Chapter Six
Yule 1130—Castle Shrewsbury
Wal pulled his mantle tighter, but the gesture was useless. The layers of wool and leather no longer served to keep out the wind and wet snow. He was cold to his bones. After another year in France, his body had forgotten how to defend against the chill of an English Yule season. Only the spark of anger that burned like a Yule log kept him from abandoning his post. He looked across the River Severn to the castle tower standing sentry over the land. The castle walls and tower gleamed in the long light cast by the winter sun.
“We have the messenger, my lord.”
He turned to the squire, who stood panting as if he’d run all the way from the road.
“You are certain?”
“Aye.” The boy’s cheeks were white with cold. Snow clung to his eyelashes and his nose dripped. He ran his sleeve across his face. “I watched them take him despite his protests. He’s a royal messenger.” He held out a rolled bit of parchment, tied with a ribbon and a seal.
Wal grinned as he took the writ. In the same note that had informed him of the abduction of his wife and child by William Talvas, Count of Ponthieu, the king had ordered Wal to stay away from Shrewsbury. His father should know better. This was the kind of duty Henry had called him up for in the past. So he’d come and had spent the last three days gathering information and watching the castle.
Now that the king had broken his silence, Wal was ready.
The boy gasped when Wal tore through the seal.
“My father would expect no less.”
Motioning for one of his men to bring the torch closer, he read the three lines the king had penned. Exhaling a curse that put color back in the boy’s cheeks, he sat down. His fury was second only to his surprise that he’d expected his father to do otherwise. After all, he’d tacitly approved blinding and maiming his own granddaughters, so why would Wal’s family be spared?
“What does it say?” The boy’s teeth chattered when he paused.
“The less you know, the better. Find Cullen and Walter.”
The boy nodded and raced into the darkness. Wal rolled the writ and jammed it in his belt. His mind found and discarded possible actions. A man fighting for his inheritance took desperate measures. William had gone out of his way to take his family hostage, pretending he came to Furness Abbey to buy prayers for his father’s soul before taking Cate and Joscelin.
Fear crawled into his gut, pushing its way into his thoughts. William had sent no word of the kidnapping or a demand for ransom. The monks of Furness had carried the tale to Henry. And now…he glanced at the piece of paper. And now, Henry had closed the door to all negotiations. My son is young and hale. Wives are easily found and sons easily sired.
One day, his own father would need the entire Winchester treasury for the number of prayers needed to get his soul out of purgatory.
Wives are easily found and sons easily sired.
The king might need those prayers sooner than anyone anticipated if his dismissal of William’s actions sentenced Cate and Joscelin to death.
The thought hollowed his chest. Maybe a man who had sired more than a score of children on almost as many women considered one or more child expendable, but Wal regarded neither his wife or his son an acceptable loss. Good Lord, the king probably considered Wal easily replaced, as well.
Turning away from that thought, he studied the castle again. The winter sun skimmed the horizon, but the watch fires were lit to ward off cold as well as the coming night. The brightest one obscured the roof of the tower, but three more dotted the wall.
“Cullen!”
A youth ran up to him. “My lord.”
Wal pointed to the closest fire. “Can you pitch an arrow and fire it through the flames to hit the tower roof?”
“My lord?” the young monk said. “Your wife and child are inside.”
“They will not be. Can you do it?”
Cullen narrowed his eyes, plotting the arrow’s trajectory in his mind. “’Twould be easier to light the arrow first.”
“And they will know your position if you do. I want to surprise them.”
“I do not know if the pitch will light that quickly.”
“But if it does?”
The man grinned. “Which shingle do you want to burn first?”
“Your choice. Fire as many arrows as you need, but wait until dark.” Wal stood and started toward the castle gate.
“You are leaving?” The squire sounded horrified.
“I am going to fetch my wife and son.”
“You think to just walk out with them?”
“Aye.”
And if you are still inside when darkness falls?” Cullen asked.
“Loose the arrows.”
• ♥ •
“Leave the brat and celebrate Yule with us.”
Cate glanced up. The man who’d introduced himself as William, Earl of Shrewsbury, when he’d taken her captive at Furness Abbey, now stood in the doorway of the small chamber. For a wild moment, she thought of grabbing her son and running, but squashed the urge. Even if she managed to elude the earl’s men and escape the tower, no one in town would dare give her succor. If William were anything like this father, not even the monks at Shrewsbury Abbey would risk his rage to provide shelter. No, if she ran, she would be taking her son into the cold, chilled winter, which would kill him as surely as her captor’s sword.
“I have no desire to be paraded before your guests.”
His expression remained impassive. “This is a command, not a request.”
Cate stifled the instinct to grab her son. She would not let William see her terror. Instead, she carefully folded her sewing and reached for Jos, who napped beside her. “I will not be separated from my son.”
“My hall is full of drafts and children are so fragile.” William smiled at her. “He should remain here.”
“We have discussed this before, my lord. Jos goes where I go.”
“I think only of his well-being.”
“Aye, and I am queen of the fairies.”
A strange gleam made his green eyes look as bright as spring grass. “You have spirit. I understand the rumors of Wal’s deep affection for you now.”
Rumors? Cate pressed her lips together. She would not be goaded into revealing anything about her marriage.
“The boy will come to no harm.” William stepped closer. “I give you my word, and unlike your husband, I keep my word.”
Cate stilled. He gave her no such assurances, she noted.
At her sudden silence, William stretched his mouth into something that resembled a smile, but his expression held no merriment. “All have heard how you punish him for breaking his vows to you. In truth, you hold onto perceived slights like the king. If I did not know better, I would think you were the royal bastard—not your husband.”
“I consider the breaking of a man’s word to me as more than just a perceived slight. I also think holding me and my son hostage is a grievance worth holding onto.”
William lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Bring him or leave him. I care not. Your presence is required in my hall. I would be a poor host if I let you starve on the Yule.”
Cate gathered her son close. He mumbled fitfully in his sleep, but didn’t wake. He slept like his father, waking only when he was ready. He also was going to be as large as his father. Already, he weighed as much as a mail shirt, and if he continued to grow like he had this past year, he would—
If he continued.
Her knees buckled, and if William hadn’t caught her, she would have tumbled down the steps.
“Not yet.” The sound of his amusement grated against her ears. “The danger to you will come later, but not this night. ’Tis Yule, after all.”
William steered her into a hall richly decorated with holly and ivy. The scents of bay and rosemary hung heavily in the room, overpowering the smell of roast beef and too many people pressed into too small of a space. A log burned merrily in the hearth. Four trestle tables were set up around the hearth. Guests sat in a hierarchy from greatest to least. Five chairs were placed at the head table, the center two empty.
William led her to the chair beside his. “Sit, my lady, and enjoy your Yule feast. It will likely be your last.”