“Or something worse.”
Joselyn’s hands flew to her head as if to hold her brains in. “Dear God,” she gasped in anguish. “My sweet angel. What have they done to you?”
Tate’s eyes lingered on her a moment before rising to stand. He looked at Kenneth. “Did you send word to Edward when you fled Berwick?” he asked quietly.
Kenneth was sick to his stomach by Joselyn’s reaction, by the emotion filling the room. “I sent six men south; two ride for Edward while the others ride for Derby and Chester,” he said. “Hugh de Ferrets can mobilize an army to Berwick in a week and d’Avranches can ride from Chester in about the same amount of time. Each man carries thousands. I have told them to summon their allies and make with all due haste for Berwick Castle.”
Tate nodded. Kenneth was efficient as always. But he wondered deep down if it would be too late. It had already been a few days since Berwick’s capture. Time, for Stephen, was surely running out. All of the armies in the world could not prevent the man from hanging if the Scots wished to make an example of him. Tate needed to do something and he needed to do it now. He couldn’t wait for armies to mobilize. He needed someone inside. Stephen needed the help of a Scot.
Slowly, he turned to Joselyn. She was lying on the bed as Toby stroked her long, dark hair. The woman was weeping deep, excruciating sobs, her agony finding release through her tears. It was painful to hear. He muttered to Kenneth.
“I have an idea,” he said.
Kenneth studied him with exhausted eyes. “What?”
Tate jerked his chin in Joselyn’s direction. “Her father led Berwick’s defenses against Edward,” he whispered. “Perhaps she would be willing to use that status.”
“And do what?”
“Infiltrate Berwick.” When he saw Kenneth’s dubious expression, he hardened. “Ken, this is a job for ten thousand men or just a few. An army is not enough yet too many. If the Scots have Stephen, he is in the vault while they decide what to do with him. He is indeed a prize and they will use that to their advantage. But if his wife can enter Berwick and negotiate for his release, as one of their own, it might work.”
Kenneth was trying hard to see his logic. “If anything happens to her, Stephen will kill us both. If he is dead, he will rise from the grave but if he is alive, he will tear Berwick apart just to get at us.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“She is not a soldier.”
The last two lines were choppy, overlapping, as each man stressed his point. Tate stared at Kenneth a moment before shaking his head. “If I had another choice, I would not use her. But if we want to see Stephen alive again, then I do not believe we have any other option. This is for her as much as it is for him.”
Kenneth looked at the woman, weeping on the bed, before emitting a heartfelt sigh. He shook his head. “I do not like any of this.”
“Nor do I. If I felt there was another way, then believe that I would take it.”
Kenneth finally nodded, sighing heavily. “What if we discover that Stephen is dead? Worse yet, what if they execute him in front of her just to make a point?”
Tate didn’t have an answer to that so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Then you will marry his widow.”
Kenneth stared at him for a long moment before rubbing his eyes wearily. He simply turned away, lacking the strength to argue. Tate, meanwhile, went to Joselyn, kneeling down beside her once again.
“Jo-Jo,” he said softly but urgently. “I am going to Stephen’s aid but I need your help. Will you help me?”
She opened her watery eyes, sniffling. “Of course I will,” she choked. “But what can I do?”
Tate didn’t look at his wife, afraid he would see her reaction to his next question and it would weaken his resolve. “Those are your people who hold him,” he said. “You must go and secure his release. Thousands of English could not accomplish what one Scotswoman can. You are Stephen’s best hope.”
Joselyn’s pale blue eyes widened and she sat bolt upright, looking at him with a cross between shock and excitement. “Me?
Tate nodded. “You know these people and they know you. As Alexander Seton’s daughter, your word would hold much weight.”
Joselyn gazed at him steadily, understanding what he was saying. But to her, there was more to it. “I would not hold as much weight as my father,” she said carefully, watching his expression shift. “If you release my father, I will convince him to plead for Stephen’s release.”
Tate’s expression hardened again. “The same father who sold you to pay his gambling debt? Stephen would never allow it and neither will I.”
Joselyn knew he spoke the truth. In fact, she was not sure she could convince her father to plead for the man’s release so she let the subject go. “Then what do you want me to do, Tate?” she half-asked, half-begged. “Please tell me and I will do it.”
Toby interjected; she couldn’t help it. “Tate, you cannot think to send her into the heart of a battle,” she was deeply distressed. “She is with child. The strain would be too much.”
Tate looked at her. “I seem to remember my pregnant wife helping me escape from Roger Mortimer,” he reminded her, smiling when she rolled her eyes in defeat. “Pregnancy has nothing to do with it. Heart has everything to do with it. And Lady Pembury has heart. She is stronger than we know.”
“And love,” Joselyn said softly, wiping the remaining tears from her face. “I would walk through fire and ice for Stephen in any case.”
Toby looked sick as she faced Joselyn, putting her soft hand on the woman’s arm. “I know,” she muttered. “Unfortunately, I know all too well. I have been in your position and I did exactly that.”
Tate was gazing warmly at his wife, memories of her sacrifice long ago filling him with respect and adoration. He kissed her cheek as he looked to Joselyn.
