Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (37 page)

Toby’s eyes opened wide with
horror, with sorrow. “Oh, Jo-Jo,” she murmured. “I am so sorry to hear that.
Truly.”

Joselyn shook her head, thinking
it odd that the memory didn’t pain her like it once did.  “It was terrible,
that is true,” she murmured. “But in a strange way, it was also how I came to
discover what kind of man I had married.  Stephen built a coffin for my mother
and prayed over her for hours from what I was told. And he did this without
even knowing me. He did it because it needed to be done.”

Toby watched the way Joselyn’s
face softened when she spoke of Stephen. Knowing the man as she had for years,
she was thrilled beyond measure to see such adoration in the woman’s eyes. 

“Stephen is a wonderful man,” she
agreed softly. “So is Kenneth.  You and I are extremely fortunate to be
admitted into their exclusive club. Surely no finer men walk the earth.”

Joselyn smiled, thinking on her
enormous and handsome husband. “I have offered to find Sir Kenneth a wife,” she
said. “He does not seem too keen on the idea.”

Toby laughed. “He will be when he
meets the right woman. Stephen was never too keen on the idea, either, but that
has changed.”

“Only because he was forced to
marry me.”

“Then perhaps we need to force
Kenneth into marriage.”

Joselyn pretended to agree. 
“What enemy daughter can we saddle him with?”

Toby laughed heartily, returning
to her parchment and still snorting. Knowing Kenneth as she did, it was a
humorous suggestion indeed.

Joselyn pushed aside thoughts of
Stephen before they dampened her mood, returning to her own project to keep her
mind occupied.  As they resumed focus on their individual tasks, the soldiers
on the walls began taking up a cry.  From where they sat in the solar, both
women could hear it and Joselyn looked at Toby with both fear and curiosity. 
Toby cocked an ear, listening. 

“It sounds as if they are opening
the gates,” she said after several moments.

Joselyn struggled not to get too
excited. “Perhaps the soldier has returned from Berwick.”

Toby could see that the woman was
ready to jump from her seat. “If it is, we will know soon enough,” she said
steadily. “Relax and resume your sewing.”

Joselyn forced herself to calm
and resume her needlepoint.  But her hands were shaking, something that didn’t
go unnoticed by Toby.  She knew very well what it was to wait for a husband who
was away at war.  But time passed as they continued with their tasks, sitting
in comfortable yet expectant silence, until boot falls echoed against the
retractable wooden stairs. 

Joselyn heard them first, her
hand frozen above the fabric, still clutching the needle, as Tate entered the
solar.  He glanced at his wife but his focus was mostly on Joselyn. He opened
his mouth to speak but he was not fast enough.

“Well?” Joselyn stood up, gazing
at him expectantly. “We heard the sentries. Did the messenger return from Berwick?”

Tate was trying to think of a
calm way to relay the information, not only for Joselyn but for Toby. He didn’t
want to upset either of them but knew he had little choice. Before he could get
the words out of his mouth, a massive body suddenly walked up behind him,
wedging itself in between Tate and the door jamb. Joselyn’s eyes widened at the
sight.

“Kenneth!” she gasped, dropping
the needle in her hand and almost tripping over the fabric loom when she tried
to stand up. She made her way unsteadily towards a very dirty, bloody Kenneth, appalled
by what she was seeing. The longer she stared at him, the more horrified she
became.  “Why are you here? Where is Stephen?”

Kenneth gazed at her; he had been
in battle mode for days and it was difficult to calm himself enough so that he
didn’t sound like has barking orders or hollering at the enemy.  As Joselyn
drew close, quivering, he reached out and grasped her slender arm with his
dirty, bloody glove.

“Berwick fell,” he told her
softly.

Joselyn stared at him, hearing
his words but not truly comprehending them. She didn’t reply for the longest
time, struggling in that dark world between hysteria and reason.  She almost
couldn’t bring herself to ask the question but knew she had to. 

“Where is my husband?” her voice
sounded small.

