Winter's Flame (Seasons of Fortitude Series Book 4)

by Elizabeth Rose

  “Nay, he won’t,” she insisted.

  “So sure are ye?”

  “I am, Nairnie.”

  “Sure enough to risk no’ only yer life, but the lives of Lambert, Jamesson, me – and even Martin?”

  Winter thought about calling off the plan when she heard that, but her gut told her if she didn’t try, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Especially if Martin got killed in the battle when something she could have done might have made a difference.

  “That’s the chance I’m willing to take,” she told Nairnie. “Just like Martin’s men that risk their lives following him, and all the men who risk their lives to serve King Edward – it is no different. I am willing to do whatever it takes to make things right for Martin and his family.”

  “Me, too,” said Lambert, raising his sword. “I only wish I had a sword forged from Damascus steel right now, just like my son.”

  “I promise you if we all make it through this alive – I will forge you one as well,” Winter told him.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Winter eyed up Dunbar Castle. It was a more prominent fortress and even more protected than she’d remembered. A knot formed in her stomach. She prayed to God that she would have that chance to make another sword in this lifetime after all.

  * * *

  By the time Martin joined with the extra troops from his alliances and made it across the border, it was nearly dusk. Martin planned to attack when darkness fell. They’d take the Scots by surprise and storm the castle before they could raise the drawbridge.

  It was a risky plan, but he had to try – for his brother’s sake. He wasn’t even at all sure the escaped prisoner hadn’t already returned and that Laird Gregor hadn’t killed Jamesson already. He could only hope for the best.

  A knot formed in his stomach. Martin felt apprehensive about this whole plan and also horrible that he’d parted from his new wife today on unfavorable terms. He blamed himself for the most part. How could he have been so blinded by love that he didn’t know she was part Scottish from the start? Being with the old Scottish midwife should have tipped him off. If not, seeing her brother and sister at the border was a dead giveaway. He had turned a blind eye to the fact, not wanting to believe it. He let out an exasperated breath realizing even if he had known Winter was part Scottish; it probably wouldn’t have mattered. He was crazy about her and that was all there was to it.

  Yesterday he was married and the happiest man alive. Today, his world came crashing down around him. Why had he ever let Victoria stay at the castle? He should have insisted she leave last night and none of this would have happened.

  His only reassuring thought was the fact that Winter was safely back at his castle and no harm would come to her. Scot or not, he loved her and didn’t want a hair on her beautiful head harmed in any way.

  He might die today trying to save his brother. The thought of never holding Winter in his arms again or kissing her or hearing her sweet, little giggle made him sick. Nay, he had to stay positive about this whole skirmish. After all, he had a sword now that would cut down any warrior that threatened his life. He would be victorious in the end.

  He looked at the hilt of his sword as he rode. Winter’s mark – the little heart was visibly engraved into the metal. He’d given her his heart and, in return, she’d given him her heart, too. Never had he thought she’d say she loved him, but it had happened. Now that it had, he could think of naught else but professing their love for each other over and over again. He prayed to God he’d have that chance.

  “Hold up,” he said, raising his hand in the air as they traveled along the coast trying to make better time. “Bid the devil, tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing,” he ground out, staring at the ship docked in the cove at Skateraw Harbor.

  “Lord de Grey, isn’t that your ship?” asked Rock, riding to his side.

  “God’s teeth, it can’t be. Everyone, wait here. Rock, Sir Gawain, come with me.” He rode like the devil to the dock with Rock and his steward right behind him. When he brought his horse to a stop, he spotted his captain, Godfrey, and some of his crew on the pier.

  “Lord de Grey,” said Godfrey, rushing over to join him. “I didn’t expect to see you. Your father said you were ill and in bed.”

  “My father,” Martin groaned, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. “Where is he? I want to have a word with him.”

  “He’s not here,” said one of the crew. “He left with your wife and the old Scottish healer.”

