Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I told you not to disobey me,” he rumbled. But his harsh stance lasted for a half-second before he reached out and put his arms round the boys, hugging them as much as his weakened state would allow. “But for keeping me alive, I thank you. You are very brave men.”

  The boys grinned at him and each other, proud they had accomplished something in spite of the risks. Kynan just shook his head.

  “Little brutes,” he grumbled, eyeing the boys. “But brave. I shall give ye that.”

  Stephen half-grinned at Kynan, looking at the section of the bailey he could see from their vantage point and feeling even more exposed. He could hear men all around and was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. They had to move.

  “We cannot simply stand here,” he told Kynan. “Where are your men?”

  Kynan looked around, sticking his neck out and peering around the side of the hall for a full view of the bailey. After several long moments, he returned his attention to Stephen.

  “I dunna see them,” his gaze moved between Stephen and the stocks. “I shall go look for ’em but it might be best if ye returned to the stocks until I return. That way, if anyone sees ye, nothin’ will look odd. You’ll still be in the stocks where they left ye.”

  Stephen knew he had a point. Wearily, he went back to the wooden framed beast and put his head and wrists into the slots. It was excruciatingly painful for him to resume the stance, but he knew it was important. Kynan draped the chains around to make it look like Stephen was still chained down even though he could quite easily break free. When Kynan was satisfied with the illusion, he abruptly waved his hands at the boys.

  “Go and hide,” he commanded softly. “Stay out o’sight until I return.”

  The boys did as they were told. As Kynan wrapped the tartan back over his head and slipped away, Stephen stood there in his hunched, uncomfortable position, wondering if he was going to indeed live to see the next few days come to pass. It was not simply himself to worry over. Now there was Cade and Roman, as well meaning as they were. He was far more concerned with getting the boys out safely. He could only pray that Kynan had a workable plan. All of their lives were in the hands of a man once considered the enemy. The seconds were ticking away faster now, ever closer to his date with doom.

  Fortunately, it was not too long before Kynan reappeared. Behind him came several men, all of them clad in the same brownish-orange tartan. They were big, dirty men with an unruly way about them. Kynan didn’t have to say a word. He simply pointed at Stephen and three burly Scots went to him, pulling the chains off and releasing him from the stocks. Stephen stood with some assistance, his ribs still badly injured and his back injured on top of everything from having been confined in stocks not built for a man his height.

  One of the men produced a length of tartan and wrapped it around Stephen’s massive shoulders, draping it so it covered most of his battered torso before wrapping the end of it over his head. Stephen nodded his silent thanks to these men he had fought against, killed against, feeling very blessed and guilty that they were willing to assist him. He wondered fleetingly if these men had been part of the ambush weeks ago that had injured Joselyn, or if he had fought against them during the innumerable skirmishes over the past month. They had all been bred since birth to kill and hate one another, but now, he found his life in their hands more than he could have ever imagined.

  By this time, Cade and Roman had come out of their hiding place and were watching the activity with big eyes. Kynan saw the boys and beckoned them with a crooked finger. Hesitantly, they went to him, afraid they were going to be slapped in the head again.

  “Now,” Kynan put a hand on either boy’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get Sir Stephen out of this place but I need ye tae stay close tae me, do ye hear? Dunna run off.”

  The boys nodded solemnly. “We won’t,” Cade assured him. “But can we help?”

  “Aye, of course ye can,” Kynan assured him. “I would have ye be look-outs. Ye need to keep yer eyes open for anything suspicious.”

  “Suspicious?” Roman repeated. “Like what?”

  Kynan turned the boys around so they were facing the bailey and the postern gate in the distance. “Like men with weapons chargin’ for us,” he said, pointing. “See that gate? We’re gonna make our way tae it. I shall need yer help tae open it.”

  The boys nodded eagerly, preparing to behave like true warriors. They were terrified and excited. When Kynan made sure the tartan was sufficiently draped over Stephen, he motioned the group to move. They did so, but very quickly realized that Stephen was moving like an injured man. If they were going to move unnoticed, then Stephen would have to make a better attempt at behaving normally. Kynan went to him.

