Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (14 page)

“Bite your tongue, you old fool,”
Joselyn snapped, her happy mood vanished. “He did not kill Thomas or William.
He had no part in that.”

The old woman stood up from her
mending stool, hands full of strips of material that she was turning into
ribbon. “Did ye ask him?”

Joselyn scowled. “Nay, I did not.
But we spoke of Thomas and he would have told me had he had a hand in his
death.  He has been honest with me from the start.”

“How do ye know?”

Joselyn growled and turned away
from the old woman; she tended to be a naysayer even in the best of times but
Joselyn was in no mood for her dour views. Moreover, she realized that she felt
very protective of Stephen.

“I will not hear you disparage
him, do you hear?” she scolded. “He has been very good and generous to me. He
has even told me that he will bring the English soldier who raped me to
justice.  Stephen says he will find him and I believe him.”

Old Mereld could see that her
young lady was upset and didn’t push further; the subject of Lady Joselyn’s
rape was something that no one talked about.  It was a dark family secret that
went deeper than they would dare acknowledge. The old woman had been present
when a very young Joselyn had delivered the large male child that had nearly
killed her. It had been a horrific birth and the old woman remembered praying
continuously as Joselyn, only twelve years old at the time, had moaned and
cried through three days of labor.  It had been terrible for all of them and
something they never discussed. 

The man who had caused such pain
and suffering was long gone, lost in the chaos of the Earl of Carlisle’s
execution those years ago. At least, that was the rumor. There were darker
rumors that he was not the man responsible, that something more horrific bore
the truth.  But no one would confirm these darker horrors so the soldier was
the accepted father of Joselyn’s child. To hear that her new husband had sworn
to bring the lost soldier to justice after eleven years was a bit of a dream
that none of them had the heart to discourage. Joselyn believed in her new
husband; it was good to believe in something.

“I hope so, Jo-Jo,” Mereld
regained her stool wearily. “For all of the horror the English have caused,
‘twould be good if one of them tried to right the wrongs.”

Joselyn had had enough.
Frustrated with the bitter old servant, she quit the chamber that she and
Stephen shared and made her way down the narrow stairs and out into the
bailey.  The day was beginning to wane and she could tell by the sun that there
was no more than two hours of daylight left. 

Her thoughts drifted to Stephen,
of where he might be at this time, before shifting to the meal ahead.  He had
told her he would be late so she was in no hurry to begin preparations in
earnest; the mutton from the previous night was back on the cooking fire,
having been slow-simmering in a mixture of honey and cloves since
mid-afternoon.  But there would be bread to bake and sweets to make, and she
smiled when she thought of Stephen stuffing himself with more sweetcakes and
then blaming her for his gluttony.  He was quite humorous at times and she
liked that; she liked
him
.

As she headed towards the kitchen
to not only check on the mutton but on the fawn she had left sleeping in a warm
corner, she caught sight of the chapel off to the left. It was actually the
base of one of the towers, a small room with a vault that ran beneath it. 
Stephen had told her that her mother was in the vault and she wondered if she
should go say a prayer for her mother before the supper hour.  She’d not yet
prayed over the woman and she felt some guilt in that, but she knew her mother
would have understood.  Joselyn had been quite overwhelmed with the new life
she found herself a part of.

Just as she turned away from the
sight of the chapel, several foot soldiers entered through the main gate built
into the massive gatehouse. It was a group of men bearing the blue and silver
dragon standard of de Lara but she thought nothing of them until her gaze
happened to fix on the one that was closest to her.  He was an older man, with
a full head of gray hair and an oddly shaped scar on his forehead.  He was
close enough that she could see it and when he smiled, he was missing several
teeth.  The teeth that remained, however, were a dark shade of brownish-green.

An eerie feeling swept her,
growing more powerful by the second.  The man was speaking to his colleagues
and she froze in her tracks, listening to the sound of his voice.  Something
about it sounded horrifically familiar and she suddenly felt dizzy, her heart
pounding loudly in her chest and her breath coming in strangled gasps.  She
tracked the man as he moved, like a hunter tracking prey, watching as he and
his fellow soldiers headed towards the armory located in the tower near the
chapel.  They were laughing about something and had not noticed her.  But the
moment she heard the man laugh, the world suddenly began to spin.

She knew that laugh; God help
her, she knew it. It was a laugh from her most horrific nightmare. A scream
escaped her lips but she slapped her hands over her mouth lest he hear her,
more terror than she had ever known bolting through her slight body.  She
stumbled backwards, kicking up dust onto her new orange silk.  She fell to her
knees, hysterical, before scrambling to her feet and taking off at a dead run.

Panicked grunts were escaping
from her lips as she ran.  She tore off into the southeast section of the
bailey where a narrow tower anchored the wall. There was no particular reason
why she ran in that direction; she was running blindly, without thought. There
were a few soldiers in this area of the bailey but she didn’t notice; she was
running for the tower entrance, a safe haven in which to hide, in her blind
determination to put as much distance as she could between her nightmare and
safety. Her mind was a jumble of horror that she could not control.

Just as she reached the tower, a
soldier was emerging, having just finished his rotation on the wall.  Joselyn
was incoherent with fright; she didn’t even recognize Lane de Norville when he
stepped into the dirt of the bailey.  She simply plowed headlong into the man
and, overwhelmed with the shock, fainted dead away.

Lane caught her before she could
hit the ground.

CHAPTER SIX

The vaults of the gatehouse of
Berwick were narrow, low and cramped. With Stephen’s bulk, the constraints made
it difficult for him to maneuver. But the rebel prisoner he had captured last
night in the brief skirmish had been shoved into one of the narrow cells and
Stephen was intent on interrogating the man.  Joined by de Lara and a few
lesser knights that were part of his garrison command team, Stephen let his
subordinates take the lead in the interrogation while he stood back with Tate
and watched.

