Caelen's Wife - the Complete Collection (34 page)

A
s predicted
, the Farquar had increased his patrols. What hadn’t been predicted were their numbers. They had been expecting mayhap a dozen men. Instead, they were met by more than fifty Farquar men along their western border.

It hadn’t taken much for the McDunnah and McPherson men to overtake the Farquars. But they had put up a good fight. Sadly, Collin lost two of his men before they could dispatch the bastards.

There was no time to bury the dead. Instead, they were left for the wagons that followed behind them. Fiona’s anger increased a thousandfold, making her more determined to see Gelis Farquar hang.

They pushed on, the air around them thick with mist and the sense of foreboding that comes with impending battle. Fiona glanced at all the men around her and wondered if they thought about what lay ahead. Did any of them think that this could be the last day they walked God’s earth? Did they wonder if they’d make it home again? She dared not ask.

The soft earth turned to mud the closer they got to the Farquar keep. Mist turned to light rain, the terrain became rockier. Steel gray skies hung overhead, the air feeling thick and hot against Fiona’s skin. It felt as though she were breathing through a wet blanket, though no one else seemed to notice.

At one point, the wagon carrying the dead became stuck in the mud. Caelen ordered a few of his men to stay behind to help pull it out. Scouts were sent on ahead and some behind. Fiona began to understand the seriousness of war and knew only horrors lay ahead.

Soon, they were carefully riding through a dense forest that seemed to have no end. With the sunless sky and thick canopy hanging overhead, the woods held an ominous air. She could smell the wet earth as the horses kicked it up, dank and damp. Birds took flight, as if they knew death lay ahead and they wanted no part in it.

Finally, and to Fiona’s great relief, they began to spill out of the forest. Ahead lay grassy hills and beyond those, just a few miles ahead, they would find the Farquar keep.

T
he Farquar keep
stood in the center of a wide, open piece of flat land. That was the only remarkable thing about it. No natural defenses, no rocky abutments from which to hold off any invaders. Fiona thought it an odd location to build a keep. ’Twould be quite easy for them to overtake it.

Three stories tall, surrounded by a curtain wall with crenellations, the keep was much larger than her own and nearly as tall and grand as Caelen’s.

As if he could read her mind, Caelen said, “Do no’ let its appearance fool ye, Fiona. The keep is well-fortified and will no’ be taken as easily as ye think.”

Fiona simply nodded and said nothing.

“Ye will stay here,” Caelen told her as she dismounted. “We’ll set up camp and prepare for war.”

Fiona scrunched her brow in confusion. “Will ye no’ send messengers to let him ken we be here?”

“He already kens we be here. But aye, we will send messengers,” Caelen said as he grabbed the reins of their horses walked away.

She was mightily confused as she followed after her husband. Men were already busy setting up tents, tending to their horses, and readying themselves for battle.

“Caelen,” Fiona said as she caught up to him. “What be yer plan? What will the messages say?”

“The plan is to kill him. The messages will tell him just that,” Caelen said as they made their way to a clearing where they would tether the horses.

Fiona was growing more and more confused. “But what of William?” she asked, unable to mask her worry.

“That be part of the message, Fiona. If the Farquar wishes to keep his own heart beatin’ he’ll turn over William.” Caelen began removing the saddle from his own mount.

“But what if that angers him? Do we no’ negotiate the terms of William’s release?”

Caelen was doing his best to keep his frustration in check. Fiona had never experienced war before. Though she could wield a sword quite well, she had very little training or experience in strategy. He hefted the saddle from his mount and looked for a place to put it. “Fiona, that
be
the negotiations. William’s life in exchange fer Farquar’s. ’Tis quite simple.”

Fiona didn’t think so and told him just that. She went to her mount and removed the bridle. “Ye believe that the Farquar will just hand William over to avoid war?”

Caelen found a felled tree not far from the horses and placed his saddle on it before returning to Fiona. “Nay, he will no’.”

“Mayhap it be me nerves or lack of sleep, but yer no’ makin’ much sense right now,” she said as she undid the saddle straps.

Caelen hefted the saddle off for her. “War oft makes little sense. Our aim is to let the Farquar ken well that if he harms William, he forfeits his own life. Plain and simple.”

That made sense to Fiona. She rather liked the idea of warning the Farquar ahead of time, to plant a seed of doubt into his thick, greedy skull. She could only hope it would work.

