Rhoswyn understood that.
Looking around, she could see her father’s men riding with them. There were about fifty of them, men who had been with Keith or with Keith’s father. Some of them were quite old, but they were fearsome and trusted. They remembered the old days when the Kerr was in nearly every battle on this section of the border, and there were some who liked to relive those days. She could feel their determination, their hatred against the Sassenach invasion. Because of it, Rhoswyn was glad she had convinced her father to confront de Wolfe. Otherwise, he could have very well lost the respect of his men.
To a Scotsman, that would have been a fate worse than death.
In silence, they rode as the horizon in the east turned shades of pink and purple, brightening gradually to reveal a sky with darkened clouds off towards the north. A storm was approaching but it didn’t deter their path. They would continue on to Monteviot which, at this pace, they would see in a couple of hours.
The anticipation was building.
There was a creek in the center of the vale they were traveling in, with muddied ground and thick, green grass that the horses slogged through. The hills were gentle but rather tall; still, they could be crossed with some effort. It wasn’t difficult. The morning progressed and the party from Sibbald passed over a series of hills and into another vale. This vale, however, dumped out into the south end of the valley that contained Monteviot and they weren’t halfway across the vale when they began to smell smoke.
But not just any smoke; it was putrid and ghastly, hanging heavily on the land. The grass and the hills were full of it. Rhoswyn spurred her horse up next to her father.
“What is that terrible smell?” she asked, pinching her nose.
Keith’s expression didn’t register the trepidation he was now feeling. “That’s the smell of burned flesh,” he said quietly. “They must have burned the bodies of the dead.”
Rhoswyn looked at her father in horror. “Ye know this for certain?”
Keith nodded slowly; there wasn’t a doubt on his face. As Rhoswyn tried to reconcile herself to the smell of burning bodies and the horror it provoked, her uncle and cousins rode forward to join in the conversation.
“Och,” Fergus growled. “I dunna like this already. If they’re burnin’ men, then they could do anything. Mayhap we’d better think about this for a moment, Keith. We dunna want tae go chargin’ in if the Sassenach are burnin’ men.”
Keith reined his horse to a halt, turning to look at his brother. Fergus didn’t like any manner of confrontation, a trait that some men would call cowardly. But the truth was that Fergus simply didn’t have the fire in him that most Scotsmen did. Therefore, a comment like that was to be expected from him. It was his fear of conflict talking.
“Then what are ye thinkin’ of, Fergus?” he asked his brother. “I’ll not go back. Ye know I willna.”
Fergus shook his head, shaggy and red. “Nay; not go back,” he said. “But were ye proposin’ that we simply ride intae their midst?”
“Do ye have a better idea?”
Fergus nodded. “I do,” he said, turning to point at the men behind them who had now come to a halt. “Dunna show him yer numbers. Ye take Rhoswyn with ye since she’s determined tae fight, but leave the rest of us on the hill. Let them look tae the hill, see yer men, and wonder if there are a thousand more they canna see.”
It was actually good advice. Keith hadn’t thought much of showing all of the men he had to the English; he was simply going to confront them and issue the challenge. Perhaps not the most cunning tactic, but an honest one. But now that they were smelling burned man-flesh, he was rethinking his approach. Fergus was right; if they were burning men, then perhaps they wouldn’t think twice about burning him and his men. And his daughter. He’d never heard of brutal de Wolfe tactics but there was always a first time.
Perhaps it was better to be cautious.
“As ye say,” he said after a moment. “Take the men with ye. Rhosie and I will see tae the English.”
“And issue the challenge?”
“That’s why we’ve come.”
Fergus gazed at him a moment. “Are ye sure that’s what ye want tae do?” he asked quietly. “I never agreed with this plan from the start, Keith. Rhosie is an excellent warrior, but…”
“She’s the best.”
“She is, but she’s a woman. In combat with an English knight? She’ll be lucky if she survives.”
“She’ll survive. Dunna doubt her.”
Fergus sighed heavily. “But if this plan doesna work, ye’ll be sacrificin’ yer daughter.”
Fergus’ cautious attitude was starting to wear on Keith; he didn’t have time for it. “And if I do nothin’ at all, I’ll be sacrificin’ me honor,” he hissed. “We discussed this last night. I have no army I can turn tae, at least not one that will answer the call against de Wolfe. What we do, we must depend on ourselves for it, and if we can convince de Wolfe tae pledge one knight in a battle where the victor sets the terms, then I have tae do it.”
“Ye feel so strongly about it?”
“I do.”
There was nothing more Fergus could say. When he’d first heard of the plan last night, he’d tried to talk his brother out of such a thing but Keith wouldn’t be swayed, convinced that Rhoswyn’s plan of wagering the entire outcome of Monteviot on one challenge was the chance they needed to take. That his brother would take the advice of his daughter over anyone else was something that greatly disturbed Fergus, but he couldn’t fight against it. His attitude was one of extreme caution, whereas Keith didn’t share that same perspective. They’d never seen eye to eye on conflict or confrontation. But Fergus could have never imagined that his brother saw a greater hope in Rhoswyn’s victory, the hope of a marriage and alliance with de Wolfe. Perhaps if Fergus had known, then he might have understood Keith’s resolve.
