“What’d you do that for?”
“For getting me at this God-forsaking hour. I got no sleep, damnation.”
Sean bellowed in laughter. “Nay, none? Damn me, I didn’t deem Muriel had it in her. I’d think she’d allow you at least an hour’s reprieve.”
James found his jest not to his liking and gave him a glare to attest to it. “Do we leave this day? What did Grey say about his meeting with the king?”
Sean took on a quick pace and looked to be avoiding answering him. James unsheathed his sword and pointed it outward, in front of Sean, to stop his friend from moving forward.
“Tell me … What did he say?”
“He said nothing about it. Grey rousted me and my entire household with his yells. He even woke Trudy with his boisterous shouts. I should murder him, for Frances hasn’t been feeling well and I’ve letting her sleep in. Now the wee mite is running around the hall. God I hope she’s pestering Grey, he deserves it. Frances gave him a what-for and I got the hell out of there.”
James laughed, for Trudy, Sean’s daughter, was an adorable lass, och she liked to talk and wouldn’t stop unless you found food to quiet her. She’d be a stuffed goose by the time she reached the age of ten. He could’ve laughed at his thought.
“He didn’t say why he wanted us there at this hour?”
Sean shook his head. “Nay, all he said was get everyone and something about meeting when the cocks crow.” He bellowed a laugh. “’Tis the truth, I don’t allow the nasty, noisy birds within the castle’s walls.”
James didn’t find his friend’s comment the least bit humorous.
They reached the keep and were the last to arrive. Besides he and Sean, the rest sat around the long table, looking as put-out as he was. Grey, Duff, and Benson, the keep’s commander-in-arms, as well as a few other seasoned soldiers, were staring at each other. He gave a quick glance to his close comrade, Colm, who was a guardsman like himself. His friend gave nothing away and returned his gaze with a raised brow.
James took the seat opposite of Grey. “Laird, you got us all out of bed, you mind telling us why?”
A trencher was sent in front of him, but James couldn’t even think of eating at a time like this. He waited impatiently for the news, of which he dreaded. They’d be sent to war.
“James, eat first. Then we’ll have our discussion. I’ll need everyone’s full attention when I speak of it.”
But James wouldn’t consider touching the trencher laden with the delicious smelling food for he’d lost his appetite. He put his last encounter with Muriel from his mind, knowing he had to concentrate on the tasks that lie ahead. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, discontent to wait.
Grey stared at him as he ate his fill. “Tell Mistress Maddie, Sean, the meal was delicious.”
Mistress Maddie, the keep’s cook, was a fair one at that, and rivaled Grey’s wife at making foodstuff. James was ensnared by the scents wafting to him and he was hungry. He managed to pick a few bites from his trencher.
Sean nodded and pushed his trencher forward. Likewise, when everyone else finished, they did the same. Grey didn’t appear to want to begin the discussion so James took it upon himself to get him started.
“What did the king say?”
“I met with Alexander and he explained Llywelyn’s need. His men were killed when a truce had been called. I know you want to hear what’s been decided. We must travel to Snowdonia.”
Sean leaned forward. “How many men will we be taking? I want to leave enough behind to see to my family’s safety. After this past year, I won’t have my Frances living in fear.”
James affirmed his agreement by grunting. After they’d dispatched the knave who tormented Frances and killed a few of the lassies in these parts, Sean and most of the Humes were distrusting and deservedly so. Sean kept his fortification secure and protected regardless of the fact that the madman was caught and killed.
“We’ll need every available man.”
“We’re to war?” Colm asked.
“Not exactly,” Grey said, and leaned back. He wore that expression James knew well. It was a look of concern with a bit of ire.
When they all looked at him expectantly, Grey let out an exasperated breath. “When I met Alexander, he bid me to make a stop before I returned here. I was to parlay with Marshall to discuss his betrayal and to see if we could get him to cease his attacks. I met up with Donal, and he and his soldiers went with me.”
