As Joselyn snuggled next to her husband propped against the wall, Kynan debated how much to tell of what had occurred on his trip from the kitchen to the keep. He opted for all of it because sooner or later, the situation would take a turn and it would be best if they were both prepared. As Joselyn slowly fed Stephen a slab of bread covered in mutton gravy and beans, Kynan pulled up a stool next to them.
“Ye’ve done nothing but eat all day, Sassenach,” he quipped.
Stephen lifted a dark eyebrow. “I have not eaten for three days. I have much to make up for.”
“Ye eat enough fer me army.”
“Tread carefully. If I am hungry enough, you might find yourself on the menu.”
Kynan made a face, sending Joselyn in to fits of giggles. Kynan watched his beautiful cousin, knowing he had never seen her happier. He wanted to make sure she never knew anything else.
“Moray’s men know that I have ye,” he looked at Stephen. “I saw them as I was bringing ye food and they asked me how ye fared. I told them you were hovering near death and that only time would tell. But they are demanding tae see ye. I told them they could see ye on the morrow after ye’d had time tae sleep.”
Stephen’s congenial expression faded. “Did they say what they wanted?”
Kynan exhaled sharply and looked at his hands, turning them over and inspecting them. “I have heard talk that they want tae hang ye as Tommy and Willie Seton were hanged,” he replied. “But at the moment, they are concerned with fortifying their position at the castle. They fear that Edward will come down around them again, especially with Pembury as a captive.”
All humor was gone from Stephen and Joselyn’s expressions. Joselyn looked at her husband, her wide-eyed expression on the verge of tears. Then she turned back to Kynan.
“Who has said such ridiculous things?” she hissed.
Kynan cast her a sidelong glance, still picking at his hands. “Moray is in charge,” he replied. “I heard it from his men.”
Joselyn was growing increasingly livid. “Who?”
“The knight in command,” Kynan looked at her, then. “Morgan de Velt.”
Joselyn’s eyes widened. “De Velt?” she repeated. “He must be our kin, Kynan. My mother and your mother were de Velts. Do you know him?”
Kynan nodded. “I know of him,” he replied. “He is more English than Scots, hired by Moray. The man is powerful and deadly and, I believe, well paid fer his service.”
“He is a mercenary?”
“Aye.”
“I know him,” Stephen spoke up.
Both Joselyn and Kynan looked to him. “What do you know of him?” Joselyn wanted to know.
Stephen sighed, puffing out his cheeks. There was resignation in his manner. “Morgan served Roger Mortimer. He is an enemy of Edward, which explains why he is siding with the Scots. And he most definitely knows me. He and I have faced each other before in battle. In fact, that explains how the Scots knew to target me when the walls were breached. Undoubtedly, Morgan described me to them and told them to disable me.”
Joselyn was curled up against him, watching him with wide eyes. “He will want to kill you, then?”
Stephen wriggled his eyebrows. “It is possible,” he said, looking to Kynan. “I will see de Velt in the morning and get to the heart of this.”
“Ye might not like it,” Kynan said softly.
“I already do not like it.”
“Wait,” Joselyn put up her hand to stop them from continuing along that line of conversation. “Ky, we must get Stephen out of here. We cannot think of anything but that.”
Kynan nodded. “Ease yerself, lass,” he told her. “I have already thought of such things.”
“And?” Joselyn demanded.
Kynan grinned, but it was at Stephen. “Perhaps I’m wondering how yer Sassenach will look wearin’ McCulloch tartan.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It hadn’t been as simple a trip as they had thought.
When de Lara and his men, including Lady Pembury, had departed Forestburn, Cade and Roman had been ready. They had tried to steal a horse but the grooms kept shooing them away. Their only chance had been in an old nag they found tied up near the kitchens, so they stole the horse and squeezed it out through Forestburn’s postern gate. But Forestburn had a moat, so after a very precarious walk around the walls, they were able to urge the horse up onto the drawbridge and plod across it when some traffic from the castle distracted the guards. All in all, they had been lucky. They prayed their luck would hold.
