The Dark Spawn (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 5)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  They had no choice.

  They had to get to The Keld before the Scots did.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Keld

  “You must be mad. Scots? Here?”

  It was about an hour before dawn, with the moon hanging low in the sky and the hint of light on the eastern horizon. Alastor had been awoken out of a dead sleep by Anteaus and Atlas standing in his doorway. Anteaus had the night watch, so he was in full protection, but Atlas was only half-dressed. He’d been sleeping until his youngest brother yanked him and Ares from their warm beds.

  Scots are on the approach.

  Now, they were pulling Alastor out of bed.

  “They are at the gate, Papa,” Anteaus said grimly. “They are demanding to speak with you.”

  Alastor was climbing out of bed, but he was in complete disbelief. “Christ,” he muttered. “They’ve come for Canmore.”

  “How would they know he was here?” Atlas asked. “They have no way of knowing he was brought here. For all they know, he’s with de Velt or he’s dead. There is no connection to us.”

  That was true, but Alastor was still half-asleep and his mind was mulling over the worst-case scenarios. He went to the basin of water near the hearth and splashed it on his face before going in search of his breeches.

  “Possibly,” he muttered. “Where is Ares?”

  “Keeping them company,” Atlas said. “They are outside the gatehouse. He has not admitted them.”

  “Good,” Alastor said with relief. “And they’ve only asked to speak with me? Nothing else?”

  Atlas shook his head as he watched his father pull on his breeches. Anteaus found his father’s boots and handed them over.

  “Nothing else,” he said. “But the man leading the army identified himself as Alexander MacDuff, Earl of Fife and the Justiciar of Scotia.”

  Alastor’s head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise. “He said that?”

  “He did.”

  That seemed to muddle Alastor as Anteaus began to help the man dress by putting his arms in the sleeves of a heavy leather robe that went from his neck all the way down to his feet. Alastor was so lost in thought that his sons had to help him dress.

  “The Justiciar of Scotia,” he repeated, almost in awe. “That is a powerful position, lads. It is not usual for a man like that to come on a mission such as this. Do you know what I think?”

  “What?” Atlas demanded.

  Alastor’s thought processes began to clear. “I think he’s here to get an answer to the missives that Canmore has been sending,” he said. “I never answered, so they’ve come for an answer in person.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  Alastor lifted his hands. “Why else would the Justiciar of Scotia come to call?” he asked. “The man holds tremendous power in Scotland. Now, if we could capture him…”

  Both Atlas and Anteaus looked at their father in shock. Then they looked at each other as if considering the very possibility. “If we could capture him, it’s possible we could know more than we’ve possibly dreamed of,” Atlas said, his face alight. “And William the Rough would think twice before marching into England if we held his justiciar as a hostage.”

  Alastor was warming to that idea. “Indeed, he would,” he said. “If MacDuff is foolish enough to come here, then he is taking a big chance. How many men did he bring with him?”

  Anteaus appeared a little pained. “Hundreds, Papa,” he said. “It could be thousands, but it is dark so we cannot see how many with great accuracy. But we know there is an army with the man. If we take him hostage, they’ll not take kindly to it. We’ll find ourselves in a war.”

  That brought Alastor pause. He pulled tight the robe that Anteaus had placed on him, fastening the ties at his chest in a thoughtful manner.

  “If MacDuff has come to find out why I’ve not replied to Canmore’s missive, he brought an army for only two reasons that I can see,” he said. “If I agree, he will want to harbor his army inside The Keld. If I do not agree, he’ll use it to attack us. It seems to me that one way or the other, the Scots intend to use that army.”

  That seemed to be the most logical conclusion. Atlas and Anteaus looked at their father, waiting for orders.

  “Papa?” Anteaus finally said. “What will you have of us?”

  Alastor drew in a long, thoughtful breath before replying. “Atlas,” he said softly. “You will make sure the army is well-prepared. If you have not done so already, I want men on the battlements, archers at the ready, and the entire army ready to defend The Keld to the last stone. Is that clear?”

