Tate nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “And I am not varying from our plans. But with Mortimer so close on our scent over the past two days, I am very concerned about moving Edward on the open road. If we are caught.…”
Kenneth lifted his hand in agreement, turning back to his ale. “I know,” he muttered, taking another drink. “They will take Edward and kill us. Although I do not particularly relish the thought of my own death, I do not relish the thought of Edward’s more.”
“He is safer here at Harbottle than anywhere else until Warkworth or troops from Alnwick arrive.”
“Agreed.”
Stephen had been listening to their conversation. “What if neither castle received our missive?” he asked quietly. “Mortimer’s men were closer than we realized when we sent messengers. What if they were captured?”
Tate’s gaze moved to the tall, thin youth who was now gazing into the fire. “We will know in a day or two if troops do not arrive,” he said quietly. “Then we will have to rethink our strategy.”
The knights stood silently a moment, drinking their ale, pondering the course of the next two days. Tate finally broke from the pack and went to Wallace, standing near a lancet window and watching the activity in the bailey. It was developing into a quiet dusk, the sounds of night birds singing in the distance.
“Given the men we currently hold, how long can the castle withstand a siege?” Tate asked the old man.
Wallace looked thoughtful. “It would depend on the size of the attacking force.”
“You know the size of the attacking force.”
The old man grunted. “A month at most.” He turned to Tate. “My lord, if you are going to remove the young king, then it must be now. You cannot delay.”
“I have no plans to remove him.”
Wallace shook his head in disagreement. “Give him to me,” he said with quiet urgency. “I can spirit him to Scotland. My cousin is a monk at Kelso Abbey. Mortimer could not get him there.”
Tate lifted an eyebrow. “If the Scots did not get you first,” he slapped the man on the shoulder. “A noble offering, but I believe his safety is best served here at Harbottle.”
Wallace’s gaze moved to the young king, standing near the flames, and then back to Tate. “Then what of the womenfolk?” he asked pointedly. “Would you imprison them at a castle under siege?”
Tate’s humor fled; the mere thought of Toby being separated from him made his blood surge. He knew that Wallace was correct in his suggestion but he was having difficulty with the rightness of it.
“They will be safer here than back at Cartingdon or worse, out on the open road,” he said tersely. “You have been trying to be rid of those women since they arrived. What is your aversion to them?”
Wallace shook his head. “No aversion, my lord. But Harbottle is a man’s fortress. Women do not belong here nor are they safe here.”
“Safe?” Tate’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that soldiers sometimes lack control. Being that there are no women at Harbottle, their presence is something of an anomaly. They could easily make sport of one of them.”
Tate’s eyes turned stormy. “I will make this clear so that you, in turn, will make it clear to every man at Harbottle. If either of those ladies are touched, molested or otherwise annoyed in any way, my wrath upon the perpetrator shall be swift and deadly. Is that in any way incomprehensible?”
Wallace watched Tate’s expression as he spoke; the man meant every word he said. He shook his head slowly. “It is quite clear, my lord.”
“Good. Then I suggest you spread the word.”
“I will. But I still advocate that they be removed if there is to be a battle.”
“They will not be removed. Be on your way.”
Wallace left the solar without another word. Tate lingered on the doorway where the man had disappeared for a moment, lost to his thoughts. He knew Wallace was more than likely correct about Toby and Ailsa leaving Harbottle, but in truth, there was nowhere for them to go. It was his way of rationalizing the fact that he did not want Toby away from him. The more time passed, the more attached he was becoming to her and he still wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. His emotions were muddy, like waters that had been stirred and had not yet settled. He had to wait for the silt to settle.
Night was upon them and the sky was brilliant with its blanket of stars sweeping across the heavens. It was a sharp contrast from the fog of the morning. Those in the solar had moved from war talk to small talk, imbibing more pitchers of ale as the fire burned and smoke huddled against the ceiling. Smells of roasting meat drifted in through the lancet windows and young Edward perpetually asserted how hungry he was. Tatefinally sent a servant for bread and cheese to keep the boy happy as they ate and drank in comfortable conversation.
Kenneth had stopped drinking some time ago and sat with a pumice stone and his sword, wetting the stone and running it along the blade to sharpen it. He and Stephen were having a disagreement about the country that produced the finest wines; Stephen was sure it was Italy while Kenneth was an advocate of France. Tate sat with ale in hand, grinning at their argument until Stephen rattled the hilt of Kenneth’s sword and almost caused the man to lose a finger. Kenneth lashed out a massive boot and kicked the chair legs out from underneath Stephen, sending the chair to the floor. But Stephen was quick and managed to leap out of the chair before it hit the ground.
Stephen and Tate roared with laughter; even Kenneth, who was not the laughing kind, snorted at the fun. When Stephen righted his chair, he managed to move it out of Kenneth’s range and resume the conversation. But by then, food was being served in the great hall and Wallace came to summon them.
Tate left Stephen, Kenneth and Edward in the great hall as he mounted the stairs for the upper chambers. It was his intention to wake the ladies and escort them down to the meal. Quietly, he opened the chamber door, fully expecting to see that they were both still in bed, and was surprised when he realized they were both very much awake.
