The Age of Knights and Highlanders: A Series Starter Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Baron Keilder from Keilder Castle had been the one to supply troops to de Roche so he could move on Harbottle. Many of Keilder’s men trickled back home, but about one hundred remained encamped with de Roche and his generals. Fires had been lit and tents pitched. Hamlin and his men took rest and food in a larger tent, reviewing the battle and plotting their next move. As the wind blew and a rain storm moved through the area, the men around the crackling fire conspired.

  “Now that we know where the king is, we can assemble an even larger force and attack,” an old general who had served Warwick was resolute. “Harbottle was greatly compromised during the siege.”

  Hamlin chewed on his bread wearily, gazing into the flicker of the fire. “They will move him,” he replied. “Dragonblade is no fool. If we return to Harbottle, Edward will not be there. They will take him someplace far more fortified.”

  “Then we must strike again,” the general asserted, “before they can move the boy.”

  “With Warkworth’s troops occupying the place?” Hamlin shook his head. “It would be foolish. We do not have the strength of numbers now. But we will.”

  The men around the fire looked curiously at Hamlin; they were all seasoned men, having served kings and kingmakers in their time. Many of them had served Longshanks and viewed his grandson with the same fear that they had felt for Edward the Second. Like father, like son.

  “Be plain,” one man, a balding advisor, demanded softly. “What do you mean?”

  Hamlin swallowed his bread. “Mortimer is on the march,” he said quietly. He looked to the men, noting their confusion, and proceeded to explain. “When it was clear we were on young Edward’s trail, I sent word to him. He has known our every move for quite some time. We used Keilder’s men to attempt to breach Harbottle because it was the fastest solution at the time. I did not want to lose the opportunity. Even as we speak, Mortimer himself rides from Wigmore. He is determined to capture the king once and for all.”

  “But de Lara has other plans,” the old general spoke again. “The man is cunning and powerful. I do not take opposition to him lightly.”

  De Roche nodded slowly. “He is his father’s son,” he muttered. “And, no doubt, he has more reinforcements arriving to Harbottle. Antony Bec’s thousands from Alnwick Castle cannot be far behind Baron Warkworth’s troops.”

  “So what do we do?” the old general demanded.

  Hamlin was staring into the flames, thinking of how close he had come to young Edward at the manse back in Cartingdon. All that had stood between him and victory was a lovely lady. He cursed the woman for her bravery, furious and admiring it at the same time. He vowed not to make the same mistake twice; next time he had Edward in his grasp, he was going to snatch him.

  “We will continue to watch de Lara,” he said. “We wait and we watch. There will be another opportunity to capture Edward. But brute force is not the answer right now. Until Mortimer arrives, we will plan something more… cunning.”

  “Against de Lara?” the general snorted. “Best of luck, my friend.”

  Hamlin lifted an eyebrow at the man, seeing his humor. “We may call him Dragonblade, but the truth is that de Lara is human with human weaknesses,” Hamlin looked back to the fire. “All we need do is exploit his weakness and Edward will be ours.”

  “How do we find de Lara’s weakness?”

  Hamlin wasn’t sure at the moment. But he was determined to find out.

  Warkworth’s army made short work of the forces that Mortimer managed to assemble. They had given chase for several miles, finally allowing whatever remained of the force to continue running, before returning to the castle. Harbottle was burning and disheveled, but it the keep had held. Now it would be a matter of shoring up the main gates to re-secure the bailey.

  Tate had decided that the men should rest the night before beginning reconstruction. Mortimer’s forces had been decimated and he rightly assumed that they would not regroup for a second attack too soon. So Warkworth’s army pitched camp in and around the walls of Harbottle while several of the men went to work rebuilding the stairs that had burned. Until they had the stairs reconstructed, the keep was cut off from the ward and Tate was anxious to get inside; visions of Toby filled him until he could hardly stand the thought of being kept from her. He had to get to her, to touch her, and make sure that she was indeed all right.

  Kenneth and Wallace were among the men working on rebuilding the stairs. They were going for the simplest design at the moment, something that wouldn’t take too long to build but would be sturdy enough. Tate could hear Wallace yelling at the soldiers building the steps, telling them that they weren’t doing good enough work. Then he would jump in and hammer out the iron nails himself. In the meantime, Tate stood below the keep entry, watching the activity and pondering future plans. He was in the process of determining the best course of action when young Edward marched up to him.

  The lad was furious, that much was clear. He stomped up to Tate and practically threw a ring of heavy iron keys at him. Tate caught it deftly, eyeing Edward and knowing why the lad was so angry. But he didn’t particularly care.

  “There,” Edward snapped as he tossed the keys to Tate. “Keep your stupid keys. And next time, do not think I will surrender to you so easily.”

  Tate remained patient. “I told you many times that the safest place for you was to lock yourself up in the vault and keep the key,” he said steadily. “I was correct, was I not? They made it into the vault but were unable to reach you because you held the key. There was no way for them to take down the iron bars.”

  The boy was livid. “I could have fought them.”

  “And you could have died.”

