Aggie hiccuped. “But he's pissed 'imself, m'lord. He needs –”
“Let him speak, woman!”
John let out another howl and wriggled free of Aggie's grasp. “Me da did..did it,” he cried, hiccupping as he spoke. “I...I saw 'im. Hurry, please. You have to save them. It's burn...burning. The stable is burning.”
Robert's blood froze. He uttered a curse, jumped from the dais and headed for the door, snapping out orders. “Bernard, I need a fire-fighting detail. A line between the stable and the well. Now.”
“Aye, my lord.”
As Robert broke into a run, the walls of Glendennan echoed with a terrible sound. He'd heard it many times before on the battlefield – the sound of horses screaming, the sound of horses dying. He steeled his heart and mind against the horror as anger, pure and hot, flared within him. Someone had dared to attack Glendennan, and it was a cowardly and brutal assault. He pulled the main doors open and collided with a frantic sentry. “My lord, the stables–”
“I know. Take a dozen men and search the castle. Every corner. We're looking for at least one intruder and I want him found, preferably alive. Make sure the north entrance is sealed.” He raised a hand to the people gathering on the steps. “Stay back, all of you. Stay well back.”
“Jesus Christ, Montgomery. Do something and fast. My horses are in there too.”
Willoughby's words barely registered with Robert as he turned his attention to the stables. Smoke poured out of the doorway, and a sinister light flickered within the dark interior. The panicked cries of the animals filled the night.
“God help us,” he muttered through gritted teeth, glancing toward the well. “Bernard, where the hell are you? We don't have much time.” Indeed, he knew they only had moments. He lifted the hem of his surcoat, covered his mouth and nose, and ran into the stables. From somewhere behind him, he heard Bernard's shout of protest. Already half-blinded by smoke, he started to open the stalls. Fragments of burning hay and straw floated in the air, their deadly spirals starting new fires wherever they landed. The heat scorched his skin as he squinted into the growing inferno. He worked in a zigzag pattern, pulling the stall doors open. Acrid air stung his eyes and choked his lungs, but he persisted.
Despite his efforts, he knew many of the horses would not take the chance of freedom, but stay in their stalls until they succumbed. It was a behaviour well documented in the realm of horses – one not entirely understood. Indeed, some of the horses had already ceased their screaming and capitulated to their horrific fate. The stench made him retch.
“Rob, get out of there. We're losing it! ”
But Robert kept moving, opening the doors one by one. At last he reached Argyle's stall.
“Get out, lad,” Robert rasped, through a handful of fabric. “Move.” The stallion, trained to obey his master, veered out of his stall.
“Rob!” Bernard's frantic cry sliced through the thick air. “Where are you, for Christ's sake?”
He couldn't respond. Smoke scorched his throat and tears streamed from his eyes as he staggered to the next stall. It was that of the chestnut mare.
“Go,” he croaked, smacking the mare's rump.
For a moment, the animal hesitated, rolling her eyes at the nightmare unfolding around her. Then, with a sudden surge, she bolted past Robert toward safety.
Exhausted, he could do no more. He stumbled through the door and out into the courtyard. Head throbbing, he fell to his knees and vomited, gasping for breath between the violent retches of his stomach. Yet, even in the throes of his brutal, suffocating convulsions, a sliver of rational thought pushed its way to the front of his mind.
Tell me, Angmar. How, in God's name, is this nightmare supposed to bring me that which I seek?
A shout of alarm caught his attention. Still gasping for air, he looked up and saw Bernard running toward him. At the same time, in his blurred peripheral vision, he saw something large and black falling from the smoke-filled sky. There came a rumble like thunder and a fierce, crackling hiss.
A heartbeat later, Robert saw a flash of intense light and descended into darkness.
~ ~ ~
Angmar leaned forward in her old wooden chair, watching a small flame as it danced across the burnt remnants of a log in the hearth. The flame found virgin wood and devoured it with a sudden flare. Then, with a final flicker, the flame disappeared, leaving behind a solitary wisp of smoke that rose into the air like a tiny ghost.
