The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “She is all to me,” he whispered. “Know this.”

  “I do, my lord. I shall not fail, I swear it.”

  Kenneth was off, racing for the horses that were still tethered in the bailey. Tate watched him thunder from the outer ward before turning to Stephen, Edward, and now Wallace. In the distance, he could see Althel and the men at arms approach. His heart was aching but he forced himself to focus. He would not waste her sacrifice, as much as it was paining him not to help her. He would have to trust Kenneth.

  “We go,” he growled, shoving Edward back in the direction of the kitchens where a postern gate lay lodged in the northern wall. “We have a very long night ahead of us to Carlisle.”

  Edward, however, had heard the entire conversation about Toby. He was pale with anxiety.

  “Is it true?” he demanded as Tate shoved. “Did Toby really pull those men off so they would not discover us?”

  Tate realized that he was very close to tears. His heart screamed to save his wife but his head demanded he follow his duty to Edward. It was a horrific struggle.

  “It would seem so,” he labored to stay on an even keel. “Kenneth is going to help her while I take you to safety.”

  “But we must all go and help her!” Edward insisted. “I cannot allow her to sacrifice herself!”

  Tate grabbed him around the neck, so hard that Edward visibly flinched. His eyes were like daggers as he stared at the boy. “To allow yourself to be captured would be to shame the courage she has shown,” he hissed. “We will honor that sacrifice. She has given us this gift and we will not waste it.”

  Edward nodded unsteadily as they continued on, rubbing his neck where Tate had grabbed him. Together they moved to the postern gate, unlatching the nearly-frozen bolt and shoving it open. The snow was beginning to pile up, making it difficult to move the gate. But they managed to get it open and spill out into the yard beyond.

  De Roche was waiting for them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Toby wasn’t sure how long she had been riding. With the snow and darkness, she had lost all sense of time. More than that, it was increasingly difficult to follow any given path. The snow was completely obliterating it. So she followed what she thought was the road as the snow built up and the horse began to tire. She had stopped looking behind her long ago, fearful of what she would see, and just kept riding. So far, she had remained free. She thought she might even escape. But all of that eventually came to an abrupt, painful end.

  Something hit her from the side, so hard that the horse went down and her with it. She heard bones cracking in her torso and she groaned in pain as a large, armored body came crashing down on top of her. There was so much pain that she couldn’t even fight back. All she could do was lay there and struggle to breathe.

  The man pushed himself off of her, roughly reaching down to yank her to her feet. But Toby was in so much pain that she screamed the moment he tried to move her so he let go of her arm and stared down at her. She lay in the snow, gasping in agony. Soon, several more faces joined him.

  “Who are you, girl?” one of the men asked.

  Toby could hardly breathe; tears were stinging her eyes as she struggled. “To.. Toby Cartingdon.”

  “What were you doing at Harbottle?”

  “V-visiting friends.”

  The man doing the questioning pursed his lips irritably. “Get her to her feet,” he commanded. “Take her back to Mortimer.”

  The same man who had knocked her off her horse turned to his commander. “She is injured, m’lord,” he told him.

  “That is her fault. Get her on a horse.”

  The soldier turned his attention back to her and, obeying orders, grabbed Toby by the wrist and yanked her into a sitting position. Toby screamed again in agony and, upon being jostled a second time, succumbed to the welcome shroud of unconsciousness.

  When she finally came to, she was in a dark, cold shelter that she did not recognize. She lay there a moment, eyeing her surroundings and having no idea where she was. But she did remember the chase, the fall, and her heart began to pound loudly in her ears. Wherever she was, it was no place friendly. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious or what had happened during that time. All she knew was that she was in a good deal of trouble. She could only hope that Tate and the others were able to get away.

  She took a deep breath and pain shot through her torso. Agony returned full bore and she groaned softly, her hands against her ribs as if to hold in the pain. Tears ran down her temples as she wondered just how badly she was hurt. Any movement was torture.

  “What is your name, lady?”

  The voice was soft in the darkness. Startled, Toby tried to twist her head around to see where it came from. She could see a body off to her right, back behind an old vizier that was struggling to give off some heat. But the twist of her neck hurt her torso so she resumed her former position, lying still and staring up at the ceiling.

  “Who is asking?” she replied breathlessly.

  The man didn’t say anything for a moment and Toby heard rustling, as if clothing was being shaken. Suddenly there were footfalls near her head and she closed her eyes, praying that the man wouldn’t step on her skull. But the footfalls came to a halt and she could hear breathing as the man stood over her. He was silent for quite some time because, Toby was sure, he was inspecting her.

  “You are a captive of Roger Mortimer,” the man finally said. “I would suggest you cooperate so we can have your ribs attended to. I was told you were injured in a fall.”

  You are a captive of Roger Mortimer. More tears trickled down Toby’s temples. She was terrified. While most of her refused to let the man know who she was, a small part of her was adamant that she tell him. If he did not know who she really was, he might think she was just another peasant girl and kill her. Worse than that, they might take her to sport. If they knew she was de Lara’s wife, it might give her some amnesty. Frightened, injured, she had never even been in a battle until a few days ago and was naïve to the rules of engagement or captivity. She could only go with her instincts and her instincts, weakened by her pain, lessened her resolve to be a difficult prisoner. She was afraid of what would happen to her if she was less than cooperative.

