Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “That is for my father to say,” he said after a moment. “But you must understand that whatever he decides, it will be for the best.”

  Havilland’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning away. “When will your father come?” she asked. “Jamison sent for him many days ago.”

  Tobias nodded. “I know,” he said. “But you must allow that, in this weather, it took Brend at least four days to reach Lioncross Abbey, possibly more. Then he has to tell my father what is happening and my father will muster his troops. Things like this do not happen overnight. It has not yet been two weeks since Brend left but rest assured, my father will come.”

  Havilland was looking at the road leading from the gatehouse, perhaps imagining the last time she saw Jamison as he rode from the castle. It reminded her of the last day she saw him and of the deeds he did before he left.

  “And my sisters?” she asked. “What will you tell him about Madeline?”

  Tobias looked at her. “I thought you would tell me what you wanted me to tell him.”

  “Then you will not tell him the truth?”

  Tobias shrugged. “The truth is that she ran off and we have not seen her,” he said. “Isn’t that the truth?”

  Havilland nodded, starting to soften towards him a little. “That is true,” she said. “And Amaline….”

  “Amaline has no idea where Madeline is.”

  “Nay, she does not, but….”

  “There is nothing more to tell him about Amaline,” he said, cutting her off. “Truthfully, Havilland, what will we tell him? That Madeline was spying and Amaline released her sister from the vault so she could run straight to the Welsh? The situation is already over. Madeline is already back with the Welsh and they already know what they know. Telling my father how they know it will not change things. I simply see no need to incriminate Amaline for her sister’s actions. There is no point.”

  Havilland sighed heavily, greatly relieved by the conversation. She had yet to speak to Tobias about the situation since Jamison left and was pleased to see that Tobias wasn’t willing to implicate Madeline or Amaline at this point. It eased her attitude towards him, just a little.

  “Amaline is very sorry for what she did,” she said. “She is young and easily manipulated. She understands what she did is wrong. Keeping her in the vault for those few days terrified her so I doubt she will do anything so stupid ever again.”

  Tobias lifted his eyebrows. “Let us hope not,” he said. “And you? How are you faring after Madeline and Amaline’s little adventures?”

  Havilland shrugged. “I am well,” she said, lying through her teeth. “There is nothing I can do about anything, in any case. We must go on.”

  Tobias’ gaze lingered on her for a moment. When he finally spoke, it was hesitantly. “Havilland, I will not pretend that I do not know about you and Jamison,” he said quietly. “He told me that you two were to marry and from what I gather now with all that has happened, that will not take place. I just wanted to say that I admire Jamison a great deal. He is a great man. I am sorry if you are hurt by his return to Scotland, but you must understand that a man like Jamison Munro… he does not belong to himself. That is to say, he belongs to his clan. To Scotland. He was never his own man, able to make his own decisions, no matter what he told you.”

  Havilland was embarrassed to speak of such things to Tobias. She was terribly uncomfortable with the subject. “He… he will make a great chief,” she said, now suddenly uneasy to speak to Tobias. She didn’t want to elaborate on what he’d said, fearful she might break down. “If you will excuse me, I must see to the gatehouse.”

  She was fumbling for a reason to leave, heading towards the ladder that led down to the bailey, but Tobias stopped her.

  “Havilland, wait,” he said quickly. “I am sorry. I did not mean to chase you away and I am aware this is none of my concern, but I just wanted you to know that I am my own man. I can make my own decisions. So when the time comes for you, when you are ready to consider such things… remember that.”

  So, he’d spelled it out. He was, in fact, interested in her. But Havilland wasn’t interested in him. She couldn’t even think of such things. In fact, she was angry at him for even bringing it up.

  “I will never again consider such things,” she told him sternly. “Tobias, I consider you a friend but nothing more. I do not wish to ever discuss this again.”

