The location could have been interpreted many ways. Isabella’s nostrils flared and the grip on Toby’s arms turned gentler. It was evident that the queen was struggling.
“Did he do anything else?” she asked, quieter.
Toby shook her head, still weeping. “He did not,” she sobbed. “But the fact that he would want to… after all, I am pregnant with my husband’s child but it made no difference to him. He wanted to bed me regardless. It is a disgusting and unholy desire.”
Tate went from coolly observant to wildly shocked all in a split second. He leaned in Mortimer’s direction, or perhaps he swayed; in either case, Stephen was there to grab him. Or steady him. Together the two of them stared at Toby, stunned, as Isabella seemed to morph into something rarely seen. She became enraged, like an avenging angel, and swung on Mortimer viciously. Roger barely had time to draw a breath before she was plowing into him with the fury of a woman betrayed.
“Is this true?” she roared.
Roger was taken aback; he had never heard that tone from her. But the man stood his ground. “It is not true!”
Isabella’s jaw flexed dangerously. “You… you foul beast,” she hissed. “I have known of your desires for other women all of these years but I have ignored your tastes because… because….”
She growled, sweeping her arm across the table directly to her right and scattering the cups and utensils to the floor. Everything crashed with a clamoring noise but she wasn’t done yet; she clenched her fists and howled angrily. As the room stood in stunned silence, including Roger, Isabella turned to Tate.
“Take your wife and go,” she commanded, whirling to Roger with an extended arm. “If you refute my order, I will take all you hold dear and destroy it. Do you understand?I will destroy you.”
Tate didn’t wait to be told twice. He grabbed Toby, nodding quickly to Stephen and Wallace. The two knights fell in behind him, Stephen facing the crowd to challenge anyone who might try to stop them. Wallace leveled his broadsword against the room as they made their way to the exit. Suddenly, they had the upper hand. Trapped inside the Mortimer stronghold, they were now stronger than those who held them.
Roger watched the group head towards the cavernous threshold, his attention split between furious Isabella and his captives. Isabella’s anger finally won out and he focused on her completely.
“You are making a mistake,” he told her softly. “I did none of those things. I am ever faithful to you, my love. Youknowthis.”
Isabella raised a dark eyebrow. “You are faithful so long as my power holds true,” she said. “You are faithful so long as it means that England is under your control.”
Roger stood before her but refrained from touching her; now was not the time. He had to wait until she cooled.
“If you let de Lara go, you are continuing to fuel the rebellion,” he said gently. “It is not wise to let him leave.”
Isabella’s jaw flexed. “You will not stop them,” her anger was rising again. “You have more important issues to deal with at the moment. For as I gave you power, Roger, I can easily take away. And you are very close to losing everything.”
Roger did the only thing he could do; he smiled at her. “You would not do that,” he purred. “Not to the man who saved you from your husband. You would not destroy me.”
Neither one of them noticed the lone queen’s guard that was suddenly standing very close to them. It was a solitary figure, covered with mail and draped in the queen’s colors. As Tate and Toby reached the giant doorway of Wigmore’s great hall, the tall, slender figure standing next to Mortimer leaned close to the earl and removed his soldier’s helm.
“Perhaps she would not destroy you. But I will.”
Startled, Mortimer turned to gaze into the eyes of young Edward. The lad was taller and stronger than he had remembered, a young man of considerable presence in just those few words. In fact, he looked very much like his grandsire, Longshanks. Roger’s eyes widened when he realized that Edward had been in the hall since the queen’s arrival; he had been there all along and no one had been the wiser. But there was nothing that Mortimer, or anyone, could do about it at the moment. He had no choice but to let the lad slip from his grasp, one more time in a world that had been full of a thousand such times.
And Edward was well aware of it. His presence was a statement, a promise of things to come. With a lingering glare at the man who had usurped his power for the moment, Edward strolled away, snapping his fingers at the rest of the queen’s escort who immediately unsheathed their weapons to the room full of Mortimer supporters. As Roger watched with shock and Isabella with pride, Edward joined Tate, Toby, Stephen and Wallace at the door. There was no mistaking the triumphant grin on Tate’s face.
With the queen’s escort as protection, the five of them made their way from Wigmore’s enormous keep and out into the snowy bailey. When they rode away, it was on Mortimer’s fine horses, disappearing into the wintery afternoon. As quickly as the king had appeared, he had vanished just as he always had for the past two years; without a trace and escaping Mortimer once again.
On the wings, as they would say in later years, of the dragon.
EPILOGUE
December, 1330
Forestburn Castle, Northumbria
“Kill him, boy,”Wallace encouraged. “If you do not kill him first, he will kill you.”
A young boy of four years stood with a wooden sword in his hand. He was dressed in a little suit of mail that Wallace had made for him, complete with a tiny helm. The old knight had even built the dummy from straw that the child was doing mock battle with. At the old man’s latest command, the child came to a halt and pulled off his little helm.
Big hazel eyes gazed at the old man questioningly. “If I get good enough, can I fight with Papa?”
Wallace’s ancient eyes glimmered warmly. “Your father will be proud to have you,” he told him, going to the child and putting an enormous hand on his shoulder. “In fact, with a little more practice, you can probably fight with him now.”
