In silence, Elspet drew her steedup beside him.
“Regardless of whether the messenger has departed for the next lord he is sent to meet with, I will convince the Earl of Odhran to support me. As well, once Tiran Castle is mine, we will speakof our future.”
Her head turned toward him. Emerald eyes narrowed. “There is naught more to say.”
There was, but if there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was when to choose his battles. Cailin kicked his horse into a canter, Elspet followed.
As they halted before the gatehouse, a guard on the wall walk peered over. “Who goes there?”
“Sir Cailin MacHugh,” he called up. “I come bearing news of importance and must speak with the Earl of Odhran immediately.”
“And the lass?”
“Elspet McReynolds,” she replied, “a friend of the earl.”
The guard strode from view, and the rushed murmur of voices reached him.
The thud of the portcullis rang out, then the iron gate clunked up.
“Whatever happens, stay near me,” Cailin whispered. He guided his destrier into the gatehouse. As they entered the bailey, he spotted a stern, dignified-looking man standing on the top step of the keep, staring at him.
Knights trained in the lists, and others were in the stables, preparing to mount their steeds, while other men, their swords sheathed, headed towardthe gatehouse.
Cailin nodded to the first man as the troops moved past, then turned back to the single man on the step. “He must be the welcoming party. I had hoped ’twould be the earl.” He glanced toward the pole above the keep, where the earl’s flag, announcing he was in residence, was hung, stilled.“God’s teeth!”
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“There is nay standard flying!” Bedamned, so caught up in his frustration at Elspet, he hadna looked. He glanced toward the guard who’d passed moments before, noticed they’d begun to fan out behind him. God’s blade, ’twas a trap.
“Elspet, dinna ask questions,” Cailin said, praying it wasn’t too late to escape. “On the count of three, whirl your horse and ride out of the gatehouse as fast as you can. One. Two—”
“Halt or die,” a deep voice warned behind them.
The destrier shifted beneath Cailin, as if sensing his disquiet. He edged his warhorse closer to Elspet. If an avenue to slip out presented itself, he’d haul herover and ride.
The warrior’s brows slammed together. “You areunder arrest.”
Cailin spotted a man half-hidden, cowering near the keep’s entry and bearing his uncle’s colors. The runner no doubt. “On what charge?”
“Sedition against the Earl of Dalkirk!” The warrior nodded to his men. “Seize him!”
The surrounding guards charged; one grabbed Cailin’s sword arm, while several others caught his legs and jerked himfrom his mount.
“Cailin!” Elspet screamed.
He ignored the shot of pain from his wounded leg, drove his fist into one of the knight’s jaws, and his boot into another’s chest. Several men hauled him down, blocking his view of Elspet. He twistedto break free.
“This will bloody stop your fighting,” a deepvoice snapped.
A boot slammed against the back of Cailin’s head, and blackness consumed him.
* * * *
The drip of water echoed from a distance, and a foul stench permeated Elspet’s every breath as she stared between the bars at Cailin sprawled upon the floor in the cell across from hers in the dungeon.
Since they’d shoved him inside yesterday, he hadn’t moved. Please God, lethim be alive.
After their capture, she’d been haunted by her coldness toward Cailin. No, his offer of marriage wasn’t the romantic one she’d envisioned, but he cared for her deeply, and though he hadn’t admitted love, ’twas more than many women received.
