“I suppose I should get some sleep also,” he said, looking at Tate. “Do you have any orders for me, my lord?”
Tate was staring at the fire as if hypnotized; the man that Stephen had known for fifteen years had not been himself since that fateful day at Harbottle. He was darker somehow, meaner even. Mortimer’s actions had brought out the Devil in him and Tate was growing more ruthless by the second. It was inhis words, his actions, the very air he breathed. But Stephen understood why.
“Make sure the men are ready to move before dawn,” he told Stephen.
Stephen nodded, pausing as if waiting for more orders. When none were forthcoming, he spoke.
“Shall I send word ahead of our arrival?” he asked.
Tate drained his wine; it was the fifth cup he’d had that night. “I sent her one missive already,” he replied. “She already knows that I am coming and God help her if she is not prepared.”
Stephen still didn’t leave; he was watching Tate’s manner, the way his jaw ticked when he spoke. The man was tightly coiled.
“Mortimer has troops at Windsor,” Stephen said quietly. “Do you have reason to believe that they are not lying in wait for us in the wake of your announcement that you are coming to visit the queen?”
Tate turned to look at him. “Isabella would not dare order them against me,” he said. “She does not want to incur my wrath.”
“What about Edward?”
“He stays with you while I speak with her. He is not allowed near his mother for any reason. Not even if he begs.”
It was a hard statement but a necessary one. Stephen cleared his throat softly, his gaze moving to the clear sky above.
“Just so I am clear, my lord,” he ventured. “We are to march on Windsor tomorrow and lay at her base. You have requested audience with Queen Isabella under a flag of truce.”
Tate nodded slowly; the tick in his jaw was increasing. “She will understand that I am no longer tolerant of her lover’s tactics. It is one thing to attempt to kill the king but it is purely another to hold my wife hostage.” He turned to Stephen, the dark eyes wild with storm. “Even now, I have a thousandmen from Henry of Lancaster bearing down on Wigmore Castle. From the Trinity Castles of Hyssington, Caradoc and Trelystan, all holdings of my brother, Liam, I have five thousand men also moving for Wigmore. I have even asked my brother for aid from his Welsh allies. Another two thousand Welsh should be marching upon Mortimer at Wigmore, awaiting my word to unleash hell. If Isabella wants her lover to live to see another day, she will use her influence on him to release Toby.”
Stephen had known he had sent word to the Earl of Lancaster and his de Lara kin for assistance but he had not known the extent. At the thought of eight thousand troops bearing down on Wigmore Castle, he lifted his eyebrows.
“What of the troops we sent to Warkworth?”
“They are Harbottle troops and already weary from a brutal siege,” Tate answered. “I will leave them at Warkworth, as I will not call upon Alnwick at this time. They are too far to the north and Henry of Lancaster is a great supporter of our king. He is much closer to the Marches and more than willing to commit men to the cause.”
Stephen nodded in agreement, finally emitting a pent-up sigh. “Dragonblade commands and men will follow,” he breathed, trying not to sound too stunned. “Eight thousand men is quite a force. Are you not concerned that Mortimer might somehow hurt Toby if he feels threatened?”
Tate shook his head confidently. “The man has twelve children he must be concerned for. If he harms my wife, I cannot guarantee where my vengeance would stop.”
“You would harm his children?”
“I would make it so he never saw them again.”
Stephen believed every word. It was all part of the ruthlessness that had emerged in Tate over the past several days. There was no use in speaking to him about it because he was blinded by his fear for Toby and his determination to retrieveher. Nothing else mattered. Stephen scratched his head and stood up.
“Then I will beg your leave,” he said. “I will make sure the army is ready to move out by dawn.”
Tate didn’t acknowledge the man as he disappeared into the darkness. He was staring into the fire, seeing Toby’s face with every flicker of the flame and wondering what she was doing that night. He wondered if she was thinking of him every second of every day just as he was thinking of her. His desire to get her back moved beyond normal determination; it was in a state of desperation.
Woe to Isabella should she deny him his wants. He was finished being the hunted in this battle between Edward and Roger Mortimer. He had now become the hunter.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Windsor Castle
There was nostructure in all of England as enormous as Windsor Castle. Towers were several stories tall, the blond and sometimes gray stones glistening starkly against the snow upon the ground. From its perch on a hill, the bastion could be seen for miles.
Tate and his army lay just outside the village that surrounded the castle. From a clear night to a cloudy day, it was bitterly cold. Astride his great bay charger, he left Stephen and his men in their base camp and made his way through the village towards the castle. Villeins and storekeepers came out to watch him pass, the great Tate de Lara with his blue, gold and silver crest of a great dragon on his tunic. Everyone knew the dragon emblem and the man associated with it. As the charger clopped up the incline that lead to the main entrance of the castle, the town was oddly silent.
As Tate knew, there was no waiting ambush for him. But he could see hundreds of men on the battlements, watching him approach. But he rode onward until he reached the great gates, coming to rest just shy of the drawbridge. He shouted up to the sentries on the wall.
