Another storm had rolled in by the time Tate’s troops, mingled with Warkworth’s, moved out of Harbottle. This time, however, the rain turned to snow. As the black clouds belched great waves of white powder, Tate, Stephen, Kenneth, Edward and Toby watched the army trickle from the bailey from their posts on the second and third floors of the keep. Tate deliberately had his soldiers remove any hint of de Lara colors so that any onlookers would not be able to identify de Lara men from Warkworth men. Warkworth knights rode up at the front of the column, specifically in groups of three. That was because Mortimer’s men would be looking for de Lara plus St. Héver and Pembury. Groups of three knights would confuse them even more.
Wallace, Althel and four men at arms, including the seasoned Morley and Oscar, had also stayed behind. The men at arms were in the great hall below while the others made their way between floors, making sure to stay clear of the windows in case they were spotted by anyone who might be peering at the castle. For all intents and purposes, the castle must be deserted. Tate arranged to have a provision wagon and seven horses left about a mile north of the castle, to be collected by Tate and his party when they determined the time was right to flee the keep. Now they would wait for the cover of darkness.
Toby had been lingering in the master’s chamber, sitting in a chair next to the hearth that they had let die. There was to be no smoke from the fires to give away their presence. Wrapped in the only cloak she had brought from Forestburn, she sat and listened to Tate converse quietly with Stephen. Kenneth was downstairs, watching the landscape from his post in the solar, and young Edward was with him. Dusk was upon them, made even darker with the storm.
At some point, Stephen left Tate to see to things downstairs. Tate remained by the window as the snow blew in, hitting him in the face as wind whipped it into whirlpools in the bailey below. He could see nothing in the fields beyond Harbottle and only a faint line in the distance as his army faded into the night. He knew they were being watched by enemy eyes and his senses were highly attuned.
As Tate watched the nightscape, Toby watched her husband. She inspected the broad lines of his body and felt the power that seemed to radiate from him. It was like the first time she had ever seen him, when the man was in pure battle mode. She was apprehensive but would not let him know; he was edgy enough and she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to distract him. So she amused herself with a stick, using the ashes in the hearth as a drawing board. She drew flowers and birds and animals with no distinct shape. When she tired of her drawings, she would erase them and start again. It was a process that had been going on for hours.
“What are you doing?” Tate looked away from the window. “I can hear scraping from where I am standing.”
She smiled up at him, sheepishly. “Drawing.”
He moved in her direction and took a knee beside her, his mail grating as he moved. He grinned at the half-erased bees and flowers. “You draw delightfully,” he said. “I am sorry I do not have paint or parchment to offer you to stave off this boredom.”
She leaned her head against his, resting the side of her head against his cheek. “I am not bored so long as you are near,” she said. “I am sorry if my drawing bothers you.”
He kissed her forehead and stood up. “It does not,” he said, his mailed hand on her back affectionately. “’Tis I who am sorry that I cannot offer you a fire. But we cannot chance that the smoke will be seen.”
She shook her head. “You need not apologize. I am quite warm in my cloak.”
He touched her hair, her cheek gently, before returning to the window. Outside, the storm was lashing the sides of the keep and Toby rose from her chair, making her way to Tate as he stood next to the window. She pressed up against his back and he turned slightly, lifting an armored arm and putting it around her. Together, they stood and watched the driving snow.
“Do you really think we are being watched?” she asked softly.
He was standing to the side of the window so that he could not be easily seen by prying eyes. “More than likely.”
“By the same men who burned Forestburn?”
He turned to look at her, reading her fear. “Some of the same,” he turned her back towards the chair. “Sit down, sweetheart, and away from the snow. You shall be in it soon enough when we make our move.”
She let him put her in the chair, watching him as he went back towards the window. “May I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“When all of this is over with, where shall we live?”
He leaned against the wall, his gaze moving outside the window again. “Carlisle Castle, I suppose. Why? Where do you want to live?”
She shrugged, collecting her stick and resuming her drawing. “I have only lived at Forestburn. I never thought I would ever leave.”
“And so you have,” he winked at her when she turned to look at him. “I think you shall like Carlisle Castle. It is a big place and quite comfortable.”
“Do you have other castles?”
He nodded. “Aside from Harbottle and Carlisle, I hold Grayson Castle, Whitehaven Castle and Kendal Castle, all of them in Cumbria.”
“Are they beautiful?”
He shrugged. “Kendal is small, but Grayson and Whitehaven are large and prosperous. Whitehaven is particularly nice because it sits right on the sea. On a clear day, you can see all the way to Ireland.”
She pursed her lips in disbelief. “You cannot.”
His eyes twinkled. “I have been told that by the locals.”
She shook her head to let him know what she thought of that tale and looked back to her drawings. “Do you think that Edward will let you rebuild Forestburn?”
His gaze lingered on her. “Is that where you wish to live?”
She shrugged, still drawing flowers. “Forestburn supports Cartingdon parish. I do not wish to see it left to rot. I would like to rebuild it.”
He watched her lowered head. “Then we shall rebuild it,” he said softly. “If that is your wish, I will move heaven and earth to grant it.”
