“Oh, sweetheart,” he kissed her forehead, her temple, listening to her sniffle. “It was very brave of you but very foolish. I was so… well, it does not matter. All that matters is that you are well. And Mortimer… he has been a respectful to you? He has not harmed or touched you?”
She wiped at her eyes. “Not yet,” she didn’t know why she suddenly felt so weak and frightened. “But he has been using Kenneth to ensure my behavior. I refused to do his bidding once and he beat Kenneth. He has not done it again so far, but he has threatened.”
Tate tore his eyes off her long enough to look at St. Héver; the big blond knight’s gaze was steady, as if there was nothing amiss. But Tate knew Kenneth well enough to know that the man would never react or complain about any personal offense against him.
“Is this true?” he asked Kenneth, pulling Toby tightly against him once more.
Kenneth cleared his throat softly, glancing at Toby before replying. “It was not that bad,” he said, wanting the focus off of him. “He did, however, make a pact with your wife shortly before your arrival. He told Lady de Lara that he would kill me if she did not spend one night with him in the conjugal sense.”
Tate’s nostrils flared as he looked at his wife. Toby nodded emphatically. “The queen’s arrival interrupted his plans, thank God. But he seemed to know that you had sent her.”
“How did he know that?”
“I do not know. But when he was told the queen was approaching, he looked at me and said ‘Dragonblade’”.
Tate fell silent a moment, his arms around his wife, his cheek against the top of her head. It felt so good just to hold her again even though he knew they were not out of danger yet. He could not relax. After a pensive moment, he sighed heavily.
“It was Isabella’s idea to disguise me as one of her own guard to gain access to the castle,” he said softly. “Stephen and Wallace are here also.”
“I know,” Kenneth replied. “I saw them both. Where is the king?”
Tate lifted an eyebrow. “Safe,” he replied vaguely. “More importantly, there is a ten-thousand-man army a mile to the south, awaiting my command to unleash on Wigmore.”
Toby looked at him with shock. “Ten thousand men?” she repeated. “Why are they here?”
Tate rubbed her arms affectionately. “When I received Mortimer’s message, my first thought was to raise an army bigger than anything England has ever seen. I was prepared to raze Wigmore and destroy everything, and everyone, in my path in order to gain you back.” He sighed, watching the fear in her eyes. “But when my fury cooled, I knew that the one person who had the best chance of securing your release was Isabella. She holds much power over Mortimer. So I went to see her in London.”
“That is why you did not come for me right away?” Toby was beginning to understand.
“Exactly. As much as I wanted to rush to Wigmore, I knew I had to lay my plans well against Mortimer. The man is no fool.”
She gazed up at him, feeling foolish for ever doubting him. “So what now?”
He shrugged. “Isabella will order him to let you go.”
“It is that simple?”
“If he wants to retain his life it is.”
“What if he does not?”
“Then I raze Wigmore and him with it. I will destroy him.”
His voice had taken on a deadly tone. Toby held him tightly, not wanting to let him go. “Take me from here now,” she begged. “Why can you not take me out this moment?”
In truth, Tate hadn’t anticipated seeing her the moment they arrived and he surely did not anticipate having her in his arms in the privacy of the stables. Now that he had her, he had absolutely no intention of letting her out of his sight. He had what he came for.
“Perhaps I can,” he smiled warmly at her. “Perhaps it is as easy as that.”
“If you are going to do it, you had better do it now,” Kenneth told him seriously. “Mortimer is quite fond of your wife. Queen or no, he will be looking for her eventually. You will need time to get clear of this place before he realizes she is gone.”
Tate’s smoky eyes glittered. “I will take her back to the army but then I plan to return,” he said. “I intend to have a serious discussion with Mortimer about his abduction of my wife.”
Toby tugged on him. “It does not matter.” She didn’t want Tate engaging Mortimer in any manner of conflict; not now when they were so close to freedom. “You do not need to confront him. I am whole and sound and he has not touched me. Please, Tate, let us leave this place and never look back.”
