Dragonblade Trilogy - 01 - Dragonblade (35 page)

She sniffled, wiping
her nose that was red with the cold. De Roche turned around at that point,
noticed her distressed expression, and reined his horse back towards the wagon.

The man was big and
ugly. Everything about him bled of evil. His muddy gaze moved between Toby and
Kenneth as flakes of snow adhered themselves to the dirty beard exposed on his
face.

“Is something amiss,
Lady de Lara?” he asked. “Do you require something?”

Toby didn’t like the
man; that much was plain.  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not from you.”

De Roche smiled, his
stained teeth ugly behind his thick lips. “Spoken like a true de Lara.  Pride
is never in short supply.”

Toby looked away from
him, having no desire to engage in any conversation.  But de Roche wasn’t
finished with her yet; he’d not had much contact with the lady for the fact
that she had been recuperating from cracked ribs. This was, in fact, the first
time he’d been near her since his return from chasing her husband from
Harbottle and he remembered what an exquisite woman she was from the day he had
seen her at Forestburn.  Aye, he remembered her well; he hadn’t known she was
de Lara’s wife at the time, which was a pity. He might have paid more attention
to her but he had been more concerned with capturing the young king at the
time. Lady de Lara had prevented him from doing so and he never forgot it. He
was a man with a grudge.

“Tell me something,
St. Héver,” he said casually, his gaze moving over their snowy and cold
surroundings. “Do you stay so close to the lady because it is your intention to
claim de Lara’s widow? I can hardly blame you; she is a pretty little thing.”

Toby’s head snapped to
the knight, her eyes wide. Before she could work up a righteous explosion,
Kenneth reached out to touch her arm. She looked at him, eyes welling and
accusing, but he shook his head at her calmly. She understood his silent
implication and she bit her lip, lowering her head.

“I stay close to the
lady to protect her from fools like you,” Kenneth said steadily. “And as much
as you would like to rattle her, you and I both know that Tate is alive and
well. Do not let your bitterness show because the man has once again evaded
you. He toys with you as a cat toys with a mouse.”

De Roche turned
towards Kenneth with a baleful eye. “I would not be so confident that de Lara
is still alive. He was crossing a bridge when I saw it collapse. He fell into
the frozen river and was swept away as I watched.”

Kenneth waited for
Toby to respond but, to her credit, she kept her head lowered.  The knight knew
that de Roche was trying to upset her and that fueled very uncharacteristic
anger within him. His jaw ticked faintly.

“You should hear how
we laugh at you, Hamlin,” Kenneth’s voice was seductive, gritty. “You have
provided us hours of entertainment.”

“It shall not last.”

“I beg to differ; this
mere woman bested you. Either that says a great deal for her skills or not very
much for your own. You are a pathetic excuse for a knight.”

“We shall see.”

“I anxiously await the
day.”

The air was crackling
with hazard. Toby’s head came up and her big eyes focused on Kenneth. The
knight, however, was wearing that oddly amused expression again, the same one
he had held when he had told her of all of the knights he had thrashed upon his
capture
.  He is enjoying this
, she thought.

“Do not provoke him,
Kenneth,” she whispered sternly. “You are not carrying any weapons.”

Kenneth glanced at her
before returning his attention to de Roche. “I do not need any weapons against
him,” he said loud enough for Hamlin to hear.

“My mother could best
you, St. Héver.”

“And your mother was a
tasty bit of flesh when I bedded her.”

De Roche suddenly
reined his horse around. With a roar, he charged at Kenneth but Toby suddenly
stood up to defend him, throwing herself in front of Kenneth. She was half way
across his lap when de Roche rushed at him, sword drawn. Only fast thinking by
Kenneth saved Toby from being gored; he very swiftly reined his horse around so
that his back was facing de Roche. The man’s broadsword glanced off of his
armor. But he was still furious and Kenneth was in a very bad position with
Toby lying across his lap.

