William and Troy could see the figures on the distant hill and, in truth, they had no reason to believe there weren’t a thousand Scots behind the hill just as Keith said. The Scots rarely made their numbers known, instead choosing to travel – and fight – in stealth. As William considered that possibility in silence, Troy began silently cursing himself because the gates were still open and half of Patrick’s army was standing outside of the walls. That made them very vulnerable should the Scots decide to come down from the hill and make a run at them.
But Troy didn’t give a hint of what he was thinking. In his estimation, Red Keith Kerr had the advantage already and he didn’t want to give the man any more ammunition. He had to get the army back in the fortress and the gates closed, or this could go badly for all of them. Now, it was his turn to take over the negotiations.
“What do you want, Kerr?” Troy asked in a tone that didn’t hint at what he was thinking. “Be plain.”
Keith’s attention turned to the big, dark knight standing next to William. He could see the resemblance.
“And yer name, knight?” he asked.
Troy didn’t hesitate. “I am Troy de Wolfe, commander of Kale Water Castle,” he said. “Even if you do not know my face, you should know my name.”
Keith’s eyebrows lifted. “Kale Water Castle,” he said, sounding surprised. “Ye’re in Kerr lands, laddie.”
“That may be, but it is a de Wolfe holding. And there is peace with the Kerr neighbors.”
Keith’s jaw ticked. Now, he realized that he not only had William in front of him, but William’s son as well. Two de Wolfes; two powerful Sassenach border lords. Kale Water Castle was in Ralph’s lands and it was Ralph who permitted the House of de Wolfe to maintain their castles there. Perhaps it was out of a greater fear of stirring a hornet’s nest to try and remove them but, in any case, de Wolfe was there to stay.
But Keith wasn’t so fearful. He could be quite courageous when he wanted to be, when something mattered. In truth, he didn’t have as much to lose as Ralph did. But in this case, he clearly had what de Wolfe wanted. Or, at least, what de Wolfe wanted to keep secure. It was here where he would make his final stand.
“Ye say there is peace, yet ye come tae take me property,” he said. “If ye want tae keep it, then ye’ll have tae fight for it.”
Troy suspected it would come to this but he, too, held his ground. “If you have come for a fight, then get on with it.”
Keith looked at Troy, at William, and at the host of men standing behind him, men who were in various stages of dress. Most had returned to the bailey, but the gates were still open and some were still standing there, watching and waiting. Some had mail and protection on, but some didn’t. It was clear they weren’t prepared for a battle and Keith used that to his advantage.
“Look at yer men,” he said, pointing. “And look at yerselves. Are ye ready for a fight? Or did I catch ye unaware?”
“We are ready for whatever you have in mind.”
It was a confident answer, one that Keith believed implicitly. But he wasn’t ready for what they thought he had in mind. He turned to look at his men on the crest behind them.
“If we can settle this without riskin’ our men, would ye be willing?”
That wasn’t an offer Troy had been expecting and he was momentarily confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Keith shrugged his shoulders, a casual gesture, as if he really wasn’t concerned about the English giving him a fight. “I dunna believe ye want tae risk yer men against me thousand,” he said. “Yer men have seen a big battle. I can see it in them; they’re weary and they want tae go home. I want them tae go home. But I have brought a thousand Scots who have come to push ye off me land, so I can fight ye if I have tae. But I have a solution that is much easier and much cleaner than a big battle for this worthless piece of rock.”
Troy wasn’t sure what that could be. In fact, that kind of proposition didn’t make much sense to him. He’d never heard of a Scotsman so willing to bargain peacefully rather than bring forth pikes and swords against the English. He looked at his father before answering.
“What solution?” he asked.
Keith took a step towards him, fixing him in the eye. “Me best warrior against yer best warrior,” he said. “Only two men fight, not thousands, and the winner shall name the terms of surrender.”