  “My wife was here, too?” Fear coursed through him. This was the last thing he wanted to hear. Winter was supposed to be safe at Castle Heaton. He should have known she wouldn’t follow his commands. There was only one place they could be going, but he hoped he was wrong. “Please don’t tell me they went to Dunbar Castle?”

  “I believe they did, my lord,” said Godfrey. “They mentioned something about you telling them to meet you there.”

  “Like hell I did! I told them to stay at Castle Heaton where they’d be safe. Why did you believe them?”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” said Godfrey. “But I couldn’t go against your father’s orders. After all – he is still my superior and also a noble.”

  “I suppose you did what you had to do,” he said, feeling as if things couldn’t get any worse. “How long ago did they leave?”

  “It was about a half-hour ago, my lord. Do you think you can catch them?”

  “Were they on foot?”

  “Nay. They brought horses as well as a cart. The old woman was slowing them down. So if you hurry, you might be able to catch them. What do you think they were planning?”

  “I can only imagine what they were thinking, but they’re going to get themselves killed,” he spat, turning his horse and riding like the devil toward Dunbar Castle.

  * * *

  With dusk setting in, Winter and Lambert were able to slip into the water and swim to the north side of the castle without being seen by the Scots. Trying to swim with their weapons attached was cumbersome and slow. By the time they made it to the shore, Winter was tired and out of breath. Dragging themselves up the embankment, they moved silently toward the postern wall where Winter remembered her father told her was a secret entrance that led straight to the dungeon.

  “Get down,” warned Lambert in a hoarse whisper, pushing Winter to the cold, damp ground. She landed hard on her knees, keeping her head down but looking up to see Scots patrolling the battlements. Her teeth chattered from the cold. To make matters worse, the wind picked up and it started to snow.

  “It’s all right. They didn’t see us,” said Lambert. “Where is the secret passageway? We need to move fast.”

  “I think it’s over here,” she said, leading the way, feeling three times as heavy with the weapons and her wet clothes. She felt so cold that all she wanted to do was to curl up in front of a warm fire wrapped in Martin’s arms. The chance of doing that again was minimal since there was no guarantee she or Martin would come out of this alive. And even if they did, things might never be the same between them again.

  Martin hated Scots. Winter was not going to give up her heritage because of the man’s shortcomings with a Scottish clan.

  “This could be it,” she said, seeing the large tree stump that was hopefully the secret passageway to the dungeon her father had described to her.

  “Where?” asked Lambert, looking around the area. “I don’t see a trap door.”

  “That’s because it is hidden. In this stump,” she said, using her knuckles to rap against the top surface of the stump. Sure enough, she heard the hollowness beneath her hand. Using her fingers to skim the surface, she fumbled to raise the edge. But her fingers were stiff and nearly frozen. She couldn’t do it.

  “C-can y-you t-try?” she asked hoping the Scots wouldn’t hear her teeth chattering so loudly in her head.

  “Let me give it a whirl,” said Lambert, taking a minute but managing to open the secret portal. “By God, you were right,”
said Lambert, peering down into the darkened hole. “I wish we had a candle.”

  “N-nay, that would only alert the S-Scots that w-we’re coming. L-let me g-go first. I know the w-way.”

  Winter placed her foot on the rung of the ladder and descended into the black pit of uncertainty, hoping there wouldn’t be guards waiting for them at the other end of the tunnel. Her eyelids flickered and total exhaustion overtook her. She swayed, almost losing her grip on the ladder.

  “Focus, Lady Winter,” warned Lambert from above her. “I’m going to close the lid, so they don’t spot us. It’s going to get very dark.”

  “I am,” she told him, trying to think of nothing but that warm fire and lying against Martin’s chest. She hoped they could accomplish their mission and help him. Winter prayed that Martin wouldn’t be killed. And the last thought she had before she descended into total darkness was that she hoped Jamesson was still alive – or this mission will have been for naught.

