Ruth A. Casie (6 page)

“You needn’t worry.” She gently placed her hand on his arm.

“Ah Gareth, Lisbeth.”

She spun to see Alex striding toward them. A soldier entered the hall and approached them.

“Excuse me, m’lord, Gareth.”

“Yes?”

While the soldier addressed the two men, she noticed how at ease Gareth appeared with the new lord. The old soldier was a good judge of character. It was a good sign that he had accepted Alex.

“What do you mean they won’t come to the castle? I ordered them here.” Alex raked his hand through his hair.

“Some farmers are not finished with their harvest. Our men help but there is still much to do,” the soldier reported.

“They’ll be lucky if they finish their harvest and still have their lives.” His tone was riddled with impatience. “Get more men to the farms. Reassign the troops when they return. I know we’re spread thin.”

“Yes, m’lord.” The soldier saluted and turned to leave.

“Wait. Take some of the farmers who arrived today and have them help. Their skill may prove the difference in getting the harvest in quickly. With all the people here, every grain will be precious.”

“We’ll see to it, m’lord. If there’s nothing else?”

Gareth leveled a warm smile at Lisbeth. “It’s good to have you home Lady Lisbeth.” He nodded to Alex and withdrew with the other soldier in tow.

Alex led her to the dais and sat her next to him. Her chest swelled with pride when the Glen Kirk men quietly took their seats.

Alex picked up his tankard. “Boy,” he called. “I’m forever calling for someone to fill my tankard. Bring me ale,” he said to a nearby page.

The lad ran out and bumped into a stout man who was entering the Hall.

“Here now, take heed where you’re going or there’ll be no dinner for anyone.” The stew sloshed in the large pot, sending a large dollop onto the musty rushes on the floor. The cook, pot and ladle in hand, approached the dais and spooned salt pork and beans into the coarse barley bread trenchers.

Lisbeth looked at the food that swam in a pool of greasy soup. The aroma of onions promised a hearty meal but the dish lacked any of the fine herbs from the kitchen garden. The sound of the men eating, not grumbling about the meal, told her they had accepted this fare. She tentatively tasted a piece of meat. Her mouth puckered from the overabundance of salt. The beans, when she built up the courage to taste them, were gritty.

Ale flowed generously. Something had to quench the thirst created by the salty food. The loud voices and commotion made her think she dined in a barracks rather than the Great Hall of a fine lord. She felt adrift in the familiar surroundings. She forced herself to remember—Glen Kirk was his now.

“Bryce, Ramon, welcome.” Alex shouted across the room. “Come. Join us.” Alex indicated seats to his left.

“I didn’t know you entertained a guest, Alex, or is it a celebration?” Bryce’s father, Ramon Mitchell, nodded to Lisbeth.

“Lady Lisbeth’s come back to Glen Kirk.” Alex’s jaw tensed visibly. Bryce shrugged his shoulders in reply.

The page, Peter, returned and filled Alex’s empty tankard.

Lisbeth stopped, her spoon in midair. “Yes, I’ve returned. It is good to see you, Lord Mitchell.” She slipped the morsel into her mouth. This second mouthful didn’t taste any better than the first.

“Of course, Glen Kirk is her home.” Ramon turned to Alex. He held out his tankard silently demanding ale.

“I understand there was some mischief on our side of the border that included the big Scots,” said Bryce between sips.

Fear, stark and vivid, swept through her. Had Bryce seen Jamie when he was tracking the deer near Bryce’s farms? Bryce used any excuse to harass him. She steadied her thoughts. Panicking wouldn’t help. She worked to keep her face blank.

“No, Bryce. I assure you he wasn’t involved.”

“You know for certain?” asked Bryce. His words dripped with sarcasm.

“Yes I do. He spent the afternoon with me—at my invitation.”

“Well, if he was your guest then I suppose everything was as it should be.”

Duke’s growl drew her attention.

“Give me the bone, you beast.” A soldier tugged at the bone the dog had lifted from his plate.

“Go on, give the dog the bone. That will teach you to eat faster.” The men around him laughed.

The soldier let go of the bone and waved the dog away. Duke ambled over to the hearth, a triumphant swagger in his step and a prime bone in his grasp.

