Chapter 11 #3
She laughed as they turned to go. Once the geese had settled on the water and quieted, she said, “You may yet persuade me to return to Wales.”
That evening, with so many knights and men-at-arms away, Owain was the object of every young woman’s attention.
The tall Welsh archer with his noble bearing and unusual clothing looked very much the prince he was, handsome in both form and face, but also a warrior.
Many at Talisand knew Rhodri and this nephew of his was much talked about.
Lady Serena had been thrilled to welcome Owain to her hall.
“You must sit on the dais with my husband and me tonight,” she urged.
“Rhodri would expect it.” It did not matter to their lady that Wales warred with England’s Norman king.
The bond Serena had forged with the Welsh bard had been a strong one.
For Merewyn, too, Wales was a source of happy memories.
Lady Serena waited for Owain’s answer and he looked at Merewyn.
“ ’Tis an honor to sit with the Lord and Lady of Talisand,” she told him. “Go.”
Reluctantly, it seemed to Merewyn, Owain took his place beside Alex’s father and she returned to the trestle table to sit with Jamie and Lora.
Merewyn was glad she had refused Jamie’s noble offer to marry her for the sake of the babe.
The affection she now saw in Lora’s eyes for the captain was its own reward.
“Your Welsh friend is drawing many admiring glances,” said Lora, leaning in to speak in a low voice.
“Aye, Owain is a handsome one.”
“And?” Lora raised her brows, waiting for Merewyn to say more. “Why has he come so far?”
“He said he wanted to see Talisand.” She could never tell her friends that Owain had come for her, but Lora was perceptive.
“More like, he wanted to see you,” her friend said, nudging her in the ribs.
“We are merely friends,” Merewyn insisted. “He was the one who taught me how to shoot from my pony.”
Lora answered her with a suspicious grin. “He does not look at you the way a man looks at a ‘mere friend’.”
Merewyn let out a sigh and reached for the bread next to their shared trencher.
From his seat on the other side of Lora, Jamie shot her a sidelong glance.
Merewyn was certain he had overheard the last of Lora’s comments and was thankful for his silence.
Jamie was the only one at Talisand who knew of the babe and she meant to keep it that way for as long as she could.
* * *
The messenger’s grim expression spoke loudly to Alex, telling him the news was not good. Having already endured a shortage of food and many storm-filled days, the king’s army, camped on muddy ground south of Lothian, needed their spirits raised, not lowered.
The king, his brother and the barons had been discussing strategy in William’s tent when the man stepped through the opening, removed his hat and bent his knee before the king. Alex, invited to join the discussion, looked on with interest.
“My Lord,” the man said with bowed head.
“Rise,” said William, his eyes narrowing on the man.
The poor wretch trembled in the face of his monarch, who was obviously impatient. Slowly, the man got to his feet, worrying his hat in his hands. His clothing was ragged and salt-crusted and his jerkin was smeared with mud nearly the same color as his mussed hair.
“Out with it man! What news have you brought us?” Next to the king stood Duke Robert with furrowed brow. Behind William was his chancellor, Robert Bloet, his advisor, Ranulf Flambard, Earl Hugh and Sir Duncan. All bore worried expressions.
“I am one of your seaman, Milord. We was sailin’ north of the Tyne when the ships ran aground on the rocks of Coquet Island. ’Twas over so quick, I can still scarce believe it.”
“By the face of Lucca!” the king stormed, glaring at the shaking seaman. “Was there foul weather? What cause?”
“Nay, My Lord,” the man humbly answered, uncomfortable with the truth he had to convey. “The weather was fair, but the waves were like great mountains, swampin’ the ships and forcin’ them into each other. The hulls split open and the cargo washed away.”
The king’s face turned a dark red as he erupted in rage. “My… my ships lost? All… all of them? By God’s face, man, how… how can that be? And what of the men?”
The seaman hung his head. “All lost, Milord, save the few of us able to swim ashore.”
For a moment, Alex thought the king might draw his sword and sever the man’s neck, but Duke Robert interceded, placing a hand on his brother’s arm. “William.”
Alex watched the king take a deep breath, apparently managing to control his anger before shouting at the seaman, “Go!”
The man scampered out and William turned to face his men. The loss of the ships put a hole in the king’s strategy to encircle the Scots as the Conqueror had done. And it meant there would be no supplies. “So,” said the king, “we mu… must make do with our army and wha… what food we have with us.”
One baron opened his mouth as if to protest.
The king’s chin took on a stubborn tilt, his nostrils flared and the sparks in his eyes turned to flint. “We go on!”
It said much for William’s determination that he would push on in the face of such dire circumstances. And, at that moment, Alex was proud to be one of his knights.
* * *
“Thwack!” The arrow hit the target, but not in the center. Still, it was close enough to be a winning shot for Merewyn’s young novice.
Cecily beamed her joy.
“Very good,” said Merewyn. “I can see you have been practicing.”