It was not an unheard of proposal, but Troy was frankly surprised. He looked at his father, who looked at him in return. Immediately, he could see that his father was inclined to agree with the proposal but Troy was still puzzled by it all. He glanced at Keith.
“Man against man?” he clarified.
Keith nodded shortly. “Warrior against warrior.”
“And the winner names the terms?”
“Aye.”
Troy cocked a dark eyebrow. “And when we name the terms, you swear to abide by them?”
The corners of Keith’s mouth twitched. “Aye,” he said. “As long as ye swear ye’ll abide by the terms I set should me warrior win.”
It seemed like a sound enough proposition. In fact, Troy was rather pleased by it; surely he could lick whatever warrior Kerr brought forth. In fact, this seemed like the easiest way out of this situation.
“A moment, please,” he said to Keith. “Let me discuss this before we proceed.”
Keith simply moved away, strolling back over to his horse and the other warrior, still mounted. Troy grasped his father by the arm and turned the man around, motioning to his brothers and the other knights in the same movement. The English came together in a big huddle as Keith stood back by his horses.
“He wants to pit his best warrior against our best warrior to decide the fate of Monteviot,” Troy explained quickly to the host of curious faces gazing back at him. “Whoever wins will dictate the terms of surrender. I must say, I was not expecting that.”
Neither were some of the others. At least, the younger knights weren’t. They were looking at each other with some surprise as the older knights discussed the situation.
“If he is sincere, then that is the perfect solution,” Paris whispered to William. “Pit Atty or Troy against his warrior. They can destroy anything on two legs.”
“Do not forget about Kevin,” Kieran pointed out. “Or even Tobias. We have many fine warriors here that could easily take on a Scotsman and win.”
William held up a hand before this turned into a debate on who was the greatest warrior among them. “There is no question on that,” he said. “And, truly, pitting one man against another will save many lives, quite possibly including my own sons. If this is what Keith truly wants, then I am inclined to agree. It would be much simpler and cleaner to have a one-on-one battle.”
Michael, standing next to Kieran, shook his head. “S-Something is not right about this,” he said in his deep, rumbling tone. The man rarely spoke because he had a stammer in his speech, but when he did speak, it was for a distinct purpose. “Why would he pledge s-such a thing if he has a thousand S-Scots waiting to fight us?”
William lifted his eyebrows. “That has occurred to me,” he admitted. “It is possible he does not have the numbers he says he has but, then again, it is like a Scots not to reveal his numbers. We cannot assume that he is not telling the truth and if we can get our armies home with no loss of life, I am willing to take that chance.”
It made sense and the group was of the same mindset. If they could avoid a battle, then they would. But questions lingered.
“But what if we l-lose?” Michael asked. “He names the terms and you l-lose Monteviot, William. What about that?”
William pondered that possibility. “If I lose Monteviot, then I will make it clear to Kerr that my eye will be on it. Any more reiver activity and I will not hesitate to purge it again.”
It was a reasonable statement. With nothing more to say and with the questions satisfactorily answered, the group of knights seemed to all agree that accepting Keith’s proposal was the thing t
o do. All except for one last question.
“Then who will f-fight his warrior?” Michael asked what they were all thinking.
William knew that the decision was up to him and it wasn’t one he took lightly. He looked at the faces around him; Paris and Apollo, looking at him both apprehensively and hopefully, in that order. Paris didn’t want to fight, Apollo did. Then there was Patrick and James, trying not to appear too willing to lift a sword. They wanted the honor. Kieran and Kevin came next, both of them looking as if they very much wanted to do battle against the Scots, before coming to Michael, Tobias, Case, and Corbin. Michael didn’t appear too eager, but his sons did.
And then there was Troy. Standing next to his father, he, too, was waiting for William’s word. William sighed heavily when he realized there was only one choice he could make.
“This is to be Troy’s outpost until we settle on a permanent commander,” he said reluctantly. “It is my sense that Troy should be the one to accept the challenge. He is the one who needs to earn Red Keith’s respect, after all.”
