnity that should have accompanied any talk of the upcoming battle, might have one presume he spoke instead of observing the spectacle of a parade or reaching a never-before-visited high summit, whose view was astonishing.

Grace grinned at the responses of both men and assured Austin, "I won't be anywhere near the front lines, but removed with the medics of de Graham's army. God willing, there will be little need for my assistance."

She contemplated Austin with a shrewd gaze, and he had a suspicion that she was wondering if he would go daft with worry for Fiona, who he was unlikely to see once the attack had begun.

She wouldn't be wrong, he realized.

"Be safe, mac Caileans," he called out, leaving them to their business.

By the time another hour had passed, the castle's defenders watched warily as their attackers organized below.

The trebuchet was moved forward, positioned just out of range of the castle's archers. The first wagon arrived, filled with massive boulders, drawn by huge draught horses, and pushed from behind by half a dozen men, their grunts and shouts filling the air. Stray arrows rained down from the curtain but were thus far ineffective.

Several de Graham units had been sent round to the sea side, where they would climb the cliff wall, hopefully drawing some of the enemy to the north facing battlements. Whether they would or could climb the curtain wall remained to be seen, but for now they only needed to give the appearance that they intended to.

The battering ram, a formidable structure reinforced with iron, was set upon a flat cart with oversized wheels. Not without difficulty, Austin and his unit compelled the cart forward. He and Straun and another half dozen men pushed and prodded, using every ounce of strength to forward the vehicle and the gate crusher up the slight incline and onto the level lawn directly in front of the gate. They paused, panting heavily, when they were yet too far for the enemy's archers to reach, waiting on the signal.

Hard and fast meant that everything had to happen all at once, but nothing would commence until the siege engine had made some headway with first the southwest corner, which already showed signs of weakness from the assault over the last few days. When this was done, de Graham's men would aim the trebuchet at the front gate, lobbing missiles over the heads of Austin and his men as they began to run, as much as they were able, with the battering ram.

"Trebuchet, fire!" Torsten commanded. With a creaking groan, the massive siege engine released its payload. A boulder soared through the air, smashing into the castle's outer wall with a thunderous crash. Cheers went up from the attackers as the first strike hit its mark. ?Twas a little higher than hoped for, but the damage done to the wall was significant so that it was measured as a success.

Four more boulders were tossed by the arm of the trebuchet, one after another, as fast as they could be loaded.

"Move!" Austin ordered, pushing against the foremost right arm of the ram. "Heave!"

On level ground now, the cart and ram were moved more easily but it still required the combined might of twenty men surrounding the massive, iron-tipped tree trunk to move it swiftly—nineteen, mayhap, since Austin wasn't sure what the female bird of the Roses could actually contribute as far as brute strength. Straun had earlier insisted to Austin that the lass—Sparrow, she was fittingly called—be included in their unit, and that Austin should not for one minute underestimate her.

The trebuchet continued to fire, now targeting the gate. A hail of debris showered down from the rock as it soared overhead, taking the same path they were, pelting the men as they pushed the battering ram into place. Arrows pierced the protective flanges under which Austin and men were hidden, the wooden extensions jutting over three feet on either side.

Straun, not unsurprisingly, loudly described their movements as he was known to do, his voice rising about many other sounds, beyond ridiculous for how cheery he was his tone.

"Och, and they're shooting darts!" He shouted. "But we'll heave and ho! Aye, lads! Off we go!"

Having never determined that it wasn't actually an effective battle cry of sorts, Austin had never given Straun grief for his unusual practice.

As they hastily maneuvered the battering ram closer to the gate, Straun continued his enthusiastic commentary, pointing out details with exaggerated flair. "Go, Gavin, go! Swing that ram like it's yer third pint at the tavern! Hamish, bless yer heart, dodging arrows like yer dancing at a ceilidh!"

Behind them, the call came for the main assault, and with a collective roar, the combined forces surged forward. Five seconds later, the battering ram slammed into the gate with a resounding thud, doing little damage. While they backed it up, the castle defenders retaliated, pouring arrows and rocks down upon the attackers. Someone on the opposite side of the ram screamed, obviously hit, but they could not stop their progress for the fallen. When they'd moved ten yards backwards, Austin gave the call to force it forward once more. They did this several times, the six-inch thick wooden gate creaking and splintering, but holding still. Austin and his party hammered at the gate with relentless force, again and again, and yet he was fully cognizant of when the ladders were thrown up against the curtain wall and the besiegers became to climb. Normally calm and focused, Austin found himself profoundly distracted, knowing that Fiona might be among those climbing the ladders.

He steeled himself, drawing on reserves of untapped strength and inspiring his men to do the same. The sooner they breached the gate and drew the defenders' attention, the easier Fiona's task would become, the safer she would be.

FIONA'S HEART POUNDED as she approached the scaling ladder, her shield held firmly overhead to ward off the arrows raining down from the defenders above. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then began to climb. The wooden rungs felt rough under her hands, and the ladder swayed slightly with each step, but she forced herself to focus on one step at a time.

