There was that ugly word again, making another appearance. It was clear that she was challenging him. Havilland, standing next to her sister, cast the woman a threatening glance to shut her up.
“The ground is full of rocks,” she said, indicating the obvious nearby as rocks jutted from the earth. “It is not a bad idea but I do not know if it is practical. It would be very difficult work and it would take years. I doubt we could get conscript labor from the area to do it, which means our soldiers would have to do it. That would leave our fortress unprotected.”
Jamison thought that was a very intelligent point but, then again, he was seeing the beauty in everything about Havilland these days. He thought she was the smartest woman he knew. “The Welsh serfs wouldna help ye,” he said, shaking his head as he looked around at the landscape, at the stark hills and rocks that made up Wales. “The Welsh are barely beyond living out o’ caves as it is. Backwards, dirty people who fight and live like animals. Yer work force would come from hired English. I’m sure de Lohr can put his finger on quite a few o’ them.”
Havilland was watching the men as they measured out the size of a potential moat. “Are you going to suggest he fortify the fortress?”
Jamison was careful in his reply, knowing anything he said would get back to the Welsh rebels through Madeline. He shrugged, turning to watch the men scratch dimensions in the earth. “It was a thought,” he said. “I was pondering how tae protect the walls when the next wave of Welsh barbarians come.”
He was calling the Welsh names for a reason. He wanted to see if Madeline would react to his slander but he didn’t want to look at her to see if he was gaining headway, so he began to walk, pointing out things for Havilland to see.
“The wall could be extended upward,” he told her, pointing to the top of the wall. “Right now, without a moat, yer walls are vulnerable tae ladders or war machines. Have ye ever seen any used against ye?”
Havilland was following him, as was everyone else, moving like a herd with Jamison leading. “War machines?” she repeated. “Like trebuchets?”
He nodded. “Those, and mobile fighting platforms,” he said. “Ye have enough wood around here tae build any manner of devices tae mount the walls. I’m afeared that the next time the Welsh come, they may do just that and we willna be prepared.”
All of it was meant for Madeline’s ears. He was making it sound as if they were weakened and uncertain, when the truth was quite the opposite. Thad was following, listening as well, but unlike Jamison, he kept his eyes on Madeline. He wanted to see her reaction.
But Madeline didn’t change expression much except to show, increasingly, that she believed Jamison to be a fool. She rolled her eyes repeated to what he said, shifting about on her feet impatiently as her sister listened to what the man had to say. It was clear she had no respect for him or what he was saying, and wished she was anywhere else but standing there listening to him yap. Rude didn’t quite encompass her behavior; disrespectful was more like it.
If Jamison noticed Madeline’s shifting and sighing and eye rolling, he didn’t let on. He kept talking defenses with Havilland, who seemed to be hanging on every word. With such lovely attention, he didn’t have time for Madeline’s antics but, at one point, he looked up and saw that she was shaking her head. She didn’t agree with something he’d said. He zeroed in on her.
“And ye, Madeline?” he said, not even bothering to formally address her. “Ye have something different tae say about all of this?”
Realizing she was in his crosshairs, Madeline’s head came up and she looked around her, at all of the attention on her. She struggled not to look as if she’d been caught in her face-making and foolery.
“I… I simply think it is all a great waste of time,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Four Crosses has stood for over one hundred years against Welsh attacks. What makes you think you know better than the men who built her?”
It was a semi-valid point and Jamison took it seriously. “Because the men who built it were fighting unorganized tribes, men who had spears and bows and arrows, and little else,” he said. “The Welsh who fight today fight with different tactics. They are better trained and better equipped. As they grow as fighters, so must Four Crosses grow as a fortress or she will fall. She came very close tae falling with the last battle, so measures must be taken tae ensure that doesna happen again.”
Madeline shook her head. “They will not breach the castle.”
“They almost did, lass. Did ye not hear what I said?”