  Tobias could see that she was agitated and it was his fault, he knew. He’d been too soon after Jamison’s departure with making his feelings known. Struggling to make up for his clumsy attempt, both he and Havilland were distracted by a sudden commotion at the gatehouse.

  They could hear men calling to each other and the sounds of the iron chains as they lifted the portcullises. Curious, Havilland quickly descended the ladder with Tobias right behind her. They made their way into the gatehouse just as a patrol was returning.

  But this was no ordinary return. The patrol was riding at high speed, hitting the gatehouse so fast that men had to jump out of the way. The leader of the patrol was yelling for the portcullises to be lowered, frantic in his manner, and Havilland and Tobias ran to the man as he pulled his frothing steed to a halt. Tobias grabbed the reins of the excited animal as Havilland narrowly avoided being stepped on by the beast.

  “What is it, Cynfric?” she called to the man. “What has happened?”

  The soldier was an older man, quite winded and red in the face. He dismounted his horse, nearly falling in his haste.

  “Welsh, my lady,” he said, pointing to the east. “We saw them as we were making our rounds; hundreds of them in the trees to the east, making ladders and God knows what else. They were building and building.”

  Stunned, Havilland’s mouth flew open. “And we are just now seeing them?” she asked, exasperated. “Are they so close?”

  Cynfric nodded. “They were not there at dawn when we went out,” he told her. “They are about a mile to the east, near the River Banwy. The must have come up the river’s path from the south, using the trees as cover.”

  Havilland could feel that familiar sense of fear grip her, the same sense of fear and excitement she experienced every time a Welsh attack was imminent. Now, it comes, she thought grimly.

  “Did they see you?” she asked.

  The soldier nodded. “They chased us as far as the rise just to the east and then they left off,” he said. “I suppose they wanted us to warn you.”

  Havilland looked at Tobias. “Because they have nothing to fear,” she said, apprehension in her voice. “They are building ladders with hundreds of men. You said it was to be a full moon tonight, did you not?”

  Tobias was calmer than she was, at least on the outside. “Aye,” he replied. “They know that the mist will not come tonight, either, and they are going to use it to their advantage.”

  “Attack when the moon rises?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  It was a familiar strategy, used by armies for thousands of years. By the moonlight, the land would be as bright as day and much could be seen. Havilland had been through this drill many times but she found herself sorely wishing Jamison was here. The last time the Welsh attacked the walls, he stood on the fighting platforms and threw men back over the walls, pushing down entire ladders all by himself. He had been a sight to behold in battle. Aye, they were going to sorely miss him on this night. In fact, she was starting to feel the least bit panicky about it. She turned back to the soldier.

  “Take your mounts back to the stables and tell the grooms what is coming,” she said. “Have them soak the wood and cover the hay. And have them move the horses to the kitchen yard.”

  The soldier nodded and was off, running with the rest of his patrol back to the stables to begin helping with the livestock. As the man ran off, Tobias turned to Havilland.

  “If you will ensure the keep and hall are secured, I will find Thad and we will secure the walls and the gatehouse,” he said. “I will send Ama
line to you when I see her.”

  Havilland nodded, turning towards the keep. It helped keep her panic at bay to think of the tasks that lay ahead of her. She had to secure her father, the keep, and then move to the hall where there were still a few wounded from the last battle they had faced, men who were slow to recover. Tonight would see those men joined by many others, freshly wounded fighting off yet another Welsh attack. She knew this moment would come but she had hoped it wouldn’t come too soon. If ever they needed help against an attack, tonight would be it.

  Fighting down an impending sense of doom, she went about her duties, praying she would live to see the sun rise.

  Jamison… where are you?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  *

  “I hope that is the last thing

  ye remember….”

  *

  Jamison had been on the other side of a Welsh attack, fighting against what he’d considered unorganized and untrained men. Now, he was with the enemy he had thought so little of and he had to admit that it was quite interesting to watch.