T
wo messengers were sent
to the gates of the Farquar keep. Fiona set to work, helping wherever she could, to set up their encampment. A large tent was set in the center of the land they’d temporarily claimed. A large table, a few chairs, and pallets were removed from one of the wagons and set inside. This would be Caelen and Collin’s war tent, where they would strategize together on the best way to take the keep.

The entire camp was a whirlwind of activity and the air nearly buzzed with anticipation. ’Twasn’t necessarily a happy or jovial atmosphere, however. Nay, ’twas more that the men were mentally preparing themselves for whatever lay ahead.

Fiona had to keep her hands busy. If she kept busy then she could not think about what might happen, either to her husband, her brothers or their men. The entire experience thus far was nothing like she had imagined it would be. It irked her slightly that Caelen had been right, but she was determined never to tell him.

Someone had prepared a light meal of bread, meat, cheese and fruit, and set it on the table in the war tent. Fiona had not eaten since that morning and though she knew she should eat to keep up her strength, she had to force herself to eat a small bit of bread.

She and Caelen were sitting across from one another on one of the pallets while Collin studied a map spread out on the table when the messengers returned.

Collin lifted his head as the men approached. Caelen shot to his feet to join him. One of the young men handed Collin a parchment that had been rolled up.

“And how, pray tell, did Farquar take the news?” Caelen asked the young men.

“He’s an arrogant bastard,” the shorter of the two men said.

Collin unrolled the parchment and read it.

“What does he say to our demands?” Caelen asked.

Collin looked up from the parchment. “He says we should start diggin’ graves because that be where we’ll end up.”

Caelen threw his head back and laughed heartily while a wry grin formed on Collin’s face.

Fiona found nothing amusing with the Farquar’s warning. She pushed herself to her feet and came to stand between her brother and husband. “Why do ye find this warnin’ so amusin’?” she asked.

“Because the Farquar be full of shite,” Collin said. “We have him outnumbered and we be far more determined to free our brother than he is to keep him. ’Tis bluster.”

The taller messenger cleared his throat. “I do no’ think we outnumber them,” he said.

Collin asked him to explain.

“The MacKinnons be inside Farquar’s walls. We saw them. We also caught a glimpse of John McRamey.”

Collin and Caelen cast each other a knowing look, their humor fading away rapidly. “Well, then,” Caelen said as if he were not bothered by this bit of information. “’Twill make it a little more sportin’ fer us then.”

The two young men broke out into smiles and agreed. Collin grabbed his quill and ink and began to scratch out another message for the Farquar.

“What are ye tellin’ him?” Fiona asked.

Collin looked up briefly to answer her. “War begins at dawn.”

F
iona slept
next to her husband on the pallet in the war tent. She felt bone-tired and mentally worn out. ’Twas the first time since marrying him that they did not make love before falling asleep. Instead, Caelen wrapped his arms around her and held her close all night long. There were a hundred things she wanted to tell him, but could find neither the courage nor the strength. Instead, she kept them to herself with the promise that when this ordeal was finished, she’d share with him all that was in her heart.

She woke to the sounds of low murmurs coming from the table. ’Twas Caelen and Collin going over last minute plans. The sounds of men donning battle gear, sharpening blades, and the smell of campfires wafted into the tent.

When she sat up, her brother and husband looked up from their map and smiled at her. “Good morn to ye,” they said almost in unison.

Brodie entered as she was returning their greeting.

“Be ye ready?” he asked as he walked to the table.

“Aye,” Collin said. “Be our men ready?”

Brodie gave a nod of affirmation. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”

Collin left the table to don his mail and armor while Caelen came to speak to Fiona.

“Fiona,” he said as he fell in beside her. “I want ye at the back of the lines.”

“Aye,” she said as she searched for her boots. She had slept in her tunic and trews, so dressing this morn would be fast and quite simple.

Caelen worked his jaw back and forth as he watched her closely. “I need yer word, Fiona, that ye’ll stay at the back of the lines.”

Finding her boots at the end of the pallet, she began to pull them on. “I said I would.”

Caelen took her hand and held it to his lips. “I need yer word.”

She saw the worry and concern in his eyes and knew ’twasn’t because he did not trust her or her ability to defend herself. ’Twas the simple fact that he loved her and wanted her safe. “I give ye me word, Caelen. I shall stay at the back of the line.”

He looked somewhat relieved as he gave her knuckles a soft kiss. “Thank ye, but I need ye to ken how important it be to have ye there. No’ just to keep ye out of harm’s way, fer I fear ye won’t be.”

Puzzled, she scrunched her brow and asked for clarification.

