Chapter Four
“My lord, there was no reason for you to come. As you can see, Trastamara is quite secure.”
Shand was standing in front of Trastamara’s gatehouse. Literally, right in front of the open gate. He wasn’t preventing Berwick from entering, but he wasn’t inviting them in, either. His question had been directed at Patrick, who wasn’t pleased with the man’s response.
Markus could see his father’s expression.
Patrick was more a man of action than diplomacy in his later years, a man who had earned the moniker Nighthawk.
He was a hunter and although hunters were patient when sighting prey, once that prey was cornered, there was no mercy.
Patrick wasn’t afraid to show force these days when there had been a time, years ago, when he’d had great patience.
The older he became, the more he didn’t tolerate foolery.
Therefore, before he could order the full invasion of Trastamara Castle, Markus took over the negotiation.
“Bexwell, is it?” he said, clarifying the name.
When Shand nodded, Markus stepped closer to him.
“You and I have been in a couple of skirmishes together, but it has been some time. The last time was last year, I believe. You manned the castle while my men did battle over at The Orchard crossing. Do you know me?”
Shand peered at him. “I believe I do, my lord. You are one of the earl’s sons.”
“I am his heir, Viscount Ravensdowne. My name is Markus de Wolfe.”
Shand nodded in realization. “Of course, my lord,” he said. “Forgive me for not remembering.”
Markus waved him off. He wasn’t concerned if the man didn’t remember his name because he hadn’t remembered his, either.
“It is of little matter,” he said. “But we have come for a purpose. As you know, Roget was a great ally of Berwick and when we heard of his death, we immediately came to your aid because if we have heard of it, others have heard of it, too. Meaning Scots. They would like nothing better than to take charge of The Orchard crossing and we are here to ensure that does not happen. When a man dies, his enemies try to take advantage of that. Would you not agree?”
Shand nodded hesitantly. “But I am telling you that we have seen no trouble,” he insisted. “It has been four days since Lord Roget’s death and we’ve seen no trouble at all.”
Markus pretended to be patient. “There is always tomorrow,” he said.
“The Scots can come out of nowhere and go after the bridge, so you would do well to have your numbers reinforced during this difficult time. Now, I have five hundred men who need shelter for the night. I will not ask them to turn around and return to Berwick tonight, so please give us shelter. We will not drain your stores, I assure you. We have brought our own with us. But I would prefer to get them inside the walls of Trastamara before the sun sets. May we be invited in, please?”
It was clear that Shand didn’t want them there, but given that he was faced with the Earl of Berwick and the man’s son, he couldn’t very well refuse. With a reluctant nod, he turned around and motioned them to follow.
That was all the knights needed to throw up the cry to move out.
Everyone was moving.
Markus gave his father a rather triumphant look as he followed Shand through the gatehouse. Patrick wasn’t far behind, fighting off a smirk because his son was quick to criticize the arrogant young knights in the family when he, in fact, could be counted among them.
But it wasn’t as if he didn’t have good reason to be arrogant.
Markus could move mountains.
The moment the knights were through the gatehouse and the army started to pour in, they began to take over. They shoved aside Trastamara men to make way for Berwick men, and Markus stayed close to Shand in case the man took a dislike to it.
In fact, Markus was with Shand for a reason, and that was to separate him from his men. Divide and conquer was the way to keep them from rebelling against the Berwick presence and they were doing it very well.
Everything was proceeding as planned.
As Markus and Shand stood over by the south tower, watching the incoming army get organized, it gave Markus a chance to get a good look at the interior of Trastamara Castle, a place he’d never even been inside of.
There was a reason for that.
Markus had served at Berwick for the past nine years, ever since he’d been knighted by his grandfather, William de Wolfe.
Markus had fostered at Lioncross Abbey in his youth, the seat of the House of de Lohr, but upon receiving his spurs, it had been expected that he would return home to help share the command burden with his father at Berwick Castle.
Berwick was one of the largest castles in the north, surrounded by a large city, and it covered a vast amount of land to the south and southwest. There were many allies, and Markus knew all of the major ones in-depth, but Trastamara, for its relative closeness, had never been a particularly close relationship.