  “Ye walk like ye have two broken legs,” he said. “I dunna mean tae make yer life more miserable than it already ’tis, but can ye at least stand straight? Ye walk like a cripple.”

  Stephen grunted, trying to straighten up. The blue eyes were blazing. “I am a cripple,” he groaned. “But I will do my best.”

  Kynan nodded, motioning for his men to take the lead as he stayed close to Stephen. He was concerned for the man, concerned for who might be watching, and terrified that they weren’t going to make it out of the gate. But their best option was to behave as normally as possible, so he and his men moved in a casual group towards the postern gate, that small opening to freedom that loomed before them.

  Stephen could see the gate and never in his life had something meant so much to him. He needed to make it to that small doorway and to the freedom that waited beyond. A wife whom he adored, a son on the way… he needed to get to his family. That one thought alone kept his focus. They made it across the bailey without incident and were within several feet of the gate when a shadow suddenly blocked their path.

  Stephen saw the movement and he reflectively flinched, moving for a sword that was not at his side. Kynan’s men were armed but they did not move to draw their weapon. They simply came to a halt, facing the figure that stood between them and the postern gate. Kynan saw the figure, the face, and hissed under his breath. He really was not surprised. But he was extremely disheartened.

  Morgan de Velt was standing between them and freedom.

  *

  Hidden by the reeds growing by the river’s edge, Joselyn gazed up at the massive bastion of Berwick. She could see the familiar postern gate and the path she had taken once from the castle to the river where she had found her fawn. The soft breeze blew the grass around her, folding it to the wind, as she crouched low and watched. She knew she should not have come, but that knowledge had not stopped her. Stephen was inside and she was determined to get to him and to free him.

  Tate had meant well. He’d had Kynan take her to the last standing hostel in town, a place called the Sword and Fife. Kynan had procured the best room they had to offer, an abundance of bread, oatcakes and cheese, and had left her there with four men-at-arms as escort. They were Tate’s men, seasoned and weary, and had all ended up down in the main room drinking. Joselyn had told the innkeeper to give them as much ale as they could drink. They ended up getting ragingly drunk and she was able to slip out unnoticed.

  Now she was here, hidden in the grass as she watched the activity upon Berwick’s soaring walls and having no idea what she was going to do to get her husband out. She crept closer on her hands and knees, trying to stay as quiet as possible. At one point she thought she heard the grass moving several feet behind her and she froze, ears cocked, but everything remained still.

  Thinking the sound was a figment of her paranoid imagination, she paused and sank to her buttocks, watching the walls and gate that were now closer. The castle loomed above her, a place with the most wonderful and terrible memories for her. She felt as if she had come home again, to a place that did not belong to her yet was a part of her. It was an odd sensation.

  She sat for some time, gazing up at the pale stone walls. Everything was quiet and peaceful until a hand suddenly went over her mouth and an e
normous arm encircled her waist. Joselyn screamed but the massive gloved hand blocked the sound. She tried to fight, to struggle, but whoever had her was far too strong. She found herself on her back with a big body over her. Panic overtook her until she looked up into ice blue eyes.

  Kenneth was gazing down at her, his jaw tight and eyes blazing. Joselyn’s eyes widened when she realized who it was.

  “I would ask what you are doing here but I already know,” Kenneth whispered. “The next thing you feel is going to be the palm of my hand to your buttocks, and your husband be damned. He would do the same thing in my position.”

  His hand came away from her mouth and she took a big gulp of air. “Please do not be angry,” she whispered, fright in her eyes. “I… I simply could not stay away, sitting in a strange room and wondering if my husband is going to live or die. Please do not send me back. If he… if he is going to die, I must be here. I must be close to him. Do you not understand?”

