Chapter 21 #2
“Why?” he asked her quietly.
“I love him,” she told him.
He smiled after a moment. “Aye, write your letter to your uncle. We’ll send a messenger. Daro can bring this matter before the king, and the truth of it all will be learned.”
“Thank you,” she said simply, then asked him, “Angus?”
“Aye?”
“How long will Waryk be gone?”
Angus shrugged. “Some campaigns last for months, lady, you know that. But if all has gone well, he will be heading home soon.”
“Ewan is well. Growing stronger every day.”
“Aye,” Angus said gravely.
“Take me to Waryk, Angus.”
“Ah, lady, you should not be out of the fortress—”
“Please. You will be with me.”
Angus rose, and she stood with him, her eyes on his. “A messenger is due today or tomorrow,” he told her. “Let’s find out if Waryk remains at Tyne.”
Mellyora threw her arms around the bald warrior. “Aye, Angus!” She kissed his cheek, and spun away. As she did so, she suddenly felt dizzy. The world threatened to turn black. She set a hand upon the wall to steady herself. Angus was immediately at her side. The black cleared away.
“My lady?”
“I’m fine, just tired, I imagine.”
“Tired, eh?” he said, looking at her peculiarly. “Tired—or …?”
“Well, I do imagine I’m just tired. I’m hardly fragile, Angus, and I never falter or feel in the least ill or queasy or …” Her voice trailed away. She’d given so much time and attention to Ewan, and she’d been so worried about Waryk being …
With Eleanora.
She hadn’t thought about herself at all. If she’d been thinking, or paying attention at all, she might have realized how many days and nights had come and gone since …
She couldn’t be.
Yes, actually she could.
At the thought, her stomach seemed to pitch and toss. Fear and excitement swept through her in a swift wave.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” she said to Angus.
He arched a brow, and she knew his silent question.
Why not?
Why not. It was what Waryk wanted, or so he had said. But of course, she didn’t really know, she wasn’t certain …
Angus seemed certain. “We’ll go to Waryk, lady. If you promise to rest.”
“Ah, now, Angus! Who is the lady of the castle here?”
“You are the lady here. But I am to guard you for the laird of the castle, and I mean to do so—even against yourself!”
“Angus … if so … he will be pleased?” she asked anxiously.
“Oh, my lady, I cannot begin to tell you just how pleased.”
She sank to the bench, wanting to see Waryk more than ever.
Waryk was aware, aligned with his men atop the hillock that led to the gates of Tyne Castle, that his troops cut a formidable picture.
He’d ridden with his own contingent of cavalry, and the king had sent archers and foot soldiers, men to leave behind when either the negotiating or the fighting was done, because once the castle was taken in the name of the Scottish king, it must be kept.
He had spent five days reaching the king to swell his ranks, and when they had arrived here, on the outskirts of Tyne, he had ordered the men to set up camp, stretching their numbers across the hillside so that Peter would have no doubts as to what strength the king meant to put into this enterprise.
This morning, two weeks to the day from the time he had left home, he was ready to force his old friend’s hand.
He knew where Peter would be, along the wall, watching his arrival, and whether his friend damned him or was grateful that the king had sent a friend to offer terms, he couldn’t be certain.
But Peter had told him often enough that he felt a strong loyalty for whoever was in power, and here, now, David was the power.
For centuries this region had been tossed back and forth like a child’s ball, and there were many in the area who considered themselves Scots, many who thought themselves English, and many who didn’t really know or care to what king they bowed as long as they were left to till the fields for an overlord who didn’t starve them, beat them, or drive them from their land.
Feudalism had come in with the Normans, but service for protection had begun with the dawn of man.
At his side, Thomas said, “Now, Waryk?”
“Aye, Thomas.”
Thomas, acting as am Bladier, would bring his oral message, offering terms in the name of David, King of Scots.
He rode out with only Tyler of Dumbarton, am fear brataich, who carried not only Waryk’s banner, but that of the king.
Waryk watched, uneasy for a moment, thinking how easy it would be for archers on the walls with their crossbows to pick off the two men.
Peter, he thought, would not be so foolish.
This was the way that things were done, and those seeking any terms did not kill a messenger.
