Brides of Scotland: Four full length Novels by Kathryn Le Veque (37)

The smell of smoke was heavy in the early morning air, damp and icy as the sun began to rise. Juston had been on the road from Alnwick for two days, now beginning a third day as the gray mists of dawn began to lighten with the coming of the new day. He was exhausted and very cold, but he knew that Wolfe’s Lair was close by. He’d been there once before, years ago, and knew it was less than a three day ride from Alnwick, the legendary de Wolfe fortress nestled upon the contested England/Scotland border. He was frankly looking forward to spending the night in a fortress with food and warmth. He might even stay an extra day and sleep. Lord knew he’d had little of that as of late. He swore after this jaunt he was never going to travel so much ever again.

But Juston thought it rather odd that the smell of smoke was so heavy in the air. Upon these moors were clusters of trees, occasional forests, but everything was fairly wet and frozen from the particularly cold weather they’d experienced as of late. What he was smelling was quite heavy, as if an entire forest were burning somewhere. Smoke mingled with the fog, turned to moisture, and clung to his freezing armor. Plodding along the muddy road that was on an incline to the top of a hill, he had to direct his steed onto the grass because the animal kept slipping on the mud.

The grass, cold and dead, offered some traction to the horse’s hooves as Juston directed the beast up the incline. By the time they neared the top, the road had become a little less slippery and muddy because all of the water was rolling down the hill. Reining the horse back onto the road, they moved the last several feet to the top of the hill in relative ease.

At the crest of the hill, the smoke was much heavier here, as was the fog. But immediately, Juston could see a big-walled fortress off to the west, set right in the middle of a frozen moor, that was clearly under attack. He could see men in the distance swarming around it, and at least two siege engines up against the walls. Somewhat startled at the sight, he immediately spurred his horse into the nearest cluster of trees so that he would not be seen and possibly set upon by those conducting the siege. He’d been in enough battles in his lifetime to know how men in battle mode thought. Everyone, even a lone traveler, was a potential enemy.

So he wedged his horse back behind some thick-trunked trees, watching the siege carefully. There were perhaps a thousand men, maybe less, trying very diligently to mount the walls of the enormous gray-stoned structure. He knew it was Wolfe’s Lair because he recognized it; therefore, it stood to reason that someone was trying to mount the de Wolfe walls and from what he could tell, it most certainly wasn’t Scots. They fought much differently from the English. Nay, this was a methodical and well-thought-out siege.

Someone was trying to get to the de Wolfes, including Atticus.

It made sense to Juston that the only one who would be foolish enough to attempt that was Edward or men loyal to Edward. But why attack Wolfe’s Lair? The fortress was nearly unbreachable. As Juston watched, flaming arrows suddenly shot out from the walls of the fortress, aimed at those attempting to breach her. Juston couldn’t see what the damage was because he was too far away, but he could imagine it was substantial. A nasty battle was commencing on this foggy day in April as Juston stood helplessly by to watch.

But no, he wasn’t helpless, not in the least. Perhaps Wolfe’s Lair wasn’t close to being breached or perhaps it was – he couldn’t really tell and he didn’t want to move any closer. But he knew one thing… Alnwick, a huge supporter of the House of de Wolfe, was only two days away if he rode swiftly. He could summon assistance for Wolfe’s Lair. It was the only option as he saw it because he certainly couldn’t ride away and pretend he didn’t see anything. What he saw was an ally under attack. He had to summon help.

Turning his beast back onto the road, he spurred the animal as fast as it would safely go, avoiding mud puddles and great slicks of dirt as he headed back the way he came. He had to make it to Alnwick, and quickly, because Wolfe’s Lair needed assistance.

Exhaustion and cold forgotten, Juston de Royans made haste for Alnwick and Northumberland’s mighty army.

*

“You should know that I have sent word to my son.”

In the near pitch-blackness of Wellesbourne Castle’s vault, Andrew’s quietly uttered words reverberated with ominous finality off of the moss-covered walls. De la Londe and de Troiu, who had been sitting in blackness and silence for days on end, flinched when they heard the words. Even though they had been spoken softly, because of their sensitivity to sound, it was as if the man had shouted at them. De la Londe groaned and rubbed at his painful right ear.

