Cade's goal had been to stall Laird Duncan and to that end, he was successful. When his injuries did not slow the ambitious laird chasing his clan, the weather did. He awoke between storms, at times lucid and at others not, but always aware of whose prisoner he was and the rain battering the shelter around him.
The fifth time he awoke, he was soaked with sweat in place of rain, and his mind was clear. He smelled heavily of the poultices and herbs Laird Duncan's desperate healer had used upon him. The older man with worn clothing was hunched in a corner of the wagon, hugging himself for warmth in the cool autumn weather. Cade felt his bandages and grimaced, recalling how he had not been so weak or injured since his long stay in a Saracen dungeon.
The wagon lurched, and Cade peered through holes in the canvas covering at a grey sky. His seillie magic danced within him as it did each day at twilight. He counted how many times his sorcery had danced within him since he was captured.
Three nights. His magic had turned the two day trip into three at least. Was it long enough for his cousins to prepare his people? Were they close to the MacCosse lands or not yet arrived?
The voices of men outside the sheltered space came from the rear, and the snap of a whip from afore. Another lurch, and the wagon broke free from the mud trapping its wheels.
They moved forward at a crawl. He listened to ensure the men were gone before beginning to test his body.
He had little strength – but the fever was gone. His wounds had begun to heal. In the Saracen dungeon, he had grown accustomed to counting the days before an injury was no longer a threat to one's life. The bad wound in his stomach was grown over with skin yet sensitive to the touch, as was the wound in his thigh.
I am in no danger of death, he decided.
Restless for knowledge, he nudged the healer with his foot. The man remained asleep, so Cade pushed him harder.
Bleary, bloodshot eyes opened, and the healer righted himself. "You are not dead," he observed in a bland voice telling of his exhaustion.
"Not yet," Cade said with a grunt. "Where are we?"
"I doona ken. Close, I believe," came the tired reply. The healer pushed himself up and went to Cade's side. He checked the bandages and felt Cade's head. "I saw the sea 'fore I slept."
Cade was relieved to learn his magic was protecting his clan, even if he was unable to.
"Ne'er seen so much rain this season," grumbled the healer. "Yer healing and no longer fevered. No infections. I must inform Laird Duncan."
"Can ye not wait?" Cade asked quickly.
"'Tis yer head or mine." The healer pushed off the canvas covering and exposed Cade to the fading light of evening filtering through a thick layer of clouds.
Determined not to confront Laird Duncan on his back, he maneuvered into a sitting position then stood. The walls of the wagon reached his waist, and he breathed in the scent of rain, ocean and earth.
The healer leapt out of the back of the wagon and navigated through the mud to the bank of the road.
Cade carefully observed the columns of men behind and then afore him. The wagons were struggling to traverse the mud, and many men were walking their horses on higher ground rather than keeping to the road. He spotted Richard's knights and the tartans of the different clans supporting Laird Duncan's attempt to overtake the Highlands. Farther ahead, men had begun to circle wagons and horses as they marked where they would sleep the night.
The longer he stood, the more concerned he became.
His clan had a dozen warriors, if that, and with the MacDonald's perhaps double the number.
Laird Duncan marched with hundreds of men.
He glimpsed the grey waters of the ocean as they rounded a hill. The wagon he rode in was pulled off the road to the side and stopped beside several more. Servants and warriors alike were unloading supplies from the neighboring wagons.
Having never visited the MacCosse lands, Cade had no way to know if the expanse of hills beside the ocean was his or not or how far they were from his clan. Niall and Brian would have arrived midway through his imprisonment, assuming they road quickly and were not troubled by the storms.
Dizziness crept up upon him as he stood, and Cade knelt in the back of the wagon. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and rolled his stiff shoulders back. He was sore and weak – but alive. In such a state, it was difficult for him to ignore the whispers of madness, the slithering of unseillie magic in his blood. Both fed off his worry and the knowledge his kin were vulnerable to the army Laird Duncan brought to crush them.
He meditated in silence, centering his thoughts and stilling his magic. Thunder grumbled in the distance. He debated attempting to control it before deciding his strength was best used to try to escape, once he discovered where he was. His mind went to Isabel, and he prayed his cousins were able to find her and protect her as well as the rest of his kin.
Dark magic strained to be free when he thought of her in danger, of her falling ever again beneath Richard's fist. If he had learnt anything between the bouts of fever, it was that she was not a prisoner of Duncan or Richard's. The English knight was too angry for him to possess the woman whose lands he intended to claim.
When he opened his eyes, twilight had faded into night and bonfires lit the flat area between two hills where many of the men were resting.
Cade recognized Duncan's booming voice before the chieftain reached his wagon. He tensed, disturbed by his weakness when he needed strength.
The back of the wagon slammed open. Cade made no effort to resist the two men who grabbed him and roughly hauled him out of the wagon. They forced him to his knees before Laird Duncan and Lord Richard, whose armor was muddied from travel.