  * * *

  When Martin neared Dunbar Castle and found the horses tethered to a tree at the edge of the forest, he recognized them immediately as being his.

  “Damn,” he spat, pulling back on the reins and stopping his horse. Rock and Sir Gawain were right behind him. The rest of the troops followed on horseback as well.

  “What’s the matter, my lord?” asked Rock, coming to a stop.

  “You tell me.” He nodded toward the horses.

  “Those are your horses from Castle Heaton,” Rock pointed out the obvious.

  “Aye,” he answered. “That means Winter and the others have already done something foolish and it’s too late to stop them.”

  “Do you think they’re trying to spring your brother from the dungeon, my lord?” asked Sir Gawain.

  “I guarantee it.” Glancing over to the castle in the distance, he shook his head in frustration and denial. “I don’t want to believe it, but it looks as if Winter, my father, and Nairnie are walking right into the lion’s den. Knowing my wife, she’s probably marching right up to Laird Dunbar at this moment, demanding that he release my brother and make an alliance with me, too.”

  “An alliance would have been a better move,” agreed Rock.

  “This is a very dangerous mission, my lord,” added Sir Gawain.

  “You two are not telling me anything I don’t already know, but I didn’t have a choice,” said Martin. “I tried to make an alliance, but Laird Dunbar would not have it. With Lady Victoria’s stupid move of freeing my prisoner, I now have no other choice than to go up against my enemy. We need to get moving.”

  “My lord, I thought we were going to wait for the cover of darkness,” said Sir Gawain.

  “I would feel better if we did but, at this point, we can’t waste time,” said Martin. “There is no telling what kind of trouble Winter has already gotten herself into. And with my father there to make things worse, it’s going to take everything we’ve got to try to save them all, not just my brother.”

  “I’ll do anything at all to help save Lady Winter,” said Rock.

  “As well as me,” agreed Sir Gawain.

  “I don’t feel good about leading the men right into what might be a trap,” said Martin. “The three of us will go first. If it looks like trouble, the men will come to help us, but only if it is their choice,” said Martin. “This could very well be a suicide mission and I don’t want to be the one to sentence them all to death.”

  “I’ll tell them the plan,” said Sir Gawain, turning and riding back to the rest of the men.

  “God help us,” said Martin, eying up the fortress of a castle that looked impenetrable. If they all made it out of this alive, it would be a miracle.

  Chapter 24

  Winter and Lambert managed to make it through the darkened passageway and to the dungeon where the Scots were keeping Jamesson. They stopped in the shadows, noticing the Scots guarding the cells. There was a big, burly man, sitting on a stool at a table playing dice with a smaller Scot.

  “What should we do?” Winter whispered to Lambert. “There is no way we can make it past them.”

  “I’ll kill them, that’s what I’ll do.” Lambert was acting crazy again, pulling the sword from its sheath, ready to storm in and kill two men. Winter wasn’t sure if he could do it and put her hand on his arm to stop him.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “I think I hear something.”

  Sure enough, the door to the dungeon opened and a man shouted down to them. “It’s Aidar!” called out the man. “He’s just returned. Come hear what he has to say.”

  “Aidar’s back?” One of the guards jumped to his feet and then the other. Without even questioning leaving their post, they hurried up the stairs and disappeared.

  “That’s better,” said Winter, venturing out into the antechamber. “We have to hurry. There is no telling when they’ll return.”

  “I’ve got the keys,” said Lambert, yanking the key ring from a hook on the wall. “Jamesson, we’re coming.” He opened the outer barred door and picked up a torch, leading the way inside the area that housed the prisoners.

  “J-Jamesson,” called out Winter, her teeth still chattering. “Are y-you in here?”

  “We’re here to save you, Son,” added Lambert.

  “Father?” came a voice from the only occupied cell. “Is that you?”

  “This place is nothing like Martin’s dungeon,” said Winter, looking around the filthy, damp, dark place, staying close to Lambert and hoping a rat wouldn’t wander over her foot.

