“Many Scots witnessed this hanging,” he said. “I have not heard mention of that particular version.”
“As if they would tell you,” Stephen’s gaze was equally intense. “I would not lie to you.”
“I believe you,” de Velt said in a surprising show of reassurance. “You are a man of honor from what I am told. I would not expect you to lie to me to save yourself.”
By this time, Joselyn was wiping her tears away, struggling to put the details of Tommy’s death aside. There would be another time to grieve for her little brother. Squaring her shoulders, she faced de Velt with resolve.
“I want my husband released,” she told him. “He has told you that he did not hang Tommy or Willie. His only crime is that he fought for the English king. He is Alexander Seton’s son-in-law and you will let him go.”
De Velt looked at her, the manner in which his eyes drifted over her body causing her skin to crawl. Stephen saw it and he stiffened with outrage but made no move against de Velt. Injured as he was, he knew he would not last long in a fight. If he was going to attack the man, then let it be for something more than a lascivious glance.
“Alas, my lady, I cannot,” de Velt replied after a long, lustful moment. “I have come to tell your husband that I received orders from the Earl of Moray this morning. It would seem that the earl is to make an example out of your husband to show the English what will happen if they make another attempt to capture Berwick.”
Joselyn’s blood ran cold. Her heart began to pound and her body to shake. She could feel Stephen grasping her by the wrist, pulling her over to him. As he put his massive arm around her, she struggled against him. She was not interested in being held at the moment. She wanted de Velt to clarify himself.
“An example?” she repeated, both angry and terrified. “What does that mean? What foolishness is this?”
De Velt shook his head. “No foolishness at all, I assure you,” he replied without a hint of distress in his voice. “Your husband is an enemy of Scotland and all enemies of Scotland are harshly dealt with. In two days, at dusk, Pembury is to be drawn and quartered, and parts of his body distributed along the border as an example to all who oppose young David as the king of Scotland. His head will be sent to Edward himself.”
Joselyn coiled like a spring, making a lunge for de Velt even as Stephen held on to her. “You cannot make an example of my husband,” she screamed. “He belongs to me and I am taking him from this place. I shall kill you if you try to stop me. Do you hear? I will kill you!”
It was as much passion and anger as Stephen had ever heard from her. She was all fury and fight. He pulled her back against him, trying to soothe her, as de Velt almost seemed amused.
“I believe you,” he said sincerely. “Which is why I will have Kynan remove you. Go home, little lady. Go home and forget you ever had an English husband for soon he will fade into memory.”
Joselyn went mad. She screamed angrily and grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be an empty pitcher from their meal the previous night. She threw it at de Velt, who ducked, allowing it to sail into the man behind him. Kynan was already moving towards her, putting himself between Joselyn and de Velt. He grabbed her by the arms, forcing her down beside Stephen as the weakened man tried to keep a grip on her.
“Stop it,” Kynan hissed. “If ye sufficiently anger him, he’ll make an example of ye, too!”
Stephen wrapped both his arms around her, pulling her against him. His ribs were screaming with the exertion but he had little choice. Joselyn had turned into a wildcat. He trapped her, forcing her to face him.
“Sweetheart, stop,” he murmured. “Stop your fighting. You will listen to me and listen well.”
She interrupted him as the angry, terrified tears began to come. “I am not leaving you!”
He put his face into the side of her head, his lips by her ear. “Listen to me,” he whispered, making sure that de Velt didn’t hear him. “You must return to Tate and tell him what has happened. I need you to take that message to him, do you understand?”
She was weeping fearfully into his neck but she still managed to comprehend what he was saying. “But I do not want to leave you,” she whispered, her lips quivering. “Please do not make me leave you.”
He smiled sweetly at her, cupping her face between his two massive hands. “You will never leave me, sweetheart,” he declared, gazing into her eyes. “You will always be with me, locked deep inside my heart. But I would like to see our son grow up and unless you take a message back to Tate, I am not sure that will happen. Please? It is important.”