The old woman sat back and gave freedom to her tears.
“A very great sacrifice, my lord,” she whispered. “May God help you.”
Chapter 22
Darkness sat thick in the cellars of Glendennan, but John welcomed it. It offered him a refuge – a place to escape what he'd seen and heard. Shocked to his core, he stumbled over boxes and collided with barrels, barely able to see his hand before his face. His delirious mind ached with the horrific sounds of dying horses and visions of hellish fire.
But the image that had devastated his young soul the most was that of Lord Montgomery lying as still as death on the cold cobbles.
His da had done it. His da had killed Lord Montgomery. A whimper of fear bubbled up from his chest. By the time he ducked down into the farthest corner of the cellar, the fear had erupted into violent sobs. Sick with remorse and grief, he curled into a trembling ball. They'd never let him stay at Glendennan now. Not after what his da had done. Hatred for his sire spiralled into a tight knot beneath his ribs.
“It...it should've been... been you... who... who died,” he sobbed. “N... not... not him.”
When next he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of a flaming torch above his head.
“He's here!” Bernard passed the torch to another man as John cried out in fear and shrank back into the shadows. “Hush, lad. It's alright. Don't be frightened. We've been looking everywhere for you.”
Shivering with cold and soaked in urine, he whimpered as Bernard wrapped a blanket around him and lifted him from the floor.
He rubbed his eyes. “Are you goin' to send me away?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because of what me da did.”
Bernard shook his head. “You're not responsible for what he did. You were very brave last night, running to warn us. ”
“I was?” He wriggled in Bernard's arms. “So... so you're not goin' to send me away?”
“Nay, lad. No one is going to send you away.”
“Even though Lord Montgom'ry's dead?”
Bernard froze mid-step on the stairway. “Dead? Lord Montgomery is not dead. He lives yet, and you must pray he continues to do so.”
“Not dead?” John blinked, his head spinning with a sudden burst of relief, followed a moment later by a dark thought. “Did you find... did you find me da?”
Bernard's jaw tightened. “Not yet, but we will. Your father's in a great deal of trouble, John.”
The fire's presence lingered long after the flames had died. Its sickening stench polluted the atmosphere both inside and outside Glendennan. It filled nostrils and set eyes watering, forcing folk to cover their faces with cloths as they went about their day. To add to the tragedy, the damp air stood stock-still in the valley and refused to relinquish the essence of the tragedy. The stench of cremated flesh mingled with that of charred oak and burnt straw. It lingered for almost a week, until the debris from the fire was finally removed.
Over thirty animals had been lost to the flames.
The emotional effects of the fire, however, could not be washed or swept away. Melancholy infiltrated Glendennan like a dark fungus, creeping into the hearts and souls of all who lived there.
There were other repercussions, too.
Willoughby watched as Joanna paced the floor of her chamber, his emotions battling inside him with all the subtlety of a sword-fight. The girl was mumbling prayers without pause, her fingers toying with the gold crucifix that graced her chest. Somewhere, not too deep in Willoughby's mind, he blamed himself f
or her extreme piety.
Joanna had been in her eleventh year when her mother died. She had loved her mother beyond measure, and the loss had hit her hard. Willoughby, unsure of how to deal with a distraught child and in mourning himself, sent Joanna to a convent for a few weeks. To his surprise – and later, his dismay – she had embraced the pious lifestyle, and expressed a desire for the veil ever since. Time after time he had deflected her requests, hoping her feverish devotion to the church was nothing more than a youthful obsession.
“I have known it since Mama died,” she said, drawing him from his musing. “Marriage and children are not what God wants for me. He will not be disobeyed, and has proven it by bringing His wrath to bear upon this union.”
Willoughby cleared his throat. “I cannot see why God would punish your husband, my daughter. This was a tragedy brought about by the evil deed of another. I would venture to say the Devil had a hand in this tragedy, rather than God.”
“All the more reason for me to leave, Papa. I refuse to live with what has happened and have no desire to stay here. Nor do I wish to be married to a man who is... ” She turned and looked at him, her brown eyes unwavering as they held his gaze. “I'm not meant for Montgomery. I'm meant to be a bride of Christ. Not even the command of a king can usurp an edict from God.”