“You must be strong,” he told her. “Stephen deserves nothing less.”
Joselyn’s tears were nearly vanished now that she knew she would be doing something, anything, to help gain his release. Things didn’t seem so hopeless now. “I would die for him without reserve.”
The warmth in Tate’s eyes faded. “Let us hope it does not come to that.”
*
It was a good looking fortress if they did say so themselves.
Roman and Cade had built a fort of rocks in the northwest corner of Forestburn’s bailey, something that Tate had helped them with when he was not busy with other things. It had been a time of bonding with his eldest son and with Cade, the boy who had never known the joy and comfort of a parent. But a burly old man by the name of Wallace had been the principal labor force and had also been given the duty of chasing away Alex and Dylan when they wanted to take it over.
In fact, once the fortress was built into what looked like nothing more than a three foot tall ring of stones, the twins made it their goal in life to kick Roman and Cade out of it and claim it. Tate and Wallace would watch the battle, giggling like fools at the antics. It made for great entertainment.
And this day was no different. Roman and Cade had risen at dawn and took bread and cheese out to their fortress. As they sat and ate, they discussed how to create a shelter inside of it. The little fawn had a bed of rushes and grass in the corner and they were proud of their only occupant. But as they played lord and masters, Alex and Dylan emerged from the keep with their father and headed directly for the fortress. Since they had been warned about charging into the fort and throwing punches, they came to within several feet of the stone circle and began throwing rocks over the side. Roman and Cade found themselves under siege and the battle of the day began.
They continued to play well into the morning. At one point, the twins charged in and roughed up their brother, who was saved by Cade when he grabbed both twins by the neck and shoved them back outside of the fort. The twins ran crying to their father, who told them that rather than try and steal Roman’s fortress, perhaps they should build one of their own. Soon,
a second fortress was under construction in the southwest section of the bailey. Old Wallace was confiscated as slave labor.
Roman and Cade watched the building with interest. They wanted to make sure that Dylan and Alex’s fort was not bigger than theirs. If it was, it would be automatic grounds for an attempt at conquest. Tate was helping the twins somewhat but was distracted when the sentries on the walls sent out a cry. He left to go to the gatehouse as Roman and Cade watched.
“C’mon,” Roman told Cade. “Let’s go see who is coming.”
The boys ran across the bailey just as the gates cranked open, admitting several men in armor. The boys scattered out of the way, staying clear of the chargers, but Cade recognized one of the men. He had seen him before, back at Berwick. As he and Roman ducked out of the way, he pointed him out.
“I have seen that knight,” he said to Roman. “He was at Berwick.”
Roman watched as the massive knight dismounted his charger and removed his helm. “That is Kenneth St. Héver,” he informed him. “He used to serve the king but now he serves the Earl of Wrexham. He and my father are best friends.”
As the boys watched, Tate made his was over to Kenneth. It was evident early on that the subject of their conversation was quite serious. The boys watched with growing concern as Tate put a hand on Kenneth’s shoulder as he walked past him, heading towards the keep. After depositing his helm on his saddle, Kenneth followed.
The boys couldn’t help but notice that Kenneth looked like he had been through a grinder. He was dirty, worn and bloody. They looked at each other at the same time, with the same thought.
“A battle!” Roman gasped. “Something must have happened!”
Cade’s brow furrowed. “He was at Berwick when we left,” his eyes suddenly opened wide. “Do you suppose Berwick was attacked?”
Roman’s sharp young mind was working furiously. “Let’s go and see!”
They raced across the bailey, dodging men and horses, climbing the stairs to the keep just as Kenneth disappeared inside. By the time they entered, Tate and Kenneth were standing in the doorway speaking to Toby and Joselyn beyond. But something happened and Joselyn was suddenly in Kenneth’s arms. When the boys saw this, they hid underneath the stairs, listening as Kenneth carried Joselyn up to her chamber. They could hear the adults and their concern, voices fading as they entered the chamber above. Bravely, the boys followed.
They hid in the shadows of the second floor landing, listening to Kenneth and Tate speak of a besieged Berwick. Somewhere in that conversation, the realized that something had happened to Stephen. Lady Pembury was weeping and the boys could hear Tate devising a plan to return to the castle and save Stephen. Lady Pembury was somehow a big part of the plan. When they had heard enough, they scampered back down the stairs and returned to their fortress in the sunny, dusty bailey.
Neither boy spoke for quite some time. They sat against their stone walls, lost in thought as the bustling bailey went on around them. Roman kept looking at Cade, noting how serious and disturbed he looked.
“You should not worry,” he told him. “My father will save Stephen.”
Cade looked at him, his young brow furrowed. “But they are sending Lady Pembury to save Sir Stephen,” he said. “Your father said she was his best hope.”
Roman shrugged, fidgeting with some of the rocks that the twins had thrown over the wall. “Nothing will happen to her. My father will protect her. He is the greatest knight in the land.”
Cade was in turmoil, struggling with terrible thoughts. He had grown to love his mother and he did not want to see her in danger. More than that, he was very worried for Stephen, a man he admired a great deal.
“But…,” he stammered, trying to voice his thoughts. “I only just got parents. I do not want to lose them, not when I just got them.”
