Swords and Shields (Reign of the House of de Winter) (23 page)

When he should have been worried about the retreat of the enemy, he was more concerned for the body of a woman he’d ordered executed. A woman that Elizaveta had asked him to spare; therefore, guilt dictated his actions. It was horrific what had happened to Lady de Witt and he felt solely responsible, so he collected her corpse and brought her back into the keep, wrapping her in a blanket given to him by the quartermaster and storing her in the cool shed near the stables. He made sure her husband’s remains were brought there, too, and he instructed the quartermaster to take the bodies to the church on the morrow for burial in the church yard. When that was settled, he returned to the remnants of the battle to see that it was over for the most part.

There were de Mandeville dead, which he ordered burned, and the majority of Edward’s army was returning from chasing off Edmund and his men. Drake stood at the open portcullis, watching as the mounted knights began to return. He recognized one of them simply by the big, black horse he rode.

“So this is what happens?” It was William de Wolfe, his old friend from the siege of Caerlaverock. “I let you out of my sight and you get into trouble again? I cannot let you go anywhere without me, de Winter.”

Drake smiled wearily. “You attract trouble like the dead attract flies,” Drake told him. “These fools smelled your scent before you even arrived. You think they were attacking my castle? Of course not! They were waiting for you!”

De Wolfe laughed, reining his horse to a halt and unlatching his helm. “It is a good thing I came when I did, then,” he said. “It looked to me as if they had grown bored of waiting for me and were starting in on you. Who were they, anyway? Anyone we know?”

Drake knew this was a longer story than just simple, cursory information. It would take time to explain all of this to de Wolfe, preferably over a meal. He waved de Wolfe into the bailey.

“Come inside,” he said. “Let us get the men situated, the dead burned, and I will tell you all that has happened since you let me out of your sight.”

It was a good enough invitation for de Wolfe. He spurred his horse forward as Drake waved him on. “I am eager to hear this,” he said.

“It will be worth the wait, trust me.”

William knew that. When Drake de Winter was involved in something, there was never any doubt that the story behind it was a good one.

Peace was restored by the time evening fell at Spexhall and the castle, for the most part, had returned to normal as the cool evening breezes began to blow. Torches upon the walls and fires in the bailey lit up the night skies as those inside the castle settled in for the evening.

De Wolfe had brought one thousand and twenty-seven men with him, all men sworn to Edward and previously stationed at Nottingham Castle, so Spexhall was quite full by the time evening fell. The quartermaster, as well as Elizaveta and Daniella, had pulled together a filling meal of stew and beans while the soldiers found space and warmth to bed down for the night.

The hall was filled with men as night crept upon them, men who had been traveling for some time to reach Spexhall as well as men who had fought a battle that day and the day before. Drake’s troops mingled with those of Edward, all of them weary and ready for some food and rest. A heavy haze of smoke hung in the hall from the hearth that had a partially-blocked chimney, but no one seemed to care. They were coughing, and drinking, and eating the bread that the quartermaster and several soldiers had been relegated to bake, and overall the mood was rather festive. Victory always made it festive, the aftermath of the death they had faced. The only person in the entire fortress who wasn’t relaxed, however, was Drake.

He’d seen two battles against his command in two days. More than that, he had a new wife he was increasingly enamored with and the strain of having to worry over her safety was something that was taking its toll on him. He wasn’t used to having to worry over another person, fearing for another’s safety, so all of this was very new to him. Moreover, he was afraid that someone would tell her about the body parts in the bailey or the fact that Lady de Witt’s body had been returned to them in deplorable shape.

Therefore, the moment he’d allowed her to unlock the keep and all of its many iron gates, he’d kept her close by his side. If anyone brought up the battle, he would change the subject, and when she asked about it, he gave her the most generic and un-upsetting responses he could think of. Why on earth he was so concerned for what she thought and what she heard, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was. He didn’t want to see her upset in any way. Two battles in two days were upsetting enough, for anyone, and he was trying to make her life as worry-free as possible.

So he’d followed her everywhere after she’d left the keep, including to the big kitchen next to the hall where the evening meal was being prepared. He didn’t help, but he did stand by and watch her work with the quartermaster, seeing her calm and even manner in dealing with his men and appreciating it. Even when a clumsy soldier spilled a significant amount of flour, she never raised her tone at him. She simply helped him sweep it up.