Willoughby's instinct to protect his daughter tugged at his sense of what was right and honourable. Joanna's refusal to stay with her injured husband sounded heartless rather than rational. At the same time, he knew Montgomery's unfortunate impairment would make marriage to any woman difficult, let alone a woman who was already reluctant.
“But it's your duty to stay with your husband, Joanna,” he offered, weakly. “Especially now. He has need of you. There will be no further argument.”
“And if he releases me willingly?”
“What do you mean?”
“I intend to ask him to release me from this union. If he agrees, will you take me home?”
“Christ's blood, lass. The man has only just returned from the brink of death. You would trouble him with this now?”
“Please do not blaspheme in my presence, Papa. And yes, I intend to speak with my lord husband this afternoon.” She crossed herself. “I see no point in waiting.”
~ ~ ~
“I can't blame the girl, Bernard.” Robert struggled to speak, his throat and lungs still scarred from the fire and smoke. “Not after what has happened. And the truth is, I don't want this marriage either. At least, not since –”
He coughed, a violent spasm that brought a sharp pain to his head.
“Even so,” Bernard muttered. “That she could think of leaving you at such a time. The girl is lacking a conscience. I'm beyond words.”
Robert stayed silent. He felt no connection to Joanna, although her desire to leave him had, in truth, kicked at his pride. Only one woman continued to occupy his thoughts, the pain of losing her still fresh.
“Let me send for her, Rob.” Bernard appeared to have read his mind.
“Nay.”
“Why? You have such need of her now.”
“I've needed Isobel since I first saw her standing in my office doorway. But I'll not bring her back. I'm not the man I was, and I wouldn't have her see me this way.”
“She wouldn't refuse you.”
Robert sighed. “Leave her where she is, Bernard. Let her be.”
Later, as he lay alone in the dark, Robert pondered Angmar's words.
“One path, and one only, can give you that which you seek. But it will mean a great sacrifice, so be sure you're prepared to pay it.”
The meaning of her words still eluded him. True, he had made a terrible sacrifice, but surely it could only serve to keep Isobel away. It had all been for naught, it seemed. Self-pity lifted its wretched head and looked Robert in the eye. In the vulnerable loneliness of night, he surrendered to his sorrow and wept bitter tears.
~ ~ ~
Felix awoke to the distant sound of dogs barking. He blinked and adjusted his eyes to a darkness softened by the glowing remnants of the fire. His rough pallet of bracken and heather gave little protection from the harsh stony ground. Stiffness pained his limbs and froze his joints. With a soft moan of discomfort, he shifted onto his back and stared up at the rocky ceiling of the cave. The barking had stopped. Apart from the snores of the others, all was quiet. Perhaps he had imagined the dogs.
No, he hadn't. Another chorus of barks rang through the air, this time closer than before. A prickle ran over his skin as he turned his head toward the cave entrance. He saw the faint light of dawn leaching through gaps in the curtain of pine branches and sat up.
“Sam.” His voice grated against his throat. “Sam, wake up. Someone's coming.”
Several grunts filled the air as the men drifted awake.
“Eh?” Sam coughed and sat up. “What's that ye say?”
“Dogs.” Felix gestured to the entrance. “There are dogs outside.”
It had been a sennight since the fire at Glendennan. Sam had escaped unnoticed and met the others in the woods on the hillside. From there, they had watched in morbid fascination as the flames cast a hellish glow against castle walls. The brothers had laughed at the sounds of the dying animals. Felix had not laughed. Felix had trembled with sick horror at what he saw, but fear of the men had stilled his tongue.
They had lain low for a few days. As time passed with no sign of pursuers, they became convinced that no one knew of their involvement. Yet Felix continued to harbour a feeling of unease. In their isolation, it was normal that they had heard no news of the fire. Although responsible for its occurrence, they knew nothing of the aftermath; what Montgomery was doing about it, if anything. Felix tried to warn them that they needed to wait. The men scoffed at him and, driven by hunger, had ventured out the day before to kill a sheep.
