Chapter Three
The woman was starting to regain consciousness.
They could all hear her making noise draped over Mateo’s lap.
Grunting and groaning, mostly. She moved a little, too, but not much.
Not enough. She was in terrible shape, so there was no real chance of her fighting off five powerful men, and no one was really sure if she was trying, but she was definitely semiconscious.
Mateo had to put his hand on her back to keep her from sliding off one way or the other as they thundered down a small road, heading east.
Behind them, the clouds were beginning to thunder.
Rain would soon be upon them. Estevan was in the lead of their group as they galloped down the road.
They crested the rise of a hill, entering a small valley, made flat by the water runoff into the sea to the south, but there were rocks and trees and a gravelly, sandy road to travel upon.
The road led down into the valley, and in little time, they could see a gray-stoned fortress about a mile away.
The last of the sun gleamed off the bastion before the clouds covered up the rays, one by one, until there was no more sun and only the darkness of an approaching storm.
The rain was coming in fast.
Knowing this, Estevan spurred his horse faster, covering the ground to the fortress at a swift speed.
He wanted to announce their arrival and ask for help for the woman, wondering if the Templar nuns were really as aggressive as he’d heard.
Men tended to exaggerate, and he could only hope this was the case with St. Margaret’s.
He’d never been to this place, but he knew it was St. Margaret’s simply because his family had a castle in the Lowlands called Ashkirk, and in the solar of that castle lay many maps of the area.
He knew that because a short time ago, he’d studied the roads before he headed northward, refreshing his memory, and this was the location all of the maps showed St. Margaret’s of Loch Doom.
As he drew near, he could hear a distant shout.
He wasn’t sure where it came from, but he looked to the walls of the castle-like abbey, hoping to see someone he could talk to.
He hoped to gain their attention, to show he was no threat.
He’d slowed his horse to a walk, heading for what looked like the gatehouse, when a big, nasty-looking bolt slammed into the ground a few feet in front of him.
Startled, he yanked his horse to a halt and the animal reared up, frightened by the violence of the bolt.
He tried to back up, but another bolt landed behind him, this one too close for comfort.
Clearly, whoever was firing the bolts didn’t want him to go anywhere.
More than that, they were quite skilled with the weapon.
Pulling his horse to a complete halt, he raised one hand while holding the reins with the other.
“I am not bearing arms against ye,” he called out, his deep voice echoing off the walls. “I come seeking help. Why do ye fire bolts at me?”
There was no answer, at least not immediately.
His gaze was on the gatehouse and he saw, clearly, when a figure moved inside.
It was positioned between the windows facing west, keeping itself concealed.
But he also saw when the figure stepped sideways, partially into the light, and he observed the crossbow that was once again loaded and pointed at him.
“Who are you?” a decidedly female voice called to him. “What do you want here?”
“I told ye,” he replied. “I am seeking help.”
“We have no help to give you,” she said. “Move along.”
Estevan shook his head. “Ye misunderstand,” he said. “My brother and cousins and I found a woman on the riverbank, nearly drowned. She’s still alive, but she needs tending. Ye must have someone that can help her.”
By this time, Kaladin and Mateo and Titan and Rodion were catching up to him, with Mateo having an obvious body slung over his thighs. They saw the bolts both before Estevan and behind him and came to a quick stop, staying well out of range of the bolts that were evidently flying from the walls.
Overhead, the thunder rolled.
“You will stay there and not move,” the woman said. “And those men with you—tell them to stay back.”
“I will,” Estevan said. “I’ve no desire tae have a bolt shoved through my chest on this day. Or any day. It would bring my mother tae yer door, and ye’d not be pleased tae see her.”
There was no reply, but he could see more figures in the gatehouse now, looking down at him.
There was whispering going on. Behind him, someone must have made a move that didn’t please the nuns because another bolt came flying out, zinging past Estevan and landing between him and the group about twenty feet back.
He turned around to see Titan slap Kaladin in the arm, moving him back because he’d drifted forward a few feet.
That wasn’t to be tolerated by the nuns.
