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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  MacDuff was starting to follow now. “Ye want them tae be indebted tae ye?”

  “Exactly.”

  It wasn’t madness. It actually made good political sense as far as politics went. But MacDuff was grossly unhappy that William wasn’t going to make de Bourne pay for the debacle at Castle Keld, the same debacle that MacDuff had lied about. He’d told William that de Bourne had attacked him when the man’s daughter had contradicted that.

  No, he wasn’t happy with de Bourne in the least.

  Or his daughter.

  “Is that yer command, yer grace?” he finally asked, jaw ticking with disapproval. “Tae send them back with a message?”

  William nodded. “Tell the eldest one tae tell The Marshal that I spared their lives and expect the same courtesy in the future should I call upon him,” he said. “Let the man see that I am merciful.”

  “Anything else, yer grace?”

  William looked over at the women one last time. “’Tis too dark and dangerous tae release the lasses now, but ye’ll return both of them tae the Ord Crossing at first light,” he said. “Take them personally, Alexander.”

  “Aye, yer grace.”

  “If they willna sup with me, then find them a comfortable place tae sleep for the night.”

  With that, he turned away, heading back to his chair next to the brazier and a hot drink that was no longer hot.

  MacDuff, however, had other plans for the eldest de Bourne daughter.

  And he intended to carry them out no matter what William had said.

  Berwick Castle

  The fight had been a bloody one but, in the end, Cole and Julian, Addax and Essien had prevailed.

  Focused on the gatehouse and making more noise than actually doing any damage, Jax wasn’t surprised when Cole suddenly appeared at the inner gatehouse, fighting Scots like a madman, tossing them into the deep moat that surrounded the castle. He had watched, fascinated, while his sons did battle at the gatehouse until Julian broke free and raced over the bridge to the smaller gatehouse where his father was standing. There were Scots there, manning the gatehouse, so there was a fight before Julian managed to open the man-gate in the larger gates that were bolted and sealed. With the smaller gate open, Jax and his men poured in.

  The fight was over in a relatively short amount of time.

  In fact, from the time Cole left Jax and Atreus at the smaller gatehouse until Jax’s men subdued the Scots in the castle, about an hour and a half had elapsed. The first thing Jax did was rip down the banner of MacHeth that had been flying over the battlements and raise the black and red de Velt standard.

  He swore he could hear the men cheering in the distance.

  With Berwick Castle in the hands of Jax de Velt, his men went about securing the castle against any counterattack. Berwick was a massive place, but they left no chamber unexplored, even down to the vault and the tunnels beneath the bedrock that led out to the river.

  Everything was explored and the Scots were rounded up.

  By that time, it was well into the night. The Scots manning the castle, and they counted forty-three, were put on poles that had been cut down in the heavily wooded areas to the west of Berwick. Jax had told The Marshal he intended to take Berwick his own way and take it he did. The poles started going up on the road leading to the bridge like a macabre forest of dead bodies for all the world to see. MacHeth’s son, the garrison commander, had the distinction of being nailed to a cross which was then hung from the castle walls.

  All of it meant to terrorize the Scots.

  Even as the castle itself was secured, the fighting continued with de Winter and Savernake taking the bulk of the casualties until de Lohr, Teviot, and de Bourne returned from the Ord Crossing. It was a premature return, which concerned The Marshal. After a brief conference with Christopher, he called back his forces to the city and the bridge only, allowing the Scots to leave the city and run north to their encampment.

  Jax, of course, had been watching it all from the battlements of Berwick. He’d done his job and captured the castle, and he had no intention of leaving it as he watched the English and the Scots do battle. But when the English seemed to withdraw prematurely and the Scots flee, his curiosity was piqued.

  It was piqued even more when he saw knights riding for the castle with banners flying.

