by Tessa Murran
‘Attack by whom?’ said Lord Douglas. ‘We’ve slaughtered our way here, did you notice much resistance? All the clever men will have fled south to join forces with English garrisons at York. You haven’t been with us long, or you would see the reason behind waiting, like Buchanan.’
‘And what, pray, is that?’ asked Banan.
‘That you can accomplish far more by fear, than by force,’ said Lord Douglas. ‘From what I’ve seen of you so far, Banan, I would have thought you already knew that. My reputation is such that they will already fear me, and I want that fear to spread through the castle, like a plague, into the heart of every man, woman and child. It will weaken them when we go for their throat, so they will roll over and show their belly.’
Lyall narrowed his eyes at Banan Macgregor. Always itching for a fight that one. Always wanting to spill blood. There was something of the animal about him, no matter his fine lineage as the son of one of Scotland’s most powerful lairds. Banan brought to mind slithering, creeping things, and Lyall could only ever look on him with revulsion deep in his belly, without really knowing why.
He clutched his horse’s reins hard, to quell the shaking in his hands. It was getting worse, as were the terrible nightmares which fractured his sleep, and it wouldn’t do for his men to see it, or Lord Douglas, for that matter. He had to keep going, be strong, no matter what.
Chapter Three
A warm, summer dawn was seeping into the darkness outside, but Giselle could not seem to get close enough to the fire to stop her shivering.
‘Lady, I must speak.’
‘Don’t, Agnes. Please.’
‘I will say my piece. Look how Edric treats you, striking you like that. Lady, you cannot marry that nasty, fat oaf.’
‘I must, and I should not have been seen like that on the tower.’
‘Don’t make excuses for him, Lady.’
‘Agnes, he was angry and lashed out. I will be more careful around him next time or appeal to Sir Hugh to intervene. Besides, we have bigger concerns than my marriage.’
‘God save us, the Scots will slaughter us all if they get in. I have heard it say they are devils in human form, brutish animals who rape and pillage and are barely men at all. Ugly, hairy barbarians, all of them. They torture their prisoners, boil them alive in lead, throw children from castle walls, carry women off to their hellish land, never to be seen again.’
‘I am sure those are just stories told to frighten us, and perhaps they were just bluffing. It’s been two days, and they have not attacked.’
‘I know what those heathens will do to us, Lady, if we are captured. They have no mercy and no honour. It will be rape and murder for us all. They will take your virtue in an instant, for it means nothing to them. Those Scots animals will make whores and slaves of us. I heard the servants whispering. They say news came of a band of Scots villains raiding on Sir Hugh’s lands, and burning and pillaging, so he sent out his best fighting men to cut them down. Where are they now? Dead - all of them. You said that devil’s tunic was covered in blood, and Black Douglas is said to be the worst of them all. He has no mercy. It is said he even burned his own castle down just to stop King Edward getting his hands on it, and what they found in the well afterwards was monstrous.’
‘What did they find?’
‘Bodies, Lady, well, bits of them at least. Headless corpses, dismembered horses, all rotting down the well, so it was ruined and…’
‘Agnes, stop. Enough. This is not helping. Can you not try to get some sleep at least, it will be dawn soon.’
‘Sleep, so they can murder us all in our beds! I cannot.’
Giselle was out of patience with her servant. They had been talking for hours about their predicament and were no closer to a solution. Giselle was still reeling at Edric’s treatment of her and, sooner or later, she would have to face him. Beyond that, there was the threat of the Scots lurking in the woods, threatening to kill them all.
‘If you cannot sleep, Agnes, at least have mercy on my nerves. Go to the kitchen and get some food, it will help take your mind off our plight.’
A dull thump reverberated around the castle walls, and the sound of shouting rose up from the yard, soft at first, but turning to a rising wave of screaming and horses neighing in panic. Giselle locked eyes with Agnes and rushed to the window. When she flung open the shutters, all was in chaos.
