Page 137 of Bride of Mist
“He’s gone,” he wheezed.
“What do ye mean?”
“He’s not there.”
“Are ye sure?” Fergus bit out the words as calmly as he could when he felt like screaming. “’Tis a large cave. Did ye look in the shadows and—”
“He’s not there.” His next words made Fergus’s irritation congeal into icy fear. “The door was open. He’s gone.”
Chapter 34
When the wee maidservant came rushing down the steps to unlock the gaol door, Gellir was so glad to see her, he actually grabbed her by her orange-topped head and planted a quick kiss on her surprised brow.
After that, he couldn’t get much out of the tongue-tied lass about what had happened. But as they wound their way back up the stairs, he managed to learn that Feiyan was safe and that the army of Rivenloch was fighting the mercenaries in the courtyard.
As soon as he emerged in the ale cellar, of course, he was eager to join the battle.
“If I only had a weapon,” he despaired.
“Och!” Merraid exclaimed. “I forgot. Dougal left this for ye.” She reached behind a barrel and dragged out a sword, handing it to him hilt-first.
Gellir grinned. “He’s thought of everything.” He swished the blade through the air, testing its balance. “I suppose I won’t mind him marrying into my clan after all.”
Merraid blinked. “Dougal? Marryin’?”
“Shhh,” he whispered with a wink. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
She looked mildly stunned, but he didn’t pay much heed. After all, there was a battle to wage, and if hotheaded Hew had come, his cousin would need all the help he could get.
Still, he took her hand before he rushed off.
“You stay out of danger, aye? A wee lass like you could get hurt.”
She nodded, and he pressed a chivalrous kiss on the back of her hand—one that left her speechless. Then he bowed in salute and turned to exit the ale cellar. Loping across the great hall, he gave the sword one last trial swing, and then burst out of the doors into the thick of battle.
The skirmish raged below while his cousin Jenefer and her archers stood on the wall walk, firing arrows down at the enemy.
In the midst of the courtyard, his mother Deirdre fought back-to-back with his sister Hallie as they fended off two mac Darragh mongrels.
Past them, Morgan mac Giric and Colban an Curaidh wielded claymores against a trio of warriors armed with axes.
Near the gates, his uncle Colin spun and slashed with catlike grace at a huge but clumsy mercenary.
Across the field, his father Pagan lunged and skewered a bellowing attacker who’d come at him with a war club.
Then Gellir spied Hew feverishly fighting a man built like an ox. Unbeknownst to his cousin, another giant was lumbering toward him with a mace.
“Nay!” Gellir cried, leaping from the steps and charging across the field to intercept the giant.
He got in several good blows and, between Hew and him, brought the Goliath to ground. After that, the battle continued until Gellir’s brow dripped with sweat and his clothing was spotted with blood. Most of it had come from the enemy, though Gellir’s lack of proper armor meant he earned several cuts and bruises.
When he glimpsed a pair of brutes stealing toward the Rivenloch archers on the wall walk, he raced up the stairs and singlehandedly fought them off. Colin and Morgan eventually joined him, hacking at the attackers. Hallie, arriving with a chilling slashes of her lightning-fast blade, sent one man leaping over the outer wall and another scrambling down the steps.
As the mercenaries scattered, Gellir gazed breathlessly at the courtyard below. Slinking furtively along the far wall was a small party of mac Darraghs.
“Where’s he’s going?” he wondered.
“Who?” Colban asked.