But he wouldn’t have agreed with him.
Still, the fact remained that he knew nothing. No one did. They all thought Keith had gone mad, but it could not be helped. So Fergus simply shook his head and turned away, motioning for the men to follow him to the crest of the hill that overlooked Monteviot. He thought his brother was a bleeding idiot, but that could not be helped.
Keith was determined.
As Fergus and the men began to trudge up the rocky hill overlooking the vale of Monteviot, Keith watched his brother for a moment before turning to his daughter astride her big, black horse. She looked like a warrior, in fact; long-legged, wearing mail that concealed her womanly figure, she did, indeed, look like a warrior and, for a moment, Keith saw the son he’d always wanted.
It was just the flash of a vision, one that quickly faded. Then he felt guilty for it. But, no… he thought. It was his daughter he was preparing to pit against an English knight of de Wolfe’s choosing, or so he hoped. If de Wolfe wouldn’t let the outcome of Monteviot be decided in one-on-one combat, then there was nothing more Keith could do but leave his outpost in the hands of the English and his daughter would remain unmarried. There was no other alternative, so it was a moment like this that tested a man’s true bravery.
Or… a woman’s.
*
“Troy!” Patrick hissed. “Scots approaching!”
The entire bailey was full of men preparing to depart, men spilling out of the gates and into the area outside of the walls as five separate armies were organizing to return home. The army from Berwick was spilling into the clearing outside of the gates and it was from the outside that Patrick had just come, running to find his brother, who was near the burned-out tower with his father and a few other men. But those hissed words from Patrick brought all conversation to a standstill.
“Scots?” Troy repeated; he was a little hungover from all of the wine he’d had the night before, now struggling to overcome both a headache and a muddled mind. “Damnation, then get your army back inside and close the gates!”
Patrick nodded his head. “I have already given the command,”
he said. “Most of them are outside the gates, including the wagons, so we are moving as fast as we can. Fortunately, there are only two Scots that I can see.”
Troy abruptly turned for the gates. “You know as well as I do that it is the ones you cannot see that you must worry about.”
“Which is why I am moving them back inside.”
Patrick took off after his brother then, as did William, Paris, Kieran, Michael, and a very hungover Apollo. All of them moving swiftly for the gates where the Berwick men were starting to shuffle around nervously, trying to move back into the bailey of Monteviot. The knights pushed through the ranks to get a clear line of sight on the incoming Scots.
A day that had started off relatively quiet was quickly becoming wrought with apprehension as two Scots were sighted. The knights stood in front of the crowd of soldiers at the gate, watching the approach of the Scots. But not everyone was looking at the pair; William, too, felt that there were probably more than just the two Scots, so he sent men to the walls to watch for more clansmen. Perhaps this was a ruse, perhaps not, but the closer the pair approached, the more nervous the English became.
Enemies in an enemy land.
As activity went on behind him with his father and the other knights moving men about, Troy watched the pair come closer and it occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing most of his protection. He hadn’t put it on yet because he’d spent the morning with his father in the hall and then assessing the burned-out tower. He wasn’t expecting to go into combat. But it further occurred to him that his father wasn’t wearing any protection, either. William was planning on departing later that morning for the five-hour trip back to Questing and, like Troy, simply hadn’t fully dressed. Troy turned to his father, standing a few feet away and watching the men populate on the walls.
“Papa, mayhap you should return to the hall and put on your protection,” he said quietly. “If the Scots are planning an attack, I do not want you to be caught out here without any protection.”
William looked at him. “The same could be said for you,” he said. “You are as vulnerable as I.”
“Aye, but the difference is that my name is not William de Wolfe,” Troy pointed out. “We have discussed this time and time again. You would make a national hero out of the Scot who managed to kill you, not to mention the fact that Mother would murder me with her bare hands if I allowed anything to happen to you.” He turned slightly, putting a hand on his father and trying to force him back into the fortress. “Please, Papa, go back inside.”
William’s attention had turned from the wall to the Scots, who were now quite close. “You shame me, lad,” he muttered. “Do not act as if I cannot take care of myself.”
“That is not my intent. I simply do not want you to get hurt.”
William didn’t say another word. He knew that, but he was tired of his sons trying to protect him all of the time as if he were an old man who needed protecting. It was bad enough on the day they’d burned out Monteviot’s tower, and now they sought to protect him from a pair of Scots riders. He loved his sons, but they acted like old women sometimes.
As Troy watched, his father stepped forward, away from him, and held out a hand to the Scots who were, by now, about fifteen feet away. One was dressed like a soldier while the other one was simply clad in woolens and braies.
“Stop,” William said forcefully. “Announce yourselves.”
The man in the woolens and braies answered. “I will be askin’ ye the same thing, Sassenach,” he said. “Ye’re in me land. What are ye doin’ here?”
