Page 88 of Siren of the Highlands

“She is nae here,” Fin said. “Other than that, I couldnae tell you.”

Castor sighed and looked as if he was struggling to hold his temper in check. Fin could see the muscles in his jaw working as he tried to keep himself under control. He blew out a long breath and looked up at Fin.

“Have it your way. Once I am done with you here, I will be sending my army to Westmarch to deal with that upjumped Scottish rabble once and for all,” Castor said. “I know my sister will be one of two places - here, behind the walls of York, or at Westmarch. I will find her, and rest assured, when I do, I will exact my pound of flesh for the inconvenience she has caused me.”

“Ye willnae touch a hair on her head,” Fin growled.

“You poor simple creature,” Castor laughed. “You do not understand. You do not get to have her. You will never get to have her. She has been promised to Baron Weedler of Northwalk already.”

“Tis a betrothal that’ll have tae be broken,” Fin replied.

Castor chuckled then turned his attention back to Henry, apparently done talking to him. His grin became malevolent as he studied the Captain of the Duke’s guard.

“I assume since Duke Hamilton is not here himself, that you speak in his stead. As such, these are my terms,” Castor said. “York will be forfeited immediately and turned over to me. I will be the new Duke of York and will assume control of all property, including his armed forces, within.”

“Rubbish,” Henry spat.

“Second, the Duke will be turned over to me for trial. He faces charges of murder for killing my mother,” Castor went on. “And lastly, the Scotsman will also be turned over to me for execution.”

“On what grounds?” Henry asked.

Castor shrugged. “I will think of something.”

“Bollocks,” Fin chuckled. “Ye really dae have a high opinion of yerself.”

“You are outnumbered and outmatched. This is a fight you will lose,” Castor replied calmly, then turned back to Henry. “I will give you this one opportunity to accept my terms. Lay down your sword, and you will live. If not, you will all die here on this field today.”

Fin glanced at Henry, not entirely sure what he was going to do. It wasn’t that he thought Henry a coward. Quite the opposite. But he knew Henry felt a deep obligation to his men and to the people of York. Fin knew he would never unnecessarily put his people in harm’s way. If he could save them, Fin knew he would.

But to his surprise, Henry’s face darkened, and his jaw was clenched as he stared at Castor. The man radiated hostility like heat wafting from a hearth. He leaned forward in his saddle, glaring at Castor.

“You tried to murder Duke Hamilton,” Henry said through gritted teeth. “And for that, you will die. I will see your head on the walls of York.”

“So be it,” Castor replied.

Fin watched as Castor and his escorts turned and headed back toward their lines. He turned to see Henry glaring after the man.

“Ye seem ready for a fight,” Fin said.

Henry’s eyes never left Castor’s retreating form. “More than ready.”

“Let’s get tae it then,” Hollis added.

They turned their horses and head back to their formations. Fin glanced over to the thick screens of bushes that lined the field. Hollis took a flag from one of the flagbearers standing near him, then held it aloft and waved it. When he was done, the signal given, he handed it back to the flagbearer and waited.

Castor’s men were already on the move, and Fin slipped off his horse and handed it to one of the young retainers, who also took the horses from Henry and Hollis. They all unsheathed their swords and waited. The sound of that many feet marching across the field quickly grew in intensity, sounding like a rolling peal of thunder.

Fin swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade. Castor had not been lying; they were outnumbered and outmatched. He looked toward the west but did not see Col anywhere. They were on their own. And all Fin could hope was that the preparation they’d put into the battlefield would at least help even the odds.

As Castor’s men reached the point they’d had their parley, he glanced at the bushes on the far side of the field once more. The knot in his stomach twisted painfully, and he gritted his teeth. Waiting.

“Now. Bleedin’ now,” he muttered to himself. “What are ye waitin’ for?”

As if in response to his question, a dozen streaks of fire shot out from behind the bushes. Fin watched with a morbid fascination as the flaming arrows streaked through the sky, and when they hit, the ground erupted into giant columns of flame. The sound of a giant “whoosh” of the fireballs bursting from the ground was nearly deafening. It was almost as loud as the screaming of Castor’s men.

Walls of fire sprang up along the lines of the field they’d soaked in pitch, cutting men off from one another, and sending even more screaming off the field, their entire bodies aflame. All at once, the neat and orderly battle lines broke down, and those who were not on fire charged at Fin and his men.

“Turns out you are cleverer than I gave you credit for,” Henry said.

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