Barricades slammed into place as women rushed their children deep into the castle.
Booms rocked the exterior door below, and the duke’s face paled. “Mistress Alesone, follow me.”
As they reached the great hall, the entry shuddered against another volley.
Weapons raised, knights stood a safe distance from the entry awaiting the inevitable charge.
A frenzy of explosions sounded outside, mixed with the screams of men.
“Hurry!” The duke led her down a corridor, then waved her into a small chamber. He shoved aside a sturdy table, lifted a tapestry, and then wedged his fingers against a small, nondescript crevice.
He pushed.
A soft scrape echoed.
The stone panel shifted. Errant spider webs hung inside a tunnel fading to blackness musty with the scent of time. The duke nodded. “Go.”
Another blast echoed against the entry door, this time louder.
“Your Grace, we must wait for Donnchadh.”
His face paled. “Nay.”
“Let me take—”
An explosion of wood melded with screams. The scrape of blades sounded.
“Oh God,” she gasped, “they have breached the entry!”
The duke shoved a torch from a nearby sconce into her hand. “At the end of the tunnel you will hit a dirt wall. There isna much, but ’tis only for a layer of safety. Once you dig through, you will come up inside of a rotting trunk. From there travel west.”
An ached burned in her chest, despising this moment, hating Comyn even more. She withdrew hersgian dubhfrom its sheath. “I willna run, Your Grace.”
The echoes of screams and blades rose to a fevered pitch. The sound of boots slammed down the entry.
“God in heaven,” he rasped, “’tis too late!”
Chapter Twenty
Halfway across the bailey, feet braced, sweat, soot, and blood streaked Thomas’s face. He rammed his blade against an attacking warrior, slashed his throat with a dagger, then shoved him back. He whirled to face the next assailant. With a curse, Thomas angled his weapon, and drove deep. The enemy crumpled, joining the bodies scattered around him.
A distance away, wood crunched as Comyn’s men, working in unison, slammed a massive log into the door of the keep.
“They are using a battering ram to gain entry!” Aiden MacConnell, his close friend and fellow Templar Knight, yelled.
A command rang out for another round, and Comyn’s knights again slammed into the honed wood.
Splinters flew.
Ragged shards hung above the gaping hole exposing the great room.
Thomas cursed. He must reach Alesone! “Rónán, Cailin, and Aiden, gather the others knight we trained en route. Tell them we are forming a shield wall.”
His men’s yells rang out. The slap of crafted iron and wood clattered amidst the scream of swords as the men overlapped their shields against the other.
“Forward!” Thomas ordered. With deadly efficiency, they shoved ahead.
A hand reached over the sturdy defense.