"Yer alive!" Laird Duncan sounded happy.
"'Twill be an honor to destroy your clan tomorrow," Lord Richard added coldly. "Shall I tell you what I plan to do to your wife?"
Cade forbade himself from reacting though lightning slashed the sky nearby. He needed them to believe he was weaker than he was and posed no danger. The less they feared him, the easier he could fight them.
"These tempests are maddening," Richard complained with a look at the sky.
"I'm disappointed in ye," Laird Duncan said and squatted near Cade. "Isna Black Cade made of stone? Stone doesna fever or weaken."
"He is a man," Richard said dismissively. "Come morn, the last of his clan."
Fire built in Cade's gullet. He glared at Richard, unwilling to show the knight any form of respect.
"Black Cade isna dead yet," Laird Duncan said. "He need not be standing t'see his kin die." He stood with a grunt. "He's weak enough for yer duellum, Lord Richard."
"Nay," Cade replied. "At my weakest, I will always best ye, English."
"I see no use for single combat when we are to be victorious tomorrow," Richard replied. "I prefer to tie him down and whip him."
"Ye allow these cowards t'fight with ye?" Cade asked Laird Duncan.
The chieftain was grinning. "Lord Richard, we will have a duellum this night!"
The English lord appeared ready to refuse.
"Or ye can leave this night, without yer wife and her lands," Laird Duncan added.
"Very well, Laird Duncan. I will face the savage." Richard turned away, trailed by two of his men.
Cade assessed himself and determined he was in very real danger. But, he had a weapon Richard knew nothing of: the storms. If he lost too much ground or risked death, he needed only to strike Richard down with lightning, though it was not the preferred death he had in mind for the English lord.
"On yer feet!" Laird Duncan bellowed.
The two warriors on either side of Cade hauled him to his feet.
"Get him a sword, if he can lift it!" Laughing, Laird Duncan strode away, towards the center of the encampment.
Cade did not need to pretend his first step was weak. He nearly toppled to the ground when the mud gave way beneath his foot. His captors yanked him back onto his feet, and he focused on placing one before the other. His footing returned, and he began to feel firmly part of the world, until he was handed a sword.
Cade wobbled, his balance once more thrown.
Men were gathering in a wide circle around him, and several jeered when he failed to lift the sword without disrupting his balance. The weight and movement made his stomach wound feel as if it were tearing. He lowered the sword and tugged up his tunic to check the wound. Despite the pain, it appeared sound.
He hefted the sword again. It was easier this time, as if his sluggish body were remembering every other time he had carried a weapon. He swung it lazily as he became accustomed to the feel of it, aware of both the taxing of his weak body and the strength he did not expect to retain after such wounds.
"Are ye ready, Black Cade?" By the mirth in Laird Duncan's tone, he had no faith in Cade at all.
Cade looked up from the sturdy blade. The circle around him was several men deep. A cold drizzle did not dissuade the muddied warriors and helped sharpen Cade's thoughts. Richard wove a path through the Highlanders, trailed by several knights, and stepped into the circle across from Cade.
Anger gave him strength. Richard had always left him wishing he were not so concerned about falling to his unseillie nature.
"Ye 'ave a chance t'defeat the great chieftain, Black Cade, this very night, English!" Laird Duncan called to Richard. "And his clan on the morrow. Ye will do what Saracens only dreamt of."
Laughter went around their audience.
Cade ignored it. He tested his strength. He was going to have to rely on pure power as opposed to agility, for he had none of the latter.
"Fight!"
Thunder growled. Cade hefted the sword and adjusted his balance.
Richard circled him, his sword drawn and eyes pinned to Cade. Cade turned with him but did not make the first move as he had in the Great Hall. A hushed silence fell over those witnessing the bout. At least, until Richard struck.
Cade deflected, assessing his ability anew upon blocking the jarring blow. He allowed Richard to lash out at him several times. The knight was well trained, if a bit slow, perchance because of the weather and travel.
The men around them were soon shouting and cheering.
Cade's first strike nearly ended in disaster. A breath before Richard lopped off his hand, Cade adjusted his stance and managed to avoid the blow. He smashed to the ground on his stomach and shook his head, now aware of what strategy he needed to employ against Richard. Moving quickly, even in striking, was going to end poorly. He had to wait for Richard to expose a weakness before he was able to risk his own life with another blow.
"Black Cade." Richard said mockingly. "How did I fear facing you before?"
Cade ignored the barb and climbed to his feet in time to block another strike. With a better sense of his ability, he gripped the sword with both hands and settled into a comfortable stance.
Richard smashed into him with a series of blows that drove Cade back at first. He found his footing and pushed Richard away. The knight did it again, this time locking hilts with Cade.
