Davyss looked at his boy. “I do understand that,” he said softly. “But you must remember that your mother and I did not want to be married, either. Your grandmother forced the marriage and it was utterly miserable for the first few weeks. More miserable than you can imagine. The love between us had to grow and thank God that it did. What I am trying to say is that you, too, can find love with the woman you marry but you will never know unless you marry her.”
He had a point but Drake wasn’t willing to concede, on any level. His frustration began to grow because he felt like his argument was losing ground.
“Then I would rather not know,” he said, turning away. “Father, if you make me do this, I will be more miserable than you can imagine. I will make my wife miserable. I do not even know the girl and already I feel pity for her, having to marry a man that wants nothing to do with her. Moreover, you brought me home under false pretenses. You told me that Mother was ill and begged me to return and when I did, I find myself a betrothed man and a marriage awaiting me. It was unfair and you know it.”
Davyss shrugged. “In my defense, your mother was ill,” he said. “She has a condition of the belly that sometimes renders her immobile for days, even weeks. She was very ill at the time I sent you the missive. But she is better now.”
“You used her illness to coerce me into coming home.”
Davyss stood up. He wasn’t going to let his son make him feel guilty for doing what he felt he had to do. “You are correct,” he said, giving his son a glimmer of that legendary de Winter stubbornness. “The marriage was already arranged and I had to get you home. Would you have come had I told you the truth? Of course you would not. Drake, I have been listening to your mother worry over you for the past ten years, wondering if you were going to find happiness, worrying over just the right match for you. My mother did it to me and now your mother is doing it to you. If you walk away from this marriage, then I cannot guarantee what your relationship with your mother will be like after this. She has never asked much from you but she does ask for this. Why can you not make the woman happy?”
So he was throwing Devereux into the equation now, playing on Drake’s sense of guilt and obligation towards his mother. It was true that the woman was pushing the marriage upon him, but that aside, she had been the most understanding and compassionate woman Drake had ever had the fortune to know. He loved his mother deeply and her wisdom in all matters was unparalleled. Drake respected it greatly. But the fact of the matter was that Drake was more concerned with his own wants now than his mother’s at the moment.
“I do not want to ruin my relationship with my mother,” he said sincerely, “but as I live and breathe, I also know that if I do consent to this marriage, I will be the most miserable man in Norfolk. I also know that I will quite possibly come to resent my mother for forcing me into marriage and that will ruin our relationship as well. There will be no winner in this battle of wills, Papa. Either mother will resent me for not obeying her wishes or I will resent her for having been forced to obey them. Either way, there will be strain between us.”
Davyss could see that. He’d been thinking that all along, in fact. Moving to Drake, he put a big hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then what will you do?” he asked as if he had no more options to give. “What can you do?”
Drake shrugged. “I do not know, to be truthful,” he said. “I have been agonizing over this for days. I cannot do this, Papa. I cannot be tied to a woman I do not know. There is so much in this world that I’ve not yet done or experienced. A wife will only hinder that.”
“A wife may be the greatest experience yet.”
Drake struggled with his frustration. “Mayhap,” he said. “But I want that to be my decision. Right now, my liege is heading to Scotland with Edward and I am not there. Do you know how upsetting that is? Edward has convened a massive army to take back lands against the latest Scottish revolt and has called in dozens of barons for the task, but I am here because my mother wishes me to wed. Of course I am unhappy about this. I am damned unhappy. I am a knight who has been pulled away from his duties because of my mother’s foolish wishes.”
Davyss held up a finger of caution. “You will not call your mother’s wishes foolish,” he said sternly. “Her wishes are never foolish. Her desire to see you wed and established is genuine. But I understand that your mind and heart are elsewhere. I understand that completely.”
Drake was frowning at his father. “Then if you understand it, you understand why I do not want to be here,” he said. “It is more than simply not wanting to wed a woman I have never met. It is the fact that I am not being allowed to do what I was born to do. I am a de Winter and a de Winter belongs in battle.”