  Atlas nodded firmly. “It is, Papa.”

  “Anteaus,” Alastor said, turning to his youngest son. “You will tell your sisters to close up the keep. All doors, all windows are to be shut and reinforced. The kitchens are to be sealed. Move the horses, and especially the chargers, down into the vault through the kitchen yard entrance. The vault will hold twenty or thirty horses, so move in as many as you can.”

  “And the rest of the animals?”

  “Keep them in the kitchen yard and away from the stables,” he said. “They should be safe in the fortified yard. But make sure the keep is secure and then join us at the gatehouse.”

  Anteaus nodded. Alastor put his hand on his youngest son’s cheek, a gesture of reassurance, and sent both of his sons out to go about their tasks. He then waited a nominal amount of time before leaving his chamber and heading out to the bailey.

  He had a man to speak with.

  The enormous gatehouse of Castle Keld was lit by a dozen torches, all of them burning heavy with black smoke that gathered in the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the passageway. The soldiers were keeping their distance from the enormous portcullis, which had thankfully been lowered when the Scots appeared. The iron fangs dug deep into the ground, anchoring it, so there was no chance of loosening it or charging it. On one side stood Ares, and on the other side…

  Dozens of dark figures.

  Squaring his shoulders, Alastor stepped into the passageway, moving slowly for the portcullis.

  Ares caught sight of him.

  “This is my father, Sir Alastor de Bourne,” he said formally. “My lord, this is Sir Alexander MacDuff, Earl of Fife. He has asked to speak with you.”

  He was indicating a man on the other side of the portcullis, wrapped heavily in woolen garments and leather shoes. Alastor could see that MacDuff was surprisingly young for a man with so much responsibility, with a head of dark hair and a dark beard that he kept neatly trimmed.

  Alastor had expected a much older man.

  He met the man’s gaze curiously, but cautiously.

  “One wonders if you only wished to speak with me, then why did you bring an army?” he said casually. “That could be interpreted as threatening.”

  MacDuff forced a smile, without humor. “I brought the army tae support ye, of course,” he said. “I’ve brought reinforcements for yer ranks.”

  “Reinforcements for what?”

  MacDuff blinked as if surprised by the question. “For our alliance.”

  “There is no alliance.”

  “But Alpin Canmore has sent ye missives tae that regard,” he said. “Did ye no’ receive them?”

  “I’ve received them. And I’ve given no answer to that regard.” Alastor peered at him through the grate. “Why are you really here, MacDuff? Who has sent you to force this alliance upon me?”

  MacDuff paused a moment, looking at Alastor and trying to read him. He was fairly certain that de Bourne wasn’t happy to see him. No man liked to be pressured into a life-changing decision by a stranger. But the resistance he was meeting was obvious and he could see that there was a reason why de Bourne hadn’t replied. He’d either ignored the missives or he wasn’t yet ready to respond. In any case, the time was upon him to make a choice.

  MacDuff had come a long way for an answer.

  “M’laird, I would be pleased tae discuss this with ye in private,” he said. “Do ye tru
ly wish for yer men tae hear of yer private affairs? Will ye no’ invite guests into yer home?”

  Alastor ended up standing close to the portcullis, looking at the young earl in the torchlight.

  “You have brought a Scots army into England,” he said, lowering his voice. “That does not speak of a friendly visit to me, nor does it speak of a negotiation. You brought men to force me into making a decision. You brought your army to intimidate me. You are not guests; I did not invite you. Let us come to the point of this, MacDuff – you have come here to force me to answer Canmore’s missives.”

  MacDuff moved towards him, motioning for the men standing near him to stay back. He went to meet Alastor at the portcullis, an iron grate and hundreds of years of hostilities between them.

  “I have,” he said honestly. “But I was hoping we might speak civilly before we came tae business. I dinna come tae bully ye intae responding, m’laird. I came tae see if we could come tae an agreement.”