A pile of hay was on fire with the flames licking up against some wooden outbuildings, sending acrid smoke wafting over. It bit into the back of her throat. Flaming arrows hurtled over the battlements landing indiscriminately inside the yard, one seating itself in the chest of a man running with a pail of water to douse the fire. He went down, clutching his chest as the water spilt out onto the dirt, and the flames licked higher.
A white horse had pulled free of its tether, bright against the flickering darkness. It was rearing and running around frantically, knocking men over as they tried to get to the battlements to mount a defence. A group of men braced the gates as another heavy thump shook the big oak doors and sent them heaving inwards and then out again. Surely the Scots could not hope to break through it?
From all around came shouts of anger and panic and the thud of more arrows, landing everywhere. Giselle strained her ears to try and make sense of what was happening. The scrape and clatter of sword on sword was growing louder, and dark shapes were pouring over the walls. One of them sped down to the yard and started firing arrows all around. Why did no one cut him down?
If the Scots had managed to breach the walls, they were doomed. Panic tightened her throat.
‘Agnes, find something, anything we can use as a weapon.’
The servant’s eyes were wide and staring in fear. ‘Sir Hugh will send men to protect us.’ She clutched on to Giselle’s arm, digging her nails in. ‘We must hide in here until the Scots are gone.’
‘Agnes, no one is coming to protect us. We have to fend for ourselves. Listen to me.’
A stray arrow sent fire through the window, inches from their heads. It caught on the drapes around the bed and took hold. Within moments, the fabric was fully ablaze, filling the room with smoke. Giselle tried to douse it with the contents of the piss pot and a water jug but to no avail.
They could not stay here.
Giselle grabbed hold of Agnes and steered her from the chamber in the direction of the stairway.
***
Lyall crouched under the scant protection of his shield and tried hard to protect the head of Owen Sutherland, who had his shoulder against the cart and was pushing it hard, towards the gates. Lyall had to keep his friend alive long enough for the battering ram to do its work, which was not to break the gates, they’d be picked off before they could accomplish that. The ram was merely a diversion to draw men away and leave the weaker parts of the walls vulnerable to the scaling ladders. He prayed Lord Douglas would succeed in getting enough men over the walls soon because they were in mortal danger trying to ram the gates.
The cart gained momentum and hit hard, sending the ram crunching into the wood of the gates. On the recoil, the cart rolled back, crushing the foot of a man who was too slow getting out of the way of the wheel. He shrieked and toppled over and was instantly felled by an arrow from the bailey. They were under heavy fire as most of the castle’s defenders had flocked to protect the gate.
Lyall peered through a gap at the edge of his shield. ‘Archers, lock and be ready,’ he shouted behind him as the men pushed forward again. Just before the gates, Lyall shouted, ‘Loose,’ and his archers emerged from the cover of the shields to send a volley of arrows straight up, striking several men on the bailey.
One fell forwards and landed with a heavy crunch on top of them, buckling the shield wall inwards. Suddenly there was a wet sound, followed by high-pitched shrieking. Lyall felt a speck of something hot and wet eat into his arm, and cursed. Scorching fat, thrown from above, capable of melting a man’s skin off. Several men went down, some running and rolling in the dir
t, much good it would do them, for the fat stuck and continued to burn deep.
Their close formation was breaking up, and they were being picked off one by one, but they couldn’t give up.
‘Brace, men, come together, brace your shields. Now draw back, back I say,’ he yelled. The cart came back slowly, and all the time they were vulnerable, as bang and scrape went the sound of rocks hitting Lyall’s shield as it hovered over Owen’s head.
When they were clear, Owen turned to Lyall. His face was filthy, and he was panting. ‘How much longer? We’ll never get through and we’re losing men?’
‘As long as we have to. Try putting your back into it.’ Lyall turned to the men around him. ‘Move faster this time. Go.’
As the cart lurched forward, the sound of a horn drifted across the castle walls. Lyall lifted the shield a little and saw the defenders above him suddenly turn away from the gates, almost to a man. He smiled. Lord Douglas was over the walls, and his men were attacking the castle from the inside out. He crouched by the wagon, getting no resistance from above, and, within minutes, the main gates parted.
