“Opinion of what?”
“Why would Stephen be so solicitous of Mistress Toby?”
Kenneth shrugged, not sure what Tate was driving at. “Because she is stricken with grief, I am sure. He is a healer and she, at the moment, is in need of help. Why else?”
“It could not be because he is interested in her, could it?”
“Interested in her in what way?”
“As a man is interested in a woman.”
Kenneth understood then. For the first time, he seemed to lose some of his stoic demeanor. “Why would you ask?”
Tate shrugged. “I am not sure. Something in his expression at times. I have never known the man to show interest in any woman. What do you know of it?”
Kenneth shook his head. “You will have to ask him.”
“I am asking you. He is close to you. Has he said anything?”
“Said anything? Nay, he has not.”
“But you believe there is something more to it.”
Kenneth sighed reluctantly. It was clear that he did not want to say what was on his mind but he knew that Tate would pester him until he did. So he confessed.
“His manner suggests that perhaps he shows more concern than normal towards her.” He lifted an eyebrow at Tate. “Then again, so does yours.”
Tate digested the statement and descended the ladder without another word. Leaving Kenneth on the wall walk, he was halfway across the bailey when a shout suddenly went up from the sentries on the eastern wall. Jolted into action, Tate barreled up the ladder to the battlements, thundering along the stone walkway just behind Kenneth as they made their way to the eastern wall. And there they saw it.
There was a line of torches and men that stretched a quarter of a mile in length. It was ominous in the silver moon glow, like a black tide of ants on the march. Tate knew without a word spoken that it could not be a good sign; any army that would approach by torchlight in a massive front was not there on a social call. He felt the familiar fire of battle fill his veins, rousing the warrior instincts.
“Rouse the men,” he growled at Kenneth. “Everyone to battle.”
Kenneth was gone to do his bidding. Tate remained on the wall, watching the army approach, knowing they were in for a siege. He could only pray that Harbottle’s old walls held and Warkworth had indeed received his call for reinforcements.
Mortimer was upon them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Toby wasn’t surehow long she had been awake, staring at half of a pillow with the other side of her face buried in it. Only one eye was able to open. She blinked, having no idea where she was and finally lifting her head to look about. Still, she did not recognize the place. It was a larger chamber, dusty, with a broom and a pile of debris in one corner. The fire in the hearth was faded to hot cinder, radiating some heat into the room. As Toby looked around, disoriented, her mind became more lucid and her memory unmercifully returned.
Ailsa.The remembrance of her sister’s name hit her in the chest like a hammer and she visibly winced, tears springing to her eyes and a sob to her lips. Everything tumbled upon her and she remembered the day before, the fall, the horrific grief when she saw her sister lying still at the bottom of the stairs. She wept as she remembered Tate picking the child up reverently, his expression stricken with shock. She remembered him bringing her sister back to this very chamber, to lay to rest in this very bed. Weeping softly, Toby touched the coverlet that her sister had been laid upon. She could still see her there, lifeless and pale.
It was a crushing grief, not like the same sorrow she felt for her mother and father. This was different. It went beyondsadness to physical pain. She remembered, clearly, when Tate and Stephen had separated her from Ailsa but little after that. She knew, in hindsight, they had done what was best for her. Ailsa needed to be put in the ground and if Toby had any say in it, she would still be holding her dead sister’s corpse. The knights had known better. She wasn’t angry at them; she was too caught up in sorrow to spare the energy.
Wiping at her eyes, she struggled to compose herself. She wasn’t weak by nature but the past few days had repeatedly crushed her. She was laboring to get hold of herself. She had to find out what the knights had done with her sister and make arrangements from there.
Someone had brought her things up during the night; she noticed two large trunks and a variety of loose items stacked neatly against the wall. Wiping at her eyes again, she made her way to the trunks with the intention of finding something to bury her sister in. But she passed by the lancet window on her way to the trunks and a waft of smoke caught her attention.
A glance out of the window caused her to do a double-take; from her perch on the third floor of the keep, which was situated on a motte, or large hill, in the center of the bailey, she was several dozen feet above ground level. From there, she could see the walls of Harbottle and the green fields beyond. Only the fields were covered with men and as she watched in shock, she could see two large siege towers being rolled towards the walls. Dozens of men were towing them. Arrows flew over the walls, some flaming, some not, and the men upon the walls of Harbottle were doing their best to fight off the siege. But she could see that the siege towers being rolled into position would soon change all of that.
Toby forced her grief aside in favor of the current situation. She was, frankly, terrified, but she managed to keep her wits as she went in search of her shoes. Her long hair was hanging limpand uncombed and she grabbed a scarf from one of her trunks, tying her hair back and out of her way. Yanking on her shoes, she bailed from the chamber.
The deadly stairs were tricky to navigate but she did so ably. Once on the second floor, the great hall loomed to her left and she stopped in horror at what she was witnessing; more than two dozen men were strewn about across the floor with a myriad of battle wounds. Some were screaming; some were simply lying still. Toby swallowed the bile in her throat as she witnessed the rivers of blood on the floor, pieces of limbs and flesh strewn about. It was ghastly. She could see the majordomo and an old male servant struggling to render aid, but it was clear they were overwhelmed. Although Toby had never worked on an injured man in her life, she knew she was about to have her first taste of it. She could not simply stand by while people suffered; all else in her mind, her own grief and suffering, would have to wait.
Toby walked up to the majordomo as he hacked at a man’s nearly-severed limb in an attempt to amputate it. When the limb broke free, he caught a glimpse of Toby’s shoes and looked up to her with a start.
“Lady,” he barked. “What are you doing here?”
