by Park, Elsie
Audri saw truth etched in Heath’s face and deep gratitude in Roland’s. “I set out months ago,” Roland said, “content to do everything alone. But after garnering unexpected friendships . . .” Roland’s gaze took in all of them. “I am beyond grateful for each of you. How one makes it through life without such faithful friends, I don’t know.”
The next evening, Roland stood in the farthest corner of the library, well away from the entrance but close enough to hear conversations originating from there.
He heard the door open and then close.
“Sir Doyle, I’m glad you’re back,” he heard Heath say to the head knight.
“Yes. I just returned from being in this accursed rain for days, but war with the Scots is always a subject requiring my attention no matter the weather. And it was worth it, for I’ve convinced King Edward once again that our knights are needed here to protect Guildon and not with the ranks at Bannockburn trying to relieve Stirling.”
“And how goes the battle?” Heath asked.
“I headed back before it ensued, but I’m sure we’ll hear soon enough.” There was a pause. “You said you had information for me.”
“I do. It’s about our disinherited knight, Sir Roland.”
“Really?” Doyle’s voice perked up, clearly interested.
“Yes, he claims to be the surviving son of Olin and Sharee Fletcher, the couple who were hanged for being spies about eighteen years ago. But it was my understanding they were childless.”
“Hmm, then perhaps we were wrong about that.” Doyle paused. “I’ve had strong suspicions about this since searching the library records months ago. His hair and other features certainly resemble that woman he claims to be his mother.” Doyle’s tenor alluded to deep thoughts. “Did he mention another name? If what he says is true, then he may have been taken in by someone after his parents’ deaths.”
“No, he didn’t mention anyone. Perhaps he’s a vagabond of sorts, having gained no other family.”
“Perhaps. Did he tell you his reason for coming to Guildon?”
“He said when he learned his parents had been from this area, he thought to find work here and learn something about them.”
There was silence for a time, and Roland had to resist peeking around the tall shelf he stood by to see what was happening. He needed to remain hidden for this ploy to work.
“Sir?” he heard Heath say.
“Just thinking,” Doyle said. There was another pause. “Does he know the truth about his parents?”
“What truth, sir?”
“That they may have been falsely accused. It happens on occasion . . . through no fault of our own, mind you,” Doyle said, mockery tainting his words.
“I see. I didn’t know this, nor do I know if Roland is aware of it.”
“He can’t discover it,” Doyle hissed.
“Why?”
“For one thing, you were the one to arrest them—” Doyle stated.
“Under your orders,” Heath reminded him.
“So he’ll be sure to seek vengeance upon those responsible for their deaths, starting with you . . . and ending with me. Keeping him from the truth is for our safety. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Was there anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“All right then. You’ve done well, Sir Heath. Keep on him, and tell me if you discover anything else. We should treat him with caution, but his being here is essential to our safety.”
What does he mean? Roland wondered.
“How so?” Heath posed, apparently just as puzzled.
“We need him to continue with that woman’s training.”
“You mean Lady Gibbons.”
“Yes. Though I hate to admit it, he has come a long way with her, more so than with anyone else we’ve seen fit to unleash on her. We need her subservience to be complete, and soon. After that, if Sir Roland delves too deeply into the past, we’ll have to get to him before he gets to us.”
Silence followed that statement.
“Can I rely on you to follow through with your duty if I ask it?” Doyle posed, a modicum of doubt in his voice.
“Yes, sir, but it’s just that I’ve gotten to know Sir Roland, and he’s a fine knight.”
“Our lives,” Doyle interrupted, “must come before a poor vagabond with no home and no name, no matter what you think of him. Understand?”
There was another pause, then, “Understood, sir.” Roland winced. Careful Heath, if I can sense your resentment, then Doyle can too. “And what, may I ask, does Lady Gibbons’s obedience have to do with Guildon’s welfare?” Heath asked.
“It has everything to do with it if we lose Stirling to the Scots.”
Before more could be said, there was a knock at the door.
Who knocks on a library door unless the person knows there’s a private conversation going on inside? Did Doyle have someone standing out there the entire time? Did he hear what passed between Doyle and Heath?
Roland heard the shifting of boots as either Heath or Doyle moved to the door and opened it.
“Sirs,” a voice said. Roland recognized it as one of the twin knights. “News of the battle. The herald awaits Lord Craven’s arrival in the great hall.”
The sound of multiple persons leaving the room urged Roland to peek around the corner of the shelf. He was alone. Roland made his way through the library and out the door.
The ploy had worked. By Heath disclosing some of the truth about Roland, Doyle had opened up, sharing vital information about his intentions toward Roland. But he worried about Heath’s hostile undertone. If Doyle sensed it too, he would cease trusting him with his covert dealings and take him out of the loop, thus ending that way of obtaining facts.
But what bothered him more were the intentions Doyle suggested for Audri. It still wasn’t clear what he had in mind, but Roland’s intuition told him it was devious and that it would soon take place.
He must be vigilant in protecting her.
