Chapter Twenty-Nine

Liam eased the door open, peering out at the walkway, which appeared empty in the merged light of torch and moon. The commotion in the bailey was more than he had expected—and while more merriment than threat, he knew it could turn bad at any moment. This must be done quickly. He turned, beckoned to his brothers, set his hand to his sword hilt, and stepped out.

Up here, he was prepared to maim or kill anyone who came between him and the cage that held his sister. But the walkway was clear as he moved forward. He expected to break the lock, free Agatha, give her to the care of the twins—and then find his wife.

But he did not expect to see Tamsin huddled inside the cage with Agatha. Under torchlight, he hurried there, Gilchrist and Gideon following, all three hunched low to avoid notice by the guards in the bailey a good twenty feet below.

"Agatha—Tamsin!" He took hold of the bars. The women stood, arms about each other. The cage was taller than it was narrow, crowned by joined bars just above his height. The girls reached out, fingers gripping the bars, and he cupped a hand over each of theirs for a moment. He was reminded once more that he could not forgive Malise Comyn for damaging his sister's face and hand. Then he tugged at the narrow door and saw the lock dangling there.

"Damned Viking lock," he muttered, pulling at it, knowing the Nordic designed loop would not budge without a key. Trying to crack the iron might break the blade of dagger or sword. Perhaps there was a blacksmith among the village guisers. "Agatha, who has the key?" he asked.

"Malise," she replied. "On his belt. He went back into the keep."

"Are you hurt, either of you?" Gideon came forward and took Agatha's hand.

"We are not hurt," Tamsin said. "Just get us out of here before he returns."

"What a perfect disguise for you," Agatha said wryly, looking at Gideon's nun's outfit. With a grumble, he stripped off the veil and tossed it away, his blond tonsure gleaming in torchlight. Beside him, Liam tore off his leafy bonnet and cumbersome sheep's fleece, throwing those aside as well.

"Liam," Gilchrist said, looking impossibly tall in the antlered helmet. "Liam! They are coming up here."

Spinning, drawing his sword, Liam saw men running up the open stone steps to the walkway. Though most were still occupied by the madness in the bailey, these few could cause trouble. Then he recognized Sir David Campbell on the steps, waving for men to follow—and breathed in relief, realizing he was an ally. Turning, Liam then saw other soldiers, English from the look of them, running up a second stretch of steps.

By now, his brothers had drawn their swords, stepping wide, ready to fight anyone who threatened the cage. Elsewhere on the walkway, a door opened, and men burst out, three, four, five—James Lindsay, Finley Macnab, Iain Campbell and others, armed with bows. Nocking arrows, they stood in a line, training their arrows on the men in the bailey and the English climbing the far set of steps.

Nearby, Sir David stepped up to the walkway and came toward Liam. "What do you need?" he asked immediately.

"A key, and a way out of here."

Beyond, a door to the keep burst open. Malise Comyn stepped out, sword drawn, striding fierce and heavy along the walkway. He wore no helmet—few of them did, not expecting battle—and his blond hair winged about his head as he surged forward.

"Seton!" he bellowed. "William Seton!"

"Here," Liam said, motioning his brothers behind him. All stood ready, Liam now closest to the cage, his back to the women there. From the corner of his eye he saw Patrick Siward and others, including villagers, crowding up the steps to the walkway.

Liam turned, sword in his hands, and braced his feet. "Malise Comyn."

The man came closer, sword raised, alert. "We have a grudge, you and I."

"More than one, I would say." Liam moved toward him, away from the cage. He sensed men shifting out of the way, clearing the space between the two men. On another angle of the wall, Lindsay and the others stood, bows nocked and ready, guarding against anyone else who might try to take the battlement.

Malise strode toward Liam, fury in every muscle, in the lines of his face, chain mail gleaming in the torchlight. Close enough then, he stilled. Liam stilled too, wary. As Malise raised his hand to strike, Liam leaped back, eyes flashing forward, sideways, to judge the precipitous edge of the open walkway. Malise raised his sword.

