CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kirklinton was in flames and the gates were wide open. Men in tartans were moving about freely. As Mathias and his army crested the road leading to Kirklinton from the north, he ordered shields slung for the knights and weapons in-hand. Nearly his entire force was mounted but he did have about seventy or eighty foot soldiers. He wasn’t even going to be strategic about his method of attack. He was going to charge right into the sea of tartans and begin the killing trend. There was no time to waste.
With a battle cry, he urged his men forward and the charge was on. The Scots, hearing the cry, began to scramble as hundreds of English soldiers descended upon them. Mathias headed right for the open gates and ended up lopping off the head of some idiot Scotsman who tried to challenge him. His big silver charger, so contributory in his wars with Mortimer, was again an instrument of death as the horse anticipated nearly every move of his master. Mathias was very thankful for the vicious, intelligent beast.
Once he entered the gates of Kirklinton, he could see the situation for what it was. The entire place was burning with the exception of the keep, which seemed to have held out. Off to his right, he could hear his brother’s battle howl as the man plowed through several Scots with the relish of a man devouring a fine meal. There was a strange glee to Sebastian’s manner and Mathias glanced over at his brother as the man chopped and thrust at the enemy around him. Most of the Scots seemed to be on foot but there were a few mounted knights. It was those men that Mathias went after.
One of the knights was in fine mail and armor, astride an equally fine charger. He was near the keep, giving orders to the men trying to batter down the entry door, but he stopped when he saw Mathias charging at him. Startled to see English reinforcements, he met Mathias with equal strength as the two of them came together near the keep in a mighty clash.
Sparks flew into the early morning air as Mathias battled the Scots knight on horseback. He was as merciless as he was skilled, going after the man’s limbs rather than his torso or his head. His strategy was simple. A disabled man was much easier to dispatch. The Scots knight, however, was quite talented and managed to stay away from Mathias’ deadly broadsword for quite some time until Mathias managed to nick the charger, which nearly unseated the knight when it bolted off.
Mathias spurred his charger after the pair, catching up to them and using a massively heavy thrust to amputate the knight’s left hand. When the knight howled and folded, Mathis speared the man right in the side, straight through the mail. His broadsword went in one side and out the other, and when he withdrew it, the knight fell to the ground, dead. Mathias didn’t wait around to view his handiwork. He had more men to kill.
Thundering off into the heat of battle near the keep, he ended up helping Sebastian fend off a number of foot soldiers who were trying to pull Sebastian off his charger. The redheaded knight was furious with their attempts and men with hacked arms and heads fell back, victims of Sebastian’s mighty sword.
Once his brother was safe from being unseated, Mathis ordered his men to secure the keep. An onslaught of English soldiers rushed the keep and the men trying to ram down the entry door found themselves overwhelmed. Soon, the vicious fight for the keep was in full swing and it was nasty hand to hand combat to chase the Scots away. It took a great deal of time and it wasn’t simple in the least, but eventually, Mathias and Sebastian and a host of English knights were able to move the fighting away from the keep.
Meanwhile, a major portion of Mathias’ army had swept through the stable yards and kitchen yard, engaging in heavy combat while trying to chase the Scots from Kirklinton’s enclosure. Mathias sent some of his archers up to the gatehouse, protected by English soldiers, and the archers were cool and clean with their accuracy as they struck down Scot after Scot.
As the morning deepened and the sun rose, the remaining Scots realized that they were losing a great many men to the English archers in the gatehouse so they finally called a retreat. Mathias and Sebastian, along with several hundred English foot soldiers, chased the last of the Scots from Kirklinton’s keep and scattered them to the countryside. Mathias ordered about a hundred mounted men to follow them to ensure that they did not turn for Carlisle while he and several soldiers attempted to gain entrance to Kirklinton’s keep.
Mathias dismounted his charger at the base of the steps to the keep, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the door. The old iron and oak panel had held admirably and he pounded on it, shouting up to the open lancet windows on the floors above.
“In the name of the King, you will open this door,” he bellowed. “The enemy has fled and your walls are secured. Open the door in the name of Edward, I say!”
There was no response for several long moments. He pounded again, and yelled again, until he finally heard a voice overhead emitting from one of the long lancet windows. It was too narrow for a man to stick his head out of so he could see for himself that the English were at his door, so the person could only stand next to the window and yell.
“You will tell me your name!” the man inside shouted.
Mathias didn’t hesitate. “Mathias de Reyne,” he called back. “I have been sent by the Earl of Carlisle.”
