Stephen stood next to him, his hand on the weapon and his eyes on de Velt. The tartan covering his head had fallen to the ground and he was standing tall and proud as if he had never been injured. He looked whole and powerful, and quite ready to kill de Velt.
“Nay,” he said softly. “I will do this. It is between de Velt and me.”
Morgan might not have cared about fighting Kynan, but he did care about fighting Pembury. His disinterested expression turned to one of curiosity and perhaps approval. He seemed to straighten in the face of the conflict.
“If you can fight me given your present state, then I commend you,” he told Stephen. “But it changes nothing. I will subdue you, kill your friends, and tomorrow you shall meet your execution date. Why not make it easy on everyone and simply surrender?”
Stephen took the sword from Kynan, feeling the pommel in his grip, acquainting himself with the feel of it. In truth, he felt better than he had in days. Now with a weapon in his hand, he felt as if he had a fighting chance. Finally, he could defend himself.
“If you were in my position, would you surrender so easily?” he asked.
De Velt smiled faintly. “Nay,” he replied. “I would not.”
“Then it comes to this.”
“I understand completely.”
“No mercy will be asked.”
“None given.”
As Stephen and de Velt faced off, Kynan suddenly shoved Cade and Roman out of the way. They had been hovering behind Stephen in a terrified huddle, but as Stephen uttered those fateful words, Kynan knew what was coming. His own men scattered as several of de Velt’s men charged in from the direction of the hall. Swords were unsheathed and men began charging one another. And in the middle of it, Stephen launched a blow against de Velt that sent the man reeling backwards.
The battle had begun.
Kenneth could see that the men on the walls were facing towards the bailey. The sounds of sword blows grew louder as he crept nearer and nearer, thinking it was an odd blessing indeed that the sentries on duty weren’t paying attention to the tall grass beyond the postern gate. The men with Kenneth were also creeping forward, making their way to the wall. Kenneth made it to the edge of the grass, noting that there was about a fifteen foot area between the grass and the walls that had been cleared away. There was absolutely no cover. Glancing upward to ensure that the sentries had not turned around, he bolted to his feet and raced across the cleared area.
Kenneth threw himself up against the wall, noting that the men with him had done the same. Silently, he motioned them to stay in position as he made his way towards the postern gate. The sounds of sword fighting were very loud now and he dared to peer into the iron bars of the gate to see what was going on. What he saw shocked him.
Stephen, beaten and bloodied, was battling for his life with a big knight who was healthy and skilled. As Kenneth watched, horrified, he could see that Stephen was not able to lift the sword with both hands. His right arm was wrapped around his torso, as if holding his guts in, as his left arm did the fighting. This was troubling because Stephen was not left-handed, leading Kenneth to believe that his right hand was injured. No matter how skilled a knight Stephen was, he was obviously at an extreme disadvantage.
Kenneth knew he had to do something. Although the consummate and controlled knight, he was not beyond feeling some panic for his friend at the moment. He rattled the gate but it was clearly bolted. There was no way for him to enter. He went for the blade at his side, knowing even as he grabbed for it that a broadsword could not reach through the grate. But in touching the broadsword, his elbow bumped up against the weapon strapped to his back. And that gave him an idea.
Kenneth ripped off the crossbow and positioned it in the grate, training it on the knight battling against Stephen. He almost let the arrow fly, twice, but both times other men doing battle had moved between him and his target. He could see that there was a rather large battle going on in the bailey of Berwick, Scots against Scots, and Stephen was somehow in the middle of it. It was confusing but there was not time to question. Kenneth kept his eyes trained on the target, praying they would not move out of range, because he could see that Stephen was growing weaker. One blow from his opponent almost took Stephen’s head off because he had grown considerably more drained. His reflexes were weakening also.
Kenneth watched with aggravation as Stephen and his opponent shifted positions and suddenly Stephen was between the crossbow and Kenneth’s target. He almost yelled with frustration but was distracted when a very recognizable face suddenly appeared, looking back at him through the iron grate. Kenneth nearly fell over when he realized it was Roman de Lara. His mouth flew open in surprise.
