For King and Country (Battle Scars Book 2)

by Charlene Newcomb

  “Sir Stephan.”

  “Good morrow, my lady.”

  She watched Robert, glancing sidelong at Stephan. “I’d no chance to thank you yesterday for comforting Henry. Does he suffer like that often?”

  “War leaves more than scars on the body.” He looked for signs she had seen nothing more than one person soothing away another’s bad dreams. He hoped Henry was right.

  “Henry always seemed so strong.”

  “He is,” Stephan said, turning an intense gaze on her. “Do not doubt that. He is a brave man. But there are times when dreams conquer our thoughts like an invading army. Day and night. The dreams are as real as you standing next to me.”

  “Even for you?”

  Stephan looked at the mist rising off the pasture. He recalled his conversation with Queen Joanna in Acre. He’d not told her of his own nightmares. Losing Henry—that is my fear. He could not let Bea see his pain. “There are some moments I try to forget.”

  “Forgive me. I should not ask you to think on the horrors you saw.” She touched her hand lightly to his sleeve. “I am glad you have been there to help Henry. You saved his life. God must have sent you to watch over him, like an angel.”

  Stephan couldn’t help but laugh. Bea drew back, surprised.

  “I am sorry.” He blushed and scuffled his boot in the dirt. She might not like it, but he would be honest. “If you knew my thoughts on God and the Church, you’d not say that.”

  Bea crossed herself. “We should be mindful of our souls every day. You must find comfort knowing the mere act of taking the Cross secures your place in Heaven.”

  “I went on pilgrimage for the king, my lady. I try to do what is right. I treat people well. If there is a God, a heaven or a hell, I believe I will be judged by what I do here whilst I live.”

  Bea raised an eyebrow but smiled. “Might I still thank God for you? Pray for you?”

  Across the yard, Henry stepped outside from the manor, his brow creased with concern. “Henry and I can both use your prayers,” Stephan said as Henry lifted his hand in greeting to the tanner’s wife and the girls at the well and walked towards Bea and Stephan.

  Rubbing his pinched brow and not even offering a good morrow to Bea, Henry said, “Father barely touched his breakfast. He had no desire to get out of bed. The drink. This malaise. Should we send for a healer? Have him bled?”

  “Wait a day or two. It will pass.” Bea had seen their father descend into this place many times while Henry had been on pilgrimage. “What are your plans for the day?”

  “Stephan and I are off to Ringsthorpe to see if Robin needs our help.”

  Bea laughed. “I imagine Robin will survive any rebuke from his father.” She looked towards Robert and turned serious, her voice low. “But Marian? He must do right by her. If she’ll have him.” She saw Robert watching her and changed the subject. “Stephan, when will you leave us?”

  Stephan noticed the dread tingeing Henry’s face. Christ, how he wanted to pull Henry into his arms. Leaving each other. It would come too soon. And there was nothing they could do to stop that.

  Before Stephan could respond, Henry turned to Bea and said, “As you’ve brought the question, we will be off to Boston on wool business. Father suggested you accompany us. We shall stay the night at Westorby on the way there. My heart is heavy when I think of seeing Alys’ family.” He reached for her hand. “To have you at my side would be a great comfort.”

  “Of course,” Bea said, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

  “From Boston, Stephan and I will accompany you to Cartholme.”

  “I should like that.” Bea’s gaze swept from Henry to Stephan.

  Henry cleared his throat. “It allows us more time together before Stephan and I go to Yorkshire.”

  “Facing friends and family. You must find strength in numbers,” Bea teased.

  “It is a habit that becomes ingrained, my lady,” Stephan said. “We keep watch on each other.”

  “I thought it was to guard against enemies.”

  Stephan turned serious. “Who is to say who is friend and who is foe?”

  “It is hard to tell in these times,” Henry agreed.

  “Then it is a good time for new alliances.” Bea slid her arm through Henry’s and they walked towards his horse. “You will like Elle Weston. She would be a good match.”

  “Not you, too?” Henry groaned. “Leave it be. I will not be pushed into an arranged marriage.”