As he gazed into her frightened face, he realized that his vengeance, at the moment, was the most important thing on his mind. He realized that it had always been the most important thing on his mind save his wife’s reclamation. He wanted to punish Mortimer for taking Toby. He very much wanted to make the man pay for his sins. It wasn’t even about king or crown any longer; Mortimer had attacked him personally and Tate would not stand for it. His pride, his family, was at stake.
But as he held Toby in his arms, he realized that vengeance was futile. It was a waste of his strength and attention. He had his wife and that was all that truly mattered, but it was difficult to fight off the lingering need for justice. He struggled to refocus on the task of getting her out of Wigmore; his mind raced through the queen’s escort in the ward, the strength of the men he saw upon the battlements and the state of the main gates the last time he saw them. If they were closed, it would make his escape far more difficult. But the last he saw, they were open. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a horse blanket that was laying over one of the stall partitions.
Tate swung the blanket around Toby’s shoulders for both protection and a disguise. She stood out brilliantly in her pale gown and he needed to make her less conspicuous. He smiled at her when she looked puzzled by the action.
“Kenneth,” he said as he secured the blanket around her shoulders. “Return to the hall and locate Stephen and Wallace. Have them meet us in the bailey. We are taking Elizabetha home.”
Kenneth nodded shortly, feeling a tremendous sense of relief. He turned on his heel and quit the stable, his mind focused on finding Stephen and Wallace. But just as he exited the door, heading into the stable yard, a body was waiting for him. And that body drove a broadsword into Kenneth’s torso.
Kenneth fell to his knees as de Roche removed the blade, bringing it up for Tate, who was just emerging from the stable. Toby screamed as she saw the flash of the blade a split second before Tate pushed her out of the way. Tate jumped back as well but not far enough; the tip of the broadsword sliced him across the collarbone and down his chest. It was a nasty gash but not deadly. Giving Toby a shove back into the stables, Tate unsheathed the broadsword at his side and launched into a full offensive against de Roche.
“So you think…,” de Roche dodged a heavy blow and answered with one of his own, “to take your wife away unseen? I will give you credit for a clever disguise, Dragonblade. I would not have guessed you to come as the queen’s own guard.”
Tate thrust and chopped skillfully at de Roche, rewarded with nicking the man on the forearm enough to tear a good portion of the mail away. He was without his custom broadsword because it was too recognizable; he was using young Edward’s instead. It was a good blade, but it was not the fearsome dragon-hilted blade. He wished fervently that he had it against an opponent as strong as de Roche.
“That was always the trouble with you,” Tate said as he ducked a rather sloppy chop by de Roche. “You do not think for yourself. You only do as you are told and that is why you have never been able to outsmart me.”
De Roche was on the defensive, backing away from Tate and nearly tripped over a stone in the muddy earth. “That is where you are wrong,” he said, bringing his blade about. “I found you in the stable, did I not? How fortunate for me that Mortimer ordered me to saddle St. Héver’s charger. Had I not been occupied with the beast, I would have never seen St. Héver bring the lady to the stables. And
I would have never seen you enter shortly after him. The right place at the right time, as it were.”
Tate understood a great deal in that halting sentence and he also understood that de Roche was more than likely alone. He and de Roche seemed to be quite alone as they battled in the stable yard, which was fortunate; Tate was terrified that someone, seeing the fight, was going to notify the entire castle. He had to do away with de Roche quickly or the element of an unnoticed escape would vanish.
“It matters not,” he grunted as he managed to shove de Roche back against the yard wall. “In a few moments I will rid myself of you forever. I should have done it a long time ago.”
De Roche tripped and fell back. When he came up, it was with a handful of mud, which he slung into Tate’s face. Mud filled Tate’s vision and he spun away, struggling to clear his eyes, knowing that de Roche would be upon him for the killing stroke. With Kenneth incapacitated, he could not expect any help. He wiped furiously at his eyes, only managing to clear one as he saw de Roche bearing down on him.
“It is over, my friend,” Hamlin hissed, sword in an offensive position preparing to strike. “Once and for all, this will be over.”
