Chapter Ten
The wounded had been trickling in all day.
Corisande had emerged from the keep shortly after dawn, shortly after her brothers and Cole took three hundred men and charged into the village to defend it from the rampaging Scots.
Alastor had remained in command of the castle and he assured his daughters that a battle like this couldn’t last long, but he had been wrong.
So very wrong.
The Scots were angry. That much was clear.
Offended by Alastor’s refusal and exhausted from their swift and long march from Edinburgh, they had attacked the village with mindless zeal.
As Cole and the others realized once they reached the village, it wasn’t that the Scots were bent on raiding the town. That didn’t seem to be their purpose.
Their purpose seemed to be destruction.
Because the Scots had been traveling in the dark, they had a good many torches available and they used them.
They started at the edge of the town, nearest the castle, and began lighting the cottages on fire.
In fact, they lit anything worth burning.
All Alastor and the troops remaining in the castle could do was watch from the sealed portcullis as the village began to go up in flames.
They certainly couldn’t open the portcullis, which was exactly what the Scots wanted them to do.
What the Scots didn’t know was that a heavily armed contingent from the castle was coming in from the northwest.
They realized that too late.
The plan was to box the Scots up against the burning section of the village and trap them between the flames and the castle.
There was no real concern that the castle would catch fire because it was made of stone and iron.
There wasn’t much that could catch fire on the exterior.
The Scots realized too late that there was an incoming force from the fortress, charging in and forcing them back against the flames.
But even the charge of the English was slowed by the villagers that were fleeing for their very lives.
The incoming army was met with a tide of humanity that was running from the Scots.
Even so, the army pushed through and the Scots found themselves under attack.
However, Cole and the others realized very early on that Alastor had underestimated the number of Scots.
He had guessed a few hundred when, in fact, there seemed to be more like six or seven hundred.
The contingent of men from The Keld were outmanned, but there was no comparison between a Scots warrior and a heavily armed English soldier.
Better still, they were no match for the elite English knights.
Cole was in his element in a battle. He was quite large, quite strong, and exceptionally skilled. He had inherited his father’s talent with a sword and that was never more evident than it was at that moment as he used his enormous broadsword to dispatch Scotsman after Scotsman.
Cole had been taught long ago by a master knight at Norwich Castle to use every part of his body in a fight, not simply his sword hand, so watching him fight was like watching a well-choreographed dance.
He could multitask with the best of them, fighting with his broadsword in one hand but also using his legs and feet to kick and shove.
His left hand usually held his shield, but since they were mostly dealing with foot soldiers, his shield was slung over his left knee and his left fist was creating devastation for any Scotsman who came too close.
His skill in battle was also a testament to his relationship with Drago.
He and Drago had been together at least fifteen years, ever since his father had given him the warhorse when he had been a squire.
He had learned to fight while riding the big horse and, in battle, the two of them could move as one.
Cole would give the horse his head, secure the reins to the saddle, and let Drago fight his own battles.
It was truly something to watch.
A battle that Alastor had predicted would not take long, unfortunately took most of the day.
The Scots were not inclined to retreat and the English were forced to beat up on them more viciously than usual.
Cole had personally cut down several mounted Scots and at least a dozen foot soldiers, and he was hardly winded.
Much like his father, he had the love of battle in his veins.
The longer and more vicious the fighting, the better Cole liked it.
He hadn’t endured a battle like this in a very long time.
As the afternoon began to wane, the Scots seemed to be retreating.
There were many dead and many wounded, and the English began to form a line to push them back onto the road heading north.
Several were already heading up the road, carrying or dragging their wounded, but the bulk of the Scots were still fighting to the death.
Cole thought it was rather a wasted effort on the part of the Scots because they were in an enemy land with no real directive, yet they were fighting rabidly.
It wasn’t as if they were fighting to overtake a castle or to confiscate something of value.
They were fighting because they were offended by Alastor’s refusal and they were fighting to punish the offender.
But that wasted effort would work to their advantage because those who survived the fight would return to William and tell him that the English were not going to be easy victims to his plan.
Certainly, Alastor de Bourne wouldn’t be an easy victim, nor would he be an ally.
Much like the battle at Fountainhall Castle, the battle at Castle Keld was also sending a message.
And Cole was helping send it.
But the English weren’t without their casualties, too.
There had been a few. Throughout the battle, Cole had kept his eye on Addax as the man did battle against the Scots.
Addax hadn’t trained in the English way of fighting his entire life like most knights had, as he hadn’t met his first English knight until he was about twelve years of age.
But he had learned quickly, and even now as he fought on horseback, no one would have ever known that he hadn’t grown up with a sword in his hand.
He was one of the best natural warriors Cole had ever seen, but that didn’t stop Cole from keeping an eye on him.
A brotherly eye, so to speak.
In all of the skirmishes Cole had ever fought with him, Addax had never once failed in anything he’d ever attempted. The man was an elite warrior. Cole was about to turn his attention to the battle once more when he caught sight of Addax being pitched off his horse.
In a flash, Cole was heading in his direction.
A big Scotsman with a big club had managed to catch Addax on the back of the neck.
As Cole reached Addax, he was just in time to see the Scotsman hit Addax again on the head.
In a flash, Cole swung his broadsword in the direction of the Scotsman, expecting to hit him somewhere between the middle of his back and the top of his head.
At this point, he wasn’t going for accuracy as much as he was simply going for a death blow, wherever it may fall.
The Scotsman, catching a flash of the sword, managed to put up his hand to block the strike, but he only managed to get his hand cut off along with his head.
Both went rolling to the ground.
Cole leapt off his horse and pulled a dazed Addax to his feet, slinging him over Drago’s broad back and leaping on behind him. Digging his spurs in, he headed for Castle Keld.
Truthfully, Cole didn’t even know how badly Addax was injured.
He was simply trying to get him away from the heat of the battle so he could recover his wits.
But as he slowed Drago, he happened to look down at Addax and he could see blood all over the man’s hands and arms. The blood was coming from somewhere, so he pushed forward and took the path back around to the postern gate.
All he knew was that he had to get his friend to safety, battle be damned.
“Is the water boiling?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“The linens are being steamed and kept clean?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Then bring me more bandages because one of the men came in with a big gash on his head. I’ll need something to stop the bleeding.”
Corisande was interrogating the cook as the woman followed her around the great hall.
Already, they’d had several wounded from the skirmish in the village, but certainly nothing that was overwhelming.
It seemed as if the Scots were getting the worst of it, so Corisande had about twenty or thirty of her father’s soldiers to tend to.
There were the usual gashes, slashes, and missing fingers. One soldier even had missing toes because a Scotsman had used an ax on his foot. All of the injuries to that point weren’t life threatening providing they received the proper care, which Corisande efficiently provided.
In fact, she’d left the keep shortly after Cole had instructed her to barricade it.
She and Gaia and Gratiana, along with several servants, managed to shutter more than half the windows before the progress came to a halt.
Corisande watched the fight from her bower window, realizing the Scots weren’t trying to come into the castle at all.
They were quite focused on the town itself.
Therefore, she made the decision to leave the keep and prepare the great hall to receive any wounded.