“This place was a haven for reivers,” he said. “We have eliminated the threat. My father is taking over command of this outpost and it will become English property. In fact, this tower is located between my father’s seat of Castle Questing and his major outpost of Wolfe’s Lair. Have you heard of the Lair?”
“I have.”
“Now we shall have two outposts on the Scottish side of the border.”
The priest was looking around, growing more subdued by the minute as he realized what had taken place and what it meant for the area in general; the Scots weren’t policing this part of the border very well so now the English were. And, knowing de Wolfe, he would not relinquish the property without a major fight, which no one in this area could give him.
The English were here to stay.
“I’d heard of some raids out here,” the priest admitted. “These are Kerr lands. Did ye know that?”
Troy nodded. “I did. So does my father. But the raids were not on Kerr lands; they were on de Wolfe lands.”
The priest looked at him. “But these lands belong tae Red Keith Kerr,” he said. “Does he know ye’re here?”
Troy shrugged. “Does it matter? He did nothing to control the reivers on his land so we had to take care of the problem. If he has issue with us being in his lands, then let him come forth and discuss it.”
The priest sighed heavily. “I’m sure he will.”
Troy knew that. He’d been fighting the Scots a long time and he knew of Red Keith and his band of Lowlanders. Troy had never had much action with the man, for he tended to keep to himself, but those incidents that Troy had heard of where Red Keith had been involved gave the man a legendary temper and men who were quite zealous. If Troy believed what he’d been told, then Red Keith had some fearsome warriors.
But it occurred to Troy as he pondered the reputation of Red Keith Kerr that this priest would possibly know the lands and the clans better than he did. It was true that William was quite knowledgeable about those who bordered his lands, and Troy was also very knowledgeable by virtue of the time he’d spent on the Marches, but this priest might know things they wouldn’t, including intimate details of Red Keith Kerr. An interest in what the priest might know had him behaving a bit more friendly towards the man.
“You did not tell me your name,” he said.
The priest glanced at him. “Audric.”
Troy looked at the man a moment, trying to gauge how to proceed. “Thank you for answering the summons to come and pray over the bodies of your dead countrymen,” he said, “but I am sure you could use some rest before you do. Come inside and meet my father. Let us discuss how to keep peace now that we’ve purged the reivers from Kerr land. I am sure my father would appreciate any advice you might have.”
He began to lead the priest towards the bailey. Audric sensed a change in demeanor with Troy but he didn’t say anything. He, too, was trying to get a sense of these English, and of what had occurred here beyond the purging of reivers.
Audric wondered if that was all there was, considering de Wolfe had at least two properties in the area that were a day’s ride or less away. Wolfe’s Lair was well-known in these parts, even to the clergy of Jedburgh and Kelso to the northeast, and Kale Water was known to house fanatic English who were fearsome fighters. Now, he had Monteviot Tower. Perhaps if Audric could find out what de Wolfe’s intentions really were, he could tell his superiors and even Scots lairds in the area who would want to know. These men were English, after all, and any peace with them was tenuous at best.
Aye… perhaps he should find out all he could. Let his visit here mean something other than saying prayers for those who didn’t need them now, anyway.
Let him find out what was really going on, for what affected the border affected the rest of Scotland as well.
*
While the vast majority of the fortified tower smelled of smoke and burned bodies, the great hall had remained oddly untouched. It smelled of dogs and of smoke and of unwashed men, but it didn’t have the rank smell of burned flesh that the rest of the fortress seemed to have. Therefore, the meal that night could be eaten in relative comfort, and eat the English did.
It was the end of the third day after the conquest of Monteviot Tower and the English were relaxing somewhat. The cleanup was nearly over as far as the dead were concerned and some of the knights had begun what would be the restoration of the tower. Burned wood was hauled out and anything salvageable was set aside.
From Michael and his sons, who were to be deeply involved in the assessment and salvage of the tower, Troy had learned that the second and third levels were nearly undamaged. Those levels were the laird’s hall, which was a smaller hall, and then two bedchambers above it. A narrow spiral staircase built into the thickness of the wall had also been completely spared.
The majority of the damage had come from the roof collapsing into the fourth floor, and then burning men and anything else it could use for fuel. Most deaths had come from smoke inhalation rather than actually burning, although they did have their share of the burned bodies. Michael seemed to think that skilled craftsman could easily repair the roof and William vowed to send some of his craftsmen from Castle Questing to help with the repairs. In truth, the tower had been built mostly of stone, as Barden had said, and the structure itself had mostly survived.
As William had hoped, he still had a tower.
As evening fell and the night turned dark and crisp, the smell of roasting meat mingled with all the other smells of the tower, making for a rather pungent experience. A cow had been slaughtered and the men were greatly anticipating the meal. With the majority of the army in the enclosed bailey, with the repaired gates now sealed for the night, the knights and senior soldiers had found their way into the hall.
With the short, skinny priest at his side, Troy made his way into the rather crowded hall, full of men drinking and tearing their way through the beef that was being pulled straight off the roasting spit in the bailey. Somewhere off in a corner, a soldier had produced a mandolin, and songs of love and victory filtered through the smoky air.
