De Lara was obviously displeased with the command. “You had better ask where Seton’s other daughter is before I tell him. If you want the man to marry her, then….”
Edward shook his head. “Forget about Margaret Seton. We have a very lovely and completely viable prospect right here. He will marry Joselyn Seton before this night is through and secure the city with a marriage to the daughter of the defeated Scot commander.”
Tate couldn’t help it; he grunted with exasperation, running a weary hand over his face. Then he glanced at the Lady Joselyn, standing small but strong next to her father. She certainly was a lovely little thing. There was no use in fighting the king’s wishes; once the man’s mind was set, there was no deterring him. He sighed in resignation and turned in the direction of the knights now settling in.
“Stephen,” he called to the group. “A word, please.”
Stephen of Pembury separated himself from the group and headed in de Lara’s direction. He was an enormously muscled man standing eight inches over six feet and was easily taller than even the tallest man in the room, de Lara included. In fact, Pembury was a giant wherever he went. With his dark hair, chiseled features and cornflower blue eyes, he cut a striking figure of male virility and power, and had more than his share of female admirers. He was enormously strong, intelligent and obedient to a fault. He had been close friends with Tate for years and the cornflower blue eyes twinkled as he came upon his friend and liege.
“Outposts are set for the night, my lord,” he said in a deep voice. “There are four serious breaches in the walls but I have those covered by at least twenty men each. We’ll set to repairing them come sunrise but for now I have told the men to rest for the night. ’Twill be the first real rest the men have had in over a month.”
Tate nodded. “I do not disagree with you on that account,” he told him. “We are all quite weary.”
“This has been a long and eventful two days.”
“Eventful and bloody.”
Stephen wriggled his dark brows in agreement, eyeing the king as the man wandered over to the hearth where a group of unkempt people huddled. The young king seemed particularly weary and pensive, but considering the length and cost of the siege of Berwick, Stephen was not surprised.
“Any further orders from Edward?” he asked quietly.
Tate thought long and hard on that question. Then he crossed his powerful arms, struggling to find the correct words.
“You have known since this campaign began that Edward intended to place you in charge of the military garrison of Berwick,” he began.
Stephen began to show the first signs of his fatigue; he rubbed his eyes and took a deep, weary breath. “Aye,” he stopped rubbing his eyes and blinked them furiously as if struggling not to fall asleep where he stood. “I have already picked my command team with the approval of the king. Too bad Ken isn’t here; I am sorely missing the man.”
He spoke of Kenneth St. Héver, their friend and colleague, now on the Welsh Marches keeping the Welsh princes at bay. All three men had served together for the past several years, a powerful trio of knights for Edward’s cause, and this was the first instance that had seen them separated. Tate nodded in agreement to Stephen’s comment.
“We will unfortunately have to do without him.” He eyed Stephen as the man watched the king on the other side of the room. After several moments of struggling to find the correct words to tell the man of his destiny, he finally sighed heavily and faced him. “Stephen, you need to be aware of more directives involving your appointment.”
Stephen looked at him. “What are those?”
Tate wisely went with the good news first. “For exemplary service during the siege of Berwick, you have been granted the battlefield commission of Baron Lamberton which includes Ravensdowne Castle near Blyth, just north of Newcastle. The fiefdoms of Bedlington and Blyth are yours. These are rich lands, Stephen. Congratulations.”
Stephen suddenly didn’t appear too weary. His blue eyes stared at de Lara first in disbelief, then in gratitude.
“I know that area,” he said after a moment. “It is indeed wealthy and populated.”
De Lara smiled faintly and slapped him on his enormously broad shoulder. “No one deserves this more,” he told him softly. “I am proud of you.”
Stephen smiled modestly, reaching up to remove his helm. Setting it on the table behind him, he raked his fingers through his damp, nearly-black hair. “I am honored,” he said simply. “I would thank Edward personally when he is not so occupied.”
De Lara’s smile faded somewhat. “There is something more.”
Stephen’s mood was good, having no reason to believe that anything else forthcoming would be met with disapproval. “Good Christ, what more could there be? I am already greatly honored. Anything more will seem excessive.”
Tate turned in the direction of the king, now standing at the hearth with a few of his advisors. De Lara dipped his head in the general direction.
“Note the group of captives?” he mentioned to Stephen.
The big knight nodded. “Who are they?”
“Alexander Seton and his family,” he replied. “There are three women in the group.”
“I see them.”
“Note the young one that is standing next to the balding man in the kilt?”
Stephen’s eyes fixed on the small figure across the room. “Dark hair?”
“Aye.”
Stephen paused a moment, studying the distant figure. “Pretty girl,” he commented, turning back to Tate. “Who is she?”
“The Lady Joselyn Seton. Your new wife.”
Stephen stared at him. Tate stared back. They just stared at each other. Tate kept waiting for some kind of adamant response but Stephen did nothing more than stare. Stephen was, in fact, inordinately cool and always had been, but this lack of response was calm even for him. After several long moments of mutual staring, it was Stephen who finally broke; he smiled thinly and raked his hands though his hair again.
“I do not want a wife.”