  “We’re getting you out of here, Son.” Lambert opened the cell door and Jamesson fell into his arms in a hug. He had many of the same features as Martin, but his hair was longer, and he had a full beard and mustache. His eyes weren’t dark blue like Martin’s, but rather a light green color as far as she could tell in the dim light.

  “Who is this?” he asked, perusing Winter.

  “This is Lady Winter,” said Lambert.

  “I am your brother’s wife,” she told him.

  “Martin is married?” A small smile turned up the corners of Jamesson’s mouth. “I never thought I’d live long enough to see that. No wonder he took forever to save me. Where is he?”

  “Never mind that,” said Lambert, directing him toward the door. “We’ve got to get out of here before they find out what we did. Your mother will be so happy to see you again and so will your sisters.”

  “Mother has returned with Juliana and Susanna?” asked Jamesson, excited by the thought. His eyes met Winter’s. She frowned and shook her head.

  “Oh,” said Jamesson, understanding that his father was senile.

  “If we hurry, we can sneak into the courtyard and hide in the wagon.” Winter divulged the plan. “Hopefully, Nairnie will know we are there and take us to safety, away from the castle.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Jamesson. “Why are we hiding instead of fighting? And where is Martin?”

  “I’ll explain things, but we need to keep moving,” said Winter. They had one chance to make this plan work. If it didn’t, they were all going to be in a lot of trouble.

  * * *

  “We can’t wait any longer,” said Martin, starting forward on his horse. “I just saw Aidar go over the drawbridge. That means they won’t have killed Jamesson yet. With any luck, we’ll be able to find Winter and my father before they do.”

  “How do you propose we approach this?” asked Sir Gawain as they rode toward the castle over the long bridge.

  “The only way we can – head on,” Martin told him. “We’re going to ride into the castle without seeming threatening. If they give us any trouble – well, that’s what this is for.” He tapped the sword at his side.

  They continued over the water toward the castle, on the bridge that led to the castle’s drawbridge. Things seemed to be buzzing inside the courtyard, taking everyone’s attention away from their approach. He could hear shouts and laughter as the Scots welcomed home the laird’s son. To his surprise, they were able
to ride right in through the castle gate before anyone stopped them.

  “Stop!” shouted a guard from the battlements. That drew the attention of all the rest of the Scots to Martin and his friends.

  “We come in peace,” he said, lifting his hand in the air to show he wasn’t holding a weapon.

  “De Grey,” snarled Laird Gregor Dunbar, drawing his sword and rushing over with his men following him.

  “Is that any way to greet us, Dunbar?” asked Martin. “Or are you deaf? I said we come in peace, so put down the weapons.”

  “I dinna believe ye,” said Gregor, holding tight to his sword.

  “Your son is free and now I want my brother released as well.”

  “He didna free me,” Aidar shouted. “It was his old lover who did it. He had no intention of settin’ me free at all.”

  Gregor chuckled. “So, a lassie scorned is who we have to thank for my son’s release?”

  “They have troops waitin’ at the edge of the forest,” called out the man in the lookout tower.

  “Do ye expect me to believe a man lookin’ for peace has come equipped with men for battle?” asked Gregor. “I kent I couldna trust ye!”

  “Does a man looking for a fight order his troops to stay back instead of storming the castle with him?” Martin rallied. “I told you – all I want is my brother, and then we’ll go peacefully on our way.” Martin scoped the area as he spoke. Nairnie stood in the shadows, but he did nothing to acknowledge her and neither did she let the Dunbars know that she knew him either.

  “Let me see if I have this right,” Laird Dunbar said, lowering his sword but still holding it at the ready. “Ye had no intention of releasin’ my son. But now that he escaped, ye think I should just hand over yer brathair and let ye ride out of here with no repercussions?”

  “We both held prisoners, but it is time we end this feud,” said Martin, not believing he was suggesting this since the Dunbars and the de Greys had been feuding ever since he could remember.