Chapter 5
William gathered his men that night and made for Mabrick castle. Even as he did so, the action didn’t sit well with him. He preferred more reconnaissance, a chance to understand better the activity and numbers within the castle.
However, not only did this night present fewer guards, the moon was blanketed behind a curtain of clouds, which would further mask their attack. It would be their best opportunity for victory. To squander such a chance would be foolish.
With only the main gate as an entry point into the castle, they would scale the walls with grappling hooks. Kinsey would be hiding in the outlying forest with Fib, shooting at the guards as they attacked William and his men.
It would not be an easy conquest. Taking a castle was always risky. William knew that. But if they could claim Mabrick Castle, William’s worth would be proven to his king. And to his father.
They waited to attack until the dead of night when most would be sleeping. William and his men assumed their positions in the forest, crouched down in wait.
A lone guard walked the parapet, his head visible above the crenellations. After he passed, time dragged on at an excruciating crawl as they waited for another. The whisper of leaves brushing against one another in the breeze was the only sound to be heard.
They saw no one else until the same man reappeared a while later. William waited until he had passed.
“Now,” William said as loud as he dared.
His men were like hunting dogs straining at their leads, shooting off across the stretch of lawn to the castle.
Their fiercest soldiers, including him, Reid and Duff, launched the grappling hooks simultaneously.
They spun the weighted end three times and, with a nod to one another, sent the heavy iron sailing up into the sky and over the crenellations where they raked across the stone and held.
The sound was harsh in the quiet stillness, but it was swift, with each hook catching at almost the same time.
William tugged his rope to ensure it held. It did. He tightened his grip and put first one foot, then the other to the pockmarked stone. As quickly as he dared, he began to scale the castle wall along with several of his men.
He was nearly halfway up when the lone soldier gave a shout of alarm.
An arrow flew from the forest, and the cry was cut short.
There wouldn’t be much time now. Hand over hand, William climbed, his gloves gripping the coarse rope with ease while his legs helped brace his weight.
“Cut the lines,” one of the men called out.
The stomp of rushed footsteps came over the side of the wall, indicating more guards had arrived. Another arrow was launched from the forest.
“Faster,” Reid ground out as he hastened.
William’s arms and back were on fire with the effort of climbing; the soles of his leather boots gripped the wall to the best of their ability. Though they were close to the top, they still had some distance to go. His grunts of effort mixed with those of his men.
They were near enough now to hear which arrows missed as they skittered across the stone, and which hit with a quiet thunk and a gritted cry from its victim.
The rope in William’s hands vibrated with the effort of someone sawing at the thickly woven fibers.
His heart slammed harder in his chest, and he moved past the exhaustion of his muscles.
Finally, William reached the top. He threw one leg over the crenellation as he drew his sword, plunging it into the neck of a guard who was furiously cutting at the rope of his grappling hook. The man staggered back and fell.
A glance below confirmed Reid was two handgrips away from joining William, and only one other man, called Alec, held on to a rope near the top. William launched at the guard trying to slice through Duff’s rope.
Reid was at William’s side as he ran his blade through his opponent, followed by Alec and Duff, who arrived safely and without incident.
Five others joined them moments later, their swords flashing and slashing at the Mabrick guards.
All at once, there was an explosion from the right.
The ground rumbled beneath William’s feet, and the boom was so deafening, it left William with a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
But it did nothing to dull his vision, nothing to shield him from the sight as a massive bolt punched through first one of his men, then a second.
The thick stock of metal continued onward, glistening with their blood as it sailed into the night.
The two men had been standing near the edge and pitched over without once crying out—as they were dead before they fell.
A moment of shock descended on the battle, and for the blink of an eye, no one moved. Not William and his army, nor the Mabrick guards.
“Get the archers.” The shouted order launched everyone back into action. Amid the ring of clashing weapons and roars of men was the unmistakable rasp of another bolt sliding into the weapon that had killed two men in one blow.
A cluster of eight guards rushed toward them, an amount they could certainly take.
