Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (15 page)

Ailsa stuck her lip
out but obediently lay back down. When all was still and quiet in the room and
Ailsa stopped fidgeting, Tate’s pure baritone filled the stale air as gently as
the brush of a butterfly’s wing.

         
To the
sky, my sweet babe,

                          The
night is alive, my sweet babe.

Your dreams are filled
with raindrops from heaven;

                                          Sleep,
my sweet babe, and cry no more

The words faded and he
began to hum the tune, his lips against Toby’s head and his arms tightly about
her. He swore he felt her snuggle against him, sighing contentedly with
slumber, and Ailsa wrapped a little hand around his enormous fingers as she
drifted off to sleep. When he should have been seeing to his men and the threat
of Mortimer’s assassins, he found himself content to daydream away the morning
with Toby and her little sister.

It was a joy he had
been denied once, those years ago when his wife and child perished in
childbirth. He would not be denied it again.

CHAPTER SIX

The room was dark with
dusk as soft sounds from the bailey wafted in through the lancet window. The
old door to the chamber creaked open and someone entered the room quietly. Tate
wasn’t asleep; he’d heard the door open even though his back was to it.  And he
recognized Stephen’s footfalls by the hollow sound of the boot.

“What is it?” he asked
softly, his mouth muffled against Toby’s head.

“Our sentries have
seen movement about a half mile to the south,” Stephen whispered. “You are
needed, my lord.”

Tate looked up over
his shoulder, seeing Stephen’s face looming in the dim room. “Is the fortress
locked down?”

“Wallace has it sealed
up tightly.”

“Then I shall be down
in a moment.  You and Kenneth assemble in the solar and wait for me.”

There was something in
Stephen’s lingering gaze that peaked Tate’s curiosity. It was no more than a
flicker before he turned away to do his liege’s bidding, but in that flicker
was something alien. Tate had known Stephen for years and wasn’t sure what he
just saw in the man’s reflection. But he made a mental note to ask him about it
later.

When the door to the
chamber shut softly, Tate tried to very carefully disengage himself from Toby
and Ailsa.  But Toby had a grip on his arm and Ailsa still held his hand. He
managed to get free of Ailsa but when it came to gently disengaging Toby’s
grasp, he woke her before he could complete the task. When she rolled onto her
back to look sleepily at him, he smiled.

“Go back to sleep,” he
whispered, placing her arm beneath the blanket and tucking it in around her. “I
will be back.”

She yawned. “Where are
you going?”

“Not far. I promise I
will return shortly.”

He gently touched her
forehead and moved away from the bed. But she reached out to grab his hand
before he could move away completely. There was a strange look of anxiety to
her eyes and he kissed the hand that held onto him.

“I shall return, I
promise,” he kissed her hand again and put it back under the blanket.  “Go back
to sleep.”

That seemed to satisfy
her and she drifted off again.  Quietly, Tate quit the chamber and went
downstairs.

Kenneth, Stephen,
Edward and Wallace were in the solar when he arrived. The room was lit by a
bright fire, almost too hot in the small closeness of the room. Tate focused on
Stephen.

“What is our status?”
he asked.

“As I said, we have
tracked movement about a half mile to the south,” Stephen responded. “I have
sent out a small scout party. We should be receiving a report from them
shortly.”

Tate nodded, raking
his fingers through his dark hair and spying a pitcher and a few cups on a
table near the door. He went to it, pouring himself a cup of strong ale.

“Then we wait,” he
said as he lifted the cup to his lips. “I have no doubt who they are. The
question is how long it will take Mortimer to raise a large enough army to lay
siege to Harbottle.”

“Then we should
leave,” Edward said firmly. “We must get out of here.”

Tate cocked an eyebrow
at him. “And go where? I would suspect that there are far more of them than of
us. I fear they are heavily onto our scent, enough so they have had time to
gather reinforcements. I fear that if we leave the safety of Harbottle, it will
leave us open and vulnerable on the road.  We would do better to stay here
where we are safe for the moment.”

“Then send to Alnwick
for reinforcements,” Edward said with mounting irritation.

Tate’s gaze was
steady. “What makes you think that I have not already?” When Edward looked
surprised, Tate took another drink of ale and turned away, pacing casually
towards the windows. “When Stephen returned to Harbottle three days ago to
gather more troops, he sent additional dispatches to reinforce Harbottle. I
requested four hundred men from Alwick, but I also sent a request to John de
Clavering of Warkworth Castle. We should be seeing either army any day now.”

The young king was
embarrassed that he had challenged him. Tate was wise in all things and he
should have trusted him. As Edward hung his young and agitated head, Stephen
moved to take his own cup of ale.  Kenneth moved up on the other side of him
and the three of them began to make short work of the alcohol.

“I doubt the movement
we saw to the south was Warkworth’s men,” Stephen said, cup in hand. “They
would not be skulking just inside the tree line.”

Kenneth took a long
drink and poured himself more. “I am concerned that it is an advance party for
Mortimer. The man is heavily allied with the Howards of Cumbria and we could
very well be facing an approach from Howard’s army from the west and
Warkworth’s from the east.  We would be caught in the crossfire.”

Tate looked at
Kenneth, the quieter of his companions but definitely the more cunning. “What
would you suggest?”

Kenneth looked at him
with his ice-blue eyes. “Remove Edward from this place. Return him to London
and put him under the protection of the Crown troops.”

“Mortimer is at
Windsor.”

“But he is not at the
Tower; the Tower is still held for the king. That was our original destination
once we raised funds for the king’s cause, was it not?”