“Though it be extremely unlikely, there be always the chance that they could break through our lines. If that happens, ye need to defend the people on the wagons. They’ve no’ much fightin’ experience. ’Twill be up to ye to protect them.”

She wasn’t sure if this was his way of making her feel as though she were contributing in some small way or not, but she wasn’t about to start an argument by asking. Instead, she placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

S
he had prayed
for good weather. Her prayers went unanswered.

The ground was covered in a light fog, while the skies were as gray as the day before, leaving the ground a sloppy mess.

Caelen and Collin led their men toward the battlefield. Fiona took up a position at the top of a small hill. The wagons were behind her, the people watching in silent anticipation.

In the clearing below, an invisible line had been formed. Some five hundred Farquar, MacKinnon and McRamey men stood to defend their keep.

Some five hundred McDunnah and McPherson men stood a few hundred yards away, fully prepared to take that keep. Their archers stood at the front of the line, the warriors behind them.

Anticipation sizzled through the air. ’Twas all Fiona could do to keep her morning meal down. She was about to witness for the first time in her life, what war truly looked like. She was not naive enough to believe it would be anything like the stories told by visiting bards or men from other clans.

It seemed days passed by before anyone moved. The stillness was only broken by the chortle of horses and the gentle flap of the banners and flags.

By the time the McDunnah man dropped the first flag, to signify the beginning of the battle, Fiona thought she’d go mad with the waiting.

Then it happened.

The first flag dropped.

A roar, unlike anything she’d ever heard before, broke through the early morning quiet. The voices from hundreds of men — shouting, roaring, giving battle cries — rang out. No one moved, save for the shaking of fists and swords. The air seemed to vibrate all around her and she would have sworn she could feel that sound clear to her marrow. ’Twas something she’d never forget.

When the shouting stopped, an eerie silence filled the air. Her heart pounded in her chest, like a thousand drums, her palms grew damp, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

“Archers!” a loud booming voice called out.

The archers took three steps forward and in perfect unison, they all knelt on one knee.

“Archers, nock!”

Each archer took an arrow from his quiver and nocked it, again, in perfect unison, like a dance they’d danced a thousand times before. Fiona held her breath as she continued to watch with nervous anticipation.

“Archers, aim!” the disembodied voice called out.

They aimed.

At least ten heartbeats passed before the next call went out.

“Loose!”

W
hen they loosed their arrows
, the sound reminded Fiona of a bird flapping its wings.
Thump, thump, thump, thump!

The arrows sailed through the air in a wide arc before they began their descent back to earth. The Farquar men raised their targes in anticipation of the arrows.

Thud, thud, thud.
The arrows landed, hitting against targes. Some were able to fly through small openings while others landed behind the targes, piercing flesh and bone.

After that, the Farquar commander lowered his own flag and the melee began.

They charged across the field toward the McDunnah and McPherson forces. Calls went out as they ran forward. Collin raised his arm and ordered his men to hold. Then at the last possible moment, the archers retreated, the warriors stepped forward and targes were at the ready.

From where Fiona sat, it seemed a thousand lifetimes went by before Collin finally gave the order for their men to fight.

The sound was deafening.

Metal against metal, shouts, orders, swords slicing through the air, landing on targes or against leather or mail, or worse yet, flesh and bone.

Fiona watched in horror as it all played out before her.

M
en fell all around them
.

Collin and Caelen fought back to back, fending off one man after another.

Caelen had years of experience to call upon, Collin had none.

There was no time to think about what was happening, only to respond one hit for another. Caelen’s sole focus was to slay the enemy, to get through their lines and into the Farquar keep.

Caelen had just run through a Farquar man, when a MacKinnon came charging toward him with a mace. The man was as determined to crush Caelen’s skull as Caelen was to keep it from happening.

With his sword in both hands, his feet planted apart, Caelen waited, looking for the right opportunity to run the man through. The MacKinnon came at him, the mace whirling so fast that it whistled through the air.

As Caelen shifted his weight in order to duck when the time was right, his left foot slipped in the mud and he went down. He tried rolling away but his momentum was stopped by the body of a fallen warrior.

As he lay on his back, the MacKinnon, with the twirling mace, had the look of a man quite satisfied in knowing he was about to kill. Caelen’s only recourse would be to use his sword to block the mace and pray the thing didn’t shatter.

One step closer, the MacKinnon swung the mace once more, but before he could launch it at Caelen’s skull, he was stopped. Caelen saw the very tip of a sword as it tore through flesh and organs alike, poking through the man’s torso. Blood splattered everywhere as the man went down on his knees.

