Kendrick’s big, beautiful stallion had turned up lame later that day, forcing the men to seek shelter for the night in a local inn much sooner than they had expected while Kendrick and Caspian went to find a horse that could continue the travel. While the two men were down the street at the nearest livery, Jamison and Beaux secured two rooms at the inn and settled in to wait for Kendrick and Caspian to return.
They hadn’t gotten very far in their travels for the day but Kendrick’s horse hadn’t been able to go on. Therefore, they had some unexpected leisure time on their hands. Jamison and Beaux sat in the common room of the inn, somewhat deserted because of the time of day, and shared a meal, more food that Jamison had eaten in the past several days. It was surprisingly plentiful, a lamb stew and hearty, crusty dark bread with butter, and Jamison stuffed himself.
It wasn’t that he felt he was starving but his big body was beginning to slow down from lack of food, so he stuffed himself as Beaux kept up a running conversation about some games he had attended the previous year in the Highlands where men were throwing stones at each other. He laughed about it, listing the men who had been knocked silly or injured by the stone-throwing game, and Jamison grinned weakly now and again. He knew that Beaux was trying very hard to distract him from his sorrow and he was grateful for it.
“I’d like tae put Robbie in the midst o’ that game,” he said to Beaux. “I’d throw stones at him until I buried him.”
Beaux snorted, his belly full from a huge bowl of stew and a cup of hot wine in hand. “Yer da said that Robbie is in Northumberland now.”
Jamison nodded. “He’s gone tae Castle Questing,” he said. “Me grandmother was a Scott and that clan is tied tae the de Wolfes. And we’re all related tae the House of de Wolfe through her, so that’s why me da sent Robbie tae Castle Questing. William de Wolfe is still alive, ye know. The great Wolfe o’ the Border lives still.”
Beaux puffed out his cheeks in disbelief. “The man must be as old as Methuselah by now.”
Jamison nodded. “Old enough,” he said. “The man has a host of sons and grandsons tae his name but the last I heard, he still rules the castle.”
“He’s a legend. ’Tis his right.”
They drank a toast to William de Wolfe with Jamison downing half of his cup in one swallow. With his full belly and two and a half cups of hot wine in his veins, he had to admit that he was feeling exceptionally sleepy. Days of no sleep were finally catching up to him and the more he tried to fight it off, the wearier he became.
He finally excused himself and dragged his big body up the squeaky wooden stairs of the inn to one of the rooms they had rented for the night. Throwing himself onto the bigger of the two beds in the chamber, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The next thing he was aware of, someone was shaking him awake.
“Jamie!”
It was Beaux, hissing his name. Jamison struggled to open his eyes, seeing that the room was completely cold and dark, meaning it was well into night. Having no idea how long he’d been asleep, he rolled over onto his back, seeing Beaux in the dark room as the man bent over him. Jamison rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“I’m awake,” he said, yawning. “What’s happened?”
Beaux knelt down next to the bed. “Trouble, I think,” he muttered. “Are ye awake enough tae understand me?”
“Aye.”
Beaux wasn’t entirely sure but he continued anyway. “Then listen closely,” he said. “A man came into the inn a little while ago, a Scotsman. I dinna think much of it but Ken and Caspian are returned, and this Scotsman heard us speaking. He came tae the table and wanted tae know where we were from. He’s a McCulloch, from the borders. Ye know the McCullochs are a fightin’ bunch.”
Jamison wiped a hand over his weary face. “A clan of madmen,” he said. “What’s he doin’ so far from home?”
Beaux nodded. “We asked him that,” he said. “He told us that he’d been hired away for a task. When we asked what it was, he asked us if we wanted tae help with the Welsh fight against the English.”
Jamison was halfway through a yawn when he suddenly stopped, peering intently at Beaux. “Welsh fight against the English?” he repeated. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Did he say more than that?”
Beaux lifted an eyebrow, an ominous gesture. “We bought him some wine and with the wine came truth,” he said. “The man is mixed in with Madog ap Llywelyn’s rebellion and he’s in the south tae fight against the English lords on Welsh soil. Jamie, he’s recruiting for the fight against the castles in the south. Four Crosses is one o’ them.”