The vault was a nasty, dank place
that reeked of urine and rot. Most of the Scots captured at the surrender of
Berwick had been moved out of the city or killed, while several of Seton’s men
who had surrendered the city were now prisoners at the castle. The vault was
two levels and could hold about fifty prisoners at any given time; the last
count Stephen was given, there were seventy-six.  The dungeons of Berwick were
a hellish place.

After Stephen had left his wife,
he had not planned to spend an over amount of time in the vault interrogating
the prisoner, but the man had proven to be something of a challenge. Tate had
joined him at some point during the afternoon and they stood silently while two
of Stephen’s knights went to work on the big Scot. Sir Ian Malcolm and Sir Alan
Grantham were young, strong and fiercely loyal to Edward; they made a brutal
pair of interrogators. But the man was tough and he would not answer any of
their questions.  Several hours into the interrogation, Stephen finally called
his men off and stepped into the cell himself.

He was so tall that he was nearly
bent over in half.  The cell had other men in it, other prisoners, and he
couldn’t avoid stepping on a few legs as he made his way to the rear of the
cell where his rebel prisoner was chained to the wall and sitting in his own
urine.   When he neared the big Scot, he crouched down several feet away,
studying him.

“I am Pembury,” he told the man.
“I am Guardian Protector of Berwick.  Do you have a name?”

The big Scot was a little bruised
but none the worse for wear. He was not young nor was he particularly old, with
blond hair and intelligent brown eyes. He was also a burly man with enormous
hands.  He gazed steadily at Stephen.

“Yer knights were unable tae get
me name,” he rumbled. “What makes ye think I shall tell ye?”

“Because I have politely
introduced myself.  The mannerly response would be to introduce yourself to
me.”

The Scots lifted an eyebrow. “A
mannered man, are ye? Then ye dunna belong in Berwick. This is a place for men
who fight like animals.”

“Have no doubt I can out-fight
and out-think you any time I choose.  I would not be here now if I could not.
May I have your name, please?”

The Scot stared at him. Then, he
snorted; it was the first smile, or semblance of one, that the man had
displayed all night.

“Ye tried a tactic none of these
other idiots have tried,” he told him. “Yer askin’ nicely.”

“I believe in treating all men
with respect to a certain degree.”

“Yer men couldna beat my name out
of me.”

“I am not beating you. I am
simply asking.”

The Scots cocked his head as if
pondering the statement. After a moment, he simply turned away.  Stephen,
sensing that the man had no interest in conversing civilly, turned to leave. 
But a low voice stopped him.

“Kynan,” the Scot said quietly.
“Kynan Lott MacKenzie.  When ye killed young Tommy Seton, ye killed me kin.”

Stephen
slowly resumed his crouched position. “You are related to Alexander Seton?”

Kynan
looked at him. “Aye,” he said, losing some of his smugness. “It was a dastardly
thing ye did tae young Tommy. He was a good lad.”

Stephen didn’t have an answer for
him; he simply stared at him for a moment. “How are you related to Seton?”

“Alexander married me father’s
sister.”

“And you have been defending the
city against Balliol and the English?”

“’Tis young David’s city, it
‘tis.”

Stephen grunted. “That is a
matter for debate. Now it belongs to Edward.”

Kynan pursed his lips. “Like his
grandfather, he is. Young Edward wants Scotland just as Longshanks did.”

Stephen studied the man
carefully, wondering just how much to tell him about familial relations.  He
opted for all of it, hoping it would put the man in a chatting mood.  Scots
were, if nothing else, very loyal to their kin. Family relations meant
everything. Stephen intended to use it to his advantage.

“Let us return to Alexander
Seton,” he redirected the conversation. “You said that your father’s sister was
his wife.”

“Aye.”

“That would make you a cousin to
all of the Seton offspring; Joselyn, Alexander, Thomas, William and Margaret.”

Kynan nodded his head faintly.
“What are ye gettin’ at, English?”

“Joselyn is my wife,” he didn’t
hold back. “That makes me your kin as well.”

Kynan’s eyes widened. “Ye married
Jo-Jo?”

Stephen nodded firmly. “The night
the city surrendered.”

“I dunna believe ye!”

“Shall I send her in here to
confirm it?”

Kynan was growing increasingly
outraged. He couldn’t be sure that the man was not bluffing because he knew
that the Setons had been at Berwick Castle when the English confiscated it.  It
was quite possible that the Guardian Protector, as he called himself, had
married her simply to make his mark upon the Setons.  The English were intent
to force them all into submission any way they could, including a marriage. It
was not out of the realm of possibility. The mere thought drove him mad.

“She’s not meant for the likes of
ye, English,” he spat. “She’s known enough humiliation.”

A peculiar gleam came to
Stephen’s eye. “What do you mean?”

Kynan’s ruddy face was growing
redder; he stumbled over his words, not at all wanting to say what he meant.
“She… she’s meant for the cloister.”

“Not anymore,” Stephen’s
cornflower blue eyes suddenly turned hard. “Kynan, you and I are kin no matter
how much you would like to deny it. I married Joselyn two nights ago and I have
fully claimed her as my wife. Therefore, you will hear me now; I am finished
toying with you. I will ask you a question and if I do not like your answer, I
will go to my wife and take your insolence out on her.  With every question you
refuse to answer, or with every answer that does not tell me exactly what I
need to know, she will receive your punishment. Is this becoming clearer to
you?  Deny me again and I will take it out Joselyn.”