“Sent word about what?” he grunted. “And by what right do you keep us locked up in here like this? No light, no air. You have condemned us to hell!”

Andrew stepped into the vault, nearer to the iron-barred cell. He had a torch in his hand, dipped in fat and burning brightly with a heavy black smoke. De la Londe and de Troiu shied away from the fire as if the sun had just entered their world.

“And you think me unfair, do you?” Andrew asked bitterly. “You, who would come to my home and try to convince me that my son is a traitor? What you have received is not nearly as bad as you deserve, but your just reward will come once my son is notified of your presence here at Wellesbourne. I simply want to inform you of what was coming so that you can sit here in the dark and imagine all of the horrible things that will happen once my son arrives from Alnwick. And you know he will come.”

De la Londe squinted up at Andrew in the weak light. “Adam is not the man to be feared,” he said. “The man to be feared is de Mowbray. When he finds out what you have done to us, he will bring his army and raze Wellesbourne Castle. He will punish you.”

Andrew was unmoved by the man’s threat. “De Mowbray will not care that I have imprisoned two traitors,” he said. “He knows as well as I do that men like you can be bought. Your loyalty is not worth the effort it takes to speak those vows and he will not waste the time nor the manpower to seek retribution on your behalf. He can easily find two more men to buy for his cause.”

De la Londe glared at the man a moment longer before looking away, slumping back against the slippery stone that smelled of rot. “De Mowbray will not let us languish here,” he said. “He will come and you had better be prepared.”

Andrew snorted. “The only men who need be prepared are you and your companion,” he said, “because I am quite certain that Adam will not keep this information to himself. When he tells the other knights that you have come to Wellesbourne spreading your lies, I would not be surprised to see more than one Northumberland knight upon my doorstep. They will all want to know why you have been spreading such lies, de la Londe. You are creating mischief and they will demand answers. I would suggest you think on a good answer.”

De la Londe refused to look at him, instead looking at his lap and thinking on Wellesbourne’s statement. I would not be surprised to see more than one Northumberland knight upon my doorstep. That bit of information did not please him, not in the least, but he could not worry over it. Dead men did not speak and with Titus dead, the knights of Northumberland would have no way of knowing de la Londe or de Troiu’s role in Titus’ death. They would not even know that de la Londe and de Troiu had sworn fealty to Norfolk. They would be coming in blind, which would work to de la Londe’s advantage.

De la Londe had served Northumberland for several years. He had worked with, fought with, and died with these men who would be coming to seek answers from him. It was imperative that he concoct the best story he could in order to convince these men that he was not a traitor. He had been forced to side with Norfolk, to support the man. They had to believe had no choice in the matter and if the subject of Titus’ death came up, he would disavow any knowledge of it.

Denial was the only thing he could do in that case because if they suspected he was responsible for Titus’ passing, the wrath of The Lion of the North would be upon him and he would be hunted for the rest of his life. Clearly, that was not an option – he didn’t want Atticus de Wolfe seeking vengeance against him. At the moment, for all de la Londe knew, no one had made the connection between him and Titus’ death. He wanted to keep it that way.

He had to be the victim

“Let them come, then,” he muttered. “There is nothing I can do to prevent it. But know that all of this… everything I have told you was because I had to. It was not of my free will.”

Andrew was puzzled by the statement but suspected it was just another lie in a long line of de la Londe lies. He was an old man and had seen much, and was suspicious of everything, especially knights who would try to turn him against his own son.

“We shall see,” he said after a moment. “When my son arrives, you are free to tell him why your lies about my son were not of your free will.”

“There is much more to the situation than merely your son.”

“I would like to hear that, as well.”

De la Londe fell silent, refusing to say any more. He would wait until Wellesbourne left before speaking to de Troiu, in the darkness, and pulling together their plan. Now that they knew Adam Wellesbourne and the knights of Northumberland would soon be upon Wellesbourne Castle, they had to pull together a common defense. They had to convince their former friends and allies that the bonds of loyalty between them were not broken and that their association with Norfolk had been at great personal peril. More lies, to be sure, but there was little alternative.

They had to save themselves.

In the darkness, they awaited the arrival of their fate.