Jamison’s eyes widened as shock bolted through him. “Sweet Jesú,” he breathed. “Did he tell ye this?”
Beaux nodded. “He says that he is recruiting men tae move on the weakened castle of Four Crosses,” he said. “He says he has information that the castle is right for conquest with damaged walls and few soldiers, and he wants us tae join him. He’s sure we hate the English as much as he does.”
Jamison was already on his feet, looking for his tunic in the darkness. “Damaged walls and few soldiers,” he hissed. “Only someone who had been inside the castle would know that.”
“That was me thought as well,” Beaux said, handing him the tunic he was looking for. He dared to speak what they were both thinking. “The de Llion sister must’ve made it tae the rebels when she escaped.”
“I dunna doubt that, not in the least.”
“She’s told them everything she knows.”
The mere thought was sickening to Jamison although it shouldn’t have been. He shouldn’t have cared, of course, but he did. Even if his body was away from the castle, his heart was still there. Still with Havilland.
Already, he was terrified for her.
“Then I must speak tae this McCulloch,” he said. “I must find out what he knows.”
Beaux put a hand on his arm. “I knew ye’d want tae,” he said, “but take heed – ye must be calm in yer questions. Ye mustna let him know ye’ve been at Four Crosses fightin’ wit’ the English. He believes we hate the Sassenach as much as he does. Ye’ll get further that way. The man bears a great deal o’ hatred.”
Jamison was completely lucid by this point, listening to Beaux’s advice seriously. “If they are planning on attacking again, then we must get word tae Four Crosses,” he said. “With the castle the way it ’tis now, before the earl and his troops arrive, the Welsh will have a good chance of overrunning it.”
“If there are enough o’ them.”
Jamison simply nodded, his mind working furiously. This was a very unexpected bit of news and even as he pulled the tunic over his head and sat down to pull his boots on, his thoughts were whirling with what he’d been told. No matter if he wanted to get away from Four Crosses, he wouldn’t be able to. He had to help.
“I’m a-wonderin’, Beaux,” he said thoughtfully, “that if the man has come tae this inn tae recruit for the Welsh, he canna be the only one. There must be more men spread out in different towns looking for men tae help take up the fight.”
Beaux lifted his eyebrows. “There could be a hundred o’ them, spread out.”
“They could be recruiting thousands.”
“My thoughts as well.”
That was a terrifying concept. Thousands of Welsh being recruited as Four Crosses sat there, still somewhat damaged and vulnerable. Jamison stood up again, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it down, his mind ahead on what was to come.
“Then let’s go talk tae the man,” he said quietly.
With steely resolve, the pair headed downstairs into the common room, which was now packed with people since nightfall. A haze of smoke hung over the room from a hearth that was working too hard to provide warmth to the cold. So many people filled the room now that it was difficult to move through the masses. How Jamison had never heard all of this noise, he wasn’t sure. It was a testament to just how weary he was.
Over near windows, covered wit
h heavy shutters and also draped with an oil cloth to keep out the cold, Kendrick and Caspian were sitting with another man who seemed quite animated from the way he was waving his hands around. Typical Scots, Jamison thought. The Scots he knew often used their hands to talk, passionate in their manner. As he and Beaux came upon the table, Kendrick and Caspian caught sight of them. Caspian reached over and yanked a couple of stools away from the nearest table to provide them with somewhere to sit.
The Scotsman, seeing that Beaux had returned with an enormous red-haired man, grinned up at the pair.
“Ooch,” he said, looking Jamison up and down. “Did ye bring a giant wid’ ye, then?”
Beaux pulled up a stool and sat, as did Jamison. Jamison wedged himself in between Kendrick and Caspian because there wasn’t room anywhere else. Also, he wanted to keep a distance from the Scotsman should the urge to throttle the man strike him.
“This is the next chief of one o’ the biggest clans in the Highlands,” Beaux said. “I wanted him tae hear that ye’re recruiting men tae fight wit’ the Welsh. Is there money involved, then?”
