Chapter Twelve
“He took a wife,” the general announced.
Hamlin’s eyebrows rose. “Who did?”
“De Lara,” the general said it as if he could hardly believe it. “One of our men trailed them from the castle into the town yesterday and saw them at the church. He married her yesterday.”
Hamlin’s surprise only increased. “Two days after a siege, he marries?” He looked at the men seated around him; they were still in the encampment in the woods where they had been for three days.
It had been a relatively uneventful period until this shocking bit of news.
De Roche was astounded. “De Lara must not have a care in the world if he is taking a wife at this time. A very strange move for a usually guarded man.”
The general shrugged. “Who knows why men do what they do? All I know is that he has indeed married. A very beautiful woman from what I am told.”
De Roche turned to his general, his mind working over the information. “And you trust the source?”
The general nodded. “The same man who tailed them to Cartingdon. In fact, he believes de Lara’s wife to be the Cartingdon heiress but he cannot be sure.”
For three days they had been mulling over their next move, sending out spies to see if they could gain headway on de Lara’s movements.
So far, they had received nothing useful.
Harbottle had been swiftly repaired and Warkworth’s army remained.
There were reports that reinforcements were arriving from Alnwick, but so far, they’d seen no truth of that.
The hope was that Mortimer’s army would arrive from the Marches before Alnwick arrived to support Harbottle.
In either case, the impending battle would prove to be explosive.
At the moment, they were playing a waiting game.
“So de Lara marries,” Hamlin stroked his chin and began to pace.
He held up a finger. “This is good news, in fact. Here we sit, waiting for Mortimer’s reinforcements, all the while looking to find a weakness we can use against de Lara.
If we can exploit him, then a battle will be unnecessary.
Lives will be saved. That is a good thing. ”
The general who had delivered the news sat next to the old vizier, trying to generate some heat back into his bones. The pouring rain outside had all of them wet and cold.
“So tell us why this is such good news?” he demanded as he took some wine for himself.
Hamlin smiled coldly. “A weakness,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What motivates a man more than warfare?”
The others looked around like idiots, trying to glean an answer from vacant expressions. The old general finally spoke. “What?”
Hamlin looked at the fools around him and shook his head. “Love,” he said obviously. “Love motivates a man more than warfare. We can lay siege to his castle, burn his troops, kill his friends and de Lara will not falter. But take his wife and the man will bargain.”
The men in the tent continued to look at each other, some in understanding, some in disagreement. Hamlin threw the cup in his hand to the ground and tossed up his arms.
“Fools,” he snapped. “We get the woman and de Lara will give us whatever we want. This entire war will be over.”
The general finally shook his head. “There are no guarantees,” he said. “Perhaps de Lara was forced to marry her. Perhaps he does not care for her in the least.”
Hamlin put his hands on his hips. “He marries in the midst of a crisis? I would say this is more than a forced marriage. A man would only do such a thing in the middle of this hell only if he wanted to.”
“So you are saying use the woman against him?”
Hamlin nodded as if the man was a simpleton. “De Lara’s weakness. We have found it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“For the very reasons I mentioned.”
“Then it will not be easy to get at her.”
“Probably not. But we will take whatever opportunity we can.” Hamlin reclaimed his cup and went for more wine, listening to the thunder outside.
“Send out more men to hide in the shadows and watch de Lara. Watch Harbottle closely. I would wager there will be another opportunity, especially if he is bold enough to venture from the safe confines of the castle and into the village. If he does it again, perhaps we can catch them along the open road.”
“He will travel with an army for protection.”
“Or he will only travel with a few in order to not draw attention to himself,” Hamlin shot back. “How many men did he take with him to the village yesterday? Did you ask?”
The general nodded. “Indeed I did. He took two knights and six men at arms.”
Hamlin lifted his eyebrows. “You see? He only took a small contingent. Now he is overconfident. He believes he is not being watched at the moment.”
“Never. De Lara is not that stupid.”
“Nevertheless, you will put your best men on him. If an opportunity presents itself, we will take it. We will take her.”
