The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  De Roche turned towards Kenneth with a baleful eye. “I would not be so confident that de Lara is still alive. He was crossing a bridge when I saw it collapse. He fell into the frozen river and was swept away as I watched.”

  Kenneth waited for Toby to respond but, to her credit, she kept her head lowered. The knight knew that de Roche was trying to upset her and that fueled very uncharacteristic anger within him. His jaw ticked faintly.

  “You should hear how we laugh at you, Hamlin,” Kenneth’s voice was seductive, gritty. “You have provided us hours of entertainment.”

  “It shall not last.”

  “I beg to differ; this mere woman bested you. Either that says a great deal for her skills or not very much for your own. You are a pathetic excuse for a knight.”

  “We shall see.”

  “I anxiously await the day.”

  The air was crackling with hazard. Toby’s head came up and her big eyes focused on Kenneth. The knight, however, was wearing that oddly amused expression again, the same one he had held when he had told her of all of the knights he had thrashed upon his capture. He is enjoying this, she thought.

  “Do not provoke him, Kenneth,” she whispered sternly. “You are not carrying any weapons.”

  Kenneth glanced at her before returning his attention to de Roche. “I do not need any weapons against him,” he said loud enough for Hamlin to hear.

  “My mother could best you, St. Héver.”

  “And your mother was a tasty bit of flesh when I bedded her.”

  De Roche suddenly reined his horse around. With a roar, he charged at Kenneth but Toby suddenly stood up to defend him, throwing herself in front of Kenneth. She was half way across his lap when de Roche rushed at him, sword drawn. Only fast thinking by Kenneth saved Toby from being gored; he very swiftly reined his horse around so that his back was facing de Roche. The man’s broadsword glanced off of his armor. But he was still furious and Kenneth was in a very bad position with Toby lying across his lap.

  Quickly, Kenneth dropped Toby to the ground. She landed on her feet but stumbled backwards, her balance off with the pain in her torso. Any movement was difficult. As Toby watched in horror, de Roche charged Kenneth again with his sword but Kenneth managed to side step him, grabbing the hilt of the sword as de Roche’s horse slipped in the snow. Suddenly, Kenneth had a weapon and he used the butt end to smash de Roche on the back of the neck. De Roche started to go down, but not before he unsheathed a dirk that was strapped against his leg. As he fell forward, he shoved the dirk into Kenneth’s right thigh.

  Toby screamed, bringing the entire army to a halt. From his position far forward, Mortimer began to charge back through the lines to see what the commotion was about. By the time he reached the middle of the column, Kenneth was dismounted and preparing to drive the broadsword into de Roche’s chest.

  “Stop!” Mortimer roared. “St. Héver, drop the sword or I will kill you where you stand.”

  Toby rushed to Kenneth’s side. “No, my lord,” she stood in front of Kenneth with her arms spread as if to shield him. “He was only protecting me.”

  Mortimer wasn’t looking at her; he was still focused on Kenneth. “Drop the weapon, St. Héver. I will not tell you again.”

  Kenneth could see from his peripheral that there were at least two crossbows trained on him, probably more. The broadsword fell to the ground and he grasped the hilt of the dirk protruding from his leg, ripping it free and tossing it away. Blood poured down his leg as he stood there with Toby still in front of him. From the beginning of the fight until this very moment, his stone-like expression of calm had never changed.

  Mortimer was still glaring at him, though his distaste seemed to be more focused on de Roche at the moment.

  “What started this?” Mortimer demanded.

  De Roche was picking himself up off the ground. “A disagreement, my lord.”

  “Obviously,” Mortimer snapped. He eyed Kenneth, who kept his mouth shut, before looking to Toby. “My lady? Would you be truthful with me?”

  Toby didn’t want to get Kenneth in trouble. “I… I am not entirely sure, my lord,” she said. “I was not paying attention to what was said. But de Roche was the one to make the first move.”

  Roger cocked an eyebrow at his knight. “Is this true?”

  De Roche looked defiant and ashamed at the same time. “Aye, my lord.”

