The Fallen One (32 page)

    
By this time, Cathlina
had turned around and was looking at her father with some fear.
 
He caught her expression, immediately
thinking of the grandchild she carried. Nay, he could not risk her.
 
He could not risk any of them.
 
His instincts told him to get to Carlisle
Castle for safety but he wouldn’t go with his instincts. He would remain at
Kirklinton because he couldn’t chance getting caught on the open road.
 
Resigned, he was reluctant to agree.

    
“Then I shall do
that,” he said. “Who is in charge at Carlisle?”

    
“Sir Kenneth St. Hèver
has come home with Justus de Reyne’s body.
 
He is in charge of Carlisle’s defenses until the earl returns.”

    
St. Hèver was a superb
military commander; Saer knew that from his days fighting with the young
king.
 
Nodding curtly, he waved the
sergeant on.

    
“Tell St. Hèver we
shall hold tight here,” he said. “I will await word from Carlisle when the
threat has passed.”

    
 
The sergeant saluted smartly and turned on his
heel, taking the other Carlisle soldiers as with him.
 
As he went, Cathlina went to stand next to
her father, watching the party from Carlisle mount their horses and
depart.
 
She lifted a hand, shading her
eyes from the sun as she watched them fade in the distance.
 
Once they were gone, she looked up at her father.

    
“Are you concerned?”
she asked him.

    
He was but he didn’t
want to tell her that. It would only upset her. Forcing a smile, he put his arm
around her shoulders and gave her squeeze.

    
“Nay,” he said,
brushing off the suggestion.
 
“The Scots
always bypass Kirklinton in favor of attacking the larger target of Carlisle.
But just to be safe, we will lock ourselves up tightly until the earl tells us
the threat has passed.”

    
Cathlina began a slow
trek back across the bailey, thinking of Justus and feeling very saddened over
his death.
 
The sergeant said that he had
succumbed to a wound from a previous battle; it must have been the axe wound to
the chest.
 
Perhaps it had become
infected. Whatever the case, his body had given out and now he was dead.
  
Her heart truly ached for the old man she had
become so fond of. She was sure Mathias and Sebastian were deeply grieved.

    
As she thought on
Justus, she could hear her father in the gatehouse, shouting orders to the
soldiers to secure everything tightly. So much for her journey with Abechail to
see the flowers; she had a feeling it would be a very long time before they
were allowed out of the castle.
 
But her
husband was alive and well, and that was all she truly cared about. She was
deeply grateful.

    
The keep loomed before
her and as she headed into the big stone structure, she thought of all of the
things she could do for the day to keep busy.
 
She was looking forward to some pleasant time with her sisters and
mother as she awaited Mathias’ return.
 
They had sewing and other things to occupy
their time; aye, it would be time well spent.

    
She had no idea that in
a very short while, boredom would be the least of her worries.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

    
“I am sure, given your
role in de Beaumont’s victory at Dupplin Moor, that the king will restore
everything to you and then some,” Tate said, his mouth full of well-cooked
mutton. “You have earned it and I will vouch for the fact. If I have not said
this before, then I will say it was a pleasure to see you in action once again,
Mat. I have missed you.”

    
Seated around a fire
in the midst of the southern Scottish moors, Mathias, too, was stuffing himself
with mutton.
 
They had two of the big
beasts roasting on an open pit, sending succulent-smelly greasy smoke into the
night air.
 

It was two weeks after the victory of
Dupplin Moor and finally, they were returning to England.
 
Mathias had voiced his thoughts on whether or
not Edward would be receptive to allowing him to resuming his knighthood for
good and Tate had responded.
 
In fact,
Pembury, de Lara, and even Sebastian seemed to think it was a certainty that
the Westbury barony would once again be Mathias’ before the year was out.

    
“As I have missed you
and the smell of battle in the air,” Mathias said humbly. “Let us home that the
king is receptive to my petition to regain my honor, for I truly do not know
what else I can do to prove my worth and loyalty to the king if my showing at
Dupplin is not enough.”

    
“There is nothing more
to do. You have done more than any one man should be expected to.
 
You have once again proved your superiority
as a knight and as a tactician.
 
Edward
will gladly welcome your fealty.”

    
Mathias was hopeful
but tried to keep it contained. “I hope he will. I will eagerly give it.”

    
Tate nodded as he shoved
more meat into his mouth; it was the first time they had stopped in two days,
following the trail of Scots heading south.
 