  Jax’s army had every aspect of Berwick secure, including the double-gatehouses, which were opened for the incoming English. Torches were lit because a mist was rolling in from the sea, greatly diminishing visibility, and the effect of the torches against the fog was eerie. So were the bodies of the dead Scots lining the bridge and the street leading to the castle, as The Marshal and others discovered.

  They had the distinct feeling of riding into hell.

  Jax was there to greet them when they thundered into the bailey.

  “Excellent work, Jax,” The Marshal said as he drew his horse to a halt. “You managed to capture Berwick when I was fairly certain it was going to take you much longer. How did you do it?”

  “Cole and Julian went by way of the river and managed to gain access through the river gate,” he said proudly. “There were only forty-three Scots manning the castle, so it was a short-lived battle once we breached the walls.”

  William had been looking around the vast bailey of Berwick, but turned to look at Jax when he mentioned the short-lived battle. “I saw the results of that battle as we rode here,” he said. “You do realize that is going to infuriate the Scots.”

  Jax smiled faintly, but it was not a pleasant gesture. “I hope so.”

  The Marshal snorted, finally slapping Jax on the arm. “I would laugh with you but, unfortunately, what you have done may work terribly against us,” he said. “We have a problem. Where are Cole and the Kitara princes?”

  Jax glanced at Christopher, who looked more solemn than usual. So did Teviot and David, who were with him. Alastor looked positively ashen, as did his sons. They all appeared sick.

  Jax frowned. “They are securing the river gate,” he said. “I will send for them. What has happened?”

  The Marshal waved him off. “Not yet,” he said. “Bring Cole here. We’ve something to do and we need him.”

  Jax had no idea what was going on. Beyond Christopher and Teviot and David, he could see Peter and Alexander, Kress and Achilles, Bric and Dashiell. They were away from their armies.

  That puzzled Jax greatly.

  He turned to The Marshal.

  “What is happening?” he hissed.

  Alastor couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Before The Marshal could reply, he pushed forward, shoving men out of the way until he came to within a few inches of Jax.

  “The Scots captured some of our ancillary wagons, including my surgeon’s wagon,” he said, close to tears. “My daughters were in that wagon and now they are prisoners of the Scots. And you put their soldiers on poles for them to see? If the Scots see what you have done to their men, they will put my daughters on poles in retaliation!”

  Jax scowled at the man in disbelief. “They what?” he hissed. “They have… Christ, they have Corisande?”

  Alastor was white with fury, with despair. “They do,” he said, his entire body trembling. “I do not think the Scots will take kindly to what you have done to their men. If they punish my daughters for your actions, I will blame you for their deaths. Damn you to hell, de Velt!”

  Christopher had to pull Alastor away from Jax, shoving him back towards his sons, who gripped their father tightly. They were all upset, saying things they didn’t mean. Alastor began weeping, low and mournful, adding to the already horrific situation.

  But Jax understood. A month ago, he didn’t give a second thought to putting men and women on poles when it came to the collapse of Fountainhall. He’d done what he had always done. He did it at Berwick, too.

  But now that the Scots held Cole’s intended, all of that changed.

  He grabbed the nearest de Velt soldier.

  “The bodies of t
he Scots,” he hissed. “Get them down. Get them down now. And remove the garrison commander from the wall. Get them down and bring them in here, out of sight of the Scots. Go!”

  The soldier, startled and confused, nonetheless took off running.

  “They’ll be down in an hour,” he said, speaking to Alastor. “With the mist rolling in, chances are no one has seen them yet. De Bourne… I did not know. Please know I would never knowingly cause danger to your daughters or your family. Not like this.”

  Alastor was still weeping, but Ares was looking at Jax. He could see that the man was sincerely distressed.

  “We know, my lord,” he said hoarsely. “This not your fault. But the removal of the dead is appreciated.”

  Alastor was nodding as his son spoke, unable to articulate what Ares was putting into words. Wiping at his face, he struggled to compose himself as he turned to Jax and went to the man. He only meant to shake his hand but ended up putting his arms around him.