“Ye’ve no reason tae fire those bolts at us,” Estevan said, trying not to sound angry. “We’ll obey yer wishes, but if ye hit one of us with those bolts, I’ll bring my entire family down here and we’ll burn this bloody place tae the ground, and ye with it. Do ye understand me?”
“Who are you?”
This was a different voice. Estevan now found himself looking at a woman with white hair and a thin, pale face, dressed in some kind of tunic from the waist up. That was all he could see from the window she was leaning out of. Her voice was low, almost mournful.
But deadly serious.
“Well?” she said again, before he could reply. “Who are you?”
“My name is Estevan dun Tarh,” he said without hesitation.
“My father is Lares dun Tarh, the Earl of Torridon. Behind me is my brother, Kaladin, and my cousins Titan de Wolfe, Mateo de Wolfe, and Rodion de Velt. If ye dunna know those family names, then ye should. They are the biggest houses on the border.”
The woman seemed to be looking them all over. “I know those names,” she said. “I know de Wolfe. And all the world fears de Velt. And dun Tarh… your father is Lucifer.”
Lucifer’s Legion.
Truthfully, Estevan wasn’t surprised that even the Templar nuns had heard of his father, because Lucifer’s Legion was what the sons of Lares dun Tarh were called.
As one of the most unique clans in the Highlands, the dun Tarh name was known all over the country.
Even down here in the Lowlands, and most especially among the religious orders.
Anyone who made a pledge to the devil, as rumor had it that Lares had done, was known to those who feared the fires of hell.
Estevan was well aware of it all.
And he could play it to his advantage.
“He is, indeed,” he said. “If ye know our families as ye say ye do, then ye know we are men of our word. We mean ye no harm, at least not at the moment, but that could change if ye fire another bolt at us. As I explained tae the other lass, we found this woman on the riverbank and she needs help. We’re happy tae deliver her tae yer gate and then leave ye in peace. ”
More thunder rolled overhead, and the sky picked that moment to let loose.
A deluge of rain and wind descended, complete with lightning rippling across the sky.
The horses startled, shifting around nervously as the weather quickly grew intolerable.
The woman with the white hair took a step back, away from the windowsill, so the driving rain wouldn’t soak her.
“We are not a healing order,” she said, now shouting over the elements.
Estevan cocked an eyebrow. “As someone said tae me, if ye fight as rumor says ye do, then ye have someone tae heal those wounded in battle,” he said.
But his patience was at an end. “Christ, woman, we’ve not come tae rob or molest ye.
We found this woman on the riverbank. She’s very ill.
We’ve brought her tae ye for tending and that is all. Will ye not help her?”
Just as he finished speaking, a lightning bolt hit the top of a tree about a quarter of a mile down the road. The tree exploded, sending shards of wood flying into the air. The noise was so loud that even Estevan jumped, startled.
“Christ,” he muttered to himself. “We’re going tae be killed where we stand.”
The woman with white hair must have thought the same thing, because the next Estevan realized, the enormous gates were rolling open and a dozen armed women appeared, half of them with crossbows pointing right at Estevan and his kin.
Above the open gates, the white-haired woman was waving her hand from the window.
“Enter,” she said. “Hurry, now. Come in and be sheltered.”
More lightning flashed across the sky, and unless they wanted to be killed, shelter was necessary.
Estevan spurred his horse forward, followed by the rest of them.
All five of them moved into the gatehouse, which had a low ceiling.
So low, in fact, that the men were forced to dismount or risk smacking heads on the stone ceiling.
Back in the pack, Titan had dismounted and made his way over to Mateo, taking the woman from him so the man could dismount his horse. With a limp, wet woman slung across both arms, Titan made his way to the front, where Estevan was being corralled by the same gang of women who’d opened the gates.
A rather fearsome gang of women.
“Where shall we put her?” Estevan asked.
He wasn’t sure whom he was addressing because there were several of them, all armed, all staring him down as if expecting him to start trouble.
They were all poised as if waiting to pounce.
Truthfully, he’d never seen anything like it.
But the white-haired woman moved into their midst, putting herself between the men and the armed women.
“To the sanctuary,” she said, pointing to the north, where an enormous hall stood. “We shall tend her there.”