CHAPTER FOUR
It was a cold, blustery dawn when they set out from Sibbald’s Hold, heading southwest to the isolated outpost known as Monteviot.
Autumn was descending with full force, for the cold winds were blowing and the leaves on the trees were scattering. Soon, the weather would give way to the snows of winter that would cover the mountains and vales through March. Winters could be long this far north, and even as the party from Sibbald’s rode south, following the rocky vale that would lead them to the border lands where they would head due east to Monteviot, they could see that the farmers were already up and tending to their fields and herds.
They, too, felt the change in seasons and it was imperative to make preparations for the coming winter. Late crops of barley and oats were in the fields, the majority of the fields having been harvested in August. But there would be a late harvest on some of them, as late as November or early December, or before the snow came in earnest.
Keith may have had a small fortress on the moors, but he was smart about what that fortress produced to keep them fed. A small village was established around Sibbald’s and there were also many farms in the surrounding area that Keith supported. He would pay for seed and the farmers would grow the crops, giving Keith about three-quarters of the yield. There were also farmers who raised the shaggy cows so prevalent to the area for meat and milk, and more sheep herders than they could count. The Lowlands of Scotland were rich, agriculturally, and Keith benefitted from that. It had made him rather wealthy, or at least wealthy enough to sustain what he had.
Fortunately, Rhoswyn had followed in her father’s footsteps with her financial savvy. She understood what it took to keep men fed and she was often in on business decisions but, beyond that, she knew nothing more about running a house or hold. Sibbald’s had a host of female servants that knew how to run a fortress, from stuffing mattresses to washing clothing to cooking sides of sheep. Rhoswyn had never bothered with such things. Her focus had been on the things her father had taught her.
Things regarding men and war. Even now, she was thinking ahead to the confrontation with de Wolfe. Astride her big black beast of a horse, Rhoswyn wore what she usually wore to battle, and she had seen a few. This felt like a battle. She had seen skirmishes with her father; not many, but enough that she had fought against men and she had killed against them, too. It had never been easy for her to kill, but there had been times when it had been necessary. She certainly wasn’t afraid to lift a dagger.
While her kinsmen wore the long tunics and braies, heavy cloaks against the cold wind, Rhoswyn wore leather hose because they were warmer and softer than the woolen braies. They also provided some protection against a sharp blade. Over that, she wore a heavy tunic of yellow – the fighting tunic, the men called it – dyed with expensive saffron her father had purchased. Still, over that, she wore a padded tunic and then a mail coat that her father, long ago, had stolen off of a dead Sassenach soldier during one of the battles at the border.
Along with that mail coat came a beautiful weapon and a helm, all of which now belonged to Rhoswyn. The helm had a metal strip down the center of it to protect her nose and, with her hair braided and shoved up into the helm, it was difficult to see that she was a woman. In fact, no one would know unless they heard her speak or got a close look at her. Considering she was about to challenge de Wolfe’s best warrior, she didn’t want them to know a woman was part of the challenge until it was too late.
Until their honor was at stake.
And she was eager for that moment. Rhoswyn could see her father riding at the head of the group, astride a horse that was starting to grow its winter coat. She knew he was uncomfortable, venturing out of Sibbald’s as he was, because Keith usually stayed to himself unless forced to ride out. Their clan had a few run-ins with a smaller branch of Clan Elliot over the years, and Keith had risen to the call, but he didn’t like to do it. He liked to stay to Sibbald, drinking his wine or playing games with his men. In spite of Keith’s temper, and it could be fierce, he really did prefer to live in peace. That meant the trip to Monteviot was a duty, not a want.
Rhoswyn understood that.
Looking around, she could see her father’s men riding with them. There were about fifty of them, men who had been with Keith or with Keith’s father. Some of them were quite old, but they were fearsome and trusted. They remembered the old days when the Kerr was in nearly every battle on this section of the border, and there were some who liked to relive those days. She could feel their determination, their hatred against the Sassenach invasion. Because of it, Rhoswyn was glad she had convinced her father to confront de Wolfe. Otherwise, he could have very well lost the respect of his men.
To a Scotsman, that would have been a fate worse than death.
In silence, they rode as the horizon in the east turned shades of pink and purple, brightening gradually to reveal a sky with darkened clouds off towards the north. A storm was approaching but it didn’t deter their path. They would continue on to Monteviot which, at this pace, they would see in a couple of hours.
The anticipation was building.