  “I was injured when one of your men threw me off my horse,” she whispered, opening her eyes to look at the tall, thin man standing over her. “If you tell me your name, I will tell you mine.”

  The man’s brown eyes glimmered in the weak light of the vizier as he crouched beside her. “My name is of no consequence. I was told you were discovered at Harbottle Castle.”

  “I was running from Harbottle Castle.”

  “Why were you running?”

  “Because there were a dozen armed men in the bailey and I was frightened. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Why were you there?”

  She paused, eyeing him in the weak light. “What you really wish to know is who I am. I told you; tell me your name and I will tell you mine.”

  The corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “You drive a hard bargain, lady.”

  “I have been told that.”

  “You are also exquisitely beautiful so I would suspect that you are not a servant.”

  “Are all servant girls so ugly?”

  “I have never seen a servant girl look like you. In fact, I have never seen any woman look like you.”

  Toby was feeling uncertain and uncomfortable. She didn’t like the tone the man was using nor the way upon which he was looking at her. But she was in a very bad position to defend herself should he try to force himself upon her. Fear began to creep into her veins.

  “Who are you?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

  The man cocked an eyebrow. “I told you. You are the prisoner of Roger Mortimer.”

  “Are you Mortimer, then?”

  He nodded vaguely. “Now,” he sat down on his buttocks next to her. “Have I earned your trust enough so that you would tell me your name?”


  Roger Mortimer. Toby stared at the man, wide-eyed, hardly believing it was true. He had dark hair with flecks of silver in it and was rather long-jawed. For a man with such a powerful reputation, he didn’t seem to fit the mold. The Roger Mortimer she had imagined was nine feet tall and breathed fire. Not this ordinary wisp of a man. He did not fit the ideal.

  “Do you swear it?” she breathed.

  “Upon my oath.”

  She continued to stare up at him, debating on whether or not he was telling her the truth. He didn’t seem the lying type, but then again, the man could be prolific at it and she would never be wiser. Yet now was not the time to mistrust. She was a captive and she was injured and, as much as she loathed the idea, she would have to depend on others for assistance. She had no choice.

  “What is it you want from me?” she finally asked. “I cannot tell you anything of value.”

  “You may tell me who you really are and why you were at Harbottle.”

  She shifted slightly, sending waves of pain through her body. With a sharp intake of breath, she waited for the pain to subside. Roger watched her intently.

  “I have sent for my physic,” he said quietly. “He will attend you once you have told me your name.”

  She opened her watery eyes, outraged. “So you withhold care until I have told you what you want to know? What kind of barbarian are you that you would treat a woman in this manner?”

  “You were found leaving Harbottle Castle and, until I know otherwise, considered an enemy,” he leaned towards her, his brown eyes intense. “You struck a bargain with me; my name for yours. So far, I have proven to be the only one trustworthy between the two of us.”

  She studied him a moment, realizing he was correct. Turning away from him, she closed her eyes as she spoke.

  “I am the Lady Elizabetha Cartingdon de Lara,” she whispered. “I was at Harbottle because it is my husband’s holding.”

  Roger stared at her, already knowing the answer but struck to hear it from her lips. He could not have a more valuable captive if Edward himself was lying in front of him.

  “So the rumor was true,” he murmured. “Dragonblade’s wife in the flesh.”

  Toby didn’t reply; her eyes were still closed as if to ignore him. Roger’s gaze lingered on her a moment before he spoke louder. “Where is your husband, my lady?”

  She shook her head weakly. “I do not know. Hopefully he is well away from you.”

  “So he would leave his wife alone to suffer? That does not speak well for your husband.”

  Her eyes opened, the hazel orbs flashing. “You will not speak ill of him. He has a duty to Edward and, God willing, he is doing his duty.”

  Roger regarded her a moment, inspecting the lines of her lovely face, seeing great strength in her. He had been told how she led a dozen of his men on a wild goose chase and, frankly, expected no less from de Lara’s wife. He actually found it amusing. Rising to his feet, he suddenly disappeared from the tent.

  Toby continued to lay still, closing her eyes and feeling the warm tears trickle down her cheeks. She regretted that she told him her identity and was glad she had all in the same breath. Perhaps now he would send someone to help her. Either that or he would send someone to kill her. Lying still and pale upon the pallet, she awaited whatever sentence Mortimer was to bring upon her. She was at his mercy.

  She did not have long to wait. She was almost asleep again when she heard the tent flap pull back and bodies enter the shelter. She was in so much pain that she did not bother looking.

  “Here is your lady,” she heard Roger say. “Her story is the same as yours. And because you have been truthful with me, I will permit you to stay with her for now. But have no doubt that you and I shall have another talk very soon.”

  Toby heard his words, struggling to open her eyes. Next she realized, a big hand was on her forehead and she opened her eyes only to look up into a familiar, well-beaten face.