James frowned, not liking the fact that Grey had to call upon Donal Ross to accompany him to the meeting. That meant tempers were flared. Donal, the chieftain of their neighboring clan, was often called upon by their king to soothe riled warlords.
“Did ye meet with Marshall?” James pounded his fist on the table, certain his laird was delaying and stalling. His impatience grew ten-fold during the conversation and it seemed Grey didn’t want to expound.
“We caught up with Marshall by the border. He gave me his terms of withdrawal. He will desist on attacking Llywelyn’s fiefs and we may be able to thwart a war if we can convince Llywelyn to wed his daughter to Marshall.”
Why Grey looked pointedly at him, James couldn’t fathom, nor would he be insolent and question his laird.
For several seconds, a nerve-wracking silence came over them. James didn’t like hearing this, because the poor lass would be used as a pawn. Such a thing never turned out well. From what he’d heard of Marshall, the lass was in for a harsh life if she even lasted long in his care.
“Cosh! Llywelyn won’t likely agree. I trust he enjoys quarreling with Marshall too much to concede. Which daughter?” Sean asked.
“The one named Emlyn. He’ll not accept any other. We’ll present the offer and if Llywelyn accepts, we’ll escort the lass and peace will reign.”
James laughed mockingly. “Peace my arse. I doubt those two will ever come to peace. You deem this treaty and marriage pact will end years of fighting? Each has taken many fiefs in the last year alone …”
Duff slammed his cup on the table after drinking down the remnants. “I agree with James. News always reaches us about their squabbles. I doubt it, too. Marshall wants all of Llywelyn’s lands and won’t cease his marauding until he has them.”
“And Llywelyn may not want to sacrifice one of his daughters. I think he enjoys the warfare too much and won’t parlay,” Sean said.
Grey shook his head. “We have to have hope he will. Otherwise we’ll be drawn into their fray. I won’t lose any of my clan, or yours, Sean, for their petty causes.”
A rock sat in James’ stomach hearing this news. “What of Kenneth? Will he be joining us on this excursion?” James hoped not. They’d been raised with Kenneth and had entered training at the same time. Kenneth became laird of his own clan, the McInnish, and had a vast amount of land and clan to see to. He had no time to care for such matters as Llywelyn’s or the king’s. Then James reconsidered for Kenneth’s land wasn’t too far from that which land was being fought over.
If Marshall won Iorwerth’s lands, he’d be close to McInnish land, and could verily wish to obtain those lands as well. James knew unless they stopped Marshall, England would pursue all of Scotland and Wales.
“Aye, I sent word for him to meet us near the border where we’ll camp. It didn’t make sense for him to travel all the way here when he’s a stone’s throw from Llywelyn’s land.”
Sean tossed a hunk of bread he’d taken of bite of onto his trencher, and sat sideways in his chair. “We’re to be glorified matchmakers then? Aye?”
Grey rubbed his eyes, looking bleary and as apprehensive as they. “Seems so.”
James hoped Llywelyn agreed to the betrothal. The last thing any of the Gunns wanted was to insert themselves in a war that had no bearing on their lives.
“If Llywelyn doesn’t agree to send his lass,” Grey said, and again looked at him as if he were trying to say something without actually saying it. “we will to war. At least Llywelyn is used to warfare a
nd his men are well trained. Marshall hasn’t fought his full army yet and has only besieged his smaller fiefs and clashed with a few lesser groups. I am not sure what to expect when it comes to hand to hand combat betwixt their two armies. Aye, we might be fighting for our lives.”
Everyone around the table became staid then for no one wanted to voice what they were thinking. After a few minutes of silence, Grey said, “You’ve all be given ample time to take care of your matters. We’ll depart in an hour.” With that, their laird left the hall and them to their trepidation.
James walked out of the keep with Colm, who like Sean, was due to have his first bairn in the spring. He couldn’t fathom the unease Colm or Sean must be feeling. Though they’d put their lives on the line for causes as insignificant, James wouldn’t want to be trekking off to Wales to a war if he was in their position. They were just starting their families and had pregnant wives to see to.
