Chapter 3
Sir Martin de Grey paced the battlements of Castle Heaton, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders. From his castle on the border, he peered north. Over the rolling hills and the vast expanse of land was Scotland - his biggest challenge. Also, his greatest enemy.
“My lord, are you up here?” His squire, Rock, made his way up the stairs to the walkway two at a time. “Ah, I thought I’d find you here staring off into the distance at bonnie Scotland.”
“How many times have I told you never to bother me when I’m thinking?” Martin continued pacing. “And Scotland is bloody, not bonnie. I never want to hear you repeat anything like that about it again.”
“You’re thinking about Dunbar Castle and Clan Dunbar again, aren’t you? Are you still planning on attacking?”
Martin stopped his pacing and turned to look at his squire. “You know as well as anyone that Clan Dunbar has been our enemy for as long as I’ve been alive.”
“I know. The feud,” said Rock, picking at a hangnail as if Martin’s words were of little importance.
“How can you sound so aloof?” asked Martin. “What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing, my lord.” Rock dropped his hand to his side and looked over the battlements toward Scotland. The boy’s name was Philip, but everyone called him Rock since his emotions as well as his nerves were so steady that nothing seemed to ever rattle him. “I just don’t understand what the feud is really about,” he said. Rock was nearing the age of knighthood at twenty years old. He’d proven to be a good comrade in battle by his loyalty, guarding Martin’s back in the last dozen battles.
“You seem to forget that Clan Dunbar is holding my brother in their dungeon. Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Ah, yes.” Rock closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the wind whipped through his shoulder-length honey-colored hair. “I remember they have Jamesson. I also remember that we are holding their laird’s son, Aidar in our dungeons as well. Or did you forget?” He peered out at Martin from the corners of his half-closed eyes.
“Squire, you are trying my last nerve. If there is something you wish to say, then do it already.”
“Permission to speak freely, my lord?” Rock turned to face him.
“What in the blazes did I just say? Sometimes, I think Rock is a good name for you since that head of yours is as thick as stone.”
“Why don’t you try again calling a truce?” asked Rock. “Return Aidar and, in exchange, demand they return Jamesson to you.”
“I tried that already and it didn’t work. I won’t approach Dunbar on it a second time since he isn’t interested in peace.” Although he’d, indeed, tried a truce, Martin was not one to negotiate either. All his life, Martin had fought for what he wanted. He’d usually get it, too. His father was a weak man and punished by God because of it. Martin’s mother had taken his sisters and left to live in France, far away from her husband. This was all because his father, Lambert de Grey, had negotiated when he should have insisted his wife stay. Martin and Jamesson stayed in Northumberland with their father, while Martin’s mother took the girls and left, never to return.
“There will be no truce,” spat Martin. “The Dunbars will pay for what they did to my family. Before I’m through, their castle will be mine.”
Martin stormed down the stairs, making his way to the great hall where he knew he’d find his father. Even though it was midday and the meal wouldn’t be served for hours yet, Lambert de Grey sat on a bench, warming his hands by the fire. He stared at the flames as if all his answers to his problems would be found there.
“Father,” he said, giving his eyes a moment to get accustomed to the dark hall before making his way across the room. Martin’s Peregrine falcon, Andromeda, flew to him. He held out his leather-clad arm, and the bird landed atop it in silent stealth. “Hello, Andromeda,” he said, running a finger over the bird’s feathered head. Black eyes rimmed in yellow stared into his as if to tell him his father fared no better. The bird’s eyes moved back and forth as it turned its head as if it were listening. Then it made a few high-pitched screeching noises and took off in flight across the room, most likely chasing down a mouse.
Martin sat down next to his father – the broken, confused excuse of a man. At one time, Lambert de Grey was a mighty warrior, always eager to fight and never to back down from anyone no matter how dangerous the situation. That was his downfall, Martin supposed. Ever since that awful accident two years ago, the man had become addled and was now nothing short of the castle’s fool.
“I’ll be gone for a while, but I’ll send Brother Theodore to look after you until I return.” He spoke, but wasn’t sure his father ever heard a word he said.
“She’s coming back to me,” Lambert mumbled, staring into the fire and smiling. “Any day now, she’ll be back, and things will be what they used to be.”
Martin had little patience where his father was concerned. For two long years, he’d watched the man turn into a pathetic excuse for a human being. He’d had enough of it and couldn’t take it anymore.
“Dammit, you old fool, she’s never coming back,” he shouted, getting to his feet. His father stood up and looked at him as if he didn’t understand. “You made your choices and so did Mother. She’s married to someone else now, so stop holding on to something that will never be.”
“Nay, you’re wrong,” said his father, anger showing in his eyes. It was the first time in a long time that Martin had seen any kind of emotion from his father other than pity for himself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She still loves me, as I do her.”
“Love makes a man weak,” spat Martin. “In your case, it’s destroyed you! Go back to staring at your fire and living in a dream that can never be. You’re no help to me.”
“What do you need my help with?” asked Lambert, his eyes narrowing as he said it.
“You are so obsessed with the past that you can’t see what’s going on in the present. The Dunbars have Jamesson. They’re holding him prisoner and might kill him.”
“Jamesson?”
“Your other son, Father. If you were half the man you used to be, you’d be at my side to attack Clan Dunbar and take back from them what is ours.”
“I’ve lost another son,” said the man, sinking atop the bench, staring into the fire again. “She’ll be back, and then I’ll ask her what to do. Lady Amelia will know what to do. We’ll wait and ask her.”
Martin turned and stormed through the great hall, wanting to kill anyone who got in his way. Mayhap he should shake his father or beat some sense into the addlepated man.
“My lord,” said Rock, stopping short of crashing into Martin as he left the great hall. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Pack what we’ll need for a short trip, Squire,” he commanded, looking over his shoulder and calling for his bird. “Come, Andromeda.” The falcon flew through the great hall and over his head, out into the courtyard.
“Where are we going?” asked Rock, running to keep up with him.
“I’ll wait no longer for the sword Ravenscar promised me. If he won’t send it to me, then I’ll collect it myself.”
“The sword?” asked Rock. “The one the blacksmith is crafting you from the Damascus steel?
“That’s the one. It’ll be the best sword in all of England and exactly what I need to lead my army to East Lothian, so I can rescue Jamesson, kill Laird Gregor Dunbar, and lay siege to his castle.”
Rock stopped in his tracks and let out a sigh. That caused Martin to turn on his heel. “What is it now?” he asked. “Something else you don’t agree with, Squire? Perhaps you think I should wait another two months for a weapon that should have been completed a month ago?”
“Nay, I didn’t say that at all,” said Rock. “I was just wondering. Will you kill Ravenscar if the sword isn’t finished yet?”
“I just might,” he said, his fingers curling over the hilt of his sword. “I never should have trusted that conniving, no-good thief in the first place. My only saving grace is that I’ve got the blacksmith’s son. Then again, Ravenscar might have killed his blacksmith and sold my steel by now for all I know.”
“And if that happened, my lord? Then what will you do?” asked Rock calmly.
“Don’t ask questions to which you don’t want to know the answers,” said Martin, turning and heading for the stable. “We’ll take the ship to Ravenscar instead of riding since it’ll be faster. I don’t have any more time to waste. For all I know, Jamesson could already be dead.”