More silence. Mathias was growing just the least bit impatient. Did these fools not realize that he was here to save them? He pounded on the door again, and shouted again, when he began to hear the bolt move on the other side. The door was fairly heavily damaged so it took those on both sides of the panel to actually open it. When it was open wide enough for a man to slip through, Saer appeared from the interior of the keep. His blood-shot eyes were wide on Mathias.
“You!” he said. It sounded something between an accusation and a sigh of relief. “You have come. I was told you were in Scotland.”
Mathias stepped back so the man could emerge. “I was,” he said. “But we have been following the Scots south because we knew they were intending revenge on Carlisle by attacking his properties. I am sorry we could not be here sooner.”
Saer was exhausted, relieved. It began to occur to him that the siege was truly over and he slumped back against the keep, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“You came when you could and for that, I am grateful,” he said. Then he took another step out onto the landing and caught sight of the flames and smoke billowing into the air as the great hall burned. His face went positively ashen. “Dear God, no!”
Terror filled every inch of his body. He began to run down the stone steps leading to the bailey, hurling his armored body across the death and destruction of the bailey as fast as his legs would allow. Mathias, caught up in the man’s panic, was right behind him.
“What is wrong?” Mathias demanded. “Where are you going?”
Saer could barely speak. He gestured wildly to the hall. “They are in there!”
Mathias grabbed the man. He seemed nearly crazed with horror. “Who is in there?”
Saer was crazed. He was nearly incoherent. “My family,” he gasped. “My… my wife. My girls. They are all in there!”
Mathias looked at the great hall, a great charred wreckage that was still smoldering and flaming. “Your… your wife?” he repeated, sickened as he looked at the structure. “My lord, if they are in there, they….”
“Cathlina is in there, you fool!” he screamed. “Your wife is in there, too!”
Mathias nearly fell over from the shock and grief of the harshly slung words. He stared at the hall, hardly able to comprehend what he was being told. His exhausted mind was wracked with disbelief and horror.
“Cathlina?” he repeated, hearing her name spoken in his shaken voice. His knees threatened to buckle but he fought it. “My Cathlina?”
“Aye!”
“But… but she was at Carlisle!”
“She came to Kirklinton a few weeks ago. We have no time to waste if we are to save them!”
That was all Mathias needed to hear. His training kicked in, his innate ability to deal calmly with any given situation. Panic would not do Cathlina any good. Only calm heads would be able to save her if, indeed, she was salvageable. Brutally, he grabbed Saer by the arm and began yanking him towards the building.
“Where, for God’s sake?” he demanded. “Where are they?”
Saer began to run, trying to enter the building at the main door but being sent back because of the heat and smoke.
“They are in the storage vault, down below the hall,” Saer said, running to the west side of the structure with Mathias on his heels. “We must get them out!”
Mathias bellowed to the nearest soldiers, who came on the run. They all rounded the corner to the west side of the structure, which wasn’t nearly as destroyed as the main entry. They raced inside the smoky servant’s entrance to see that the roof had collapsed on the very doorway they needed to get to. Saer pointed at it furiously.
“There!” he screamed. “That is the door to the vaults! They are down there!”
Mathias rushed forward, shoving aside heavy beams and pieces of roof that were still smoldering. His soldiers followed him and quickly, they began to tear away at the debris that had fallen down against the old iron grate. In fact, the grate itself was twisted and soft from the extreme heat that had been burned against it. As a smithy, Mathias knew the heat factor well. It must have been intense. He struggled and coughed as he fought to clear the debris field near the vault entry.
“Cathlina!” Saer screamed as dozens of Englishmen tried to remove the carnage. “Cathlina, can you hear me? The key, daughter, we need the key!”
Mathias, fighting through a piece of roof that was still burning, looked at him curiously. “What key?” he asked, coughing as smoke billowed up in his face.
Saer pointed to the giant lock on the iron grate. “We need the key,” he repeated breathlessly. “I gave it to Cathlina.”
Mathias could see what he was referring to. The iron grate was heavy and old, and the key was needed for the massive lock. He gave a big shove to the burning debris so he could peer down the dark, steep stairwell into the vault. At the bottom, all he could see was more debris and darkness.
“Cathlina!” he roared.
There was no answer and his anxiety surged. Burning debris had toppled down the stairs through the iron grate and the steps were littered with it. Smoke was thick. In fact, it filled the stairwell and the blackness at the bottom. He turned to Saer.
“We must get in there now,” he said, a panicked edge to his voice. “Do you have any smithy tools?”