He walked leisurely to the barracks to collect his belongings and grabbed his bow, and the arrows he’d carefully carved. Each arrow was identical and smooth as a bairn’s cheek. He’d taken pride in his talent and enjoyed crafting them. He carried the armful of weapons and bows, and other belongings, and went to put them in the large satchel secured to his saddle. Dropping them to the ground, he opened the satchel to make room for the items.
Oran, his warhorse, snickered, and seemed pleased to see him. The horse tossed his head and lifted his hooves in excitement. “Easy, lad, here you are.” James took a parsnip from his satchel and held it out for his steed.
“I deem that horse is in love with you,” Colm said, and laughed boisterously.
James disregarded his friend’s jest. He set about packing the items he wanted to take along. Carefully, he picked up the items from the ground next to his warhorse and began shoving inside: several daggers of varying sizes, a mace whose points needed sharpening, two axes, and the copious amount of arrows. Then he shoved in a few extra tartans and two tunics. Just about all of which he possessed.
Colm stood beside his warhorse and when his horse went to nip at him, he hastened back. “I vow your horse hates everyone but you.”
“Aye, I deem that’s the only reason Kenneth returned him.” James grunted for his friend needed a horse when his perished from sickness, and he’d taken his steed. It didn’t take long for his warhorse’s return for he was an ornery beast and not many could handle him. James continued to shove his items inside his satchel, and gave his horse another parsnip in reward for his good behavior.
“Damn me, James, you’re bringing enough weapons to be a one-man army.”
“I like to be prepared.”
Colm laughed. “Aye? Let me have some of your arrows. You make the best. I vow mine are shit. None of mine ever fly straight and I have to compensate my aim.”
James grinned, for that was true. Colm was the worse when it came to carving the wood. His arrows always ended up misshaped or uneven and flew off kilter. He handed Colm a handful.
“Be careful with those. They’re dipped in Monkshood and are deadly if the poison gets on your skin.”
Colm bellowed a curse and handed them back. “Cosh, never mind, James, my arrows will do.”
“Why you couldn’t hit the backside of a barn or a horse’s arse with yours,” James jested.
Colm raised his brows. “Nay, I cannot, but I can use this,” he said, unsheathing his sword and cut it through the air.
“Don’t be boastful. Arrows are more effective when your enemy is too afar,” James said pointedly, “where your sword can’t reach.”
“Aye? That’s when your feet come in.”
James shook his head at Colm’s conjecture. He’d have to watch his friend’s arse on this journey.
Chapter Four
“Pull it back tight.”
Emlyn gave her friend a look of affront. “What do you deem I’m doing?” She scoffed at her failure, knowing she would never get the hang of archery.
They’d had a row and it had taken weeks for Emlyn to make amends. Thankfully, Branwyn never stayed angry with her for very long and had forgiven her. And she didn’t take her friend’s hurtful words to heart for she’d been upset and meant none of them.
“You’re not pulling the arrow tight enough. That’s why they never travel afar.” Branwyn set an arrow and shot it through the air. It landed in the quintain, but not on the target.
Now angered by Branwyn’s words and ability, she gripped the bow and pulled the arrow back as far as it would go. Emlyn released and the arrow flew a measly ten feet before it fell to the ground. She growled in frustration. “This is harder than it looks. I vow I won’t ever be able to do it.”
Branwyn set her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I don’t know how you can be effective with your sword and daggers, and cannot manage to shoot an arrow. Even I can do it and I’m not as skilled at weaponry as you are.”
“It is a skill I never mastered. I will eventually.” Emlyn scooped up the misspent arrows, and laughed when her friend sneered. Although many of the women in their clan were given instruction on arms should they be set upon when many of the soldiers were off at war, Emlyn was given the privilege to train with her father’s men. Still, she couldn’t effectuate the bow and arrow properly.
“We shall see.” Branwyn leaned against the wooden wall behind her, and had waited a good two hours for her to finish her practice. “I’m bored. Let us return to the hall.”