  “I will see you married, dear brother. Mayhap you’ll have the luck I did not. If Elle is not to your liking, I shall plan a huge feast. I’ll invite all the eligible young ladies from York to London. A gathering at Cartholme to celebrate after the harvest.”

  Henry pulled himself away from her, frustrated that she had taken up their father’s cause.

  A glower must have darkened Stephan’s face because Bea quickly added, “You shall be invited as well, Stephan. We must have music and dancing. You do like to dance?” She cast him a hopeful look through her long lashes. “You will be impressed with Cartholme.”

  Her words flew fast, her smile so sweet. She was flirting! When other women played courtly games, Stephan was at ease being the courtier, but this was Henry’s sister. He felt both flattered and flabbergasted. His courtly charms evaporated and he could only nod. Bea’s Cartholme would appeal to any hearth knight with land and wealth on his mind. He would need to feign indifference, not lead her on, and hope she’d not take that as a challenge.

  But poor Henry. Bea and Edward would not let up on him.

  The thought of Henry marrying, in bed with a woman—with anyone—tore at Stephan’s heart. A wife. He turned to untie his horse from the post, gripping the reins so tightly the animal butted his arm. That word—wife. Sharp, like a dagger dragged down his chest, plunging into his soul. Would Henry ever convince them he would not marry?

  Henry mounted without a word and urged his horse down the road. Stephan swung into his saddle and bid good day to Bea. He and Henry cantered towards Ringsthorpe leaving Greyton’s cottages behind. Young Marcus waved his staff at them as he encouraged his flock to grasses further south and east.

  Once out of earshot, Henry slowed. His fisted hands rested on the pommel of his saddle. “What are you saying to Bea?”

  “Nothing, I swear.” Stephan stroked his horse’s neck. “You’d best find her a husband. And soon.”

  Henry scowled. “She need not settle for just anyone. I am glad she likes you, but I shall do my best to discourage her advances.”

  Stephan reined in. Henry twisted in the saddle and then pulled up on Soleil. “What is wrong?”

  “You must tell Bea.”

  “I told you…I will not.” The sun drew behind a cloud and shadows fell across Henry’s face. “No one here will understand.”

  Stephan nudged his horse closer to Henry until their legs brushed. “What is there to understand about love?”

  Henry leaned in, slid his hand around Stephan’s neck. He kissed him deeply.

  Stephan pulled away reluctantly. “We have another problem,” he said. “Sarah.”

  “Is she in love with you, too?” Henry quipped.

  “I wish it were that simple,” Stephan said. “I would lay bets she is spying on your father, and now on you. She was far too familiar with Captain Burford. And Mary was giving him the evil eye. She might confirm the girl is getting coin, mayhap more, from the captain.”

  “Is she his whore? To what end? What would Sarah have to tell John’s supporters?”

  “Your father’s loyalties?” Stephan shrugged. “Especially now that his crusader son has returned from serving King Richard.”

  Henry groaned. “She might have overheard our arguments. She’ll know the inspection of the cargo was not to ensure its safety for Count John. I shall speak with her when we return.”

  “I have a better idea.” When Henry looked askance, Stephan said, “Allan. He has a way to charm every woman he meets. This sounds like a task for hi
m.”

  Henry managed a smile. “God bless Allan.” He spurred Soleil northward.

  Stephan caught up quickly. They raced with the wind in their faces. The sun warmed their backs until the de Grey pastureland was swallowed by lush forest of tall birch and oak.

  *

  The road into Ringsthorpe was not much more than a path, barely wide enough for two riders traveling side by side. Henry had not come to the village often and did not remember it looking so worn. The carpenter’s shop and shared barn looked well kept. The only thing out of place was the storehouse. It had not been part of the landscape when he’d left for Outremer and he was sure it did not serve the village’s needs, the barn being more than adequate to house harnesses, plows, and other tools.

  Drawing rein next to Stephan, Henry remained in the saddle to study the building. Many trees had been felled to provide space and materials for it. He imagined William Carpenter had overseen the work, cutting the timber himself.