“What you want is not at issue,” de Lara stated, though not unkindly. “Edward feels that the security of Berwick will be sealed when the new commander of the English forces marries the daughter of the defeated Scots leader. It is a tradition as old as battle itself, Stephen. To marry the daughter of your defeated enemy is to ensure peace. You know this.”
Stephen was laughing, though not with humor. He was struggling to refuse, which in any case he knew he could not do. Frustration and disbelief were turning into anger, an emotion he was not particularly familiar with. The man was so cool at times that some had wondered if he had ice water in his veins instead of blood.
“I was a soldier when I walked into this room,” he muttered. “Now I am a pawn.”
Tate lifted an eyebrow. “Untrue. You have been elevated in rank and status and are a valuable asset to the king. I suggest you look at it that way.” He lowered his voice and stepped close to the big man. “Whatever fury you are feeling, be done with it now. You have a directive to fulfill before this night is out and Edward is in no mood for foolery. You are the last man I would expect emotion from, Pembury. Do your duty, as we all must.”
The humorless grin on Stephen’s face faded as he gazed steadily at his liege. The cornflower blue eyes glittered, shifted, and finally cooled. After a moment, he nodded shortly.
“Of course, my lord,” he was back to sounding calm and professional. “The king’s will shall be done in all things.”
Tate nodded faintly, eyeing Stephen as if to suggest he was not unsympathetic. But that was where it ended; they were knights and they did as they were told. It was the end of a very long and bitter struggle and they were perhaps more edgy than they should have been out of sheer exhaustion. But they were professionals and knew what was expected of them. Together, they moved towards Edward.
The king saw them coming, straightening as he focused on Stephen. Stephen saluted his monarch, a young king he had know
n since he had been a very young boy.
“Sire,” he greeted evenly. “May I extend my deepest gratitude for the honors you have given me. I am humbled by your generosity.”
Edward didn’t dare look at Tate, fearful that he would see that, somehow, Pembury had been forced into his smooth little speech. He genuinely liked Stephen, a man that was as strong and silent as the grave, yet possessed the most devious sense of humor he had ever seen. When he had been younger, he had been the butt of a few of Stephen’s pranks. The man could be merciless but it was all in good fun.
Gazing into the familiar eyes of one of his most powerful knights, he sensed there was not an excess amount of good humor in the man at the moment. He suspected why but he would not back down or change his directive. Sometimes he had to remind himself that he was now the king and these knights he had grown up around were his vassals. They were men he had learned much from, considering them fathers in place of the one he never had. Stephen was one of those men. He secretly hoped the man was not truly upset.
“You deserve nothing less,” Edward replied. “I hope that you will be able to inspect your holdings sometime in the very near future, Baron Lamberton.”
Stephen genuinely smiled at the sound of his new title. “I know the lay of the land in that area somewhat and it is a rich and populated region.”
Edward nodded, the warmth of the moment fading as the unspoken subject of the betrothal hung in the air. Edward cleared his throat softly and plunged into the topic.
“I presume that Tate told you of your new wife,” he lowered his voice.
Stephen nodded, but not without a cocked eyebrow. “He did.”
“I would have you marry her this night. The Scots must know we mean to dominate them in every way. Rebellion will not be tolerated.”
Stephen didn’t argue and he didn’t question; it would be of no use. It would not change the way of things.
“Does she know yet, Sire?”
“She does not. Nor does her father.”
“I presume you will tell them both?”
Edward’s reply was to motion to one of the lesser knights standing nearby. When the man came close, the king quietly ordered him to find a priest. Stephen watched the knight jog off, his armor and mail jingling a crazy tune. He looked back at Edward to find the young king staring at him.
“I will tell the father but you tell the girl,” he told him quietly. “She is to be your wife, after all. You may as well start to know her immediately.”
Stephen almost rolled his eyes but caught himself. Still, the square jaw was ticking with displeasure and Edward was sure he heard a low growl at some point. But the knight nodded obediently.
“The dark haired lass, I presume?” he dipped his head in the direction of the huddling family.
Edward turned around, eyeing the group; along with Seton and his eldest daughter, there was apparently a mother, a grandmother, and two other elderly men in mail and dirty tartan. It was an odd family group. Not so odd, however, when one considered that Seton had lost all three sons in the siege of Berwick. Women and old folk were all he had left, which was something of a tragedy.
“Take the girl somewhere and explain things to her,” Edward hissed the order as they turned for the group. “I will keep the family at bay. Once the priest arrives, you will marry her and consummate the marriage immediately. I want no room for error.”
It was a harsh command but Stephen didn’t flinch. “Aye, Sire.”
“Oh… and Stephen?”
“My lord?”
“Congratulations. She is a beautiful woman.”
Stephen found a great deal of irony in that statement. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes again. Marching behind the king as they reached the tattered group of rebels, he came to a halt when the king did, a massively silent sentinel bigger than any man any of them had ever seen. He crossed his arms, appendages the size of tree branches.
“This is Sir Stephen of Pembury,” Edward announced to the group. “He is Guardian Protector of the City of Berwick, Commander of the King’s Forces and a knight unlike any you have ever seen. He is cunning, experienced and possesses strength that would put Samson to shame. If you value your lives, you will obey this man as you obey me. Is this in any way unclear?”