Joselyn was struggling between hysteria and composure. She wanted to go wild with what de Velt was suggesting yet Stephen’s calm words were sinking in. If she wanted to see her husband live, then she must do as he said. She had done all she could and it was clear the Scots would not release Stephen. They were going to punish him for being English. She just was not strong enough to free him herself. She needed help.
Her tears faded as she gazed into his blue eyes. “Oh, Stephen,” she breathed. “I am so frightened.”
He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “I know,” he whispered. “But you must force that aside and do as I say. You are my only hope and I need your help, not your tears.”
She swallowed hard, wiping her nose and looking hesitantly to Kynan, who nodded firmly.
“Come along with ye, Jo-Jo,” he reached out and grasped her arm. “Let’s take ye out of here.”
Panic flashed in her eyes but Stephen squeezed her gently, kissing her on the cheek. “Go,” he murmured. “I will see you soon.”
She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him furiously, painfully. “I love you,” she whispered between sniffles and kisses. “I love you more than life, Stephen, and I swear this is not the end. I swear it.”
Stephen returned her kisses, tasting her tears. He seriously wondered if this would be his last taste of her. “And I love you,” he said. “You are everything to me, Jo-Jo. Never forget that. Now hurry and leave before de Velt alters his decision and keeps you here. I could not bear it if that happened.”
She was a mess, sobbing and weeping, but she yanked herself away from Stephen and threw herself against Kynan. Kynan took hold of her and very quickly took her from the room, fearful that de Velt would change his mind and not allow her leave. The man could have just as easily made a whore out of condemned man’s wife. Once Kynan and Joselyn had fled the solar, de Velt turned to Stephen.
His dark eyes were cool, appraising. Stephen met his gaze without emotion, not wanting to hasten what was to happen to him by saying the wrong thing. He needed to give Tate time to figure out a plan. He needed to give Joselyn time to get free of Berwick. If he thought about it, he was frightened, but not for himself; death did not hold fear for him. But he was frightened for his wife and unborn child and what would become of them. He very much wanted to see his son.
De Velt chased everyone else from the room after Joselyn and Kynan fled, bolting the door when the chamber had emptied. It was a surprising move and one that had Stephen apprehensive. He watched De Velt closely as the man resumed his seat on the stool and faced Stephen with his cool demeanor.
“Now,” he said quietly. “You and I will speak of what Edward’s intentions for Berwick are. Why did he station you here, Pembury? Is he planning on launching invasions into Scotland to secure the country for himself?”
Stephen gazed steadily at de Velt, not surprised by the line of questioning. As he had done to Kynan for weeks, now he was to be on the receiving end. As he continued to watch de Velt, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He deduced that he had nothing to lose by pursuing it. Time, and his life, was ticking away.
“I would rather speak of something else,” he countered. “You, for instance; everyone knows that your loyalty is to whoever pays you the most. There is no shame in that, of course, but I would like to know how much Moray is paying you to cut my head off.”
De Velt’s lips twit
ched. “Does it matter? Do you truly wish to know what you are worth?”
Stephen’s eyes fixed on him. “Whatever it is, I will double it plus grant you titles which belong to me. Let me go and it all becomes yours.”
De Velt lifted an eyebrow. “You think to bribe me, Pembury?”
“I think to make you a very wealthy man. What does it matter how you acquire it, so long as you do?”
He was not surprised that de Velt was interested in hearing him out. But the conversation did not end well. Stephen found himself back in the stocks by noon.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As Cade and Roman neared the gatehouse, Lady Joselyn Pembury and a strange man suddenly emerged from the gates. Joselyn was on a little gray mare and the Scots was on a big bay steed. Roman and Cade fell flat into the knee-high grass to conceal themselves, watching as the man grabbed hold of the gray mare’s bridle and began leading it off to the northwest. The boys’ heads came up the further away the pair drew, watching as they headed off towards a distant bridge that crossed the River Tweed. The boys continued to watch until Lady Joselyn and the strange man faded out of sight.
