He’d seen too much of it.
“Bastards,” Alpin snarled, spittle flying from his lips as he distracted the warriors from what was happening around them. “Ye’re all bastards. Why are ye doing this tae me?”
He was speaking of the al-Kort brothers. Alpin knew them to be fixtures in royal circles, favorites of the nobles, so the fact that they wrested him from his hiding place was truly perplexing. He had no idea why they were there. As Essien continued to wrestle with the situation outside the gates, Cole appraised Alpin without a hint of emotion.
“Canmore,” he said. “You know why we are here, do you not?”
Alpin eyed Cole, shaken and bewildered. “Why do ye speak like that?” he said, referring to the fact that Cole had no Scots accent, something he’d only known from the man from the beginning of their association. “What is happening here? Ye’re the king’s protector, the man called MacEacharn!”
“Not anymore,” Cole said flatly. “My tenure with William is finished. And I am not MacEacharn.”
“No’ MacEacharn?”
“Nay,” Cole said. “I am English and this is my father’s army. We’ve come for you, Alpin. Would you care to guess why?”
Alpin genuinely had no idea. In fact, the entire situation had him baffled. Earlier that day, an army approached from the south, a fairly large army that his men identified as English and, suddenly, he found himself under siege. His men barely had time to secure the outer gatehouse when the army swarmed and siege engines were brought forth. A bombardment worthy of the Crusades took place after that, with flaming projectiles and men scaling walls. When it had become clear that the army would breach the inner ward, Alpin and a few of his men had dressed as women and hid in the kitchens. He didn’t even know what had happened to those men.
At the moment, he was only concerned for himself.
Something very bad was happening.
“Sassenach?” Alpin spit out. “I dunna understand any of this.Whoare ye? What have ye done?”
Cole leaned in to him. “My name is Cole de Velt,” he said quietly. “My father is Ajax de Velt, Baron Blackadder and lord of Pelinom Castle. Surely you have heard of him.”
A gleam of recognition came to Alpin’s eye. “DeVelt?” he repeated. “Not The Dark Lord?”
“The same.”
The light of understanding was beginning to flame for Alpin. “God’s Teeth, MacEacharn… ye’re no’ Scots?”
“I am not Scots.”
“A de Velt?”
“Aye, I am a de Velt.”
Two years of being a spy to the royal Scots court was just revealed and things began to come clear for Alpin Canmore. He looked at Addax and Essien, understanding they were in on it, too. He began to realize just how much trouble he was in and he instinctively stepped back and away from Cole, but he was being held firmly so he had nowhere to go. Then he looked beyond Cole to the gatehouse and he could see his men being put on poles.
Those screams were something that cut him to the bone.
“God,” he muttered, looking at Cole with utter fear in his expression. “What do ye want from me? Why are ye doing this?”
Cole didn’t answer him. He turned for the gatehouse and jerked his head at Addax and Essien, who followed him from the inner ward, dragging Alpin past his own men who were being impaled. His men, seeing him, screamed for help if they were able, begging Alpin to save them.
But Alpin couldn’t even save himself.
In the end, it was too much for him to take. He lowered his head and wept as Addax and Essien dragged him back to the de Velt encampment and tied him to a post. Alpin was certain he was going to be burned alive but, oddly enough, they left him there with Essien as his guard. No flames, no death.
At least, not yet.
As Alpin Canmore listened to the cries of agony from his men, Cole and Addax returned to the bedlam that was happening at Fountainhall. They found Jax standing on the fringe, watching the activity, but not actively participating. He was simply overseeing everything with the ease of a man overseeing something far simpler, like the harvest of his crops or the training of his men. It was all business to him and Jax held an expression that suggested he wasn’t troubled by any of it.
He’d done this kind of thing before.
Next to him stood a commander he’d had with him for many years. Atreus le Velle had been at Jax’s side during the entire conquest of the Welsh Marches those years ago, and he had been at Jax’s side when he conquered Pelinom Castle. He’d known Jax since childhood and had simply never left him, not even to pursue personal gain or adventure. An innate sense of loyalty kept him with Jax, a friendship that was deeper than most.
Atreus was looking at the carnage going on with the same bland expression Jax had.
