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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “My thoughts as well.”

  Anteaus turned to him. “Cole, would it be too much to ask for you to secure the keep?” he said. “It looks as if I am needed elsewhere.”

  Cole nodded before he even finished speaking. “I would be honored,” he said. “Do what you must. I will make sure the keep is secure.”

  Anteaus raced off. Cole watched him for a moment before finally turning to Corisande.

  It was the first time he’d really looked at her since the conversation with Anteaus had started and that first glimpse of her in the early morning darkness did not disappoint. Dressed in a heavy robe, her blonde hair braided over one shoulder, she looked like an angel.

  “Inside, lady,” he said, a smile on his lips. “We must get you and the other ladies to safety.”

  Corisande smiled and all of the stress and concern Cole had experienced on his harried ride back to Castle Keld seemed to melt away.

  “I am glad to see that you are safe,” she said as he took her elbow and turned her for the steps. “Have you been traveling all night?”

  He nodded as he escorted her up the stairs. “All night,” he said. “We were in Otterburn when were told that a Scots army was moving south through the Kielder Pass. I knew we had to warn you but, evidently, we were too late.”

  Corisande was watching her feet as they headed up the stairs, careful not to trip on her robe. “But you came,” she said softly. “That is all that matters. And I’m glad you’re back, Cole.”

  He watched her lowered head. “May I tell you a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I came to warn your father and brothers, of course, but my main concern was you.”

  Her head popped up, looking at him with surprise. “It was?”

  His eyes glimmered warmly. “It was,” he said. “It is. That is why I am going to make sure you and your sister and the women are locked up safely in this keep before I return to see what your father would have of me. If I did not know you were tucked away safely, I do not think I could go about my business properly.”

  They paused at the top of the stairs, facing one another. “That is a very sweet thing to say,” Corisande said, clearly touched. But the warmth in her eyes faded. “Cole… if there is a battle, I am my father’s surgeon, so I cannot remain locked up in the keep. I will need to move to the great hall so that I may tend the wounded.”

  He had a feeling she might say that and his first reaction was to insist that she retreat into the keep and remain there, but he knew he couldn’t. He had no right. In fact, he had no right at all to make any demands of her, but it was difficult to restrain himself.

  Difficult, indeed.

  Cole was a man who did everything wholeheartedly. He never did anything only haphazardly, whether it was his profession or personal relationships. He just didn’t have it in him not to give all of himself to something he was passionate about, which was difficult when navigating his fledgling feelings for Corisande. He didn’t want to overstep his bounds.

  But he wanted to make sure she was completely safe.

  “I understand,” he said, reaching out to discreetly take her hand in an electrifying gesture. “If you will retreat into the keep for now, I will come for you if there are wounded and escort you to the hall personally. There really isn’t any reason for you to be out here at the moment, so it would be better if…”

  Shouts caught his attention. He couldn’t see what was happening because he was in an enclosed forebuilding, but he could hear men shouting.

  Something was happening.

  Still holding Corisande’s hand, he began pulling her back down the steps.

  “Bolt these doors when I am gone,” he told her swiftly but calmly. “Then you will retreat into the keep and bolt every exterior door, every shutter. Do you understand?”

  Corisande was trying very hard not to trip on her robe as she struggled to keep up with him. “Aye,” she said. “But if there are wounded…”

  “If there are wounded, I will come for you,” Cole said. They had reached the forebuilding entry and he helped her shut the enormous oak and iron doors. “Bolt these!”

  The doors slammed in his face and he could hear Corisande throwing the heavy bolts. Whirling around, he caught sight of men dashing to and fro. Now he was seeing the panic he hadn’t seen earlier. He could see Alastor running in his direction.

  “My lord?” he shouted. “What is amiss?”

  Alastor was breathless. “Damned Scots,” he said. “They wanted to seek shelter here for the night, but I turned them away. They’ve gone after the village.”

  “They are trying to draw out your army so that you will open your gates.”

  Alastor shook his head grimly. “I know,” he said. “But the village is vulnerable. I cannot deny them protection, Cole.”

  Cole turned in the direction of the postern gate. It gave him an idea.

  “Addax and I just came in through the postern gate,” he said. “I do not know if the Scots are even aware of it, but we can take a contingent out through the gate without opening the gatehouse. How many Scots are there?”

  Alastor lifted a hand helplessly. “I could not tell in the darkness,” he said. “Hundreds, at least.”

  “Then let us move a few hundred men through that postern gate immediately and protect the village,” he said. “I will go and so will Addax.”

  Alastor put a grateful hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I will find Ares and send him and Atlas with you.”

  Cole was already on the move, heading for the stables. “I will find Addax and meet them at the postern gate.”

  Everyone was running for their respective destinations. The Scots, spurned by Alastor’s refusal, had set their sights on the little village next to the castle. It was an invitation for the men of The Keld, an invitation that was about to be decisively answered but not in the way the Scots had hoped.

  The spawn of the darkest lord of all had been unleashed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The wounded had been trickling in all day.

