Toby couldn’t stop smiling as she reached out and took Joselyn by the hand. “I will treat her as if she is made of glass and feed her great and fattening things,” she said, winking at Joselyn. “I know something of bearing children. I will tell you everything you need to know.”
Joselyn’s smile faded somewhat as she glanced at the wagon, watching Cade climb down from the back of the bed. “I have had some experience,” she admitted reluctantly. “That young man is my son.”
Toby looked at Cade. The boy was eleven or twelve, taller than his mother. A wave of both confusion and shock spread over her as she realized that Lady Pembury must have been incredibly young when she had given birth. She tried not to let her confusion show as she glanced at her husband before looking back to Joselyn.
“I am looking forward to coming to know you and your son, Lady Pembury,” she said the only thing she could say in light of the puzzling situation. “Please come inside and let us come to know each other.”
Joselyn let Lady de Lara take her by the hand and lead her towards the massive four story keep, a big block-shaped structure that stretched skyward. Tate stayed in the bailey, playing with the children he hadn’t seen in weeks. Toby, infant in her arms, took Joselyn into the dark, cool keep.
The long flight of retractable wooden steps deposited them into the second floor entry. Toby took Joselyn into a small room directly ahead, one that had the luxury of furs on the floor and three very well made chairs of oak and fabric. It was a small but lavish room. Toby indicated for Joselyn to sit in one of the chairs as she took another. Joselyn, on her best and most formal behavior, couldn’t help but smile at the green-eyed, downy-haired infant in Lady de Lara’s arms.
“How old is the baby, my lady?” she asked politely.
Toby looked down at the child. “Dane is four months old. My husband has not seen him since he was newly born.”
Joselyn smiled as the baby stared at her, wide-eyed. “He is beautiful.”
Toby smiled her thanks. “As your son will be when he is born,” she said confidently. “Stephen is such a brutally handsome man that surely all of your children will be comely. You cannot be too advanced in the pregnancy. How are you feeling?”
Joselyn shrugged faintly. “Weak and ill at times, but not too terrible.”
“That is good.” Toby’s gaze lingered over the beautiful dark-haired lass that had married Stephen of Pembury. Not knowing the woman, she was careful how she started the conversation. “I am so happy that Stephen has found a wife. Please tell me how you met.”
Joselyn had a quirky expression on her face. “He captured Berwick and we met,” she said simply, then offered more of an explanation. “My father led Berwick’s defenses against the English. When King Edward captured the city, he ordered Stephen to marry me as the daughter of the defeated enemy.”
Toby’s smile faded. “I see,” she said, unsure how to respond. She cleared her throat softly. “I have known Stephen for many years and you would not find a better man if you searched the entire world for him. He is….”
Joselyn held up a hand to stop her. She could see that Toby was concerned about the situation, not knowing what had transpired since the event of the forced marriage. “Do not be troubled, my lady,” she said, a twinkle in the pale blue eyes. “I quickly grew to love him and he grew to love me as well. We deeply adore one another and I am thankful that things happened the way they did. Stephen is a remarkable man.”
Toby sighed with relief and her smile returned. “He is indeed,” she said. Then, her hazel eyes glimmered impishly. “Shall I tell you of the Stephen I know? The prankster, the one so willing to play a joke on….”
“You will not tell her any of that,” Tate entered the room with children either in his arms or trailing after him. “I shall not be blamed if the woman runs off in horror. If that happens, I shall tell Stephen it was all your doing.”
Toby laughed, as did Joselyn. “He is a prankster?” Joselyn repeated. “I have not yet seen that side of him.”
Tate just shook his head as Toby jumped in. “The man is vicious with his tricks,” she said. “Why, I recall being told that when King Edward was younger, he had a habit of falling asleep by the fire. Stephen would move the lad’s boots to the edge of the fire so they would start smoking. Once, the boots caught fire and Edward was forced to jump into a lake to quench the flames.”
Joselyn was laughing at the mental picture. Tate shook his head reprovingly at their basis for humor.
