The first quicklime bomb that Stephen threw exploded like a starburst against a group of men below who were heading to the main gate with a battering ram. It scared the men more than it hurt anyone and most of them dropped the ram and ran off with their tartans smoking. Stephen and Kenneth threw a few more of the bombs before Kenneth took an armful and turned for the tower stairs.
“I am heading to the postern gate,” he said. “I do not trust these fools that all of this activity at the gatehouse is not a ruse.”
Stephen gave him a grin. “What makes you think this is a ruse? There are thousands of Scots all over the bloody place. They are everywhere.”
Kenneth’s lips twitched. “I think all of Scotland has come down around us. What did you do to make them so angry?”
Stephen shrugged in an exaggerated gesture as if he had no idea. “I make them furious simply by living.”
“You have the same effect on me.”
They snorted as Stephen gestured to the bombs that Kenneth was carrying. “The postern gate is heavily protected but I agree with you,” he said. “Take what you must in case you need to defend it.”
Kenneth descended the stairs and emerged into the bailey, dodging a flurry of arrows that came sailing over the walls. The castle was completely surrounded by Scots, more than he had ever seen, and he was concerned as to how long Berwick could hold out against such an onslaught. It was worse than he had originally imagined it would be. He wondered what happened to the spies they sent out after Kynan, presuming that the men must have been discovered and killed. But that was his last calm thought before he came into view of the postern gate, seeing immediately that it had been torn off its hinges in a massive breach. There were dozens of English fighting off a flood of Scots who were struggling to pour in through the man-sized gate. It would only allow one man at a time but the Scots were attempting to dispute that. Limbs, heads and bloody bodies littered the area near the gate.
Kenneth dropped the bombs and unsheathed his broadsword. Before he rushed on the group, he turned in the direction of the gatehouse and bellowed one harrowing word.
“Breach!”
Stephen heard Kenneth from his post on the gatehouse. It was a booming, stressful cry. He would have known it anywhere. He ran to the east side of the gatehouse, able to see the postern gate from his vantage point. He could see a flood of men pouring through the opening.
“Seal up the gatehouse,” he snapped to the soldiers on the parapets, jabbing a finger at the two closest to him. “Get to the keep and seal it. Same for the great hall. Move!”
The men ran to do his bidding as both portcullises dropped and the soldiers began sealing up the gatehouse and towers, compartmentalizing their fighting areas so that if one portion was breached, another one would not automatically be compromised. The English were calm and decisive as they sealed up the castle and Stephen watched with satisfaction as one area after another was sealed off. But he also noted with some concern that the Scots seemed to be multiplying. They were literally everywhere and he divided his attention between watching them breach the bailey and the siege engines that were preparing to breach the walls.
Two of the siege engines were burning thanks to the oil bombs. Apparently, not all of the wood was wet and the dry wood had caught fire and was burning heavy smoke into the noon sky. The Scots struggled to dismantle and move aside the burning siege engines and pull the non-compromised towers up to the wall. It was a long process that had slowed them down considerably. However, the fight in the bailey was in full force and Stephen watched from the walls as Kenneth and about two hundred English soldiers fended off what must have been hundreds and hundreds of Scots. Stephen could see Kenneth near the gate itself, his massive broadsword cutting down man after man. He had to grin at the man’s enthusiasm.
On the north side of the castle, ladders were being pushed up against the walls. Stephen could hear the call for assistance go up from the northern wall and he moved to help along with several other soldiers. By the time he got to the north wall walk, several ladders were already alongside the walls and the enemy was beginning to mount the parapets.
Stephen unsheathed his broadsword, smelling blood.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It had been over two weeks since Joselyn left Berwick. She was counting the days since she last saw her husband because he had told her that their separation would not be a long one. No more than a few weeks, he had told her. Well, a little over two weeks was a few weeks as far as she was concerned and she was growing increasingly anxious. She had mentioned it to Lady de Lara, who in turn told her husband to send a soldier to Berwick to see how the situation was faring.
