At the entrance, Gwendolyn paused.
An icy shiver swept her at the bodies of the English strewn over the shore, the spill of blood staining the outgoing swells and smearing the sweep of the beach she so loved.
Rónán’s gentle hand touched her shoulder. “My lady, return to the castle through the tunnel.”
She stepped free. “Nay.” Head held high, she walked toward where the men loyal to King Robert were standing on the beach, staring at the billowing smoke from the Englishmen’s cogs. Aiden and his men had sunk their fleet.
Anxious to see him, she scoured the shore as she made her way toward Cailin. Where was Aiden?
At her approach,Cailin turned.
The grief in his eyes stole her breath, and time slowed to one breath. Heart pounding, refusing to acknowledge his silent revelation, she searched the men working around them, spotted those who had been chosen to row out and set the ships ablaze.
Everyone except Aiden.
Nay, he’d returned and had joined his men in the castle. Fisting her hands against the rush of fear, she faced Cailin. “Aiden?”
Face ashen, the Templar gestured toward a nearby boat scarred with blackened wood. “We found the craft he took down the shore and brought it back.”
The fragile control of her emotions broke. “W-where is he?”
Cailin’s somber eyes held hers. “Hedidna return.”
“Nay,” she said as her legs weakened and fear stole every shred of composure.
“We have scoured the shore,” the knight rasped, “nor has anyone seen him.”
She gasped for air,once then again. No, he couldna be dead! Grief swamped her, and she tried to breathe, but the world became a mist around her. Her body swayed, and hands caught her as she fell.
Chapter 18
Heart aching, Gwendolyn stood on the shore. Through blurry eyes she took in the damaged ships, their splintered and charred boards littering the beach from the attack three days past. Sadness gripped her soul at the vivid display of thehorrors of war.
Aye, they’d recaptured Latharn Castle. But the price hadbeen too high.
Fresh tears burned her eyes as she scoured the swells for any sign of life, any movement, any flicker of hope that Aiden lived.
“Lass,” Cailin said, his voice raw with fatigue and grief, “three days have passed. You have searched day and night withlittle sleep.”
She fisted her hands. “Ashave you all.”
“You are tired and all but weaving on your feet. Return to the castle. If only for a while, try to rest.”
Anger flared within the heartache. “I refuse to give up. Aiden is still alive.”
“I pray ’tis so, but we have searched the beach for miles, rowed through the wood-filled swells and found nay sign.”
“I would know if he was dead!” Gwendolyn refused to meet Cailin’s gaze, to see the pity in his eyes, and the regret. She ignored the doubts threatening to smother her, clung to herheart’s belief.
An incoming wave surged up the beach, its tip curling, then spilling on the sand with a deep rumble. The foamy edge carried endless fragments of blackened wood, numerous broken crates, and other items from the ships yet to be recovered. Wreckage scraped within the surf as the wave receded as another swellrolled ashore.
In the distance, Gwendolyn caught sight of a swath of forest green cloth with Celtic designs woven at the edge.
Recognition slammed through her. “God, nay!” Gwendolyn bolted.
“Lass?”
Water splashed as she ran through the incoming wave. Waist high, the current pulled at her legs.
