Knight Triumphant (24 page)

The castle hummed with activity. From her window high in the tower, she could see riders constantly coming and going. Masons worked on the walls; the merchants' stalls, deserted during the past days of sickness, began to bustle once again. Farm animals were herded through the courtyard to the kitchens, the best to be chosen as meals. Flocks of sheep entered into the walled area of the castle town at night, and were herded back out by day.

In the daylight hours, she constantly heard the clash of steel in the courtyard. She often watched as men practiced at arms, with swords, poles, axes, and maces. The smithy was enlarged as work was done to improve, create, and solder damaged mail. Looms wove, fabric was dyed; tinkers ventured near Langley more and more, bringing needles, thread, scissors, knives, and all manner of household objects.

She spent a great deal of time by the window, watching life go by. Every morning, the gates were opened, and the drawbridge was let down. As she studied the world around her, she began to note the patterns of life. Looking far out across the sloping field that led to the walls of Langley, she realized that at least three of the men who rode out each morning did so to guard the roads to the castle—north, east, and south. She became certain that someone would be posted along the long winding river to the west, watching for men who might arrive at a distance on ships, and try to move by night to take the castle by surprise.

She saw that defenses were being strengthened as well. Often, she would see Peter MacDonald in the courtyard with a crew of men, sawing and hammering. Eventually, she saw that he had created a number of small catapults, machines that could be used upon the parapets. His catapults apparently had a tremendous range, and could be used to fire upon whatever war machines might be brought against the castle. If filled with deadly fireballs, they could destroy a larger war machine and create havoc among the men manning it.

She saw Eric every day.

He didn't come near her door, speak to her, or acknowledge her existence in any way at all. She saw him because he worked endlessly in the courtyard. He was with Peter, studying every aspect of the war machines. He was with the men practicing weaponry, and they were well supplied, for Langley had been a rich holding, and before their destruction by disease and warfare with the Scots, the men here had been well armored and armed. Langley was an old fortification. The armory had, from the time the castle had been built, taken the first floor of the entire left wall of the tower itself. Though in general the English were well armed and the troops of Robert Bruce still all but naked, such was not the case here.

She read every book in the room, and there were many—beautiful volumes hand lettered by monks, many religious texts, and many entertaining ones—mythology, the lives of kings, the life of Charlemagne, and many more. She found that she was able to learn a great deal about arms and siege machines herself—Afton had acquired many such manuals, and she found that she had a growing interest in learning about arms.

Jennie came to see her with regularity, bringing clean sheets, wine, water, and news. But though she had always cared deeply about her maid and friend, she wasn't sure that it helped to see her. Jennie's bitterness ran deep, and every time she came, it was with anger. Argyle the smith had died, and there was a highlander working in his place. The kitchens were filled with the strangers. She didn't know any of the laundresses. And then, there was Rowenna, the girl with the terrible scar. She had the run of the castle, and was always about, looking into everything. She seemed to have some special favor with invaders, because not even old Garth questioned her work.

The worst of it was that
he
was there, night after night, lording it over the hall. And the hall was always filled. Someone had brought him three new deerhounds, and there were more and more great dogs in the hall. The men played their wretched pipes, and sometimes there was other entertainment. Jennie hated all of them with a vengeance, but most of all, Eric. She was outraged that they had forced Igrainia into a mock marriage, and though she intended to make Igrainia feel better, she usually managed to make her feel worse.

“Nothing real will come of it—the whole thing was to anger King Edward, and do you know why? He had no intention of exchanging one daughter of an earl for another, especially since the daughter he held was Robert Bruce's wife.” As she spoke, Jennie moved to the window. “You're lucky, at least, that he so dislikes you. That you are like a pretty bird in a cage. Every man has his breaking point, but I don't suppose he'll ever break on that . . . I don't think that he'll need to, not with the scarred girl around.”

“Rowenna is not an evil woman, Jennie. She warned me when I was going to be in danger.”

“She didn't warn you very well,” Jennie noted, “since you're here.”

“My situation is hardly her fault,” Igrainia said.

“I do my best to hear everything, and she is always about. ‘Will you have more ale, sir, is the meat sufficient, my lord, may I bring you anything . . . anything?' ”

“Jennie, you don't need to listen to everything.”

“If I didn't listen to everything, I wouldn't have been able to tell you that men had ridden out to make sure that word of the marriage reached Robert Bruce so that he would know his orders would be followed, just as men rode out to make sure that King Edward would hear the news.”

“It's my brother, Aidan, I worry about.”

Jennie sighed. “I've heard nothing about him, I'm so sorry. But I have told you that Robert Neville is in the company of an old Scottish baron, Lord Danby, a man who holds Cheffington Castle, and with him, he is raising a large troop of men. Sir Robert will rescue you, and then you can be married to him, and he'll hold this castle and it will be as it was before.”

“Jennie, I don't wish to marry Robert, and nothing will ever be as it was before.”

“You've given up. You mustn't ever give up.”

“I haven't given up, Jennie. But Afton is gone, and I don't care to marry again, and my life will never be the same.” She didn't bother to say that she did not see what would happen if a bloody battle came to their doorstep, or the death that would ensue if they were besieged.

“But it will. You'll see. Edward is not the ‘Hammer of the Scots' without good reason!”

Always, after assuring Igrainia that English troops would come and smash the invaders into the dirt, she would leave.

She never stayed too long, as both women were afraid that her visits would be stopped, if it seemed they might be plotting in any way.

Igrainia did plot, but by herself in the hours that weighed so heavily upon her. She couldn't escape by the tunnel; it had been closed over. There was no other way out of the castle, unless she could scale walls or find a way to depart when the drawbridge was lowered. Unless, of course, she could reach the parapets of the outer walls and risk a death-defying leap into the moat. That was out of the question, of course. Confined to her room, she couldn't even reach the parapets.