  They weren’t unorganized or untrained. More than that, he’d come late to a battle that had started just after sunset, when the moon rose full and bright in the sky. By the time he and his friends had arrived, the attack on Four Crosses was already in motion. Beneath a brilliant white moon nestled in a sky of black silk and diamonds, the castle was lit up as if someone had turned a million candles onto it.

  But it was more than the moonlight creating illumination. There were far more Welsh than Jamison had expected and many of them were carrying torches. At the gatehouse, men had piled wood against the first of the two portcullises and a massive bonfire lit up the night, a fire intended to weaken the old iron so the Welsh could push through. Then there would be a second portcullis to soften and weaken, but with the amount of wood they’d cut down from a neighboring forest, they had the fuel.

  Jamison was worried about it the moment he arrived.

  It was difficult to drink everything in and not be alarmed by it. All he could think of was Havilland within those walls, fighting for her life. Dressed in tunics, breeches, and heavy mail as well as his helm, Jamison stood with Beaux and Caspian and Kendrick, watching as a giant battering ram on wheels was rolled out from the forest where the Welsh had built the ladders and cut down all of the firewood. Conscripts rolled the battering ram down the road on unsteady wheels, heading for the gatehouse with the bonfire. Soon enough, the iron would weaken to the point where they could use the ram to bend and damage the iron.

  It was truly a sight to see.

  “I had no idea they were so organized,” Caspian hissed, watching the castle and the fires with concern. “Battering rams? Fires tae burn the portcullis? And look at the ladders – Jamie, they’re all over the walls. Surely they have breached the castle by now.”

  That was Jamison’s thought as well as he looked over the chaos. And it was truly frenzied, something far worse than the battle he’d participated in those weeks ago. There were Welsh everywhere.

  “This is hell,” he muttered. “In the last battle against Four Crosses, it was raining so heavily there could be no fires. This night has seen Welsh tactics change dramatically.”

  The four of them watched as more men with ladders moved past them. Jamison, in particular, watched the ladders move towards the castle, wondering if a man who mounted that ladder would be the one to kill Havilland. He knew he simply couldn’t stand by and wait for that to happen, waiting for Havilland to end up on the end of a sword, or worse. Beaux interrupted those gloomy thoughts.

  “There are more than hundreds of men here,” he said. “Horace said he’d only recruited a few hundred but there are thousands here. Where did all o’ these men come from?”

  Jamison shook his head. “They must have combed the entire country for them,” he said, looking around. “We must find a ladder and gain access immediately. Four Crosses will need all the help they can get in the face of this madness.”

  The others wholeheartedly agreed. “Let me move the horses tae an area away from this where we can recover them after the battle,” Kendrick said. “I dunna want tae leave me new horse for the Welsh tae collect when they realize I’ve fought agin’ them.”

  Jamison waved the man on. “Do it,” he said. “We’ll head tae the north side o’ the castle and find a ladder there. Come when ye finish.”

  “I will.”

  “Hurry, lad. There’s no time tae waste.”

  The men split off, losing themselves in the hundreds and hundreds of men that were moving towards the castle, swarming on it like flies. So many men that it was difficult to comprehend. Jamison, Beaux, and Caspian found themselves running for the castle but realizing, as they drew close, that Four Crosses had archers on the battlements that were sailing projectiles into the men below. Given that Jamison knew how much ammunition Four Crosses had for their archers, he was fairly certain they would run out of arrows soon.

  But arrows were flying in both directions, sailing from the castle but also into it. Those arrows, if possible, would be reused. Still, Jamison and Beaux and Caspian couldn’t get too close to the castle at this point without cover from the great wooden shields that had been made by the Welsh to protect their own archers on the ground.

  To get the archers close enough, the Welsh had to move within striking range, so they’d constructed big shields of woven tree branches and held in place by soldiers to allow the archers to hide behind them. The Welsh could move up very close to the castle holding those shields and they had, so the Welsh archers, some of the best in the world, could sail their spiny arrows into Four Crosses at close range. The ground next to the walls was littered with Four Crosses men who had fallen from the battlements, pierced by Welsh arrows.

