Aislin of Arianrhod (Land of Alainnshire) (4 page)

What news do you have of my brother, King Stanis of Wyndham?” asked Emara. “The apple trees we sent to him for his orchard are doing well?”

“Oh yes, Milady. The winter was a mild one last year, and he lost none. A few of them blossomed this year, but they are too small yet to bear fruit.”

Satisfied, Emara asked, “All is well with his family? His wife and sons?”

“All is well. Your nephew, Prince Barrin, has raised a rather large army over the past two years, mostly to keep the Tantar raiders from the north at bay. They’ve been raiding more frequently, and they take everything they can carry. Lately, they’ve taken to carrying off women and children, and they leave total destruction in their wake. He also does this to show Prince Bryce how to muster and manage an army, should the need ever arise in Arianrhod.”

Emara nodded stiffly. “This kingdom is blessed with good and kind neighbors who would rather trade with us than make war. We must hope it will always be so.”

Roderic decided he could wait no longer.

“Gwen, I have something for you. Aislin wanted to be here when I gave it to you, but she seems to have gotten lost on her way up.” He smiled, but Emara’s face grew dark.

“What is it?” Gwen asked brightly.

Roderic reached into the satchel and withdrew the painting. He held it against his chest as he walked to her. He knelt down in front of her as she put her sewing aside and placed the painting face up in her lap.

Gwen gazed at it for several minutes before she looked up, her soft brown eyes full of tears.

“This is...my son?” she asked. “This is Bryce?”

“Yes. That’s Bryce. What do you think of him?”

Gwen didn’t speak for several minutes. She touched the painting lovingly, her face glowing with pride. She held the painting up for Emara and Maeve to see.

“He’s grown up to be a fine, handsome young man. I think he resembles his father,” Gwen finally said.

“He would do well to resemble his father in temperament and courage.” Emara looked up from her sewing and smiled. “He does have Fionn’s smile. This kingdom will rejoice to have a proper king back on the throne.”

“Prince Bryce is indeed a fine young man. He excels at his studies during the day and learns the sword in the afternoon. He follows King Stanis on his daily tour of Wyndham to check on crops, cattle, and the well-being of the kingdom. He’s a very bright boy... and a quick learner! He does, however, have a bit of a mischievous side,” said Roderic.

Seeing the look of alarm on Gwen and Emara’s face, he quickly added, “Oh, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Just tricks he plays on his tutors and mentors on occasion. King Stanis said that a sense of fun is necessary for a king to possess, and Bryce has this in exceptional measure. He’ll be a very clever king when he returns to Arianrhod.”

Gwen smiled proudly, and Emara nodded in approval.

Shouting and banging from outside interrupted the moment.

“What
is
going on out there?” Emara snapped, looking up from her sewing.

Roderic made his way to the window and leaned out over the stone sill. “I don’t see a thing, Emara. I can’t imagine who is making all that noise.”

“No doubt half the village is chasing an escaped pig down the street,” said Gwen, as she leaned her son’s picture against the wall and picked up her embroidery hoop.

“I want to go and help catch the pig!” exclaimed Maeve, eyes bright with excitement. Maeve threw her sewing to the floor and jumped off the stool. Gwen laughed, and Emara gave Maeve a dark look.

“No princess should be chasing pigs. The owner of the pig will do just fine without your help. Back up on that stool and finish those stitches,” said Emara sternly.

Tense and wary, Aislin stood still on the walkway and listened to the horrible sounds outside the wall. She lifted the hem of her gown and cautiously made her way in bare feet toward the gate.

As she got closer, she saw several men pass by the iron bars. They were slashing at each other with swords.

She came to an abrupt halt and shook her head, eyes wide. “What in the name of...”

Horses and men went thundering by, raising clouds of dust that swirled into the air as Aislin stared dumbly out through the gate’s iron bars. None of this made a bit of sense.

The sounds were getting louder, closer, more violent. She felt oddly detached, more curious than afraid.

Aislin jumped as a large man in a white shirt slammed against the gate with his back, making it bend and shudder in protest. He turned and reached for the latch, stretching in desperation as several large soldiers in leather battle armor pursued him.

She gasped and stumbled back a few steps. She could sense danger, knew she should run, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the drama unfolding in front of her.

The latch slid open in the man’s big hand, and he half fell through the gate. He slammed it shut, and held it there with his body as he locked it. The soldiers reached the gate, roaring in frustration at the denial of their prey. They pulled at it furiously, determined to tear it off the hinges.

The man inside the gate turned around, and staggered toward her. Blood covered his face, but she could see dark brown eyes gazing out at her. She shivered violently as she realized who it was.

“Devin?” she said. “What’s happ...”

Before she could finish, three men fell over the wall several yards behind him. They were large and bare-chested, in tight black leather breeches, their faces painted like savages. They hit the ground and bounced back up, rope and daggers at the ready. She moved her eyes from Devin to the men beyond him.

“S’at her? Fits the description we was given,” one of them said.

“That’s her. Princess Aislin. Tol’ you catchin’ her would be easy.”

“Jest don’t hurt her, or he’ll have all our heads,” snarled the tallest man.

“Pretty little thing. Too bad we can’t have a little taste first.” This man ran a palm over his crotch.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. These strange men were looking for
her
, and they clearly did not have the best of intentions. Wondering if the whole world had gone mad
,
Aislin pulled her eyes back to Devin’s face and blinked, gooseflesh rising on her arms.