She flamed at the term lass, something she clearly didn’t like. “But they did not,” she emphasized. “We do not have the money or the manpower to make the changes you are suggesting.”
Jamison smiled thinly. “’Tis not up tae ye,” he said. “Need I remind ye again that this isna yer fortress? It belongs tae de Lohr. If he wants tae improve her, then he will. Ye’ll have no say it in.”
Madeline was nearing a temper tantrum; her face flushed and her ears turned red. Havilland moved forward, putting herself between her sister and Jamison because she wanted her sister to focus on something else. She was genuinely afraid that Madeline would go mad and challenge Jamison to a fight, something she had been known to do. Jamison would more than likely laugh at her, which would only make things worse. It was imperative to stop the rising anger before it reached the boiling point so she inserted herself between her sister and Jamison, giving her sister a “quiet yourself or die” expression. Madeline saw it but she wasn’t over her humiliation yet. As Havilland moved in close to her sister to whisper a few well-chosen words, she caught a glimpse of something on the road to Four Crosses.
A rider. About the time she saw the horse and rider, the sentries on the walls saw it also and the cry began to go up. It was only a solitary man so there was no panic, but there was genuine curiosity. Jamison, seeing the rider approach, motioned to Thad.
“Move the women inside,” he said. “Quickly, now.”
Amaline was already running for the gatehouse but Havilland and Madeline dug in. They would not be moved or pushed by any man. Jamison watched Thad politely ask them to return to the safety of the fortress but they ignored him. Thad finally looked to Jamison, defeated and silently asking for help, but Jamison just waved the man on. He would have to deal with the two stubborn wenches himself. As the rest of the men who had been following him around turned for the open gatehouse, Jamison went to Havilland.
“’Twould be better if ye went inside until we know this man isna at the head of a bigger army,” he said quietly. “I am going inside, also. No need tae meet the man out here in the open.”
Havilland looked at him. “I wasn’t going to remain out here,” she said, “but I did want to see if he had any identifying colors or if I recognized the man.”
She was calm, collected, and he appreciated that. This wasn’t some flighty woman that scared easily. She had faced battle before, many times, and bore burdens that would have crushed a weaker woman. The seed of respect that had sprouted for her so long ago had grown into a fine, strong sapling. He had immense respect for this lovely woman.
“Very well,” he said. If she wasn’t going to move right away, then neither was he. Madeline was still standing there, too, but he couldn’t have cared less about her. “Ye’ll tell me if ye do?”
Havilland nodded, her gaze riveted to the incoming rider. As everyone else moved into the gatehouse, Havilland and Jamison and Madeline stood outside of the structure and waited, watching the rider approach from a southeasterly direction. It was the road that led from Llanfair Caereinion and points south, and that was the direction of the Marches. Therefore. Jamison wasn’t too concerned but he was very curious. Closer the rider came until Havilland finally spoke.
“He is English,” she said. “See the tack on his horse? The style is English. I do not know who he is.”
That was enough to satisfy Jamison. He didn’t feel particularly threatened but he kept his hand on the hilt of his dirk,
just in case. He stood patiently with the two women, waiting as the rider drew close. Finally, Jamison raised his hand to the man.
“Come no closer,” he said. “State yer business.”
The rider pulled his frothing horse to a halt. He was dressed in mail, bearing a tunic that Jamison had seen but couldn’t bring to mind. It was black with a big red beast on it. The rider tipped his helm back, wiping the sweat on his brow.
“Who am I addressing, my lord?”
Jamison answered without hesitation. “Sir Jamison Munro,” he said. “I have command of Four Crosses Castle at this time. Who are ye?”
The rider eyed him curiously. “You are Scots.”
“A brilliant statement.”
It was sarcastic and the rider lifted his eyebrows apologetically. “I did not mean that the way it sounded, my lord,” he said. “Merely an observation. I have been sent by Sir Luc de Lara of Trelystan Castle. He was told there was some trouble here and sent me to discover the truth.”