There was a creek in the center of the vale they were traveling in, with muddied ground and thick, green grass that the horses slogged through. The hills were gentle but rather tall; still, they could be crossed with some effort. It wasn’t difficult. The morning progressed and the party from Sibbald passed over a series of hills and into another vale. This vale, however, dumped out into the south end of the valley that contained Monteviot and they weren’t halfway across the vale when they began to smell smoke.
But not just any smoke; it was putrid and ghastly, hanging heavily on the land. The grass and the hills were full of it. Rhoswyn spurred her horse up next to her father.
“What is that terrible smell?” she asked, pinching her nose.
Keith’s expression didn’t register the trepidation he was now feeling. “That’s the smell of burned flesh,” he said quietly. “They must have burned the bodies of the dead.”
Rhoswyn looked at her father in horror. “Ye know this for certain?”
Keith nodded slowly; there wasn’t a doubt on his face. As Rhoswyn tried to reconcile herself to the smell of burning bodies and the horror it provoked, her uncle and cousins rode forward to join in the conversation.
“Och,” Fergus growled. “I dunna like this already. If they’re burnin’ men, then they could do anything. Mayhap we’d better think about this for a moment, Keith. We dunna want tae go chargin’ in if the Sassenach are burnin’ men.”
Keith reined his horse to a halt, turning to look at his brother. Fergus didn’t like any manner of confrontation, a trait that some men would call cowardly. But the truth was that Fergus simply didn’t have the fire in him that most Scotsmen did. Therefore, a comment like that was to be expected from him. It was his fear of conflict talking.
“Then what are ye thinkin’ of, Fergus?” he asked his brother. “I’ll not go back. Ye know I willna.”
Fergus shook his head, shaggy and red. “Nay; not go back,” he said. “But were ye proposin’ that we simply ride intae their midst?”
“Do ye have a better idea?”
Fergus nodded. “I do,” he said, turning to point at the men behind them who had now come to a halt. “Dunna show him yer numbers. Ye take Rhoswyn with ye since she’s determined tae fight, but leave the rest of us on the hill. Let them look tae the hill, see yer men, and wonder if there are a thousand more they canna see.”
It was actually good advice. Keith hadn’t thought much of showing all of the men he had to the English; he was simply going to confront them and issue the challenge. Perhaps not the most cunning tactic, but an honest one. But now that they were smelling burned man-flesh, he was rethinking his approach. Fergus was right; if they were burning men, then perhaps they wouldn’t think twice about burning him and his men. And his daughter. He’d never heard of brutal de Wolfe tactics but there was always a first time.
Perhaps it was better to be cautious.
“As ye say,” he said after a moment. “Take the men with ye. Rhosie and I will see tae the English.”
“And issue the challenge?”
“That’s why we’ve come.”
Fergus gazed at him a moment. “Are ye sure that’s what ye want tae do?” he asked quietly. “I never agreed with this plan from the start, Keith. Rhosie is an excellent warrior, but…”
“She’s the best.”
“She is, but she’s a woman. In combat with an English knight? She’ll be lucky if she survives.”
“She’ll survive. Dunna doubt her.”
Fergus sighed heavily. “But if this plan doesna work, ye’ll be sacrificin’ yer daughter.”
Fergus’ cautious attitude was starting to wear on Keith; he didn’t have time for it. “And if I do nothin’ at all, I’ll be sacrificin’ me honor,” he hissed. “We discussed this last night. I have no army I can turn tae, at least not one that will answer the call against de Wolfe. What we do, we must depend on ourselves for it, and if we can convince de Wolfe tae pledge one knight in a battle where the victor sets the terms, then I have tae do it.”
“Ye feel so strongly about it?”
“I do.”
There was nothing more Fergus could say. When he’d first heard of the plan last night, he’d tried to talk his brother out of such a thing but Keith wouldn’t be swayed, convinced that Rhoswyn’s plan of wagering the entire outcome of Monteviot on one challenge was the chance they needed to take. That his brother would take the advice of his daughter over anyone else was something that greatly disturbed Fergus, but he couldn’t fight against it. His attitude was one of extreme caution, whereas Keith didn’t share that same perspective. They’d never seen eye to eye on conflict or confrontation. But Fergus could have never imagined that his brother saw a greater hope in Rhoswyn’s victory, the hope of a marriage and alliance with de Wolfe. Perhaps if Fergus had known, then he might have understood Keith’s resolve.