Word had come a week prior when they were in Scone with de Beaumont,
tying up the loose ends from the battle of Dupplin Moor, that an army of Scots
led by the Earl of Mar were heading south into Carlisle lands.
 
Tate had promptly rounded up his men and,
with nine hundred additional men from de Beaumont including an entire fleet of
longbow archers, quickly headed south.
 

    
Scouts had brought
back regular reports as they had thundered south; first, they had been four
days behind the Scots army, then it was three, and then it was two. But now,
they were still a day behind and the Scots army had crossed the border into
England.
 
Carlisle was a mere day’s ride
from the border, shorter if the ride was swift.
 
No one wanted to mention the fact that there was no way to catch the
Scots; they would reach Carlisle before the de Lara army did.
 
No one wanted to send the earl or Mathias
into a state of panic with their wives and children bottled up in a castle
under siege.
 

    
Therefore, Sebastian
and Stephen drove the army like slave masters, hardly stopping to rest or
eat.
 
Tonight was a rare occurrence
because the men had been on the road for almost a week without stopping more
than a couple of hours to rest.
 
Even
now, they knew that this rest would be short also; they would eat, they would
try to catch was rest they could, and then they would continue.

    
Mathias could hardly
eat even though he knew he should.
 
The
battle, the campaign, and his father’s passing had taken away his appetite and
tried to take away his spirit.
 
Sebastian
had taken Justus’ death even harder and was more brusque and violent than
usual.
 
He had been positively fearsome in
battle.
 
The man had no idea how to deal
with his feelings but when he and Mathias were alone, he would speak of his
grief as if it was of little consequence.
 
Mathias wouldn’t speak of his at all.
 
Together, they were trying very hard to deal with something that was
greatly impacting their lives and neither one was sure how to soldier on
without their father. It was an impossible concept.

    
Meanwhile, Mathias was
also dealing with his performance at Dupplin Moor and the Scot’s army heading
towards Carlisle where he had sent his wife to safety.
 
That, more than anything, was fracturing his
control.
 
The calm and consummate
commander was sometimes as brusque and brittle as Sebastian, which was
unusual.
 
Several times he had asked to ride
ahead to Carlisle Castle but Tate had held him back, sending Kenneth
instead.
 
He wanted someone there without
an emotional investment in the place, someone who would hopefully make
decisions based on reason and not emotion.
 
Even so, Mathias and Tate were following Kenneth’s trail to Carlisle at
a maddening pace.
 
The sense of urgency
filled the very air they breathed.

    
After supper on this
warm august night, Mathias found himself lying down on his bedroll, gazing up
at the blanket of stars across the night sky.
 
He could see Cathlina’s face in the diamond night, the glistening of her
brown eyes in every twinkle of the stars. As he lay there thinking about the
texture of his wife’s skin, something hit the ground beside him and he looked
over to see Sebastian flat on his back, staring up at the night sky.
 
Mathias returned his attention to the stars.

    
“All will be well, you
know,” Sebastian said after a moment. “Even if the Scots make it to Carlisle
Castle before us, we are not far behind them.
 
They will barely have time to lay in an attack before we box them in
against Carlisle’s walls and destroy them.”

    
“Mayhap.”

    
“It is true. You know
it is true.”

    
Mathias sighed
faintly, folding a big arm behind his head as he watched the night sky.
 
Thoughts other than his wife began to populate
his mind now that he was thinking about Carlisle and the battle that lay ahead.

“It was so easy,” he murmured, “so very
easy to think logically at Dupplin.
 
It
was so simple to see how overwhelmed we were by the superior Scots forces and
to know that the only way to defeat them, or at least gain the upper hand, was
a surprise attack.
 
So we swept over
their camp in the night when they were sleeping and decimated their ranks.
  
But when the battle continued in the morning
and were able to use the terrain and the archers to our advantage, everything
happened as it should.
 
It was as if God
was on our side and victory was assured. But now, with renegade Scots preparing
to close in on Carlisle where Cathlina is, I cannot help feeling foolish, as if
I scattered them to her doorstep.
 
I feel
as if I have failed her because the very reason I sent her to Carlisle in the
first place was for her safety.
 
Now see
what has happened.”

    
By this time,
Sebastian was propped up on one elbow in the grass, watching his brother beat
himself up over something he had no control over.
 
He hastened to reassure the man.

    
“You established the
criteria for battle that will be utilized for years to come,” he insisted. “You
were brilliant in positioning our army and using the longbows against the Scots
foot infantry with their spears.
  