Unfortunately for both boys, they hadn’t much experience in navigating travel. They tried to follow de Lara’s trail but when it became too muddled up, they had to ask for directions. Three times. They spent two nights sleeping in the woods, too fearful to start a fire. It had been cold, but not too terribly, and in the morning they jumped on the nag and kicked the animal into a bumpy trot.
Somewhere during the second day of travel, they traded clothes with two peasant boys working in a bean field. Cade’s clothes had bugs and Roman’s were far too small, but they silently endured the tribulations they had brought upon themselves. They considered it the price to pay for their adventure. Rising early on the dawn of the third day, they traveled for several hours before finally reaching the outskirts of Berwick.
The old nag plodded and swayed along the road, heading into the town from the southwest. Cade was itching like crazy and Roman, taking his turn at handling the horse, kept trying to still him. The castle, perched on the edge of the river, eventually came into view.
It looked broken and beaten as the boys pulled the nag to halt, gazing at the fortress in the distance. Roman finally looked back at Cade.
“So what do we do?” he asked. “Do you even have a plan?”
Cade didn’t have much of one but he didn’t want Roman to know. He was older and, therefore, wiser, and he was determined to hatch a plan that would save Stephen and quite possibly the entire garrison at Berwick.
“We need to sneak in,” he told Roman. “If we sneak in and pretend we’re servants, then we can find out where Sir Stephen is.”
“And then what?”
Cade made a face at him. “And then we rescue him.”
Roman looked at the castle and shrugged. “Okay.”
Cade was glad he hadn’t asked any more questions. They climbed off the horse and led it into a wooded area with a small stream running through it. There was plenty of grass and water, so they tied the horse off and trudged back up to the road. In their peasant clothing, they looked like just another pair of boys roaming the countryside, not the son of an Earl and the son of the Guardian Protector of Berwick. In fact, Roman tried not to think about his mother, knowing she was probably frantic with worry. But this adventure was important. He wished he had been able to tell her. She would have just told him that he couldn’t go.
So they marched on towards the castle as the day passed into afternoon, having no idea that Tate and his men were about a quarter of a mile to the northwest. Cade and Roman moved into the town, dodging carts and horses, realizing they were very hungry because the food they had brought with them ran out that morning. They had no money, so Cade thought it would be acceptable to steal what they could since they were on a rescue mission. He was sure God would forgive them. Clever boys that they were, Roman distracted a shop keeper by falling in front of his stall and crying loudly as Cade stole a loaf of bread.
Just about the time Cade disappeared with the bread, Roman’s crying miraculously stopped and he fled, meeting up with Cade on the next block and devouring their stolen goods. Half running, half walking as they shoved bread into their mouths, they cleared the town and found the stretch of road that led to the castle.
Their pace picked up.
*
Stephen had slept all night and well into the morning, his battered body struggling to heal itself from his near-deadly beating. Joselyn, not feeling well in her early pregnancy, was coming to experience some insomnia and hadn
’t fallen asleep until it was nearly dawn. So when Stephen awoke, it was to the gentle sound of his wife’s snoring. She was snuggled up against him, her face pressed into his chest, sleeping like the dead. Stephen didn’t move, smiling at the sound of her charming snores. He was so very thankful to be alive and to be with her, regardless of the circumstances. Up until yesterday, he was not sure he would ever experience moments like this again.
He did notice that Kynan was not in the room with them. He was not sure if that was a good or a bad sign. His mind moved to Morgan de Velt, the mercenary knight who pledged his services at a high cost. He had fought with Mortimer because the man had heaped praise and money on him, but his services could have just as easily been bought by Edward. All that mattered to de Velt was where the money was coming from.