“Roman,” he hissed. “What are you doing in there?”
“We came to help Stephen,” he cried. “He’s in trouble! You must help him!”
Roman was terrified, that much was certain. Right next to him, another head popped up and Kenneth recognized Cade. Both boys were inside Berwick and in a great personal danger. Kenneth, feeling more panic as well as a healthy dose of confusion, rattled the gate furiously.
“Open the gate,” he tried not to sound as if he was barking. “Throw the bolt and open it.”
Cade and Roman struggled with the old iron bolt, edging it further and further out of its socket. Kenneth’s attention moved between the boys and Stephen, now greatly struggling as his opponent hacked away at him. It was clear he would not last much longer. Kenneth pressed the boys onward.
“You can do it,” he urged. “Just work the bolt out. Quickly, now. Work it quickly.”
Roman and Cade were doing their best, grunting and groaning as they tried to throw the bolt. But they had attracted unwanted attention with their efforts and a man suddenly rushed them, sent to the ground as Kenneth put an arrow in his chest.
Terrified and startled, the boys resumed their attempts to throw the old bolt as Kenneth swiftly reloaded. He placed the crossbow through the grate once more, praying that the boys would release the bolt in time. The end was approaching and soon, he would have no choice. He would have to release the arrow whether or not he had an optimum target. It was either that or watch Stephen die, and he simply was not prepared to do that.
As he quietly urged the boys onward, time for Stephen finally came to an end. Kenneth watched with horror as Stephen’s opponent managed to disarm him, getting close enough to the injured man to get a foot in behind his knee and toss him to the ground. Kenneth could see the man preparing to deliver the death blow and he lifted his crossbow, preparing to launch it. There was no more time to delay. But a split second before he released the trigger, the old bolt suddenly slipped free and Roman yanked open the gate. Kenneth charged through, raised his crossbow at de Velt’s back, and fired.
Dazed and injured on the ground, Stephen was watching de Velt lift his sword in preparation for the death blow. He was in so much pain that there was nothing he could possibly do to stop it. He was unable to fight back. His strength was gone and his body was no longer responding. So he closed his eyes and thought of Joselyn as he waited for the final blow, praying she would forgive him for surrendering. He had tried. God knows he had tried to save himself. But his injuries had gotten the better of him. Yet as he prayed, an odd thing occurred. He suddenly heard de Velt grunt. Opening his eyes, he watched with shock as the man crashed to the ground.
Startled, Stephen looked to see a nasty arrow protruding out of de Velt’s back. He was doubly startled when Kenneth suddenly appeared at his side.
“Good God, man, you look terrible,” Kenneth slung the crossbow onto one shoulder and reached down to pick Stephen up. “You had better come with me if you ever want to see your wife again.”
Stephen was dead weight and even with Kenneth’s incredible strength, he needed help. Cade and Roman suddenly appeared, yanking on Stephen’s arm with all of their boyish strength but hardly able to move him. Kenneth’s men had charged through the gate after him and were now engaged by sev
eral Scots. Kenneth looked around in a panic, trying to find someone who would help him, when Kynan sudden appeared on Stephen’s other side. He grabbed Stephen’s left arm and between him and Kenneth, they managed to get Stephen to his feet.
“Dunna hang around here, knight,” Kynan said to Kenneth. “This place is comin’ down around our ears.”
Kenneth didn’t know where Kynan had come from and he frankly didn’t care. Between the two of them, they managed to get Stephen out of the postern gate as an epic battle ensued in the bailey behind them.
Now that de Velt was dead, there was no longer a central commander and the Scot factions, realizing this, began to rapidly deteriorate. Men began bolting out of the postern gate, fleeing the castle, and those on the walls began shouting and rushing around. As Kenneth and Kynan cleared Berwick, everything fell to chaos. Within seconds of de Velt’s death and Stephen’s escape, the castle deteriorated into madness.