  Corisande had emerged from the keep shortly after dawn, shortly after her brothers and Cole took three hundred men and charged into the village to defend it from the rampaging Scots. Alastor had remained in command of the castle and he assured his daughters that a battle like this couldn’t last long, but he had been wrong.

  So very wrong.

  The Scots were angry. That much was clear. Offended by Alastor’s refusal and exhausted from their swift and long march from Edinburgh, they had attacked the village with mindless zeal. As Cole and the others realized once they reached the village, it wasn’t that the Scots were bent on raiding the town. That didn’t seem to be their purpose.

  Their purpose seemed to be destruction.

  Because the Scots had been traveling in the dark, they had a good many torches available and they used them. They started at the edge of the town, nearest the castle, and begin lighting the cottages on fire. In fact, they lit anything worth burning. All Alastor and the troops remaining in the castle could do was watch from the sealed portcullis as the village began to go up in flames. They certainly couldn’t open the portcullis, which was exactly what the Scots wanted them to do. What the Scots didn’t know was that a heavily armed contingent from the castle was coming in from the northwest.

  They realized that too late.

  The plan was to box the Scots up against the burning section of the village and trap them between the flames and the castle. There was no real concern that the castle would catch fire because it was made of stone and iron. There wasn’t much that could catch fire on the exterior. The Scots realized too late that there was an incoming force from the fortress, charging in and forcing them back against the flames. But even the charge of the English was slowed by the villagers that were fleeing for their very lives. The incoming army was met with a tide of humanity that was running from the Scots.

  Even so, the army pushed through and the Scots found th
emselves under attack. However, Cole and the others realized very early on that Alastor had underestimated the number of Scots. He had guessed a few hundred when, in fact, there seemed to be more like six or seven hundred. The contingent of men from The Keld were outmanned, but there was no comparison between a Scots warrior and a heavily armed English soldier. Better still, they were no match for the elite English knights.

  Cole was in his element in a battle. He was quite large, quite strong, and exceptionally skilled. He had inherited his father’s talent with a sword and that was never more evident than it was at that moment as he used his enormous broadsword to dispatch Scotsman after Scotsman.

  Cole had been taught long ago by a master knight at Norwich Castle to use every part of his body in a fight, not simply his sword hand, so watching him fight was like watching a well-choreographed dance. He could multitask with the best of them, fighting with his broadsword in one hand but also using his legs and feet to kick and shove. His left hand usually held his shield, but since they were mostly dealing with foot soldiers, his shield was slung over his left knee and his left fist was creating devastation for any Scotsman who came too close.

  His skill in battle was also a testament to his relationship with Drago. He and Drago had been together at least fifteen years, ever since his father had given him the warhorse when he had been a squire. He had learned to fight while riding the big horse and, in battle, the two of them could move as one. Cole would give the horse his head, secure the reins to the saddle, and let Drago fight his own battles.

  It was truly something to watch.

  A battle that Alastor had predicted would not take long, unfortunately took most of the day. The Scots were not inclined to retreat and the English were forced to beat up on them more viciously than usual. Cole had personally cut down several mounted Scots and at least a dozen foot soldiers, and he was hardly winded. Much like his father, he had the love of battle in his veins. The longer and more vicious the fighting, the better Cole liked it.

  He hadn’t endured a battle like this in a very long time.

  As the afternoon began to wane, the Scots seemed to be retreating. There were many dead and many wounded, and the English began to form a line to push them back onto the road heading north. Several were already heading up the road, carrying or dragging their wounded, but the bulk of the Scots were still fighting to the death.

  Cole thought it was rather a wasted effort on the part of the Scots because they were in an enemy land with no real directive, yet they were fighting rabidly. It wasn’t as if they were fighting to overtake a castle or to confiscate something of value. They were fighting because they were offended by Alastor’s refusal and they were fighting to punish the offender.

  But that wasted effort would work to their advantage because those who survived the fight would return to William and tell him that the English were not going to be easy victims to his plan. Certainly, Alastor de Bourne wouldn’t be an easy victim, nor would he be an ally. Much like the battle at Fountainhall Castle, the battle at Castle Keld was also sending a message.

  And Cole was helping send it.

  But the English weren’t without their casualties, too. There had been a few. Throughout the battle, Cole had kept his eye on Addax as the man did battle against the Scots. Addax hadn’t trained in the English way of fighting his entire life like most knights had, as he hadn’t met his first English knight until he was about twelve years of age. But he had learned quickly, and even now as he fought on horseback, no one would have ever known that he hadn’t grown up with a sword in his hand. He was one of the best natural warriors Cole had ever seen, but that didn’t stop Cole from keeping an eye on him.

  A brotherly eye, so to speak.

  In all of the skirmishes Cole had ever fought with him, Addax had never once failed in anything he’d ever attempted. The man was an elite warrior. Cole was about to turn his attention to the battle once more when he caught sight of Addax being pitched off his horse.

  In a flash, Cole was heading in his direction.