There was a table near the open-pit hearth in the center of the hall and Troy could see his father and most of the other knights sitting there. He led the priest towards the table, catching his father’s attention as he drew close.
“The priest from Jedburgh has arrived, Papa,” he said, indicating the short man in the dirty brown robes. “This is Father Audric.”
Audric found himself under intense scrutiny as most of the table within earshot turned to look at him. In particular, at least three of the younger English knights were looking at him with extreme suspicion and he met their gaze, rather warily, wondering if they were going to rush him then and there. Hatred for the Scots burned deep in these young English warriors. Fortunately, Troy grasped him by the arm before any trouble could start and pulled him away from the unfriendly faces and over to a seat the end of the bench while he went around the table to sit with his father.
Audric sat down and someone put a wooden cup in front of him. There was a pitcher of liquid within arm’s reach and he timidly picked it up, pouring what turned out to be the dregs of the wine into his cup. It was cloudy and full of sediment, but he drank it anyway, thirsty. From across the table, William was the first to speak.
“You are from Jedburgh?” he asked.
Audric nodded. “Aye, m’lord.”
“We sent for you two days ago. What took so long?”
Audric sensed a rebuke in that question. He looked around at the table of men; he’d never seen such a collection in his entire life. They were big; some of them were even huge. Scarred, battle-worn, bruised and even a few that had bloodied hands or a nick to the face. Even so, they were the victors and that victory radiated from them like a stench. Sassenach men who had come to fight the righteous fight, to rid the land of a threat but, in that action, Audric could still sense conquest. It was in their blood, the English against the Scots, something that
was seared into their souls from one generation to the next.
But in that understanding, Audric knew one thing – that he couldn’t show any fear. The English were intimidating and, truth be told, he’d never been this close to English knights before. Therefore, he answered William firmly.
“It took a day tae reach Jedburgh with yer message,” he said. “I came as soon as I could, as soon as the abbot gave permission. I am tae bless the dead and report back on the situation.”
It wasn’t quite the truth, but it sounded reasonable enough. He figured if he said he needed to report on the situation, then the English would know that he was expected back and not try to move against him. Kill him, even. It might keep the young bucks at bay. But he could see that William was unimpressed.
“The situation is that we cleared Monteviot Tower of a band of reivers who were doing a good deal of damage to my lands,” William said, his tone a bit testy. “I realize that it is the job of a priest to save souls, to save the souls of the good as well as the wicked, but it is my job to protect my land and my people. I did what needed to be done.”
The younger knights banged their cups against the old, worn table, loudly agreeing with William’s statement with a bit of bloodlust in their eyes. Audric looked down the table to see those younger knights again, eyeing him with hostility as if daring him to contradict the great Wolfe.
“No one is disputin’ yer need tae protect yer lands, m’lord,” he said. “Yer lands border these lands.”
“They do.”
“Surely ye have alliances with yer Kerr neighbors?”
William scratched his stubbled cheek thoughtfully. “My wife is from Clan Scott,” he said. “I have an alliance with Clan Scott but Clan Kerr is known to be their rivals. I have never had any trouble with them, however, so you could say that there is a tentative peace. They know me, I know them, and we simply stay out of each other’s way.”
Someone shoved a cracked trencher full of beef and bread in front of Audric. Gravy spilled from the broken side and onto the table, trickling onto his robes, but he didn’t notice. He was more interested in shoving meat into his mouth.
“As I told yer son, this castle and these lands belong tae Red Keith Kerr,” he said, “but I would assume ye already know that.”
William nodded. “There are two minor Kerr clans along this stretch of the border. I assumed this property was Red Keith’s because his lands are concentrated in this area.”
Audric continued to speak and chew, bits of food flying from his mouth. “Do ye know him, then?”
William held up his cup for Patrick to pour him more wine. “I have met him twice,” he said. “Once when there was a convergence of the border clans a few years ago and another time when I was traveling to Wolfe’s Lair. Both times, the man hardly said more than two words to me.”
Audric swallowed the food in his mouth. “That may change now that ye have another outpost on his lands.”
“I have two. Kale Water and now Monteviot. Troy is in command of Kale Water and he might know more about him than I do.”
Seated down the table from his father between James and Patrick, Troy was heavily into his meal. When he heard his name, and his father’s statement, he simply shook his head.
“He keeps to himself,” he said. “His home of Sibbald’s Hold is barely five miles from Kale, but I have seen the man about as much as you have. He does not venture from Sibbald’s and he has very few men. I heard tale that he is not welcome within Clan Kerr, so I suppose that explains why he keeps to himself.”
He was looking at Audric, expecting that the man would elaborate if he knew anything. The priest saw the expression and also noticed that William was looking at him as well. He could see that they were anticipating that he should add something more to the conversation. Audric cleared his throat and shoved bread into his mouth.