Roman knew the story. They had talked about it one night after eating a batch of sweet cakes that Lady Pembury had made. Too many sweets had loosened Cade’s tongue and the story of his life, up until that very moment, had come spilling out. Although Cade was thrilled to have found his mother, he was deeply proud to become the son of a baron. It was a life he had never dreamed he could have, now being threatened by war and politics.
“So what do you want to do?” Roman demanded. “You cannot do anything my father hasn’t already thought of, you know. He’ll get Stephen back. You’ll see.”
It was not good enough. Cade shook his head. “I am going with them.”
Roman snorted. “You cannot. My father will not let you.”
“Then I shall sneak out,” Cade shot back. “I shall sneak out and follow them and when my mother goes to get Sir Stephen, I will help her.”
Roman was about to tell him how stupid he was but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He could see that Cade was serious, terrified he was about to lose parents he had only just met. Then he began to think of what a fine adventure it would be. Surely his father would not be angry with him when he helped save Sir Stephen from the Scots. He grew excited and scared at the same time.
“You should not go, you know,” he said pointedly. “You might just get in the way.”
Cade shook his head vigorously. “I will not,” he insisted. “No one will pay attention to me. I’m just a boy. I cannot do any harm. But what they don’t know is that I’m going to be the one to free Sir Stephen. Scots are fools!”
Roman nodded in agreement just because Cade was so enthusiastic about it. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “If you are going, then I’m going with you. You may need help.”
Cade was not so sure he needed a sidekick but he eventually nodded. “Very well,” he said, eyeing his young friend. “But I give the orders.”
Roman’s mouth popped open. “But my father is the earl!”
“I’m older!”
Roman backed off, unhappy that Cade had pulled age rank on him. But he was not so unhappy that he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to miss the chance to make his father proud of him. He finally pursed his lips in a gesture of defeat.
“So what do we do?” he asked.
Cade was not sure yet. But he was working on it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Stephen thought he had been asleep but couldn’t be sure. It could have been another bout with unconsciousness. He’d spent three days chained up to a makeshift stock with no shelter from the weather and hardly any water. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He thought perhaps the morning before the battle began but he was not sure. Whatever damage they had done to him in the beating following the capture of Berwick had been complete and thorough. His mind and body were thrashed.
So another day began as dawn turned the horizons shades of pink and purple. The massive keep was to his left and he kept himself sane by remembering the days he spent there with Joselyn. He would close his eyes and go back to the day they had met and the subsequent days that saw him fall madly in love with the woman. He imagined what their son would look like, a boy with dark hair and cornflower blue eyes. Stephen’s father possessed the same color eyes; they were a Pembury trait. He imagined the expression on his father’s face when he saw his grandson for the first time. Stephen just hoped he was alive to see it.
The Scots were burning the last pile of English dead this morning, the scent of burning flesh lying heavy in the air. Stephen was not sure if Kenneth was part of those funeral pyres but he didn’t think so. The last he saw the man, he was severing heads and limbs. He seriously doubted Kenneth had been killed in the battle. So the question remained what happened to him.
Alan had been killed when the wall had been breached and Stephen hadn’t seen what had become of Lane. Too many Scots and not enough English had been an eventual recipe for disaster. The English soldiers were simply overwhelmed by the sheer number. Henry of Lancaster, delayed by weather further south, had arrived on the outskirts of Berwick on the eve of the first day of battle only to find it completely under siege. With one thousand men, Henry tried to fight his way
to the castle but was repelled by the Earl of Moray and his allies. Under heavy casualties, Henry withdrew.
Stephen didn’t blame him. The odds were too great. He was just thankful that he had listened to Kenneth and sent Joselyn to Forestburn. He could deal with his captivity and uncertain future, but if Joselyn had been compromised, his anguish would have known no bounds.
He must have passed out again shortly after dawn because he regained consciousness just as he fell to the ground. Someone had cut him loose from the stocks. He was suffering from several broken ribs as well as a cracked right wrist and multiple cuts and bruises. He had suffered the broken ribs when he had first been captured and the fractured wrist had come courtesy of a bitter Scots who did it to show off to his friends. He was beaten and weakened from exposure and no food, unable to resist when several men picked him up off the dirt and hauled him across the compound. They ended up dragging him inside the keep, inside the solar where he had first formally met his wife. The room had a multitude of memories but he couldn’t spare the energy to reflect. He could only lie on the floor in agony where they had dropped him.
He paid no attention to the sounds of people in and out of the solar, to the door opening and closing. It grew silent in the room as he lay there, exhausted and injured, his eyes closed to the pain that throbbed through his body. He had no idea that he was not alone.
“Well, Sassenach,” came a low, somewhat weary voice. “They beat ye like a dog, did they? I confess, I expected worse.”
Stephen’s eyes opened. The only thing in his field of vision was a portion of the hearth. He could barely move.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” he whispered. “It is difficult for me to address you from my position on the floor but you will forgive me that I cannot stand.”
A body was suddenly beside him, on his knees, and Stephen found himself looking into Kynan’s dark, intelligent eyes. The Scotsman shook his head as their gazes locked.