The soldier also carried a missive from Lady Pembury to her husband, something sweet and short. Joselyn was coming to see that Lady de Lara was most definitely the route to go in order to have her wishes known to Tate. The words were not even out of Toby’s mouth before Tate was moving to fulfill her requests. But, then again, Stephen was the same way with her.
Not that the past two weeks had been terrible. On the contrary, she was having a marvelous time. Toby was sweet and hospitable, and she liked her very much. She and Cade had also come to know each other better during this time and she could see that he was a generally sad boy but eager to please. She wanted to make him happy, to see him smile more, so she spent as much time as she could with him when he was not playing with Roman and the twins. But as time passed and Cade began to realize that a life he had never expected was opening up to him, he began to show more joy in things.
Joselyn had played a child’s game of cards with him the night before, along with Roman, Cate, Dylan and Alex, and she was coming to see the happy boy beneath the sad façade. Roman and Cade had conspired to cheat against Dylan and Alex, causing the twins to start fighting each other, and Joselyn had sat back and watched while Roman and Cade nearly busted a gut laughing about it. It had been truly hilarious to watch and in that small gesture, she found herself falling more deeply in love with her son. He would make Stephen proud.
It was near the nooning meal on this warm day as Joselyn sat with Toby in Toby’s well-appointed solar. Toby was without the baby as the child napped in the room above her head, and her other children were outside with a big, burly man who had been introduced to Joselyn as Wallace. Joselyn was not entirely sure about the gruff old man when she had first met him but she had come to see that he was something of a grandfather to the de Lara children. They clearly adored him. She was not sure if he was a servant or a soldier, but mostly, he was a playmate and mentor. When the children weren’t with Tate or Toby, they were with Wallace.
Cade was with him, too. She could hear the children playing some sort of game from the bailey as she worked on a piece of needlepoint in a frame. She had never had much time for lady-like pursuits so this was fairly unfamiliar territory. She had jabbed her finger with the needle several times as Toby sat across from her and wrote on parchment. Joselyn had discovered that Toby managed all of Tate’s books and estates, and she greatly admired the woman for her learned ways.
“Ouch!” Joselyn jabbed herself for the tenth time in as many minutes, sucking the finger with the blood prick. She looked at Toby. “I am not getting any better at this. I would do better chopping wood.”
Toby snorted, looking up from her quill. “You have not given yourself enough time to become familiar with the techniques,” she said encouragingly. “I think your bird looks very good.”
“It is a butterfly.”
Toby stared at her a moment before breaking down into laughter. “Your butterfly looks terrible.”
Joselyn burst into snickers. “You do not have to be so cruel about it,” she teased.
Toby lifted an eyebrow. “Did you not know that about me? I am a cruel woman.”
Joselyn watched her return to her books, her smile fading. “Nay, you are not,” she said softly. “You are one of the kindest people I have ever met. Growing up, I never truly had a friend. Then, when I went to Jed
burgh, emotional attachments with others were discouraged. The nuns believed the only attachment should be to God. I suppose this is the first time I have ever had someone to really talk to.”
Over the weeks, Toby had heard more of Joselyn’s harrowing life and she looked at the woman, her expression soft with sympathy. “You and I had the same kind of life,” she replied quietly. “Before I met my husband, I managed my father’s affairs because he was too drunk to do it, tended my bedridden mother, and raised my little sister. My entire life revolved around ensuring that our family survived. I never had a friend, either.”
Joselyn smiled timidly. “Do you suppose we are friends now?”
Toby nodded her head emphatically. “Of course we are. We will be the greatest of friends forever.”
Joselyn’s smile grew. “I hope so,” she said sincerely. She watched Toby as the woman winked at her and returned to her parchment. “Would you tell me how you and your husband met?” she asked as she returned to her sewing.
