Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Esme waited until Olivia and Alec left before she stepped out of the shadows.
She didn’t suffer any embarrassment whatsoever about eavesdropping on Darro when he’d spoken with the surveyor.
The other woman had spotted her before they’d begun to talk, and could have taken him elsewhere; she’d been trying to help by not saying anything about Esme listening.
What Darro had told Olivia explained his odd behavior with her entirely.
It’s not because I look different. He’s afraid of hurting me, or someone hit him with a spell to make him be afraid of me.
She shouldn’t have been so pleased to discover magic and their size difference were the issues, but she was.
It also made her heart melt a little to think he’d held back both times out of fear for her physical safety.
Poor Darro was tying himself in knots and he didn’t have to; she’d dated several big men and had no problem having sex with them.
But how could she tell him that, especially if he had been subjected to a spell that made him scared of her?
Sometimes, mija, you should think before you talk, Carmen had told her after she’d gotten into a fight at school. You might think California should make Spanish the official language as there are more of us than any other kind of people here, but that idea scares kids who are the other kind.
Because the chieftain feared something that didn’t scare her, Esme needed to think from his point of view.
He was very big and strong, and while he mostly stayed reserved when he was with her he had startled her a few times.
When he’d held her against the wall and carried her to the bed she hadn‘t been frightened by his loss of control. It had turned her on so much she’d climaxed against the wall and nearly did the same on the bed.
Women of his time probably wouldn’t have done that.
Darro had also been much more candid with Olivia about the problem, and he’d told her why.
The fact that he couldn’t talk to the other women from the modern world bothered her, too.
Is that why he doesn’t talk to me about it? Because he thinks I’ll tell his brother like Ava, or I’m unfriendly, like Grace?
As she walked downstairs, Esme noticed three battered-looking clansmen go into the forge. She followed them in, and saw them collecting weapons.
“You’re needed in the outer bailey, Brother,” one of them said to Rory. “Aye, and bring more blades and arrows for the archers as well.” He glanced at Esme. “You should go down to the dungeons, Mistress. The stronghold, ’tis under attack.”
“Again?” Esme hadn’t heard the horn, but she knew the men who had been standing watch on the walls were already exhausted. “Did the MacBren come back?”
The clansman shook his head before he hurried out with the other two. Rory gathered up an armful of swords, and then reached for a stack of arrow bundles with his free hand.
“Let me help,” Esme said, and after a brief hesitation he handed her three of the bundles before tucking another four under his arm.
She followed Rory out of the castle, across the gardens and through the inner wall gates.
As she emerged on the other side she saw attackers jumping down from the outer wall, sometimes falling with one of the McKeran trying to stop them.
Dozens of men with spears and long bows had formed lines in front of the inner wall.
“Give the arrows to the archers,” Rory told her, piling the other arrow bundles in her arms before he trotted down the line to hand out swords to the men holding spears.
Esme did as she was told, although she nearly dropped the heavy bundles a few times.
Each archer took a bundle from her and shared it with the men on either side of him, so it went quickly.
By the time she reached the last archer of the line the first of the attackers had reached the line of defenders, who shot them with arrows or cut them to pieces.
She grew nauseated as she realized the men who had fallen had no faces, and despite the lethal blows they’d received they remained alive.
Alec suddenly appeared beside her. “Fetch fresh torches for us, lass. Quickly now.”
Esme ran back to the inner wall, where she climbed the iron slats of the closed gate to reach the torches on either side.
“Mistress,” a guard called through the gate when she reached the ground, and thrust a smelly bundle of rag strips at her. “For the archers. Keep them away from the flames.”
She put both torches in one hand and took the bundle of rags, which had been soaked with something sticky that smelled of pine.
“Watch the top of the wall,” she told him. “These guys can climb.”
Running back to the line, Esme almost stumbled, but somehow kept herself from falling. Alec and three other men trotted back to meet her, and took the torches and rags, which the other men carried down the line.
“Do you need more torches?” she asked, panting the words.
“No, Mistress.” The war master used his sleeve to wipe her brow. “You should take cover in the gardens.”
