Dark Walter looked to Andrew Lynbridge, who nodded in silent agreement. At a signal from Adair’s captain the Stanton men drew their weapons, and a brief battle was on between the English and the Scots as the cattle scattered into the nearby meadow and began to graze. Swords clanged against one another. Horses whinnied in fright, their hooves kicking up dust from the narrow road as the short skirmish raged. Realizing he was outnumbered, the Scots’ leader had thought better of it, and now reached out to grab at Adair’s reins.
She slashed at him with her dagger while struggling to maintain her seat.
Then, to her surprise Llywelyn FitzTudor came to her aid, his sword drawn, but he was no soldier. The Scot parried his opponent’s flailing blade. FitzTudor managed to briefly get beneath the man’s guard and bloodied his arm. The Scot swore angrily and then swiftly thrust his sword directly into the boy’s chest, drawing it slowly out as FitzTudor, a look of complete surprise upon his young face, fell forward onto his horse’s neck. With a shout to his remaining men the Scot galloped off, followed by those who were still a-horse. No other Stanton men had been killed, although several of the Scots had.
Llywelyn FitzTudor fell slowly from his horse. Adair was immediately on the ground by his side, cradling his head in her lap. “Now, boy, that was very foolish of you. Gallant, but foolish,” she scolded him gently. She could feel tears pricking at the back of her eyelids at the futility of it all, for she could see the wound was a mortal one.
“I could . . . have . . . loved you,” Llywelyn FitzTudor whispered with his dying breath, and then his weak blue eyes glassed over. He was gone.
Adair stared down in shock. She had not liked this husband the king had forced upon her. She had fully intended to send him back to his family. She had not been kind to him at all; nor had he been kind to her. He had even tried to rape her. Yet he had come to her defense when he thought her in danger. “He has died bravely,”
she said softly. “I will tell his father that he died bravely in my defense, but if he had not insisted upon coming this day he would still be alive. How odd that a moment’s decision can lead to death, yet if he had remained at Stanton Hall he would have lived.”
“Aye, he did a noble thing,” Dark Walter said. “I would not have expected it of him, my lady, if you will pardon my saying so.” The captain slid from his horse and bent down. “Let me take him, my lady.”
Adair looked up, her face tearstained now. “Aye.” She nodded. “We’ll give him a fine funeral, and bury him on the hillside with my parents.”
Dark Walter lifted FitzTudor’s body up and carefully slung it across the back of the boy’s horse. Andrew Lynbridge had dismounted, and now helped Adair to rise from the ground where she had been seated. She stag-gered against him for a moment, and his arm tightened about her, steadying her as he helped her to her mount.
“Can you ride alone?” he asked her low. “ ’Tis no shame if you can’t.”
“If I give way now,” she told him, “I will not be able to do what must be done. For all I did not want him; for all the marriage was no real marriage in any way; he was my lawful husband. We did not treat each other well in life, but I will give him the honor he deserves as the Earl of Stanton in death. I will ride alone, Andrew.”
He helped her to mount, his heart contracting, for she had called him by his given name for the first time.
Hearing it on her lips had set his pulse racing and his blood pounding in his ears. Once she was firmly in her saddle he mounted his own horse. The Stanton men at arms were busily gathering up the cattle from the fieldto which the animals had fled in a panic when the battle had begun. And then they were on their way again.
When they reached the hall the servants came out and, seeing the body across the horse’s back, looked in surprise to Adair.
“We were accosted by Scots on our return home,”
she said. “The young earl was slain, I fear. Take his body and lay it out in the great hall. Where is his man, Anfri?”
The dark little Welshman slid out from among the other servants. “Have you killed him then?” he whined.
“I shall tell my master, the Earl of Pembroke, of your unkindness to his beloved son. I shall tell him!”
“Watch your mouth,” Dark Walter said grimly as he slid from his horse. “My lady has not the heart for murder. The young earl was killed defending his wife when we were attacked by Scots borderers who sought to take the cattle we purchased today.” He turned and carefully took the body from its mount. “Come along with me, little man. You will help the women prepare the boy’s body, which will lie in the hall.”
With a black look at Adair, Anfri scuttled after Dark Walter.
“You had best send to Duke Richard to help you in this matter,” Andrew Lynbridge said to Adair. “I can see the Welshman is determined to make trouble for you.
You have to protect yourself from his slanders. Write a message, and I’ll take it to Middleham myself. You can write, can’t you?”
“Of course I can write,” Adair said irritably. “And read, among other accomplishments. It’s late. Don’t go until morning, please.”
“I’ll stay,” he agreed.
“Thank you,” she said softly; then she turned and went into the hall.
He turned and handed the reins of his horse to a stable lad, and followed her into the hall.
“Now there is a fine figure of a man,” Elsbeth said toAlbert, who stood by her side. “He would make us a suitable earl, don’t you think?”
“Aye,” Albert agreed.
“She’ll keep a proper period of mourning,” Elsbeth said.