Having been married such a short amount of time to the woman, Drake hadn’t really had much of an opportunity to simply watch her. He was very observant and he could see, in the time he studied her, that she had all of the great qualities he would have hoped for in a wife – kindness, even-tempered, and productive. She wasn’t afraid to delve into a task that needed to be done. Of course, the fact that she was radiantly beautiful only sweetened the deal. By the time the evening meal was being served to the men in the crowded, smoky hall, Drake was coming to think he was the most fortunate man in all of England to have married such a woman. He couldn’t even remember why he had been so reluctant to marry in the first place. His wife was fluid to watch, graceful and lovely. And she was his.

He was officially smitten.

As the evening meal went on, Drake’s determination to stick by Elizaveta’s side relaxed and he found himself sitting at the end of the big feasting table in the hall, surrounded by Devon, James, Cortez, de Wolfe, and a few lesser knights he knew by name only, younger men who had not yet earned a reputation within Edward’s ranks. They were here for the glory, for the rewards that could come their way if they were strong and brave and lucky. They were from fine families, serving the king because it was what their fathers wished.

There were also several squires, lads serving the knights in that capacity, including William’s cousin, Bowen de Shera, who was William’s aunt’s son and also the son of the hereditary king of Anglesey, Bhrodi de Shera. Bowen sat on the floor at William’s feet, a big lad with big, green eyes and dark hair, listening intently to the knights’ tales. Like the other squires, he was enamored with tales of glory and it was all part of all squires’ education as fighting men. Drake well remembered those days, squiring for some great knights at Kenilworth Castle. Those had been some of the best times of his life.

“I am sure Edward did not know that Spexhall’s former commander’s wife was a de Mandeville,” William was saying as Drake’s attention moved between the conversation and his wife as she moved around the room. “He would have never knowingly put you in such danger, Drake. I know you are aware of this.”

Drake tore his attention off of Elizaveta and turned to his friend. He and Cortez and Devon had just finished telling the table about the siege earlier in the day and the body parts flying over the castle walls. The knights listened with interest while the young squires had listened with horror.

“I am aware,” Drake said. “But the situation with them is something he must know. Something tells me that today will not be the last time I see the de Mandevilles.”

William wriggled his eyebrows in agreement, drinking of his tart, red wine as Elizaveta approached the table with a pitcher of wine in her hand. Drake’s attention was riveted to her immediately as she refilled the cups of her husband’s colleagues.

“Lady de Winter,” he greeted fondly. “Can you break from your duties for the moment to join us? I would like for de Wolfe to come to know you and be quite jealous of my good fortune.”

As Elizaveta grinned, de Wolfe laughed. “Although I am quite happy for your good fortune, de Winter, I have had good fortune of my own,” he said. “I married two years ago and we were blessed with a son last year. I wish you the same blessings, my friend. May you have many sons who will be just as naughty as you ever were.”

The knights grinned, chuckling at Drake’s expense but Elizaveta spoke. “I am sure our sons will be no more naughty than all of you were as boys,” she said, watching the knights concede her point. “It seems to me that all grown men are naughty boys to some extent, so I am sure none of you are exempt.”

Drake moved aside on the bench, helping Elizaveta to sit as she put her wine pitcher aside. He held her hand, feeling her warm fingers in his own. “What some might call naughty others might call spirit,” he said to her and to the rest of the table. “I would hope my sons would be spirited in the best sense of the word.”

De Wolfe concurred. “My son has already seen one year but already he likes to bang on things,” he said. “He has a little wooden sword, too dull to do any harm of course, but he bangs on everything with that sword as a true de Wolfe would.”

Elizaveta was smiling at the knight as he recollected his son. She could see the softness in his expression. “When did you last see your son, my lord?”

William looked at her. “Call me William, please, if your husband would allow it,” he said, glancing at Drake for approval. “My son’s name is Edward, after my grandfather’s father, and I last saw Edward four months ago, right after the battle of Caerlaverock. It was a brief visit but at least I was able to see him for a short while. I am afraid I will not be able to see him again for some time so I had to squeeze in all of the hugs and kisses that I could with him.”

Elizaveta felt some sorrow on the man’s behalf. “I am sorry to hear that,” she said. “Why will you not be able to see him soon?”

William, who had too many cups of wine in his veins, turned to Drake. His tongue was looser than it should have been and he didn’t give much thought to speaking of battle plans in front of a woman.