At the end of the low table, two men arm wrestled to the whoops and hollers of onlookers. An overwhelming sense of loss hit her. Nothing would ever be the same. Ever. And the fault was all hers.

Chapter Five

Robby and Gareth rushed into the castle library, the dust from their ride still clinging to their clothes.

“M’lord,” said Robby, Alex’s captain.

Alex shot him a concerned look. “Yes?” He lowered the paper in his hand.

“A raiding party attacked John’s son at his farm. He’s been badly hurt,” said Gareth.

Alex flexed his hands and fought to remain calm as curses fell from his mouth. He listened as his captains vied to give him information.

“We were on patrol, observed the fire and stopped to investigate,” said Gareth. “The boy said he wanted to get the last of his tools. When he got to the farm he found men rummaging through the barn.”

“Me and the others saw to the boy and put out the fire while Gareth took the patrol out on foot after the raiders,” said Robby.

“We lost them at the river,” finished Gareth.

“John’s farm is not far from our doors. How badly was the boy hurt?” Alex’s nostrils flared in fury.

“He was badly beaten and nearly unconscious. Lady Lisbeth is seeing to him now,” said Robby.

Alex crumpled the papers in his hand as anger shot through him. This was exactly what he’d feared. It was why he’d sent the order to move everyone to the castle for safety. He let out a breath. The ruling of this place had its challenges—he supposed it was to be expected. No. If he was honest, he’d expected to be hailed with cheer. He envisioned himself a hero bringing order to the chaos. He shook his head. He’d been so proud to have been awarded the castle he’d forgotten the first rule of leadership. Earn their respect. “Gareth, get a small detail. We’ll go after them.”

“Most of the men are still out moving people to the castle.”

Alex tensed. He was eager to take action. “Very well, see if you can find out who else has decided to go back to their farm and discourage them. Throw them in the dungeon if you have to.” His stabbed his fingers in the air, punctuating each word. “Wait here for reinforcements and follow as soon as you can.” He turned to Robby. “Gather whoever is available and come with me. I want to stop this now.”

Alex and a handful of men rode hard to John’s farm. All sorts of tortures crossed his mind, each one worse than the one before. He would make these raiders suffer. He and his men came to a small rise. He could see the smoke of the smoldering barn in the distance. When he realized how close it was to the lodge, relief washed over him that Lisbeth was protected.

Answers. Although revenge would be sweet, he needed answers first. He was a soldier, a leader. He cleared his mind of everything and focused on what had to be done. There would be time enough for handing out punishment. When they reached the farm, he brought his small band to a halt and dismounted.

“The boy was lucky we arrived when we did. The raiders torched the barn and were on their way to the house,” said Robby. “We found him in the barn, badly beaten and tied to one of the stalls.” The veteran soldier paled. “I couldn’t tell who it was, he was beaten so badly.”

The smell of burnt wood filled the air. It was so strong Alex could taste it. Grit caught on the light breeze flew into his eyes and made them tear. He marched to the barn. Before long, his soft black boots were covered in ash. Alex stood in the building and surveyed the damage. His eyes blazed. Distracted, he picked up a piece of charred tack. The leather crumbled at his touch. His hand fisted around the tack’s metal pieces. It was still warm. Anger rolled off him in waves and flashes of thunder sounded in his head. The metal bit into his palm. He didn’t deny his rage.

“The men salvaged anything they could.” Robby righted a fallen barrel, as if straightening the barn would matter.

“Good thinking.” Alex forced himself to relax his fist. The metal fell to the ground. He walked with his men to their horses. “We’ll leave the horses here with two men. The rest will come with me.” He shouldered his bow. “We’ll pick up their trail,” he said with quiet firmness. “Gareth said the tracks from the farm led to the stream. We’ll start there.”

They traveled to the stream. Their eyes scoured every inch of the trail.

“Here,” called out Alex, his voice filled with command. “They entered the stream here.” The footprints at the water’s edge were still clear. He scanned the far side of the riverbank. “They didn’t come out the other side. At least not there.” He motioned across the stream.

“Gareth searched downstream but he couldn’t pick up the trail,” said Robby.