  “Forgive me, old friend,” he whispered. “I did not mean it. I did not mean any of it. I adore Cole and he will soon marry my daughter. I am proud to have him. Please… forgive me.”

  Jax put an arm around him, hugging him tightly. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “I have three daughters of my own and not long ago, I was in this very position with one of them. A man who wanted to kill me took her hostage, so I understand your pain very well. Have faith; everything will be well again. You shall see them returned safely.”

  “Who returned safely?”

  The question came from Cole.

  Having seen the gathering of knights ride into the bailey of Berwick as he’d returned from the river gate, he wanted to be part of the celebration of the conquest of the castle. It was his celebration, after all. Julian, Addax, and Essien were with him, expecting a celebration but seeing something quite different. What they came upon didn’t look like a celebration at all. Cole’s father was embracing Alastor, who had clearly been weeping.

  Cole frowned.

  “Who will be returned safely?” he repeated, looking to his father. “What has happened?”

  The only people who really knew about Cole and Corisande were their fathers and Corisande’s brothers, and Addax and Essien. At least, that was the general belief among those in the know. But what they didn’t know was that servants at The Keld had seen Corisande and Cole together, and the rumors had started. Gossip abound, so much so that all of the Executioner Knights had heard some version of the truth, so as they stood in the bailey of Berwick, there was a good deal of sympathy in their expressions as they looked at Cole.

  They knew something he didn’t, something that was going to affect him.

  It was The Marshal, of all people, who finally spoke.

  “Several hours ago, the Scots used the Ord Crossing to attack our rear,” he said steadily. “Some of the wagons were stolen, including de Bourne’s surgeon’s wagon. De Bourne’s daughters are now prisoners of the Scots and we must get them back. Cole, I need you for this task.”

  Cole stared at him for a moment. He blinked, wiped his chin, and then spoke in a strangely tight voice. “Corisande is a prisoner of the Scots?”

  “Aye.”

  He blinked again as the news was confirmed a second time. Then, he looked to his father, to Alastor, and finally to Ares and the de Bourne brothers. They all looked as if they were grieving a death.

  The realization hit him in the gut like a hammer.

  “God,” he grunted, teetering when he did so. “What in the hell happened? How were the Scots able to get to her?”

  Jax put a hand out, steadying him. “The bridge is not being watched, at least not by the English,” he said. “It was an oversight, Cole. Certainly no one expected the Scots to come by way of that bridge.”

  Cole’s face was flushed red. “But they did,” he said, feeling rage and grief and anger as he looked at Alastor. “She should not have come to battle. What fool brings women to battle? And now you see what has happened!”

  He was shouting by the time he was done, causing Alastor to recoil. Ares was about to get in Cole’s face, but Atlas pulled him back. Emotions were volatile.

  No one wanted a fight.

  “Easy, Cole,” Jax said, his hands on his son to prevent him from charging the group of de Bourne men. “It is no one’s fault. Mayhap measures should have been taken to…”

  Cole cut him off. “Of course measures should have been taken to protect the women,” he barked. “Are you telling me there were no guards on the provisions wagons?”

  “There were about twenty soldiers with the wagons,” Alastor said. “They help with the wounded, but they are fully armed. They were there, Cole. I would have never let my daughters remain with the wagons unprotected.”

  Cole opened his mouth to shout at him again but Jax shook him, breaking his concentration. “Nay, Cole,” he said quietly, firmly. “He feels badly enough. Do not punish the man. We must focus on a solution now.”

  Cole was genuinely trying to keep his composure, but he was having a devil of a time. “I must go,” he said, trying to pull away from his father. “I will go and retrieve her.”

  Jax was on him in a flash, grabbing him by the arms. “Cole, listen,” he said. “You cannot go alone.”

  “Nay, you cannot,” The Marshal said, coming to help Jax corral his son. “You cannot go it alone. This is a mission for a small group of men or a large army, but not for only one man. You would get yourself killed.”