She looked up at him, a timid smile on her lips. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“And when all of this madness is finished, may we go to Paris and Rome?”
He laughed softly. “Anywhere you wish, sweetheart.”
“I hear they have spectacles of fighting in Rome and women who pierce their ears and paint their faces.”
“You can find that anywhere.”
“Really?” she was genuinely surprised. “Have you seen this in other places?”
His grin broadened. “I cannot tell you what I have seen in other places because you are a delicate lady and such things are unseemly. Suffice it to say that the world is full of debauchery.”
She formed an “O” with her lips, thinking on all of the wild things she’d not been privy to living her rather sheltered existence in Cartingdon. Tate snorted at her expression and turned back to the window.
“I was thinking something else,” he ventured as a gust of wind blew snow into his face.
“What was that?”
“Well,” he wiped snowflakes from his eyes. “I have a good deal of wealth and many holdings. It is difficult to maintain and difficult to keep track of, considering I am hardly in one place long enough to settle my accounts. I am thinking that you would be the perfect person to manage my estates.”
She looked surprised. “Me?”
“Of course. You made Cartingdon what it is. I would have you do the same for my holdings. In fact, if you can do for me what you did for your father, I would say that our children will be extremely wealthy prospects to future mates.”
The potential of managing Tate’s holdings did not displease her. In fact, she found it rather exciting. “I would be honored,” she replied. “But are you sure you want your wife managing your estates?”
“You and no other. You are the only person I would trust.”
She dawdled in the ash, thinking. “We could build an empire supporting the people a
nd the land.” She looked up at him. “Tell me more about Whitehaven. I am interested in the castle that overlooks the sea.”
He shifted on his big legs. “It sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I have only been there a few times; it is a rather large place and the gulls from the sea are constantly swarming over it. It holds about four hundred troops at any given time.”
She smiled. “I asked about the castle, not its military might. How does it survive? Does it breed sheep?”
He shook his head. “Cattle,” he replied. “Black and white herds; hundreds of them. The peasants make their living off of the cattle.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Truly?” she cocked her head thoughtfully. “I do not know much about cattle but I see that I shall have to learn. I think I might like to live at Whitehaven. I would like to live by the sea.”
He just smiled at her, returning his attention to the snow storm outside. Suddenly, his smile vanished; his eyes narrowed as he spied something beyond the window, the expression on his face hardening in a flash. Toby still had her head lowered, paying attention to her drawings, and did not see his body tense or his countenance darken. When he suddenly moved away from the window and grasped her arm, she was startled.
“What is wrong?” she half-demanded, half-pleaded. “What are…?”
He put a finger to his lips. “Come with me. Hurry.”
She dropped her stick and scurried with him to the chamber door. By the time he hit the landing outside, Kenneth was bolting up the stairs.
“Incoming riders,” Kenneth said before Tate could say a word. “Looks like several.”
Tate thrust Toby at Kenneth. “Take her,” he commanded. “Get her out of the keep. There is nowhere to hide in here and I do not want her boxed in.”
Kenneth took Toby’s arm without another word, helping her quickly navigate the deadly stairs. Tate was right behind them.
“Where are you going?” Kenneth asked.
“To get Edward,” Tate replied, his gaze lingering on his wife, a strangely pained expression in his eyes. “Kenneth will take good care of you, sweetheart. I must see to the king.”
Toby nodded quickly. “I know,” she shoved at him. “Go, hurry. You must get Edward.”
He grasped her hand and kissed it swiftly, disappearing into the dark hall. Kenneth had hold of Toby’s elbow, gently but firmly pulling her towards the entry.
“Come with me, Lady de Lara,” he said, unslinging his crossbow as he opened the heavy oak panel. “Let us see if we cannot find a safe hiding place for you.”
The snow was swirling outside and it was nearly as dark as pitch. When he deemed the coast to be clear, Kenneth took Toby down the rebuilt stairs and whisked her across the bailey. The snow was so heavy that it was blinding and Toby kept a tight grip on Kenneth as he led her through the maelstrom. When she finally opened her eyes, she realized they were at the chapel. It gave her a moment of pause and Kenneth felt her hesitation. When he looked at her and noted her reluctant expression, he actually smiled at her. It was a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“Come along,” he said, opening the panel into the black room. “We shall hide out in good company.”
With a deep breath for courage, Toby stepped through. Kenneth followed and left the door half-opened behind them. He did not shut it at all.
It was, literally, as quiet as a tomb. It was also black and freezing. The only source of light was from three lancet windows cut high into the wall, barely giving any illumination to see by. But Kenneth would not risk a torch so he took Toby by the hand and felt his way along the wall until they reached Ailsa’s fresh grave. He carefully steered Toby around it and took her towards the altar.
The one feature that the chapel had was that there was an alcove behind the altar for the priest. It was shielded by a partial wall carved from oak, and very old. A tiny door was cut into the alcove that led through the exterior wall of the fortress and into the stables. The theory was that the priest would arrive at the stables and pass through the hidden passage, unseen and protected, to the chapel. Since it had not been used in fifty years, the door that led into the stables was blocked off with hay and other stable implements. It was into this passage that Kenneth took Toby.