The massive boom thundered once more, causing the stone beneath their feet to shudder. A heart-rending cry came from beside William, and he knew he’d lost another man.
Damn.
The attacking guards redoubled their efforts, forcing William and his men back. William braced himself but still found his heel hitting the hard stone wall behind him. He cut down the man in front of him, and his falling opponent was immediately replaced with a guard who was taller, stronger.
The man struck like an ox, each blow so hard it made William’s bones rattle. Back, back, back, the man pushed as William’s other heel met the stone.
An arrow flew past his shoulder and sank into the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound, and the guard dropped. As he fell, William caught sight of an oblong iron barrel with a flame flickering at its rear.
Boom!
Fire flashed at its front as a massive bolt shot out. This time, however, it hit a crenellation with a splintering crack, taking a chunk out of the stone. Another English guard attacked William.
“They have an archer,” one of the Englishmen called out.
The back of William’s neck prickled in fear.
Beneath the sounds of battle came the familiar creak of a dozen bows being drawn. Only this time, William knew they would be pointed toward the woods, in the direction of Kinsey and Fib.
Kinsey kept her gaze locked on the top of the castle, where four of their men were nearly being pushed over the side. While she had never been in battle before, she knew this one was not going well.
She took aim and released her bowstring. Her arrow sped through the air and hit the guards trying to shove one of William’s men to the ground.
Despite the grisly fate of their fellow fighters, the other men had not abandoned their attempts to scale the wall.
Nine more were climbing to the top, nearly midway.
Four men had been cleared away from the ground, victims of the pot-de-fer, and one due to an arrow.
The rest of their army had backed into the safety of the woods and lay in wait for their turn at the ropes.
Fib fluttered around her in excitement and horror, his hands on his head. “There are more archers firing.”
“I see them.” Kenzie redirected her aim toward the bowmen shooting at the men edging up the wall. One of them cried out and fell, the silence of his descent indicative of his fate.
She released another arrow.
“Ye got one.” Fib threw his arms into the air in victory.
All at once, she realized an archer had turned toward her.
Her pulse spiked.
They were shooting at her. At her and Fib.
“Down,” she shouted as she dove toward the earth.
Fib joined her on the ground, partially covered by several thin tree trunks. The arrows whooshed toward them, cutting off abruptly in several errant thunks and pops as they landed harmlessly around them.
“Go to the forest where the others are,” she ordered Fib.
He stood stubbornly in place. “Are ye coming?”
Another hearty boom cracked through the night, and yet another man pitched over the side of the castle wall. Dead. More arrows rained down on the men climbing the ropes.
One cried out, and the group began to descend with haste as a call came to the archers once more.
Kinsey leapt up and took out another archer. While it was a victory, her shot let them know she was still alive. They would fire at her again.
Fib clambered to his feet with a cheer. “Ye hit one more.”
“Go now, Fib,” she said through clenched teeth. “The men are retreating. Hurry and join them.”
“I willna go without ye.”
One of the men loading the pot-de-fer lifted his head over the crenellations for a fraction of a second, and she released her nocked arrow. He ducked down, just as her carefully aimed arrow shattered against the stone behind him. Exactly where his head had been.
The men atop the castle fought onward with tireless strength. Doubtless, they didn’t know their men were gone.
Several arrows sailed toward Kinsey once more. She ducked, pulling Fib with her. An arrow landed just before Kinsey’s face, not even an inch from her eye. Her breath sucked in sharply. That had been close.
Too close.
All at once, the four men fighting leapt over the wall, catching the ropes and sliding down with haste.
Kinsey’s stomach sank.
They were retreating.
They had lost.
The archers turned their arrows toward the ropes.
“Fib,” she shouted in aggravation. “Ye need to leave now. We’re retreating.”
“Nay, my lady,” he replied stoically. “A man of chivalry would never leave a woman alone to defend herself.”
She loosed an arrow at an archer, who pitched crumpled out of sight. “I’m no ordinary woman.”