  As Stephan paced from one end of the structure to the other, a shout echoed from the carpenter’s shop and Robin strode up to greet Henry. William Carpenter looked on and Allan and a young lad brushed past him, trailing in Robin’s wake. William grasped the boy’s sleeve and pressed him into a bow before hurrying him back into the shop.

  “The news is not good, my friends.” Robin pointed to beams stacked waist-high near Carpenter’s workbench as Henry dismounted. “Stone throwers.”

  “My own peasants building weapons to use against King Richard,” Henry snapped. Surely his father knew. Fuming, he stalked up to the storehouse kicking dirt and stone from his path.

  Henry wrenched the lock of the thick oaken door. The queen might order troops to seize the materials and he wasn’t naive enough to believe her men would only sack the storehouse. He could see fires blazing on the cottages’ thatched roofs, farm tools shattered, fields ruined. Destroying the lives of his people. Was there anything he might do to stop it?

  Robin grabbed his arm. “There’s more, Henry. Your father has the key.”

  Henry fell against the building. “God’s wounds.” What else would he learn of his father’s involvement with Count John?

  “There is a solution to this,” Stephan said. “We break into the storehouse and steal it all.”

  “And move it where? And with what?” Henry asked.

  Robin gnawed on his lip and considered. “We would need many wagons.”

  “I doubt we would find enough between here and Grantham to cart away the contents of this building. Even if we did, can you imagine a supply train rumbling along the old Roman road?” Henry looked eastward, frowning at a memory of Outremer. “It would be like the king’s army marching along the coast road south of Acre. The enemy saw us then and reported our every move. John’s men here would do the same.”

  Robin’s mouth turned down at the corners. “And you know who would be blamed for allowing the thieves to take the stone throwers.”

  “So we let Count John stockpile his weapons and do nothing?” Stephan asked, exchanging glances with Robin and Henry.

  A woman with a young child hanging at her skirts was at the well. She was singing, filling her bucket with water. Henry didn’t recognize her, but she was his villein. His family. William had come outside again, giving orders to his boys. How they’d grown. Thomas looked so much like Robin that Henry gaped, but his heart ached, thinking of what might come and how powerless he was to protect them.

  Robin stared, watching the boys heft a beam from the worktable to pile with the others. “We need not find wagons,” he finally said, a grin spreading across his face. “We let Count John’s men move his goods.”

  Henry gave Robin a curious look, saw the gleam in his eye. Suddenly, his confusion disappeared. “King’s men can intercept the provisions far enough from Ringsthorpe and Greyton that the villagers could not be blamed.”

  “And we shall find a place nearby to hold the weapons.” Robin clapped his hands. “Should John’s men want another fight at Nottingham, we’ll greet them with their own stone throwers within a day.” He grabbed Henry and Stephan, ringed Allan into their circle, and ignored the stares from his father and the boys.

  Thomas and David had grabbed a second beam, but Thomas was too focused on Robin and not watching where he walked. Stumbling, he dropped his end of the load and fell, his head smacking into the timber.

  William barely looked up from his workbench and growled. “Get up!”

  Thomas lifted his head. Blood streamed down his pale face and his head flopped back to the ground.

  William gasped. “Linota!” he shouted.

  Robin rushed to Thomas’ side grabbing a cloth from his father’s workbench. He pressed it to Thomas’ forehead as William looked on.

  “Thomas?” Robin called quietly.

  Standing over them, David asked, “Is he all right?”

  At the sound of David’s voice, Thomas’ eyes fluttered open.

  “I think so. Tell your ma to bring water and a clean cloth.” Robin brushed Thomas’ hair away from the cut. The cloth had already soaked through with blood, but the bleeding appeared to slow. “Lie still,” he told Thomas. “Let’s turn you to your back. Make sure you’ve not broken a finger.”

  “Finger?” Thomas croaked. He grinned, but was clearly in pain.

  “Get him up,” William said. “We’ve work to do.”

  “William Carpenter,” Linota snapped as she knelt beside her son, “the boy could be concussed. Let me clean up the blood so we can have a look at the cut. Go on now,” she told David. “Help your da with the timber.”

