The Irish Warrior

“Mount up, sluggards. We’re for Rardove Keep. Now!”

Finian and Alane caught up just as Senna was carried into the clearing. They watched helplessly from their hiding place under a bush as she was dragged into the circle of the twenty men-at-arms bearing the Rardove device. Exchanging one swift glance, they knew they would succeed only in getting all of them killed if they charged in.

Finian crept from beneath the bush to his horse, motioning to Alane. With a swift kick, he lifted the horse into a ground-eating gallop, whisking him toward the only hope close enough and sympathetic enough to offer succor.

“Are we going where I think we’re going?” Alane asked in a voice only loud enough to lift above the rhythmic hoof-beats hammering on the grassy earth.

“Very likely.”

“This is a bit dangerous.”

“A bit.”

“Her brother’s?”

“Aye.”

“I counsel against.”

“Do ye now?”

“Seeing as de Valery has probably learned his sister is no’ with the baron anymore, aye. ’Tis passin’ likely Rardove mentioned she was kidnapped. By you.”

“Aye, I doubt he’ll have liked hearing that.”

Their horses were loping easy now, side by side. “Your family’s lands were taken by King Edward himself, Finian. Which means de Valery holds them direct of the king of England, who is now marching north to make war with us. And his justiciar’s army.”

“Aye, it’s going to be a regular party. Have ye any other obstacles to throw in our path?”

“Oh, aye. I’m the one throwing obstacles.” They slowed to navigate up a winding path. “Will we have enough time?”

“De Valery’s manor is less than an hour’s ride from here.” Finian reined his horse up a low hillock. Alane kept his mount so close that muzzle touched rump as they climbed the small rise of land.

“I was no’ worried so much about how long it would take us to get there,” Alane replied dryly. “I was thinking more of how long it would take to convince him. Or to get killed.”

“That shouldn’t take long at all.”

They galloped down the other side, into the dawning sunrise. It was so glittering bright it was hard to see any way ahead of them at all.

Chapter 53

“Someone comes, my lord.”

Will de Valery turned to the sentry. Around him raged a cacophony of sound. Knights strode between horses, checking saddlebags and lance holders, soldiers in knee-high boots shouted to one another, leather creaked, and the dull clang of steel and iron sounded through the air. Even the hens were out, squawking and strutting. “Who?”

“Irishmen.”

Will took the stairs two at a time and entered the guard tower. One of his soldiers gestured with an index finger. “You can see them over the rise just now, sir. It looks to be just the two of them.”

“Irishmen? Coming here?” He glanced at the disorganized melee in the inner bailey; they were to be gone by Terce to join the Rardove muster. “Find out their names and show them to me in the hall. At blade point.”

He disappeared into the firelit yard and strode through the shouting men and restive horses.

Finian and Alane were guided none too gently into the hall, on the point of four guards’ blades. Their escort had originally consisted of two burly soldiers, but when Finian’s name was known, the guard increased by half again, and only after sending word to de Valery, wondering if they ought not to escort their guests direct to the cellars.

Alane was considering taking the guards on bare-fisted when they were shoved in front of de Valery. Flames from a roaring fire leapt up behind his leather-clad figure, orange and blue behind a black silhouette. Men-at-arms lined up on either side and behind them. One s

tepped forward.