The gates opened; two riders came from Tyne, and the messengers met upon the field. Horses whinnied, stamping their feet. Waryk heard the sound of a buzzing fly. Along his ranks, except for the occasional sound of a man shifting position, there was silence.
But then Thomas and Tyler broke with the messengers, and rode toward him. Thomas, who had accompanied him here many times before, was relieved.
“Sir Peter of Tyne sends his welcome to you, Waryk. He has always known that his land lies in dispute between two great countries, and he is equally aware that his refusal to surrender to the king’s forces would bring about death and destruction, destroying Tyne for any man, or any king.
He hopes, if David intends him to hold Tyne against the brutal factions vying for power in the battles between Mathilda and Stephen, that he intends to fight such rebellious factions with him.
Some of the great northern barons have armies themselves now as powerful as those of many a king. ”
“Go back to his messenger. Tell him, aye, David knows he will be vulnerable to English attack, and we have come with strength. And tell him we’ll enter his gates with a party of one hundred men, while the rest of our party camps here, on the field, just outside the gates.”
Thomas did as he was bidden. He waited on the field while Peter’s messenger and standard-bearer rode back through the gates. Then the gates opened, Peter’s men returned, and with perfect courtesy and not a drop of blood shed, Tyne was taken in the name of David of Scotland.
Waryk gave orders for men to camp, and for men to accompany him.
Peter wouldn’t betray him—not out of loyalty, but out of good sense.
There would be too many armed men inside his walls for him to decide to make a protest then.
If there had been a fight at Tyne, it would have been a siege, and one quickly put to the test because the walls were wooden and easily burned and it was only Peter’s easily vacillating nature which had kept Tyne standing thus far.
He rode through the gates with Thomas and Tyler flanking him, others of his immediate guard surrounding them, and ranks of cavalry, and the foot soldiers, behind them.
Peter was mounted in the courtyard with Eleanora at his side.
Brother and sister were handsomely dressed, prepared for pageantry rather than battle, and Peter’s speech, on meeting Waryk, was a mastery of diplomacy, accepting the Scottish while reiterating his inability to do anything less—he was satisfied to surrender, but should the English monarch retake the land, he might not retain his lordship, but he could, at least, hope to keep his head upon his shoulders.
Waryk graciously accepted Peter’s words, telling him that he was a wise and just lord, that his decision saved the lives and livelihood of his people, and that surely God in his infinite wisdom saw that they all stood on Scottish soil.
As he spoke, he felt Eleanora watching him, saw her smile, and knew that nothing had changed with her, that it didn’t surprise her that David had arranged for him to take a wife.
She appeared amused with the proceedings, anxious for formality to be done with and the day to continue.
“Laird Waryk, as newly sworn Scottish subjects, we invite you and your men to sup with us, that we may drink a toast to David of Scotland.”
Waryk accepted the invitation on behalf of himself and his men.
He, Thomas, and another four of his retainers would actually dine in the great hall—the great hall at Tyne being rather small.
Entering, Waryk remembered the last time he had come, and how he and Peter had talked.
As the king’s representative he was seated between Peter and Eleanora.
As was often done, one chalice was set between him and the lady to be shared.
Her fingers brushed his continually, and her eyes touched his with warmth and humor.
“So, sir, tell me about your wonderful new property. Blue Isle. Naturally, I have heard about the place. It is legendary, in story and song,” Eleanora told him.
“It’s quite fantastic. Sheer rock rising from the sea in some places, yet there is beach, and a deep harbor to the one side. At times, you can walk to the isle from the mainland, getting a bit wet, perhaps.”
“And the fortress?” Peter asked from his other side.
“Built on rock foundation. The Romans claimed it for a time, I’m told, and they built the first walls on top of the rock.
The walls are twenty feet thick in some places.
Even the proud Celtic inhabitants admit that Norman building techniques added to the strength and beauty of the fortress in the day of the Conqueror. ”
“It all sounds quite beautiful,” Eleanora said, her fingers brushing over his as they both held the chalice. “Is it?”
His eyes met hers and he knew that she wasn’t asking about the fortress, but rather his wife.
“Very beautiful,” he told her.
“Enough to hold a man’s interest for a lifetime.”
“Aye,” he said gravely.