Davyss scratched his head and turned away, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. He was in a difficult spot, wanting to please both his wife and his son who were on completely opposite sides of the issue. He understood Drake’s point of view but he also understood his wife’s; scratching and scratching his scalp, he paced across the uneven floor, trying to formulate a plan to please them both. It wasn’t an easy task.
“Allow me to make a proposal,” he finally said. “You want to be with Edward right now and I cannot disagree. Your mother wants you wed right now and I dare not disagree. But… if we tell your mother that we must postpone the marriage because duty calls you away, that might be enough to ease her, at least for the time being. I will have to speak with Summerlin about it and convince the man to see my side of it, but it can be done. Mayhap… mayhap if we simply postpone the marriage with the promise that it will take place at some later time when your duties with Edward are finished, it will be enough to ease both your mother and Lord Summerlin. Would you be willing to agree to that at least?”
Drake was interested, that much was clear. But he was also suspicious. “Postpone it how long?”
Davyss shrugged. “Enough for you to get this wanderlust out of your heart,” he said. “A year? Two? Three? Who is to say? We cannot postpone it forever but mayhap if we postpone it long enough, Summerlin will grow tired of waiting and marry his daughter off to someone else. Would that be agreeable?”
Drake knew he would never get a better offer, at least at this point. He had no choice but to agree. “It would,” he said. “Will you tell Mother?”
Davyss nodded. “I will,” he said. “Meanwhile, you make your way to the stables and get out of here. If you do not leave, we run the risk of your mother refusing to allow you to go, so you must simply leave as quickly as you can. I will keep the hounds off your trail for as long as I can.”
Thrilled and relieved, Drake grabbed his father’s head and kissed the man on the cheek. “Bless you, Papa,” he said sincerely. “I love you very much.”
Davyss grunted. “You love me very much when I risk my very life on your behalf,” he said. “It is not Summerlin I fear but your mother.”
Drake grinned. “I know,” he said. “I am sorry I will not be able to bid her farewell. You will tell her for me, won’t you? Tell her I love her and will return when I can.”
Davyss cocked an eyebrow. “When being the operative word,” he said. “This bargain between us is predicated on the fact that you will, at all costs, send me word on your status when this business in Scotland is finished. I will be kept apprised of what is happening and when you plan on returning home. If you do not do this, Drake, I will ride to Scotland myself and find you. It will not be a pleasant meeting.”
Drake nodded, knowing his father meant what he said. Drake took great pride in his honor and integrity, so he was not hard-pressed to agree to his father’s terms.
“You know I will keep you informed, Papa,” he said quietly. “I swear that I will. But I will not swear upon or agree to a timeline for my return to Norwich. It may be a year or it may be five.”
“Five is too long.”
Drake held up a finger. “I am agreeing to a betrothal I do not want,” he pointed out. “You will have to give concessions as we
ll. I will set the timeline for my return.”
Davyss pursed his lips, a hint of irritability. “Very well,” he said. “I am not entirely sure your mother will be pleased with that, but it will have to suffice for now. But I will demand it be no longer than five years, Drake. To make the Summerlin girl wait any longer is ridiculous and disrespectful to the entire contract. Am I clear?”
Drake wasn’t happy about his father’s statement but he finally nodded his head. “Very well,” he said. “No longer than five years. But you had better let me leave now before Mother gets involved and we are back where we started when you first entered this storage vault.”
Davyss’ dark eyes lingered on him. “Why?” he asked. “Were you really going to fight your brothers and me until death?”
Drake shook his head. “Nay,” he admitted. “Not with a sword, in any case. But I was fully prepared to throw punches.”
Davyss grinned. “You are much like your Uncle Hugh in that respect,” he said. “He was never afraid to throw a punch, either, and especially not at me.”
Drake gave him a half-smile, thinking on his father’s only brother, Hugh, who had died of a cancer the year before. Hugh’s death had devastated Davyss. Drake put his hand on his father’s shoulder again.