Troy was the only one pleased to hear his father’s decision. Everyone else was disappointed to varying degrees, but it was Patrick who spoke.
“That is a wise decision, Papa,” he said. “You are correct; if Troy is to know any peace, then he has to earn their respect. But know this; if he falls, I will step into the battle in his stead.”
“And I shall step in if Patrick falters,” James said firmly.
William held up his hand to stop the declarations of bravery. “That defeats the purpose of single combat,” he said. “While I am sure Troy appreciates your bravery, there will be no second and third warriors to take his place. Although I will not let him become terribly injured, should he be unable to continue, then the Kerr wins the fight. Is that understood?”
The thought of losing a fight to a Scots didn’t sit well with the English knights, but they reluctantly agreed. They understood the rules of engagement, but there wasn’t one man who wasn’t willing to step in and ignore those rules. William looked most pointedly at Patrick and James, who weren’t happy about complying, before looking to Kevin, who would be the one to charge off regardless of what he’d agreed to. William even pointed at him.
“Give me your oath, Kevin,” he said.
Kevin frowned unhappily until his father elbowed him in the ribs. Only then did he answer. “Very well,” he said. “You have it.”
William wasn’t sure if he believed the man, but he had the courtesy not to dispute him, at least not openly. With that matter settled more or less, there was still more on William’s mind. He looked to Troy.
“Go and don your protection,” he instructed. As his son turned and headed back into the enclosure of Monteviot, William looked to Patrick. “Get all of your army back into the gates and make sure the gates are secured. I expect Troy to be the victor in this and I would not be surprised if Keith went back on his word and launched his army at us. Make sure Monteviot is as prepared for an assault as it can be. Paris, you and Patrick will be in command for now. My focus will be on Troy until this combat is over.”
The group broke up and began to move swiftly, as William turned his attention back to Keith. The man was still standing near his horse and was seemingly interested in what was going on with the English. The knights were yelling commands, moving the men who lingered outside the gates back into the bailey. William approached him cautiously.
“We accept your challenge,” he said. “Your best warrior against my best warrior. Although I have many warriors that are excellent, I have selected my son, Troy. He will be in command of Monteviot for the near future so you should know what kind of man he is. He will fight your warrior and he will win.”
Keith couldn’t say that he was all that glad to hear it. Troy de Wolfe was an enormous man, and if William de Wolfe was selecting him to fight above all of the other magnificent knights he had at his disposal, then it meant that Troy was the best of the best. The thought of Rhoswyn going against such a beast of a man unsettled him greatly, but he couldn’t turn back now.
“Very well,” Keith said, confidence in his voice that he did not feel. “Bring him forth. Let us get on with it.”
William’s gaze lingered on him and Keith was afraid that the man might have heard his hesitation. But Keith kept his expression neutral and William finally turned away, heading for the gates where everyone was cramming back into the fortress. When he was out of earshot, Keith turned to Rhoswyn.
“Did ye hear that?” he asked quietly. “Ye have tae fight the big man that was standin’ next tae de Wolfe. That is his son, Troy.”
Rhoswyn had, indeed, seen the man. In fact, she had seen and heard everything that was said in spite of being several feet back from where the conversation was taking place. But she wasn’t intimidated in the least. Such was her level of confidence in not only her abilities, but in the pride of an English knight. She’d been planning her assault since last night and she knew exactly what she was going to do. Her plan was going to work.
She had no doubt.
“Have no fear, Pa,” she said quietly. “He will fold when the time is right.”
“And if he doesna?”
Rhoswyn’s gaze was on the English as they were herded back into the keep. “Then I will fight him.”
Keith sighed sharply. “He is twice yer size and twice yer strength, lass. Dunna be foolish.”
Rhoswyn’s focus moved to her father. She could see how worried he was. Perhaps there was something wrong with her in that she was not worried in the least, but she truly didn’t believe there was anything to be concerned over. To entertain otherwise would cause her to doubt herself, and doubt could be deadly.
