Chapter Fifteen #2
Toby screamed, bringing the entire army to a halt. From his position far forward, Mortimer began to charge back through the lines to see what the commotion was about. By the time he reached the middle of the column, Kenneth was dismounted and preparing to drive the broadsword into de Roche’s chest.
“Stop!” Mortimer roared. “St. Héver, drop the sword or I will kill you where you stand.”
Toby rushed to Kenneth’s side. “No, my lord,” she stood in front of Kenneth with her arms spread as if to shield him. “He was only protecting me.”
Mortimer wasn’t looking at her; he was still focused on Kenneth. “Drop the weapon, St. Héver. I will not tell you again.”
Kenneth could see from his peripheral that there were at least two crossbows trained on him, probably more.
The broadsword fell to the ground and he grasped the hilt of the dirk protruding from his leg, ripping it free and tossing it away.
Blood poured down his leg as he stood there with Toby still in front of him.
From the beginning of the fight until this very moment, his stone-like expression of calm had never changed.
Mortimer was still glaring at him, though his distaste seemed to be more focused on de Roche at the moment.
“What started this?” Mortimer demanded.
De Roche was picking himself up off the ground. “A disagreement, my lord.”
“Obviously,” Mortimer snapped. He eyed Kenneth, who kept his mouth shut, before looking to Toby. “My lady? Would you be truthful with me?”
Toby didn’t want to get Kenneth in trouble. “I… I am not entirely sure, my lord,” she said. “I was not paying attention to what was said. But de Roche was the one to make the first move.”
Roger cocked an eyebrow at his knight. “Is this true?”
De Roche looked defiant and ashamed at the same time. “Aye, my lord.”
Roger’s dark eyes flashed and he leaned forward on his saddle. “You will cease this foolishness, both of you,” he hissed. Then he looked at Toby. “My lady, since you are well enough to defend your husband’s knight, then you are well enough to ride at the head of the column with me.”
Toby shook her head. “My lord, I assure you, I am not well enough in the least. I would prefer to ride on the wagon.”
“You will ride with me.”
“I want to stay with Sir Kenneth.”
“I am not giving you a choice.”
Toby gazed steadily at the man, feeling her anger rise. “It is not your choice to give. I will choose my own company and I choose to stay with Sir Kenneth. Go ride with your retainers and soldiers for I want no part of you.”
Mortimer looked at de Roche and tipped his head in the lady’s direction, a silent command for the knight to force her into submission.
De Roche moved towards Toby and Kenneth suddenly came alive, striking the man in the jaw with his head-sized fist and sending him reeling.
Soldiers began to move towards Kenneth but Toby swooped down and picked up the heavy broadsword, swinging it at two of the soldiers and slicing through their tunics.
She cut one man substantially in the stomach.
Kenneth saw what she was doing and, not wanting her to injure her ribs further or find herself bound and gagged, took the broadsword away from her and tossed it out of range.
But de Roche had recovered from Kenneth’s strike and was moving towards the man with a nasty-looking dirk.
“Cease!” Mortimer roared.
De Roche came to a halt, though it was evident that he wished to follow through with his attack against Kenneth.
Toby was plastered in front of Kenneth as if to protect the man while he had her around the shoulders, intending to shove her out of the way.
But Mortimer’s order brought the action to a grinding halt and all parties concerned, including the men at arms, looked at Mortimer as if expecting more sharp commands.
Roger, for his part, was finished with pleasantries.
His blood was beginning to boil at the very lovely, but very disobedient, Lady de Lara and he intended to gain a handle on her before she caused further chaos.
His dark brown eyes focused on her. “Now,” he said, quietly now that the pandemonium had settled.
“If you disobey me again, no matter what the issue, St. Héver will receive your punishment. If you so much as refuse a request, I will take it out on St. Héver’s hide.
Any infraction by you will result in severe punishment to him. Am I making myself clear?”
Toby’s face was dark. “You bastard,” she hissed. “How dare you threaten me.”
Mortimer didn’t reply; he nodded his head to one of the men at arms standing behind Toby and Kenneth.
The man produced a sword and smashed the butt end of it across the back of Kenneth’s neck.
The man went down, taking Toby with him.
As Toby screamed, de Roche swooped down and pulled her free.
He wrestled her all the way over to where Mortimer sat astride his big warmblood. Toby fought like a wildcat.
“That is only a foretaste, my lady,” Roger told her as she struggled against de Roche. “If you continue to fight, I will see to it that St. Héver is quite incapacitated.”
Furious, terrified and bordering on tears, Toby looked over at Kenneth as he struggled to pick himself off the ground.
“You are a beast,” she growled before she could stop herself. “You are the most hateful beast that….”
Another cue from Mortimer had the men at arms kicking Kenneth savagely as he lay on the ground. Toby knew that, this time, her opinions and fearless tongue would not be forgiven. Mortimer had shown her twice. She stopped struggling and looked up at him, tears on her cheeks.
“All right,” she said quickly. “Please stop. Do not hurt him anymore. I will be cooperative, I swear it.”
Roger lifted his hand and the kicking immediately stopped. He smiled thinly at Toby. “Very good, my lady,” he said. “As I said, now that you are feeling better, I should like your company as we ride. Hamlin, find her a palfrey.”
De Roche let her go and Toby instinctively moved towards Kenneth to help the man. But Roger stopped her.
“Nay, my lady,” he said almost casually. “You will not go to him. You will come with me.”
Toby could see that Kenneth was struggling to push himself up off the ground. Even though he was in armor, he had been pummeled mostly in the head because his helm had come off. His lips were bloodied and there was blood coursing out of his nose. But his ice-blue eyes were open, looking at her.
“I am well enough, my lady,” he told her so that she would not disobey again; he wasn’t concerned for himself but, at some point, they were going to start punishing her and he was fearful for that moment. “Go along. I will be all right.”
Toby’s face screwed into unhappy tears. “I am sorry,” she mouthed to him.
He winked a bloodied eye at her, propping himself up on his left elbow. “Run along. I will see you later.”
Wiping furiously at her eyes, she turned for Mortimer, who dismounted his steed. He held out a hand to her and without looking at him, she took it. Together, Toby and Mortimer walked towards the front of the column, awaiting the palfrey that de Roche was preparing.
Kenneth watched her go, the smile fading from his lips. God help her, he thought.
*
February had been a 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 hundred split 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.