  Cole didn’t like being restrained. “I am going.”

  The Marshal had him by the arm. “You are going with your fellow knights,” he said. “You, Addax, Essien, Bric, Dash, Peter, Sherry, Kress, and Achilles will enter the camp in stealth, find the women, and bring them back. Are you listening to me, Cole? I need your level head now, not your rage. Your rage will get everyone killed.”

  Cole knew that, but he was still verging on hysteria. The thought of Corisande in the midst of a gang of Scots had every fiber of his body in knots. His stomach was lurching, his hands contracting into fists as if to punch his way straight into Scotland.

  But his heart was in the biggest knot of all.

  It was slowly dying of grief.

  God, no, he thought. Not Corisande.

  Realizing he was about to go mad with anguish and fury, he did the only thing he could do. He took a long, deep breath and doubled over, fighting against everything that was straining to let loose.

  “God,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly before standing up to focus on The Marshal. “I am calm. I swear I am. You have my level head. You have all of me. But so does Corisande. I am going to marry the woman, so I cannot simply stand here.”

  The Marshal put a hand on his shoulder. “I know,” he said quietly. “I have heard the rumors. The knights in my stable may be able to keep the most precious secrets of state, but they tend to talk about one another. You know we have no secrets.”

  Cole looked to the men behind him, men that he knew and loved. He could see the sympathy, the support. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. “There has been no time to speak of it to anyone, personally,” he said. “In fact, I have barely told my own father. I had hoped to speak of it to the rest of you when the battle was over and there was a wedding to attend.”

  The Marshal gave him a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. “There still will be a wedding to attend, I am certain,” he said. “But until then, you must face this rationally. You are a knight, Cole. You know that you must contain your emotions. Especially now.”

  He was right. Cole was trying to keep his breathing steady, knowing that an unrestrained man would get himself killed. He struggled to focus on what needed to be done, not the danger Corisande was facing. If he focused on that, he would lose what was left of his control.

  “Then I will take command of the rescue mission,” he said, though his voice was quivering. “Do we know where they were taken?”

  The Marshal glanced towards the nor
th. “I believe William is in the hills north of Berwick,” he said. “The Scots who took the de Bourne sisters came over the Ord Crossing. If you return to that bridge, mayhap you can follow their trail.”

  Cole thought on that. He looked up into what was presumably the sky, but he couldn’t see it through the fog.

  “In the night and in this mist, it will be difficult to see,” he said. “My instinct is to go at this very moment and use the fog to our advantage, but that would be foolish. North of Berwick is unknown to me and in a mist like this, we could get lost.”

  By this time, Addax and Essien had moved forward to listen, as had Peter, Bric, Dashiell, Alexander, Kress, and Achilles. All of them seasoned agents, all of them listening to Cole try to reason out the situation. But he wasn’t in complete control, terrified for Corisande, and that was something they could all sympathize with.

  It was Alexander who finally stepped forward.

  Out of the entire group, Alexander was the most natural commander. The Marshal had used him often for missions because Sherry, beloved by all of The Marshal’s men, had the ability to see everything from all angles. He had never made a mistake that The Marshal had been aware of, so when the group of Executioner Knights stepped in to listen to Cole speak, The Marshal discreetly motioned Alexander forward. Cole wanted to command the mission to retrieve the woman he was going to marry, but The Marshal wanted someone who was driven by logic and not emotion.

  Alexander cleared his throat softly.

  “Cole,” he said quietly, smiling at the man when their eyes met. “Let me do this for you, my friend. Let me take charge of seeing your lady safely returned. Will you let me do this? You cannot go charging in there with your heart and not your head. That would jeopardize your safety as well as ours, so let me do this for you. Will you trust me?”

  Cole looked at the man who had brought him into The Marshal’s ring to begin with. He adored him. He also knew that everything Alexander said was right.