Tate lifted his blade to deflect the blow but the blow never came. He watched, through one muddy eye, as Hamlin suddenly lurched heavily and toppled over. The sword fell to the ground. Astonished, Tate looked up to see Toby standing where de Roche once stood with an enormous pitchfork in her hands.
She looked terrified and ill. The pitchfork prongs were dripping blood. De Roche was not dead but he was in a great deal of pain with three very deep puncture wounds in his back. One of them had gone into his spine. Though his head was moving, his legs lay completely still. When he realized that he could not feel or move his legs, he began to howl. It was an unearthly, harrowing sound that echoed against the cold stone of Wigmore.
Tate rushed to his wife, grabbing the pitchfork and tossing it away. Together, they raced to where Kenneth lay on his back, now struggling to sit up. They went down on their knees beside him.
“Ken,” Tate’s voice was full of concern. “How bad is it?”
Kenneth’s hand was covering the deep wound on the left side of his torso, below the rib cage. “Help me get to my feet,” his voice was weak and gritty. “Get me on a horse and I can ride.”
“You are bleeding all over the damn place.”
“Just get me on my feet.”
Tate lifted while Toby tried to pull; Tate ended up doing most of the work while Toby realized she could be more help if she found something to stop the bleeding with. He was oozing buckets. Ripping a portion of the long hem of her gown, she wadded up the wool and pressed it up against Kenneth’s torso.
“Hold this tightly,” she instructed him. “Press it against the wound.”
“Thank you,” Kenneth said weakly, eyeing her as he put a big arm around Tate’s shoulders for support. “I am sorry to have ruined your gown, my lady.”
She gave him an impatient look. “Are you mad? Stopping the bleeding is far more important.”
Tate began half-carrying him back towards the bailey. “You will get the bottom of your garment muddy,” Kenneth told her.
“It is of no consequence.”
“Do you want me to carry you?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Kenneth’s lips twitched while Tate just shook his head at the two of them. “If this is any indication of how the two of you got on while you were incarcerated together, it is a wonder you did not kill each other.” They were clearing the kitchen yards; horses were directly ahead and Tate went in that direction. “Can you make it back to camp?” he asked his knight.
Kenneth was supporting his own weight rather well for a man who had just been gored. He even removed his arm from Tate’s supporting shoulders as they made their way to the horses.
“I can make it,” he said, gathering the reins of the first horse they came to.
Tate helped him mount, but in truth, Kenneth remained relatively strong. Tate went to help Toby, lifting her up onto the very next horse. He was about to say something to her when small man in dark robes emerged from the keep, waving his arms wildly. Toby recognized Timothy immediately.
“My God,” she gasped. “It is Timothy. What is wrong?”
Tate saw the young man as he descended the steps leading from the keep and almost tripped. “Who is that?” he asked.
“A physic,” Toby told him. “A friend. What is he doing?”
They both watched as Timothy raced towards them, still waving his arms crazily. He was shouting something they could not quite hear.
“What is he saying?” Toby wondered aloud.
Tate shook his head. “I do not know. It sounds like….”
He never got a chance to finish his sentence; Timothy came close enough so that they were able to hear him. “Run!”
Startled, Tate and Toby watched as the keep suddenly came alive with dozens of soldiers pouring through the open door. Upon the walls, shouts could be heard and the portcullis, still in its raised position, began to crank closed. Timothy was still waving his arms, still shouting, until a soldier caught him from behind and knocked him to the ground. After that, they could no longer see him. Toby shouted his name, fearful for the man. He had come to warn them; she was terrified that he had paid the ultimate price for that kindness.
As for Tate, he was faced with a very harrowing reality; as he had feared, an alarm had been raised. Somehow, some way, they had been alerted to his presence and Toby’s physic friend had been attempting to warn them off. The element of secrecy was no longer on their side and he knew their time had run out.
He turned to Kenneth. “Get her out of here,” he told him. “I will do what I can to keep Mortimer from following. Go!”
