“’Tis a trap,” Sean said as he sped past them.
The words were shouted as the man turned toward him, cloak thrown over his shoulder revealing his mail and his sword in hand.
Sean raised his own sword, intercepting any danger to Niall or Lachlann. Engaging the boatman, blade to blade they slid down to the grip, face to face, and shoved against each other. The soldier’s cloak quickly soaking, dragging him down, making his movements difficult.
In the distance, the sound of horses and shouting men could be heard as other soldiers advanced onto the beach. Sean urged the man deeper into the waves until he stumbled back, his sword tangled in the material and swamped by the surf. With the hilt of his sword, Sean gave a quick downward thrust to the man’s face. The blood mixed with the water as he went under.
With high steps through the crashing waves, Sean rushed to help Niall and Lachlann. Their swords at the ready, the two faced the oncoming soldiers. Sean came up alongside them.
“This is not looking good.” The intensity of emotion came through in Lachlann’s voice.
No one responded. A high-pitched sound carried to Sean over the sound of the waves. His heart jumped into his throat at the sight of Thomasina running toward the beach, her hands flailing in the air. It sounded like she yelled, “Stop!”
Sean ran toward the closest mounted soldier, his arms wide, as he shouted his war cry. As expected, the horse reared up. The next two soldiers were prepared, one even jumping down to meet him on foot with a pole axe.
“Stop!” Thomasina’s shrill cry carried to the soldiers. The one on foot turned toward her. Sean surged forward, shoving his pole arm into the air. His sword found its mark.
“’Tis Aldred. The little man is with him.” Lachlann’s voice carried to Sean but it didn’t make any difference to him. He needed to get Thomasina safely away. The boat drifted closer to the shore with the incoming tide but it would be drifting out just as easily. He needed to get to it.
“My lord,” a voice called out behind Sean as he yanked the soldier off his horse, landing him flat on his back.
“We have word from Lord John, Earl of Kent. He sends a treatise of protection over the Eire man.”
Sean smashed his sword pommel into the Norman’s face, the sound of breaking bone gratifying.
“Halt!” It was the lord who had ordered Sean’s beheading.
Sean ran toward the boat just as the water threatened to suck it back into deeper water.
“Halt, Normans!”
Sean grabbed at the rope from the boat dragging it closer to shore and looked behind to find Thomasina far too close to the soldiers. Niall and Lachlann stood a short distance from him. The Lord sat atop his horse where a small man was running toward him. He held something over his head. He seemed familiar to Sean.
“Sean,” Niall called to him, his hands cupped to help his voice carry.
Sean reached Thomasina in three steps, throwing her over his shoulders.
“Niall is calling to ye.” Thomasina’s voice implored him to stop.
“I see to yer protection. I will not let them harm ye.” He placed Thomasina inside the boat. “Stay down.”
She lay on her belly, one hand holding the side of the small boat. “I think the attack has stopped.”
Sean glanced again toward the little man dressed in mail. Yes. A man at the Priory. The Earl’s man.
Taking a run into the waves, Sean pushed the boat away from the shore. He jumped in at the last second and grabbed an oar.
When Thomasina moved to sit up, he urged her down. “I dunna want ye to become a target.”
She peered over the edge. “But they no longer fight.”
Niall’s call carried to him. “Sean! Lord John has sent his protection.”
Lord John was Peter’s close friend. And then there was the talkative soldier, Mort. Sean realized the little man was, indeed, Mort himself. Sean scanned the soldiers. All had their weapons lowered. The ones on horseback now waited behind their liege lord.
“Ye can sit up.” Sean offered his hand.
“Do ye think what he said is true? Can there be word from York? Was someone sent?”