They mostly stayed to themselves unless they needed help, and that was only if The Orchard crossing was sufficiently threatened.
Still, Roget de Sauque showed up to Berwick when Patrick called his vassals together and he had never refused a command, but Trastamara seemed to prefer its own company.
It was a castle of loners.
Markus could see that it was true given the lack of warm welcome they’d received from Shand Bexwell, the very knight Lady de Sauque had been concerned with in her missive.
As the army began to settle into Trastamara’s vast bailey, Markus took a look around at the castle, which was an interesting one.
Trastamara had three massive towers at each corner of the curtain wall, while the fourth tower was actually the keep.
It was built right into the northwest corner of the wall.
In the center of the bailey was the great hall and the kitchens, while the western portion of the bailey was sectioned off into the stables and kitchen yard.
As Markus took it all in, he could see his father on the approach. The man had just come from the stables as his men oversaw the settling of the army.
“Bexwell,” Patrick said as he drew near. “I would speak with Lady de Sauque now. Will you announce me?”
Both Patrick and Markus could see Shand’s expression tighten. “She is in the keep with her children,” he said. “She is grieving, my lord.”
It was fairly close to a denial but Patrick didn’t back away. “That is understandable,” he said. “But I will see her. Announce me.”
It was a command. He wasn’t going to plead with a subordinate, no matter how much the man thought he was in charge of this castle, and Shand seemed to take a step back.
It was clear that he knew he’d just received an order and, being an obedient knight, he was conflicted.
It wouldn’t do to deny his liege, in any fashion, but it was blatantly obvious that he simply didn’t want them here.
He grasped at the last strands of control that were inevitably slipping from his grasp.
“My lord, I do not understand any of this,” he said, trying not to sound as if he were complaining.
“We are not in any need, yet you bring your army here as if we have begged you to aid us. We have not requested, nor do we need, your assistance, but it seems as if you wish to push us aside and take over. And now you demand to see Lady de Sauque when I have told you the woman is grieving the loss of her husband. Forgive me, my lord, but your presence is both confusing and unwanted.”
There it was, plainly spoken, and Markus looked at his father.
The response would have to come from him, but it was clear to both Markus and Patrick that Shand was throwing up blockades at nearly every turn.
Lady de Sauque’s fear that Shand intended to take over Trastamara appeared to be well-founded.
Patrick didn’t mince words.
“Bexwell,” he said. “I want you to listen to me carefully. Do I have your full attention?”
“You do, my lord.”
“Good,” Patrick said. “I need to explain something to you. As you know, I am the Earl of Berwick. My brother from Castle Questing is the Earl of Warenton, but better still, my youngest brother, Tommy, is the Earl of Northumbria. His standing army alone numbers in the thousands. I have not even mentioned my other brothers who also have castles and thousands of men between them. It would be safe to say that one word from me and I could have fifteen thousand English soldiers swarming over Trastamara and you and your paltry army would not survive. If I was truly here to take over, as you have asserted, then I would have brought more than five hundred men. Does that make sense to you?”
Shand’s jaw was ticking faintly. “It does, my lord.”
“Then suffice it to say that we are not here to take over,” Patrick said, his tone decidedly colder. “But I am here to ensure The Orchard crossing is secure, and remains so, in light of Roget’s death and I will speak with Lady de Sauque. Is this in any way unclear?”
“It is clear, my lord.”
“Then announce me to your mistress or I will find her myself.”
Shand swallowed hard. There was nothing more he could say, no more fight he could give. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed across the bailey, towards the enormous corner-keep.
Patrick and Markus followed.
Shand took them up the steps leading to the first floor, stone steps instead of the usual wooden retractable stairs. It was strange considering how much trouble Trastamara had from the Scots over the years, but they evidently had a good deal of faith in the tall curtain wall.
Coming through the entry into the cool, dark innards of the keep, they were on a level with only two rooms – the room the entry opened up into and a larger second chamber. Shand turned to them.
“Wait here,” he said. “I will summon Lady de Sauque.”
But Patrick shook his head. “We will go with you,” he said. “Lead the way.”
“But, my lord…”
Patrick cut him off. “I said lead the way.”