Rowenna came often as well, bringing flowers, and trying to be pleasant and sweet. Igrainia found that she had acquired a wariness about the young woman she had liked so much, and though she was pleasant and polite, she was cool, and Rowenna sensed it. Still she came, bearing her tokens to brighten the room, and Igrainia's world.

On Sunday, she left her room to attend mass, escorted by Jarrett and Jamie. Both were charming and pleasant, telling her they wished she would join them in the hall at night.

When they reached the chapel, Eric was already there. Tall, straight, his mantle flowing from his shoulders, his brilliant hair gold and crimson in the light that splashed through a stained glass window, he was the image of the lord of the castle.

Igrainia was dismayed to realize that she was being led to the front pew to take her place beside him. She slowed her walk, managing to come behind Jamie, but at the pew, Jamie slipped back again, bowing to allow her access to walk in. She was wedged between him and Eric as others filed in.

Eric barely acknowledged her presence until they were all on their knees, heads bowed in prayer. As the Latin mass went on, she opened her eyes, and realized that he was watching her. There was a curious expression in his eyes.

She closed her own again, and lowered her head over her folded hands.

“Praying for my quick demise?” he whispered.

“Indeed. Don't interrupt me.”

He didn't. But when the service was over and she turned to escape the pew, she found that he had taken her arm.

“Are you interested in a ride, my lady?”

“A ride?”

“A ride. On a horse.”

“Where?” she asked warily.

“Across the fields. And back. Nothing more.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm assuming you must be ready to go mad.”

She hesitated, still cautious. “You will let me go riding?”

“I'm afraid I'll be with you.”

“And who else?”

“The two of us,” he said impatiently. “I can spare some time. If you'd like to spend some hours in the sunlight, I will accompany you.”

She shook her head slowly. “I'm afraid that you could not bear that much time in my presence.”

“As you wish.”

He started to walk past her. She thought about the feel of the wind in her face and the power of a horse beneath her.

“Wait!”

He turned back.

“What if I were to race away?”

“You would never escape me. And I believe you know it.”

“I could still try.”

“But you wouldn't like the outcome. You wouldn't like it at all.”

There was no threat in his words. Not even a warning. He was simply stating fact.

“I . . . yes.”

In the courtyard, she found that Gregory was waiting. He had Loki and the dapple gray mare saddled and waiting.

She greeted Gregory with pleasure, touching his cheek. He offered her his warm, silent smile.

The gates had already been opened, the drawbridge down. She didn't wait for Eric to mount after she had done so, but loped gleefully through the courtyard, and listened to the clopping sound as she rode over the bridge. She knew he was behind her.

Upon the distant hills, she could see the men guarding the approaches to the castle.

She leaned against the mare, wanting to fly.

They rode, and rode. She knew that he was at her side every moment, and she didn't care, it simply felt too good to be out. The wind was sweeter than she had remembered. The sun was brighter, the summer grass greener.

She forgot time, until she heard his voice, calling out to her, “Stop ahead, there's a little brook in the trees. The horses need water.”

She reined in. If she didn't, he would urge his great warhorse harder, catch up with her, bring her to the ground, destroy her clothing, and her dignity.

She dismounted, leading the horse to water. He came beside her, leading his own horse.

“Tell me, Eric, when you're in church, do you pray?”

“What a curious question,” he said, eyeing her.

“Not at all. You call your horse Loki, in honor of the old Norse gods. You told me yourself you were half berserker. So, when you're on your knees, do you pray? Or is it all for show?”

“Of course I pray.”

“For what?”

“I ask God not to answer your prayers regarding my quick and painful death.”

She was startled to feel a smile curving her lips, and she lowered her head quickly.

“You'll be happy to know, though, that I think He is favoring you.”

She looked at him sharply. “Oh?”

“I ride out tomorrow. There will be a skirmish, maybe a battle. There are bands of men about the country, joining together, as word has it that the king has left his sick bed to lead the army. It will still take some time for him to have this new enterprise under way, but at every new call to arms, men gather in troops again. Even a king such as Edward has only so much of a standing army. A man's feudal service is prescribed by law, so it is only the high ranking lords, eager for service and the king's favor, who leave their own estates in the hands of others to fight continually. Or men like Thayer, who have nothing, except what they can gain in battle. That is why, no matter how many years it takes, Robert Bruce will eventually win his freedom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, the clansman raising his sheep, the farmer whose life is his crops—all will fight, because it is their sheep and their crops they're fighting for, while to many in Edward's service, they are fighting to subjugate a foreign people. We're willing to risk everything, because we've everything at stake. If you were to return to London, my lady, you wouldn't be touched by this war.”

“I wish I'd never seen any of it.”

He studied her curiously. “Indeed. You seem to have no really passionate opinion regarding the fight that goes on and on. You're quick to point out King Edward's position and Robert Bruce's different loyalties over the years. But I've never heard you say that in the eyes of God, Edward is right, that the savage, barbaric Scots should kneel down to him in gratitude, and obey.”

“My opinion of war is that it is bloody and cruel and steals the lives of innocents as well as the men determined on combat.”

“Yes, that is a fact of war in general. But what is your opinion regarding this one?”

She hesitated. “I'm English. What opinion would you have me have?”

“A thought of your own.”

“You seem to have known a great deal about my life from the time you first arrived here. I was in Scotland less than a year before your troops were brought in. I grew up in London, where Edward is greatly admired as a strong and powerful king. The country is respected by others because of his power. He is interested in the law, he is brilliant, he has been a good ruler.”