Page 40 of Darro

She realized why he wanted to carry her that way when another of the faceless men stopped directly in front of them. When Darro swung his blade she wanted to close her eyes, but made herself watch. The creature might have resembled a man, but as it fell its wound gaped, showing a solid black inside with no organs, as if it had been sculpted from modeling clay. The body writhed on the ground, still animated, until Darro jumped over it and ran for the inner wall gate. When she glanced back she saw a flaming arrow hit the remains of the attacker, which went up like a torch, melted into a pool of black and then disappeared.

Men shouted ahead of them, and then the portcullis lifted just enough for Darro to duck under before it dropped again. Guards surrounded them as he knelt down to allow her to climb off his back, and then rose and turned to regard her.

“The ladies shall be in the dungeons,” he told her as sweat trickled down the sides of his face. “Go inside the stronghold, and the guards there shall direct you to them.”

He was scared for her, not of her. That made her grin.

“I’d rather stay here,” Esme told him, and as some of the men made sounds of disbelief she gestured toward the outer wall. “While you fight I can bring more arrows or anything you need. Just tell me what to do.”

She expected Darro would order her to leave, but he put his arm around her waist, pulled her close and bent down as if to kiss her. As she caught her breath he pressed his brow to hers and closed his eyes for a moment.

He’s not afraid of me anymore, Esme thought as all the men around them made sounds of surprise. Just as Rory promised.

“Stay alive, lass,” Darro murmured for her ears alone, and then straightened and said, “Bid the guards give you oil jugs for the braziers, my lady, and take them up to the defenders on the wall through the west stairs.”

“I’m on it,” she told him, and kissed his cheek before she ran for the nearest arch into the stronghold.

The laird and his guard were the first men Esme saw.

“Gather the patrollers,” he was saying to one of the men. “Take up defensive positions on the wall.” The guard ran off.

As he turned to another of the guards, she cut in and breathlessly told them what Darro had asked for. He looked as if he wanted to send her to the dungeons, too, but then took down a large jug from the shelves.

“’Tis weighty, my lady,” he told her when she reached for it. “Permit me send a guard with the oil to our men.”

“You guys need to be ready for the ones who get past the second line and come in here,” Esme said, and took the jug. “It’s not too heavy. I run fast, too. Bye.”

Before Tasgall could stop her she dashed out of the kitchens and into the gardens, where Darro had already reinforced the line of warriors with more men. She ran parallel to them to the west, where she stepped through them and hurried to the stairs leading up to the top of the inner curtain wall. At the battlements she went to the first archer she saw and showed him the jug.

“Chieftain Darro asked me to bring this,” she said. “How can I help?”

“Douse every brazier with a small measure of oil.” He pointed to what resembled an umbrella stand made out of slats of blackened iron with new wood splits stacked vertically inside, and handed her a torch. “Once they’re wet, put flame to them.”

Esme looked down the line of defenders and noted where the other braziers stood. “Got it.” She went to the first and uncorked the jug, grimacing at the stink that came from inside. “Rancid cooking oil. Ah, good way to recycle it.”

Whatever the oil had been rendered from, it acted like modern-day lighter fluid on the wood. She soon discovered she only had to pour a little in each brazier to get it to light with a gratifying flare. The archers she passed as she did so gave her grim smiles as they wrapped rags around their arrow and spear heads.

At the end of the line of defenders Esme looked down at the front line, where Alec and his men were each fighting two and three of the faceless attackers. Dozens had already broken through and had just reached the base of the inner wall. Anger boiled up inside her as she glared down at one directly below her, and dropped the torch she still held on his head.

“Vaya con Dios, pendejo,” she called down to the flaming body as it plummeted to the ground and melted into black goo.

Darro watched Esme move from one end of the wall to the other, his fist tightening on his sword until the hilt made a cracking sound. He hated to see her within reach of the attackers, and every thought in his head was to climb up there, snatch her down and carry her off to the dungeons. He’d lock her in one of the cells if that would keep her safe, too. Only the lady had already proved she could aid them in battle, and had earned the right to stay. He also had a duty to do the same.

Someday you shall meet a female who shall challenge you for stubbornness, my lad, his lady màthair Tuirne had once predicted. She shall anger you, terrify you and make you wish for anything you might use to prevail over her, just as you’ve done to me. ’Twill be my retribution, I reckon.

For the first time in his life Darro understood the burden he’d been as a lad, when all he’d cared for was to stay at his older brother’s side. He’d followed Tasgall everywhere, first crawling and then toddling after him. Despite Tuirne’s best efforts Darro would never willingly allow his older brother out of his sight. As he got older he became as Tasgall’s shadow, always with him no matter where he went or what he did. That was why he knew Esme would not have left the battlefield unless he dragged her off, for she had the same unwavering determination.

“Dinnae fret, Chieftain,” Sawney said as he joined him and nodded at Esme. “The lady, she’s as clever as she’s steadfast, and shares blood with warriors even older than the McKeran. Her people, they’re fierce.”

He stared at the guard, who had been killed by the MacBren’s archers just before Esme had fallen into her three-day dream. Now Sawney stood before him as if nothing had happened. The spell trap’s enchantment had restored the guard to life as if the cycle of events had restarted. With days and nights lasting only a few minutes now, perhaps it had.

“How do you ken such?” he asked Sawney, keeping his dread off his face. “Do you share a bloodline with her?”

Sawney shook his head, and then looked confused. “I cannae recall how I discovered that.” He met Darro’s gaze. “I’ve druid blood through my lady màthair, Chieftain. Mayhap that ’tis how I ken.”

A shout from the wall made them both flinch. Darro turned his head and saw the first two attackers avoid the defenders and jump down into the inner bailey. He could no longer see Esme, and could only hope she had been moved to one of the weapons storage rooms. He also remembered that the guard beside him was due to be killed during the next attack by the MacBren.

“You shouldnae stay, Brother,” he said as a dozen more of the enemy got past the outer wall, and the sounds of battle grew louder. “Go and join the laird inside–” He stopped as he saw the guard had disappeared again. “Fack me.” He hefted his sword and rushed toward the attackers.