The iron-plated wood disc provided some cover, though she felt the impact of projectiles thudding against it. One larger boulder, that somehow missed the de Graham man ahead of her, clunked so hard on her shield, she nearly was sent toppling to the ground.

Halfway up, she briefly adjusted her grip on the leather straps inside the targe, knowing this would be the first weapon used when she finally encountered the enemy. She couldn't hold both sword and targe and climb the ladder and so her sword was sheathed now. Though some of her comrades held their daggers between their teeth to have at the ready when they reached the top, Fiona had seen too many drop those blades during the climb.

The clang of steel and the cries of battle filled her ears, and she knew exactly when the gate had been breached by Austin and his team, but she tuned out the chaos, focusing only on her ascent and her role.

With each step, the tension in her muscles grew, and her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps. She could see the edge of the parapet now, just a few rungs away. Summoning more willpower, she surged upward, finally reaching the top. She swung her hand up onto the parapet and hauled herself over the edge, leading with her shield, which received the forceful downward stroke of a sword. Fiona released the targe with a shove and dove for the ground, landing in a crouch, her hand immediately going to her sword.

She was met with a swirl of movement and noise. Defenders rushed at her and the other climbers with weapons drawn and teeth bared. The battle was upon her, and there was no time to hesitate. Fiona rose to her full height, her eyes blazing, and joined the fray.

Steel clashed against steel, and she moved with deadly precision, her sword flashing in the morning light. She parried a blow aimed at her head, then pivoted to slash at her attacker's exposed side. Another enemy lunged at her, but she sidestepped and brought her blade down in a swift arc. Victory was not assured, but she could taste it. Reminded of her previous fight upon Castle Wick's battlements, and her subsequent capture, Fiona was determined to rewrite her fate.

She forced herself not to think of Austin. She couldn't, not if she wanted to fight effectively. Every moment lent to distraction increased risk to herself. Instead, she focused on the rhythm of the battle, the surge and retreat, the dance of life and death. There was no room for fear or longing, only the cold, hard edge of survival.

It didn't take only minutes, but then hours weren't needed to shift the tide. Castle Wick and the de Rathe guards were simply, overwhelmingly outnumbered. Once the gates had been breached, it was only a matter of time.

Soon, the castle guards were not running at Fiona and the others who'd reached the battlements, but were running away from the onslaught, their numbers being reduced swiftly. Fiona and the Roses began to give chase, forcing the defenders down the stone steps and into the bailey, where an even larger and bloodier fight was underway, the scene one of violent pandemonium.

With so many Merrick and de Graham men inside the yard, Fiona shouted for the Roses to cleave to her, and they made their way through the melee, striking where needed but intent on reaching the keep itself.

They weren't the first to enter the keep; the clash of weapons boomed through the halls as the attackers engaged the remaining defenders in fierce combat. Chamber by chamber, floor by floor, they advanced, driving back any resistance they encountered.

Fiona ignored the floors and the fight above ground, cutting a determined path toward the bowels of the keep and the dungeon.

Kieran, immediately behind her, claimed a torch from the wall as they ran along a twisting corridor and descended the narrow stone steps at its end. He shouted his brother's name as he ran. "Keegan!"

In the dimly lit dungeon, the air was thick with the musty scent of damp stone and the faint groans of weary prisoners. The cells, spaced far apart along the damp, cold walls, housed the captives, two to a cell.

"Kieran," came a weak voice from within the blackness of one of the cells.

There were no keys, none that they saw, and Fiona, Kieran, and their companions began hacking away at the iron locks with their swords. One by one, the locks fell away with resounding clangs, and the prisoners emerged from their cells, some weak and emaciated, others barely able to stand after days of neglect.

Fiona frowned, counting six when there should have been seven.

Keegan, in his brother's embrace, stared woefully at Fiona. "The lad, Teegan, dinna make it."

His eyes shifted fleetingly over the cell across from the one in which he'd been kept.

Heartsore, she moved to stand in front of the cell, from which dear Plum had emerged. There inside lay Teegan, still and lifeless, curled against the cold wall.

Disgust and fury churned within Fiona. "Take them out," she ordered, expecting the capable ones to lead the weakened ones out from the dungeon. She went to her haunches and remained in the wide passageway between the cells until there was very little noise that was not muffled or muted by distance. She said a prayer for Teegan, recalling an earnest and somber young man, son of a Dunraig crofter, who had years ago engaged in sword fights with Fiona with wooden swords his father had made for them.

Several minutes later, as she climbed the stairs and walked that winding corridor toward the great hall, she heard Austin shouting her name, his voice tinged with a wee bit of worry.

As she exited a corridor into the hall, she saw him, just now entering the keep.

"Fi—" the next call of her name was aborted when he spotted her.