  Alastor still wasn’t convinced even though MacDuff’s delivery had been polite for the most part. He found himself looking beyond MacDuff, at the dozens of dark silhouettes behind him.

  “How many men did you bring?” he asked.

  Macduff studied him a moment before answering. “Enough,” he said. “We’ve been traveling for three very long days and require shelter. Will ye no’ let us in?”

  Alastor lifted his eyebrows as if it were a foolish request. “I will not,” he said flatly. “Scots and English confined within these walls is an invitation for disaster, so I will not let you in. If you truly wish to stay, then your men must set up camp outside of the walls.”

  Something in MacDuff’s expression changed at that moment.

  He no longer found himself looking at a potential ally.

  “As ye wish,” he said, coolly. “But I’ve come a long way at the direction of the king. I would appreciate a moment of yer time tae discuss what I’ve come tae discuss.”

  Alastor looked him in the eyes. “You have come to ask me what my response is to Alpin Canmore’s many missives,” he said. “Therefore, I will tell you. You can return to your king and tell him that I refuse any alliance with the Scots. I will not enter into a battle that I cannot win. You cannot win. There are greater armies in England than there are in Scotland and the north lands, and you are entering into something that will assure your destruction. But it will not be mine. Make sure you tell William that.”

  MacDuff’s eyes glittered in the weak light. “William is the rightful Earl of Northumbria,” he said. “That title was taken from him by Henry. He wants it back and he shall have it.”

  Alastor cocked an eyebrow. “You dare to tell me that?” he asked. “My family descends from the Kings of Northumbria. This land was mine before it was ever William’s. The man is arrogant beyond measure to presume the land is his because it is mine and it will remain mine. If he comes to take it, I will fight him for it. I will not align with him simply to gain a piece of the pie of something that already belongs to me. Northumbria is mine, it will always be mine, and any man who thinks otherwise is my enemy. Now, get off my lands before I turn my army loose on you. I do not want to see your face again.”

  With that, he turned away from MacDuff and headed out of the gatehouse, but MacDuff wasn’t finished with him yet.

  “Ye’re making a mistake,” he called after him. “William will come and when he does, he will bring hell with him. Ye can be burned by the flame or ye can align yerself with the Devil. Dunna be foolish, de Bourne. Think!”

  He was shouting by the time he was finished. But Alastor kept walking, unmoved and unimpressed. He grabbed Ares as he went.

  There were plans to make.

  “Reinforced the walls,” he commanded quietly. “Drop the second portcullis and secure the gatehouse. I fear we will have an onslaught when the day fully breaks.”

  Ares nodded sharply and headed off as Alastor continued towards the keep. He’d just made a decision that was going to affect the health and welfare of his people, but he’d never felt better about anything in his life. Hell was indeed coming, but it wasn’t coming for him.

  MacDuff would find that out soon enough.

  And so would The Rough.

  Unfortunately, MacDuff had other ideas.

  “Pssst! You! Open this gate!”

  Addax was trying desperately to get the attention of a soldier inside the kitchen yard as he and Cole stood at the postern gate of Castle Keld.

  They were trying to get inside before the Scots saw them. Because of the low-setting moon and the near complete darkness, they had been extremely fortunate to have made it to the castle without being discovered. But it had been more fortunate that they had discover the Scots at all.

  Shadows moving in the darkness had tipped them off.

  Castle Keld was on a rise overlooking a small village of the same name, and the area around the village was lush with growth and trees. That growth only disappeared at the base of the hill Castle Keld was perched upon, and Cole and Addax had come in from the northeast, losing themselves in that growth as they made their way towards the castle.

  But there were phantoms on the hill surrounding The Keld, phantoms that trickled down the road, seemingly clustering around the western edge of the village. It didn’t take a great intellect to realize that the Scots had beat them to Castle Keld, so they carefully made their way through the dark trees, finally emerging on the northeast side of the castle and making their way up the hill via the postern path.