Saer’s mind was nearly gone, overwhelmed with what had happened to his castle and to his family, but he managed to nod to Mathias’ question.
“We did,” he said, lifting his shoulders helplessly. “I do not know what has become of it in the battle. It could be lost.”
“Show me where it was. Mayhap there is something left I can use.”
As the soldiers continued to frantically remove the debris, Saer and Mathias raced out to the bailey to what was left of the trade shacks near the stables. They had all been burned. The place where the smithy and the tanner’s sheds once stood was now a heap of rubble. Saer began plowing through it.
“In here, somewhere,” he said as he threw aside charred wreckage. “This is where the smithy and the tanner were. Any tools will be under this mess.”
Mathias just kept digging through it, tossing wreckage aside as he tried very hard not to think of Cathlina. To do so would threaten his control and he needed that very badly if he had any chance of getting into the vault. As he dug through the burnt timber and thatch, he saw Sebastian approach, covered with gore. The man was looking at him very curiously. Mathias waved him over.
“Cathlina is here,” he told his brother, sounding edgy and winded. “She is in the vault but we cannot get to her.”
Sebastian could see that his brother, his cool and collected brother, was verging on panic. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Mathias returned his attention to the ruins of the smithy shacks. “If I can find pliers and a measure of wire, I may be able to turn the tumblers on the old lock.”
Sebastian was confused. “What lock?”
“The lock to the vault.”
“But where is the key?”
Mathias looked up at him and Sebastian swore he saw tears in the man’s eyes. “She has it,” he muttered. “Her father gave her the key and told her to lock the family into the vault, the safest place during a siege. Now the vault is filled with smoke and we cannot rouse her. I must get to her, do you hear? I must.”
Sebastian began throwing aside burnt wood in an attempt to get to the bottom of the pile. He didn’t even ask what Cathlina was doing at Kirklinton when she was supposed to be at Carlisle. He didn’t ask any more questions because he was certain that Mathias would not take any delay, no matter how small, well. He’d never seen such terror in Mathias’ eyes and it deeply concerned him. Therefore, he helped them clear out the debris.
Mathias located a long, slender pair of pliers that were red-hot. He nearly burned himself on them but tossed them aside. Saer was still digging through the debris and Sebastian was kicking aside charred wood and other remains. Finally, Mathias came up with two long, slender rods of iron usually used when repairing iron tools. With the pliers in one hand and the iron rods in the other, he bolted for the great hall. Saer and Sebastian followed.
The soldiers had managed to clear away a good deal of the debris by the time they returned. The arched entry to the vault was completely exposed and the old iron grate was torqued and hot from the fire. Mathias dropped to his knees in front of the old iron grate, his focus on the big iron lock in front of him.
“Can’t we unhinge it?” Sebastian asked as he tried to gain a better look at the hinges.
Mathias shook his head. “It is impossible,” he said. “Take a look for yourself. They are very nearly melted to the frame. Whoever built this built it to withstand a great deal. Nay, little brother, we cannot unhinge it. I must see if I can open this lock without a key.”
Sebastian stood next to his brother as the man took the two slender iron rods and poked them inside the old lock, trying to move the mechanism inside. Saer stood at the grate, watching in fear and anticipation as Mathias attempted to unlock it. He kept turning his attention to the stairwell and the smoky darkness below. He’d never felt such anguish.
“Cathlina?” he called again. “Rosalund? Can anyone hear me? Roxane?”
It was pathetic, really. The poor man was trying to rouse his family when they more than likely could not be roused. He kept calling to them and the more he called, the more the silence was truly painful. Mathias could feel it even though he was struggling with all of his might to ignore it. If he succumbed to the bone-numbing grief that the silence provoked, then all would be lost. And he could not, would not, give up. Not when Cathlina’s life hung in the balance. He would never, ever give up.
Please God, he silently prayed. Please do not let anything happen to her. You have ignored me a great deal over the past two years but I beg that you not ignore me now. Give me the skill and strength to save the one person in my life who has given me joy and love above all else. Do not give her to me only to cruelly take her away.
Tears filled his eyes as he prayed, clouding his vision as he struggled to manipulate the old tumblers. He tried blinking them away but they just kept coming. Soon, they were spilling from his eyes and he paused to angrily wipe them away. He didn’t have time for tears. Cathlina was waiting for him.