But he wouldn’t have agreed with him.
Still, the fact remained that he knew nothing. No one did. They all thought Keith had gone mad, but it could not be helped. So Fergus simply shook his head and turned away, motioning for the men to follow him to the crest of the hill that overlooked Monteviot. He thought his brother was a bleeding idiot, but that could not be helped.
Keith was determined.
As Fergus and the men began to trudge up the rocky hill overlooking the vale of Monteviot, Keith watched his brother for a moment before turning to his daughter astride her big, black horse. She looked like a warrior, in fact; long-legged, wearing mail that concealed her womanly figure, she did, indeed, look like a warrior and, for a moment, Keith saw the son he’d always wanted.
It was just the flash of a vision, one that quickly faded. Then he felt guilty for it. But, no… he thought. It was his daughter he was preparing to pit against an English knight of de Wolfe’s choosing, or so he hoped. If de Wolfe wouldn’t let the outcome of Monteviot be decided in one-on-one combat, then there was nothing more Keith could do but leave his outpost in the hands of the English and his daughter would remain unmarried. There was no other alternative, so it was a moment like this that tested a man’s true bravery.
Or… a woman’s.
*
“Troy!” Patrick hissed. “Scots approaching!”
The entire bailey was full of men preparing to depart, men spilling out of the gates and into the area outside of the walls as five separate armies were organizing to return home. The army from Berwick was spilling into the clearing outside of the gates and it was from the outside that Patrick had just come, running to find his brother, who was near the burned-out tower with his father and a few other men. But those hissed words from Patrick brought all conversation to a standstill.
“Scots?” Troy repeated; he was a little hungover from all of the wine he’d had the night before, now struggling to overcome both a headache and a muddled mind. “Damnation, then get your army back inside and close the gates!”
Patrick nodded his head. “I have already given the command,” he said. “Most of them are outside the gates, including the wagons, so we are moving as fast as we can. Fortunately, there are only two Scots that I can see.”
Troy abruptly turned for the gates. “You know as well as I do that it is the ones you cannot see that you must worry about.”
“Which is why I am moving them back inside.”
Patrick took off after his brother then, as did William, Paris, Kieran, Michael, and a very hungover Apollo. All of them moving swiftly for the gates where the Berwick men were starting to shuffle around nervously, trying to move back into the bailey of Monteviot. The knights pushed through the ranks to get a clear line of sight on the incoming Scots.
A day that had started off relatively quiet was quickly becoming wrought with apprehension as two Scots were sighted. The knights stood in front of the crowd of soldiers at the gate, watching the approach of the Scots. But not everyone was looking at the pair; William, too, felt that there were probably more than just the two Scots, so he sent men to the walls to watch for more clansmen. Perhaps this was a ruse, perhaps not, but the closer the pair approached, the more nervous the English became.
Enemies in an enemy land.
As activity went on behind him with his father and the other knights moving men about, Troy watched the pair come closer and it occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing most of his protection. He hadn’t put it on yet because he’d spent the morning with his father in the hall and then assessing the burned-out tower. He wasn’t expecting to go into combat. But it further occurred to him that his father wasn’t wearing any protection, either. William was planning on departing later that morning for the five-hour trip back to Questing and, like Troy, simply hadn’t fully dressed. Troy turned to his father, standing a few feet away and watching the men populate on the walls.
“Papa, mayhap you should return to the hall and put on your protection,” he said quietly. “If the Scots are planning an attack, I do not want you to be caught out here without any protection.”
William looked at him. “The same could be said for you,” he said. “You are as vulnerable as I.”
“Aye, but the difference is that my name is not William de Wolfe,” Troy pointed out. “We have discussed this time and time again. You would make a national hero out of the Scot who managed to kill you, not to mention the fact that Mother would murder me with her bare hands if I allowed anything to happen to you.” He turned slightly, putting a hand on his father and trying to force him back into the fortress. “Please, Papa, go back inside.”
William’s attention had turned from the wall to the Scots, who were now quite close. “You shame me, lad,” he muttered. “Do not act as if I cannot take care of myself.”
“That is not my intent. I simply do not want you to get hurt.”
William didn’t say another word. He knew that, but he was tired of his sons trying to protect him all of the time as if he were an old man who needed protecting. It was bad enough on the day they’d burned out Monteviot’s tower, and now they sought to protect him from a pair of Scots riders. He loved his sons, but they acted like old women sometimes.