Joselyn saw them coming. She bolted up from her seated position, crying out in horror and joy when she saw her husband. But behind him, she saw Roman and Cade, running furiously, and her elation turned to complete and utter bafflement.
“What in the…?” she cried as the men drew close. She pointed at the boys. “Roman and Cade are here! What are they doing here?”
Stephen, half-conscious, was so glad to see his wife that he was close to tears. All he wanted to do was fall in to her arms and never let her go. But Kenneth and Kynan didn’t stop so the couple could be happily reunited. They ran right past her.
“Jo-Jo, grab the boys!” Kenneth called as they dashed by. “Do not let them out of your sight!”
Although Joselyn was supposed to do the grabbing, Cade and Roman turned the tables and grabbed her instead. They yanked her along as they ran after Kenneth and Kynan.
“Run!” Roman hollered, pulling her down the slope towards the river. “We have to get away!”
Joselyn raced between the boys who had her by the wrists. She couldn’t figure out if she was really running that fast or if they were just pulling her that fast. By the time they reached the river bed, Kenneth was loading Stephen onto a horse. Then he grabbed Joselyn and took her with him, practically tossing her up onto his charger and leaping on behind her. Kynan grabbed the boys and managed to mount with them.
As the rest of Kenneth’s men mounted up, the entire party took off, racing up the embankment and away from Berwick, heading for the safe haven of Tate de Lara’s escort nestled on the other side of Whiteadder Bridge.
THE SAVAGE CURTAIN
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Norham Castle, Northumberland
The night was still, dark and peaceful. The only sounds were those of night insects, alive in their nocturnal world as they searched for a meal. Those peaceful and delicious sounds wafted into a dark chamber nestled deep in Norham’s massive keep, lit only by two fat tapers and a glowing fire.
Joselyn sat next to the bed, mending her husband’s torn tunic because it was the only clothing he had at the moment. Stephen was sleeping the sleep of the dead in a fat and comfortable bed, snoring softly. But he moved in his sleep, causing himself pain, and awoke with a groan. Joselyn’s mending fell into her lap as she focused on him.
“Stephen?” she asked softly, touching his cheek. “Are you all right, my angel?”
Stephen’s cornflower blue eyes rolled open. He grunted again, softly, as he oriented himself. Then he looked at his wife, her ethereal beauty shining as the firelight illuminated her features, and smiled.
“I am fine so long as you are with me,” he whispered. “But I feel as if I have been asleep for days. What time is it?
Joselyn set her mending on the table. While she was there, she collected a cup and poured a measure of wine into it. She took it back to her husband.
“It is very late,” she said, helping him lift his head and putting the cup to his lips. “And you have, in fact, been asleep for days. Off and on for three days. How do you feel?”
“As if I have been run over by an ale wagon,” he grumbled, wiping an exhausted hand over his face. He looked around the room as much as his stiff neck would allow. “Where are we?”
Joselyn smiled faintly. “Do you not remember?”
Stephen shook his head. “I remember fleeing Berwick but little after that. Why? Where are we?”
“Norham Castle,” she told him. “Tate felt that you were too injured to ride straight to Forestburn, so he stopped here and asked for assistance from the garrison commander who is loyal to Edward. The castle physic splinted your right wrist, wrapped your ribs, and we have been here ever since. The commander said we could stay as long as needed.”
Stephen was beginning to vaguely recall their arrival. “Where are Kenneth and Tate?”
“Tate returned to Forestburn but Kenneth has remained here,” she replied. “The man is as loyal as a dog. He would not leave you no matter what.”
Stephen sighed faintly. “He risked his life to rescue me from Berwick,” he suddenly lifted an eyebrow at her. “Speaking of risk, where are Roman and Cade?”
Joselyn smiled faintly. “Where do you think?” her eyes twinkled. “They are convinced that they single-handedly rescued you from Berwick and would not leave either, not even when Tate threatened them. So he left them here with Kenneth. The only reason Tate went home was to soothe Toby, who is undoubtedly furious and worried over Roman’s disappearance. He said he had to go home and ease her mind so that Roman would live to see another year.”
