“Speaking of tasks,” The Marshal said as he dismounted his horse stiffly. “What has happened to this village? Have you suffered a recent attack, Bernicia?”
He was addressing Alastor by his formal title and Alastor sighed heavily. “Aye,” he said. “In fact, there is a great deal to tell and little time to act, so come inside and let us discuss the situation. Much has changed since you received de Velt’s missive.”
The Marshal nodded, handing over his reins to Dashiell, but his focus moved to Cole. “Did your father raze Fountainhall as I commanded?” he asked.
All eyes were on Cole has he nodded. “Aye, my lord,” he said. “Fountainhall is no more.”
“And her army?”
“Still on poles, as far as I know,” he said. “It was my father’s habit to leave them up until they were nothing left but leather and bone.”
That was an impactful statement. The Dark Lord had indeed razed a castle and destroyed an army as only he was capable of. It was eerie and terrifying. The Marshal looked at Christopher, who lifted his eyebrows as if to emphasize the scope of the horror that had undoubtedly occurred.
“Good,” The Marshal said simply. “And Canmore? Was he captured?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Where is he?”
“That is what we must discuss, my lord.”
The Marshal didn’t ask any further questions. He had what he wanted, mostly, but he was intensely curious about the rest. He could see by the expressions on Cole and Alastor’s faces that a good deal more must have happened.
Perhaps the abduction of Alpin Canmore had only been the beginning.
Without another word, he followed Alastor into the vast bailey of Castle Keld.
*
“Heburnedtodeath?” Christopher repeated, shocked. “Christ. The man fell into the hearth and burned to death?”
Alastor nodded. “Of his own accord, I might add,” he said. “In fact, that hearth right there. You can still smell the burned flesh. The stench is in everything.”
He was pointing to the enormous hearth against the wall, the one blazing with a friendly fire that hadn’t been so friendly when Alpin had fallen into it. Everyone turned to look at it, as if there were something different about it than other hearths, but the truth was that it looked normal enough.
Normal enough and deadly enough under the right circumstances.
Alastor’s solar was crowded with the men who had accompanied The Marshal north, as well as his own sons and Cole de Velt. All of them now looking at the hearth after hearing a rather horrifying story about Alpin Canmore’s death.
In fact, The Marshal took a good look at the black-stoned fireback before turning away with a grimace.
“Astonishing,” he muttered, returning his attention to Alastor. “And he spoke of Berwick before he fell into the hearth? That is not something I have heard before.”
“Nor I,” Alastor replied. “It was Cole who translated what he said, for he spoke it in the Scot’s tongue. Mayhap to tease us, since I do not speak the Gaelic. Mayhap he knew that.”
The Marshal looked at Cole. “What did he say, exactly?”
Cole didn’t hesitate. “Tha an fhìrinn ann am Bearaig.”
The Marshal lifted his eyebrows, curious. “I see,” he said. “So the man said that the truth lies in Berwick. And that was all?”
“That was all, my lord,” Cole replied.
The door to the solar opened at that moment and a beautiful woman with blond hair and a green velvet gown entered. Cole almost didn’t recognize Corisande because she was dressed in finery and jewels, her hair elaborately styled, which was something he’d never seen on her before. She was exquisite.
She looked like a queen.
His heart did a little leap at the sight of her as she carried a tray with cups and a pitcher. She smiled politely at the men in the room and they parted ways, allowing her to reach her father’s table. Corisande set the tray down and behind her, Gaia entered carrying two more pitchers of drink, but whereas Corisande had been demure and polite, Gaia smiled boldly at every man who met her eyes.