“I’d rather not.” Emlyn didn’t care for being in her mother’s presence, or her father’s for that matter. Both openly scolded her—each with their own convictions of how she should conduct herself. She tired of their bickering over her, as well as each of their viewpoints on what she should do with her time. “Go then and I shall come soon.”
“I shouldn’t leave you here alone.”
She gave her friend a stern frown. “Think not that I can protect myself?”
“You’re right; don’t know why I said such nonsense. I should go home for I’m sure my mother will be wrath. I’ve been gone all afternoon thanks to you. If she scolds me, I’ll make ye eat black-bird pie.” Branwyn laughed, waved, and set off.
She watched her friend trek off, and smiled. Emlyn picked up the arrows and fixed the quintain, and readied for another round. As she continued to test her skill, she thought about her father, the overlord of all the lands as far as one could see. He doted on her and she took advantage of his spoiling. Really, it was her skill at weaponry that he doted on and not she herself.
If it wasn’t for her mother’s interceding, Emlyn never would have been betrothed to Bevan. She sighed, thinking of Bevan and how he’d died. He was honorable and verily, a woman couldn’t ask for more in a man.
Although she no longer needed to worry over her marriage, Emlyn wished her mother would cease all the betrothal talk. Fortunately, her father knew her feelings on the matter and put her mother off. Her mother was sure to raise the issue again which was why she’d tried to stay out of her mother’s sight.
Emlyn released an arrow and it traveled far enough to reach the quintain, but missed the mark.
Bevan.
If only he had lived. The tale of how he’d died in battle was surely exaggerated, and yet she was prideful in knowing he met his death with honor. She’d come to accept him for he allowed her pursuits of warfare and even encouraged her. He didn’t mind her manly garb or unwomanly ways.
For once, she was accepted and didn’t have to pretend to be what her mother wished of her—a princess, gowned, and primped to beauty and perfection. Marriage to Bevan would have suited for he was brother to her best friend. She’d known him her entire life and even though he was a hardened warrior, he’d always been gentle with her. Although, Emlyn was more attracted to men who were assertive.
She reached to the ground and noticed the dirt beneath her nails. Would that her mother screech at her if she saw them. After spending a few more minutes testing her skill, she collected her arrows and readied to retur
n to the keep.
Someone was bound to come to find her for supper was about to be served. She’d be late if she didn’t hurry. If her mother had her way, Emlyn would be working in the kitchens and household akin to her sisters, learning the tasks she’d need to know when she married. She never minded cleaning, but cooking she’d failed at miserably. Even if she didn’t have to perform the tasks firsthand, she had to learn their application. Her mother insisted that each of them be familiar with the running of a household.
Emlyn stepped into the castle where many went about their tasks and she went unnoticed. She hastened to wash her hands in the bowl by the entrance and made certain no dirt remained under her nails. As soon as she finished, she went to the table and sat at her assigned seat, betwixt her brother, David, and her sister, Suzanna. Her father looked irked about something, so she refrained from speaking a greeting as she’d normally do.
No one noticed her arrival, for which she was thankful. As she listed to the discussion at hand, she realized why she went unobserved.
“The Scot king promised aid and I will not take retribution against Marshall until they arrive. They’ll bring the additional men we need.”
“But father,” David said, “you cannot let Marshall get away with this atrocity. He killed many of our men and took our fief. We need to strike now when he least expects it.”
Her father pounded his fist on the table. “Enough! Do you deem he doesn’t expect us to march to our keep and take it back? He is always prepared. We need more men and until the Scots arrive, we will remain patient.”
“You’ll let him get away with attacking our people and fief? How many times must we allow him to walk away? We’ve been more than patient.”
Her father grew angrier as his eyes glared at David, and Emlyn became concerned for her brother. Their father was not one to question and her brother would be in dire trouble if his mood grew darker. Her brother would end up in the dark-stall in the garrison, where her father placed those who dared refute his orders. David would do well to keep quiet, but she wouldn’t tell him that. She kicked him beneath the table to give him the silent message.
In Love With A Warrior (Gunn Guardsman (Book 4)) Page 4