Stephen knew that his wife’s mother was a de Velt, but there were quite a few of them this far north. Their ancestor, the fierce mercenary Ajax de Velt, had been a warlord back in the time of Henry the Second, in the dark days when England and Scotland and Wales were still places of great turmoil and little organization. He had eventually married well and had several children, branches of the family that were a paradox. Some were reputable and moral while others, like Morgan, carried on their ancestor’s mercenary tradition. But Ajax de Velt had also been known as a ruthless killer. Morgan could, from what Stephen knew, be the same way. He wondered how much knightly courtesy would keep Morgan from making an example out of him.
So he lay on the mattress with his wife, holding her close and staring up at the ceiling lost in thought. He didn’t even know what time it was, but he knew he was hungry. Perhaps Kynan had gone to get food. As he continued to lay still, relaxed and quiet, the door to the solar creaked opened.
Kynan stood in the doorway, his hand on the latch as he looked at Stephen. Stephen caught sight of him in his peripheral vision and turned slightly to get a better look. When their eyes met, Stephen was put on his guard simply by the expression on Kynan’s face.
“Aye,” Kynan said with regret. “He’s awake.”
Stephen knew he was not talking to him. In fact, he gently shook Joselyn awake as bootfalls approached and men began to crowd into the room. Joselyn awoke with a start but he shushed her swiftly.
“I am sorry to wake you,” he whispered. “But we have guests. Please help me to sit up.”
Rubbing her eyes, Joselyn was instantly full of fear but did as he asked. She was groggy but tried to stay calm, taking hold of Stephen’s arm as he sat up, very slowly, and leaned back against the wall. By the time Joselyn turned around, three big men were in the room with Kynan lingering somewhere behind them. She sat down next to Stephen and held his hand tightly, her pale blue eyes wide with fright.
The knight standing in the forefront was not Scots; that much was clear. He was a big man with brown eyes and dark blond hair that fell to his shoulders. Huge hands rested at his sides as his gaze moved over Stephen. So far, he hadn’t even bothered looking at Joselyn.
“Pembury,” he greeted, his voice deep and quiet.
Stephen lifted an eyebrow. “De Velt, I presume?”
“You presume correctly. I see that you are alive.”
“I am, no thanks to you.”
De Velt actually grinned. “My apologies,” he replied. “I have been very busy trying to secure Berwick. I forgot you were out in the yard.”
Stephen had an expression on his face that let the man know without benefit of words that he knew he was lying. “I would not expect you to treat a prisoner with honor.”
De Velt’s smile faded as he studied Stephen, plotting what to say next. Having only seen Stephen twice in his life, he knew of Pembury by reputation only, knowing he was one of the more powerful knights in the arsenal of King Edward and one of the tallest knights in England. He had been both pleased and surprised to have captured the man called Guardian Protector during the siege of Berwick and his commanders had told him to keep the man alive until they decided what was to be done with him. Now the decision was made and that directive had come this morning, directly from Moray. The news was not good.
After a moment, de Velt exhaled wearily and looked around for a chair. One of his men shoved a stool at him and he pulled it up, seating his big body heavily. Only then did he look at Joselyn, curled up against her husband. He lifted an eyebrow at her.
“What is the wench doing here?” he asked, not kindly.
Stephen replied before Joselyn could voice her outrage. “This is not a wench,” he was beginning to sound perturbed. “This is my wife, the Lady Joselyn de Velt Seton Pembury, and her father is Alexander Seton. Perhaps you have heard of him.”
De Velt stared at her. Then he looked around to the crowd behind him, jabbing a finger at Joselyn.
“Why did no one tell me that she was here?” he demanded, suddenly bolting up from the stool and using it like a weapon to crown the man nearest him. “Did no one think to tell me that Pembury’s wife was here?”
Men were getting smacked around and Joselyn screamed, pressing herself against Stephen and turning her head away as one man took the stool in the mouth and blood sprayed. Stephen put his enormous hand over her head, holding it against his chest to protect her as de Velt swung away. Even Kynan ducked away as de Velt beat his men. But as swiftly as it started, the violence stopped and de Velt set the stool back down, reclaiming his seat.