The Scotsman shrugged, his eyes lingering on Jamison, purely impressed with the man’s size. “I could pay ye,” he agreed. “I have somethin’ of value I could give ye. But ye can also have what ye can take from the castle should we breech it.”
“Four Crosses?” Jamison confirmed.
The Scotsman nodded. “Yer friend told ye?”
“He did.”
“What’s yer name, Man Mountain?”
“What’s yers?”
The Scotsman grinned, showing deeply yellowed teeth. “Horace McCulloch,” he said proudly. “I’ve been tellin’ yer friends that me brother and I have been wid’ the Welsh for about a year now. They hired us tae train their men because most Welsh are wild fighters, not givin’ tae anything organized. Most of Madog’s men are tae the north, but some of us are in the south. Madog wants the Sassenach lairds out of Wales and they’re as thick as fleas down in the south.”
Jamison could hardly believe what he was hearing, especially so early in the conversation. The speculating on the Scots having schooled the Welsh in Scots tactics was being proven in the most unexpected of places. The theory of Scots among the Welsh had been a very big question, indeed, in the early days after the most recent battle at Four Crosses and now he was discovering he’d been correct all along. Scots had very much been present, mercenaries for hire.
It was an astonishing realization.
“They are, indeed,” Jamison replied. “We’ve been seein’ them everywhere during the course o’ our travels along the Marches.”
Horace shook his head in disgust, gulping sloppily of his drink and evidently forgetting that he’d received no answer as to Jamison’s name. “Everywhere,” he agreed. “I’m told the lot o’ ye are comin’ from France.”
So that was the backstory Horace had been given by Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian. It was something Jamison was happy to confirm. “More fighting there,” he said. “They hate the Sassenach, too.”
Horace snorted. “We have a chance tae take back a castle that has belonged tae the English for years,” he said. “Madog’s men are very interested it – they want tae use it as a base against the English along the Marches, so ’tis an important location for them.”
Even more information was pouring forth out of the drunk man’s lips. Shocked, Jamison didn’t dare look at his friends. He kept his focus on Horace.
“I see,” he said. “Where is the castle?”
“About a half-day’s ride from here.”
Jamison was pleased to increasingly throw the man off of their trail, their true purpose for being in Wales. He was cunning, playing ignorant.
“Do ye have more men, then?” he asked. “Did ye come alone?”
Horace nodded. “I’ve sent the men I’ve been able tae gather on tae the Welsh, who are just south of Caereinion,” he said. “But I’m not a leader. ’Tis some of Madog’s men and then some men who live locally are leadin’ the fight. Most o’ the rebel army went home for one reason or another, so I was sent tae recruit men tae fight again. Men I’ll have tae train again, the lazy bastards.”
He was drunkenly rambling now, spouting off about things that didn’t make much sense. Jamison decided to look at his friends, then, who were all gazing back him with fairly emotionless demeanors. It was clear that they were looking to him to make any decisions since he was so deeply involved in the situation. Jamison knew what Horace had already been told, which made it easy for him to build on. He looked at Beaux.
“Well?” he said. “Can we spare some time tae destroy the Sassenach?”
Beaux grinned. “Always.”
Jamison looked back at Horace. “How soon do ye need us?”
Horace was thrilled. “Now,” he said, slamming his cup on the table and splashing what was left of it onto the old tabletop. He lowered his voice. “I’ve been four days lookin’ for men but I canna look no longer. The plans are set tae charge Four Crosses soon and they’ll be a-wantin’ ye. We can leave this place at first light and head to Caereinion.”
Jamison nodded, pondering what the evening had brought, pondering what was to come. A return to Four Crosses, he thought ominously. But the fact remained that they needed to send word to the castle about their discovery. It would be simple enough to send Caspian or Kendrick, and they could tell Horace that the men had deserted the cause. That part of the plan would have to be executed fairly soon if the Welsh were planning on moving on Four Crosses as fast as Horace said they were going to. Beyond that, Jamison thought on what Horace had just said. He didn’t want to make it seem like they were too eager to go with him, fearful it might look suspicious.