It was dark, dank and bitterly cold in the tunnel. There was no light at all except for the small door which Kenneth had cracked open. He crouched just inside the tunnel by the door, his ears peaked and his knightly senses attuned. Toby sat on the ground behind him, wrapped tightly in her cloak, and shivered.
“Why did you not shut the door chapel door?” she whispered.
His ice-blue eyes were riveted to the opening in the small doorway. “Because if they were to come upon a closed, bolted door, they would assume there was something inside to be protected,” he whispered in return. “By leaving the door open, they will assume it is an abandoned room and not give it further thought.”
She nodded in understanding, hunkering down beneath her cloak. It was bitterly cold and she was beginning to wonder where Tate, and everyone else, had gone. She was terribly worried about him and congratulated herself on being rather brave when they had been separated. It had all happened so fast. Now, reality was beginning to set in and her apprehension was growing.
It wasn’t long before they heard voices in the bailey. Horses snorted and there were sounds of weapons moving about. Kenneth remained still as stone, listening to all that was transpiring and the voices of the men as they began moving about the bailey. Someone gave the command to search the keep. Toby’s heart was pounding in her ears as she heard voices from the bailey draw nearer.
She buried her face in her cloak, praying that they would not be discovered. Kenneth was so quiet that she swore the man had turned to rock. She could not even hear him breathing. Long minutes passed and they heard voices now and again, very faint, as the intruders searched the grounds. Toby’s apprehension was reaching splitting capacity and it was difficult to keep her breathing quiet. Her body was quivering with fear and cold.
Voices suddenly seemed to be coming from the stables; they could hear them off to their left. Kenneth finally moved from his stone-like position and slid past her, moving to the end of the passage that butted up against the stables. He could hear better there. From the sounds of it, it seemed as if they were on to something, or someone, in the stalls. Toby was terrified that it was Tate.
Her palms were sweating and her breathing began to come in pants. If they were to capture Tate, then Edward was surely with him and both of them would die. She had little doubt. She could not allow that to happen, not if she could possibly save them. It was an idiotic notion and she knew it. But her fear for Tate outweighed her sense of self-preservation, so she did the only thing she could think of.
Kenneth was too far away to grab her when she suddenly shot out of the passage. Toby raced through the chapel and exploded out into the snowy bailey. The trouble was, however, that most of the men were concentrating their search near the stables and kitchens. They were fairly far off and she could see their dark outlines through the white haze. Even though she had just bolted from the chapel, they had not seen her.
Several horses stood off to her right and their presence suddenly gave her an idea. Toby suddenly began screaming and waving her hands.
“Here!” she hollered, watching several helmed heads turned towards her. “Here I am! I am over here!”
Fed by panic, she raced to one of the horses and managed to scramble into the saddle. Gathering the reins, she dug her heels into the side of the beast and nearly lost her seat when the horse took off. Soon, she was racing from the bailey as at least a dozen soldiers ran to their horses in pursuit. Within seconds, an entire posse was roaring after her into the dark and snowy night.
Kenneth bolted from the chapel in time to run into two soldiers. He made quick work of them with his broadsword, all the while swearing under his breath at Lady de Lara. Suddenly, the stables came alive with the sounds of a sword fight and Kenneth raced int
o the dark, cold stable just as Tate and Edward put away three men. The dragonblade broadsword in Tate’s hand dripped red with blood. Four more intruders were in the kitchens in a massive battle with Stephen and Wallace. Edward raced in the direction of the fight but Tate grabbed Kenneth before the man could follow.
“What in the hell happened?” he nearly shouted. “Where is Toby?”
Kenneth felt like he had failed by letting her get away from him; on the other hand, it was the bravest, most foolish thing he had ever seen. “She rode off on a stolen horse with about a dozen men in pursuit,” he couldn’t explain better than that. “She ran away from me before I could stop her.”
“Why in God’s name did she run?”
“Bait, I believe.” He could think of no other reason.
Tate looked at him as if the man had lost his mind. “She… she lured those men out of the stables?”
Kenneth nodded. “She must have heard the commotion and thought to divert their attention. I, in fact, thought they had located you.”
“They had,” Tate growled, then ripped his helm off and tossed it to the ground in a fit of anger. “Damn her! She is going to get herself killed, the silly wench. I must go after her.”
Kenneth stopped him. “Nay,” he said firmly. “Take Edward and the rest of them and get to the horses north of the castle. Do not waste her sacrifice. She pulled those men off for a reason. I will go after her.”
Tate had never been more torn in his life; his momentary anger at her actions suddenly gave way to terror. “My God,” he breathed. “I said that she was brave but I had no idea just how brave she really was. Did she truly gain their attention to draw them away from Edward and me?”
“I can think of no other explanation,” Kenneth replied. “She moved before I could stop her.”
Tate swallowed hard as sounds of the swordfight near the kitchens died away and he turned in time to see Wallace dispatching the last soldier. Edward and Stephen were running in Tate’s direction, swords up and in full battle mode, but all Tate could think of at the moment was Toby. He put his hand on Kenneth’s shoulder, struggling with his emotions.
The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection Page 22
