Claiming Her

She smiled at him and Ré, then turned to include Cormac in her mad happiness. “But you will not.”

He eyed her grimly. “I might.”

She gave her sword belt a little tug, settling it around her hips. “What if I ask very nicely?”

Ré looked to Aodh, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Cormac grinned.

“Please?” she said.

Silence extended, then Ré said quietly, “If she wants to fight…”

Aodh cursed and reached for her. “If you are here for battle, this is the first thing that must go.” He tugged the coif from her head.

Her hair billowed out like streamers of silk. “Do I look more barbaric this way?” she asked brightly.

“Aye,” he said, less brightly, then gestured to Bran, who came up and handed over his helm. “Go get an extra for yourself, lad,” he said.

Bran threw a grin at Katarina, then bounded off to do as bid, while Aodh tugged the linked hood of her hauberk up over her head, smashing her hair down as well as he could, then dropped the helm atop with a gentle pat.

“Your head. Let’s keep it safe.”

She pushed up on her toes to kiss his chin.

“Truthfully, Katy, for all that you’ve called me mad a thousand times, it’s you who’s the mad one,” he muttered, but inside, his heart was beating hot.

This woman was made for him.

“It’s in the blood,” she agreed, her eyes bright.

He looked up to see another armored figure come up the walls, then another. And on the stairwells around the rounded interior of the battlement walls, were lines of armored figures coming up to man the walls, two or three on each stair. From under the helms of several helms spilled long, feminine hair.

“Katarina,” he said, but she smiled and stepped away from hm.

“You did not think I could hold Rardove with only ten men, did you?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“The women,” he said in amazement as they took to the walls. His men were staring, but Katarina’s garrison simply stepped to the side and made room.

“This is how no one knew you had only ten men,” he understood in quiet, impressed amazement. “Because you had dozens of women.”

She leaned close and said in an almost gleeful whisper, “We quite line the walls at need.”

He watched them take positions, scattered among his men. “They may get hurt.”

“They may indeed. As may you. I hope not. I hope none of us do.” She reached out and put her slim hand atop his gauntleted one. “Aodh, I swear to you, I have no point to make here. If my women were not trained, they would not be up here. But we will win this thing, or we will not, together. What use are they down below? And could not two dozen more well-trained hands help?”

“Aye, they will help,” he said, looking over the new members of his regiment. “And you are sure they can use weapons?”

Great pity touched her features. “Aodh, my love, what use would a soldier be if she could not use a weapon?”

He dropped a kiss on her nose.

There was a small commotion near the front of the English army camp, then a mounted contingent rode out from its depths, flying the flag of Elizabeth and a flag of truce.

“Parley,” Ré declared quietly as the rider cantered up the pebbled path. “He wants to talk.”

Aodh nodded. He’d served under Ludthorpe; the man was both competent and decisive. The chance that Elizabeth had sent such an experienced commander to parley, rather than engage, was slim, but it must be explored.

They met on the field between the castle and the army, within bowshot of everyone.