As Troy watched, his father stepped forward, away from him, and held out a hand to the Scots who were, by now, about fifteen feet away. One was dressed like a soldier while the other one was simply clad in woolens and braies.
“Stop,” William said forcefully. “Announce yourselves.”
The man in the woolens and braies answered. “I will be askin’ ye the same thing, Sassenach,” he said. “Ye’re in me land. What are ye doin’ here?”
William studied the man; he had an excellent memory and it seemed to him as if he’d seen the man before. With the light of the rising sun coming over the hills, he had a fairly good view of the man with the thick auburn hair and bushy red beard. Ye’re in me land. It suddenly occurred to William where he’d seen the man before.
“You are Keith Kerr,” he finally said.
Spurred by the fact that the English knight recognized him, Keith peered closer, his features lined with confusion. But only momentarily; realization dawned. It was the eye patch that gave it away. Everyone knew there was only one English warrior on the border with an eye patch like that.
“De Wolfe,” he finally hissed. “I’d heard tale it was ye who confiscated Monteviot but I had tae see it with me own eyes.”
In his periphery, William could see that Troy was now standing beside him but he didn’t look at his son. He was focused on the elusive Red Keith Kerr. In truth, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see the man. They were on his lands, after all, and he’d dutifully come to see why the English had landed. He wondered if Keith would be surprised, in turn, to hear the truth.
“Then word traveled to you quickly,” William said. “We have only been here a few days.”
Keith’s gaze lingered on William before moving to Troy. Then, he looked at all of the Englishmen behind him, knights of the highest caliber, and more English soldiers than Keith had seen in a very long time, all cramming back into the bailey of Monteviot. It occurred to him that he’d been right; there was no way he could have summoned enough men to take back Monteviot, not even had he sent to his cousin. He hadn’t expected a force of this size. He gestured to the hundreds of men behind William.
“Why did ye bring so many men?” he asked. “Did ye expect so much resistance from a small outpost?”
William turned to look at all of the men behind him before answering. “I had to clear out the reivers who had been using Monteviot as a base to launch raids into my lands,” he said frankly. “Surely this is no surprise to you. You had to know that Monteviot was infested by reivers.”
Keith was feeling defensive as William pointed out something he already knew, very well. There was a message in his mild rebuke – you have failed to police your own lands and now I must do it for you!
“What men do on me lands is me own business,” Keith said. “And who says they were reivers?”
William could feel a stab of impatience; so the man was going to deny such a thing? “Because they have been raiding my lands and my men followed them back to Monteviot,” he said. “It is true that whatever happens on your land is your own business, but when the men from Monteviot ride into my lands and steal from my people, it becomes my business. Two weeks ago, they rode deep into England and burned a small village, killing a priest and burning out a church. You know as well as I do that I could not remain idle after that. Since you were allowing outlaws to live on your lands and did not do anything about it, I had to.”
Keith knew that all of this was true – every last word of it. But the way de Wolfe put it, it made it sound like Keith was a weakling and a fool, incapable of monitoring his own lands. While it was true he didn’t have enough men to supervise his lands, he was far from being a weakling. If nothing else, he was an opportunist, and what he saw before him with de Wolfe was an opportunity like none other. De Wolfe had come and now Keith wanted something. He dismounted his horse, taking several steps in William’s direction.
“So ye’ve appointed yerself judge and jury for not only yer lands, but mine,” he said. “I dunna fault ye for protectin’ yer people, but now ye’re in my lands. What do ye intend tae do with Monteviot now that ye’ve purged her of the men ye call outlaws?”
Oddly enough, it almost sounded like a civil question, as if Keith was genuinely curious and not simply outraged that the English had come. William hoped that meant they could keep the rest of the conversation polite, but considering what he was about to say, he doubted it.
“It belongs to me now,” he said. “I will not have it becoming a haven for reivers again.”
“I did not give ye permission tae stay.”
“That is of no consequence. Why did you let the outlaws settle here in the first place?”
The truth behind that was, of course, that Keith couldn’t have kept them out if he’d wanted to. But he wouldn’t admit it. Instead, he grinned, a most unnerving gesture.
“No one has proven tae me that they were reivers,” he said. “Bring forth these men so that I may see them.”
“I cannot.”
“Because they’re dead?”
“Most of them. Those that did not die in the siege ran off. I did not take them prisoner.”
Keith sniffed the air. “Did ye burn them, de Wolfe?”