Wulversmeade lay open to its invaders, totally at their mercy.
***
The smoke was choking her. It was filling the tower, and people were running and pushing past. Giselle could barely see her hand in front of her face, and the air was searingly hot. The thatch on the roof must be well and truly alight for the roof beams were creaking and groaning. It might all give way any minute. The stairway down was narrow, and panic had taken hold. Giselle pushed Agnes before her and clutched onto the woman’s shoulder, barely able to see with streaming eyes.
A big man came from behind and tore her aside to get past. Giselle’s head hit the wall with a crack and stars danced before her eyes. She called for Agnes with a croaking voice, and thought she heard her name being screamed as she slid down the wall.
Then everything went black.
How long had she been asleep? Someone was shaking her violently by the shoulders. Giselle tried to open her eyes, but she could not. A stinging slap across the face snapped her out of her stupor, and she looked up into cold, blue eyes and a face streaked with blood. Her eyes were stinging from the smoke, and everything was blurry.
‘Lord Edric?’ she gasped.
‘No lass,’ said the young man, ‘I’m much worse than that.’
Giselle tried to focus her mind. ‘I had a nightmare,’ she said, in a daze.
‘You’re still in it,’ he replied as he hauled her roughly over his shoulder and carried her downwards.
***
Lyall headed to the battlements, with Owen, pushing past panicked servants and women and children rushing towards the open gates to escape. He still had to dodge arrows flying from a pocket of resistance in the far keep as he hurried up the steps. Sensing the castle was almost lost, Sir Hugh and his men must have taken refuge in there and left the rest of the castle to fend for itself.
In the gloom, he spotted Lord Douglas and his men, who were fighting fiercely hand-to-hand on the battlements. When he reached the top of the stairs a man ran at him, both arms raised around an axe, ready to bring it down on his head. Lyall was too quick, and ducked sideways, plunging his sword into the man’s side. As he withdrew it, blood gushed, warm and sticky, down his arm.
When he turned to face the next threat, it was to see Lord Douglas, on his back, with a man poised to deliver the coup de grace. Lyall had no time, so he took hold of the end of his sword and hurled it across the distance between them, like a knife. It struck the man in the back, and he lurched backwards, fingers grabbing behind him and turned, with a confused look on his face, before falling sideways off the battlements. Lyall ran to his master and offered his hand to Lord Douglas, who had blood gushing from his nose and a cut between his eyes.
Owen rushed up. ‘Christ’s blood, that was close,’ he exclaimed.
‘Thought the bastard had me,’ growled Lord Douglas. He shook his head and placed a heavy hand on Lyall’s shoulder to steady himself. ‘You have my thanks, Buchanan,’ he said, spitting blood out onto the floor. ‘Go, seek out any men still fighting and, if they don’t surrender, put them to the sword. Search the castle. If the Queen is here, we must find her. Take any woman you find as a prisoner, in case she has had time to disguise or hide herself.’
‘Where are you going, Lord?’
‘To the keep, to break down the door, and drag those cowardly bastards out.’
Lyall and Owen set off at a run, ducking into outbuildings and meeting very little resistance from the castle’s soldiers. Most had given up and were dropping their weapons when challenged. Why should they fight and die when their Lord had fled into the safety of the keep and left them to their doom? Now it was just a matter of getting out alive.
As Lyall scanned the yard, something bright caught his eye through the smoke and flames. A fall of red hair, disappearing into a small, thatch-covered building at the far end of the yard. Its roof was not aflame, as yet. He grabbed Owen by the arm.
‘Get what men you can to douse the flames. Some buildings are lost but we must stop the other fires. We need this castle and its occupants in one piece, and Owen, if you find any prisoners, take them to a safe place, especially the women.
***
Giselle tried to wriggle free of the man, but she was light-headed and weak, and he had her slung over his shoulder and was gripping tightly to her legs. It grew darker and quieter all of a sudden, and there was a dank smell. The man flung her violently backwards, against a wall, knocking the air from her lungs.
