Kenneth watched her go, the smile fading from his lips.God help her, he thought.
*
February had beena brutal month of heavy winter weather. Tate, Stephen, Wallace, Edward and a thousand troops had made the trip from Cumbria to London in just over two weeks. Tate had taken five hundred men from Carlisle and another five hundredsplit between his castles of Whitehaven and Grayson. It was an impressive sight, the Earl of Carlisle moving a thousand men down the throat of England and into London. But Tate had a purpose and had all intention to show his power. And there was still more to come; like a man possessed, he knew no boundaries.
The night before they arrived in London, they camped on the outskirts of the town in a giant encampment with great bonfires that lit up the sky. It had snowed for a week before their arrival to the area and the land was blanketed in white. But this night was clear and a full moon shone bright upon them, creating a silvery-gray landscape. Tate and his men sat outside his tent, spread around an enormous fire and eating one of the black and white cattle they had brought with them from Whitehaven. The air was full of the smell of roast beef and Edward was so full that he had promptly passed out before the flames.
Stephen sat next to the boy, pushing his booted feet closer and closer to the fire. When his feet grew hot enough to start smoking, Edward would awaken, sleepily wonder why his feet were in the fire, pull them out and then swiftly fall back asleep. Stephen did this three times before Edward realized what was going on and grumpily moved away from the snickering knight. Wallace and Stephen had a good laugh at Edward’s expense.
But not Tate; he had remained relatively silent and emotionless, watching the comedy but not feeling light enough to laugh at Stephen’s jokes. Normally Kenneth and Stephen would play the jokes together, but the absence of Kenneth was painfully obvious. If Stephen felt it, he did not let on. Still, there were times when a trained observer could tell that he missed his comrade. He missed the man’s quiet reserve, his strength, his solid wisdom. He missed his friend.
But Tate was glad Kenneth was not there. He thanked God every day that the man had surrendered himself to Mortimer inorder to play protector to Lady de Lara. A greater sacrifice Tate had never seen and as he prayed for his wife’s safety, he also prayed for Kenneth. He was sure that Toby would be relatively safe in Mortimer’s custody but Kenneth was another matter. As a knight sworn to the king, Mortimer would not look upon him kindly. For that, and so many other reasons, they were on the outskirts of London. Tate had a mission and even as Mortimer seemed to be holding all of the power, Tate would not let the man gain the upper hand. He would do all he could to undermine him.
“Will there be anything else tonight, my lord?” Wallace asked as he rose from the fire; the old priest was fatigued by the weeks of travel and it showed.
Tate shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “Be ready to ride before dawn.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Wallace moved to rouse young Edward but the king would not be stirred. After much shaking and a couple of gentle kicks, Wallace reached down and picked the lad up. When Edward realized he was being carried like an infant, pride alone woke him from his food coma and he irritably chastised Wallace for man-handling him. Tate and Stephen could hear Wallace laughing as the two disappeared into the night.
The fire crackled and spit, filling the silence in their wake. Stephen drained the last of his wine and set the cup down.
“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?”