Now, Jamison recognized the English Marcher lord’s name. The House of de Lara was very big along the Marches, almost as big as de Lohr. They controlled much of the mid-Marches and were solid de Lohr allies.
“De Lara?” he repeated. “The Lord o’ the Trilateral Castles. I know the family. I dinna realize we were so close to Trelystan.”
The rider nodded. “It is a two-hour ride at most,” he said. “We are to the east of Welshpool.”
“And ye were told of trouble here? By whom?”
The rider glanced around the castle, in the obvious stages of repairing damage. “A passing merchant,” he replied. “He told Lord de Lara that he had been told of a big battle at Four Crosses Castle. I can see that he was speaking the truth.”
Jamison nodded. “Welsh rebels,” he said, very conscious of Madeline’s presence. “We believe Madog ap Llywelyn’s rebellion has made it down this far. That being the case, Trelystan should be vigilant.”
The rider nodded. “But the situation has calmed, my lord?”
Jamison lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, now glinting off of the rider’s helm. “It seems tae,” he replied. “Will ye not come inside and share our hospitality?”
The rider shook his head. “I’ve another castle I must visit today,” he said. “I have come with a message from Lord de Lara. He says that if you are not too busy in your fight against the Welsh, then he invites you for a festival in honor of his daughter’s marriage. The festival begins tomorrow with all manner of games and food, culminating in the marriage of Lady Alis de Lara to Sir Derec le Mon. It will be great fun for the young ladies, my lord.”
Jamison lifted his eyebrows. “Then ye’ve not come offering assistance?”
The rider shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “But I will tell Lord de Lara what I have seen today. If you attend the festival, then you may ask him for assistance personally.”
Jamison thought it was rather selfish of a local lord not to offer help against the Welsh, especially another border lord like de Lara. He was powerful. But the man wasn’t so selfish that he wasn’t beyond inviting his neighbors to a festival on behalf of his daughter’s marriage.
Scratching his head curiously, Jamison turned to look at Havilland only to be met by the most hopeful expression on her face. It was full of wistfulness and longing and joy. She wants to go tae the festival, he immediately thought. To hell with the fact that de Lara did not send an offer of assistance; she wants tae go tae the party!
Jamison glanced at Madeline and noted that, surprisingly, she seemed to have the very same expression on her face. So they think of parties over military assistance? But then he began to think on the world these young women lived in, a world of battles and warfare, of men and of a sick father. It was stark and hopeless. There were no grand opportunities for them to look like, or feel like, women. Offers for something like this party must have been extremely rare, indeed, and Jamison could see that his answer was already decided for him. He knew he couldn’t deny Havilland something that clearly meant a great deal to her.
Holding up a hand to beg patience from the messenger, he crooked a finger at Havilland and took her a few feet away for a private discussion that was inevitably joined by Madeline. He wanted to chase the middle sister away, in truth, but he didn’t. He simply kept his focus on Havilland and didn’t acknowledge Madeline at all.
“I dunna want tae be rude tae de Lara, but I am not entirely certain this is a wise idea,” he said, trying to make his case even though he knew they would be attending. “With the Welsh on the attack, I am not sure it is wise tae leave.”
Havilland’s eyes were lit up with the thought of a party. “But we will not take the entire army with us,” she pointed out, “and we will not stay overlong. Just a day or two. Please, my lord? I… I think that I should like to attend. I remember Alis de Lara from when I was a young girl but I’ve not seen her in years. I should like to wish her well in her marriage.”
“And attend a party.”
“Well… yes.”
Jamison twisted his lips wryly, all the while eyeing the woman in disapproval. She simply grinned, flashing him that hopeful smile that melted his heart away. He finally shook his head, defeated before the battle even began.
“Do ye even have anything tae wear?” he wanted to know. “Ye canna go looking like a soldier.”