Toby paused, looking at Joselyn with twinkling eyes. “Good Heavens,” she exclaimed softly. “Where to begin? Tate came to my father’s town seeking donations for young Edward, not yet the king at that time. Tate was Edward’s protector, uncle, father all rolled into one. Stephen and Kenneth were the king’s bodyguards. I met all three of them at the same time.”
Joselyn forgot about the ugly needlework before her, much more interested in Lady de Lara’s story.
“Was it love at first sight?” she asked.
Toby looked at her as if she were mad. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “Tate and I had a very rough start. He did not like a woman who spoke her mind. But he warmed to me, eventually.”
Joselyn thought back to when she and Stephen had first met. “Odd you should say that you and Tate had a rough start,” she said faintly, thinking back to that turbulent day. “Stephen and I had no less a rough beginning. We were forced to wed on the eve of surrender, neither one of us wanting to wed the other, and during the ceremony my mother went mad and threw herself into the hearth. Stephen took me from the hall before I could watch her burn to death.”
Toby’s eyes opened wide with horror, with sorrow. “Oh, Jo-Jo,” she murmured. “I am so sorry to hear that. Truly.”
Joselyn shook her head, thinking it odd that the memory didn’t pain her like it once did. “It was terrible, that is true,” she replied. “But in a strange way, it was also how I came to discover what kind of man I had married. Stephen built a coffin for my mother and prayed over her for hours from what I was told. And he did this without even knowing me. He did it because it needed to be done.”
Toby watched the way Joselyn’s face softened when she spoke of Stephen. Knowing the man as she had for years, she was thrilled beyond measure to see such adoration in the woman’s eyes.
“Stephen is a wonderful man,” she agreed softly. “So is Kenneth. You and I are extremely fortunate to be admitted into their exclusive club. Surely no finer men walk the earth.”
Joselyn smiled, thinking on her enormous and handsome husband. “I have offered to find Sir Kenneth a wife,” she said. “He does not seem too keen on the idea.”
Toby laughed. “He will be when he meets the right woman. Stephen was never too keen on the idea, either, but that has changed.”
“Only because he was forced to marry me.”
“Then perhaps we need to force Kenneth into marriage.”
Joselyn pretended to agree. “What enemy daughter can we saddle him with?”
Toby laughed heartily, returning to her parchment and still snorting. Knowing Kenneth as she did, it was a humorous suggestion indeed.
Joselyn pushed aside thoughts of Stephen before they dampened her mood, returning to her own project to keep her mind occupied. As they resumed focus on their individual tasks, the soldiers on the walls began taking up a cry. From where they sat in the solar, both women could hear it and Joselyn looked at Toby with both fear and curiosity. Toby cocked an ear, listening.
“It sounds as if they are opening the gates,” she said after several moments.
Joselyn struggled not to get too excited. “Perhaps the soldier has returned from Berwick.”
Toby could see that the woman was ready to jump from her seat. “If it is, we will know soon enough,” she said steadily. “Relax and resume your sewing.”
Joselyn forced herself to calm and resume her needlepoint. But her hands were shaking, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Toby. She knew very well what it was to wait for a husband who was away at war. But time passed as they continued with their tasks, sitting in comfortable yet expectant silence, until bootfalls echoed against the retractable wooden stairs.
Joselyn heard them first, her hand frozen above the fabric, still clutching the needle, as Tate entered the solar. He glanced at his wife but his focus was mostly on Joselyn. He opened his mouth to speak but he was not fast enough.
“Well?” Joselyn stood up, gazing at him expectantly. “We heard the sentries. Did the messenger return from Berwick?”
Tate was trying to think of a calm way to relay the information, not only for Joselyn but for Toby. He didn’t want to upset either of them but knew he had little choice. Before he could get the words out of his mouth, a massive body suddenly walked up behind him, wedging itself in between Tate and the door jamb. Joselyn’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Kenneth!” she gasped, dropping the needle in her hand and almost tripping over the fabric loom when she tried to stand up. She made her way unsteadily towards a very dirty, bloody Kenneth, appalled by what she was seeing. The longer she stared at him, the more horrified she became. “Why are you here? Where is Stephen?”