She wasn’t in the habit of doubting her abilities.
“There are other ways tae win a fight than brute strength,” she said. “De Wolfe canna outsmart me. I will win.”
She sounded very confident and Keith didn’t want to damage that confidence. But the truth was that he was frightened for her; frightened that the de Wolfe son would simply look at a female warrior as another Scot, another target, and he would take his hatred out on her.
Soon enough, they would find out.
Keith realized that he was very much dreading that moment.
CHAPTER FIVE
The clouds from the north that had been visible at dawn, black and angry, had moved south and were now gathering overhead as Troy stood out in front of the closed gates of Monteviot, securing a glove as his father stood next to him. Thunder rolled and big splashes of rain came down now and again, spattering in the dirt at their feet. Along with that thunder came the pangs of apprehension and anticipation.
The air was full of it.
“I will not give you any final advice for this because you do not need it,” William said quietly. “But know that if you are disabled in any way, I have archers on the walls. They will take out your opponent before he can land a death blow.”
Troy tugged at the leather strap, tightening his left gauntlet just a bit. “And then what?”
“Then we must face Red Keith and his thousand men.”
Troy looked at his father, lifting an eyebrow at the irony of that statement. “You are in Scotland, after all,” he said. “They do not want us here.”
“That is their misfortune.”
Troy grinned as he finished with the strap. “Have no fear,” he said. “I will not be disabled. And this should not take long.”
That was arrogant Troy talking. Fortunately, he was rarely wrong and William didn’t expect this to be one of those occurrences. But he wasn’t taking any chances; he had the archers positioned but he also had something else up his sleeve. Help from the heavens, as it were. As he stood with his son, Audric emerged from the closed gates and headed in their direction. When Troy glanced up and saw the priest, he frowned.
“What does he want?” he demanded.
William cleared his throat softly. “I sent for him.”
“Why?”
“To say a prayer.”
Troy rolled his eyes, grossly unhappy and impatient, as Audric came to stand next to him. Then he proceeded to ignore the priest by fussing with his other glove. William cocked an eyebrow at his disrespectful son as he addressed Audric.
“I realize that you are a Scots priest, but you are a man of God over all, so your prayers should be good for English as well as for Scots,” he said. “I would be grateful if you could bless my son before this event.”
Before Audric could speak, Troy held out a hand. “I do not need prayers from a Scots,” he declared. “Besides, he could curse me. Do you really think the man is going to give me his blessing?”
William frowned. “If I thought he was going to curse you, do you really think I would ask him to say a prayer?”
Troy gave his father a long look. “You have become very pious in your old age, Papa. I do not need a witch cursing me in Gaelic. You could say a prayer over me and it will do just as well.”
William sighed heavily at his foolish son. “I say a prayer over you every day,” he said. “Prayer for strength not to throttle you.”
Troy thought that was rather funny. He turned away from the priest and his father, snorting, as he finished with his glove. He eyed Keith and the warrior the man had brought with him, a warrior still astride a rather handsome black horse. Finished fussing with the glove, he collected his shield, propped on the ground against some rocks.
“Well?” he boomed to Keith. “Let us get on with this.”
William and Audric looked to Keith, who immediately turned to the warrior beside him. As they watched, the warrior slid off the horse and removed a targe, or round wooden shield, from the back of the beast. The warrior moved gracefully, long-legged and bogged down with tunics and mail that was not Scottish-borne. He was not big by any means, certainly not as muscular or bulky as the English knights, which was surprising considering that Scots could be bred for size. Some of the biggest warriors William had ever seen were Scottish.
Of all the warriors to choose, Keith had chosen a lithe man of little bulk, but heavily dressed and protected. The helm on his head was decidedly English, of an older style, and the broadsword, from what he could see, was not Scottish, either. It was English, too. William was starting to wonder if the warrior wasn’t English-trained as well. It was all quite curious.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 218