Gripping the broadsword in his right hand, Liam sliced it upward with a twist to meet Malise's blow, the loud ring of steel jarring, the blow shuddering along his sword arm to his shoulder. He angled left, right, keeping an eye on the wall, the men nearby, the cage, the drop. Stepping left, he swept the weapon downward, struck steel, felt the shudder again. He pushed upward to drive Malise and his sword back. The man managed to thrust forward again as Liam turned. The blow met air.

Liam offered another quick thrust of his sword and Malise answered with a glancing strike, the scrape of steel on steel raising sparks. Sidestepping, Liam missed the next blow; that threw him off balance to stumble, shuffle, regain. Ever alert to the edge of the walkway, Liam realized that the narrow space was making his opponent anxious. Good, he thought.

He lunged and struck Malise's forearm, the blade sparking on chain mail. Liam shifted forward, back, forward, back. Malise came at him again, forcing Liam toward the wall, against stone. The next few steps reversed their positions. Now Malise had his back to the cage. Liam either had to back up, risking blind spots, or force Malise closer to the cage.

For an instant, he glimpsed his sister clinging to the bars, face pale, eyes bright with hatred more than forgiveness. Then Malise drew his attention with another move.

Comyn pushed forward, striking, steel ringing. Swords met up, met down, to the side, blades sliding, shrieking. Leaping sideways, Liam neared the cage, keeping his balance and awareness. His wounded shoulder was weak, but he forced it, lifting the blade again, arcing down in a powerful blow that would have been lethal—

But Malise shuffled to the side, beside a tall merlon, his back shielded. He was closer to the cage now. Dipping his sword, he drew a dagger from his belt and turned.

Liam saw then what he meant to do—Comyn raised his arm to bring the blade down between the iron bars within range of one girl or the other.

With a roar, Liam leaped forward, knocking him against the wall with enough force to stun. But his sword struck a cage bar and tilted out of his hand to clatter to the stone walk. He stretched for it just as Malise turned to raise his sword high and strike down toward Liam's back. Noticing, Liam started to roll away.

But suddenly, strangely, Malise tilted, missed his footing, and tipped forward, stumbling. His sword flew from his hand as he fell forward awkwardly, arms outward. With a shriek, he tumbled over the edge of the walkway and down, down to the bailey. The crash and thud of his fall was a sickening sound. Scrambling to his feet, Liam reached the edge just as Malise tipped over. Liam had no way to stop the man's descent—or he might have. That was his immediate instinct.

Sprawled on the bailey floor, Malise lay face down, body contorted and motionless. Men rushed toward him across the bailey and others hurried down the steps. Liam stood, breathing hard, wiping a hand over his mouth, pushing his sweat-damp hair back, stunned, trembling with the aftermath of the fight in his blood. He watched the flurry below. What had happened in those few moments, that blur of turmoil between them? He was not sure.

He turned toward Tamsin and Agatha, standing in the cage, holding the bars, their eyes wide, fearful, their faces white with fear and distress. Then he noticed that Agatha held the hilt of Liam's sword in her hand with its missing fingers. The point thrust between the bars. Meeting his gaze, she set the sword down.

He walked toward her. "Did you stab him?" He was glad of it.

She shook her head. "I only meant to trip him. I did not know he would fall that way." Her eyes were rimmed with liquid. She dashed away a tear.

"Just as well, dear. You saved my life." He was glad to see Tamsin put an arm around his sister and draw her in.

Below, Patrick Siward looked up and called out. "He is alive!"

Liam went back to the edge and held up a hand in acknowledgment. Then he looked toward his brothers. Gideon came to the edge and looked down.

"Make a litter. Bring him to the hospital at Holyoak," he called down. "Ride through the night. I will go with them," he added.

Liam nodded. "Well done."

Tamsin held Agathain her arms until the abbess drew a breath and stepped back. "I am fine—thank you, Tamsin," she whispered.

"Thank you," Tamsin murmured. "You saved him." For a moment she recalled a snatch of conversation—tell Liam perhaps a damsel would save him one day. She nearly laughed, lifting a shaking hand to her tousled hair, looking around for Liam.