“Edward burned a toe,” he told them, although he was fighting off his own smile. It had been rather humorous at the time. “He never forgave Stephen for that.”
“Did he pay him back for it, my lord?” Joselyn asked.
Tate was grinning, trying not to, as he shrugged. “He thought he was when he forced Stephen to marry you,” he winked at her. “But the joke continues to be on Edward.”
Joselyn could only smile in return, her gaze moving bashfully between Tate and his wife. But the baby began to fuss and Toby eventually rose to her feet.
“Dane needs to be fed,” she said, looking to Joselyn. “I shall show you to your chamber, my lady, and then you and I will continue this conversation later if that is agreeable.”
Joselyn rose. “Most agreeable, my lady,” she replied. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Toby eyes glimmered warmly. “You are part of our family now,” she said. “And it is my wish for you to call me Toby.”
Joselyn felt very humbled, very welcomed. “You will please call me Joselyn as well.”
“Jo-Jo,” Tate said, watching his wife lift an eyebrow at him. “That is what Stephen calls her,’” he told her.
Joselyn laughed softly. “It is a pet name I was given long ago. I will answer to that as well.”
Toby shifted the baby to the other arm as Tate put his arm around her to escort her from the room. “Come along, Jo-Jo,” she said. “I am sure you wish to rest. You have had a long journey.”
Joselyn followed the pair from the room. Just as she hit the landing, Cade entered the keep, his young face flushed with wonder and some confusion. He’d had much traveling and upheaval in the past few days and was still trying to process it. Here he was in another unfamiliar keep with people he barely knew, his satchel clutched against his chest as he looked to his mother. She smiled reassuringly at him.
“I shall put your son in your room with you,” Toby said, looking to the boy before Joselyn could reply to that somewhat shocking statement. “What is your name, lad?”
“Cade, my lady.”
Toby smiled at him. “Cade, I am glad you have come,” she said frankly. “My son, Roman, is in desperate need of companionship from a boy such as yourself. He spends his days being set upon by his younger brothers. Perhaps you and Roman can become friends and entertain one another.”
Cade’s blue eyes were wide but he nodded, looking to the boy that Lady de Lara was indicating. Roman de Lara was a few years younger than Cade, a handsome boy with his father’s good looks. The two lads sized each other up but Toby did not give them a chance to form any opinions. She grasped her son by the arm and pulled him in Cade’s direction.
“Roman, take Cade outside and acquaint him with Forestburn,” she instructed. “Then you may take him to the kitchens and find something to eat.”
Roman nodded his head, knowing it would be futile to resist or negotiate orders from his headstrong mother. He motioned for Cade to follow him.
“Come on,” he said rather gruffly.
Cade eyed him. “Where are we going?”
“You heard my mother. I have to show you Forestburn.”
He sounded displeased. Cade studied him, trying to determine early on if he was friend or foe. He decided he had nothing to lose by trying to make a friend. “I have a fawn,” he said. “Would you like to see it?”
Roman’s unhappy expression change in an instant and he nodded his head. Together, the boys quit the keep and took the stairs to the bailey b
elow. Toby, Tate and Joselyn watched them as they moved back towards the wagons before Toby finally turned to Joselyn.
“Your room is up the stairs, first door on the left,” she said. “I will have your trunks brought up and will join you when I am finished feeding the baby.”
Joselyn smiled her thanks, moving to the stairs and gathering her skirts when she suddenly found herself flanked by the twins. Dylan and Alex de Lara looked up at her with the wide-eyed, open stare that children often have when studying someone new. She gazed back at the boys, unsure what to say, when Dylan reached out and took her by the hand.
“Come ‘long, lady,” he said in his surprisingly deep baby-voice. “I will show you.”
“You will?” Joselyn allowed the child to take her hand. “Why, thank you very much, good sir. I am honored.”
Her other hand was suddenly grabbed by Alex, who began tugging her towards the steps. “Come,” he demanded. “I will show you too.”
