It wasn’t only Grayson and the de Winter war machine that protected the gatehouse—there was also a line of Axminster men to reinforce them. They were on the interior of the gatehouse while the de Winter men were on the exterior. Douglas had to push through them in order to get to the keep, and they weren’t entirely welcoming about it. He had to explain to them that he’d been sent by Hereford to protect the keep, and only after too much discussion and a lot of frustration did the Axminster men finally let him through.
At that point, the sky was dark gray with clouds and the wind and the rain made it difficult to move. Everything was blowing them in different directions and, given they were on the top of the hill, no one wanted to roll down a slope.
Axminster Castle was referred to as a spur castle, meaning it sat atop a natural hill, or a spur of a hill, and used the steep sides as protection. There were a series of earthworks at the bottom of the hill for defensive measures that had been heavily used, and the gatehouse was at the top of a switchback road that was, at this point, slick with mud, and part of it had collapsed in a landslide.
Once inside the bailey, it was as if two castles were linked together—there was a large bailey just beyond the gatehouse followed by an even larger bailey flanked by curtain walls that ran the length of the top of the flat hill, with outbuildings and an enormous great hall. The keep was anchored at the end of the long central bailey. Enclosed in its own small bailey, the tall, square building was five stories in height. It was enormous, covering the entire south side of the hill fortress.
It was that enormous keep that had Douglas’ attention.
With the keep in sight as the storm howled around them, Douglas, Westley, and another knight, plus about seventy de Lohr men, rushed toward it. The third knight was none other than Jonathan de Wolfe, a vassal of the Earl of Norfolk. He also happened to be the brother of the Earl of Wolverhampton. Most importantly, he was also the brother of William de Wolfe, Baron Killham, who was largely considered the greatest knight in the north of England. The scourge of the Scots, they called William. Jonathan wasn’t an earl, or even a prestigious warlord, but he had something else.
Raw, brute strength.
Jonathan had the dark de Wolfe good looks, and hazel eyes that were gold in some light, but he was taller and wider thaneither of his brothers.Beastlywas how some people described him. Wolfie, as he was called, was a follower, not a leader, a man with more brawn than brains, which was particularly needed at this moment. Like a rare few of his knightly contemporaries, he was a Blackchurch trained, something even his younger brother couldn’t claim. The Blackchurch Guild was the premier training facility for knights in England, if not the known world.
That made him an extraordinary tool in a situation like this. As the group of de Lohr soldiers approached the keep, Douglas put de Wolfe on the stone stairs that led to the entry.
“Wolfie!” he shouted above the storm, pointing to the keep entry. “You will not move from that spot, not for anyone. Do you understand me?”
Jonathan nodded firmly, leaping onto the slippery stone steps and miraculously not losing his footing. He was heading up the stairs when the shutters of a small lancet window that was positioned about eight feet above the mid-flight of stairs suddenly opened. Had Jonathan not seen it, and had he not been quite fast on his feet, he would have been covered by a pot of boiling water. The women inside were screaming at him, throwing boiling water from the window to try to get him off the steps, but he stood out of range and tried to explain who he was.
They didn’t believe him.
Now, Jonathan was trapped on the landing in front of the entry door, which was bolted, with no way to go down the stairs unless he wanted to expose himself to more scalding water or worse. Since he was out of the line of fire from inside the keep, he simply stood guard in front of the door, watching the distant gatehouse, watching a surge of allied men coming in beneath the raised portcullis. Douglas, standing below the stairs, was watching the same thing from a different vantage point.
And that was when he heard it.
Thump!
Above the wind and rain, he’d heard it. He turned to see Jonathan with his hand on his helmed head and a large iron pot at his feet. Shielding his eyes from the rain, Douglas could see a window high above the entry landing, and there was movement. He could see an arm. Someone had evidently dropped the pot on Jonathan’s head from a great distance. Poor Jonathan was trying to shake off the stars he was undoubtedly seeing.
That brought Douglas up the steps.
“Ladies!” he boomed above the bad weather. “I know you can hear me, so listen well. I am Douglas de Lohr. My father is Christopher de Lohr, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. We were asked to come on Lady Isabel’s summons to help defend Axminster against Tatworth and the man you are trying to kill, the one at your door, is Jonathan de Wolfe, who is the brother of the Earl of Wolverhampton. Stop trying to smash the man. He is here to defend you!”
No one could shout like a de Lohr. His voice echoed off the stone and he knew very well that they were hearing him inside. On the landing above him, Jonathan was trying to pull off his helm, but the iron pot had evidently dented it. It took him three tries and a long, hard pull to finally pop it off his head.
There was blood running down the side of his face.
That set Douglas off.
He took the steps to the landing where Jonathan was standing, unmolested by hot water or flying pots, and began to pound on the door.
“Open this door at once!” he shouted. “You have injured this knight. Open this door or I will bring a battering ram and smash it down!”
He pounded and kicked, demanding entrance, and finally heard a bolt move. He stopped pounding, but he was still furious. Grasping Jonathan by the arm, he pulled the man over to the door about the time it lurched open.
Several frightened faces were on the other side.
“Here,” he said to them, shoving Jonathan in their direction. “Tend his head and allow him to lie down for a time. God knows what damage you have done.”
There were several young women who stood aside as Jonathan stumbled over the threshold. One woman in particular, an older woman with carefully coiffed red hair, seemed to take charge of him.
“We did not know he was an ally, Sir Douglas,” she said, grasping Jonathan by the arm and forcing him to bend over so she could see the damage. “A scalp wound. They bleed terribly. He will be well tended.”
She turned him over to the women surrounding her and they led him off, hovering around him, while the red-haired woman and two or three other young ladies remained. The woman with the red hair faced Douglas.
“I am Lady Isabel de Kerrington,” she said in a voice laced with confidence and authority. “It is on my request that your father sent men. I am deeply grateful. I hope you will tell him that.”