Tate nodded slowly,
thoughtfully. “And I am not varying from our plans. But with Mortimer so close
on our scent over the past two days, I am very concerned about moving Edward on
the open road. If we are caught.…”

Kenneth lifted his
hand in agreement, turning back to his ale. “I know,” he muttered, taking
another drink. “They will take Edward and kill us. Although I do not
particularly relish the thought of my own death, I do not relish the thought of
Edward’s more.”

“He is safer here at
Harbottle than anywhere else until Warkworth or troops from Alnwick arrive.”

“Agreed.”

Stephen had been
listening to their conversation.  “What if neither castle received our
missive?” he asked quietly. “Mortimer’s men were closer than we realized when
we sent messengers. What if they were captured?”

Tate’s gaze moved to
the tall, thin youth who was now gazing into the fire. “We will know in a day
or two if troops do not arrive,” he said quietly. “Then we will have to rethink
our strategy.”

The knights stood
silently a moment, drinking their ale, pondering the course of the next two
days. Tate finally broke from the pack and went to Wallace, standing near a
lancet window and watching the activity in the bailey. It was developing into a
quiet dusk, the sounds of night birds singing in the distance.

“Given the men we
currently hold, how long can the castle withstand a siege?” Tate asked the old
man.

Wallace looked thoughtful.
“It would depend on the size of the attacking force.”

“You know the size of
the attacking force.”

The old man grunted.
“A month at most.”  He turned to Tate. “My lord, if you are going to remove the
young king, then it must be now. You cannot delay.”

“I have no plans to
remove him.”

Wallace shook his head
in disagreement. “Give him to me,” he said with quiet urgency. “I can spirit
him to Scotland. My cousin is a monk at Kelso Abbey.  Mortimer could not get
him there.”

Tate lifted an
eyebrow. “If the Scots did not get you first,” he slapped the man on the
shoulder. “A noble offering, but I believe his safety is best served here at
Harbottle.”

Wallace’s gaze moved
to the young king, standing near the flames, and then back to Tate. “Then what
of the womenfolk?” he asked pointedly. “Would you imprison them at a castle
under siege?”

Tate’s humor fled; the
mere thought of Toby being separated from him made his blood surge.  He knew
that Wallace was correct in his suggestion but he was having difficulty with the
rightness of it.

“They will be safer
here than back at Cartingdon or worse, out on the open road,” he said tersely.
“You have been trying to be rid of those women since they arrived. What is your
aversion to them?”

Wallace shook his
head. “No aversion, my lord. But Harbottle is a man’s fortress.  Women do not
belong here nor are they safe here.”

“Safe?” Tate’s
eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that soldiers
sometimes lack control. Being that there are no women at Harbottle, their
presence is something of an anomaly. They could easily make sport of one of
them.”

Tate’s eyes turned
stormy. “I will make this clear so that you, in turn, will make it clear to
every man at Harbottle. If either of those ladies are touched, molested or
otherwise annoyed in any way, my wrath upon the perpetrator shall be swift and
deadly. Is that in any way incomprehensible?”

Wallace watched Tate’s
expression as he spoke; the man meant every word he said. He shook his head
slowly. “It is quite clear, my lord.”

“Good. Then I suggest
you spread the word.”

“I will.  But I still
advocate that they be removed if there is to be a battle.”

“They will not be
removed. Be on your way.”

Wallace left the solar
without another word. Tate lingered on the doorway where the man had disappeared
for a moment, lost to his thoughts. He knew Wallace was more than likely
correct about Toby and Ailsa leaving Harbottle, but in truth, there was nowhere
for them to go. It was his way of rationalizing the fact that he did not want
Toby away from him. The more time passed, the more attached he was becoming to
her and he still wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. His emotions were
muddy, like waters that had been stirred and had not yet settled. He had to
wait for the silt to settle.

Night was upon them
and the sky was brilliant with its blanket of stars sweeping across the
heavens. It was a sharp contrast from the fog of the morning.  Those in the
solar had moved from war talk to small talk, imbibing more pitchers of ale as
the fire burned and smoke huddled against the ceiling. Smells of roasting meat
drifted in through the lancet windows and young Edward perpetually asserted how
hungry he was. Tate finally sent a servant for bread and cheese to keep the boy
happy as they ate and drank in comfortable conversation.

Kenneth had stopped
drinking some time ago and sat with a pumice stone and his sword, wetting the
stone and running it along the blade to sharpen it. He and Stephen were having
a disagreement about the country that produced the finest wines; Stephen was
sure it was Italy while Kenneth was an advocate of France. Tate sat with ale in
hand, grinning at their argument until Stephen rattled the hilt of Kenneth’s
sword and almost caused the man to lose a finger. Kenneth lashed out a massive
boot and kicked the chair legs out from underneath Stephen, sending the chair
to the floor. But Stephen was quick and managed to leap out of the chair before
it hit the ground. 

Stephen and Tate
roared with laughter; even Kenneth, who was not the laughing kind, snorted at
the fun.  When Stephen righted his chair, he managed to move it out of
Kenneth’s range and resume the conversation. But by then, food was being served
in the great hall and Wallace came to summon them.

Tate left Stephen,
Kenneth and Edward in the great hall as he mounted the stairs for the upper
chambers.  It was his intention to wake the ladies and escort them down to the
meal.  Quietly, he opened the chamber door, fully expecting to see that they
were both still in bed, and was that surprised when he realized they were both
very much awake.

Ailsa had a broom in
her hands that was as tall as she was, carefully sweeping the debris on the
floor into a pile. Toby was on her knees before the hearth, a flint stone in
hand as she attempted to light some kindling. When they heard the door open,
two sets of lovely eyes turned to look at Tate.