Page 155 of Bride of Fire
She blinked her eyes to make sure she wasn’t imagining the shapes.
And then she saw clearly that theywerefigures. Dozens of warriors marching through the gates and toward the castle.
She held her breath, fearing they might be English reinforcements.
And then she glimpsed the familiar banner emerging from the fog.
“Rivenloch,” she breathed, her heart leaping with hope.
When she recognized her cousin Feiyan leading the charge, she knew at once that rescue was at hand. And when she spied Hallie and all the parents at Feiyan’s flank, armed and armored for serious battle, she knew the English were finished.
“Rivenloch!” she cried, grinning in triumph when she turned to call down to Morgan. “Rivenloch is coming!”
It didn’t occur to her that Morgan would perceive Rivenloch as the enemy.
His face fell. His shoulders dropped. His mouth turned down, grim but resolute. Still, he lifted his claymore in defiance, as if to proclaim he wouldn’t lose Creagor without a fight to the death.
“Nay!” she called to him. “They’re here to give aid!”
He still looked skeptical. His men reflected his uncertainty.
“Feiyan brought them,” she tried. “She and Hallie are here with dozens of warriors.”
“’Tis true, m’laird,” William called down from the wall. “I can see a whole army comin’ through the gates.”
Jenefer noticed the English had ceased their attack. She peered over the battlements to see what was happening.
The English were muttering among themselves, a few frantically pointing at the incoming soldiers. Someone finally recognized the banner, and startled barks of “Rivenloch” circled their ranks.
No doubt they knew the Border clan by virtue of their reputation. Since the English couldn’t fight on two fronts at once, they were forced to abandon the battering ram and turn to engage Rivenloch.
“Archers, to the walls!” Jenefer commanded.
While the English awaited Rivenloch’s arrival, the archers were able to wound a few unwary soldiers.
Meanwhile, Morgan and his men waited in the courtyard. When the moment was right, they would move the cart and attack the English from the rear.
“At my signal!” Jenefer called down to Morgan.
Never doubting her for a moment, he answered with a curt nod.
She held her arm aloft, calculating how long it would take Morgan’s men to move the cart and get into place.
Rivenloch’s charge was awesome to behold. Jenefer, accustomed to being in their ranks, had never seen the army from this vantage point. She was astounded by their power to intimidate. The mass of warriors stormed toward the castle, shoulder-to-shoulder, shield-to-shield, brandishing their blades with a mighty roar.
“Archers, halt!” she cried as Rivenloch drew near. In the coming melee, the risk of shooting an ally was too great.
At the clash of the first two blades, Jenefer signaled Morgan with the drop of her arm.
Morgan ordered the cart rolled aside. The doors sagged inward. His men wrenched them out of the way. Then they began to engage the enemy from the rear.
Jenefer watched from the battlements, her bow at the ready.
It wasn’t difficult to distinguish the armies of Rivenloch and Creagor.
Rivenloch’s warriors were fitted with polished armor and flawless chain mail, armed with painted shields and gleaming broadswords.
But Creagor’s soldiers, despite their simple cotuns and trews, their crude targes and well-used claymores, fought ferociously.