Cecily nodded enthusiastically. “I have.”
“By the time she is your age,” said Owain from where he leaned against a tree, “she will be able to compete well with those of greater experience who also use the shorter bow.”
Like most of the Welsh archers she knew, Owain was a master of the longbow.
But neither Lady Serena nor Merewyn used the bow that took a strong man’s arm to pull the string.
She was pleased that Cecily had done so well with her child’s weapon.
The girl’s two friends, envious of her new skill, had recently expressed a renewed desire to begin their own lessons.
“I will win, too!” shouted Cecily.
Owain pulled away from the tree and walked to where the small redhead nocked her next arrow. “Your arm is not in the correct position, imp. I can show you how to improve your form so you will hit the target every time.”
Cecily gazed at the Welsh prince in adoration. “I would like that.”
Merewyn stifled a laugh. Owain had won the affection of Rory’s youngest sister. And, truth be told, he had conquered the hearts of several younger women at Talisand, including Bea and Alice, who vied for his attention each night in the hall.
Watching Owain and Cecily together reminded Merewyn of her first year in Wales.
Lady Serena had taught her much, but in Wales, she had come to see she knew little compared to Rhodri’s archers.
While they also wielded the lance, the Welsh took their archery most seriously.
Their longbows were crafted with careful skill, their arrows beautifully made.
And they were deadly. Rhodri had over one hundred archers in his personal guard and hundreds more at his command.
If she were to return to Wales, he would have another.
She would have to decide soon. There had been no news from Alex, but she had not expected any. Not until he and his men faced the Scots and sent word of victory or defeat.
Each day, she prayed for his safe return. But even if her prayers were answered, her decision would be the same. She had less than a month to leave, for the child growing within her would make itself known by November when winter would descend with its fury and blanket the mountains with snow.
* * *
William’s army proceeded north, crossing the River Tweed, finally stopping to camp in a Lothian glen.
Hunger gnawed at Alex’s stomach as he stood on a crest looking north, the wind blowing his hair and cloak behind him.
Vast untamed hills stretched before him in all directions.
In the distance, brooding gray storm clouds dropped curtains of rain.
He could almost smell the scent of the torrent that would soon be upon them.
The Scottish terrain, like its people, warned intruders not to venture forth.
He felt the threat in his bones and shuddered.
Not just a warrior’s fear before a battle that he had experienced many times.
This was the Scots and their wild land challenging William Rufus and his knights as they had the Conqueror.
Having lost the supply ships to the sea and with the unexpectedly harsh weather descending upon them, William’s men often huddled around the night fires still hungry. The king’s stubborn determination had brought them this far. But what now?
Alex wanted to put the battle behind him so he could go home, but he knew it would not be so easy as that. The time it had taken William to raise his army had given Malcolm months to prepare. And they would now be fighting the Scots on their own land.
The next morning, Sir Nigel came to Alex’s tent. “Would you take a few of your men and go with me to scout out the land? William wants to know if Malcolm’s army draws nigh.”
Alex nodded and mounted Azor as Rory and Guy swung into their saddles.
The three of them followed Sir Nigel and two of his men north toward Dun Edin.
Cresting one hill, they looked into the distance beyond the valley below and saw thousands of mounted warriors riding in their direction, covering the ground like a cloud of dust.
“We have what we came for, lads,” said Sir Nigel. Turning his horse, he shouted, “Make haste to the king!”
They galloped toward the glen where William’s army was holed up. Soon, they were inside the king’s tent, where the tension hung thick in the air.
“Well?” demanded William of Sir Nigel. “Did you see Malcolm’s army?”
“Aye, My Lord. He leads an army to match ours, possibly more numerous, and they are not far.”
“Since we know of them,” offered Alex, “we must assume they are aware of us.”
Duke Robert, his dark eyes and hair a contrast to his younger brother, stepped forward.
“Our father agreed to terms with the Scottish king and Malcolm once swore loyalty to me as well. We could seek terms now. Should you agree, William, I would ride to meet him and ask for his fealty on your behalf.”
“What terms?” demanded William.
“The same terms he gave our father.”
William huffed his displeasure. Clearly unhappy to be considering a negotiation rather than a battle, his hand moved to his sword hilt, and his fingers flexed over it, itching for action.
“I will give you leave to try. Take Duncan, Malcolm’s son, and Sir Alex with you.
” Then to Alex, he said, “Your uncle is one of Malcolm’s chiefs, is he not? ”
“Aye,” said Alex. “Steinar is Mormaer of the Vale of Leven.”
Duncan came forward and nodded his willingness to try to convince his father to agree to terms. “I, too, met Steinar long ago. He is a good man, a Northumbrian, loyal to my father.”
And so it was that Alex, along with Duke Robert, who had known Malcolm for years, and Sir Duncan, Malcolm’s son, rode out alone to meet the King of Scots and his army.