William shook his head. “The tower burned, but what you smell is a funeral pyre. We had a priest come from Jedburgh to bless the dead.”
Keith’s eyebrows lifted; it was difficult to know if it was a condescending expression or one of respect. “A pious Sassenach, are ye?”
William took it as a condescending one. His impatience was growing. “Is that why you came here today?” he asked. “To find out if I am pious? Somehow, I do not think that is why you are here. State your business, Kerr. I have work to do.”
Keith’s smile faded. So much for pleasantries with de Wolfe; the time had come for the purpose behind his visit and there was no use in stalling. Looking over his shoulder, Keith caught sight of the hill to the south, seeing the small figures of his brother and nephews and the majority of his men on the crest. It made the hill look rather crowded, which would work to his advantage. He pointed.
“See me men up there?” he asked before turning to face William. “That is only a small portion of them. There are a thousand of us behind that hill, waiting tae charge Monteviot, but I dunna believe ye want another battle so soon after havin’ suffered through one. Yer men are tired and some are even injured. I dunna think ye want another battle, not now.”
William and Troy could see the figures on the distant hill and, in truth, they had no reason to believe there weren’t a thousand Scots behind the hill just as Keith said. The Scots rarely made their numbers known, instead choosing to travel – and fight – in stealth. As William considered that possibility in silence, Troy began silently cursing himself because the gates were still open and half of Patrick’s army was standing outside of the walls. That made them very vulnerable should the Scots decide to come down from the hill and make a run at them.
But Troy didn’t give a hint of what he was thinking. In his estimation, Red Keith Kerr had the advantage already and he didn’t want to give the man any more ammunition. He had to get the army back in the fortress and the gates closed, or this could go badly for all of them. Now, it was his turn to take over the negotiations.
“What do you want, Kerr?” Troy asked in a tone that didn’t hint at what he was thinking. “Be plain.”
Keith’s attention turned to the big, dark knight standing next to William. He could see the resemblance.
“And yer name, knight?” he asked.
Troy didn’t hesitate. “I am Troy de Wolfe, commander of Kale Water Castle,” he said. “Even if you do not know my face, you should know my name.”
Keith’s eyebrows lifted. “Kale Water Castle,” he said, sounding surprised. “Ye’re in Kerr lands, laddie.”
“That may be, but it is a de Wolfe holding. And there is peace with the Kerr neighbors.”
Keith’s jaw ticked. Now, he realized that he not only had William in front of him, but William’s son as well. Two de Wolfes; two powerful Sassenach border lords. Kale Water Castle was in Ralph’s lands and it was Ralph who permitted the House of de Wolfe to maintain their castles there. Perhaps it was out of a greater fear of stirring a hornet’s nest to try and remove them but, in any case, de Wolfe was there to stay.
But Keith wasn’t so fearful. He could be quite courageous when he wanted to be, when something mattered. In truth, he didn’t have as much to lose as Ralph did. But in this case, he clearly had what de Wolfe wanted. Or, at least, what de Wolfe wanted to keep secure. It was here where he would make his final stand.
“Ye say there is peace, yet ye come tae take me property,” he said. “If ye want tae keep it, then ye’ll have tae fight for it.”
Troy suspected it would come to this but he, too, held his ground. “If you have come for a fight, then get on with it.”
Keith looked at Troy, at William, and at the host of men standing behind him, men who were in various stages of dress. Most had returned to the bailey, but the gates were still open and some were still standing there, watching and waiting. Some had mail and protection on, but some didn’t. It was clear they weren’t prepared for a battle and Keith used that to his advantage.
“Look at yer men,” he said, pointing. “And look at yerselves. Are ye ready for a fight? Or did I catch ye unaware?”
“We are ready for whatever you have in mind.”
It was a confident answer, one that Keith believed implicitly. But he wasn’t ready for what they thought he had in mind. He turned to look at his men on the crest behind them.
“If we can settle this without riskin’ our men, would ye be willing?”
That wasn’t an offer Troy had been expecting and he was momentarily confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Keith shrugged his shoulders, a casual gesture, as if he really wasn’t concerned about the English giving him a fight. “I dunna believe ye want tae risk yer men against me thousand,” he said. “Yer men have seen a big battle. I can see it in them; they’re weary and they want tae go home. I want them tae go home. But I have brought a thousand Scots who have come to push ye off me land, so I can fight ye if I have tae. But I have a solution that is much easier and much cleaner than a big battle for this worthless piece of rock.”