“Because I have been called to arms by Edward, much as your husband has been,” he said. “Drake, I bear a missive from Edward for you but I will tell you what it says – he is gathering an army at Hexham with the intention of marching through to Kerr lands to Jedburgh, where we have been informed several lowland border clan chiefs will be meeting around the New Year. Edward wants to break up that meeting for the purpose of obtaining valuable prisoners. Your orders tell you to bring eight hundred of the men I just delivered to you and then ask your father for another two thousand, or all that he can spare, and meet him at Hexham.”

Drake was listening intently, having no qualms about William speaking of Edward’s plans at a table of trusted knights. He would have never expected that Elizaveta was listening carefully, too, but not for the same reasons he was. She was listening carefully because she knew this was exactly the sort of information
grandedame
wanted, information directly from Edward on his intentions in Scotland.

Oh, God
…. Elizaveta rolled the information over in her mind.
Edward wants to ambush Scots leaders. He wants to catch them unaware
. Certainly,
grandedame
would want to know of this to feed it to her network of spies who would then take the information to the Maxwells in Scotland. But what about Drake? If
grandedame
warned the Scots, then they would be prepared, waiting to kill the English when they arrived.

Waiting to kill Drake.

She looked at her husband as he discussed the orders with de Wolfe, watching Drake as he spoke confidently about the move north. She studied the lines of his face, the square cut of his jaw, her guts torn up at the thought of betraying the man. She wanted so badly to tell him what her grandmother wanted from their marriage but she was terrified to do it, still terrified that he might view her as a traitor, as if she were confessing something she had already done.

Nay, she hadn’t done anything yet, but she soon would. Fear of her grandmother gave her little choice in the matter. There was also the fear of Drake and how he would view her if he knew the truth of their marriage and why she had really agreed to it. Lastly, the fear that she was caught up in something that she did not know how to get out of, and fear on all sides had her shoved into a corner of her own making.

It was ironic, really. Drake thought her to be brave but she wasn’t brave at all. She was a horrible coward. Perhaps if she gave
grandedame
what she wanted, once or twice, and then no more after that, the woman might leave her alone or even hopefully die before she could press her for more information. Perhaps if she did her duty just this once, it would satisfy the old vulture and she would never have to do it again.

God, she was a fool.

“Hexham,” Drake was saying as Elizaveta hung her head. “That is near Newcastle, to the west, I believe.”

William nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I know that area well. Remember that I was born in Northumberland. Hexham has a road that leads north, straight through the borders and up to Jedburgh. Unless the Kerrs or the Elliots provide resistance, which they probably will not because of the size of Edward’s army, it should be a clear ride all the way to Jedburgh.”

Drake absorbed the information. “And this intelligence about the clan chief gathering is reliable?”

“Edward seemed to think it was.”

Drake nodded as if satisfied. “Then I suppose my father could spare a sizable army,” he said. “He may even want to come along. My father still yearns for battle, even as an old man.”

“He cannot come,” Devon said from across the table with Daniella sitting on his lap. “He is too old and you know it. Moreover, Mother would never let him come. She would tie him to a tree and beat him if he tried.”

Drake snorted at the mental image his brother painted. “Then mayhap he will spare Denys or Dallan,” he said. “We could use their swords.”

Devon nodded but was cut off from replying by Cortez. “I hope that missive does not include me, de Wolfe,” Cortez interjected. “The last Edward knew, I was back at Sherborne Castle. You only find me here because I attended Drake’s wedding at Thetford a few days ago. I was planning on returning home on the morrow.”

De Wolfe stabbed at a boiled carrot with his knife and shoved it in his mouth, his food having cooled because he was drinking and talking so much. “It is my guess that you have a missive waiting for you back at Sherborne that says much the same thing as Drake’s missive says,” he said, chewing. “If I were you, I would pretend that you did not hear what I just told de Winter and return to Sherborne Castle to see your wife before you are off to Scotland again. Edward is calling for all of his loyal barons to join him. He wants to capture the lowlands once and for all and move up to Edinburgh to garrison the city. There is no knowing how long we will all be gone for this campaign.”

Drake scratched his head thoughtfully, looking to his brother, who didn’t seem too pleased with the directive. These were orders they had been expecting but not so soon. Drake sighed.

“How soon are we to move?” he asked de Wolfe.

William stabbed another carrot. “As soon as you read the missive, he wants you to do as you are told and depart,” he replied, biting the carrot on his knife. “This will take some time, Drake, and if you are to make it to the borders in time to rendezvous with Edward, you must get about it. I am ordered to ride with you and we are expected to leave immediately. Edward wants us in Hexham by the latter part of November at the very latest.”