  Roger’s dark eyes flashed and he leaned forward on his saddle. “You will cease this foolishness, both of you,” he hissed. Then he looked at Toby. “My lady, since you are well enough to defend your husband’s knight, then you are well enough to ride at the head of the column with me.”

  Toby shook her head. “My lord, I assure you, I am not well enough in the least. I would prefer to ride on the wagon.”

  “You will ride with me.”

  “I want to stay with Sir Kenneth.”

  “I am not giving you a choice.”

  Toby gazed steadily at the man, feeling her anger rise. “It is not your choice to give. I will choose my own company and I choose to stay with Sir Kenneth. Go ride with your retainers and soldiers for I want no part of you.”

  Mortimer looked at de Roche and tipped his head in the lady’s direction, a silent command for the knight to force her into submission. De Roche moved towards Toby and Kenneth suddenly came alive, striking the man in the jaw with his head-sized fist and sending him reeling. Soldiers began to move towards Kenneth but Toby swooped down and picked up the heavy broadsword, swinging it at two of the soldiers and slicing through their tunics. She cut one man substantially in the stomach. Kenneth saw what she was doing and, not wanting her to injure her ribs further or find herself bound and gagged, took the broadsword away from her and tossed it out of range. But de Roche had recovered from Kenneth’s strike and was moving towards the man with a nasty-looking dirk.

  “Cease!” Mortimer roared.

  De Roche came to a halt, though it was evident that he wished to follow through with his attack against Kenneth. Toby was plastered in front of Kenneth as if to protect the man while he had her around the shoulders, intending to shove her out of the way. But Mortimer’s order brought the action to a grinding halt and all parties concerned, including the men at arms, looked at Mortimer as if expecting more sharp commands. Roger, for his part, was finished with pleasantries. His blood was beginning to boil at the very lovely, but very disobedient, Lady de Lara and he intended to gain a handle on her before she caused further chaos.

  His dark brown eyes focused on her. “Now,” he said, quietly now that the pandemonium had settled. “If you disobey me again, no matter what the issue, St. Héver will receive your punishment. If you so much as refuse a request, I will take it out on St. Héver’s hide. Any infraction by you will result in severe punishment to him. Am I making myself clear?”

  Toby’s face was dark. “You bastard,” she hissed. “How dare you threaten me.”

  Mortimer didn’t reply; he nodded his head to one of the men at arms standing behind Toby and Kenneth. The man produced a sword and smashed the butt end of it across the back of Kenneth’s neck. The man went down, taking Toby with him. As Toby screamed, de Roche swooped down and pulled her free. He wrestled her all the way over to where Mortimer sat astride his big warmblood. Toby fought like a wildcat.

  “That is only a foretaste, my lady,” Roger told her as she struggled against de Roche. “If you continue to fight, I will see to it that St. Héver is quite incapacitated.”

  Furious, terrified and bordering on tears, Toby looked over at Kenneth as he struggled to pick himself off the ground.

  “You are a beast,” she growled before she could stop herself. “You are the most hateful beast that….”

  Another cue from Mortimer had the men at arms kicking Kenneth savagely as he lay on the ground. Toby knew that, this time, her opinions and fearless tongue would not be forgiven. Mortimer had shown her twice. She stopped struggling and looked up at him, tears on her cheeks.

&nb
sp; “All right,” she said quickly. “Please stop. Do not hurt him anymore. I will be cooperative, I swear it.”

  Roger lifted his hand and the kicking immediately stopped. He smiled thinly at Toby. “Very good, my lady,” he said. “As I said, now that you are feeling better, I should like your company as we ride. Hamlin, find her a palfrey.”

  De Roche let her go and Toby instinctively moved towards Kenneth to help the man. But Roger stopped her.

  “Nay, my lady,” he said almost casually. “You will not go to him. You will come with me.”

  Toby could see that Kenneth was struggling to push himself up off the ground. Even though he was in armor, he had been pummeled mostly in the head because his helm had come off. His lips were bloodied and there was blood coursing out of his nose. But his ice-blue eyes were open, looking at her.

  “I am well enough, my lady,” he told her so that she would not disobey again; he wasn’t concerned for himself but, at some point, they were going to start punishing her and he was fearful for that moment. “Go along. I will be all right.”