He came toward her then, reaching between the bars for her hand, and she fought back a half-sob, half-laugh as his fingers, hard and cool, closed on hers. Behind him came a phalanx of men, soldiers, forest men, villagers. Sir Davey came too, looked weary, moving slowly. Liam glanced at him, keeping Tamsin's hand in his.

Campbell gave him a nod, clapped him on the shoulder. "What do you need, William of Dalrinnie? Anything. Anything at all."

Tamsin felt the slight startle Liam gave at the address. "Men," he said then. "Loyal men. And a key."

"A key. Sir Malise has it." The man looked toward the bailey, where the bonfire burned low and tame. Men gathered there, some in a cluster around Comyn, lying on the ground, while others watched, waited.

Sir Patrick Siward came up the steps now, and Tamsin saw Lady Edith behind him. She gasped, relieved to see the older lady. But she could not help but wonder how this would go—Siward was loyal to Malise, and to Edward. But he stood by silently.

"Dalrinnie Castle," Sir David called out, "is returned to its rightful owner, Sir William Seton, Lord Dalrinnie. Any who disagree with that can leave now." He waited a moment or two. "Those who agree and stand ready to support Lord Dalrinnie in his natural right as his father's firstborn heir, are welcome to stay as part of his garrison. You know the meaning of this in terms of the crown. I will wait."

He stood watching. Tamsin saw a flurry of activity below, men talking, gesturing. Others gathered Malise and carried him to a cart filled with straw, laying him there. Gideon stood with them. He stopped and looked up. The men with him, Gilchrist included, stopped as well. All listened, watched.

No one moved. Not one man. Tamsin caught back a sob and renewed her grip on Liam's hand. His fingers responded, pressing, while he, too, waited in silence.

Then a rousing cheer rose up. Tears started in her eyes. Beside her, Agatha stepped forward to rest her hand on their joined hands.

Liam turned. "Sir David—I will speak to them. Tamsin should come with me. But sir, we need a key. Or a blacksmith."

Then Lady Edith pushed forward. "Key? I have many keys. Will one of these do?" She jingled the ring of keys at her belt.

"What are you doing with the key to the cage, woman?" Sir David asked.

"You gave me charge of Dame Agatha," she told her brother. "You gave me the second key to the cage so I could take her to the pot! In all this madness, you forgot that." She handed the key to Liam. "You!" She stared hard at him. "Are you the harper?"

He laughed, low and dry. "I am, my lady."

"By the saints! Excellent, sir. Rescue these ladies now, please."

Tamsin waited as her husband inserted the key in the lock and twisted it, then yanked open the door and stretched out his arms. She stepped back to let Agatha go first, waiting as brother and sister hugged for a long, long moment.

Liam whispered something to his sister and kissed her scarred cheek. She spoke low, fervently, as he listened. Then he handed her into the arms of Lady Edith—who, Tamsin realized, may have known these Setons for years, for the Campbells had been at Dalrinnie for years.

Then Liam reached for her, and Tamsin stepped out of the iron cage and into his embrace, pressed close in his arms. He cupped her head, smoothed her hair, tilted her face to his and kissed her brow, her cheek, her lips.

Then he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Baronness Dalrinnie," he said, "come to the edge with me, and we will talk to these fine people."

She would always go to the edge with him. She would go anywhere with him. As she stood beside him, he set an arm around her and another loud cheer went up—from those who had held Dalrinnie when she was lady there before, those who had come with Sir Malise and disliked his actions, and the villagers who had come for a bit of revelry and found something far more important. They cheered, hoorahed, rang bells, clapped.

Then Sir William leaned toward Lady Tamsin and kissed her for one and all to see. Hearing the cheers, feeling a warm blush rise in her cheeks, Tamsin laughed, looking out at those gathered below.

"Lass, do you trust me now?" Liam murmured. "This place, our home—this is the truest and best thing I can offer you. That, and my heart always."

"I always trusted you, my love," she said, smiling, waving. "I just did not know it."