But she couldn’t think about Fib now, not when she had to concentrate on picking off as many archers as she could.
She couldn’t see to tell if one of those men was Sir William.
Most likely, one was. After all, he rode at the head of the army and was always first for watch and reconnaissance.
Aye, she did not doubt he was one of those now running for their life.
If Sir William died and his men disbanded, she would have no choice but to return home. Her intent to right the wrongs done to Scotland would have been a failure. The words of valor and bravery she’d written in her letter to her mother and sister would be lies.
She wasn’t done fighting yet.
The men scrambled down the ropes amid a barrage of arrows. One stuck fast into one of the men. Thankfully, he didn’t release the rope, his rapid descent not slowing.
“One of the men has been hit,” Kinsey said. “Go to the forest to meet him. Help him get back to camp for aid.”
Fib hesitated this time.
“He needs ye.” She infused her statement with an urgency in the hopes of discouraging him from staying.
A strange sensation twisted in her stomach, and the hair on the back of her arms stood on end.
More arrows were flying toward them. She hadn’t noticed early enough, as she had been focused on trying to get Fib to leave.
“Fib,” she cried, her voice pitched with fear.
But rather than duck, the brave lad threw himself before Kinsey.
The arrows thudded into the forest. Fib jerked several times and issued a low, whimpering exhale as he sagged toward her. Bright red blossomed over the front of his gambeson, staining his chainmail where several arrows had gone through his slight frame.
Fib’s stare slid down to his chest to the bloodstains that continued to grow.
“Nay,” Kinsey screamed.
His legs collapsed, and she caught him before he could fall into the dirt.
Hot blood washed over her hands and drenched her kirtle.
So much blood. Too much. Several arrows jutted from his back, every one stuck fast inside his slender body, the heads intentionally small enough to pierce through the chinks of chain mail.
Fib whimpered against her ear, and her heart constricted.
“Ye’ll be fine,” she whispered.
It was a lie, but she repeated those words over and over, her mouth moving as her thoughts scrambled, looking for a solution.
He was too heavy for her to lift. And Clara had always been the one with knowledge of healing. Kinsey would have to drag him to the other men. Mayhap someone at camp could help.
She carefully released him to readjust her hold. The color had drained from his face, and his body was limp. Her breath rasped with panicked gulps of air.
“Ye’ll be fine.” She slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder, grabbed him underneath armpits as gently as she could—mindful of the arrows—and pulled. Kinsey used the power in her legs against his weight to pull him slowly through the forest.
His legs bumped over the ground, collecting leaves and pine needles, but he didn’t make a sound as she continued to haul him.
Her heart slammed with urgency.
She had to get him to camp. The sooner he was there, the sooner someone could save him.
Her thighs shook with the effort, and her arms burned from hefting so much of his weight. But she didn’t stop. She didn’t slow. Not until she caught sight of the three men.
The familiar silhouette of William’s wide-shouldered frame was the first one she noticed. “William,” she cried out through her tears. “Help me.”
The men startled at the sound of her voice but recovered immediately and rushed to her.
“Fib.” William knelt by the boy, wincing as he favored one side.
“Let me,” Reid said, joining William by Fib and turning the lad on his side so he wouldn’t jar the arrows prickling out of him like macabre spines.
William glanced toward the other man. “Alec, run to camp and let them know we have an injury to be seen to.” There was a grimness to his voice that made a knot tighten in Kinsey’s gut.
Alec ran off through the forest at a frantic pace, leaving the four of them behind in the still night.
William lifted Fib’s head, which had lulled as Kinsey dragged him.
“Ye have to help him.” She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice now. Her fear trembled up through her and made hot tears run down her cheeks. “He was hit with several arrows. All through the chest, he—”
“It went straight through.” Reid looked up at her with, his face solemn.
Kinsey shook her head, trying to stop him before he said the words she dreaded most.
William rose and put a hand to her shoulder. “Kinsey.” His voice caught. “Fib is dead.”