Medieval Ever After (49 page)

Fortunately, it was not too long before Kynan reappeared. Behind him came several men, all of them clad in the same brownish-orange tartan. They were big, dirty men with an unruly way about them. Kynan didn’t have to say a word. He simply pointed at Stephen and three burly Scots went to him, pulling the chains off and releasing him from the stocks. Stephen stood with some assistance, his ribs still badly injured and his back injured on top of everything from having been confined in stocks not built for a man his height.

One of the men produced a length of tartan and wrapped it around Stephen’s massive shoulders, draping it so it covered most of his battered torso before wrapping the end of it over his head. Stephen nodded his silent thanks to these men he had fought against, killed against, feeling very blessed and guilty that they were willing to assist him. He wondered fleetingly if these men had been part of the ambush weeks ago that had injured Joselyn, or if he had fought against them during the innumerable skirmishes over the past month. They had all been bred since birth to kill and hate one another, but now, he found his life in their hands more than he could have ever imagined.

By this time, Cade and Roman had come out of their hiding place and were watching the activity with big eyes. Kynan saw the boys and beckoned them with a crooked finger. Hesitantly, they went to him, afraid they were going to be slapped in the head again.

“Now,” Kynan put a hand on either boy’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get Sir Stephen out of this place but I need ye tae stay close tae me, do ye hear? Dunna run off.”

The boys nodded solemnly. “We won’t,” Cade assured him. “But can we help?”

“Aye, of course ye can,” Kynan assured him. “I would have ye be look-outs. Ye need to keep yer eyes open for anything suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Roman repeated. “Like what?”

Kynan turned the boys around so they were facing the bailey and the postern gate in the distance. “Like men with weapons chargin’ for us,” he said, pointing. “See that gate? We’re gonna make our way tae it. I shall need yer help tae open it.”

The boys nodded eagerly, preparing to behave like true warriors. They were terrified and excited. When Kynan made sure the tartan was sufficiently draped over Stephen, he motioned the group to move. They did so, but very quickly realized that Stephen was moving like an injured man. If they were going to move unnoticed, then Stephen would have to make a better attempt at behaving normally. Kynan went to him.

“Ye walk like ye have two broken legs,” he said. “I dunna mean tae make yer life more miserable than it already ’tis, but can ye at least stand straight? Ye walk like a cripple.”

Stephen grunted, trying to straighten up. The blue eyes were blazing. “I
am
a cripple,” he groaned. “But I will do my best.”

Kynan nodded, motioning for his men to take the lead as he stayed close to Stephen. He was concerned for the man, concerned for who might be watching, and terrified that they weren’t going to make it out of the gate. But their best option was to behave as normally as possible, so he and his men moved in a casual group towards the postern gate, that small opening to freedom that loomed before them.

Stephen could see the gate and never in his life had something meant so much to him. He needed to make it to that small doorway and to the freedom that waited beyond. A wife whom he adored, a son on the way… he needed to get to his family. That one thought alone kept his focus. They made it across the bailey without incident and were within several feet of the gate when a shadow suddenly blocked their path.

Stephen saw the movement and he reflectively flinched, moving for a sword that was not at his side. Kynan’s men were armed but they did not move to draw their weapon. They simply came to a halt, facing the figure that stood between them and the postern gate. Kynan saw the figure, the face, and hissed under his breath. He really was not surprised. But he was extremely disheartened.

Morgan de Velt was standing between them and freedom.

Hidden by the reeds growing by the river’s edge, Joselyn gazed up at the massive bastion of Berwick. She could see the familiar postern gate and the path she had taken once from the castle to the river where she had found her fawn. The soft breeze blew the grass around her, folding it to the wind, as she crouched low and watched. She knew she should not have come, but that knowledge had not stopped her. Stephen was inside and she was determined to get to him and to free him.

Tate had meant well. He’d had Kynan take her to the last standing hostel in town, a place called the Sword and Fife. Kynan had procured the best room they had to offer, an abundance of bread, oatcakes and cheese, and had left her there with four men-at-arms as escort. They were Tate’s men, seasoned and weary, and had all ended up down in the main room drinking. Joselyn had told the innkeeper to give them as much ale as they could drink. They ended up getting ragingly drunk and she was able to slip out unnoticed.

Now she was here, hidden in the grass as she watched the activity upon Berwick’s soaring walls and having no idea what she was going to do to get her husband out. She crept closer on her hands and knees, trying to stay as quiet as possible. At one point she thought she heard the grass moving several feet behind her and she froze, ears cocked, but everything remained still.