Troy wasn’t sure what that could be. In fact, that kind of proposition didn’t make much sense to him. He’d never heard of a Scotsman so willing to bargain peacefully rather than bring forth pikes and swords against the English. He looked at his father before answering.
“What solution?” he asked.
Keith took a step towards him, fixing him in the eye. “Me best warrior against yer best warrior,” he said. “Only two men fight, not thousands, and the winner shall name the terms of surrender.”
It was not an unheard of proposal, but Troy was frankly surprised. He looked at his father, who looked at him in return. Immediately, he could see that his father was inclined to agree with the proposal but Troy was still puzzled by it all. He glanced at Keith.
“Man against man?” he clarified.
Keith nodded shortly. “Warrior against warrior.”
“And the winner names the terms?”
“Aye.”
Troy cocked a dark eyebrow. “And when we name the terms, you swear to abide by them?”
The corners of Keith’s mouth twitched. “Aye,” he said. “As long as ye swear ye’ll abide by the terms I set should me warrior win.”
It seemed like a sound enough proposition. In fact, Troy was rather pleased by it; surely he could lick whatever warrior Kerr brought forth. In fact, this seemed like the easiest way out of this situation.
“A moment, please,” he said to Keith. “Let me discuss this before we proceed.”
Keith simply moved away, strolling back over to his horse and the other warrior, still mounted. Troy grasped his father by the arm and turned the man around, motioning to his brothers and the other knights in the same movement. The English came together in a big huddle as Keith stood back by his horses.
“He wants to pit his best warrior against our best warrior to decide the fate of Monteviot,” Troy explained quickly to the host of curious faces gazing back at him. “Whoever wins will dictate the terms of surrender. I must say, I was not expecting that.”
Neither were some of the others. At least, the younger knights weren’t. They were looking at each other with some surprise as the older knights discussed the situation.
“If he is sincere, then that is the perfect solution,” Paris whispered to William. “Pit Atty or Troy against his warrior. They can destroy anything on two legs.”
“Do not forget about Kevin,” Kieran pointed out. “Or even Tobias. We have many fine warriors here that could easily take on a Scotsman and win.”
William held up a hand before this turned into a debate on who was the greatest warrior among them. “There is no question on that,” he said. “And, truly, pitting one man against another will save many lives, quite possibly including my own sons. If this is what Keith truly wants, then I am inclined to agree. It would be much simpler and cleaner to have a one-on-one battle.”
Michael, standing next to Kieran, shook his head. “S-Something is not right about this,” he said in his deep, rumbling tone. The man rarely spoke because he had a stammer in his speech, but when he did speak, it was for a distinct purpose. “Why would he pledge s-such a thing if he has a thousand S-Scots waiting to fight us?”
William lifted his eyebrows. “That has occurred to me,” he admitted. “It is possible he does not have the numbers he says he has but, then again, it is like a Scots not to reveal his numbers. We cannot assume that he is not telling the truth and if we can get our armies home with no loss of life, I am willing to take that chance.”
It made sense and the group was of the same mindset. If they could avoid a battle, then they would. But questions lingered.
“But what if we l-lose?” Michael asked. “He names the terms and you l-lose Monteviot, William. What about that?”
William pondered that possibility. “If I lose Monteviot, then I will make it clear to Kerr that my eye will be on it. Any more reiver activity and I will not hesitate to purge it again.”
It was a reasonable statement. With nothing more to say and with the questions satisfactorily answered, the group of knights seemed to all agree that accepting Keith’s proposal was the thing to do. All except for one last question.
“Then who will f-fight his warrior?” Michael asked what they were all thinking.
William knew that the decision was up to him and it wasn’t one he took lightly. He looked at the faces around him; Paris and Apollo, looking at him both apprehensively and hopefully, in that order. Paris didn’t want to fight, Apollo did. Then there was Patrick and James, trying not to appear too willing to lift a sword. They wanted the honor. Kieran and Kevin came next, both of them looking as if they very much wanted to do battle against the Scots, before coming to Michael, Tobias, Case, and Corbin. Michael didn’t appear too eager, but his sons did.
And then there was Troy. Standing next to his father, he, too, was waiting for William’s word. William sighed heavily when he realized there was only one choice he could make.
“This is to be Troy’s outpost until we settle on a permanent commander,” he said reluctantly. “It is my sense that Troy should be the one to accept the challenge. He is the one who needs to earn Red Keith’s respect, after all.”