“I can only tell ye what I’ve heard,” he said. “Jedburgh is in Kerr lands and they are great patrons of the church. Ralph Kerr is The Kerr, the clan chief, and a great man he is. Keith is his cousin, and I’ve heard tale that Ralph banished Keith because he stole the man’s woman. That is all I can tell ye other than Red Keith is called that for his temper, not for the color of his hair. The man may keep tae himself, but he is nothin’ tae be trifled with. I have a feelin’ ye’ll soon find that out.”
Troy glanced at his father, but William didn’t seem too concerned about it. Without much more to say on the matter, Troy returned to his food. Audric did the same, hoping his interrogation was over for the moment. Still, there was information he wanted, and he waded carefully into that part of the conversation.
“Whether or not Red Keith actually shows his face, it ’tis the truth that ye know how tae deal with Scots,” he said to William. “But if Keith wants his holdin’ back, will ye give it tae him? These are his lands, after all.”
William took a long drink of his wine as he pondered his answer. “Troy says that the man has very few men,” he said. “That is why reivers were able to take over Monteviot in the first place. Therefore, in answer to your question, I will not give it back to him, not unless he can prove to me that he can keep it out of the hands of the outlaws.”
Audric thought that might be the answer. In truth, it made sense because, clearly, Keith Kerr was unable to police his own property. Still, another de Wolfe holding in Kerr lands would not go over well with the bulk of the clan. That could be trouble. As he pondered that possibility, Troy spoke to his father.
“I brought almost five hundred men from Kale,” he said. “I can leave two hundred of them here if you will leave another one hundred. That should be enough manpower for whoever you put in command.”
William was looking at his wine cup. “I thought to put you in command.”
Troy stopped chewing. “Me?” he said. Then, he shook his head. “You need me at Kale. The clans are going to be up in arms over the capture of Monteviot and you will need me at Kale to support Wolfe’s Lair. But you can put me in command of the Lair, Papa. You probably should.”
William didn’t say anything for a moment. “That is your brother’s post,” he said quietly.
Troy’s features tensed. “And Scott has not been at the Lair in over two years,” he said. There was no patience in his tone. “He is off to the south with Edward somewhere.”
“Even so, it still belongs to him.”
“When are you going to realize that he is not coming back?”
It was an extremely sore subject with both William and Troy. On that terrible April day two years ago when both Scott and Troy had lost their wives and younger children, each men had handled the grief very differently. Scott had run off and left everything behind, family included, leaving Troy to soldier on and endure grief no man should have to endure. Scott’s reaction was to shut down while Troy’s had been to live the agony every day and resent his brother for being too cowardly to face it.
Now, they were on that terrible subject and the men around the table, including Paris, quieted their conversation when the forbidden topic came up. As the father of the women who had drowned, and the grandfather of the children that were lost, Paris was especially sensitive to this manner of conversation. He knew how volatile it could be.
“He will be back,” William said calmly. “He is simply dealing with his grief differently than you.”
“He ran like a weakling.”
“You will not say such things about your brother, Troy.”
Troy slammed his cup on the table, splashing wine onto James. “Are we going to bring up this subject again?” he snarled. “By all means, let us do that. Wolfe’s Lair was Scott’s outpost because he is the eldest. By ten bloody minutes, he is your eldest son. Wake up, Papa; Scott has run off. He does not want anything more to do with you or me or the Lair, and now you have a massive outpost that is without a de Wolfe as a commander because you feel that Scott is going to come walking back into our lives someday. I am telling you that he is not, and you let that massive o
utpost sit there with Kieran to command it while you stick me at a smaller outpost as if it is a consolation in prize for your second-born son. As if I am not a good enough commander to helm the Lair. Oh, hell… do what you want. I am finished speaking to you about this. I am sick of the favoritism you show Scott, as if the rest of us do not matter.”
With that, he shoved away from the table, storming out of the hall, leaving the table sitting in awkward silence. Seated beside his father, Patrick stood up and put a hand on William’s shoulder.
“I will go and speak to him,” he said quietly. “I can calm him.”
William shook his head. “Let him go,” he said. “We have had this conversation too many times. He is correct. He does not understand.”
Patrick was gazing down at his father. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “Nor do I, Papa,” he said. “There is no reason why he should not have command of the Lair. He is more capable than any of us when it comes to command.”
William looked up at his son with pain in his eye. “And I have not given Troy all of my confidence?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not when it comes to that.”
He moved away from the table, following Troy’s path from the hall. As William watched his biggest son head out, James, too, stood up and followed Patrick. Both of them heading out to comfort Troy. William turned to look at Paris, across the table from him.
“Well?” he asked. “Do you think that, too?”
Paris was William’s oldest and dearest friend. They had seen so much in life together, the bonds of which were stronger than blood. Paris was careful in his reply, knowing that whatever he said, William would take to heart.
“I think you spend so much time praying for Scott’s return that you neglect the sons that have not left you,” he said quietly. “I have told you this, William. Scott has made his choice; he has chosen to leave and begin his life again elsewhere. Although I do not blame you for hoping he will return someday, you must not let yourself be consumed by it. It is Scott’s ghost that stands between you and Troy and the rest of your sons, and you are very clear about that. It is painful for Troy to accept.”
DarkWolfe: Sons of de Wolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 5) Page 5