Havilland looked at Madeline, who had a rather eager expression on her face. It was strange to see something on her features that didn’t reek of arrogance or impatience. With her features relaxed, now smiling at her sister, she actually looked pretty.
“My mother has an entire wardrobe that has been packed away,” Havilland said. “I am sure there is something in the trunk that we can wear.”
“Then ye truly want tae go, do ye?”
“Aye.”
“Are ye sure?”
“Aye.”
Jamison sighed heavily and lifted his shoulders in resignation as he broke away from their huddled group and made his way back to the rider. He lifted his head, his eyes squinting from the sun.
“Very well,” he said. “Tell Lord de Lara that we appreciate his invitation and would be honored tae attend. As ye said, ’twill give me an opportunity tae ask the man for assistance.”
The messenger nodded. “Excellent, my lord,” he said. “I will tell Lord de Lara to expect you. Now, may I water my horse before continuing on my journey?”
Jamison waved the man in through the gatehouse, watching him as he went. But then his focus moved to Havilland who had, with her sister, turned for the gatehouse as well. They were moving faster than the messenger was, excitement at a potential party causing their legs to move quite fast, indeed. Seeing Havilland practically running back into the fortress made him grin.
He still didn’t think it was a good idea to leave Four Crosses now. Attending de Lara’s party was against his better judgment, but he honestly couldn’t deny Havilland something that excited her so. He’d leave Tobias and Thad in command and take only a few men-at-arms with him so the majority of the army would remain behind. They would only stay at Trelystan for two days, perhaps departing tomorrow and then returning the following day. If Havilland complained about the shortness of the visit, he would remind her that she was fortunate, given the circumstances at home, to have gone at all.
And then he’d probably agree to remain as long as she wanted to, anyway.
Idiot….
CHAPTER TEN
*
“And you belong to us….”
*
The trunks that stored Lady Precious de Llion’s clothing had been difficult to find. Havilland thought they had been stored in her parents’ former bedchamber, which now belonged to Madeline and Amaline, but she found out quickly that her sisters had moved the trunks out when they took possession of the chamber.
Therefore, Havilland and her sisters had been forced to retreat to the stables where there was a storage area in the loft that kept ma
ny things not needed, or not wanted, around the castle. Precious’ trunks were shoved up against the wall where the roof pitched steeply, trunks that the woman had brought with her from her wealthy family when she married Roald, so they were lined with precious aromatic woods that kept out the vermin and bugs. When Havilland and Madeline finally tossed up the lids, their coughs were due to the dust that had settled on the trunks and not the state of the clothing inside.
Like a treasure trove revealed, silks and brocades glimmered in the weak light. There were surcoats, shifts, and belts. Another trunk held shawls and cloaks and shoes. Although Amaline didn’t remember her mother very well, Havilland and Madeline did. Havilland even remembered the dress folded up neatly on the top of the stack, a dark blue silk with yellow embroidery. There was some emotion attached to the clothing as Havilland remembered her mother with bittersweet fondness.
Wishing she was still here.
The fashions were old but still quite serviceable. Very carefully, Havilland began taking out the rolled dresses, handing them to Madeline, who would unroll them, shake them out, and turn them over to Amaline. Amaline had the thrill of draping them over her shoulders and arms so they wouldn’t touch the straw and dirt of the loft, feeling the soft material against her skin. It was as close to her mother as she had, perhaps, ever been.
Having been informed by Madeline of the invitation, Amaline was more than eager to go, for she was a shy girl by nature and had never truly attended any type of party in her life. The garments that were being pulled forth out of their mother’s trunks were beautiful and soft, far different from the breeches and tunics she wore. But, being the younger sister of two older and stronger-personality sisters, she simply did as she was told. They said wear breeches and she did. She’d never really liked fighting as a man, but rather than fight against it, she simply went with the will of the majority. Therefore, the reality of fine dresses thrilled her to death.