The general shook his head. “We cannot even get close to the king. What makes you think we can get close to de Lara’s wife?”
Hamlin paused as he poured his wine. “Your men will have to be clever and swift. I care not how she is taken, but get her. If we hold her, we hold the kingdom.”
The general cast him a long look but did as he was ordered. More men would need to be dispatched, more spies to watch de Lara’s every move and wait for an opportunity. It wasn’t going to be easy, if such a thing was even possible at all.
*
“I do not care if you and your entire fleet of servants are up all night,” Toby said pointedly. “This keep will be clean by tomorrow morning.”
She was facing off against a huffing, puffing Wallace.
It was pouring rain outside, loud thunder and bright lightning.
But the thunder in the sky was nothing compared to the storm brewing in the great hall of Harbottle.
Lady de Lara was now chatelaine and Wallace was having a difficult time with the transition.
It was unexpected; more than that, Wallace was offended.
His insult against Toby’s determination was a volatile combination.
“We have more important things to attend to, my lady,” he was trying not to show disrespect to the woman his liege had recently married. “We are still repairing damage from the siege and I hardly think that scrubbing the keep is a priority.”
“I will decide what the priorities are,” she snapped. “I am in charge here. You will do as you are told.”
Wallace’s leathered face tightened with fury. “I take my orders from Lord Tate.”
Toby lifted an eyebrow. “When you are inside this keep, you take them from me. This is now my domain and the sooner you understand that, the better we shall get along. This keep is an embarrassment and I intend to see it cleaned from top to bottom.”
“There is no embarrassment to this place, my lady.”
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“I have more important things to do.”
“Then get out.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get out. And stay out.”
Wallace opened his mouth in outrage but Toby was already moving towards the hearth. A long iron poker stood propped against the wall and she grabbed it, wielding it like a weapon.
“Did you hear me?” she barked. “If you are not going to do as you are told, then you will get out.”
His brow furrowed and his teeth bared, preparing for a very sharp retort that would perhaps be not so polite. But Toby swung the poker at him and smacked him across the thigh, not hard enough to do damage but hard enough to sting.
“Out!” she yelled.
When Wallace didn’t move fast enough, she took another swing and the old priest jumped out of the way, making his way very quickly towards the keep entry. Toby followed on his heels, swinging the poker again and catching him across the buttocks.
“Out!”
Wallace shot out through the entry door as if the devil himself was on his heels. He was half-way down the stairs when Toby appeared on the landing, leveling the poker in front of her.
“And stay out until you can learn to obey my wishes!”
Wallace ran across the bailey and disappeared somewhere in the vicinity of the knight’s quarters.
Upon the battlements near the gatehouse, Tate and Kenneth had been given a marvelous view of the last few seconds when Wallace ran from the keep with Toby chasing after him.
They both watched Wallace scurry across the ward and out of sight as Toby stood on the entry landing, holding a very large fire poker and threatening him.
After a few moments of stunned silence, Kenneth looked at Tate, whose storm cloud eyes were riveted to his wife.
He seemed quite unconcerned about the entire incident.
“Hmmm,” he muttered casually. “I was wondering how long it would take for Elizabetha and Wallace to come to blows. I see that I did not have long to wait.”
He looked at Kenneth, whose head was lowered.
Upon closer inspection, the man seemed to be shaking.
Tate peered even closer and realized that Kenneth was far gone with laughter.
The normally stoic and unflappable knight was red with mirth.
Realizing that it was indeed a very comical scene, it was a struggle for Tate to keep a smile off his face.
“Stop laughing,” he commanded quietly. “For I must go confront my wife and if I remember your laughter, it will be impossible for me to keep a straight face. Stop it, I say.”
Kenneth took a deep breath and lifted his head, struggling to focus. “Of course,” he said, though it was in an oddly strangled tone. “It was not the least bit humorous.”
“Aye, it was, but I doubt Elizabetha will think so and I have no desire to feel a blow from that poker. You may see me running out of the keep with an angry woman on my heels.”