De Velt exhaled sharply, collecting himself, as he returned his focus to Joselyn. She was still clutched against Stephen’s chest, her pale blue eyes peering out of the safety of his protective hand. When her eyes met de Velt’s, he smiled at her.
“Lady Pembury,” he said, sounding calm. “I was unaware you were here. You were not here during the battle, were you?”
Joselyn looked at Stephen, who removed his hand from her head and answered for her. “Nay,” he said quietly.
“Then how did she get here?”
“I rode from Forestburn yesterday,” Joselyn found her tongue, thinking that it would be a good time to ask for her husband’s freedom now that she had de Velt’s attention. “As the daughter of Alexander Seton, I demand that you free my husband. If you release him, the king has promised to release my father.”
Stephen looked at her sharply, wondering what in the hell she was doing making that kind of proposal. Edward would surely never agree to anything like that and he cursed under his breath at her bold foolishness. De Velt, however, never took his eyes from her, becoming increasingly interested in the very beautiful young woman before him. If he thought her proposition was ridiculous, he didn’t let on.
“You are a de Velt,” he said after a moment, completely ignoring her offer.
Joselyn nodded. “My mother was the daughter of Micah de Velt, Lord Carham.” She pointed to Kynan, standing over by the door. “Kynan is my cousin. His mother and my mother were sisters.”
De Velt nodded, glancing back at Kynan. “Are you the one who admitted her to Berwick without my knowledge?”
Kynan shook his head. “The guards did that. I happened tae see her in the bailey and brought her in here fer her own safety.”
De Velt digested that, understanding a little more of the lady’s mysterious appearance, before returning his focus to Joselyn. “Micah was my father’s brother,” he told her. “Micah was the oldest of fourteen children and I am sorry to say that I do not keep track of all of my kin. But It would seem that you and I are related, Lady Pembury.”
“And Kynan, too.”
He nodded slowly. “And Kynan, too.”
Joselyn was not sure if that was a good or bad thing. She pushed herself off of her husband and rose, smoothing her gown and trying to convey a somewhat presentable and collected appearance. She didn’t want to come across like a groveling wife, as de Lara had warned her. She wanted to present a strong, determined front.
“Since we are related, I would ask you, as my kin, to please release my husband,” she said firmly. “He is injured and I wish to take him someplace safe wher
e he can heal.”
De Velt scratched his head, inspecting Lady Pembury’s delicious figure beneath her soft yellow surcoat. She had luscious full breasts and he found himself staring at them.
“I am not sure that is possible, lady,” he replied. “I understand that Pembury hanged your brothers as you and your family watched from the battlements. Is this true?”
Joselyn looked stricken, struggling not to appear off balance. “My brothers were hanged,” she confirmed. “But Stephen did not personally do it. He has, in fact, done many wonderful things for me and my family since the event of our marriage. He is a good man.”
De Velt looked at Stephen. “She lives in a dream world where you can do no wrong,” he said. “You will tell me the truth, Pembury. Did you personally hang her brothers?”
Stephen sighed faintly, looking up at Joselyn, who was now staring back at him with some fear. He averted his gaze, thinking carefully on his answer.
“I was Thomas’ guard the entire time he was Edward’s hostage,” he replied quietly. “He was a fine young man who never stopped believing that his father would seek his freedom. When Alexander Seton did not honor the terms of the hostage agreement, it was my duty to present the boy to the executioner.”
De Velt’s gaze was riveted to him. “Ever the obedient knight,” he said, bordering on sarcasm. “Did you put the noose over his neck?”
Stephen’s blue eyes were intense. “Nay,” he replied hoarsely. “Tommy did it himself, weeping as he did so, because his father had failed him. The boy put that noose on his own neck and stepped off the scaffold under his own accord. None of us had to make a move because the boy took his own life.”
Joselyn suddenly turned away, weeping softly, and Stephen reached out to put a comforting hand on her. De Velt’s gaze was intense on Stephen.