Collin.

Collin had just saved Caelen’s life.

“Yer welcome,” Collin said with a proud grin, before spinning on his heels to fend off another MacKinnon.

T
he battle raged on
. In Fiona’s mind, it lasted beyond the bounds of reason. With all the mud and blood it became difficult for her to tell who was who.

Part of her truly wanted to kick her mount into a full run and go charging down the hill to help her brethren. The other part of her, the intelligent part, warned her to stay put.

She was so engrossed in the battle below, that she paid no attention to anything happening around her. Until she heard the sickening
thump
of an arrow piercing skin. Her horse startled and reared as she looked at the man beside her. An arrow had pierced the back of his neck and poked through. His hands went to this throat and he had the most startled look on his face. Blood spat through and around the arrow with each beat of his heart.

Fiona withdrew her sword, as did the other five McDunnah men who had been left with her. Frantically, they looked for the source of the attack. The people with the wagons took cover under them as more arrows sailed through the air.

“There!” one of her guards shouted as he pointed to the west. Just below the hill, were at least twenty-five men on horseback and they were coming straight for them.

F
iona had never been
good at fighting while on horseback, no matter how many times she had trained for it. ’Twas six of them against twenty-five. It would do no good for her to try to fight from the back of a horse when she knew she could do better on foot.

Tossing one leg over her saddle, she slid to her feet. Once on the ground, she grabbed her targe before slapping her horse’s hindquarter to send it out of the line of battle.

“Run, Fiona!” Caelen’s man yelled at her.

No’ bloody likely.

T
he Farquar men
were upon them in a matter of moments. One of them came straight for Fiona, his sword drawn and at the ready.

Fiona planted her feet and held her broadsword with both hands. As the attacker approached, he raised his sword high in the air with the intent of slicing Fiona as he went by. She would have none of it.

She waited until she saw the forward motion of his sword before ducking low. As the man tore by, she stood and in one swift motion, sliced across the back of his calf. The man cursed and screamed, causing his horse to rear up and dump him on the ground.

Fiona gave him no time to gain his bearings. She was on him in an instant, her feet on either side of him as she sent her sword straight into his heart.

There was no time to dally as two more Farquar men were heading toward her. To her left and right, the McDunnah men were busy with their own battles so she could not look to them for help.

The two Farquar men, on horseback, aimed straight for her. From the way they were riding, she knew they meant to either trample her or pin her between their horses. If she moved too quickly, they’d be able to right themselves and chase her down. If she moved too slowly, she’d be killed.

Praying she’d measured correctly, she waited until it was too late for them to move and she leapt out of the way. The fall to the ground was harder than she had anticipated and her sword went flying out of her hands.

She lay near the wagons, on her back, momentarily stunned as the breath had been knocked out of her lungs. The Farquar men spun around and headed back toward her. She tried to scramble to her feet and reach her sword at the same time.

“Here!” someone from under the wagons yelled as he slid a sword across the ground. Fiona rolled to her stomach, grabbed the sword and raced to the wagon. This sword was heavier than what she was accustomed too, but she wasn’t about to complain.

The Farquar men slid from their horses and headed toward her, swords drawn and at the ready.

They were both taller than she. Heavier, stronger, and more likely than not, years more experience. What they did not possess, however, was the sheer will and determination to live.

The first man came at her, his sword high above his head. He swung the blade down and Fiona met it with her own. ’Twas a jarring blow, but she refused to stop. She met him blow for blow as she tried to keep an eye on his partner.

Left, left, right. He had a pattern to his swings. Left, left, right. She was growing tired, physically and mentally. He swung left again. This time, she spun around on his second left swing, and sent her sword right between his ribs.

He fell to the ground.

His partner came after her.

His thrusts were far less patterned, more frenzied. Fiona blocked one swing after another, each time stepping farther and farther away from the wagons and the rest of the men.

Sweat began to run into her eyes. Blood rushed in her ears, her heart pounding against her breastbone. With each parry, she grunted and used every ounce of her might to fend him off. Soon, her palms were damp with sweat and she could feel her grip beginning to loosen and slip. If she kept this up much longer, she’d end up dead.

He was still coming after her, swinging and thrusting and smiling as if he knew the outcome already and was merely enjoying the fight.

Her grip was slipping again, so she grabbed her sword with both hands to meet his next blow. As he lunged toward her, he slipped on the wet grass and fell to his knees. There was no way she’d wait for him to gain his purchase again. She swung her sword out in a wide arc, and sliced his throat.