  Toby’s face screwed into unhappy tears. “I am sorry,” she mouthed to him.

  He winked a bloodied eye at her, propping himself up on his left elbow. “Run along. I will see you later.”

  Wiping furiously at her eyes, she turned for Mortimer, who dismounted his steed. He held out a hand to her and without looking at him, she took it. Together, Toby and Mortimer walked towards the front of the column, awaiting the palfrey that de Roche was preparing.

  Kenneth watched her go, the smile fading from his lips. God help her, he thought.

  February had been a brutal month of heavy winter weather. Tate, Stephen, Wallace, Edward and a thousand troops had made the trip from Cumbria to London in just over two weeks. Tate had taken five hundred men from Carlisle and another five hundred split between his castles of Whitehaven and Grayson. It was an impressive sight, the Earl of Carlisle moving a thousand men down the throat of England and into London. But Tate had a purpose and had all intention to show his power. And there was still more to come; like a man possessed, he knew no boundaries.

  The night before they arrived in London, they camped on the outskirts of the town in a giant encampment with great bonfires that lit up the sky. It had snowed for a week before their arrival to the area and the land was blanketed in white. But this night was clear and a full moon shone bright upon them, creating a silvery-gray landscape. Tate and his men sat outside his tent, spread around an enormous fire and eating one of the black and white cattle they had brought with them from Whitehaven. The air was full of the smell of roast beef and Edward was so full that he had promptly passed out before the flames.

  Stephen sat next to the boy, pushing his booted feet closer and closer to the fire. When his feet grew hot enough to start smoking, Edward would awaken, sleepily wonder why his feet were in the fire, pull them out and then swiftly fall back asleep. Stephen did this three times before Edward realized what was going on and grumpily moved away from the snickering knight. Wallace and Stephen had a good laugh at Edward’s expense.

  But not Tate; he had remained relatively silent and emotionless, watching the comedy but not feeling light enough to laugh at Stephen’s jokes. Normally Kenneth and Stephen would play the jokes together, but the absence of Kenneth was painfully obvious. If Stephen felt it, he did not let on. Still, there were times when a trained observer could tell that he missed his comrade. He missed the man’s quiet reserve, his strength, his solid wisdom. He missed his friend.

  But Tate was glad Kenneth was not there. He thanked God every day that the man had surrendered himself to Mortimer in order to play protector to Lady de Lara. A greater sacrifice Tate had never seen and as he prayed for his wife’s safety, he also prayed for Kenneth. He was sure that Toby would be relatively safe in Mortimer’s custody but Kenneth was another matter. As a knight sworn to the king, Mortimer would not look upon him kindly. For that, and so many other reasons, they were on the outskirts of London. Tate had a mission and even as Mortimer seemed to be holding all of the power, Tate would not let the man gain the upper hand. He would do all he could to undermine him.

  “Will there be anything else tonight, my lord?” Wallace asked as he rose from the fire; the old priest was fatigued by the weeks of travel and it showed.

  Tate shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “Be ready to ride before dawn.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Wallace moved to rouse young Edward but the king would not be stirred. After much shaking and a couple of gentle kicks, Wallace reached down and picked the lad up. When Edward realized he was being carried like an infant, pride alone woke him from his food coma and he irritably chastised Wallace for man-handling him. Tate and Stephen could hear Wallace laughing as the two disappeared into the night.

  The fire crackled and spit, filling the silence in their wake. Stephen drained the last of his wine and set the cup down.

  “I suppose I should get some sleep also,” he said, looking at Tate. “Do you have any orders for me, my lord?”

  Tate was staring at the fire as if hypnotized; the man that Stephen had known for fifteen years had not been himself since that fateful day at Harbottle. He was darker somehow, meaner even. Mortimer’s actions had brought out the Devil in him and Tate was growing more ruthless by the second. It was in his words, his actions, the very air he breathed. But Stephen understood why.

  “Make sure the men are ready to move before dawn,” he told Stephen.

  Stephen nodded, pausing as if waiting for more orders. When none were forthcoming, he spoke.

  “Shall I send word ahead of our arrival?” he asked.

