Chapter Twenty-Two
Hiding hadn’t been the difficult part.
The difficult part had been getting close to Andromeda.
Dermot had been working covertly since he’d been a boy because that was what his family demanded. The Aingil Lochlainn took all of their young men, at a very young age, and trained them to be spies and more. That was all he knew.
That was why he knew what to do when he managed to shake the English knights.
De Wolfe and his friend had been young, arrogant, and too trusting.
Dermot was counting on that. He had been able to fool them in the end and escape, rushing back to Wrexham Castle and gaining admittance before the three duped knights could return and spread the news that Dermot was a traitor.
He’d made it back and gone straight into hiding.
Someplace they would never find.
He’d been able to remain there for ten long days.
Of course, he’d been stealing food. He’d had to.
Scraps were all he’d been able to find as he hid in the rafters of the pigsty.
No one would think of looking for him there, and he had access to the food and water for the animals, so although his diet had been limited, it had afforded him a place to hide and plan.
Plan for what was coming next.
The Welsh had attacked, as far as he could tell, the day he went into hiding.
Dermot had been around enough battles in his lifetime to know the sounds of them.
The pigsty was in part of the stable, a corner of it reserved for the pigs that fed the castle.
The most anyone did was come to feed them and make sure they had water, and since he was in the rafters overhead, no one bothered to look up.
For a time, he was safe.
But he knew he couldn’t spend all of his time hiding in those rafters. At some point, he was going to have to come out and reveal himself. At the very least, he intended to escape, but not without insurance.
Andromeda was that insurance.
It was going to be tricky leaving the castle with her, especially with Tristan providing a very large barrier between him and freedom.
He knew Tristan well enough to know that the man would not give up at all, which meant Dermot was going to have to establish some rules for Tristan when it came to Andromeda.
He knew Tristan would not want her to be harmed in any way, which meant he would be willing to negotiate.
That was going to be Dermot’s only saving grace.
Of course, there was the question as to why he had returned to the castle in the first place.
He could have simply kept running, and by now, he would have already been in Ireland.
But he had been sent to follow Carr mac Murda for a reason those years ago, and to simply flee would have been to shirk his duties.
At least, that was how his kin would look at it.
He had spent a very long time in the service of William Marshal, not something to be given up on so swiftly.
He still had work to do.
That work revolved around Andromeda. On his ninth day of hiding, he dared to emerge from the rafters after the pigs had been fed.
He removed nearly every scrap of clothing he was wearing, his expensive protection and tunics bearing the scarlet lion of William Marshal.
All of that was buried underneath one of the pig troughs, with the exception of a thin linen tunic, his boots and breeches, and a very long and very sharp dagger.
Since the castle was under siege, there weren’t people milling about in the stable yard as there would normally be.
There were bolts flying over the castle wall, so most people had taken cover.
Dermot was able to stand at the stable door and watch the activity without being seen, and it helped him understand what was going on.
It also helped him plan what he needed to do.
While in the stable, he noticed some clothing hanging on a peg near the door.
He was able to steal it, nothing more than a long and dirty tunic and an oil cloak.
His beard had grown in somewhat, which helped in disguising him, but he knew he would still be recognized in his current state.
Therefore, using the water barrel as a mirror of sorts, he soaked his hair in the water and used his dagger to shave his head.
Chunks of brown hair fell into the water and sank to the bottom. In short order, he was completely bald.
It changed his appearance dramatically.
The tenth day was when he decided to move.
The battle seemed to be diminishing, which meant the Welsh would soon be leaving, and the castle, at some point, would be open.
It would be his opportunity to depart with his hostage.
Based on his extensive experience with sieges, the lady of the castle could only be in one of two places—either she was locked up in the keep or she was helping the wounded.
Since there were some wounded in the hall, because Dermot had seen a few being moved in that direction, he decided to check there first. If she wasn’t there, he’d have to figure out a way to get into the keep.
With his bald head and his worn tunic, and partial growth of beard, Dermot tossed on the oil cloak and headed out into the yard.
He stuck close to the buildings and away from the open space where the bolts were landing.
They seemed to be coming in waves, so he waited until another barrage died down before running from the yard and into the main bailey.
Once there, he pressed himself against the western side of the great hall and made his way toward the servants’ entrance.
It was dark and smoky in the hall. It smelled of dirty bodies and festering wounds.
There were a few servants around, but they were busy tending the wounded.
In fact, he was able to stay back in the entrance alcove, concealed from the room, as he searched for the lady in question.
He didn’t see her at first, but the day was still young.
He wasn’t going to head to the keep until he was sure the lady wasn’t tending the wounded.
At this point, something told him to simply wait, and he did.
Things were quiet at the moment, so there was no need for him to do anything other than wait.
In the end, it had been the right thing to do.
As he lingered in the servants’ alcove, he began to hear voices approaching the door.
Startled, he slipped out into the hall and concealed himself under one of the three heavy feasting tables.
He was shielded from the room by benches and table legs, and it was with some glee that he realized Andromeda and two female servants had been the voices he’d heard.
As he watched, Andromeda and her servants entered the hall, carrying supplies with them.
Finally… she was here.
From his vantage point, Dermot could watch her as she worked on the wounded in the hall.
More men were brought in, almost all with some kind of arrow wound, and she tended them calmly and kindly.
She had a smile for the men who were in pain or frightened.
She was kind to them, even sweet when she smoothed the brow of a very young man who had broken his leg in a fall.
In that action, Dermot saw the queen before him.
Regal and gentle, a woman descended from the last King of Dublin who would have made a magnificent queen.
The Aingil Lochlainn wanted her to breed with one of their own, and, truthfully, she would bear magnificent sons.
Then all of Ireland would be one step closer to home rule, without the English trying to invade their shores and take lands and power that didn’t belong to them.
William Marshal, the very man that Dermot served, was one of those men.
But a woman like Lady Andromeda… she could help the Irish cause immensely.
If he could only get her back to Ireland.
Dermot was counting on the fact that the battle was waning.
He knew there would be no chance to take her from the gatehouse, so he would have to plan on the postern gate between the stable yard and the kitchen yard.
It was heavily fortified, with a small wooden bridge that spanned the moat, but Dermot was certain that bridge had long since been burned away.
That simply meant that he and his captive would have to swim the moat.
Swim or die.
Was it foolish? Absolutely. But his precarious situation was forcing him into a risky decision.
If he could only use the battle as a distraction, he could remove the lady while Tristan was fighting the Welsh.
He was tired, and hungry, and he had to salvage what this situation had become.
He couldn’t let so many years of watching Carr or William Marshal go to waste.
He thought he’d been able to wrest the lady away when Carr agreed to a betrothal, but that had fallen apart.
But now… now was his chance to take her once and for all.
He couldn’t go back to Ireland empty-handed.
More men were being brought into the great hall.
Because of Dermot’s position beneath a table, away from the doors, he couldn’t see that the Welsh had surged.
He couldn’t see the dozens of bolts hitting the bailey, though he could hear it faintly on the slate roof overhead.
At least, he could hear the noise, but because he was tucked underneath a heavy table, he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was hearing.
As the day progressed, Carr was brought in by Tristan and Alexander.
They carried the man between him, and Dermot could see that he had two bolts sticking out of him.
They dropped him gently near the hearth, and Andromeda came away from the men she’d been tending when she saw Tristan, who didn’t seem entirely delighted to see her.
She and Tristan had a few words, but in the end, Tristan hugged her tightly and all seemed right with the world again.
When Tristan left, Dermot came out from underneath the table.