“You miss him,” he said softly.
Davyss nodded, his dark eyes growing distant as he recalled memories of his brother. “Aye,” he said. But he quickly pushed those memories away, unwilling to dwell on them. He put a big hand against Drake’s stubbled cheek. “Go, now. Out through the kitchen where she will not see you. Move quickly for the stables and do not look back. I will settle what needs to be settled here.”
Drake nodded, already heading for the spiral stairs that led up through a hatch in the kitchen floor. “My army should be well north of Leister by now,” he said. “I should be able to catch them in a week or two if I ride hard.”
Davyss followed his son as the man mounted the stairs. “I’ve already sent men with Edward on this quest,” he said. “The rebellion is heavy with Clan Maxwell and Edward wants to secure their castles near the border. They are using them to launch attacks as far south as Carlisle, or so I have been told.”
Drake nodded. “I know,” he said. “I have been told the same from my liege, de Bretagne. He is taking a good portion of the garrison at Sherborne Castle up north and I should be right along with them.”
Davyss cocked a dark eyebrow. “When do you think you will return to Norwich to swear fealty to your father instead of being thick as thieves with Cortez de Bretagne?”
Drake paused on the stairs, grinning at his father. “If I come back to Norwich, it will be Mother in command and not you,” he said. “Give me another year or two with de Bretagne before I return to my mother’s bosom. Cortez and I have a bloody good time, you know.”
Davyss chuckled, knowing that Drake and his liege were the best of friends and had been since they were young squires. It was a very strong bond. As Drake continued up the stairs, Davyss reached out to touch the man’s leg before he could get away completely.
“Take great care,” he said to his son, the conversation taking a serious turn. “I wish I could fight with you but I am not much good with it these days. Moreover, I promised your mother that I would not, so I send you with my blessings and prayers. May God watch over you, my son.”
Drake grasped his father’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “My thanks, Papa,” he said softly. “I love you very much. Tell Mother… tell her that I love her, too. I will be back, I swear it.”
Davyss simply nodded his head, letting the man flee up the stairs and disappear into the darkened hatch above. For the longest time he simply stood there, thinking on his eldest son and praying that he would again see him back at Norwich. He wished very much that he was going with him, off to fight the rebel Scots. As Drake had said, that was where the de Winters belonged. They did, indeed, but Davyss had selfishly kept his other three sons with him at Norwich, not sending them on Edward’s quest. Having sent most of his army with the king, he reasoned that he needed his knights here with him. He wished he could keep Drake with him as well, but that was not to be. In Drake’s case, it was because the man had a wandering spirit that kept him away from home most of the time. Wanderlust was a good term for the essence of Drake de Winter.
Murmuring a silent prayer for Drake’s safety, Davyss left the vault in search of what turned out to be a very upset wife and an even more upset Lord Summerlin.
CHAPTER TWO
July
Caerlaverock Castle, Scotland
Whoosh!
Drake had heard the sing of the arrow coming and had been fast enough to hit the ground before the arrow pierced his skull, but some of his colleagues had not been so lucky. As archers on the battlements of Caerlaverock Castle let loose with a barrage of arrows, many of Edward’s men were caught in the storm of flying wood. Drake could hear the grunts of agony around him as he rolled over on the ground, pelted by the arrows that had ricocheted off solid obstacles, men included. By the time he stood up, there was a scattering of injured around him.
“Damn,” he hissed as he beheld the carnage.
Bending over the soldier nearest him, he ripped the arrow from the man’s shoulder and tossed it aside. Men were starting to stand up now, wounded, while still others were being dragged off to safety by those who had missed the arrow barrage entirely. The ground, having been saturated by a summer storm the night before, was muddy and bloody, and Drake was ankle-deep in the sludge. He helped an injured man out of the range of archers, turning him over to some colleagues before heading off to the west. He could see his liege in the distance, waiting for him.