  Tate drained his wine; it was the fifth cup he’d had that night. “I sent her one missive already,” he replied. “She already knows that I am coming and God help her if she is not prepared.”

  Stephen still didn’t leave; he was watching Tate’s manner, the way his jaw ticked when he spoke. The man was tightly coiled.

  “Mortimer has troops at Windsor,” Stephen said quietly. “Do you have reason to believe that they are not lying in wait for us in the wake of your announcement that you are coming to visit the queen?”

  Tate turned to look at him. “Isabella would not dare order them against me,” he said. “She does not want to incur my wrath.”

  “What about Edward?”

  “He stays with you while I speak with her. He is not allowed near his mother for any reason. Not even if he begs.”

  It was a hard statement but a necessary one. Stephen cleared his throat softly, his gaze moving to the clear sky above.

  “Just so I am clear, my lord,” he ventured. “We are to march on Windsor tomorrow and lay at her base. You have requested audience with Queen Isabella under a flag of truce.”

  Tate nodded slowly; the tick in his jaw was increasing. “She will understand that I am no longer tolerant of her lover’s tactics. It is one thing to attempt to kill the king but it is purely another to hold my wife hostage.” He turned to Stephen, the dark eyes wild with storm. “Even now, I have a thousand men from Henry of Lancaster bearing down on Wigmore Castle. From the Trinity Castles of Hyssington, Caradoc and Trelystan, all holdings of my brother, Liam, I have five thousand men also moving for Wigmore. I have even asked my brother for aid from his Welsh allies. Another two thousand Welsh should be marching upon Mortimer at Wigmore, awaiting my word to unleash hell. If Isabella wants her lover to live to see another day, she will use her influence on him to release Toby.”

  Stephen had known he had sent word to the Earl of Lancaster and his de Lara kin for assistance but he had not known the extent. At the thought of eight thousand troops bearing down on Wigmore Castle, he lifted his eyebrows.

  “What of the troops we sent to Warkworth?”

  “They are Harbottle troops and already weary from a brutal siege,” Tate answered. “I will leave them at Warkworth, as I will not call upon Alnwick at this time. They are too far to the north and Henry of Lancaster
is a great supporter of our king. He is much closer to the Marches and more than willing to commit men to the cause.”

  Stephen nodded in agreement, finally emitting a pent-up sigh. “Dragonblade commands and men will follow,” he breathed, trying not to sound too stunned. “Eight thousand men is quite a force. Are you not concerned that Mortimer might somehow hurt Toby if he feels threatened?”

  Tate shook his head confidently. “The man has twelve children he must be concerned for. If he harms my wife, I cannot guarantee where my vengeance would stop.”

  “You would harm his children?”

  “I would make it so he never saw them again.”

  Stephen believed every word. It was all part of the ruthlessness that had emerged in Tate over the past several days. There was no use in speaking to him about it because he was blinded by his fear for Toby and his determination to retrieve her. Nothing else mattered. Stephen scratched his head and stood up.

  “Then I will beg your leave,” he said. “I will make sure the army is ready to move out by dawn.”

  Tate didn’t acknowledge the man as he disappeared into the darkness. He was staring into the fire, seeing Toby’s face with every flicker of the flame and wondering what she was doing that night. He wondered if she was thinking of him every second of every day just as he was thinking of her. His desire to get her back moved beyond normal determination; it was in a state of desperation.

  Woe to Isabella should she deny him his wants. He was finished being the hunted in this battle between Edward and Roger Mortimer. He had now become the hunter.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Windsor Castle

  There was no structure in all of England as enormous as Windsor Castle. Towers were several stories tall, the blond and sometimes gray stones glistening starkly against the snow upon the ground. From its perch on a hill, the bastion could be seen for miles.

  Tate and his army lay just outside the village that surrounded the castle. From a clear night to a cloudy day, it was bitterly cold. Astride his great bay charger, he left Stephen and his men in their base camp and made his way through the village towards the castle. Villeins and storekeepers came out to watch him pass, the great Tate de Lara with his blue, gold and silver crest of a great dragon on his tunic. Everyone knew the dragon emblem and the man associated with it. As the charger clopped up the incline that lead to the main entrance of the castle, the town was oddly silent.