As
fast as our archers could reload on the slopes, that is how fast they killed
the Scots infantry downslope as they tried to reach us.
 
God knows how many English lives you saved,
Mathias. The fact that the Scots army broke apart and fled is a testament to
your brilliance, but you could not have known in which direction they were
fleeing or what target they had in mind.”

    
Mathias sighed
faintly. “I will not receive the credit for this battle,” he said softly.
“Henry de Beaumont will chronicled as the mastermind behind the victory, and I
am accepting of that.
 
Had we fallen, he
would have been chronicled as the defeated.
 
In any case, I am no longer concerned with Dupplin Moor or the
long-reaching implications of the battle. I am only concerned with reaching
Carlisle and my wife.”

    
Sebastian lay back
down in the grass and gazed up at the stars. “Father was proud of you, you
know,” he muttered. “He knew what you had done.
 
He went to his grave proud of you.”

    
“Proud of
us
,” Mathias corrected. “He was proud of
us
.
 
I will admit that it was difficult to face battle without him. It is the
first battle I have ever fought without my father by my side.”

    
“For me, as well,”
Sebastian said. Then he pointed to the sky. “But he is up there, watching over
us.
 
He is with Mother, and that is where
he has wanted to be all along. I do not grieve for him because he is finally at
peace with her.”

    
Mathias rolled his
head over, looking at his brother as the man stared up at the sky. “That is a
very astute thing to say, little brother,” he said. “But we still have each
other, and I have Cathlina. We will still make a fine, strong family.”

    
Sebastian snorted. “I
suppose I must find a wife now.
 
You
married the only woman I had ever had an eye on.”

    
Mathias sat up in a
huff. “God’s Bones, Sebastian,” he gruffed as he rose to his feet. “You have
had your eye on innumerable women in my lifetime.
 
Cathlina has a sister, you know. Mayhap you
should focus your attention on her.”

    
Sebastian looked up at
his brother with interest. “Which sister? Isn’t the younger one ill?”

    
“She has an older
sister, Roxane,” he said. “She is the one Cathlina fights with.”

    
Sebastian grinned. “So
the sister has spirit? I like that. Aye, mayhap I will give her a second look
when we arrive at Carlisle.”

    
“Then let us get the
men roused so we can move within the hour.”

    
Sebastian bolted to
his feet with the lure of a woman dangling before him.
 
The sooner they get to Carlisle, the sooner
he could get an eyeful of the Lady Roxane de Lara.
 
As Mathias rolled up his bedroll and began
heading to the corral where the chargers were tethered in the thick green
grass, he began to hear the shouts of sentries.
 
Immediately, the bedroll hit the ground and both he and Sebastian had
their broadswords readied as they jogged across the encampment, heading in the
direction of the alerts.
 
By the time
they reached the source, Tate and Stephen were already interrogating the man
who had breached their boundaries.
 
Mathias moved closer and saw that it was one of their scouts.

    
“I barely escaped, my
lord,” the man was telling Tate. “They saw the patrol and set after us.
 
I was fortunate to have reached you.”

    
Tate’s features were
grim. “Tell me what you saw.”

    
The scout took a few
deep breaths and then downed a cup of wine handed to him by another
soldier.
 
He wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand before replying.

    
“Our patrol crossed
into Longtown, north of Carlisle, when the tracks of the Scot army veered off
to the southeast,” he said. “We followed and saw that they had closed in on
your garrison at Kirklinton Castle.
 
But
it seemed to me as if it was not the entire army so I sent two men to Carlisle
Castle and they came back to tell me that the castle was under threat by a substantial
army of Scots.
 
It would seem they split
their forces and were raiding both castles, my lord.”

    
Tate was trying not to
look too worried. “What else did you see? Were the castles holding?”

    
The scout nodded.
“They were, my lord. It appeared to me that the Scots were only just starting
to dig in. They were building ladders. It did not seem as if any real battle
had
 
yet begun.”

    
“How long ago was
this?”

    
“At least a day, my
lord.”

    
“Twelve hours?”

    
“Or more, my lord. I
am not entirely sure how long I have been running because I had to make a few
detours in order to lose my pursuers.”

    
Tate saw Mathias’ face
in the darkness and their eyes met, locked on each other, and silent thoughts
began to pass between them.
 
The siege of
both castles was unexpected and wholly disheartening.
 
Tate finally motioned to Stephen and
Sebastian, who moved back through the encampment shouting for men to pack their
belongings and prepare to depart. As the army began to stir, moving to carry
out the orders, Tate moved to Mathias.