From his vantage point Alex noticed a small clearing a few yards upriver. “Stay here.” He carefully waded across the rushing water. He searched the far riverbank as he sloshed on and made his way to the upstream clearing. “Here, bring the men. They’ve headed west across the hills.”

The soldiers waded across. The sound of the rushing river faded and was replaced with tranquil bird calls and the rustling of bushes the deeper they pushed into the forest. Each man stayed on high alert. The muddy tracks they followed showed signs of drying but were not hardened. A sure sign they were fresh. He hunted the intruders like the animals they were. He drove his men on, eager to bring this to a close. He tamed the fury that boiled just below the surface. No one attacked his land or his people.

The soft loam gave way to hard dry ground. Robby, on point, entered a small clearing and found the remnants of a camp. There was no fire. The men must be moving quickly. The soldiers fanned out through the area and inspected everything. They combed the perimeter for any indication which direction the men took. The forest didn’t give up any clues. Alex’s eyes swept the area. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. One direction tugged at him. “This way.” He led them northwest. He knew they were close.

He scouted ahead of his men, led by his intuition. The flat forest floor gave way to a sharp incline. The crest was not far ahead. He slowed and raised his hand behind him. His men stopped and waited.

A familiar sensation crept up his spine. Action. Answers. A wry smile settled on his face.

Alex moved his men up the steep grade and signaled them to remain low and out of sight. As he gained the crest he heard voices of men arguing. Silently he and his men scrambled over the edge and took up a position behind a fallen log. Beyond the makeshift barrier a dozen raiders rested on rocky outcroppings in the distance. One man, the leader he supposed, looked like he was giving instructions. Several others tossed a small bag of grain, his grain, between them like boys.

“Here, gimme that before you burst the sack and there’ll be nothing left.” The leader grabbed it from the men.

The men got up and started toward the other side of the outcropping. Alex glanced in the direction they were going and froze. The trail narrowed through the small pass and led to one place—Ravencroft. They were heading toward the Mitchell farms. A quick study of the field of attack and he came up with a strategy based on the elements of surprise and the contours of the terrain. For his plan to work he needed soldiers who were quiet and quick. He had only a few men but those with him were well trained.

He spoke in a whisper and pointed to the narrow passage between the rocks. “Take your position there but stay on the slope. I’ll remain here and drive them toward you.” The men started to leave. “And Robby.” His captain turned to face him. “I want one left alive.” Robby nodded. Each man backed down the hill and with stealth took his position.

He could easily pick off the attackers with a silent flight of arrows if he had additional archers. Nothing would please him more. But he quashed his desire for revenge. He needed to interrogate these men.

He waited until Robby signaled they were in place. Alex took his own position behind a tree, placed the tip of his weapon at his instep, and skillfully strung his bow. His men did the same from their vantage points. He rested his back against the tree and concentrated. Instinct told him when to move.

Alex rolled from his back around the tree until he stood next to it. His eyes focused on the leader. He drew the fetching across his lips to wet the feathers while he calculated his shot. He brought his bow alongside the trunk, nocked his arrow, and drew the feather to his ear. Steady. He took aim. The leaves rustled in the trees. He waited a moment for the errant breeze to die down. His aim on target, his fingers splayed out as he released his hold. The bowstring sang. The arrow flew straight and true. It hit its mark squarely in the thigh. His second arrow was already nocked and the feather at this cheek when his men let loose their bolts.

Chaos and screams erupted in the raider’s camp. Without one bow, they rushed for cover.

Alex, ready to let the next arrow fly, waited. He cast out his mind. Gareth and his men were close. With his next heartbeat the volley took flight. His arrow arched high in the air. The angle just right, the bolt honed in on its target. Curses exploded from the raiders as another sheet of arrows rained down on them.

Riders on horseback galloped through the pass. They routed Alex’s men. He quickly looked for a way to pull his men back but was caught by a wave of relief when he made out Bryce and Ramon at the head of a column.

He shouldered his bow, took out his sword, and advanced ready to join Bryce. He left the safety of the tree and gaped in startled confusion. A horseman bore down on him. It was one of Bryce’s men. How did the man not recognize him? The rider kept coming. Alex dropped the bow, planted his feet, and readied himself to deflect the man.