Quickly, Kenneth
dropped Toby to the ground. She landed on her feet but stumbled backwards, her
balance off with the pain in her torso. Any movement was difficult.  As Toby
watched in horror, de Roche charged Kenneth again with his sword but Kenneth
managed to side step him, grabbing the hilt of the sword as de Roche’s horse
slipped in the snow. Suddenly, Kenneth had a weapon and he used the butt end to
smash de Roche on the back of the neck. De Roche started to go down, but not
before he unsheathed a dirk that was strapped against his leg. As he fell
forward, he shoved the dirk into Kenneth’s right thigh.

Toby screamed,
bringing the entire army to a halt. From his position far forward, Mortimer
began to charge back through the lines to see what the commotion was about.  By
the time he reached the middle of the column, Kenneth was dismounted and
preparing to drive the broadsword into de Roche’s chest. 

“Stop!” Mortimer
roared. “St. Héver, drop the sword or I will kill you where you stand.”

Toby rushed to
Kenneth’s side. “No, my lord,” she stood in front of Kenneth with her arms
spread as if to shield him. “He was only protecting me.”

Mortimer wasn’t
looking at her; he was still focused on Kenneth. “Drop the weapon, St. Héver. I
will not tell you again.”

Kenneth could see from
his peripheral that there were at least two crossbows trained on him, probably
more. The broadsword fell to the ground and he grasped the hilt of the dirk
protruding from his leg, ripping it free and tossing it away. Blood poured down
his leg as he stood there with Toby still in front of him. From the beginning
of the fight until this very moment, his stone-like expression of calm had
never changed.

Mortimer was still
glaring at him, though his distaste seemed to be more focused on de Roche at
the moment.  

“What started this?”
Mortimer demanded.

De Roche was picking
himself up off the ground. “A disagreement, my lord.”

“Obviously,” Mortimer snapped.
He eyed Kenneth, who kept his mouth shut, before looking to Toby.  “My lady?
Would you be truthful with me?”

Toby didn’t want to
get Kenneth in trouble. “I… I am not entirely sure, my lord,” she said. “I was
not paying attention to what was said.  But de Roche was the one to make the
first move.”

Roger cocked an
eyebrow at his knight. “Is this true?”

De Roche looked
defiant and ashamed at the same time. “Aye, my lord.”

Roger’s dark eyes
flashed and he leaned forward on his saddle. “You will cease this foolishness,
both of you,” he hissed. Then he looked at Toby. “My lady, since you are well
enough to defend your husband’s knight, then you are well enough to ride at the
head of the column with me.”

Toby shook her head.
“My lord, I assure you, I am not well enough in the least. I would prefer to
ride on the wagon.”

“You will ride with
me.”

“I want to stay with
Sir Kenneth.”

“I am not giving you a
choice.”

Toby gazed steadily at
the man, feeling her anger rise. “It is not your choice to give. I will choose
my own company and I choose to stay with Sir Kenneth. Go ride with your
retainers and soldiers for I want no part of you.”

Mortimer looked at de
Roche and tipped his head in the lady’s direction, a silent command for the
knight to force her into submission. De Roche moved towards Toby and Kenneth
suddenly came alive, striking the man in the jaw with his head-sized fist and
sending him reeling. Soldiers began to move towards Kenneth but Toby swooped
down and picked up the heavy broadsword, swinging it at two of the soldiers and
slicing through their tunics. She cut one man substantially in the stomach.
Kenneth saw what she was doing and, not wanting her to injure her ribs further
or find herself bound and gagged, took the broadsword away from her and tossed
it out of range. But de Roche had recovered from Kenneth’s strike and was
moving towards the man with a nasty-looking dirk.

“Cease!” Mortimer
roared.

De Roche came to a
halt, though it was evident that he wished to follow through with his attack
against Kenneth. Toby was plastered in front of Kenneth as if to protect the
man while he had her around the shoulders, intending to shove her out of the
way.  But Mortimer’s order brought the action to a grinding halt and all
parties concerned, including the men at arms, looked at Mortimer as if
expecting more sharp commands.  Roger, for his part, was finished with
pleasantries. His blood was beginning to boil at the very lovely, but very
disobedient, Lady de Lara and he intended to gain a handle on her before she
caused further chaos.