Seton was gazing up at Stephen with a baleful expression; even in defeat, the old man had courage. He had been through hell and lost nearly everything, but still, his inherent defiance had not left him.
“What is to become of my family and me?” his gaze moved back and forth between Stephen and the king. “Are we to hang as Thomas did?”
Stephen returned the hateful stare without emotion; there was no reason to respond to the challenge of a prisoner. But he looked to the king for the reply.
“You will be my guests for the time being.” Edward didn’t like the way the man was glaring at them. “Your new home will be Alnwick Castle until I can think of a more suitable place. But your daughter has a different destiny.”
Stephen took that as his cue. Reaching out, he grasped the petite brunette by the arm and yanked her clear of her family group before anyone could react. Alexander roared in protest as his wife screamed; the commotion brought the knights and soldiers in the great hall to bear, armed to the teeth and prepared to stab the first Scots who tried to cross the line. While the women in Seton’s group began to wail pitifully, Seton himself suddenly lost all of his arrogance.
“Please, Sire, I beg you,” he was quickly growing panicked. “Not Joselyn. Take me for whatever punishment you choose and I shall gladly submit myself. But leave my daughter alone.”
Stephen was already pulling Joselyn across the hall, heading for the main door. He was focused on his duty and ignored the chaos that had erupted. In his grasp, his prisoner was doing very little resisting; instead, she seemed to be trying to calm her kin.
“Da!” she called to the man steadily. “All will be well. Do not fret so!”
Her father tore his eyes away from the young king in time to see his daughter being hauled through the front door by a mountain of a man. Pembury was the biggest knight he had ever seen and he was terrified. Hand on his heart as if to hold in his terror, he looked back to the young king.
“What will you do with her?” he asked in raspy voice.
Edward cocked a fair eyebrow. “Have no fear, Seton,” he was not sure he liked this man in the least. “She will not meet the same fate as your son. In fact, you have just met your future son-in-law. You could live to be a thousand years old and never find such an honorable man. Consider yourself and your daughter extremely fortunate.”
Seton looked as if he were about to pass out. In fact, that was what his wife did as soon as Joselyn left the room.
CHAPTER TWO
The smell of smoke and death was heavy in the air now, just a few moments after midnight, as Stephen pulled Joselyn across the dusty bailey and towards the keep of Berwick. The moon was starting to emerge, just peeking over the northeast hills, and the land was illuminated a soft gray color. Joselyn didn’t say a word as the enormous knight pulled her up the steps into the keep and took her into the first room they came to, a small solar just off the main entry. Once inside the cold and dark room, he shut and bolted the door.
He had also let her go by that time. Clad in her tartan and a rough wool garments that were heavy and warm, she pressed herself against the wall as far as she could go while Stephen went to see about a fire. There was very little kindling but he piled it expertly, searching until he found the small piece of flint and stone used to light the fire. He managed to spark a small blaze on the first try.
So far, he hadn’t said a word. Joselyn watched him closely, struggling not to show her anxiety. He was big and evil-looking, covered with dark stains that she could only assume to be blood. He wore no helm, his short black hair glimmering weakly as the small fire grew in strength. He blew on it a few times and when he was convinced it was not going to die, he stood up to face her.
&
nbsp; It was like looking up at the tallest tree; she had to crane her neck back simply to look the man in the face. Being Scots, she had seen her share of big men, but the English knight before her went beyond even what she had ever witnessed. Along with the black hair, he had a square jaw and straight nose, and the most brilliant blue eyes she had ever seen. They were the color of cornflowers and as he looked at her, they fairly glowed with curiosity, power and perhaps a bit of anger. She couldn’t really blame him. But she was very concerned about what he was going to do with her. After several appraising moments, he lowered his gaze and vigorously scratched his scalp.
“As you have been informed, my name is Stephen,” he said in a deep voice that seemed to bubble up from his toes. “I am a knight in the service of King Edward, as I also served his father. I am Baron Lamberton of Ravensdowne Castle in Northumbria and will inherit the title of Baron Pembury upon my father’s death. I am also formerly a member of the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes and of Malta. I am therefore an accomplished knight with wealth and status and you, my lady, are to have the honor of becoming my wife.”
He looked at her as he finished his sentence. Joselyn stared at the man, digesting his words, her features registering shock, surprise and disbelief in that order.
“Wife?” she repeated, stunned. “But… but I cannot marry.”
“You can and you will,” Stephen told her, “and before you throw yourself into fits of hysterics, know that this is not my doing, but the king’s. He has ordered us to wed to cement an alliance between the rebels and conquerors of this city. To resist, for either of us, would be futile.”
Joselyn’s pale blue eyes were wide with astonishment. She felt so much shock at the announcement that it was difficult to comprehend. She also felt a great deal of fear and embarrassment, knowing that the reasons behind her resistance might very well negate the deal. They were reasons she’d not spoke of since they had happened. But now, cornered by the big knight who was to be her husband, she found the horrific reasons filling her thoughts. It was making her ill simply to recollect that which she had tried so hard to forget.