“Ah, I have two escorts?” she said. “I am indeed humbled, gentlemen.”
“Don’t fall,” Dylan told her as they took the first step.
Joselyn passed a somewhat humored glance at their parents as she allowed the bold twins to pull her up the stairs. They were very gentlemanly about it but it seemed to be something of a competition between them. Tate and Toby watched them escort Lady Pembury up the stairs before turning to each other.
“Do you think we can trust those two with her?” Tate quipped. “We might never see her again.”
Toby cast him a disapproving glance. “They are learning to be gentlemen. They will take good care of her.”
“If they do not tie her up and try to burn her at the stake first.”
Toby hissed at him. “They do not do that any longer. Well, for the most part. They usually only do it to the men-at-arms who are foolish enough to agree to play with them.”
Tate laughed softly, thinking of the aggressive, domineering twins that the king loved so well. “Speaking of men-at-arms, I must go and settle the men,” he said, taking the two remaining children, Arabella and Cate, by the hand. “But there is something I must tell you about Lady Pembury first.”
Toby cocked her head. “What about her? She seems delightful.”
“She is,” he agreed. “And Stephen is madly in love with the woman. Her departure from Berwick was not a pleasant thing for either of them.”
“Then why is she here?”
He sighed faintly, picking up little Arabella when she tugged on him. “Because it is felt that Berwick is under threat of an imminent attack and Stephen did not want his wife there should this occur,” he replied, his voice low. “She is very worried for Stephen. She wept almost the entire trip here.”
Toby pursed her lips sadly. “Poor thing,” she murmured. “I know how she feels.”
Tate kissed her gently once, twice, relishing the taste of the love of his life. He had missed her desperately. “One more thing,” he whispered, his lips against her soft mouth. “Her son, Cade, was the result of a rape when she was eleven years old. Stephen is adopting the boy as his own, but it could be a rather sore subject if you ask Lady Pembury who Cade’s father is. I would not bring it up if I were you.”
Toby stopped kissing him, her eyes flying open wide with horror. “My God,” she breathed. “What a horrible happening. The poor woman.”
“Indeed,” Tate kissed her once more and moved for the door with his daughters in each hand. “Just be aware in case the conversation, however innocently, takes a turn in that direction.”
Toby nodded firmly. “I will make sure it does not.”
He winked at her as he quit the keep. “Good girl,” he said. “I will see you later.”
Toby stood there, holding on to the fussy baby, thinking of Stephen’s lovely wife being raped as a child. It was enough to make her feel ill. But the woman seemed delightful, balanced, and she liked her already. Still, there were apparently mysteries with the woman and if anyone could handle the mysteries, it was Stephen of Pembury. The man was a greater man than most. With a sigh of sorrow, she retreated to her chamber to feed her very fussy son.
Kynan had been released the same day Joselyn had left for Forestburn, only they allowed Kynan to believe it was an escape. A foolish guard with his attention diverted and Kynan was a free man. But Stephen and Kenneth had been prepared, hiding out as they watched the man steal a horse and tear off into the city. With a sharp whistle, Stephen had flicked his wrist at the four soldiers who were waiting in the shadows and the men rode off after the escaped prisoner. And with that, they would wait for word of Kynan’s activities.
But word didn’t come soon enough. At dawn, exactly two weeks after releasing Kynan, the first wave of Scots hit Berwick like water crashing upon rocks. Whatever had been rebuilt in the brief peace had been quickly shattered, and the citizens of Berwick began to run for their lives. Waves upon waves of Scots infiltrated the city in a calculated bunch, looting and killing as they went. Fires were started and huts began to burn as the smoke drifted over the city on a strong southern breeze.
Stephen was already on the battlements with Kenneth when the invasion began. Calm and collected, the knights went about donning their heavy battle armor, knowing they would be in for something ugly and long. This is what they trained for, what they had participated in, for the majority of their adult lives. Stephen was glad to have Kenneth with him. It gave him both comfort and confidence. They had fought many wars together. And he was very glad that Joselyn was well away from what was sure to be traumatic and bloody.
