Chapter 15 #3
Uathach unstrapped the bow from her back. It had been well oiled before their swim in the loch, and even in the deep shadows the rich wood gleamed. She opened the watertight lid of her quiver and took out six arrows. “Easily done.”
Like her daughter and the rest of her Shadow Guard, Scáthach was dressed in their uniform of a short black tunic over black leather breeches.
Leather boots also dyed black laced to her knees.
She peeled off her wet tunic, leaving herself naked from the waist up before unsheathing two daggers, one from around her waist and one from the back of her boot.
She met her daughter’s gaze. Uathach raised one brow and did not attempt to hide her grin.
“You’ll get their attention,” whispered Uathach.
“It’s almost too easy,” her mother replied softly. “Nod when you’re ready and then wait until I step from the shadows and you know they’ve seen me before you begin.”
Together, mother and daughter returned within the shadows to the front of the fort.
Scáthach halted and Uathach continued until she was as close to the doors and the sentry platforms on either side of them as the shadows would allow.
Uathach planted five arrows, tips down, in the ground beside her within easy reach.
She turned her head and looked behind her at where her mother was only a slightly lighter shape within shadow and fog.
Uathach notched an arrow and drew her bow. Then she nodded.
Scáthach placed her tunic, sword, and sheath on the ground, cupped the two daggers, one in each hand, and shook back her hair so that it fanned her, cascading in thick waves to her waist. It was drying and as it did, it spread around her, a true mane, though it did not conceal her naked breasts.
Then she watched and waited, and when she saw or heard no other men except the two Wolfskins by the fire, she stepped out of the shadows.
As gracefully seductive as a dancer, Scáthach glided toward the two warriors.
They didn’t notice her at first. Her approach was too quiet.
But when she arched her back, twined her arms overhead, and began moving her hips in a sinuous, snakelike motion, her tawny hair caught the firelight, drawing the gaze of one of the Wolfskins.
She met his eyes and smiled seductively, an open invitation as she traced circular patterns with her hips.
The other Wolfskin noticed his friend’s sudden stillness and the intensity with which he stared into the foggy darkness.
His gaze followed, easily finding her. He licked his lips when she turned her attention to him.
Instead of smiling at him, Scáthach bit her bottom lip and began twirling slowly while she continued to move toward them.
Her arms traced a pattern from over her head down to her sides and then, with a teasing little twist, her arms disappeared behind her back.
She arched her back even more so that her breasts, still damp from loch water, were perfectly enticing globes—all the two men saw as she danced ever closer.
She was only a couple yards from them, so near she could feel the warmth of the fire in the brazier, when she heard the distinctive sound of an arrow being released.
Even before the body of the first sentry fell heavily from the overhead platform, there was the sound of a second arrow releasing, and then a third as Uathach cleared one of the two sentry platforms.
Scáthach’s dance turned deadly. She brought her arms forward and flicked her wrists, sending the daggers flying at the Wolfskins, where they slid silently into each man’s throat.
She sprinted back to her tunic and sword, and was dressed, sword in hand, before the second of the two men dropped to his knees, joining his comrade in death.
At the sound of falling bodies, one of the remaining three sentries turned to look down into the fort. “Hey, what’s going on down th—”
Thwap! Thwap! Thawp!
The last three sentries died. Two tumbled over the wall and the other slumped on the platform.
Behind them a voice called from the fog, “Harald! Erik! I thought I heard . . .” The fog muffled the rest of what he said, but it was clear he was headed their way.
Without speaking, Scáthach and Uathach sprinted to the double doors. Uathach notched an arrow and stood guard while her mother slid the heavy iron drawbar back. The ragged scream of iron against stone split the night. Suddenly, footsteps running toward them beat against the hard ground of the fort.
Thawp! Thwap! Uathach stopped two warriors.
“To arms! We’re under attack!”
The warning shouts echoed through the fog as the Queen of Shadow opened wide the double doors to the fort and took a torch from the wall. Standing before the bridge, she waved the torch back and forth over her head, hoping the Shadow Guard was close enough to see the signal through the fog.
She didn’t see her warriors. She heard them. Hooves pounded on stone and then Scáthach jumped aside as her Shadow Guard thundered into the fort and the night exploded into violence.