Preparations would begin at once to make ready for the siege they knew was yet to come. Preparations that would include recruiting as many men as possible for the coming battle and with nothing in the way of money to entice recruits, those men would mostly be made up of the MacKilyn warriors.
And with the MacKilyn came heartbreak, in the form of the MacKilyn daughter who would be Malcolm’s new wife.
Dani wanted to weep with the knowledge. Instead she took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the towers to the east.
Her sorrow was but a tiny slice of the grief they would carry into the walls of Castle MacDowylt today. Though she faced losing all claim to the man she loved, at least she had the small comfort of knowing he lived. The families of Eymer, Guy, and Hamund wouldn’t be able to say the same.
“Then we’ll just have to think of something, won’t we?”
Patrick’s voice raised in irritation drew her attention from her own miseries.
“Because I’ll no allow you to waste yer Magicks on holding that damn spell or glamour or whatever you want to call it when you need yer energy to heal yerself.”
“Allow?” Elesyria’s voice pitched up a full octave. “And since when are you in any position to tell me what you will and won’t ‘allow’ me to do? I could blast you from the saddle where you sit with one look. Allow, indeed!”
“There’ll be no blasting done here today,” Malcolm intervened. “Besides, you’ve the look of someone who’s doing well to remain upright in her own saddle let alone threatening to unseat someone else.”
Men. Totally lacking in anything even remotely resembling tact. At least these two men, anyway. Dani pulled on her reins to circle her horse back around beside Elesyria’s.
“Your healing is more important than the disguise you wore for them. What if we invent a new story? Something that allows you to give up constantly staying on your guard. To just be yourself. More or less.”
“More or less?” Though Elesyria’s face was drawn and pale, a spark of interest glimmered in her expression.
“You could be Elesyria’s niece.” Dani invented as she went, calling on her imagination and years of reading good books. “We could say you brought word to your aunt that she was needed at home and she sent you to stay with me as my companion.”
“Or she could just go home,” Malcolm suggested sourly.
“No,” Elesyria countered. “All things considered, I think it best I remain here for a time. I suppose dropping the disguise might not be so bad.”
“We’d need a new name for you,” Dani added. That should make her happy. Faeries had a soft spot for deception, or so her study of them had told her. “Is there a name you’ve always liked?”
“Elesyria has always appealed to me,” her friend responded.
“No, I meant . . . never mind. What about a nickname? Is there a name people call you? Other than Elesyria, that is?”
“Elf,” Patrick interjected, almost allowing himself a grin as he said it.
“Absolutely not!” Elesyria glared at him before turning back to Dani’s question. “My father used to call me Syrie, but that’s a child’s name.”
“That’s perfect since you’re playing the part of your own niece. You could be named Elesyria after your aunt, but you go by Syrie so we allay any suspicions. How’s that?”
“The Fae do not name their children after living relatives,” she grumbled.
“But the part yer playing is no that of a Fae, but a plain, simple Mortal. So much the better, then.” Malcolm’s eyebrow lifted as he turned to face them. “Or, if that’s no to yer satisfaction, you could go home.”
Elesyria shook her head to reject his suggestion once again. “Not a good idea right now. For the time being, I will agree to your suggestion. Syrie it is.”
Dani silently wished all their problems could be so easily solved.
The castle walls were visible now and growing larger with each step their horses took. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the castle gates.
“Dispatch the first riders as soon as possible.”
Patrick acknowledged Malcolm’s instruction, pausing before he answered as if it was territory they’d already covered. Likely it was. Dani had witnessed their hushed conversations over the past couple of days and had no doubt that they’d been over this ground repeatedly.
“Men will be hard to come by, with our empty coffers,” Patrick began, relenting with a sigh. “I’ll have riders on the road before sundown.”
And then they were there, the big iron portcullis creaking as its weight was drawn upward allowing their horses entrance through the wall.