He strode purposefully across the hall to meet her, wrapping his entire arm around her neck, drawing her against his heaving chest. He pressed his lips against her hair as she melted into him.

The fight was done. The hall was filled with naught but the moans of those dying and the murmuring of the victors.

"De Rathe is dead," Austin told her. "Castle Wick belongs to us."

"Did he present a fight or merely—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her question. Her arm was gripped and pulled as she was unceremoniously dragged from Austin's arms. With her sword still in her hand, she reacted automatically, lifting the blade until she realized it was Fraser who had wrenched her away from Austin.

While confusion befuddled her, Fraser was able to thrust her away before he swung his mighty arm, his fist connecting squarely with Austin's jaw.

Austin stumbled backward, tripping over the leg of an overturned bench and landing hard on his arse. Fraser followed, ignoring Fiona's startled command that he stop, easily shaking off her fingers as she tried to seize his massive wrist and stop his unprovoked attack.

Just as Fraser bent over an equally stunned and furious Austin, meaning to haul him to his feet by the collar of his tunic, Straun flew into the picture, tackling Fraser from the side. Both men went flying, landing in a heap before they wrestled around on the blood-strewn floor. It took the intervention of two more Merrick men to subdue Fraser.

He snarled and shook them off, his nostrils flaring, a feral glint in his eyes as he growled at Austin. "I'll kill ye, ye ever touch her again."

"Fraser! What in the—?"

He whirled on her, his lip curled outrageously, a wealth of fury twisting his countenance. "The bluidy hell ye'll consort with a Merrick!" He caught himself, his eyes darting a bit to the nearest of their stunned audience. Clamping his mouth tight, he circled his fingers around Fiona's upper arm and dragged her out of the hall.

Without a word, and while she unsuccessfully tried to free herself from his vicelike grip, Fraser marched her across the bailey littered with bodies, past soldiers who paused in whatever they were doing to watch their progress with curious frowns, and outside the gates. He didn't stop until they were halfway across the open field laid before Castle Wick, finally coming to a halt near the foremost edge of the trenches that had been dug, near the now motionless trebuchet.

There, he pivoted sharply, releasing her arm with a solid shove, and began to blast her with venom such as she had never heard from him.

"Tell me my eyes deceive me!" He shouted at her. "Tell me ye're nae so desperate, so bluidy na?ve as to have taken up with Merrick!" He threw his hands in the air to highlight his stunned anger. "What? Takes but a week to turn yer head? So that ye forget who he is—who ye are, for chrissakes!"

His outrage was so fierce, so unlike anything she had seen of him before, that Fiona paled. The vehemence and intensity of his tirade left her momentarily speechless. She was briefly overcome with shame, realizing she had inadvertently caused this upset and had failed to consider what others might think. It dawned on her that she hadn't thought about the potential judgment from others regarding her and Austin.

The arrival of Kieran and Knobby, crashing to a halt as they took in the sight of Fraser and Fiona, did little to unravel her jumbled thoughts. They were likely as stunned as she was by Fraser's rare display of rage directed at her. Fiona stared at them, her mind momentarily numb. Kieran was tight-lipped, while Knobby shook his head, his gaze shifting uncomfortably to the ground when she looked his way. Sparrow arrived then, her mien, despite being thin-lipped, inscrutable.

The fog of shock lingered so that she faced Fraser again, she spoke hesitantly, "I dinna set out to fall in love with him. I—"

"Love! He dinna love ye!" Fraser roared, his face reddened with rage, his eyes blazing. "He's an opportunist! The verra worst kind of man! Used the situation to his advantage, took what he wanted, and now he's done with ye! Jesu, ye're nae a bluidy eejit! Ye've got a brain in yer head! Dinna tell me ye fell for—Jesu, ye of all people! Fell for whatever lies he told ye, whatever meaningless drivel he drummed into yer head! And now ye equate love with his groping passion?"

Fiona's shock quickly gave way to a simmering fury of her own. Her heart pounded in her chest as Fraser's accusations echoed in her ears. She clenched her fists, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. How dare he belittle her judgment and her emotions!

"Enough! Enough, Fraser!" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. "Ye think me so easily swayed, so easily fooled? Ye think I meant for it to happen? Think ye I forget he is a Merrick?" Her eyes blazed as she stepped closer, defiance sparking in every word. "Ye have nae idea what we went through, what we shared. Ye certainly dinna ken him at all, save for yer preconceived notions based on his name." She paused, hating the weakness that caused tears to rise. In a wooden tone, she told Fraser, "Ye have nae right to judge me." Straightening her spine, she met Fraser's seething fury with her own spiraling rage. Though he was the person she loved and trusted most, more than any other Rose, she simply could not allow so huge an insubordination. "If ye ever disrespect me so foully, so openly again," she said through gritted teeth, "I will strip ye of yer rank and have ye flogged."

Turning sharply on her heel, Fiona walked away from her now speechless captain.