Stephen smiled faintly, reaching out to take her hand. She clutched it tightly as they grinned at each other.
“Cade is quite a boy,” he said softly. “I will be proud to call him my son.”
“He seems very fond of you as well,” she murmured, kissing his good hand. “Oh, Stephen, it is so good to have you back. Those weeks when we were separated were the worst of my life.”
“And of mine,” he gave a tug and pulled her onto the bed with him, wrapping his big arms around her, reacquainting himself with the feel of her. “I was truthfully not sure if I would ever see you again. God has been merciful.”
She lay down against him, careful not to hurt his ribs. But the moment she did so, the tears came. Stephen wrapped her up tightly in his powerful embrace, relishing the feel of her against him. He kissed her dark head.
“Why the tears, sweetheart?” he asked softly. “All is well now. I will heal and we will welcome our son come the spring. There is a good deal to be grateful over.”
She nodded, wiping at her nose. “I know,” she whispered. “But I came so close to losing you. I do not ever want to feel that fear again, Stephen. It will surely kill me.”
He kissed her again. “Do not trouble yourself,” he said softly. “As you can see, we have a myriad of friends and family that will always ride to my aid. Tate, Ken, and those two foolish young lads who risked their necks to help me will be around. And let us not forget your cousin, either. He was the greatest God-send of all.”
She smiled, wiping the tears from her temples. “Kynan cannot decide if he is a traitor to the Scots now or simply loyal to his family,” she said. “He is, in fact, discussing that very thing with my father down in the hall.”
Stephen’s smile faded. “Alexander is here?”
Joselyn nodded, lifting her head to look at him. “Tate sent for him. He had originally hoped that my father might convince those at Berwick to release you, but Kenneth and Kynan took care of your release before my father could arrive. So he is down in the hall with Kenneth and Kynan. Tate told him to wait here until you decide what’s to be done with him.”
Stephen stared at his wife. Her sweet, beautiful face, her luscious pale blue eyes. She was so exquisite that he was sure he was gazing upon God’s most precious creation. But he was also well aware that the very reason for the woman’s horrific past was seated in the hall below him. Tate had known, eventually, that Stephen would have to confront Alexander for his sins. As Joselyn’s husband, it was his right. Bu
t gazing into his wife’s anxious face, he was not sure any of that was necessary any longer. He had Joselyn and the most wonderful life he could have ever imagined. He was not sure that condemning a sick old man would make it any better. In fact, he was sure it would not.
“What do you want me to do with him?” he asked his wife.
Joselyn appeared thoughtful. She watched Stephen’s big fingers play with the ends of her dark hair, her mind lost in thought. It was clear that she was both uncomfortable and surprised by the question.
“He is my father, after all,” she said softly.
“I realize that.”
“What he did… well, it was long ago. I have long since forgiven him.”
Stephen watched her face, the emotions rippling across her brow. “So I will repeat my question; what do you want me to do with him?”
After a moment, she looked up at him. “Send him home, Stephen. Send him back to Allanton and let that be the end of it.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Aye,” she reached out, stroking his scruffy cheek. “I have you and we have a wonderful life together. I am so blessed that I can hardly believe my fortune. Let no man, not even my father, cast a shadow upon that. Send him home with my forgiveness and with yours. Let that be the end of it.”
He kissed her hand as it moved near his mouth. But it was not good enough for him so he pulled her down to him, sweetly kissing her lips.
“With all of the love I have in my heart for you, I did not think it possible that I could feel more, but I do,” he conceded, suckling her lower lip gently. “You are a remarkable and gracious woman, Lady Pembury, and I am deeply proud to be your husband.”
She smiled faintly, her hands on his face. “Kenneth said that if I ever grow weary of you, then he will gladly take your place.”
Stephen’s eyebrows flew up. “Is that so?” he grumbled, watching her giggle. He tried to throw the covers off but his ribs made it difficult to move quickly. “Where is he? I will thrash him soundly.”
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