“But ye have tae make it worth me while,” he said. “If we help ye, what do we get from it?”
Horace’s dark eyes glittered at him. “I have somethin’ for ye,” he said. “I was going tae keep it for meself, but I’ll give it tae ye. It’ll make yer night worthwhile, anyway.”
He stumbled from his chair, staggering across the dirt floor of the common room and into a ground-floor doorway. He passed through it, disappearing from view, and Jamison turned to the men at the table.
“What more has he told ye about this?” he hissed quickly, afraid that Horace would return all too soon. “Anything else about the strength of the Welsh? How many men he was able tae recruit?”
Caspian and Kendrick shook their heads. “Nothing,” Caspian said. “He has been very vague about strengths which either means he doesna want tae brag or he has very little at all.”
Beaux snorted. “Since when does a Scotsman not want tae brag?” he whispered loudly. “I’d wager tae say he hardly has anyone.”
“But a force is gatherin’ against Four crosses,” Jamison said. “Even if the three of ye dunna want tae go with me, I must go and see the size of the force and send a message tae Four Crosses.”
Beaux shook his head. “If ye go, we go wit’ ye,” he said firmly. “Ye know that, Jamie. We’d not leave ye alone with that drunken Scotsmen and a gang of wild Welshmen. Ye might get yerself intae trouble.”
He was grinning as he said it, causing Jamison to put a hand on his shoulder and give him a good shake. “Ye bastard,” Jamison growled, feigning irritation. But he soon sobered, looking at the others. “Then we do this together?”
Caspian and Kendrick nodded. “Together,” they said in unison. Kendrick continued. “Ye’re going tae need help if ye’re going tae do what I think ye’re going tae do.”
“What is that?” Jamison asked.
The humor faded from Kendrick’s face. “Save Four Crosses.”
It was the truth. They all knew it. There had never been any question as to what Jamison was going to do with this information or how he was going to react. With a heavy sigh, Jamison dropped his hand from Beaux’s shoulder.
“This could get ugly, lads,” he said. “Are ye sure ye want tae risk it?”
Caspian’s eyes narrowed
. “’Tis the Welsh that are takin’ the risk,” he said. “The four o’ us in battle again… ’twill be a mighty sight, Jamie.”
Jamison smiled faintly at his friend, thinking on the potential of facing a battle together, united. Each man was a powerful knight in his own right, something the Welsh would soon find out. But there was much planning to do beforehand, something they would have to find some private time to speak about. They couldn’t do it here where others might hear. Already, their discussion was risky.
Therefore, they turned back to their wine and, in the case of Kendrick and Caspian, the food they had been eating. There had been a meal spread out on the table when Horace had approached them. Jamison was just pouring himself the last of the cooling wine in the pitcher when Horace finally emerged from the door he had recently disappeared into.
Jamison happened to look up, seeing that Horace was motioning to him frantically. Curious, he stood up but Beaux stopped him.
“Wait,” he said. “I’m a-goin’ wit’ ye. Ye’ll not go alone with that snake.”
Jamison patted him on the shoulder. “The day I canna handle a man like that is the day I surrender me sword for a weaving loom and a skirt,” he said. “Let me see what the fool wants.”
Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian watched him cross the floor, each man suspicious of Horace’s motives, but Jamison was confident. One hand to Horace’s neck and he could easily snap it, so he wasn’t worried. He followed Horace back through the doorway into what was a dark, narrow corridor with two doors off of it. The floors leaned, throwing Jamison off balance a bit. Horace went to the last door and put his hand on the latch.
“I’m done wid’ it,” he said. “Ye can have it from now on. Consider it payment for yer services against the English.”
Jamison frowned. “Have what?”
Horace’s reply was to open the door. He pushed it open, revealing a small chamber beyond with a small hearth, glowing, a tiny bed, and a chair. But there was something on the chair. Peering closely at it through the darkness, he could see that it was a small figure. A woman. He could see long, dark hair but not much else because the woman was gagged and tied to the chair. She was sitting in the shadows. His frown turned into a scowl.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 89