She was about to argue with him when she saw a faceless man break through the line and run toward them, and terror filled her as she gripped the hilt of the dagger Rory had given her.
“Run, lass,” Alec said as he stepped in front of her and brandished his blade.
Before Esme could blink a huge figure came crashing into the attacker from the side, knocking him to the ground and burying a sword in his chest. The speed and ferocity with which the warrior moved stunned her, and then he turned and met her gaze.
“Come to me,” Darro said, holding out his hand. When she hurried over to him he picked her up with one arm as if she were a toddler. “Alec, we’ve a second line across the gardens. I shall command there after I see my lady to safety.”
The war master nodded and hurried back to the line.
“On my back, Esme,” the chieftain said to her, and shifted her around him, tugging her arms around his neck before running for the stronghold.
She realized why he wanted to carry her that way when another of the faceless men stopped directly in front of them.
When Darro swung his blade she wanted to close her eyes, but made herself watch.
The creature might have resembled a man, but as it fell its wound gaped, showing a solid black inside with no organs, as if it had been sculpted from modeling clay.
The body writhed on the ground, still animated, until Darro jumped over it and ran for the inner wall gate.
When she glanced back she saw a flaming arrow hit the remains of the attacker, which went up like a torch, melted into a pool of black and then disappeared.
Men shouted ahead of them, and then the portcullis lifted just enough for Darro to duck under before it dropped again. Guards surrounded them as he knelt down to allow her to climb off his back, and then rose and turned to regard her.
“The ladies shall be in the dungeons,” he told her as sweat trickled down the sides of his face. “Go inside the stronghold, and the guards there shall direct you to them.”
He was scared for her, not of her. That made her grin.
“I’d rather stay here,” Esme told him, and as some of the men made sounds of disbelief she gestured toward the outer wall. “While you fight I can bring more arrows or anything you need. Just tell me what to do.”
She expected Darro would order her to leave, but he put his arm around her waist, pulled her close and bent down as if to kiss her. As she caught her breath he pressed his brow to hers and closed his eyes for a moment.
He’s not afraid of me anymore, Esme thought as all the men around them made sounds of surprise. Just as Rory promised.
“Stay alive, lass,” Darro murmured for her ears alone, and then straightened and said, “Bid the guards give you oil jugs for the braziers, my lady, and take them up to the defenders on the wall through the west stairs.”
“I’m on it,” she told him, and kissed his cheek before she ran for the nearest arch into the stronghold.
The laird and his guard were the first men Esme saw.
“Gather the patrollers,” he was saying to one of the men. “Take up defensive positions on the wall.” The guard ran off.
As he turned to another of the guards, she cut in and breathlessly told them what Darro had asked for. He looked as if he wanted to send her to the dungeons, too, but then took down a large jug from the shelves.
“’Tis weighty, my lady,” he told her when she reached for it. “Permit me send a guard with the oil to our men.”
“You guys need to be ready for the ones who get past the second line and come in here,” Esme said, and took the jug. “It’s not too heavy. I run fast, too. Bye.”
Before Tasgall could stop her she dashed out of the kitchens and into the gardens, where Darro had already reinforced the line of warriors with more men.
She ran parallel to them to the west, where she stepped through them and hurried to the stairs leading up to the top of the inner curtain wall.
At the battlements she went to the first archer she saw and showed him the jug.
“Chieftain Darro asked me to bring this,” she said. “How can I help?”
“Douse every brazier with a small measure of oil.” He pointed to what resembled an umbrella stand made out of slats of blackened iron with new wood splits stacked vertically inside, and handed her a torch. “Once they’re wet, put flame to them.”
Esme looked down the line of defenders and noted where the other braziers stood. “Got it.” She went to the first and uncorked the jug, grimacing at the stink that came from inside. “Rancid cooking oil. Ah, good way to recycle it.”
Whatever the oil had been rendered from, it acted like modern-day lighter fluid on the wood.
She soon discovered she only had to pour a little in each brazier to get it to light with a gratifying flare.
The archers she passed as she did so gave her grim smiles as they wrapped rags around their arrow and spear heads.