Before she could move, Devin rushed her, threw her up over his right shoulder, and sprinted with her toward the manor house. The hard mass of his shoulder dug painfully into the pit of her stomach, depriving her of oxygen and stifling a stunned cry in her throat.

The bare-chested savages howled as they gave chase. Holding her hair back from her face, Aislin picked her head up. She was horrified to see that the men were gaining on them. She firmly pounded a fist into the small of Devin’s back.

“They’re catching us! Run faster!” Aislin croaked. Devin picked up the pace, which also increased the bouncing. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to be sick as the gray stone of the walkway whirled by with dizzying speed under her head.

Several hard, jarring digs of Devin’s shoulder into her ribs told her that they’d reached the steps to the manor house. He was taking them two at a time. Then they were through the door into the cool darkness of the entrance hall. He spun around quickly; she closed her eyes and went limp, moaning with a nauseating sense of vertigo. Devin quickly slammed and locked the manor house door just as the men crashed into it with their bodies.

Grunting with his efforts, Devin secured Aislin over his shoulder and held tight onto her legs as he ran with her up the stone stairs to the sewing room.

The noises were growing louder. They were odd noises, as though a fight were going on outside. Roderic was just about to go out and find out what was going on when Devin burst through the door and almost knocked him over. Devin turned, slammed the heavy door of the room shut, and dropped the iron bar down into the catch, locking them in.

Emara and Gwen scrambled to their feet, knocking over the stools they had been sitting on and scattering their sewing. Roderic caught Aislin as Devin slid her forward off his shoulder and collapsed to his knees. Aislin’s momentum carried both her and Roderic to the hard floor.

Bright red blood stained the front of Aislin’s gown.
How in the world did she get herself injured like that?
Roderic thought, as he tried to hold a struggling Aislin down on the floor.

“Lay still! You’re hurt!” he said.

“It’s not me that’s hurt, Rod—it’s Devin!” Gasping and kicking, fighting as much with her gown as with him, she twisted out of Roderic’s arms and flung herself at her assistant.

“Devin? What’s going on out there?” Aislin asked, on her hands and knees beside him.

Unable to catch his breath, Devin choked, “I can’t believe... he would do... such a thing...you must...you’re all in terrible danger!”

Devin slumped further to the floor. Aislin caught his chin and raised his eyes to hers. “He who?
Who
are you talking about?”

“Jariath... Morrigan’s army...thousands of them...they’ve overrun the outer defenses and are coming up the lanes behind the house... on their way here. They’re looking for
you
, Aislin! We have to get you out of here!” Devin spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

Aislin got to her feet. Pale and shaking, she hugged her elbows and looked at Roderic, her expression bleak.

“That’s it,” she said quietly. “Jariath has finally lost his mind.”

Aislin flew to the sewing room window and peered over the ledge. There were soldiers everywhere. Clad in black leather armor, they were the largest men she’d ever seen. There were thousands of them making their way up the roads to the manor house, raiding the homes and looting the shops as they advanced. Some were on foot, some on the huge black warhorses Jariath favored. They were all heavily armed with spear and sword.

“No...” Aislin choked, pounding her fists on the stone sill. The house was surrounded; they were trapped on the upper floor. Any attempt to escape would deliver them right into the hands of Morrigan’s soldiers.

She ran a hand through her hair and peered back at her family. Jariath would be pleased beyond measure to get them all at the same time.

He hasn’t captured you yet. Think of something!

Hands fisted, she turned back to Devin.

Devin was still kneeling, hands on his knees, his bloody head and shoulders bent forward. Some of his blood had dripped onto the floor and collected in small puddles beside him. Feeling a little sick, Aislin grabbed whatever she could to stem the flow.

Her hands landed on the embroidery her mother had been working on. Without a moment of hesitation, she stripped the hoop off and had the cloth wrapped around his head and draped over his shoulders. Her mother made a strangled noise behind her. Aislin mentally dared her to protest.

Instead, Emara knelt down on the stone floor beside Devin. “What are you talking about? We haven’t had a quarrel with anyone from Morrigan...” She paused and Aislin thought she saw the color drain from her mother’s face. “...for many years now!”

Devin looked helplessly from Aislin to Emara and then back to Aislin. Emara gazed questioningly at her daughter.

“Jariath’s assistant, Brock, was here about three weeks ago with yet another marriage proposal. Only this time...” Aislin choked with anger as she compressed the wounds on Devin’s head. “This time he suggested we should marry and
take
the kingdom from Bryce by force. He said he would move his army into Arianrhod and prevent Bryce from ever taking the throne.”

Emara grasped her daughter’s slender shoulders and shook her. “What did you tell him?”

Knowing her mother was thinking the worst, Aislin snapped, “
Really
, Mother. I
never
would have agreed to anything that would harm Bryce. I sent him packing back to his master and his stinking swamp. My answer is no, and it will
always
be no.”

Emara put a shaking hand to her mouth and was silent for several moments. When she finally spoke again, it was just above a whisper. “He’s decided to simply take what he wants...like his father.”

Aislin stared at her mother.
How would you know anything about Jariath’s father?

Gwen drew Maeve close to her. “What are we going to do? There’s no way out of this room!”

Emara looked down at Devin. “The underground river...the one beneath the manor house... are there still boats...?”