The horseman raised his sword, ready to strike. At the last moment Alex stepped in close. The rider tried to change his tactic. Instead the horse reared and threw the man to the ground. The horseless rider got up and ran at Alex. Curses fell from Alex’s mouth. Didn’t this man recognize him? In the distance Alex heard the war cry of his men. Gareth and his troop swept down the hill still some distance away.

He focused on the man in front of him. The soldier lunged at Alex and the deadly dance began. Their swords flashed in the sunlight.

“Fight,” the man shouted.

“It’s me—Lord Stelton. Hold up, man.” Alex fought defensively, but if the man didn’t stop soon he’d be forced to take action against him. The soldier pressed forward. Alex parried and backed away until the soldier drew first blood, slicing Alex’s forearm.

Enough. Alex advanced. He rained down blow after blow and punished the man with swift-targeted strikes. Alex kept his focus on the man’s eyes and knew the moment the assailant realized he was in trouble. Alex didn’t stop until his feet caught in his bow lying forgotten on the ground. He stumbled back and fell.

The soldier closed in ready with a killing blow but stopped—his sword arm raised. The man’s eyes were fixed on the engraved stone that hung around Alex’s neck. It had worked free from under Alex’s shirt.

Alex took advantage of the diversion and rolled out of danger. As Bryce rode by, he clobbered his man on the head with the flat of his sword. The soldier hit the ground hard, a dazed look on his face. Alex, his sword still in his hand, watched Bryce ride off.

Alex’s men regrouped around him. They reviewed the field. The fray had ended. Ramon and his men held the four remaining raiders. Separated from the others, the leader, Alex’s arrow still lodged in his thigh, stood alone with Bryce. The two were in a heated argument. Alex looked on from a distance. He recognized his friend’s cool detachment from the set of his shoulders and tilt of his head. He knew that look. It did not bode well for the raider. But Bryce was a good interrogator. At last, they would have answers.

With a smooth lightning fast swing Bryce brought his sword across the man’s neck. The raider’s headless body, his fisted arm still outstretched, stood for several moments as his life drained out, then collapsed in a heap. The moment lay heavy with silence.

Ramon nodded his command. His men killed the remaining raiders.

Alex, with Gareth and Robby at his side, looked on in disbelief. He took stock of the area. None of the raiders survived. Alex and his men moved toward the Mitchells, who were speaking to the man who’d attacked him. Anger raced through him like a tempest by the time he reached the father and son, “There was no need to kill them all,” he said as he approached them. “They could have provided valuable information.”

“I didn’t need to hear more. What I saw was plain enough. Here—” Ramon waved his hand over the bodies, “—are your Scots, Alex. Anyone can see who they are.”

Alex crouched down and, using the tip of his dirk, roughly brushed up the hair on the back of the dead man’s head. One by one he searched the nape of each neck. “Yes, they wear Scots clothes.”

He absentmindedly wiped the blade across the dead man’s chest before he tucked it into the sheath on his belt. He stood and looked from corpse to corpse as if he waited for them to stand and give an accounting. “But they’re not Scots.” A momentary wave of relief washed over him followed by an oddly primitive warning that sounded in his head. If not Scots, then who were they, and what did they want?

“What do you mean? Of course they’re Scots.” Bryce looked at his father, then at his men. “Get rid of these bodies.” He flung his hand out in an exasperated gesture. He turned to Alex with a calm but annoyed look in his eyes. “Why’re you here? What were you thinking?”

“These men sacked John’s farm and left his boy for dead. Suffice it to say they led us here. When I realized they were heading toward your farms I took action.”

“We thought you were one of them. My man nearly killed you.”

“I don’t see how he could have mistaken me for a raider. Nonetheless, I’m glad you arrived when you did.” He kept his voice calm, deadly calm. He motioned to the headless body. “What did this man say to you to make you kill him? Surely he was worth keeping alive.”

“He provoked me, the insolent wretch. I thought we had the information we needed. Besides, getting rid of the vermin pleased me.”

“It’s not like you. You always interrogate the enemy. I thought you enjoyed it,” Alex said. “I want to know who is behind all this.”

Bryce threw his arm around his friend. “Forgive me, Alex. It was impulsive.” He squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “I too am glad I arrived when I did.”