  He pursed his lips, unable to think of a reply that would be stronger than Tate’s argument. Still, he wasn’t finished with him. “I looked like a coward, hiding in the vault.”

  “It saved your life. What are you complaining about? I’m sure there will be other opportunities to prove your worth with a sword, Edward. But right now, you are going to have to trust me to keep you safe.”

  Edward huffed and fidgeted and made faces, indicative of his anger. But he knew, deep down, that his uncle was correct. Locking himself in the vault had saved his life. Whether by hook or by crook, that was what Tate had been attempting to do for the better part of two years. So far, he’d done a good job. Still, at fourteen, Edward thought himself quite the grown man and silently vowed that the next time he would determine what was best for himself. Not Tate. Well… maybe.

  Attention was taken away from his temper tantrum when the door to the keep overhead shifted and creaked open. Tate and Edward looked up to see the panel opening wide to reveal Toby and Althel.

  It had taken them a while to get the door open because the old iron pin locking the bolt had been jammed. With some grease, they had finally managed to get it off. Toby stood for a moment in the doorway, surveying the destruction below with some awe; everything was in ruins, shattered or burnt. The healthy men were moving the dead into a pile near the gate house while the wounded were being put near the kitchens. Stephen, no longer obligated to fight, had his hands full with all of the wounded.

  As she looked about, her gaze came to rest directly below and she saw Tate gazing up at her. Their eyes locked and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips. It was relief, joy and comfort all rolled into one. As the night wind blew her hair across her face, she knelt down, her gaze riveted to Tate.

  “I see that you are still in one piece,” she said. “I had my doubts.”

  Tate just took a moment to drink in the sight of her. “Never doubt me,” he told her. “You would be wrong.”

  She laughed softly, noticing that Edward was looking up at her as well. “I see that you survived, sire,” she said. “I am pleased.”

  It was far different from the woman who had wept and ranted two days before. She looked composed and strong. Edward wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

  “Thank you,” he r
eplied hesitantly. “I… are… are you all right in there? I can come up to help if you need…?”

  Toby shook her head. “We have made do,” she said, then she looked over her shoulder briefly before turning back to the men below. “Althel has made some soup. He is trying to find some rope so that we can lower the pot down.”

  Tate was still looking at her as if unable to move his eyes off of her. “That was generous of you,” he said. “Have you fed the wounded?”

  “We have.”

  “What is the tally?”

  Her smile faded somewhat. “Twenty nine injured and eleven dead. I should like to remove the dead as quickly as possible. They are beginning to smell.”

  Tate nodded, looking a few feet away to where they were reconstructing the stairs. “It should be an hour or so and we’ll have access to do that. In the meanwhile.…”

  He suddenly began looking around as if hunting for something. Toby didn’t know how he did it, but as she watched, he collected two pieces of a broken ladder, somehow put them together, and climbed his way up the side of the keep to the open door. Before she realized it, he was standing in front of her.

  All Toby could do was stare at him, a smile on her lips and her hands trembling with the thrill of seeing him in the flesh before her. She was so very glad to see that he was unharmed; more than that, he looked positively healthy. Other than the fact he was covered in dirt and sweat, he looked wonderful. She didn’t even see any wounds on him; not a nick.

  She hadn’t realized that she was backing away from him as he moved closer. As she bumped against a wall, she found herself riveted to his storm cloud eyes, seeing emotions reflected in the dark depths that were puzzling and new. Her heart was beating so fast that it ached.

  “I… I am glad to see that you are unharmed,” she managed to stammer.

  He continued walking towards her until he was up against her body; Toby could feel his cold armor on her flesh, his face looming inches above her own.

  “You said that,” he growled gently.

  “It… ’tis true.”

  The smile playing on his lips broadened. Toby’s limbs went weak with a painful sort of tingle; she wanted to throw her arms around him but dare not make a move. She had no right to touch the man. The self-restraint was agonizing as her palms began to sweat.

  “Elizabetha?” he asked softly.

  Toby could hardly speak for the excitement bolting through her body. “Aye?”

  “I must do something now but I want assurance that you will not be offended.”

  “Offended by what?”

  “I do not want my eyes gouged out.”

  “I… I will not gouge your eyes out, I promise. But what are you going to do?”

  His response was to cup her face between his enormous palms, his dark eyes boring into her as if to drill holes through to the other side. Toby gazed up into his handsome face, unable to think or breathe, as his lips very gently came down on hers. It was soft and warm and wonderful. Her eyes closed of their own accord, her focus on his tender lips as they suckled her gently. Having never been kissed by a man before, she had no idea what to expect. All she knew was this was more, and better, than she could have ever dreamed.

  Her self-restraint vanished and she threw her arms around his neck about the time he wrapped her up in his enormous arms. Together, they enveloped each other in a tight embrace. Tate suckled her top lip, her lower lip, his tongue finally licking at her mouth, silently pleading to be admitted inside. Toby opened her mouth slightly and he invaded, gorging himself on her sweetness. He suckled her tongue, a delectable little morsel, kissing her more fiercely with each passing moment.