"You are weak. Pathetic." Richard sneered. "Would that she could see you now!"
"Better weak than a coward," Cade returned with a grunt. He shoved Richard back.
The English noble began to attack in earnest. To Cade's dismay, he soon discovered his plan to remain patient and await his opening was derailed by the weakness of his body. If he were well, he would have beaten Richard at the onset. But he was not, and his blocks became slower, his footwork unsteady. Richard's attacks were growing labored and less frequent, but he had the benefit of no injury to dull his movements.
Richard managed to drive him to the ground once more, and Cade rolled away from his sword. Coated in mud and certain he had indeed reopened the worst of his wounds, Cade lay still on his belly and whispered an enchantment to the sky.
Breathing hard, Richard moved closer. "I have ... waited for this day since first we met," he said. "Were it not for this rain, your clan would have fallen beneath my sword, and I would have your cousin Brian's head on a pike! But this is better. 'Twill be your head I collect first!"
Cade laughed. "What could he have done t'ye?" he asked and climbed to his knees. Niall he envisioned angering Richard but Brian? Who thralled those he was unable to charm?
Richard swiped at him.
Cade dropped to the ground and rolled then forced himself to his feet. Richard stood between him and his sword, and he had no shield to fend off the next strike.
"He sought to cause sedition among my men." Richard snatched a purse from his waist and threw it at Cade's feet. "Did I not tell you 'twas deceit?" He shouted to the English knights clustered among the Highlanders. "As assured as I am Black Cade will die at my hands, I know 'twas treachery that boy spread under the orders of Black Cade's cousin!"
While Richard berated his men, Cade snatched the purse from the ground and dumped its contents onto the ground. He ran his thumb over one of the smooth medallions then the other. They were the same, and many of the English knights carried signets bearing the mark of their lord. Puzzlement gave way to disbelief and finally to the kind of joy he was unable to contain.
Isabel was safe and apparently, so was the English knight Cade abandoned in a Saracen prison.
He threw his head back and laughed loudly enough the warriors around them began to quiet. Clouds roiled above them in response to the intense emotion.
"'Tis no treachery!" he said when he was able to draw a breath. He held up the two medallions and faced Richard and the knights. "Lady Isabel is well and with her brother, Lord John of Saxony, the rightful baron."
"'Tis not possible. Every English lord at court was told the news of his death in the Holy Lands by your hand!" Richard shot back.
"I left the Baron of Saxony in a Saracen dungeon," Cade replied.
Richard appeared triumphant.
"When I last saw him, he wore this. He would ne'er part with it. 'Twas all he valued." Cade studied the two medallions dangling before his face. Warmth spread through him. He did not understand how Brian came by the medallion, but he knew John would have been buried with it before he would let anyone else claim it.
Isabel had hers, when they had last been together. They were together, the two of them, the Englishman whose madness condemned him to a life of darkness and his sister, whose touch saved Cade from it.
He closed one fist around the two medallions. If John and his cousins were alive, there was hope for his clan.
"Yer lord is alive and beside my wife, Lady Isabel de Clare of Clan MacLachlainn. If ye be not cowards, then ye shall leave Lord Richard t'face the fate of a traitor alone!" Cade shouted.
Laird Duncan appeared intrigued by the turn of events.
Richard's knights were shifting and glancing at one another. None of them moved, but Cade did not expect them to. He suspected those with any honor would sneak out before morning. Their lord, however, was red faced and angry.
Richard lifted his sword and charged Cade.
Lightning slammed into the ground between them, sending both of them flying backwards. Cade landed hard enough to knock the air from him. His ears rang, and sunspots blinded him. He stared into the sky, blinking fast, until his senses began to clear and he was able to breathe again. He sat up with effort. A steaming hole in the ground was between him and Richard where the lightning had struck. Many of those gathered had scattered, and Richard was being helped to his feet by two others. Laird Duncan was on his knees, dazed.
Cade gripped his head. His strength was nearly gone for the night, and a storm howled overhead. He dropped onto his back and closed his eyes. If he had any strength at all, he would flee while the camp was in disarray.
He lay still, unable to help the smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. He clutched the medallions to his chest.
Laird Duncan's men hauled him to his feet and dragged him back to the wagon, where the healer waited.
Cade collapsed against the wet wooden bed of the wagon. The healer pulled the canvas covering over them and knelt with a sigh.
"Yer headed fer another fever," he complained.
Cade chuckled. "Nay, healer. I am far better than I have ever been."
"Then yer mad."
Knowing he would need his strength for the morning, Cade did not move as the healer tended him. He did not feel the symptoms of a fever. If anything, he was more energized after facing Richard than he had been before.
He had proof in his handsof a miracle beyond any he had hoped to imagine. His guilt at failing to healSaxony's madness, at leaving the wounded knight in a dungeon, vanished uponlearning the Englishman lived.