But it was an agonizing wait. The minutes ticked by and he continued to twist the rods in an attempt to roll the tumblers. The roof overhead was still burning and twice, big hunks of debris had fallen dangerously close to him. Sebastian was watching him over his shoulder and a dozen English soldiers were standing around, watching and waiting while their commander tried to pick a lock. Saer could hardly take the strain and had taken to pacing in a circle, his head in his hands. Just as the stress grew too great to bear, the old tumblers finally gave way and the lock sprung.
Sebastian heard the click and saw the bolt lift. He reached out and yanked on the hot iron, pulling it back and nearly mowing his brother down in the process. But Mathias was quick on his feet, diving down the dark and cluttered stairwell, avoiding the debris as best he could with an army of men following him. When he came to the second grate at the bottom, he pushed his face against the slats to try and gain a better look at the room beyond.
“Cathlina!” he roared.
His voice echoed off the walls and he heard coughing. It was thick with smoke and bad air, and several pieces of burning debris had managed to fall in between the iron bars, now burning on the dirt floor of the vault. Mathias called her name twice more before a man suddenly appeared on his knees. Mathias, Saer, and Sebastian dropped to their knees also, moving to speak to the man but Saer reached out and grabbed him by the neck.
“My family!” he cried. “What has happened to them?”
Before the man could answer, Mathias snatched the man’s arm. “The Lady Cathlina,” he said calmly although his voice was shaking. “Do you know who she is?”
The man coughed and gasped. “Aye, my lord.”
“She has a key!” Saer was frantic. “Get the key!”
The man nodded, hacking and gasping as he crawled back into the smoky darkness. They could hear him over at the far end of the vault, an area they could not see from their angle, and they heard a woman’s voice lifted in fear.
“Nay!” the woman yelled, her voice guttural and hoarse. “You will not let them in! They mean to kill us!”
“Nay, my lady,” the servant was saying. “It is your husband. He has come to rescue us.”
The woman was evidently still reluctant. “It is a trick,” she snarled. “It is a trap. They mean to kill us all! I will not let them have us, do you hear? They will not take us alive!”
Mathias and Saer looked at each other with great apprehension. Saer threw himself against the bars and called out.
“Rosalund?” he cried. “It is me! Cathlina has the key! Open the door!”
The woman didn’t answer but they could hear her grumbling. Then the sounds of a struggle ensued and the manservant cried out.
“Nay, my lady!” he said. “They have come to rescue us! The knife… put it away, I say! Put it away!”
“Rosalund!” Saer cried again. “Get the key! Let us in!”
A woman’s scream pierced the smoky haze. There were sounds of a struggle. They could hear grunting and thumping, as if people were fighting for their lives. Sounds of weeping filled the air and Saer went mad, yanking at the iron grate and screaming his wife’s name. Meanwhile, Mathias had taken his two iron rods and was attempting to pick the lock with shaking hands when the manservant suddenly appeared again. A key was thrust into Mathias’ face.
“Here,” he rasped.
Mathias snatched the key and threw the lock, noticing that the servant was covered in blood. Heart in his throat, he had to crawl into the vault on his hands and knees because the smoke became very thick from the waist level on up. He could hear Sebastian and Saer behind him, all of them crawling towards the end of the room where a jumble of people seemed strewn about the ground. Mathias caught sight of his wife’s hair before he ever saw her face, and that was his guide, like a beacon. He closed in on her in a flash.
Cathlina was pale and unconscious. Mathias grabbed her and, still on his hands and knees, somehow managed to drag her out of the vault. By the time he hit the stairwell, he was able to stand in the thinning smoke and he carried her out of the darkness and into the light above. All the while, he could hear panicked little gasps, unaware that they were his until he entered the destroyed hall above. Then, he realized he had been in an utter panic mode. Taking a look at his wife’s unconscious face, he burst into tears of pure anguish.
Weeping, he carried his wife outside into the fresh air. Once he was free of the hall, he collapsed onto his knees and held Cathlina against him, so tightly that he was nearly squeezing her to death. All the while, he wept deeply, his face buried in her neck. There was no other way he could possibly react, finding his wife in a vault full of smoke and blood. He didn’t even know if she was dead or alive, so he loosened his grip and lay her down on the soft earth of Kirklinton’s bailey.
“Cathlina?” he sobbed, patting her cheeks to see if she would react. “Open your eyes, love, ’tis me. Open your eyes and look at me.”
She lay as still as death. Mathias put his ear against her chest and he could hear a faint heartbeat. It was rapid and weak. He rubbed at her chest, trying to stimulate her into taking a deep breath, but she remained limp. Finally, he slapped her lightly on the cheek.