Kenneth took a deep breath,
struggling not to be emotional, struggling to deal with the delicate lady. All
he could see when he looked at her was Stephen’s face and it pained him like
nothing he had ever known

“I managed to escape but Stephen
did not.”

“You have not told me where he
is.”

“The Scots have him.”

Joselyn’s eyes rolled back in her
head and Kenneth caught her before she could fall to the ground.  He scooped
her up into his arms as Toby leapt to her feet and pointed up the stairs.

“Take her to her chamber,” she
commanded. “Up the stairs, first door to the left.”

Kenneth swept Joselyn up the
stairs, followed by Tate and Toby.  He moved swiftly to Joselyn’s room, kicking
open the door so hard that he broke one of the hinges.  He took Joselyn to the well-made
bed and laid her gently on the mattress.

Toby was at Joselyn’s head, her
soft hands on the pale face. “Tate, please send for water and salts,” she asked
softly.

Her husband went to the door,
bellowing to the serving wench that was always lingering somewhere about the
keep.  He went back into the room, peering critically at Lady Pembury.  But she
was out cold and he turned to Kenneth.

“I will mobilize my men and
return with you,” he said, suddenly hissing. “Damn Stephen; I told him that I
should not leave if an attack was imminent but he insisted because Henry of
Lancaster was on his way with reinforcements. Damn him!”

Kenneth shook his head wearily.
“It would not have mattered if you had been there,” he said, his voice heavy
with exhaustion. “You would have been taken prisoner or worse. I was fortunate
to have escaped. I have never seen so many Scots.”

By this time, Toby turned to look
at Kenneth, tears brimming in her eyes. “When did you last see Stephen?” she
asked.

Kenneth sighed heavily, so very
exhausted. He didn’t even want to think about that day but forced himself.

“The Postern gate had been
breached,” he said hoarsely. “Soon thereafter, the walls were compromised.
Stephen was upon the walls but there were just too many Scots. It looked like
the whole of Scotland had been unleashed.  I last saw Stephen as the walls were
swarmed and the castle breached; he was on the ground with several Scots
pummeling him.”

Toby’s eyes spilled over. “But
they did not kill him?”

Kenneth shook his head. “They
seemed more intent to beat him.  It was as if they knew who they were looking
for and went right to him.” He shook his head again and began to look around
for a chair to sit down before he fell down. “They want him alive, Toby. God
only knows what they are going to do with him.”

None of them seemed to notice
that Joselyn’s eyes were open as she lay prone upon the bed. She had heard most
of what Kenneth had said, her expression vacant and bordering on madness.  She
was so far beyond grief that she could not think coherently.

“He is Guardian Protector of
Berwick,” Joselyn whispered, causing the three of them to look at her. But she
continued to stare into space, unfocused and muttering. “He is a fine prize.”

Tate had become so fond of
Joselyn that he had nearly forgotten she was the daughter of Alexander Seton,
the man who had led Berwick’s defenses against Edward. Her entire relationship
with Stephen had been based on war and conquest. At least, it had been once.
Now it was quite different but the fact remained that she had been the enemy,
once. He knelt down beside her and took her chin in his hand, gently, forcing
her to look at him.

“What are they going to do to
him, Joselyn?” he whispered earnestly. “What do you know?”

She fixed her pale blue eyes on
him and he swore he saw grief and madness such as he had never witnessed with
in the depths. “Know?” she repeated. “I do not know anything for certain. But
Edward hanged my brothers in full view of my father. Many Scots witnessed this.
Who is to say that they will not do the same to my sweet Stephen?”

“Or something worse.”

Joselyn’s hands flew to her head
as if to hold her brains in. “Dear God,” she gasped in anguish. “My sweet
angel. What have they done to you?”

Tate’s eyes lingered on her a
moment before rising to stand. He looked at Kenneth. “Did you send word to
Edward when you fled Berwick?” he asked quietly.