  While Jamison tucked up behind one of shields so he could get close enough to get to some of the ladders propped up on the walls, Beaux found shelter behind another big shield but they both lost sight of Caspian. Jamison couldn’t worry about Caspian, however, as the man was quite seasoned, and with arrows flying all around, he was only concerned for himself at the moment. In fact, he moved forward and took hold of one of those massive shields, usually a job for two men, and held it aloft, moving ever closer to the walls.

  But he couldn’t get close enough because now the inhabitants of Four Crosses were starting to pour boiling water down upon their attackers. Four Crosses had two wells, both of them plentiful, so boiling the water and pouring it down on the Welsh could go on for quite some time. It was an effective strategy. Hot water dumped from above would quickly saturate the men below and scald them, not hot enough to do any serious damage but certain enough to hurt and burn.

  Better still, the Four Crosses defenders were dropping fairly big rocks on people’s heads and the ground near the gatehouse was scattered with men with head injuries. They were putting up an excellent fight and Jamison knew that somewhere behind those walls, Havilland was part of it. He had never been more proud of the woman.

  And more terrified for her.

  As he tried to make another push forward to get to a ladder, he heard someone call out from behind but he didn’t know it was for him until an archer tugged on his tunic. Only then did he turn to see that the great battering ram had made it up the road and was nearing the gatehouse.

  Horace was helping about a dozen men push the battering ram but he was trying to get Jamison’s attention. When Jamison finally looked at the man, Horace motioned at him to come close. Frustrated to be diverted from what he’d been trying to accomplish, Jamison turned the shield over to the men he’d stolen it from and dashed back to Horace, trying to stay clear of the flying arrows.

  “What do ye want?” he demanded.

  Horace motioned him to a push bar right in front of him, one of the many that the men were using to push the battering ram. “We need yer strength, man,” he said. “Help us push this beast forward. The fire has been burnin’ long enou’ that the iron should be soft.”


  Jamison ducked under the shielding presence of the battering ram, peering out from it to gain a good look at the gatehouse. “How long has the fire been burnin’?”

  Horace had come to the Four Crosses with Jamison and the others but they’d lost sight of them once they had arrived. Now, here he was, leading the charge with the battering ram. He grunted and pushed as he answered Jamison’s question.

  “I’m told they started the fire several hours ago,” he said. “Long enou’ tae soften the iron. And I’m told that a section of the damaged wall tae the south has collapsed, so men are already inside. We need tae break down the portcullis tae help those inside. We’ll have this fortress in Welsh hands my mornin’!”

  Jamison tried not to react to the news. The south wall has collapsed. That was the wall they had been rebuilding, the one that had suffered some damage in previous attacks. Now it was down again and men were inside the castle. That was all Jamison needed to hear.

  He broke away from pushing the battering ram, dodging arrow as he made his way around to the south side of the fortress where he did, indeed, see that a damaged section of wall had given way. There were ladders near it and as he watched, men were climbing inside, pushing aside more stones and causing more damage to the wall.

  Jamison struggled not to let panic overtake him. All he could think of was getting to Havilland, of protecting her, and he fought his way through several Welshmen to reach the base of one of the ladders. It was an unsteady piece of construction but he didn’t care. He didn’t even know if it would hold his weight as he began to climb, straining up the ladder, pushing one Welshman out of the way who wasn’t climbing fast enough. The man went hurling to the ground as Jamison continued on, straining to reach that gap where men were gaining access to the castle.

  But the ladder he was on, ultimately, wasn’t strong enough to hold his weight. It was creaking and groaning, finally cracking, and once he reached the gap, the entire ladder gave way and he found himself hanging by his fingertips against broken stone. He nearly lost his grip but he struggled against it, grabbing at the stone and meeting with the soft mortar that had allowed it to fail.