  His arms were wrapped tightly around her slender body, his hands clutching at her. Toby responded to him as if she had been doing it all her life, so familiar with the desires of a man she had never even touched. She sensed his passion, matching her own, understanding in that brief contact just how powerful it was. The spark that had been kindled with the first tender kiss was exploding into a raging fire.

  They lost all concept of time, fueled by the eruption of their first taste of one another. Tate ended up bumping Toby’s head against the wall during his tender offensive, hearing the soft thud and immediately apologetic. But Toby just rubbed the back of her head and laughed.

  “No harm done,” she murmured, her lips swollen and red from his furious kisses. The hazel eyes focused on him, drinking in his glorious face. “I… I must confess, I have never… that is, I never expected to….”

  He smiled, kissing her again just because he could. She was delicious to kiss. “I know,” he murmured against her mouth. “I never expected to, either. But I am glad that I did.”

  She looked at him with amused curiosity. “Did what?”

  He kissed her again, very tenderly. “That,” he breathed. “May I have your permission to do it again sometime? Perhaps many sometimes?”

  Toby was breathless. “I… I am not sure.”

  He looked surprised and disappointed. “Why not?”

  “Because… well, it simply isn’t proper. We should not have… that is to say, we are not betrothed or married and actions such as this are only appropriate between.…”

  He shushed her. “Do you think I would have kissed you like this if I did not have something more in mind? Really, Elizabetha; for an intelligent woman, you are rather dense.”

  The almond-shaped eyes widened. “W-what?”

  He kissed her again and let her go. “Think about it,” he said, turning for the great hall. “I would check on my men now.”

  “Wait,” she found her voice, grabbing him by the wrist. “You will be plain, Sir Tate. What do you mean?”

  He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turned her head slightly, and kissed her on a dirty cheek. “Must I really explain this to you?” he whispered in her ear.

  Toby was left breathless again by his kiss. “You must. I insist.”

  He grinned; she could feel his teeth against her cheek. “Where do you want to go first? Paris or Rome?”

  “You are going to escort me to those places?”

  “As your husband, it would be my pleasure.”

  Toby thought she might faint. In fact, she had to swallow very hard and take a very deep breath. “Good Lord,” she breathed. “Do you mean to say that you plan to…?”

  “I have for quite some time.”

  “But…!” There were tears in her eyes. “But… what about everything you said about my horrid manners? You told me it was an appalling trait. Moreover, you are above my station. You are… my God, you are…you cannot marry me.”

  He was laughing; she could feel it as he continued to nuzzle her cheek and ear. “I can marry whomever I wish,” he murmured. “I think we are a good match, you and I. Do you disagree?”

  She closed her eyes at the realization of it and tears coursed down her cheeks. He felt the moisture and looked at her, concerned.

  “What is the matter, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

  She was trying not to weep from sheer joy. “What about my terrible disposition?”

  His soft laughter returned. “Forgive me; I spoke before coming to know you. I know now that you are simply a woman who speaks her mind and I respect that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure enough that I am delighted with the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you.”

  The most amazing expression filled her face as the tears began to magically vanish. “I simply cannot believe it. I would never dare to hope.”

  He was smiling sweetly at her. A big hand brushed hair from her face as he studied her very closely. “And I would never dare to hope to find a woman like you. You are a remarkable lady, Mistress Elizabetha. I think that I shall enjoy this marriage very much. At least, I hope so.”

  She returned his smile, timidly. “I do not know what to say to all of this.”

  “It is simple. Say that you will marry me.”

  Her smile faded
as her eyes grew intense. “If you want me, then I most certainly will.”

  His hand tightened on her face and he brought her to his lips for another gentle kiss. Toby was breathing unsteadily as he moved from her mouth to her nose to her forehead. It was the sweetest gesture she had ever experienced and a magic moment in the making. After several long seconds of touching, of tasting, Tate finally let go of her face and gently took her hand.

  “Come along now,” he said. “I have wounded men that I would like to see.”

  Toby followed him into the hall and made his rounds with him, but her focus wasn’t on the injured men. It was on a mountain of a man named Tate de Lara she suddenly found herself betrothed to.

  Tate had tried to make Toby go to bed as midnight approached, but she repeatedly refused his requests to the point of walking the other way when he would look at her. There were double the wounded in the hall now that the injured in the bailey had been brought in and, consequently, double the work. Toby would not shirk her duties and worked deep into the night with Stephen, Wallace and Althel to ease the men’s suffering. Eventually, Tate gave up trying to force her to rest and went about his duties with Kenneth. But it didn’t stop him from keeping an eye on Toby, making sure he knew where she was every second. Now, things were different and he felt very possessive and very protective of her. Already, she very much belonged to him.

  Just after midnight, Tate and Kenneth huddled in the solar to make plans for morning repairs. Toby was in the great hall tending to a very young man who had a sucking chest wound. He was, in truth, no more than sixteen years of age and her heart hurt for him as he struggled to be brave against the pain. While the other wounded seemed to be in various stages of sleep, the young man was wide awake because of his difficulty in breathing. Stephen had already used a great deal of skill to stitch up the initial wound but the lad didn’t seem to be much better.