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

highest prize for the enemy. I have to get to those who are armed.’ He gestured to Theodosia and Gerald. ‘You will help me do that. I can shelter behind you as we make our wa y there.’
    Theodosia stared at him in shock. John, the lord who’d announced a brutal campaign from the steps at Waterford, would use a cleric and a nun as his shield? But she could say nothing; she had to be true to the habit she wore.
    Gerald drew breath, and she guessed his view would be th e same.
    ‘Let us make haste as much as we can, brother.’ Theodosia knew she spoke over him, but any utterance he made right now would only make things worse.
    The noise echoing from the woods increased, drowning out the calls of the defenders.
    John’s eyes widened. ‘Hurry up. Before they break through.’
    ‘Take care.’ Theodosia took Gerald’s weight as his foot caught on the clothing scattered by John and he stumbled.
    ‘I said, hurry .’ John had to raise his voice over the noise outside. ‘Gerald, stay here. You’ll only slow us up.’
    ‘None of us should go,’ said Gerald. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
    ‘Please, brother.’ Theodosia lowered him to the seated safety of a closed chest, every inch of her aching to do the same. ‘You risk further injury.’
    ‘No more arguing, Gerald.’ John pulled up his cloak to cover his face. ‘Go on, sister.’ He fell in behind her and prodded her hard in the back. ‘And stand as straight as you can; your stature is woefully short.’
    With her mouth clamped shut to try to steady her breathing, Theodosia walked on shaking legs to the door of the tent, John’s hand fixed hard on her clothing.
    The sounds of enemies, of defenders, echoed even louder in the open air in a buffeting, petrifying din. Men ran past with swords, bows, yelled to each other in a string of panicked oaths. Her hands went unbidden and foolishly to her face, as if she could stop a missile or a blow with her own flesh. She looked in vain for Benedict amongst the shouting mass of men, in a desperate hope that she would se e him.
    ‘Stop,’ came John’s muffled voice. ‘Let me see what’s happenin g first.’
    Theodosia obeyed, her breath faster as she scanned the thick woods beyond the half-built wooden wall. Yet she could see nothing of the unseen enemy, with only their nightmarish clamour reverberating through her head.
    ‘We will go. When I say.’ John again.
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    Then it stopped. Silence from the woods, as if it had never been.
    Only the shouts of the defenders floated on the air, suddenly sounding ridiculous in their alarm.
    A sharp whistle halted them too.
    Theodosia looked to its source.
    The scarred lord, Hugh de Lacy, stood there, sword blade resting on one shoulder. ‘There’s no attack, men. At least not this time. What we need—’
    John shouldered his way past Theodosia. ‘Are you all hens in a coop?’ His shrill shout drew every look. ‘Panicking, and, in doing so, panicking each other to worse confusion? Back to work! Now!’
    Men acted on his command, many still with weapons in their hands.
    De Lacy walked over, sheathing his sword. ‘My Lord John.’ His one-eyed gaze took in Theodosia too as she stood next to John. ‘ I did n’t realize you were there.’
    John hitched his cloak straight. ‘I was trying to get the sister to safety. Who knows what could have befallen her should the brutes have attacked.’
    De Lacy nodded solemnly as if he believed the obvious lie. ‘Try not to fear, sister.’
    ‘Thank you, my lord.’ Theodosia lowered her hands, weak with relief that made her shake even harder.
    ‘The danger has passed.’ John gave an unconvincing cough. ‘ I ne ed to get out of this rain before I catch my death.’
    ‘Of course, my lord,’ said de Lacy. ‘And this rain will stop soon. You can see the mountain now.’
    Theodosia followed his point. The dark curves of the distant mount were indeed emerging through the thick clouds.
    ‘The mountain of the women, the