Medieval Ever After (39 page)

“It sounds as if they are opening the gates,” she said after several moments.

Joselyn struggled not to get too excited. “Perhaps the soldier has returned from Berwick.”

Toby could see that the woman was ready to jump from her seat. “If it is, we will know soon enough,” she said steadily. “Relax and resume your sewing.”

Joselyn forced herself to calm and resume her needlepoint. But her hands were shaking, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Toby. She knew very well what it was to wait for a husband who was away at war. But time passed as they continued with their tasks, sitting in comfortable yet expectant silence, until bootfalls echoed against the retractable wooden stairs.

Joselyn heard them first, her hand frozen above the fabric, still clutching the needle, as Tate entered the solar. He glanced at his wife but his focus was mostly on Joselyn. He opened his mouth to speak but he was not fast enough.

“Well?” Joselyn stood up, gazing at him expectantly. “We heard the sentries. Did the messenger return from Berwick?”

Tate was trying to think of a calm way to relay the information, not only for Joselyn but for Toby. He didn’t want to upset either of them but knew he had little choice. Before he could get the words out of his mouth, a massive body suddenly walked up behind him, wedging itself in between Tate and the door jamb. Joselyn’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Kenneth!” she gasped, dropping the needle in her hand and almost tripping over the fabric loom when she tried to stand up. She made her way unsteadily towards a very dirty, bloody Kenneth, appalled by what she was seeing. The longer she stared at him, the more horrified she became. “Why are you here? Where is Stephen?”

Kenneth gazed at her. He had been in battle mode for days and it was difficult to calm himself enough so that he didn’t sound like has barking orders or hollering at the enemy. As Joselyn drew close, quivering, he reached out and grasped her slender arm with his dirty, bloody glove.

“Berwick fell,” he told her softly.

Joselyn stared at him, hearing his words but not truly comprehending them. She didn’t reply for the longest time, struggling in that dark world between hysteria and reason. She almost couldn’t bring herself to ask the question but knew she had to.

“Where is my husband?” her voice sounded small.

Kenneth took a deep breath, struggling not to be emotional, struggling to deal with the delicate lady. All he could see when he looked at her was Stephen’s face and it pained him like nothing he had ever known.

“I managed to escape but Stephen did not.”

“You have not told me where he is.”

“The Scots have him.”

Joselyn’s eyes rolled back in her head and Kenneth caught her before she could fall to the ground. He scooped her up into his arms as Toby leapt to her feet and pointed up the stairs.

“Take her to her chamber,” she commanded. “Up the stairs, first door to the left.”

Kenneth swept Joselyn up the stairs, followed by Tate and Toby. He moved swiftly to Joselyn’s room, kicking open the door so hard that he broke one of the hinges. He took Joselyn to the well-made bed and laid her gently on the mattress.

Toby was at Joselyn’s head, her soft hands on the pale face. “Tate, please send for water and salts,” she demanded softly.

Her husband went to the door, bellowing to the serving wench that was always lingering somewhere about the keep. He went back into the room, peering critically at Lady Pembury. But she was out cold and he turned to Kenneth.

“I will mobilize my men and return with you,” he said, suddenly hissing. “Damn Stephen. I told him that I should not leave if an attack was imminent but he insisted because Henry of Lancaster was on his way with reinforcements. Damn him!”

Kenneth shook his head wearily. “It would not have mattered if you had been there,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “You would have been taken prisoner or worse. I was fortunate to have escaped. I have never seen so many Scots.”

By this time, Toby turned to look at Kenneth, tears brimming in her eyes. “When did you last see Stephen?” she asked.

Kenneth sighed heavily, so very exhausted. He didn’t even want to think about that day but forced himself.

“The postern gate had been breached,” he said hoarsely. “Soon thereafter, the walls were compromised. Stephen was upon the walls but there were just too many Scots. It looked like the whole of Scotland had been unleashed. I last saw Stephen as the walls were swarmed and the castle breached. He was on the ground with several Scots pummeling him.”

Toby’s eyes spilled over. “But they did not kill him?”

Kenneth shook his head. “They seemed more intent to beat him. It was as if they knew who they were looking for and went right to him.” He shook his head again and began to look around for a chair to sit down before he fell down. “They want him alive, Toby. God only knows what they are going to do with him.”

None of them seemed to notice that Joselyn’s eyes were open as she lay prone upon the bed. She had heard most of what Kenneth had said, her expression vacant and bordering on madness. She was so far beyond grief that she could not think coherently.

“He is Guardian Protector of Berwick,” Joselyn whispered, causing the three of them to look at her. But she continued to stare into space, unfocused and muttering. “He is a fine prize.”

Tate had become so fond of Joselyn that he had nearly forgotten she was the daughter of Alexander Seton, the man who had led Berwick’s defenses against Edward. Her entire relationship with Stephen had been based on war and conquest. At least, it had been once. Now it was quite different but the fact remained that she had been the enemy, once. He knelt down beside her and took her chin in his hand, gently, forcing her to look at him.

“What are they going to do to him, Joselyn?” he whispered earnestly. “What do you know?”

She fixed her pale blue eyes on him and he swore he saw grief and madness such as he had never witnessed with in the depths. “Know?” she repeated. “I do not know anything for certain. But Edward hanged my brothers in full view of my father. Many Scots witnessed this. Who is to say that they will not do the same to my sweet Stephen?”

“Or something worse.”