Kenneth was sick to his stomach
by what Joselyn’s reaction, by the emotion filling the room. “I sent six men
south; two ride for Edward while the others ride for Derby and Chester,” he
said. “Hugh de Ferrets can mobilize an army to Berwick in a week and
d’Avranches can ride from Chester in about the same amount of time. Each man
carries thousands. I have told them to summon their allies and make with all
due haste for Berwick Castle.”

Tate nodded; Kenneth was
efficient as always. But he wondered deep down if it would be too late. It had
already been a few days since Berwick’s capture. Time, for Stephen, was surely
running out.  All of the armies in the world could not prevent the man from
hanging if the Scots wished to make an example of him.  Tate needed to do
something and he needed to do it now; he couldn’t wait for armies to mobilize.
He needed someone inside; Stephen needed the help of a Scot.

Slowly, he turned to Joselyn. 
She was lying on the bed as Toby stroked her long, dark hair.  The woman was
weeping deep, excruciating sobs, her agony finding release through her tears.
It was painful to hear.  He muttered to Kenneth.

“I have an idea,” he said.

Kenneth studied him with
exhausted eyes. “What?”

Tate jerked his chin in Joselyn’s
direction. “Her father led Berwick’s defenses against Edward,” he whispered.
“Perhaps she would be willing to use that status.”

“And do what?”

“Infiltrate Berwick.” When he saw
Kenneth’s dubious expression, he hardened. “Ken, this is a job for ten thousand
men or just a few. An army is not enough yet too many. If the Scots have
Stephen, he is in the vault while they decide what to do with him. He is indeed
a prize and they will use that to their advantage. But if his wife can enter
Berwick and negotiate for his release, as one of their own, it might work.”

Kenneth was trying hard to see
his logic. “If anything happens to her, Stephen will kill us both. If he is
dead, he will rise from the grave but if he is alive, he will tear Berwick
apart just to get at us.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“She is not a soldier.”

The last two lines were choppy,
overlapping, as each man stressed his point. Tate stared at Kenneth a moment
before shaking his head. “If I had another choice, I would not use her. But if
we want to see Stephen alive again, then I do not believe we have any other
option.  This is for her as much as it is for him.”

Kenneth looked at the woman,
weeping on the bed, before emitting a heart-felt sigh.  He shook his head. “I
do not like any of this.”

“Nor do I. If I felt there was
another way, then believe that I would take it.”

Kenneth finally nodded, sighing
heavily. “What if we discover that Stephen is dead? Worse yet, what if they
execute him in front of her just to make a point?”

Tate didn’t have an answer to
that so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Then you will marry his
widow.”

Kenneth stared at him for a long
moment before rubbing his eyes wearily. He simply turned away, lacking the
strength to argue.  Tate, meanwhile, went to Joselyn, kneeling down beside her
once again.

“Jo-Jo,” he said softly but
urgently. “I am going to Stephen’s aid but I need your help. Will you help me?”

She opened her watery eyes,
sniffling. “Of course I will,” she choked. “But what can I do?”

Tate didn’t look at his wife,
afraid he would see her reaction to his next question and it would weaken his
resolve. “Those are your people who hold him,” he said. “You must go and secure
his release.  Thousands of English could not accomplish what one Scotswoman
can. You are Stephen’s best hope.”

Joselyn’s pale blue eyes widened
and she sat bolt upright, looking at him with a cross between shock and
excitement. “Me?

Tate
nodded. “You know these people and they know you. As Alexander Seton’s
daughter, your word would hold much weight.”

Joselyn gazed at him steadily,
understanding what he was saying. But to her, there was more to it.  “I would
not hold as much weight as my father,” she said carefully, watching his
expression shift. “If you release my father, I will convince him to plead for
Stephen’s release.”

Tate’s expression hardened again.
“The same father who sold you to pay his gambling debt? Stephen would never
allow it and neither will I.”

Joselyn knew he spoke the truth;
in fact, she was not sure she could convince her father to plead for the man’s
release so she let the subject go.  “Then what do you want me to do, Tate?” she
half-asked, half-begged. “Please tell me and I will do it.”