  Kenneth was gazing down at her, looking as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life. One eye was grossly swollen and his lip was split and bloodied. One look at him and Toby burst into soft sobs.

  “Oh, Sir Kenneth,” she wept. “What have they done to you?”

  He shushed her softly. “It looks far worse than it is, my lady,” he said quietly. “The bigger question is what have they done to you? I am told that you are injured.”

  Her eyes closed again as if to ward off the throbbing pain in her torso. “Someone knocked me off the horse,” she murmured, tears spilling down her temples. “I think I broke something when I fell.”

  Kenneth’s jaw ticked as his gaze moved down her torso. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My ribs.”

  “A sharp pain?”

  “Very sharp.”

  He grunted. “You probably broke a few. Can you breathe well enough?”

  “It hurts if I take a deep breath but for the most part, I can breathe.”

  “Good,” he moved to peel her cloak away. “Hopefully nothing has been punctured. Although I am not Stephen, I have tended my share of wounds. Would you allow me examine you?”

  She nodded faintly and he proceeded to pull the heavy woolen cloak away. A simple woolen surcoat and heavy linen shift lay beneath but he did not remove them; instead, he began to gently push on her torso until he reached a tender area and she gasped.

  “I am sorry,” he said sincerely. “But I must see if I can feel the bones moving.”

  She nodded, eyes closed, and turned her head as far away from him as it would go. Kenneth pushed a few times on the area in question, listening to her groan softly, knowing she was enduring excruciating pain. He’d had a few cracked ribs himself and knew how painful it could be. Finally, he removed his hands.

  “Well,” he said softly. “I do not believe anything has separated. I can feel the fractures but the bones are still intact. You will be all right once they heal.”

  Toby did nothing more but nod; she was exhausted and in extreme pain. She could feel Kenneth as he gently wrapped her back up in her cloak. Then he sat beside her in silence because she could feel the heat from his enormous body. For the longest time, neither one of them moved. They lingered in dim, uncertain silence.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally asked, opening her eyes and turning to look at him. “Why did you not go with Tate?”

  Kenneth cocked an eyebrow at her. “Because someone had to come after you to protect you from the hordes of Mortimer’s men bent on capturing you,” he said. Then he held up a finger. “And just so you and I are perfectly clear, if you do anything like that ever again, I will blister your backside, husband or no husband.”

  He wasn’t serious and she knew it. Unwinding a hand from the cloak, she reached out and grasped his thick fingers. It was comforting. Kenneth, the man made of stone, squeezed her hand tightly.

  “But it was also one of the most courageous acts I have ever witnessed,” his scolding softened considerably. “It was an honor to have been a part of it.”

  “How did they capture you?” she whispered.

  He patted her hand. “They did not exactly capture me.”

  “What happened?”

  He sighed, unsure how much to tell her. He opted for all of it for there was no point in keeping it secret. “I was too late to help you; by the time I came upon you and the men in pursuit, they had already captured you. At that point, I had a choice of either returning to Tate to tell him what had happened or offering myself as a hostage so that I could stay with you during your captivity. I chose the latter.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because your husband made you my responsibility. You are caught up in something bigger than you can comprehend. I did not want you to face Mortimer alone.”

  She squeezed his hand again. “But they beat you.”

  He waved her off. “If you think I look bad, you should see the men who did this. Trust me when I say that at least eight of them are far worse o
ff than I.”

  He sounded rather proud of himself and she peered more closely at him, thinking he seemed amused by it all. Kenneth was an enormously broad man and she had no doubt he could do a substantial amount of damage. But he was enjoying it. She sighed with disapproval.

  “You should have returned to Tate,” she told him. “He will not know what has happened to us.”

  Kenneth’s amused expression faded. “He will know soon enough,” he said quietly. “I am sure that Mortimer is even now sending word.”

  Toby stared up at him and Kenneth could see the thoughts rolling through her head. The tears were gone and she suddenly looked very serious.

  “So Tate was correct,” she said softly. “The remnants of the forces that attacked Harbottle two days ago were waiting for reinforcements.”

  Kenneth nodded slowly. “Tate is usually correct. But it did not take a great military genius to deduce that a larger, more substantial force was on its way to Harbottle. Once Edward had been located, it was just a matter of time. Mortimer has been trailing us for two years.”

  “So the man that spoke to me earlier really was Roger Mortimer?”

  “Aye.”

  She fell silent a moment. “Sir Kenneth,” she ventured hesitantly. “I am going to ask you a question and you must swear to be entirely truthful with me.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “I have made a mess of things, have I not?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mortimer is going to send word to Tate that he has me as a hostage. Tate will want me back.”

  Kenneth suspected what she was driving at. “He will undoubtedly negotiate for your return.”

  “There is nothing he can negotiate with except Edward. And he will not turn the king over to Mortimer, not even for me. I would not want him to.”

  Kenneth gazed at her a moment before averting his eyes, looking down at her hand as it held his. “It is possible that Mortimer will ask for Edward in exchange for you.”

  Toby’s grip tightened and her hazel eyes were unnaturally hard. “This cannot happen, Kenneth. We must not put Tate in a position where he must choose between me and Edward.”