Chapter 16
Roland entered the great hall. Audri was already there, standing against the wall next to Gail and Heath. Since the evening meal had ended hours before, the tables had been moved against the walls, leaving a large space in the center of the hall. There was standing room only, word having spread like wildfire that news of the battle of Bannockburn had arrived.
Roland squeezed himself between several others, making his way to his friends. As he neared, he saw that Bryant stood in front of Heath, his back facing his knight. Heath’s hands were placed on the boy’s shoulders.
“You performed well, Heath,” Roland said into Heath’s ear as he came to stand between him and Audri. “I’ll watch my back around Doyle, but I urge you to do the same. I don’t trust the man to keep his alliance with you. He’s too suspicious.”
Heath nodded. “My thoughts as well.”
Roland turned to Audri. “Has anything been reported?”
She shook her head. “No, Festus hasn’t arrived yet.”
Just then, Lord Craven entered the great hall followed by Sir Doyle and Lady Craven. They all sat down at the head table, and everyone quieted.
Festus motioned to the man who stood in front of their table. The messenger held a tankard of ale that someone had brought to him while awaiting the earl.
“Malcolm,” Festus said. “What be the tidings?”
Malcolm took a sip of the amber beverage and cleared his throat. “We lost, milord,” he announced for all to hear. “The Scots prevailed, taking Stirling once again.”
Shouts of astonishment and anger rose from the knights and sentries. They pointed toward the bearer of terrible news, yelling at him as though he were to blame for the outcome of the battle. The herald, having turned toward the mass at the outburst, backed up until his rear end bumped the hea
d table.
Festus raised his hands. “SILENCE!” he barked. The uproar died down with hesitation. Festus eyed them with a warning not to interrupt again, though an occasional mumble of frustration from some of the bolder knights was still heard. Festus turned his eyes to Malcolm. “Proceed.”
Malcolm glanced at Festus and nodded. He took another swig of his drink, his hands trembling, before facing the great audience.
“Our king’s attempt to keep Stirling from surrendering to the Scots was ill-planned and doomed from the start. We knew the Scots had hidden in the nearby woods. We began circling them to prevent their retreat, but they had dug pits and set up obstacles in the surrounding marshes. As we advanced, we were forced to take the only dry road, a narrow death trap. One of our earl commanders saw the Scottish king on a horse and, hoping to be the hero to win the battle, didn’t hesitate to charge the unarmored Scotsman who only wielded a battle axe.”
Roland felt someone squeeze his upper arm. He looked over and found Audri’s hands wrapped around his bicep as she listened to the report, her wide eyes focused on the messenger.
“The Scotsman turned his horse at the last second, avoiding the earl’s lance and smote the earl’s helm in twain with his axe, killing him instantly.”
Audri gasped, and Roland heard murmurs of anger racing around the hall against the enemy king.
“Gaining confidence, the Scots charged us. We retreated and the Scots returned to their cover. Though our side was larger and more heavily armed, we lacked agility and order thanks to the unskilled leadership of our king.”
Some of the listeners sneered, agreeing with the concluded incompetency of Edward II. Roland glanced at the head table. Doyle and Festus had their heads together, grim expressions evident as they discussed something between them.
“Yestermorn, the twenty-fourth of June,” Malcolm continued with a gloomy mien, “the Scots emerged from the woods again. Our king ordered us to cross the Bannockburn, a stream spanned only by a single bridge.” Malcolm paused and the captive audience leaned forward to catch his next words. “Another of our earls argued with our king about when to attack the Scots. Edward accused him of cowardice, and the livid earl took his section of the army to advance on the Scots alone. They were slaughtered by the Highlanders.”
Heath leaned over to Roland and whispered, “Destruction is often the peril of uncontrolled wrath.”
Roland nodded. He knew firsthand the truth of that but thanked heaven his numerous outbursts hadn’t brought him to the point of destruction. Still, this account gave him food for thought—another deterrent to losing his temper.
“The Scots continued their attack on the rest of our army, but we were slow to react. Mayhem ensued, and fear spread like fire in a dry field. Men turned and ran, including our cowardly king, who abandoned the army to flee to Dunbar Castle. After that, even our brave knights were forced to retreat. The Scots assailed our backs, killing thousands. The Bannockburn and its banks were so filled with dead men and horses that one could pass over without getting his feet wet.”
Malcolm glanced nervously around the hall. “After this victory, the confident Scots will indisputably continue moving south, taking control of any lands within their path, including ours. We should prepare for battle!”
The room erupted into shouts. Knights let flow strong words of anger against the Scots, while fearful protests resonated from the women, children, and servants.
Roland and Heath looked at each other with concern but remained silent in their shock. Roland turned to Audri. She lifted her eyes and met his with the bravery and poise she often exhibited. Her expression assured him that she would courageously face whatever came their way. If the Scots attacked Guildon, Roland was grateful Audri was as skilled as a squire could be with a few months of training.
“SILENCE, YOU FOOLS!”
The shrill order quieting the throng came from Lord Craven, who had stepped up onto the chief table to be seen.
“SILENCE!” he repeated, his face contorted in anger. “Who is the lord of Guildon?” he shouted, not expecting an answer. “Not this man!” He pointed at the herald shrinking into himself, knowing he’d performed an indiscretion by taking the authority and announcing they should prepare for war.