  A big Scotsman with a big club had managed to catch Addax on the back of the neck. As Cole reached Addax, he was just in time to see the Scotsman hit Addax again on the head. In a flash, Cole swung his broadsword in the direction of the Scotsman, expecting to hit him somewhere between the middle of his back and the top of his head. At this point, he wasn’t going for accuracy as much as he was simply going for a death blow, wherever it may fall. The Scotsman, catching a flash of the sword, managed to put up his hand to block the strike, but he only managed to get his hand cut off along with his head.

  Both went rolling to the ground.

  Cole leapt off his horse and pulled a dazed Addax to his feet, slinging him over Drago’s broad back and leaping on behind him. Digging his spurs in, he headed for Castle Keld.

  Truthfully, Cole didn’t even know how badly Addax was injured. He was simply trying to get him away from the heat of the battle so he could recover his wits. But as he slowed Drago, he happened to look down at Addax and he could see blood all over the man’s hands and arms. The blood was coming from somewhere, so he pushed forward and took the path back around to the postern gate.

  All he knew was that he had to get his friend to safety, battle be damned.

  “Is the water boiling?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “The linens are being steamed and kept clean?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “Then bring me more bandages because one of the men came in with a big gash on his head. I’ll need something to stop the bleeding.”

  Corisande was interrogating the cook as the woman followed her around the great hall. Already, they’d had several wounded from the skirmish in the village, but certainly nothing that was overwhelming. It seemed as if the Scots were getting the worst of it, so Corisande had about twenty or thirty of her father’s soldiers to tend to.

  There were the usual gashes, slashes, and missing fingers. One soldier even had missing toes because a Scotsman had used an ax on his foot. All of the injuries to that point weren’t life threatening providing they received the proper care, which Corisande efficiently provided.

  In fact, she’d left the keep shortly after Cole had instructed her to barricade it. She and Gaia and Gratiana, along with several servants, managed to shutter more than half the windows before the progress came to a halt. Corisande watched the fight from her bower window, realizing the Scots weren’t trying to come into the castle at all. They were quite focused on the town itself. Therefore, she made the decision to leave the keep and prepare the great hall to receive any wounded.

  The wounded had come early. Gratiana and Gaia had accompanied her to the great hall, but Gaia began to cry the moment the first bloody injury arrived, so Corisande sent her to the kitchens to make sure there was a steady supply of hot water. It was really the only thing Gaia was capable of because she not only hated mundane chores, the sight of blood made her ill. She didn’t want to be around it at all, and about an hour into the battle, the cook reported that Gaia had retreated to her chamber and refused to come out.

  Therefore, the burden was left to Corisande.

  But she didn’t mind, really. She was in her element tending the sick and wounded. In fact, it was better not to have to worry about Gaia, the sister she was still coming to know. But she had Gratiana’s help and the help of several servants, so the men were well-tended. As the cook left her and headed back to the kitchens to collect some of the boiled bandages, drying out over the heat and flame of the hearth, Corisande made her way over to a young soldier who had received a fairly nasty gash to the head. It covered most of his forehead and ended near his left eye.

  The servant tending him was the same servant who tended to the knight’s quarters, the one who had helped her when she’d lanced the infected boil a couple of days ago. The servant took good initiative trying to stop the bleeding on the gash, but the only thing that would really stop it would be stitching it up, which Corisande intende
d to do. As she came upon the wounded man, she spoke quietly but firmly to the servant tending him.

  “They are bringing more bandages,” she said. “Now, we need to lay him perfectly flat and you must hold his head still so he does not move it while I stitch.”

  The servant nodded, moving to the opposite side of the young soldier, who was looking at Corisande fearfully. Her father had over a thousand soldiers at Castle Keld and she didn’t know every one of them, but she had seen most. However, she didn’t recognize this slender young man. He looked very young and very scared.

  She smiled reassuringly.

  “Just a few stitches and you’ll be as good as new,” she told him. “You must lay down. All the way down; that’s right.”

  The servant was pulling him back, his head eventually resting on a folded blanket. But the young man was still looking at Corisande with terror in his eyes.

  “Are you going to stick a needle in me?” he asked, his voice quivering.

  Another servant appeared with a tray containing a jug of the wine and vinegar mixture Corisande favored. There were also a few bandages as well as a needle and catgut, which had been soaked in a salt solution. Corisande had learned everything she knew from her mother, including how to treat the catgut and how to keep her needles and bandages clean by soaking them in the wine and vinegar solution. Her mother believed that people had a better chance of survival if the items touching them had been cleaned of any poison from the previous patient, and Corisande had seen that belief in action.

  It worked.

  She smiled at the terrified young man.

  “I will tell you what I am going to do so that you are not afraid,” she said steadily. “What is your name?”

  “Dunne, my lady.”

  “You have not been at The Keld long, have you?”

  He tried to shake his head a little, held still by the servant. “Nay,” he said. “My mother and father have a farm to the west. I came to Castle Keld to earn money to send to them. Lord Alastor is our liege. My father says he is a fair man. But I’ve never been in a battle before.”