For now, the barking had ceased and the men sat in silence. Felix struggled to calm his breathing. His instinct screamed at him that something was wrong.
“Wild dogs.” Sam yawned, scratched at his groin, and settled back on his pallet. “Prob'ly after a fox. If they was comin' fer us, we'd 'a seen 'em afore now. Like I told thee, they dinna even ken what started the fire. Calm yerself, De Lisle.”
But Felix's gut knotted with dread as his gaze remained fixed on the entry. He squinted at the light seeping through the branches. Was it his imagination, or had it just darkened as if something obscured it? An icy finger stroked the back of his neck, lifting the hairs upright.
Then a guttural growl rumbled through the cave.
“Jesus fuckin' Christ.” Sam's curse accompanied a frantic scramble to his feet. His brothers, muttering expletives of their own, followed suit. Sam pulled the knife from his boot and waved it in a semblance of defense. Felix's fearful gaze remained transfixed on the pine-branch curtain, which now appeared to be moving.
It collapsed and a cold blast of air filled the space. Several dark silhouettes loomed on the threshold, each one wielding the gleaming blade of a sword. One of them also held two large snarling dogs straining on their leather leashes.
“Nobody move.” Felix's heart missed several beats, for he knew the voice well. “Unless you're ready to die now, of course.”
Felix tried to stand, but his legs refused to work. Bernard stepped into the cave and gasped at the sight of him. “Christ's blood, De Lisle.” He spat at the ground. “You were part of this?”
“Nay.” His hand trembled as he pointed to Sam. “They made me. They threatened me.”
“Shut thy gob, Steward!” Sam raised his chin and cast a cold stare at Bernard. “We've done nowt wrong, an' ye canna prove a thing, soldier. So take yer wee army an' get out.”
Bernard's lips pulled back in a snarl. “Ah, Gilpin, what a pathetic piece of shite you are. We already have proof. We have a witness. You were seen setting the fire.”
Felix let out a whimper and Sam waved his knife. “An' what fire is that, then? Yer talkin' bollocks, soldier. Nobody saw nowt.”
“Oh, but they did.” Bernard grinned as he pointed his blade. “And you're really going to like this next part, Gilpin. 'Twas your own lad who saw you. Hiding, he was, in the stable you set alight. John saw it all and will be happy to testify against his brute of a father. So prepare yourself, you filthy bastard, for you're going to hang.” Bernard glanced around the cave. “All of you wretches are going to hang.”
Sam let out a roar and lunged at Bernard with his knife, who stepped back and presented his sword. Sam stumbled straight into it. His eyes widened as he looked down at the steel that had him pinned. Bernard grunted, tipped his blade, and gave it a small twist.
Sam's twitching body slid to the floor.
“One less for the noose.” Bernard raised a brow and waved his bloodied sword at the others. “Anyone else?”
A dark stream seeped out from beneath Sam's corpse and crawled across the stony ground like a serpent. The blood paused as it collided with a stone, then shifted direction and headed straight for Felix. He noticed a faint smell of copper in the air and felt his bladder let go.
~ ~ ~
“It's done, Rob.” Bernard's voice carried through the darkness of the chamber. “They were hanged in Kirbie yesterday.”
“Good,” came the quiet reply. “I hope they rot in hell.”
Chapter 23
Isobel clutched the newborn lamb in her arms and pushed a fingertip into its mouth, smiling as it sucked with noisy enthusiasm
“This is the last one,” she said, savouring the warmth of the little body nestled against hers. “He was born in the night. That makes a total of seventy-eight lambs this spring. David says it's one of the best years ever.”
Elias gestured to the lamb’s mother, who was circling the pen. “Mama is none too happy that you’re holding him. Neither will he be, once he realizes naught is coming out of your finger.”
She laughed. “I know, but I love cuddling them when they're this small. They’re so soft and woolly.” Isobel leaned over the gate and placed the lamb back in his pen. With an excited bleat, he found his mother's milk and started to feed, his tail wriggling like a worm on a hook.
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