“I am lord here!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls and reaching the ears of those standing out in the corridors.
The mass stood still, afraid to rile Festus any further and risk the penalties.
“Have I not proved that I can keep Guildon safe? All these years, have I not proved that?” His heated gaze swept the room, scrutinizing individuals who dared to return his stare. “And at one word from this . . . servant,” he spat, indicating Malcolm again, “you turn your thoughts to chaos and fear.” He paused, his nostrils flaring above his thick whiskers. “The one you should be fearing is me, not those barbaric Scots!” he bellowed.
Heads bowed in shame—or in terror of their lord.
“Do you think I haven’t foreseen this day? Do you think I haven’t watched the signs and been warned? Do you not trust that I have taken precautions to ensure Guildon’s safety?” He paused, allowing them to consider these questions. “WELL, I HAVE!” he shouted, causing heads and eyes to rise. “You have nothing to fear from an oncoming battle.”
Faces radiated a tentative serenity.
“You have my assurance that it will not reach our walls, not even our borders. Sir Doyle, as knight protector of Guildon, has personally seen to that yet again.”
Roland gazed at Sir Doyle. The head knight’s cold, silver eyes stared in his direction. Roland shifted, but Doyle’s eyes didn’t. He wasn’t looking at him but at something beside him. He followed the line, and it rested on Audri.
The unsettling knot in the pit of Roland’s stomach returned. His eyes narrowed. He felt a foreboding over the fate of the woman he loved with all his heart. Once again, he wondered what Audri had to do with the safety of Guildon, a tentative idea niggling at his mind. Doyle had said that Roland’s assignment to tame her had everything to do with it, and he felt angry that he’d been tricked into taking part in her dubious fate.
I’ll protect her, by heaven! I’ll defend her from an entire army if need be, and if I lose my life to save hers, then I’ll die an honorable death indeed. He prayed, however, that it wouldn’t come to that.
“If any of you doubt my words,” Lord Craven warned, “then you have no reason to remain in Guildon under my watch. I’ll oblige your distrust with a noose at the end of your miserable necks!”
The room remained silent, many faces bowed again, hidden from Festus’s view. But the loyal knights stood tall, showing approval and devotion to their lord.
“Lord Craven, Sir Doyle, protectors of Guildon!” Roland’s head turned toward the shout. It was one of the knight twins.
At the pleased look on Festus’s face, others joined in the cry.
“Lord Craven, Sir Doyle, protectors of Guildon!”
More voices were added, fists thrust overhead and stabbing the air in cadence to the chorus.
“Lord Craven, Sir Doyle, protectors of Guildon!”
The entire room shouted the praise over and over, gathering strength and courage from the call. Festus smiled with wicked pride viewing his supporters, if that’s what one could call those who felt compelled to sustain him through fear.
Only Roland and his small band of friends refused to join in the acclamation.
“I surmise that Doyle is too busy just now with the security of Guildon to be interested in tormenting prisoners,” Roland said to the small group. Heath had sent Bryant off to play with his comrades. “The siblings are safe enough for now. What demands our attention is the present threat to Audri.”
Roland had already explained to Audri and Gail what Heath had gleaned from Doyle in the library. They now sat in Roland’s chamber with the door closed.
“There’s only one thing I can think of,” Audri said, lifting her eyes up from the table she’d been staring at. “An alliance through marriage . . . or slavery . . . whichever the Scots deem more useful to them. It would continue the safety of Guildon from Scottish attack and, in turn, keep the Scots privy to information about England’s plans—in theory, anyway.”
“But why not just continue what Doyle has been doing, gaining the same end with money? For I am sure that’s what he has been doing all these years. Why use you now?” Gail posed toward Audri.
“Perhaps the price has been raised,” Audri surmised. “And it can’t be satisfied with money any longer.”
“Mayhap Guildon is running dry on that end, requiring a pact of greater worth than it has coin for,” Heath said. “I wish I could say that being close to Doyle has gained me insight into the treasury, but it hasn’t. I’m only guessing.”
“Yes. We are all only guessing, though it is likely Guildon has been kept safe through bribery, or trade, all these years. What troubles me now is the theoretical union,” Roland said. “I can’t see all of Guildon’s people—especially the knights, dishonorable as they are—accepting an alliance with Scotland. The knights would rather fight than make peace with the country that just massacred England in battle. There will be mutiny when they find out. Would Festus risk it?”
“Not all knights are for England,” Audri said. “Some are only loyal to themselves, allowing the lure of money to decide their devotion. And you’re assuming that they will find out about it,” Audri added. “Secret alliances are not unheard of, and they happen more often than people admit. Perhaps Festus and Doyle mean to keep it undisclosed. Only an important few here need to know about it for Scotland to leave Guildon alone,” Audri sneered. “All these years, I’ve often wondered why they didn’t just torture or beat me as they did anyone else. They’ve held me in reserve, untouched and unhurt, so I’d be an acceptable trade for this purpose if it ever came to that—and it appears it has.”