  Now, they stood at the gate.

  Addax was trying desperately to catch the attention of someone while Cole held on to the horses and watched their backs. Drago, the happy glutton, ripped at the fat, juicy grass on the hillside as Addax did everything but shout as he tried to get someone’s attention. The postern gate was in two parts, with an outer gate that led to a small, enclosed yard before another gate was opened into the kitchen yard. Therefore, Addax had to work hard to make his presence known.

  But finally, it worked.

  The cook happened to be in the yard gathering eggs when she saw Addax at the outer gate. She had a torch with her and she went to the inner gate, curious as she peered towards the outer gate. Recognizing the prince from Kitara, she threw the bolt on the inner gate and quickly went to open the outer one, swiftly admitting Addax and Cole and their horses.

  Cole slammed the gate behind him and locked it securely.

  “Did the Scots see you?” the cook, a round woman with a knot of hair on top of her head, asked eagerly. “They’re at the gatehouse, you know.”

  Cole nodded wearily. “We know,” he said. “Where is Lord Alastor?”

  The cook shook her head as they passed through the second gate and bolted that one securely behind them. “I’ve not seen him,” she said. “But Anteaus told us to secure the keep. I’m gathering my chickens and moving them into the kitchens.”

  They were moving quickly through the kitchen yard. “Where is Anteaus?” Cole asked.

  “The last I saw, he was in the keep.”

  Cole thanked her, leaving her with her chickens as he and Addax headed into the main bailey. They could see men on the battlements, battlements that ran all the way around the castle walls but, unfortunately, they all seemed to be bunched up towards the gatehouse, undoubtedly watching the Scots.

  He shook his head.

  “Idiots,” he muttered. “Thank God we were able to come in through the postern gate, but no wonder we were able to come that way. No one is watching it.”

  Addax shook his head in disapproval. “If the Scots want to breach this place, they’ll find any opening or any area that is not well protected,” he said. Then, he reached out and took Cole’s horse. “Go – find Lord Alastor and tell him his postern gate is poorly guarded.”

  Cole handed over Drago, who still had big pieces of green grass sticking out of his bridle. “Find me when you are finished,” he said. “If the Scots are here, that can only mean that we are going to find ou
rselves in a battle when the sun rises and that is not far off.”

  Addax took the horses quickly as Cole continued towards the gatehouse where there seemed to be an inordinate amount of activity. He was just passing the keep, albeit at a distance, when he heard someone call his name. Coming to a halt, he could see Corisande and Anteaus standing at the bottom of the forebuilding that led into the keep.

  Cole headed in their direction.

  “I came to warn you that the Scots were traveling down Kielder Pass,” he said as he came near. “It looks as if I am too late.”

  Anteaus was in full battle protection. “They arrived less than an hour ago,” he said. “They want to speak with my father.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “At the gatehouse.”

  Cole turned in the direction of the gatehouse, seeing the dozens of torches and men milling about. There was a sense of urgency in the air and a current of uncertainty, but no one seemed to be panicking. At least, not yet.

  He returned his attention to Anteaus.

  “This cannot be good,” he said. “An army of Scots does not simply travel into England to socialize.”

  Anteaus’ gaze was also fixed on the gatehouse. “My father thought they may have come looking for Canmore,” he said. “But there is no way anyone would know Canmore is here. It is more than likely they are here to discover if my father is going to side with them or not.”

  Cole couldn’t disagree. “More than likely,” he said. Then he returned his attention to Anteaus. “Addax and I came in through the postern gate. It is without a guard, so I would strongly suggest moving men to protect it. If the Scots figure it out, you will have an onslaught trying to come in through the rear.”

  Anteaus stepped away from the forebuilding, looking at the wall walk, which was lit with men and torches as well.

  He grunted unhappily.

  “There were men there,” he said. “I placed them myself, but it looks as if they have all moved forward to watch what is happening at the gatehouse.”