Joselyn’s hands flew to her head as if to hold her brains in. “Dear God,” she gasped in anguish. “My sweet angel. What have they done to you?”

Tate’s eyes lingered on her a moment before rising to stand. He looked at Kenneth. “Did you send word to Edward when you fled Berwick?” he asked quietly.

Kenneth was sick to his stomach by Joselyn’s reaction, by the emotion filling the room. “I sent six men south; two ride for Edward while the others ride for Derby and Chester,” he said. “Hugh de Ferrets can mobilize an army to Berwick in a week and d’Avranches can ride from Chester in about the same amount of time. Each man carries thousands. I have told them to summon their allies and make with all due haste for Berwick Castle.”

Tate nodded. Kenneth was efficient as always. But he wondered deep down if it would be too late. It had already been a few days since Berwick’s capture. Time, for Stephen, was surely running out. All of the armies in the world could not prevent the man from hanging if the Scots wished to make an example of him. Tate needed to do something and he needed to do it now. He couldn’t wait for armies to mobilize. He needed someone inside. Stephen needed the help of a Scot.

Slowly, he turned to Joselyn. She was lying on the bed as Toby stroked her long, dark hair. The woman was weeping deep, excruciating sobs, her agony finding release through her tears. It was painful to hear. He muttered to Kenneth.

“I have an idea,” he said.

Kenneth studied him with exhausted eyes. “What?”

Tate jerked his chin in Joselyn’s direction. “Her father led Berwick’s defenses against Edward,” he whispered. “Perhaps she would be willing to use that status.”

“And do what?”

“Infiltrate Berwick.” When he saw Kenneth’s dubious expression, he hardened. “Ken, this is a job for ten thousand men or just a few. An army is not enough yet too many. If the Scots have Stephen, he is in the vault while they decide what to do with him. He is indeed a prize and they will use that to their advantage. But if his wife can enter Berwick and negotiate for his release, as one of their own, it might work.”

Kenneth was trying hard to see his logic. “If anything happens to her, Stephen will kill us both. If he is dead, he will rise from the grave but if he is alive, he will tear Berwick apart just to get at us.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“She is not a soldier.”

The last two lines were choppy, overlapping, as each man stressed his point. Tate stared at Kenneth a moment before shaking his head. “If I had another choice, I would not use her. But if we want to see Stephen alive again, then I do not believe we have any other option. This is for her as much as it is for him.”

Kenneth looked at the woman, weeping on the bed, before emitting a heartfelt sigh. He shook his head. “I do not like any of this.”

“Nor do I. If I felt there was another way, then believe that I would take it.”

Kenneth finally nodded, sighing heavily. “What if we discover that Stephen is dead? Worse yet, what if they execute him in front of her just to make a point?”

Tate didn’t have an answer to that so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Then you will marry his widow.”

Kenneth stared at him for a long moment before rubbing his eyes wearily. He simply turned away, lacking the strength to argue. Tate, meanwhile, went to Joselyn, kneeling down beside her once again.

“Jo-Jo,” he said softly but urgently. “I am going to Stephen’s aid but I need your help. Will you help me?”

She opened her watery eyes, sniffling. “Of course I will,” she choked. “But what can I do?”

Tate didn’t look at his wife, afraid he would see her reaction to his next question and it would weaken his resolve. “Those are your people who hold him,” he said. “You must go and secure his release. Thousands of English could not accomplish what one Scotswoman can. You are Stephen’s best hope.”

Joselyn’s pale blue eyes widened and she sat bolt upright, looking at him with a cross between shock and excitement. “Me?

Tate nodded. “You know these people and they know you. As Alexander Seton’s daughter, your word would hold much weight.”

Joselyn gazed at him steadily, understanding what he was saying. But to her, there was more to it. “I would not hold as much weight as my father,” she said carefully, watching his expression shift. “If you release my father, I will convince him to plead for Stephen’s release.”

Tate’s expression hardened again. “The same father who sold you to pay his gambling debt? Stephen would never allow it and neither will I.”

Joselyn knew he spoke the truth. In fact, she was not sure she could convince her father to plead for the man’s release so she let the subject go. “Then what do you want me to do, Tate?” she half-asked, half-begged. “Please tell me and I will do it.”

Toby interjected; she couldn’t help it. “Tate, you cannot think to send her into the heart of a battle,” she was deeply distressed. “She is with child. The strain would be too much.”

Tate looked at her. “I seem to remember my pregnant wife helping me escape from Roger Mortimer,” he reminded her, smiling when she rolled her eyes in defeat. “Pregnancy has nothing to do with it. Heart has everything to do with it. And Lady Pembury has heart. She is stronger than we know.”

“And love,” Joselyn said softly, wiping the remaining tears from her face. “I would walk through fire and ice for Stephen in any case.”

Toby looked sick as she faced Joselyn, putting her soft hand on the woman’s arm. “I know,” she muttered. “Unfortunately, I know all too well. I have been in your position and I did exactly that.”

Tate was gazing warmly at his wife, memories of her sacrifice long ago filling him with respect and adoration. He kissed her cheek as he looked to Joselyn.

“You must be strong,” he told her. “Stephen deserves nothing less.”

Joselyn’s tears were nearly vanished now that she knew she would be doing something, anything, to help gain his release. Things didn’t seem so hopeless now. “I would die for him without reserve.”

The warmth in Tate’s eyes faded. “Let us hope it does not come to that.”

It was a good looking fortress if they did say so themselves.