  Robin gently inspected Thomas’ arms, legs, and torso under the watchful eyes of several villagers. Thomas winced at his mother’s prodding. Linota finished wrapping a strip of linen round his head. Satisfied, she signaled Robin to carry the boy to the cottage.

  Henry watched them, frowning.

  “What is it?” Stephan asked.

  “If we intercept John’s caravan on its way to Nottingham—”

  “Not us. The Marshal’s knights. Chester and Huntingdon’s men.”

  “And John will figure spies informed the king’s men that the supplies were on the road. Spies. Me.” Henry swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “They will tie it back to the men who serve King Richard, and then they will kill every man, woman, child, and beast that live on my land. They’ll destroy every cottage. Nothing will remain. Not even a blade of grass.”

  Stephan laid his hand on Henry’s arm. “We do not know John’s mind, and surely he knows the king has many eyes about the country. Do we have another choice, or is this a risk we must take? For the king.”

  Henry nodded reluctantly. He’d once told Stephan that if Count John won this struggle they would have nothing but the forest. He was no longer certain that was true. They might have nothing. Nothing at all.

  It was midday when Henry and the king’s men trotted into Greyton. Villagers were returning from the fields. Their children scampered around the courtyard playing blind-man, but paused to bow. The smith waved a fiery rod in greeting to Henry. The potter had an armful of pottery and the two-wheeled cart in front of his shop was near overflowing. He’d be off to Grantham at first light to sell his wares for market day.

  Robin had not stopped plotting the wheres and hows of intercepting and storing Ringsthorpe’s stone throwers while they’d ridden back. “Huntingdon will know the roads well,” he said as Robert ran from the stables to see to their mounts. Little John followed a horse’s head behind. Robin nodded to Robert, and then twisted in his saddle. “Allan, bets? The earl will name a place where stores could be hidden before I can blink.”

  “You would win that bet,” Allan said.

  Stephan brushed the dust of the road from his chausses and dismounted. “Count John’s supporters will start the fight again when they discover provisions missing. The truce will die.” He handed his reins to Little John. “The queen will have no choice but to divert silver back to besieging John’s
castles.”

  “And stopping that supply line from Boston,” Henry added. Hopefully no where near Greyton, he thought, swallowing hard.

  Robin swung down from his horse. “Queen Eleanor must decide if she’s willing to risk civil war. Mayhap she has another way to rein in her son.”

  Robert took Bandy’s reins from Robin’s outstretched hand. “Might I help, Sir Robin? If you search for a place to—”

  Robin mussed the boy’s hair. “Your mother would have my hide.”

  Robert wouldn’t be put off. “There’s an empty barn off the Nottingham Road. Can’t see it for the trees.”

  Robin glanced at Henry who gave an imperceptible nod.

  “What are you doing that far from home?” Robin asked.

  The image of Robin as a worried parent made Henry smile. Robin must have forgotten the things he’d done when he was a lad.

  Robert scoffed, but added cheekily, “It’s just south through the pastures, sir.”

  “Is that so?” Robin nodded. “Little John, let Robert show you this place. Huntingdon might not know of it.”

  The boy looked disappointed that Robin wouldn’t be going along. Robin leaned close to him and said, “Keep me out of this for the moment. We do not want your ma thinking I’ve turned you to a king’s man.”

  Robert whipped a finger to his lips. “I will not say a word.”

  “Good. I’ll have a talk with your ma. If it’s well and good with her, you and I will practice bow on the morrow when your chores are done.”

  Robert was about to shout for joy, but Robin laid a hand on his shoulder. “Shh. Not a word.”

  Nodding enthusiastically, Robert led the knights’ horses away. Robin watched him until he disappeared into the barn.

  Allan stretched as he saw Sarah at the cistern chatting with the potter’s wife. “I’m off to do some courtin’,” he said.

  Henry smiled. “At least she has all her teeth,” Allan had quipped when he’d been told their plan. “So you noticed her?” Stephan had asked. Allan’s grin was memorable. “I notice all the girls.” That had been the only thing they’d laughed about on the ride back from Ringsthorpe.