She looked in horror at her captor. A Scot, most definitely, dark and enormous in the gloom. She could not see his face properly, but it was not that which scared her. It was what he said, as his hand came around her throat.
‘Don’t fight, and this will go easier for you. If you please me, I may just let you live.’
‘Let go of me. Stop it,’ she said. Her voice sounded far away. Giselle clutched at his hand as it tightened slowly.
‘Not until I’ve taken my fill, bonnie lass.’
‘No, please, you can’t…’ Her words were cut off as his mouth crushed hers and, though she beat at him with her fists, it had no effect. When his mouth moved to her neck, she tried to scream, but her throat was so dry from the smoke nothing came out. He bit into her, hard.
‘Animals,’ Agnes had said. This fiend was going to tear her to pieces, he was going to hurt her, he was going to…
‘Banan.’ The name was shouted out like a curse and had oceans of anger in it.
The man leapt back from her and turned, with his hand on his sword hilt. Over his shoulder, Giselle could see another man, silhouetted against the light coming in through the open door. God save her, she couldn’t fight two of them. The thought of what they might do made her feel sick.
‘What are you doing in here when the fighting is outside?’ the other man snarled, his anger making him seem even more fearsome.
‘Back away, Buchanan, this one’s mine.’
‘I say again, the fighting is outside. Let the girl go, now.’ His voice was steady but menacing all the same. He moved closer until the two men were toe to toe. The man called Banan still had her pinned to the wall by one hand, squeezing her throat all the while. Giselle tore at his hands as she felt her face swell and her eyes bulge.
‘Come on, Buchanan. Leave a man some sport. I won’t be long, and you can take your turn with her. I’ve already got her nice and docile, and I’ll even let you go first, if you like.’
A fist came out of nowhere and struck Banan hard enough to fell him. His fingers fell away from her throat, and Giselle gulped in great lungfuls of air, which set her to coughing violently. Giselle looked down. Her attacker was out cold, but she was not out of danger as the man named Buchanan took hold of her. With a rough hand, he pulled her outside, into a nightmare of flames, bodies sprawled and split open, dark with blood, people running and screaming and being cut down by men with swords and axes. Grey f
lakes of ash floated down through a murky dawn light, like deadly snow. Horses were squealing and running.
The Scot stared down at her, dark brows drawing together. To Giselle’s surprise, he put a hand up and swept her hair gently away from her face. He smiled as if the carnage around them was nothing.
‘I saw you on the tower. It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘What?’
He took her by the shoulders and squeezed them hard. His hands were wet with blood, his face covered in it.
‘Did he hurt you? Did he do anything?’
‘No…I… he didn’t have time. Please, just let me go.’
‘I can’t do that, lass. But what I can do is get you somewhere safe.’
‘No. Please. Let me go.’
‘What is your name?’ he snapped.
‘Giselle de Villers.’
‘Well, Giselle de Villers, that man on the floor in there is Banan MacGregor, and he is a vicious bastard. Sooner or later, he will wake up and come looking for you. Do you want to be alone with him again?’
Giselle shook her head.
‘So lass, it is a choice between Banan or me. Which is it to be?’
‘I suppose it’s you then,’ she stammered.
‘Aye, and, trust me, I am the lesser of two evils.’
‘Please don’t hurt me.’
He gave her a hard stare and, without replying, put his arm around her shoulders and steered a path through the carnage. Giselle cowered against his chest and tried to resist the urge to cling to him as the fear of what might happen next threatened to overwhelm her.
Chapter Four
Lyall glanced over at the red-haired girl again. Had she cast a spell on him, for he could not seem to tear his eyes away from her where she sat, cowering, on the cold flagstones of the great hall? Christ’s blood, he needed sleep, and for this long day to end. His mind was distracted and numb with exhaustion but, once he closed his eyes, he knew the nightmares would come, and he would wake, screaming and sweating, to some fresh hell.