“She came out,” Cade popped up, resting on his knees. “Something must be wrong if she came out without Sir Stephen.”
Roman’s gaze moved between the direction that Lady Pembury had taken and the castle to his right. “Who was that man with her?”
Cade shrugged. “I do not know. Do you suppose he abducted her? Maybe we need to go and save her!”
Roman shook his head. Then he nodded. In truth, he didn’t know. “She was not screaming so I do not think he abducted her,” he said, looking up at the castle. “We’ve got to get inside so we can find Sir Stephen and maybe he’ll know what is happening. Maybe we’ll just have to get him out by ourselves.”
Cade’s mind was already working furiously, convinced that, with the departure of Lady Pembury, he and Roman were Sir Stephen’s only hope. It was puzzling as well as frightening, and his excitement began to surge.
“I shall think of something,” he said confidently.
Roman was staring up at the towering castle walls of Berwick. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so confident. Maybe they should not have come after all. Their little adventure was turning into something more significant and he was not sure they were prepared. But it was too late to turn back and not look like a coward.
“You’d better,” he grumbled.
It was Cade who finally came up with the idea of catching fish from the river and taking them to the castle, pretending they had been ordered to do so. If anyone asked them who ordered them to bring the fish, they were to say a big Scots on a bay steed. That part of it was Roman’s idea. Cade figured that the men inside the fortress would not turn down fresh food and would not be suspicious of two small boys. So they scooted down to the river amongst the high summer grass, fashioned a spear out of a branch, and went spear fishing.
The water was freezing as they waded in, managing to catch eleven fish in a two hour period. Roman was better at it than Cade was. He had extraordinary patience for a young boy and was able to stand for long periods of time so the fish would draw close to him. He caught nine out of the eleven, much to Cade’s displeasure. They were plump fish and rather large, so the boys gathered them up and ran back towards the road. With wet breeches and chattering teeth, they made it back to the road that led directly to the gatehouse.
Because of the battle several days before, the area surrounding the castle was desolate and pock-marked from the incendiary devices that Stephen and Kenneth had thrown over the walls. There were also several dead bodies thrown into a pile near the wall, awaiting disposal, but they were creepy and smelly, and it was the boys’ first experience viewing battle-killed bodies. They remained stoic but Cade didn’t want to look too closely. Roman poked them with the fish-spear.
The gates had been burned out during the battle, leaving only the double portcullis that was lowered. Guards milled behind the lowered grate, intimidating the boys, so they lingered back, just out of view as they studied the gatehouse area. It took a significant amount of courage to finally approach the gate. As they drew close, Cade held up the fish on the spear.
“Oy!” he yelled.
It took him two more tries before they were noticed. Scots in dirty tartans lingered at the closed portcullis, eyeing the boys as they stood there, cold and wet, with fish in their hands.
“What do ye want, little man?” one of the guards asked.
Cade pointed in no particular direction. “A man told us to bring these to the castle,” he said. “He was a big man on a bay horse. He said he wanted them for his supper.”
The guards looked at the boys, each other, and the direction in which the boy was pointing. “Who was the man?” the same guard asked.
Cade shook his head. “I do not know,” he replied, sensing that this was not going to be an easy sell. “He… he told us to catch these fish and bring them to the castle for his sup. He said he would be back and would be very angry if the fish were not here.”
The guards truly had no idea who they were talking about. They muttered among themselves, not particularly concerned, until one of them reached his hand through the bars.
“Give ’em tae me,” he said. “I shall make sure they get eaten.”
Cade stepped back, away from the hand. “He said that he wanted these fish and he would kill anyone who tried to eat them,” he insisted. “I have to bring them in and take them to the kitchens myself.”
“Otherwise, he might kill our families,” Roman put in for good measure.