It was bad from the start. An overwhelming tide of Scots made their way straight to the castle, but this time, it was in a much more organized fashion. It was clear that this attack was much better planned. Stephen watched, flanked by Kenneth, Alan and Lane, as enormous siege towers began to roll through the city streets, heading for the castle. He could see them from his post high on the gatehouse and counted a total of four. It made sense to him now what the Scots had been doing during the lull that followed the last skirmish. They had been building siege towers and preparing. This time, they intended to take back the castle and, consequently, the city.
The Scots also had archers, not particularly well trained, but in a concentrated mass that fired barrage after barrage into the castle. It kept the Englishmen’s heads down. Stephen ordered his archers to focus on the siege engines as they came in range, raining fire arrows onto the wood. But the Scots had been clever. They had soaked the wood in water for days, causing it to swell up and become very moist, and flame could not gain hold. When Stephen saw what was happening, he had to think quickly. The stakes of the battle were growing higher.
“The damn siege engines are wet,” Kenneth came up beside him, having watched several barrages of flaming arrows fall away ineffectively. “If we cannot light them on fire, we are in for a cozy dance when they come upon us.”
Stephen nodded. “I know,” he replied. “We need something that will stick on them and burn at the same time.”
“Oil?”
Stephen nodded. “If we had enough of it, which I do not believe we do.” He caught Alan and Lane’s attention as the men stood several feet away, watching the engines approach. “Start boiling water and oil, as much as you can find. We are going to pour it through the murder holes in the gatehouse if they breach the entry. Alan, do you remember what we did the last time the Scots attacked?”
Alan nodded swiftly with a gleam in his eye. “Quicklime and sulfur fire.”
Stephen nodded firmly. “Bring it, all we have left. And I want you to bring all of the rags, pitchers and jars you can find.”
Kenneth watched the men flee in their quest to do Pembury’s bidding. He watched the first siege engine pull to within a quarter mile of the castle.
“What are you planning?”
Stephen’s blue eyes were riveted to the sight of siege engines and more Scots on the horizon. “I have an idea,” he replied vaguely.
Kenneth had to admi
t, it was a very good idea. They produced the oil incendiary devices first. Carefully pouring oil into a gourd, they would stick a rag in the end, light the rag, and throw it at the siege engines, two of which were upon them and ready to open up. The gourds would shatter against the damp wood, spilling burning oil all over the place. Stephen and his men began hurling the oil bombs at the men on the towers, lighting them on fire and generally creating havoc. When the men on the siege towers would panic and run from the burning oil, archers on the walls would cut them down.
Stephen and Kenneth, with their muscled arms and power, threw the hardest. They would sail the bombs from the gatehouse into the siege towers, splashing burning oil everywhere. As the oil began to run low, Alan and Lane began to assemble the bombs with the quicklime, sulfur and saltpeter, filling the remaining pitchers they had, and even earthenware jars from the kitchens, before securing them with a strip of linen at the opening and using it as a wick.
The first quicklime bomb that Stephen threw exploded like a starburst against a group of men below who were heading to the main gate with a battering ram. It scared the men more than it hurt anyone and most of them dropped the ram and ran off with their tartans smoking. Stephen and Kenneth threw a few more of the bombs before Kenneth took an armful and turned for the tower stairs.
“I am heading to the postern gate,” he said. “I do not trust these fools that all of this activity at the gatehouse is not a ruse.”
Stephen gave him a grin. “What makes you think this is a ruse? There are thousands of Scots all over the bloody place. They are everywhere.”
Kenneth’s lips twitched. “I think all of Scotland has come down around us. What did you do to make them so angry?”
Stephen shrugged in an exaggerated gesture as if he had no idea. “I make them furious simply by living.”
“You have the same effect on me.”
They snorted as Stephen gestured to the bombs that Kenneth was carrying. “The postern gate is heavily protected but I agree with you,” he said. “Take what you must in case you need to defend it.”
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