Obediently, Cathlina crawled over to her little sister, who was quite weak and limp. Her breathing was slow and labored, but Cathlina didn’t mention it to her mother. She suspected the woman already knew. Tears anew filled her eyes as she lay next to her sister and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. Abechail hardly stirred and Cathlina thought she was somewhat comatose because when she whispered her name, she received no response.
Feeling great sorrow, and great fear, Cathlina began to whisper in Abechail’s ear, telling her of the son she would bear in the spring and how she intended to name the child Magnus after Abechail’s family of hawks. She told Abechail of the boy she intended to have and how he would be bold and cunning, and how much he would enjoy playing with his Aunt Abechail. But that was as far as she got before tears overcame her and she simply held her baby sister tightly, kissing the girl’s cheek. Eventually, she faded off to sleep.
Rosalund remained awake, watching her daughters as they slept soundly. She knew that Abechail’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. She had seen her deteriorate badly just within the past several hours and sleeping in a damp, dank and now smoky vault wasn’t helping. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t pray because she and God had notbeen on speaking terms for quite some time, at least since the time Abechail had been diagnosed by the physics and Rosalund had prayed for a miracle. But no miracle had occurred and Rosalund had stopped praying. God ignored her, just as he was ignoring her now as her castle was under siege and the zealous Scots were burning the great hall over her head. Rosalund knew it was only a matter of time before the Scots broke through and were able to capture them, but she was determined not to allow that to happen. She would not see her daughters fall victim to the clans.
In her heavy robes she hid a bejeweled dirk, a wicked and sharp thing that she was prepared to use on her children if the situation looked hopeless. She would rather see her daughters suffer a few moments of pain rather than hours or even days of torture before they were killed. No, she wouldn’t let that happen at all. As she had brought them into the world, she was prepared to remove them from it, too. Even the daughter that was pregnant with her only grandchild. She would be doing them both a favor rather than let them fall to the Scots.
As Rosalund sat against the cold wall of the vault that was both her prison and her fortress, she began to notice a haze in the chamber. Looking around, she realized that it was smoke, and she looked to the vault entry to see a significant stream of smoke billowing into the chamber. Her heart sank; somehow, someway, the smoke was flowing down the stairwell and into the vault. If the fire was bad enough, and burned long enough, the smoke would fill up the entire chamber and suck the air from it, suffocating them all. It was a horrible ending, choking to death.
Fingering the dirk, she knew what she had to do should it come down to it. If she thought praying to God for strength would help her do as she must, then she might have uttered a prayer. As it was, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
He wouldn’t listen to her, anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kirklinton was inflames and the gates were wide open. Men in tartans were moving about freely. As Mathias and his army crested the road leading to Kirklinton from the north, he ordered shields slung for the knights and weapons in-hand. Nearly his entire force was mounted but he did have about seventy or eighty foot soldiers. He wasn’t even going to be strategic about his method of attack. He was going to charge right into the sea of tartans and begin the killing trend. There was no time to waste.
With a battle cry, he urged his men forward and the charge was on. The Scots, hearing the cry, began to scramble as hundreds of English soldiers descended upon them. Mathias headed right for the open gates and ended up lopping off the head of some idiot Scotsman who tried to challenge him. His big silver charger, so contributory in his wars with Mortimer, was again an instrument of death as the horse anticipated nearly every move of his master. Mathias was very thankful for the vicious, intelligent beast.
Once he entered the gates of Kirklinton, he could see the situation for what it was. The entire place was burning with the exception of the keep, which seemed to have held out. Off to his right, he could hear his brother’s battle howl as the man plowed through several Scots with the relish of a man devouring a fine meal. There was a strange glee to Sebastian’s manner and Mathias glanced over at his brother as the man chopped and thrust at the enemy around him. Most of the Scots seemed to be on foot but there were a few mounted knights. It was those men that Mathias went after.
One of the knights was in fine mail and armor, astride an equally fine charger. He was near the keep, giving orders to the men trying to batter down the entry door, but he stopped when he saw Mathias charging at him. Startled to see English reinforcements, he met Mathias with equal strength as the two of them came together near the keep in a mighty clash.
