Chapter Twenty
Laila had taken her horse from the stable, with the saddle loosely belted atop, in the cover of the yard’s bustle, her stomach full of revolt at everything that was happening. She felt as powerless as the moment when her father had told her of her engagement, and she detested it. Perhaps even more powerless, for now, she was abandoning her sanctuary by her own will to cast herself into the dreadful clutches of Lord Hamilton.
To anyone watching, she was just another castle servant taking one of the horses to have their hooves shod, but as she neared the blacksmith, she quickly mounted up and turned out of the gate. As she passed beneath the gatehouse, and the shadow of the wall moved past her head, she shivered, for now, there was truly no going back.
She turned East out of the gate and began following the rough dirt path scratched into the countryside by regular foot and mule traffic, passing a few peasants who were already staggering back to their hovels with empty carts and saddle bags. A few of them cast a curious glance her way, but mostly they kept their heads down, trudging along as the sun began arcing downwards.
Laila felt the setting sun glare down upon the back of her neck and the fields growing dim as she rode on, biting her lip, trying not to think about Kyle. She could only imagine his confusion to awake alone, with that pitiful excuse for a note. If she were in his shoes, she would be full of rage.
She had not told him where she was going. She knew he was likely to follow anyways, and there was a part of her that wanted him to, to see him riding over the hill, his hair blowing back, to take her away from all the suffering. But she knew it was better that he didn’t. Lord Hamilton would have no qualms ordering his murder, especially if he knew of their dalliance. Then she thought of her family and the terrible danger she had put them in. She felt ashamed and worried for her brothers and for her father.
If Lord Hamilton had already come this far North, then he would have passed by Willby; no doubt that’s where he discovered her treachery. She dreaded that anything had befallen them and could imagine Castle Willby up in flames, the crumbling remains of the walls coming down into the dirt beneath smoke and horror.
“No,” she said, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead. It was a threat. It was what he would do if she did not return. It had not already come to pass. She was sure of it.
She followed the track for some time until the sun had slipped away, and dusk took over the scene, casting long, soft shadows on top of one another in the shifting grass, and she felt a further uneasiness as the inn came into view, far on the horizon. It was marked out by a few columns of smoke rising from the chimneys and the wide, stable buildings that ringed the large space. She felt another shudder of dread as the inn grew closer and closer, and soon she could hear the boisterous brawling of the knights within.
It was a long, wide rectangle of a building, the first floor built of fieldstones, with wooden planks stretching up to the straw roof and chimneys on either side pumping sweet-smelling smoke up into the darkening sky.
The open-face stables ringed the inn, and Laila saw all the English horse arrayed beside piles of saddlebags and armor. It was a chilling sight. There was no mistaking the lethality of the long lances and swords that sat ready beside the mounts, and she used that fear to justify her decision. Her actions now were sparing those from being used. That was how she had to frame it, or else her heart would break into a million smaller pieces than it was already.
“Oh! Look here!” a knight said, finishing up his piss and slapping his comrade on the shoulder. “The lady showed her face.”
“Didn’t think she had the minerals,” the other laughed.
“Sir Simon!” another called into the inn. “That wench is here!”
Laila approached the entrance to the inn, sitting silent and still atop her horse, looking at the toothless, crooked, aged veterans with concealed contempt. It was not worth angering the dangerous men with such low intellect and impulse control.
“Well,” Sir Simon said, stepping out of the inn, his hands proudly planted on his hips. “Isn’t that a sight?”
“Sir Simon,” Laila said, trying to sound as confident as possible. “Here I am.”
“So you are,” Sir Simon said. “Come on down off that horse then.”
Laila dismounted, trying to keep an eye on everyone around her. What caught her by surprise were the few Scots she saw standing about. They were clearly warriors, and they had hate in their faces, and Laila was at a complete loss as to why they were there.
“So, you received my letter,” Sir Simon said, grinning in his victory.
“I did,” Laila said, uncomfortably handing her horse over to a knight that approached and reached for the reins. She watched carefully out of the corner of her eye as he led the horse into the stable, being sure to notice where exactly they stabled him. If she found her life in danger, she would at least know where her horse was.
“You made the right choice,” Sir Simon said. “This time.”
“Do not chastise me,” Laila said sharply, trying to stand her ground as much as possible. She knew she had lost and that she would be delivered to Lord Hamilton, but she had to stay alive in the meantime. She was in the company of dangerous men, and a slip-up or two could be disastrous.
“Sharp tongue on her, ey?” one of the knights chimed in. “Should we cut it off? Make, so the Lord don’t have to deal with it?” That question raised a few laughs from the observing soldiers, but Sir Simon frowned.
“Anyone touches a hair on her head, they answer to me,” Sir Simon growled, and Laila watched all the knights shrink a full inch in height as they cowered. She only knew a little of his reputation and could imagine how many more stories of his savagery they knew. “Now then,” Sir Simon said, adjusting his face and his sword belt. “You best come inside.”
Laila followed him into the inn as the knights outside filed in behind them. She was shocked by how many people were within, this strange mix of English knights and rugged Scottish warriors. It was a sight that twenty years ago would have been unimaginable, lest they were killing each other in a field. As they entered, the whole space seemed to grow quiet, and all eyes turned their way.
“The devil are you looking at?” Sir Simon shouted, waving his hand. “Mind your business!” and the room began slowly returning to its normal state, but still many eyes were cast over shoulders to watch. Laila felt stifled by all the attention, and she craved to be back in Kyle’s arms. But she knew she must forget that. It would never happen again.
“Are you hungry?” Sir Simon asked, kicking a man from his bench and offering it to Laila. The man struck the ground and whirled around with a snarl, but as soon as he saw who it was that had kicked him, he grew a tail and tucked it between his legs.
“No,” Laila said, slowly taking the seat, being mindful of the people around her.
“Thirsty?”
