Free The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) by E.M. Powell

been posted within this camp. She had not been able to speak to him but had had sight of him. Far, far worse would have been for him to have been sent to one of John’s other two castle sites.
    ‘If you don’t work faster, I’ll have you whipped!’
    Theodosia caught her breath at the angry yell. John.
    The canvas door moved as if someone wrestled with it, the movements causing yet more drips to descend from the ceiling.
    ‘Untie the thing, sister,’ said Gerald, ‘before he has us both soaked through with his attempts.’
    ‘Yes, brother.’ Theodosia hurried to the flap and opened it, only to be thrust to one side as John shoved his way in.
    ‘Gerald, my father has given me useless men.’ John did not even glance her way as he flung himself into an empty chair. ‘ Useless . I need my castles complete, to show the Irish my unstoppable progress . How long does it take to raise a basic fortification?’
    ‘It would be faster if men weren’t disappearing by the day, my lord,’ came Gerald’s testy reply.
    ‘I have put out an order that any who deserts my service will be hanged,’ John snapped back. ‘That should be sufficient.’
    Theodosia went to close the flap, wishing for a cloak of invisibility . She had managed to avoid John’s presence since the encounter at Waterford. Now he was closer than ever.
    ‘You. Sister.’
    Her mouth dried at the unexpected order. ‘Yes, my lord?’ She kept her head lowered.
    ‘Leave that door open. I want to keep an eye on those workers. First one I see slacking gets my whip. And get me some wine.’ He sneezed. ‘My head is fuddled from this ague.’
    Theodosia complied, tying the door back before hastening to get the wine.
    Gerald withdrew from John as much as his injured arm would allow. ‘I fear an ague in my weakened state.’
    ‘Then fear you must.’ John wiped his nose with the heel of one hand. ‘Most have their humours unbalanced in this place.’ He sneezed again. ‘How could they not when, at every dawn, the skies throw down rain, which doesn’t stop until dusk, then starts again at night?’ He took the goblet from Theodosia and gulped down a mouthful with an unsteady hand. ‘Nights where no one can sleep, with the sounds of the Irish devils in the woods. Only my wine allows me rest.’
    ‘We are in the midst of their lands, my lord,’ said Gerald. ‘And they are not,’ he cleared his throat, ‘well disposed towards you, shall we say.’
    As Theodosia placed the wine jug on the table, she slid a blank piece of parchment over her most recent words, words which despaired of John’s actions towards the Irish at Waterford. Her careful script might have been dictated by Gerald, but it came from her hand.
    Selecting a clean goblet, she began to pour.
    A terrible, high scream came from outside.
    Theodosia’s hand jerked in shock, splashing wine over the tabletop as an unearthly chorus followed the scream: drums, whistles, harsh shouts in a strange tongue.
    John leapt to his feet with an oath, even as the hammers and saws stopped dead. ‘They’re attacking. The Irish are attacking.’
    Men with axes, with swords. Theodosia had faced them before, but never on this terrifying scale. Her heart tripped fast, faster as Gerald struggled to stand up. ‘Sister, help me.’ His usual plea, though a broken arm should not be making him so helpless.
    Shouts came from those within the camp, orders to defend, to take up positions.
    ‘Lean on me, brother,’ she said. ‘We should hide. With all haste.’
    ‘You can’t hide. You have to defend this place.’ John flung open one of Gerald’s chests, rummaging through it and sending clothing all over the canvas floor. ‘God’s eyes, have you no weapons?’
    Gerald’s arm tensed under Theodosia’s hold. ‘I am a man of God, as is the sister who serves Him too. We cannot fight; we rely on others for our protection.’
    ‘Don’t you understand?’ said John. ‘ I am the one who needs protection. I am the