Kenneth gazed at her. He had been in battle mode for days and it was difficult to calm himself enough so that he didn’t sound like has barking orders or hollering at the enemy. As Joselyn drew close, quivering, he reached out and grasped her slender arm with his dirty, bloody glove.
“Berwick fell,” he told her softly.
Joselyn stared at him, hearing his words but not truly comprehending them. She didn’t reply for the longest time, struggling in that dark world between hysteria and reason. She almost couldn’t bring herself to ask the question but knew she had to.
“Where is my husband?” her voice sounded small.
Kenneth took a deep breath, struggling not to be emotional, struggling to deal with the delicate lady. All he could see when he looked at her was Stephen’s face and it pained him like nothing he had ever known.
“I managed to escape but Stephen did not.”
“You have not told me where he is.”
“The Scots have him.”
Joselyn’s eyes rolled back in her head and Kenneth caught her before she could fall to the ground. He scooped her up into his arms as Toby leapt to her feet and pointed up the stairs.
“Take her to her chamber,” she commanded. “Up the stairs, first door to the left.”
Kenneth swept Joselyn up the stairs, followed by Tate and Toby. He moved swiftly to Joselyn’s room, kicking open the door so hard that he broke one of the hinges. He took Joselyn to the well-made bed and laid her gently on the mattress.
Toby was at Joselyn’s head, her soft hands on the pale face. “Tate, please send for water and salts,” she demanded softly.
Her husband went to the door, bellowing to the serving wench that was always lingering somewhere about the keep. He went back into the room, peering critically at Lady Pembury. But she was out cold and he turned to Kenneth.
“I will mobilize my men and return with you,” he said, suddenly hissing. “Damn Stephen. I told him that I should not leave if an attack was imminent but he insisted because Henry of Lancaster was on his way with reinforcements. Damn him!”
Kenneth shook his head wearily. “It would not have mattered if you had been there,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “You would have been taken prisoner or worse. I was fortunate to have escaped. I have never seen so many Scots.”
By this time, Toby turned to look at Kenneth, tears brimming in her eyes. “When did you last see Stephen?” she asked.
Kenneth sighed heavily, so very exhausted. He didn’t even want to think about that day but forced himself.
“The postern gate had been breached,” he said hoarsely. “Soon thereafter, the walls were compromised. Stephen was upon the walls but there were just too many Scots. It looked like the whole of Scotland had been unleashed. I last saw Stephen as the walls were swarmed and the castle breached. He was on the ground with several Scots pummeling him.”
Toby’s eyes spilled over. “But they did not kill him?”
Kenneth shook his head. “They seemed more intent to beat him. It was as if they knew who they were looking for and went right to him.” He shook his head again and began to look around for a chair to sit down before he fell down. “They want him alive, Toby. God only knows what they are going to do with him.”
None of them seemed to notice that Joselyn’s eyes were open as she lay prone upon the bed. She had heard most of what Kenneth had said, her expression vacant and bordering on madness. She was so far beyond grief that she could not think coherently.
“He is Guardian Protector of Berwick,” Joselyn whispered, causing the three of them to look at her. But she continued to stare into space, unfocused and muttering. “He is a fine prize.”
Tate had become so fond of Joselyn that he had nearly forgotten she was the daughter of Alexander Seton, the man who had led Berwick’s defenses against Edward. Her entire relationship with Stephen had been based on war and conquest. At least, it had been once. Now it was quite different but the fact remained that she had been the enemy, once. He knelt down beside her and took her chin in his hand, gently, forcing her to look at him.
“What are they going to do to him, Joselyn?” he whispered earnestly. “What do you know?”
She fixed her pale blue eyes on him and he swore he saw grief and madness such as he had never witnessed with in the depths. “Know?” she repeated. “I do not know anything for certain. But Edward hanged my brothers in full view of my father. Many Scots witnessed this. Who is to say that they will not do the same to my sweet Stephen?”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 26