Thinking the sound was a figment of her paranoid imagination, she paused and sank to her buttocks, watching the walls and gate that were now closer. The castle loomed above her, a place with the most wonderful and terrible memories for her. She felt as if she had come home again, to a place that did not belong to her yet was a part of her. It was an odd sensation.

She sat for some time, gazing up at the pale stone walls. Everything was quiet and peaceful until a hand suddenly went over her mouth and an enormous arm encircled her waist. Joselyn screamed but the massive gloved hand blocked the sound. She tried to fight, to struggle, but whoever had her was far too strong. She found herself on her back with a big body over her. Panic overtook her until she looked up into ice blue eyes.

Kenneth was gazing down at her, his jaw tight and eyes blazing. Joselyn’s eyes widened when she realized who it was.

“I would ask what you are doing here but I already know,” Kenneth whispered. “The next thing you feel is going to be the palm of my hand to your buttocks, and your husband be damned. He would do the same thing in my position.”

His hand came away from her mouth and she took a big gulp of air. “Please do not be angry,” she whispered, fright in her eyes. “I… I simply could not stay away, sitting in a strange room and wondering if my husband is going to live or die. Please do not send me back. If he… if he is going to die, I must be here. I must be close to him. Do you not understand?”

Tears rolled down her temples as Kenneth gazed down at her. He was beginning to feel like a lout, struggling to maintain his fury at finding her at Berwick crawling around in the grass. But he also knew how much Stephen meant to her. He was coming to understand it more and more as the hours passed. Truth be told, he really was not surprised to find her here. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and pulled her with him.

“I understand that you are risking your life and if your husband found out, he would blister your backside,” he made a good try at maintaining his firm stance. “Lady, I am here to ensure that your husband does not die but if I have to worry about you as well, Stephen’s chances are greatly diminished. If the choice comes down to saving Stephen or saving you, then you know what I will have to do. Stephen would never forgive me if I did not. Do you understand the position you have put me in?”

She looked up at him with her pale, sad eyes and nodded. “I am so scared, Kenneth. I had to come. I could just not sit and wait.”

He could see by the look in her eyes that she was not going anywhere. He could send her back to the hostel and she would just find another way to return. After a moment, he simply nodded his head in resignation.

“Then if you are not going to leave, I need for you to stay right here,” he said quietly. “Do not make any attempt to get closer to the castle for if you do, you will be within the range of the archers. Is that clear?”

Joselyn nodded seriously. “Aye, Kenneth.”

“Good.”

His attention suddenly turned back to the castle, the ice-blue eyes intense. He looked as if something had his interest. Joselyn was about to ask him what the trouble was when she heard it, too. It sounded like metal on metal but as she listened more closely, it sounded like a sword fight. Kenneth shoved her down into the grass.

“Stay here,” he commanded. “Do not move for any reason.”

She watched him crawl away, hidden by the tall green river grass. But the sounds of the sword fight grew more intense and she dared to lift her head, looking towards the source. Movement caught her eye and she could see where it was coming from.

From the between the iron grates of the postern gate, a full-scale battle was in bloom.

THE SAVAGE CURTAIN

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

De Velt just
stood there and shook his head. He had an amused look on his face that one would have took for a friendly gesture had he not gripped an enormous broadsword. His dark eyes moved between Kynan and Stephen. Even though Stephen’s head was covered with the tartan, the blue eyes that blazed beneath it were unmistakable.

“You know,” de Velt stroked his chin, “when one of my men came to tell me that he saw Pembury released from the stocks, I almost cut his throat for lying because I know that no one under my command would be that stupid. But I had to come and see for myself if he spoke the truth and look at what I have found.”

Kynan was stiff with anticipation, waiting for the broadsword to come flying out at him. “Ye’re a hired man, de Velt,” he growled. “Ye’ve no real stake in Berwick other than what ye’re paid fer. Ye would carry out orders against a fellow Englishman fer his death? Ye’ve nothing agin’ Pembury. Why would ye kill him?”

De Velt cocked an eyebrow. “Because, as you have said, I am being well paid for my services. Moray wants Pembury dead, so dead he shall be.”

Kynan shook his head. “He’ll not be dead,” he said, more forcefully. “Because I am removin’ him from this place. He’s beaten and weary, can ye not see? Yer men have done their worst tae him. Now leave him be. He has a wife and child waiting.”

De Velt focused on Kynan. “I would not expect this from you, of all people,” he said. “Were you not in Berwick’s vaults after the siege? Did Pembury not torture you? Tell me the truth and then tell me why you defend him.”