Chapter Thirty-Four #3
He sighed heavily, reluctant to leave his beloved keep.
But he knew the sooner he reached Knaresborough, the faster he would regain what was his.
No doubt Botmore would pledge manpower to regain the fortress, and Guy was positive he could convince Archibald to contribute forces as well.
With as little as two hundred and fifty men, he was positive he could take back his keep.
He had, after all, built the thing. He had made it impenetrable, but he was confident that he could think of some way to regain it.
Keith Botmore had been stunned to see his old friend ride into his keep.
Surprise turned to glee as the two greeted each other, speaking of the glory of the Yorkists all the way into the grand hall.
Even as food and drink were brought forth, Botmore kept up a running conversation about Richard and Edward, and how someday soon another Yorkist would sit upon the throne.
Buckingham and his weak rebellion had failed, as had the uprising that reached as far north as Trent.
But someday soon, Botmore swore, the Tudor would fall.
The subject of Remington inevitably came up, to which Guy explained the events in Stanford-on-Avon, in his own way; Remington had tried to kill him and ran off when her attempt was unsuccessful, he said, and was obviously insane.
Which explained why she was trying to seek an annulment and why she had willingly gone with the Dark One.
Somehow, de Russe had poisoned her weak mind.
Botmore clucked with sympathy, promising that they would send a search for her.
But Guy wasn’t interested in searching for his wife yet. He was far more interested in regaining his keep. Changing the subject back to the Yorkist resistance, Keith followed admirably.
Guy listened less enthusiastically with each passing moment, sorry he had not seen fit to broach a subject other than this. He did not care about putting another Yorkist on the throne. He wanted his damn fortress back.
“Tell me what you know of the occupation of my keep,” Guy interrupted a rich speech, bored.
Keith looked thoughtful. “De Russe keeps a skeleton guard there, but nothing more. The wealth and employment of Boroughbridge depends on the keep, and I suppose keeping it running is the only good thing that bastard has ever done. How do you plan to get it back? Petition Henry?”
Guy shook his head. “Hardly. The crown would not award an escaped prisoner his lands returned.”
“But you are only an escaped prisoner until the church declares you freed.”
“The church cannot declare me free. Only the Tudor can do that, with a great deal of pressure from Bourchier. I have no doubt that in time my pardon will come, but I do not want to wait that long to regain what is mine. I need your help in this matter, Keith.”
“Help? How can I help you?”
“Men,” Guy leaned forward on the table, his ice-blue eyes glittering. “I want your army.”
Keith looked at him for a moment. “I have nearly five hundred men. As skilled as they are, I have been told that de Russe left behind a block of his elite guard. They’re the very best. Moreover, how in the hell do you plan to lay siege to a fortress that is designed as yours is?
I’d lose all of my men in the first wave. ”
Guy would not be dissuaded. “I can find a way. ’Tis my fortress, is it not? If anyone can breach it, I can.”
Botmore shook his head reluctantly. “I shall support you, of course. But I would hear this plan before I commit my men.”
His lack of confidence angered Guy, but he hid it well. ’Twould not do for him to strike his host. Instead, he forced himself to smile.
“After a good rest, I shall be more than happy to discuss it with you.”
The two men rose, strolling leisurely for the second floor of the castle. Old, dried rushes crunched underneath Guy’s boots and he thought the place, in general, looked worn, unusual for the usually organized and well-kept Botmore.
As if Keith could read his mind, he spoke in a low voice. “It’s been nearly a year since Derek was killed by de Russe. We’re having a mass said tomorrow for his soul. You shall join us, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Guy replied, although he had no interest in attending a church service. But he would do it to gain what he sought. “And allow me to convey my sorrow on your loss, Keith. Derek was a fine knight.”
The pain was still fresh in Botmore’s face. “He was all that I had, you know. His mother died some time ago and…well, the priest says I should marry again and produce another heir. But I can’t seem to find the will.”
Guy paused at the bottom of the stairs. “We have a good deal in common, you and I. De Russe took everything from me, too. My keep. My wife. My son. Everything.”
Botmore’s face went rigid. “Aye, he did. Derek was killed trying to rescue your wife from de Russe’s clutches,” he averted his gaze, clenching his hands into hard fists.
“Damnation, Guy, I wish I’d never sent Derek on that mercy mission.
I curse myself every night for relaying those orders to him. I should have….oh, hell!”
Guy smiled thinly. “No need to relive your horror, my friend. What’s done is done. What remains now is to make de Russe pay for his sins. And we will start by regaining my keep.”
Keith looked at him a long moment. “I shall ride with you.”
Guy’s smile turned real. “Of course you will.”