His dark brown eyes
focused on her. “Now,” he said, quietly now that the pandemonium had settled.
“If you disobey me again, no matter what the issue, St. Héver will receive your
punishment.  If you so much as refuse a request, I will take it out on St.
Héver’s hide. Any infraction by you will result in severe punishment to him. Am
I making myself clear?”

Toby’s face was dark. 
“You bastard,” she hissed. “How dare you threaten me.”

Mortimer didn’t reply;
he nodded his head to one of the men at arms standing behind Toby and Kenneth.
The man produced a sword and smashed the butt end of it across the back of
Kenneth’s neck. The man went down, taking Toby with him. As Toby screamed, de
Roche swooped down and pulled her free. He wrestled her all the way over to
where Mortimer sat astride his big warmblood. Toby fought like a wildcat.

“That is only a
foretaste, my lady,” Roger told her as she struggled against de Roche. “If you
continue to fight, I will see to it that St. Héver is quite incapacitated.”

Furious, terrified and
bordering on tears, Toby looked over at Kenneth as he struggled to pick himself
off the ground.

“You are a beast,” she
growled before she could stop herself. “You are the most hateful beast that….”

Another queue from Mortimer
had the men at arms kicking Kenneth savagely as he lay on the ground. Toby knew
that, this time, her opinions and fearless tongue would not be forgiven.
Mortimer had shown her twice. She stopped struggling and looked up at him,
tears on her cheeks.

“All right,” she said
quickly. “Please stop. Do not hurt him anymore. I will be cooperative, I swear
it.”

Roger lifted his hand
and the kicking immediately stopped. He smiled thinly at Toby. “Very good, my
lady,” he said.  “As I said, now that you are feeling better, I should like
your company as we ride.  Hamlin, find her a palfrey.”

De Roche let her go
and Toby instinctively moved towards Kenneth to help the man. But Roger stopped
her.

“Nay, my lady,” he
said almost casually. “You will not go to him. You will come with me.”

Toby could see that
Kenneth was struggling to push himself up off the ground.  Even though he was
in armor, he had been pummeled mostly in the head because his helm had come
off. His lips were bloodied and there was blood coursing out of his nose.  But
his ice-blue eyes were open, looking at her.

“I am well enough, my
lady,” he told her so that she would not disobey again; he wasn’t concerned for
himself but, at some point, they were going to start punishing her and he was
fearful for that moment. “Go along. I will be all right.”

Toby’s face screwed
into unhappy tears. “I am sorry,” she mouthed to him.

He winked a bloodied
eye at her, propping himself up on his left elbow.  “Run along. I will see you
later.”

Wiping furiously at
her eyes, she turned for Mortimer, who dismounted his steed.  He held out a
hand to her and without looking at him, she took it. Together, Toby and
Mortimer walked towards the front of the column, awaiting the palfrey that de
Roche was preparing.

Kenneth watched her
go, the smile fading from his lips.
God help her
, he thought.

***

February had been a
brutal month of heavy winter weather. Tate, Stephen, Wallace, Edward and a
thousand troops had made the trip from Cumbria to London in just over two
weeks. Tate had taken five hundred men from Carlisle and another five hundred
split between his castles of Whitehaven and Grayson. It was an impressive
sight, the Earl of Carlisle moving a thousand men down the throat of England
and into London. But Tate had a purpose and had all intention to show his
power. And there was still more to come; like a man possessed, he knew no
boundaries.

The night before they
arrived in London, they camped on the outskirts of the town in a giant
encampment with great bonfires that lit up the sky. It had snowed for a week
before their arrival to the area and the land was blanketed in white. But this
night was clear and a full moon shone bright upon them, creating a silvery-gray
landscape. Tate and his men sat outside his tent, spread around an enormous
fire and eating one of the black and white cattle they had brought with them
from Whitehaven. The air was full of the smell of roast beef and Edward was so
full that he had promptly passed out before the flames.