Cade nodded sincerely to confirm Roman’s lie. “Aye, he said that,” he claimed. “Please, sir, won’t you let us in? I do not want this man to kill my mother and father.”
The guards chuckled, finally shrugged at each other, and yelled for the portcullis to be lifted. When it was about two feet off the ground, Cade and Roman slipped in and made a mad dash for the bailey beyond.
Having no idea where they were going, however, proved to be a problem, because they ran so fast and so blindly that they ended up over by the keep. Only Cade had been inside of Berwick but he truly didn’t remember that much about it. He vaguely recognized the keep as he and Roman ran around to the southeast side, hiding in the shadows until they could figure out where the kitchens were. Berwick, surprisingly, seemed deserted and eerie. Most of the men seemed to be upon the battlements and there was a great deal of noise coming from the great hall. Their eyes moved over the interior of the castle, studying, trying to figure out their next move. And that’s when they saw Stephen.
He was chained up to the stocks, his big body beaten and worn. Cade’s eyes widened and he poked at Roman, pointing towards the area between the great hall and the kitchens. The section was nearly out of view from the main part of the bailey and easy to overlook. Roman spied Stephen, chained like a beast, and his hazel eyes bulged.
“Look!” he hissed. “There is Stephen! They are torturing him!”
Cade nodded emphatically, sickened at the sight. He was afraid the Scots would do the same thing to him if they caught him. “He looks hurt,” he muttered apprehensively.
Roman nodded, studying the man at a distance. He had known Stephen since birth and viewed him as an uncle. It made his little heart very angry to see what the Scots had done to a man he loved. He was so young and naïve, and it hadn’t really occurred to him that Stephen would have truly been abused. Although his father was a warlord, it was not something that he had been seriously exposed to during his young life and the sight was something of a shock. He felt very scared but fought it. He pulled on Cade’s arm.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see him.”
Cade readily agreed. Still clutching their fish, they looked around to make sure there was not anyone in close proximity before bolting from the shadows, racing across the dusty bailey to where Stephen was chained in partial sun.
Stephen’s eyes were closed, his head down, and the boys looked panick
ed as they visually inspected the heavy chains that secured the man to the wooden stocks. Stephen was sweaty, dirty, bloodied and bruised, and Roman finally reached out and touched the man’s nearly-black hair timidly. When Stephen didn’t move, Roman tried again. He gently shook Stephen’s head.
“Stephen?” Roman whispered. “Can you hear me? Are you alive?”
The boys jumped when Stephen suddenly shifted, lifting his head and groggily blinking his eyes. As the great head came up, the blue eyes struggled to focus. Stephen beheld Roman for a few seconds before his expression changed dramatically.
“Roman?” he rasped, noticing there was another body next to him and recognizing the face. “Cade? What in the … is it truly you?”
Roman nodded emphatically. “It is,” he told him. “We’ve come to save you!”
Stephen’s mouth popped open in shock, then shut in outrage. “What in the hell are you doing here?” he hissed. “Roman, where is your father? Did he send you?”
Roman received the impression that Stephen was not too thrilled to see him. “Nay,” he shook his head, confused that Stephen was not more grateful. “He does not know we have come. We came to help Lady Pembury rescue you, but we saw her leave a little while ago. Where did she go? Why did she leave?”
Stephen gazed back at the two young, handsome faces, feeling more sickened than he thought possible. “You came to help Joselyn?” he repeated, stunned.
Roman and Cade nodded eagerly. “She is just a lady, after all,” Cade finally found his tongue. “We came to help her because the Scots would not suspect us.”
“Aye,” Roman nodded firmly.
“We’re just boys. Nobody pays any attention to us.”
“Aye!”
“So we are going to save you!”
Stephen looked between the two of him, his mouth hanging open again. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “What?” he looked at them as if they were mad. “Roman, what about your mother? Does she know you are here?”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 31