It took Toby a moment to realize that he was not going to ride out with them. He was already unsheathing his borrowed blade, preparing to face the incoming enemy. Realizing that he intended to hold off the horde as they escaped, panic surged through her.
“Nay!” she cried, reaching for him even as Kenneth tried to turn her horse around. “Tate, I will not leave you, not again!”
He turned to look at her as the chaos around them increased. “I will find you,” he said calmly, though the pain in his eyes was powerful. “Go with Kenneth. You will need to tend him. I will catch up.”
She burst into tears, pulling her horse to a halt even as Kenneth tried to get the animal moving.
“Tate, please,” she wept. “Please come with me now. I cannot leave you here to die.”
“I will not die, sweetheart,” he said softly, noting with increased panic that the portcullis was about a third of the way down. “Go with Kenneth and do not argue with me. I need to see that you are safe. I will see you soon.”
“Nay!” she screamed.
Tate’s emotions were on the surface as he looked to Kenneth. He couldn’t bear to look at the agony in Toby’s eyes. “Take her home, Ken,” he pleaded quietly. “Just… take her home.”
Toby reached out for Tate, straining, even as Kenneth took hold of her horse’s reins. Tate reached also, like a last desperate effort, and their fingertips brushed. He could feel her warmth but he couldn’t quite touch her. Kenneth was pulling her along and she was quickly out of his reach. Heart aching with sorrow, with fear for them both, he managed to smack the horse’s rear with the broad side of the blade, like a swatter, and the beast took off. The last Tate saw, Kenneth and Toby had barely cleared the portcullis. But it was enough. They had escaped.
Knowing his wife was now free, Tate turned to face his duty as the soldiers began to swarm. He could see Mortimer at the top of the stairs and smiled at the man. It was a smile of victory.
The last Toby saw of her husband was of him standing in a circle of well-armed men. As she and Kenneth cleared the gatehouse, she lost sight of him altogether. As she had once sacrificed herself to save him, he was now doing the same for her. God help her; she realized he was now doing the same fo
r her and the knowledge of it was as emotionally crippling as anything she had ever known.
All she could do was pray.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was a dark and cold night. A few weeks ago, Toby had spent the night lying on her back with aching ribs, with Kenneth sitting next to her vigilantly. Tonight, it was different; it was she who was sitting next to Kenneth vigilantly. The man was sleeping soundly thanks to a potion given to him by one of the barber-surgeons belonging to Liam de Lara. She’d not yet met Tate’s adoptive brother but she was sure she would at some point. At this moment, however, she frankly did not care. She only wanted to see her husband, safe and sound, and no one else.
The tears had been falling most of the night. Every time she thought of Tate standing strong against the horde of Mortimer’s men, she dissolved into quiet tears again. She prayed continuously that it would not be her last glimpse of her husband alive. As she listened to Kenneth’s heavy breathing, she wiped the silent tears that fell, scared and feeling very much alone.
They were all waiting for Tate; all ten thousand men. Toby had never seen so many people in her life as she and Kenneth had ridden into camp. They had been taken right away to an empty tent where Kenneth’s wound had been tended. Men had brought food and drink, and several knights she had never seen before had come to talk to Kenneth about Tate’s whereabouts and the current status of Wigmore. The men had ignored her until Kenneth had introduced her as Lady de Lara. Then, it was as if they could not do enough for her; food, furs, and warm things were sent to her in droves. She had piles of it. But all she wanted was her husband and he was nowhere, as of yet, to be found. As the minutes of the dark night ticked away, Toby slipped deeper and deeper into anguish.
It has been a long night with her turbulent thoughts. As she sat next to Kenneth, she noticed that the eastern horizon was beginning to turn shades of pink. She could see it through a crack in the tent opening. The new day was dawning and still no Tate. She finally lost her battle against despair and she lowered her head, weeping softly as dawn began to break. The next thing she realized, a warm hand was grasping her fingers gently. Toby looked up to see that Kenneth was holding on to her, a warm grip the only comfort he could give. She squeezed his fingers tightly and wept louder.