  Tears rolled down her temples as Kenneth gazed down at her. He was beginning to feel like a lout, struggling to maintain his fury at finding her at Berwick crawling around in the grass. But he also knew how much Stephen meant to her. He was coming to understand it more and more as the hours passed. Truth be told, he really was not surprised to find her here. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and pulled her with him.

  “I understand that you are risking your life and if your husband found out, he would blister your backside,” he made a good try at maintaining his firm stance. “Lady, I am here to ensure that your husband does not die but if I have to worry about you as well, Stephen’s chances are greatly diminished. If the choice comes down to saving Stephen or saving you, then you know what I will have to do. Stephen would never forgive me if I did not. Do you understand the position you have put me in?”

  She looked up at him with her pale, sad eyes and nodded. “I am so scared, Kenneth. I had to come. I could just not sit and wait.”

  He could see by the look in her eyes that she was not going anywhere. He could send her back to the hostel and she would just find another way to return. After a moment, he simply nodded his head in resignation.

  “Then if you are not going to leave, I need for you to stay right here,” he said quietly. “Do not make any attempt to get closer to the castle for if you do, you will be within the range of the archers. Is that clear?”

  Joselyn nodded seriously. “Aye, Kenneth.”

  “Good.”

  His attention suddenly turned back to the castle, the ice-blue eyes intense. He looked as if something had his interest. Joselyn was about to ask him what the trouble was when she heard it, too. It sounded like metal on metal but as she listened more closely, it sounded like a sword fight. Kenneth shoved her down into the grass.

  “Stay here,” he commanded. “Do not move for any reason.”

  She watched him crawl away, hidden by the tall green river grass. But the sounds of the sword fight grew more intense and she dared to lift her head, looking towards the source. Movement caught her eye and she could see where it was coming from.

  From the between the iron grates of the postern gate, a full-scale battle was in bloom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  De Velt just stood there and shook his head. He had an amused look on his face that one would have took for a friendly gesture had he not gripped an enormous broadsword. His dark eyes moved between Kynan and Stephen. Even though Stephen’s head was covered with the tartan, the blue eyes that blazed beneath it were unmistakable.

  “You know,” de Velt stroked his chin, “when one of my men came to tell me that he saw Pembury released from the stocks, I almost cut his throat for lying because I know that no one under my command would be that stupid. But I had to come and see for myself if he spoke the truth and look at what I have found.”

  Kynan was stiff with anticipation, waiting for the broadsword to come flying out at him. “Ye’re a hired man, de Velt,” he growled. “Ye’ve no real stake in Berwick other than what ye’re paid fer. Ye would carry out orders against a fellow Englishman fer his death? Ye’ve nothing agin’ Pembury. Why would ye kill him?”

  De Velt cocked an eyebrow. “Because, as you have said, I am being well paid for my services. Moray wants Pembury dead, so dead he shall be.”

  Kynan shook his head. “He’ll not be dead,” he said, more forcefully. “Because I am removin’ him from this place. He’s beaten and weary, can ye not see? Yer men have done their worst tae him. Now leave him be. He has a wife and child waiting.”

  De Velt focused on Kynan. “I would not expect this from you, of all people,” he said. “Were you not in Berwick’s vaults after the siege? Did Pembury not torture you? Tell me the truth and then tell me why you defend him.”

  Kynan’s lips flattened into a hard line. “’Tis none of yer affair, Sassenach,” he hissed. “How would ye know what happened tae me after the siege?”

  “Because I was told of your captivity by men who served with you. Is this not true?”

  Kynan’s frown grew. “Ye dunna belong here,” he spat. “Ye’re not Scots. We dunna need yer kind here.”

  De Velt lifted an eyebrow. “Need or not, I am here and here I will stay. But you will give me back my prisoner.”

  Kynan didn’t have a weapon but several of his men did. He reached out to the man closest to him and unsheathed his broadsword, a razor-sharp weapon that was surprisingly well made. He leveled the weapon at de Velt.

  “Ye’ll have tae fight me fer him,” he snarled. “But I warn ye, I shall make it a tough fight.”