Sparks flew into the early morning air as Mathias battled the Scots knight on horseback. He was as merciless as he was skilled, going after the man’s limbs rather than his torso or his head. His strategy was simple. A disabled man was much easier to dispatch. The Scots knight, however, was quite talented and managed to stay away from Mathias’ deadly broadsword for quite some time until Mathias managed to nick the charger, which nearly unseated the knight when it bolted off.
Mathias spurred his charger after the pair, catching up to them and using a massively heavy thrust to amputate the knight’s left hand. When the knight howled and folded, Mathis speared the man right in the side, straight through the mail. His broadsword went in one side and out the other, and when he withdrew it, the knight fell to the ground, dead. Mathias didn’t wait around to view his handiwork. He had more men to kill.
Thundering off into the heat of battle near the keep, he ended up helping Sebastian fend off a number of foot soldiers who were trying to pull Sebastian off his charger. The redheaded knight was furious with their attempts and men with hacked arms and heads fell back, victims of Sebastian’s mighty sword.
Once his brother was safe from being unseated, Mathis ordered his men to secure the keep. An onslaught of English soldiers rushed the keep and the men trying to ram down the entry door found themselves overwhelmed. Soon, the vicious fight for the keep was in full swing and it was nasty hand to hand combat to chase the Scots away. It took a great deal of time and it wasn’t simple in the least, but eventually, Mathias and Sebastianand a host of English knights were able to move the fighting away from the keep.
Meanwhile, a major portion of Mathias’ army had swept through the stable yards and kitchen yard, engaging in heavy combat while trying to chase the Scots from Kirklinton’s enclosure. Mathias sent some of his archers up to the gatehouse, protected by English soldiers, and the archers were cool and clean with their accuracy as they struck down Scot after Scot.
As the morning deepened and the sun rose, the remaining Scots realized that they were losing a great many men to the English archers in the gatehouse so they finally called a retreat. Mathias and Sebastian, along with several hundred English foot soldiers, chased the last of the Scots from Kirklinton’s keep and scattered them to the countryside. Mathias ordered about a hundred mounted men to follow them to ensure that they did not turn for Carlisle while he and several soldiers attempted to gain entrance to Kirklinton’s keep.
Mathias dismounted his charger at the base of the steps to the keep, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the door. The old iron and oak panel had held admirably and he pounded on it, shouting up to the open lancet windows on the floors above.
“In the name of the King, you will open this door,” he bellowed. “The enemy has fled and your walls are secured. Open the door in the name of Edward, I say!”
There was no response for several long moments. He pounded again, and yelled again, until he finally heard a voice overhead emitting from one of the long lancet windows. It was too narrow for a man to stick his head out of so he could see for himself that the English were at his door, so the person could only stand next to the window and yell.
“You will tell me your name!” the man inside shouted.
Mathias didn’t hesitate. “Mathias de Reyne,” he called back. “I have been sent by the Earl of Carlisle.”
More silence. Mathias was growing just the least bit impatient. Did these fools not realize that he was here to save them? He pounded on the door again, and shouted again, when he began to hear the bolt move on the other side. The door was fairly heavily damaged so it took those on both sides of the panel to actually open it. When it was open wide enough for a man to slip through, Saer appeared from the interior of the keep. His blood-shot eyes were wide on Mathias.
“You!” he said. It sounded something between an accusation and a sigh of relief. “You have come. I was told you were in Scotland.”
Mathias stepped back so the man could emerge. “I was,” he said. “But we have been following the Scots south because we knew they were intending revenge on Carlisle by attacking his properties. I am sorry we could not be here sooner.”
Saer was exhausted, relieved. It began to occur to him that the siege was truly over and he slumped back against the keep, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“You came when you could and for that, I am grateful,” he said. Then he took another step out onto the landing and caught sight of the flames and smoke billowing into the air as the great hall burned. His face went positively ashen. “Dear God,no!”
Terror filled every inch of his body. He began to run down the stone steps leading to the bailey, hurling his armored body across the death and destruction of the bailey as fast as his legs would allow. Mathias, caught up in the man’s panic, was right behind him.
“What is wrong?” Mathias demanded. “Where are you going?”