Troy was the only one pleased to hear his father’s decision. Everyone else was disappointed to varying degrees, but it was Patrick who spoke.
“That is a wise decision, Papa,” he said. “You are correct; if Troy is to know any peace, then he has to earn their respect. But know this; if he falls, I will step into the battle in his stead.”
“And I shall step in if Patrick falters,” James said firmly.
William held up his hand to stop the declarations of bravery. “That defeats the purpose of single combat,” he said. “While I am sure Troy appreciates your bravery, there will be no second and third warriors to take his place. Although I will not let him become terribly injured, should he be unable to continue, then the Kerr wins the fight. Is that understood?”
The thought of losing a fight to a Scots didn’t sit well with the English knights, but they reluctantly agreed. They understood the rules of engagement, but there wasn’t one man who wasn’t willing to step in and ignore those rules. William looked most pointedly at Patrick and James, who weren’t happy about complying, before looking to Kevin, who would be the one to charge off regardless of what he’d agreed to. William even pointed at him.
“Give me your oath, Kevin,” he said.
Kevin frowned unhappily until his father elbowed him in the ribs. Only then did he answer. “Very well,” he said. “You have it.”
William wasn’t sure if he believed the man, but he had the courtesy not to dispute him, at least not openly. With that matter settled more or less, there was still more on William’s mind. He looked to Troy.
“Go and don your protection,” he instructed. As his son turned and headed back into the enclosure of Monteviot, William looked to Patrick. “Get all of your army back into the gates and make sure the gates are secured. I expect Troy to be the victor in this and I would not be surprised if Keith went back on his word and launched his army at us. Make sure Monteviot is as prepared for an assault as it can be. Paris, you and Patrick will be in command for now. My focus will be on Troy until this combat is over.”
The group broke up and began to move swiftly, as William turned his attention back to Keith. The man was still standing near his horse and was seemingly interested in what was going on with the English. The knights were yelling commands, moving the men who lingered outside the gates back into the bailey. William approached him cautiously.
“We accept your challenge,” he said. “Your best warrior against my best warrior. Although I have many warriors that are excellent, I have selected my son, Troy. He will be in command of Monteviot for the near future so you should know what kind of man he is. He will fight your warrior and he will win.”
Keith couldn’t say that he was all that glad to hear it. Troy de Wolfe was an enormous man, and if William de Wolfe was selecting him to fight above all of the other magnificent knights he had at his disposal, then it meant that Troy was the best of the best. The thought of Rhoswyn going against such a beast of a man unsettled him greatly, but he couldn’t turn back now.
“Very well,” Keith said, confidence in his voice that he did not feel. “Bring him forth. Let us get on with it.”
William’s gaze lingered on him and Keith was afraid that the man might have heard his hesitation. But Keith kept his expression neutral and William finally turned away, heading for the gates where everyone was cramming back into the fortress. When he was out of earshot, Keith turned to Rhoswyn.
“Did ye hear that?” he asked quietly. “Ye have tae fight the big man that was standin’ next tae de Wolfe. That is his son, Troy.”
Rhoswyn had, indeed, seen the man. In fact, she had seen and heard everything that was said in spite of being several feet back from where the conversation was taking place. But she wasn’t intimidated in the least. Such was her level of confidence in not only her abilities, but in the pride of an English knight. She’d been planning her assault since last night and she knew exactly what she was going to do. Her plan was going to work.
She had no doubt.
“Have no fear, Pa,” she said quietly. “He will fold when the time is right.”
“And if he doesna?”
Rhoswyn’s gaze was on the English as they were herded back into the keep. “Then I will fight him.”
Keith sighed sharply. “He is twice yer size and twice yer strength, lass. Dunna be foolish.”
Rhoswyn’s focus moved to her father. She could see how worried he was. Perhaps there was something wrong with her in that she was not worried in the least, but she truly didn’t believe there was anything to be concerned over. To entertain otherwise would cause her to doubt herself, and doubt could be deadly.
She wasn’t in the habit of doubting her abilities.
“There are other ways tae win a fight than brute strength,” she said. “De Wolfe canna outsmart me. I will win.”
She sounded very confident and Keith didn’t want to damage that confidence. But the truth was that he was frightened for her; frightened that the de Wolfe son would simply look at a female warrior as another Scot, another target, and he would take his hatred out on her.
Soon enough, they would find out.
Keith realized that he was very much dreading that moment.