  De Velt shrugged disinterestedly, a move that infuriated Kynan as it insulted his skill. As he lifted the sword and prepared to take the offensive, a big hand suddenly stopped him.

  Stephen stood next to him, his hand on the weapon and his eyes on de Velt. The tartan covering his head had fallen to the ground and he was standing tall and proud as if he had never been injured. He looked whole and powerful, and quite ready to kill de Velt.

  “Nay,” he said softly. “I will do this. It is between de Velt and me.”

  Morgan might not have cared about fighting Kynan, but he did care about fighting Pembury. His disinterested expression turned to one of curiosity and perhaps approval. He seemed to straighten in the face of the conflict.

  “If you can fight me given your present state, then I commend you,” he told Stephen. “But it changes nothing. I will subdue you, kill your friends, and tomorrow you shall meet your execution date. Why not make it easy on everyone and simply surrender?”

  Stephen took the sword from Kynan, feeling the pommel in his grip, acquainting himself with the feel of it. In truth, he felt better than he had in days. Now with a weapon in his hand, he felt as if he had a fighting chance. Finally, he could defend himself.

  “If you were in my position, would you surrender so easily?” he asked.

  De Velt smiled faintly. “Nay,” he replied. “I would not.”

  “Then it comes to this.”

  “I understand completely.”

  “No mercy will be asked.”

  “None given.”

  As Stephen and de Velt faced off, Kynan suddenly shoved Cade and Roman out of the way. They had been hovering behind Stephen in a terrified huddle, but as Stephen uttered those fateful words, Kynan knew what was coming. His own men scattered as several of de Velt’s men charged in from the direction of the hall. Swords were unsheathed and men began charging one another. And in the middle of it, Stephen launched a blow against de Velt that sent the man reeling backwards.

  The battle had begun.

  *

  Kenneth could see that the men on the walls were facing towards the bailey. The sounds of sword blows grew louder as he crept nearer and nearer, thinking it was an odd blessing indeed that the sentries on duty weren’t paying attention to the tall grass beyond the postern gate. The men with Kenneth were also creeping forward, making their way to the wall. Kenneth made it to the edge of the grass, noting that there was about a fifteen f
oot area between the grass and the walls that had been cleared away. There was absolutely no cover. Glancing upward to ensure that the sentries had not turned around, he bolted to his feet and raced across the cleared area.

  Kenneth threw himself up against the wall, noting that the men with him had done the same. Silently, he motioned them to stay in position as he made his way towards the postern gate. The sounds of sword fighting were very loud now and he dared to peer into the iron bars of the gate to see what was going on. What he saw shocked him.

  Stephen, beaten and bloodied, was battling for his life with a big knight who was healthy and skilled. As Kenneth watched, horrified, he could see that Stephen was not able to lift the sword with both hands. His right arm was wrapped around his torso, as if holding his guts in, as his left arm did the fighting. This was troubling because Stephen was not left-handed, leading Kenneth to believe that his right hand was injured. No matter how skilled a knight Stephen was, he was obviously at an extreme disadvantage.

  Kenneth knew he had to do something. Although the consummate and controlled knight, he was not beyond feeling some panic for his friend at the moment. He rattled the gate but it was clearly bolted. There was no way for him to enter. He went for the blade at his side, knowing even as he grabbed for it that a broadsword could not reach through the grate. But in touching the broadsword, his elbow bumped up against the weapon strapped to his back. And that gave him an idea.

  Kenneth ripped off the crossbow and positioned it in the grate, training it on the knight battling against Stephen. He almost let the arrow fly, twice, but both times other men doing battle had moved between him and his target. He could see that there was a rather large battle going on in the bailey of Berwick, Scots against Scots, and Stephen was somehow in the middle of it. It was confusing but there was not time to question. Kenneth kept his eyes trained on the target, praying they would not move out of range, because he could see that Stephen was growing weaker. One blow from his opponent almost took Stephen’s head off because he had grown considerably more drained. His reflexes were weakening also.