“Drake!” a dark-haired, dark-eyed man in expensive, well-used armor lifted a hand as Drake drew closer. “You escaped the barrage? God be praised.”
Drake nodded, wiping mud from his left cheek where he had hit the ground. “I did,” he replied, turning to eye the big, triangle-shaped castle in the distance. “We cannot get near the gatehouse or the moat in front of it without being a clear target for the archers. They have the gatehouse completely covered, as you just saw. They will cut us down if we try.”
Sir Cortez de Bretagne, garrison commander of Sherborne Castle in Dorset and also Drake’s liege, simply nodded as he looked around him. The siege of Caerlaverock Castle was in full-swing and had been since yesterday. About fifty great houses and warlords, including a total, so far, of eighty-seven knights, had followed Edward up to Scotland to quell the rising Scottish rebellion, beginning with the Maxwell property of Caerlaverock. About a day’s ride from Carlisle, it was a strategic location and Edward wanted it badly.
But there was a distinct problem with Caerlaverock; the castle was moated and well-protected, and the Maxwell garrison was having little trouble repelling the superior English forces. Edward had ordered de Bretagne and the son of the Earl of Warenton, William de Wolfe, to plan for the breach of the gatehouse while the rest of Edward’s army distracted those inside the garrison by bringing up the siege engines, but so far, the garrison of Caerlaverock would not be distracted. They had been ready and waiting for Drake and de Wolfe. Even now, de Wolfe was falling back with his men and de Bretagne was doing the same. The group charged with the gatehouse siege moved away from their target, gathering out of range to re-think their strategy.
De Wolfe was the grandson of the great border knight, William de Wolfe. He was the son of William’s eldest son, Scott de Wolfe, who now held the title of the Earl of Warenton since his father had passed away some years before. But the earl suffered from the same painful joint affliction that had fallen many great de Wolfe knights and did not fight these days at his advanced age. His son, however, did, and he was an enormously powerful and cunning fighter very much in the image of his legendary grandfather. It was this big knight, with his dark hair and pale green eyes, who faced de Bretagne and his group, including Drake.
“There is no way to get near that gatehouse even with the distr
actions that Edward is presenting,” de Wolfe said, wiping sweat from his eyes. “You just saw what happened. We lost several men trying to get close. It will be my suggestion to the king that he bring forward that beastly trebuchet he has named after my ancestor and try to breach it with that thing. I fear that may be our only option at this point.”
The group was listening carefully. De Wolfe was speaking of the massive trebuchet that Edward employed in battle, the biggest one in existence, and it was, indeed, named after de Wolfe’s ancestor. That ancestor had come over with the Duke of Normandy, a man who had been a key general in the conquest and had possessed such legendary skill that he had passed into a demigod-like status among warriors. It wasn’t every man who had battle machines named after him.
“The Warwolfe?” de Bretagne asked, speaking the name that Edward had given his massive trebuchet. “It is on the east side of the castle. Edward has been using it against the walls. But it will take hours for him to bring it around. It will sink straight into the earth under its weight in this mud.”
De Wolfe shrugged. “That is true, but I feel we have no option unless we all wish to be cut down by Maxwell’s arrows.”
Before de Bretagne could reply, another man in the group asserted himself. “Madness,” he hissed. “We do not need the Warwolfe to beat down the gatehouse. We need to test the depth of the moat while our men build ladders across it. To breach it, we must swarm it.”
All eyes turned to the man who spoke. John of Brittany, nephew to the king and son of the Duke of Brittany, was a favorite of Edward’s. It was unfortunate because the man was a mediocre soldier at best in spite of the name and wealth he carried. He was not particularly talented in battle, nor did he have a mind for strategy, but Edward loved him like a son, which made him, perhaps, the strongest voice in the group. John could say, or do, almost anything he wanted and by his sheer relationship with the king, men would be forced to follow. Knowing this, de Wolfe and de Bretagne braced themselves.