William studied the man; he had an excellent memory and it seemed to him as if he’d seen the man before. With the light of the rising sun coming over the hills, he had a fairly good view of the man with the thick auburn hair and bushy red beard. Ye’re in me land. It suddenly occurred to William where he’d seen the man before.
“You are Keith Kerr,” he finally said.
Spurred by the fact that the English knight recognized him, Keith peered closer, his features lined with confusion. But only momentarily; realization dawned. It was the eye patch that gave it away. Everyone knew there was only one English warrior on the border with an eye patch like that.
“De Wolfe,” he finally hissed. “I’d heard tale it was ye who confiscated Monteviot but I had tae see it with me own eyes.”
In his periphery, William could see that Troy was now standing beside him but he didn’t look at his son. He was focused on the elusive Red Keith Kerr. In truth, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see the man. They were on his lands, after all, and he’d dutifully come to see why the English had landed. He wondered if Keith would be surprised, in turn, to hear the truth.
“Then word traveled to you quickly,” William said. “We have only been here a few days.”
Keith’s gaze lingered on William before moving to Troy. Then, he looked at all of the Englishmen behind him, knights of the highest caliber, and more English soldiers than Keith had seen in a very long time, all cramming back into the bailey of Monteviot. It occurred to him that he’d been right; there was no way he could have summoned enough men to take back Monteviot, not even had he sent to his cousin. He hadn’t expected a force of this size. He gestured to the hundreds of men behind William.
“Why did ye bring so many men?” he asked. “Did ye expect so much resistance from a small outpost?”
William turned to look at all of the men behind him before answering. “I had to clear out the reivers who had been using Monteviot as a base to launch raids into my lands,” he said frankly. “Surely this is no surprise to you. You had to know that Monteviot was infested by reivers.”
Keith was feeling defensive as William pointed out something he already knew, very well. There was a message in his mild rebuke – you have failed to police your own lands and now I must do it for you!
“What men do on me lands is me own business,” Keith said. “And who says they were reivers?”
William could feel a stab of impatience; so the man was going to deny such a thing? “Because they have been raiding my lands and my men followed them back to Monteviot,” he said. “It is true that whatever happens on your land is your own business, but when the men from Monteviot ride into my lands and steal from my people, it becomes my business. Two weeks ago, they rode deep into England and burned a small village, killing a priest and burning out a church. You know as well as I do that I could not remain idle after that. Since you were allowing outlaws to live on your lands and did not do anything about it, I had to.”
Keith knew that all of this was true – every last word of it. But the way de Wolfe put it, it made it sound like Keith was a weakling and a fool, incapable of monitoring his own lands. While it was true he didn’t have enough men to supervise his lands, he was far from being a weakling. If nothing else, he was an opportunist, and what he saw before him with de Wolfe was an opportunity like none other. De Wolfe had come and now Keith wanted something. He dismounted his horse, taking several steps in William’s direction.
“So ye’ve appointed yerself judge and jury for not only yer lands, but mine,” he said. “I dunna fault ye for protectin’ yer people, but now ye’re in my lands. What do ye intend tae do with Monteviot now that ye’ve purged her of the men ye call outlaws?”
Oddly enough, it almost sounded like a civil question, as if Keith was genuinely curious and not simply outraged that the English had come. William hoped that meant they could keep the rest of the conversation polite, but considering what he was about to say, he doubted it.
“It belongs to me now,” he said. “I will not have it becoming a haven for reivers again.”
“I did not give ye permission tae stay.”
“That is of no consequence. Why did you let the outlaws settle here in the first place?”
The truth behind that was, of course, that Keith couldn’t have kept them out if he’d wanted to. But he wouldn’t admit it. Instead, he grinned, a most unnerving gesture.
“No one h
as proven tae me that they were reivers,” he said. “Bring forth these men so that I may see them.”
“I cannot.”
“Because they’re dead?”
“Most of them. Those that did not die in the siege ran off. I did not take them prisoner.”
Keith sniffed the air. “Did ye burn them, de Wolfe?”
William shook his head. “The tower burned, but what you smell is a funeral pyre. We had a priest come from Jedburgh to bless the dead.”
Keith’s eyebrows lifted; it was difficult to know if it was a condescending expression or one of respect. “A pious Sassenach, are ye?”
William took it as a condescending one. His impatience was growing. “Is that why you came here today?” he asked. “To find out if I am pious? Somehow, I do not think that is why you are here. State your business, Kerr. I have work to do.”
Keith’s smile faded. So much for pleasantries with de Wolfe; the time had come for the purpose behind his visit and there was no use in stalling. Looking over his shoulder, Keith caught sight of the hill to the south, seeing the small figures of his brother and nephews and the majority of his men on the crest. It made the hill look rather crowded, which would work to his advantage. He pointed.
“See me men up there?” he asked before turning to face William. “That is only a small portion of them. There are a thousand of us behind that hill, waiting tae charge Monteviot, but I dunna believe ye want another battle so soon after havin’ suffered through one. Yer men are tired and some are even injured. I dunna think ye want another battle, not now.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 217