“Cathlina?” he said, gaining control over his tears. “Cathlina, open your eyes and look at me. All is well, I swear it. Open your eyes now.”
As he continued to alternately pat and rub her cheeks, Sebastian came up beside him bearing another limp body. Mathias caught sight of Roxane as Sebastian laid her carefully on the ground.
“How is Cathlina?” Sebastian said, breathless with exertion.
Mathias shook his head. “She does not wake but she is breathing,” he said, his voice trembling. “Is the sister dead?”
Sebastian looked at pale, unconscious Roxane. “This one is not,” he said, “but it looks as if the mother went mad. The servants said that she thought the Scots were overtaking them so she stabbed herself before anyone could stop her. The servants prevented her from doing any damage to the daughters.”
Mathias lifted his head, looking at his brother with his red-rimmed eyes. “Where is the father?”
“In the vault. He is trying to keep the mother from bleeding to death. Cathlina and her sisters are fortunate to have survived.”
“Where is the little one?”
“Still down there.”
“You had better bring her up into the clean air.”
Sebastian stood up. “I will get her.”
Mathias watched his brother walk away before closing his eyes for a moment, tightly, and muttering a prayer of thanks for God’s infinite mercy. But he was jolted from his prayers when Cathlina began to cough violently. Startled, he sat her upright in an attempt to help her clear her lungs.
“There, now,” he said, gently rubbing her back. “You are safe. Breathe easy, love. Take a few deep breaths and breathe easy.”
Dazed and feeling ill, Cathlina continued to cough and hack, struggling for every breath. Eventually, she calmed enough so that she was able to breathe more evenly. She clutched Mathias, the steadying force as her world rocked, opening her eyes to his anxious, handsome face.
“Mathias,” she gasped. “You… you came.”
She sounded lucid and it was enough to drive him to tears once again. “Aye,” he said tightly. “I came. Everything will be well again, I swear it.”
Cathlina was struggling to clear her lungs and her mind. The situation was still very disorienting as she looked around, trying to gain her bearings. But her focus fell on Mathias once again and she put her arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as she could manage for all of her weakness. She still continued to cough even as she spoke.
“The Scots came,” she told him. “My father said the vault would be the safest place for us so he locked us in and gave me the key. How did I get out here?”
“I brought you out,” he answered, kissing her smoke-smelling hair with the greatest satisfaction. “How do you feel?”
Cathlina coughed, her head on his shoulder because she was truly too weak to do much more than simply lean on him. His warmth and strength against her felt wonderful.
“Not very well,” she admitted. “It is hard to breathe. What happened?”
Mathias was calming now that she was in his arms and, seemingly, not seriously injured. It was all he could do not to weep with gratitude. In fact, given the state of the hall and the situation in general, he could hardly believe it.
“The Scots burned the great hall,” he told her. “The smoke traveled to the vault. I think you must have breathed in a fair amount before we were able to get to you.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “How did you know to come?” she asked, incredulous. “How did you know I was in danger?”
Mathias gazed into her beautiful face, thinking a lot of different things at that moment. But he was mostly thinking that his wife was safe, and in his arms, and that was the only thing that mattered to him. She was the only thing that mattered to him.
“I will always be there to keep you from danger,” he said softly, stroking a pale cheek. “The first time I met you, I saved you from danger. I will always be there, Cathlina, no matter where you are. Look over your shoulder and I shall be there. Look into the sky and I will be gazing down upon you. Do you understand that you drew me out of despair and gave me a reason to live again? You redeemed me, my sweet Cathlina, and I will always be there for you, in this life or any other, to keep you safe and love you until the end of time. That is my destiny in life. You have given that to me, and I am grateful.”
Cathlina smiled at him, touching his stubbled face, watching as he tenderly kissed her fingers. “All I did was love you,” she whispered. “As a smithy or as a knight, all I did was love you. As for your destiny, I am glad we will live it together.”
Mathias kissed her, tenderly, sampling every taste and texture she had to offer. It was overwhelmingly intoxicating, and his joy and relief knew no bounds. She was safe and she was whole, and they had a future to attend to. His life, his future, was far richer because of her.
From the scandal of Roger Mortimer to the victory on the fields of Dupplin Moor, Mathias had found himself once again. He was no longer the Fallen One but the Redeemed One because no matter what, the confidence and strength that Cathlina gave to him could never be taken away, not by kings or princes or entire armies. What she gave to him couldn’t be erased. It was buried deep in the heart of a knight, never to be tarnished again.
Scooping his wife into his enormous arms, he carried her off into the setting sun.