“She will be all alone when we go,” she murmured, knowing it was foolish even as she said it but it was her sorrow speaking.
“She is not alone,” Tate corrected her gently. “She is in Heaven with your mother and father and, I suspect, a host of other relatives. Perhaps she is even now annoying Red Thor, your Viking forbearer, demanding that he sing the Fairy song.”
That brought a smile to her lips and she looked up at him. “You are right, of course,” she attempted to wipe her face clean and stop her tears. “I am sorry I am being so foolish. ’Tis just that… well, Ailsa and I have never been separated, not ever. This will be the first time.”
He smiled down at her before kissing her on the forehead. “It will not be permanent, I promise,” he said. “Now, I need for you to pack up everything we brought from Forestburn. Can you do that?”
She nodded, wiping daintily at her nose. “In truth, I have not yet unpacked completely. But I will take Althel with me and make sure everything is packed and ready to leave. What about the stores?”
“Kenneth has charge of supplies and will make sure the kitchen is cleaned out.” He kissed her forehead. “When you are finished packing, then offer to help Stephen. He has a good deal of wounded to move and could probably use your assistance.”
Toby nodded, eyeing him as she did so. “Did you talk to Stephen, then?” she asked hesitantly. “He seemed pleasant enough this morning.”
Tate nodded, taking her elbow and leading her towards the ladder to the upper floor. “All is well.”
He did not elaborate and she did not press him. He helped her gather her skirts as she headed back up the ladder. Once in the great hall, he took both hands, kissed them, and went on his way. Toby’s gaze lingered on him as he quit the keep, still hardly believing she had married the man and wholly given to daydreaming when there was work to be done. But her daydreams consisted of Ailsa, of Forestburn, and of what the future held for her and Tate. So much in her life had changed over the past few days. She felt as if she was living someone else’s life.
When Tate had left the keep and all was silent but for the sounds of the bailey coming in through the open door, Toby shook herself of her musings and went in search of Althel. They had work to do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“He is movinghis army. Our spies could see great wagons being loaded and the troops being mobilized.” The general’s gaze was on de Roche, hard and questioning. “If he moves his army, we lose the advantage of an attack against a weakened fortress.”
Hamlin digested this latest information before responding. “What would you have me do? Our numbers are not sufficient to successfully attack again. We will destroy ourselves if we do.”
“Then perhaps we have enough men to simply keep them on the defensive inside Harbottle,” the general replied. “He cannot move his army if there is another laying siege. That would be suicide.”
Hamlin shook his head, setting aside his cup of ale. It was his fifth cup in as many hours, whiling away the hours as the thunder above their heads rolled.
“It would be as if we were fleas attacking a dog,” he said frankly. “We would be annoying but no threat. If he is moving his army, then we must follow him to see where he is going.”
“Where else would he be going?” the general threw up his hands. “Alnwick is twenty miles from Harbottle. It is a massive fortress. Once he is sealed up in that place, we will never get to Edward.”
De Roche drew in a long, thoughtful breath. After a pause, he began to pace about pensively. “Where are our spies to the south? Do they know how close Mortimer’s army is?”
“The last we were told, Mortimer is due sometime on the morrow,” the general replied. “De Lara’s army will have departed long before then.”
De Roche nodded slowly, still thinking. “Perhaps,” he said meditatively. “But we could move to intercept the army as it moves towards Alnwick.”
“We are not even sure that is the destination,” the general reminded him.
“True enough,” de Roche held up a finger. “However, where else would de Lara go? Warkworth is too far and he would not take the army to the seat of his earldom in Carlisle simply for the fact that is too far away over a good deal of treacherous country. So where else would the man go?”
He had a point. The generals and senior soldiers inside the warm, smelly tent looked to each other, conceding the logic. The old vizier popped and creaked as the tent fell silent. All eyes were on Hamlin as he decided his next calculated move.
“If de Lara takes the road to Alnwick, he must swing south for a distance before trekking out towards the sea,” he said thoughtfully. “If we send word to Mortimer’s army to move towards Alnwick instead of straight to Harbottle, there is a good chance we can intercept de Lara’s army on the open road. That would be a far better scenario than laying siege to Harbottle again. The odds will be much more in our favor.”
“You are sure?”
“Sure enough. We must send word to Mortimer immediately so that he knows to hurry.”
The general was already calling for a messenger. Orders were relayed and memorized and soon, the man was along his way. Hamlin stood out of the chaos, watching his men make plans forthe eventual battle. Unlike a siege, battle on open ground was something of a dance; it had to be carefully choreographed or one might end up attacking one’s own men. De Lara was such a clever battle commander that he could quite possibly make it happen. They would have to be very astute in order to avoid the situation.
Hamlin would have to anticipate every move.
*
“I fear Ihave made a gross tactical miscalculation.”
