Chapter Twenty
“As near as we can deduce, someone opened the postern gate and the Maxwell was waiting,” Troy said grimly.
“Maksim must have tried to stop them because we found him with an ax in his chest near the gate. We managed to kill about half of the Scots, but the rest of them ran off by morning. That was three days ago and we’ve not heard anything from them, or any of their allies, since.
But one thing is certain—the Maxwell of Westerkirk did not do this alone. They had help.”
It was daybreak on a misty morning as the bulk of the de Wolfe command structure stood around the dais in the great hall of Gleann na Fola, discussing the breach that had been so very costly.
William had sent word to de Wolfe allies in the north right after the event, so gathered around the dais were men that had been allies and family of the House of de Wolfe for years.
Decades in some cases. But this was a crucial moment for all of them.
The Maxwell of Westerkirk had managed to hit them, and hurt them, and it was time to strike back and erase the despicable Scots from the earth once and for all.
This was a war council.
Ryston and Dalton de Royans, close allies of de Wolfe and lords over a castle along the border known as The Lyceum, were the first ones to answer William’s summons.
By sheer proximity, they were the closest. Joining them were John de Longley, son of Adam de Longley, Earl of Teviot and lord of Northwood Castle, which was where William had been the captain of the guard for many years before becoming a lord in his own right.
The House of de Longley was family to the House of de Wolfe.
Adam had been knighted by William, long ago, and his only son, John, was a tremendous commander.
He had addressed William as “Uncle William” his entire life and now stood at the ready to help a man he loved very much.
And help was most definitely needed.
Last to join the war council on this short notice was William’s youngest son, Thomas.
As the Earl of Northumbria, a title he’d acquired through marriage, Thomas was the most excitable of William’s sons and a warrior with no equal.
He took every battle personally, which meant everything he did was fed by emotion.
Including now.
Thomas was absolutely furious.
“To be perfectly clear, the Maxwell of Westerkirk started this entire situation,” he said. “They murdered de Bourne knights.”
Troy nodded. “They did.”
“And when they were punished, they told their allies that they were the victims of English aggression.”
Troy shrugged. “That is simplifying it, but aye, that’s what they did.”
Thomas threw up his hands. “And now, the western section of the border threatens to explode because of what they’ve done.”
Troy drew in a long, sorrowful breath. “Aye,” he said quietly.
“We nearly destroyed the entire clan in an earlier skirmish. We captured one hundred and sixty-seven of their women and children and sent them into England to be sequestered in a few abbeys. One would have thought that Westerkirk would have surrendered at that point, but they did not. They called on their allies to oppose us. They staged an attack on the gatehouse, which somehow led to a spy being planted in our midst. We are still trying to determine just how and why that happened, but we believe that spy opened the postern gate so they could breach the castle.”
“It was clever of them,” Thomas said, shaking his head with regret. “They may have been small in number, but they are very determined.”
Troy nodded, looking to his father, who was sitting while most were standing. During the battle three days ago, he had been sorely taxed and still hadn’t really recovered. William wasn’t thrilled with the term “clever” that his son had used, but it was the truth.
The Scots had been damn clever.
“They were either clever or very fortunate,” William said after a moment.
“Or both. We had men all over the walls, outside the walls, and everywhere in between, but they still managed to breach. We lost an excellent knight in Maksim de Reyne. I’m told he was the reason we knew the castle was breached in the first place.
Without his sounding the alarm, it could have been worse. ”
“It is worse,” Thomas said, eyeing his father, his brothers. “They killed a knight and six soldiers. They also badly wounded Gar. How does he fare, by the way?”
William sighed heavily, indicative of the sadness he was feeling. He looked at Scott, who had a more in-depth knowledge of Gar’s injuries, which were extensive.
Extensive and potentially fatal.
“He is not well,” Scott said. “The blade cut into the right side of his torso and was buried deep. It punctured innards and did damage. But the worst part is this—we’ve known the Scots to wipe their blades with feces on occasion and we think this blade was one of them, for the poison set in almost immediately.
Gar has been quite ill since it happened and my mother and I have been working extensively to ensure that the poison does not kill him.
Other than that, all we can do is pray.”
It was grim news, something none of them wanted to hear.
Andreas, in particular, was devastated and he kept flicking tears from his eyes.
Reed, who had been recalled from Hell’s Guardhouse, and another brother, Corey, were equally upset.
They wouldn’t even wipe their tears away as Andreas was doing, letting them run down their faces or drip off their chins like some macabre badge of honor.
On the dais, Troy stood next to his brother, stoic and morose.
He was a moody man to begin with, and the wounding of his eldest son with Rhoswyn, his shining star, was not sitting well with him.
He wanted blood.
“And that is why you have all been summoned,” Troy said, his jaw twitching with emotion.
“Westerkirk started this when they murdered two English knights, but now they have tried to murder my son. My wife’s father, whom you all know to be Red Keith Kerr, has told us that Westerkirk was helped in this attack against Gleann na Fola by the Maxwell of Davington and Merrylaw.
It seems that Ean Maxwell’s lies did not convince other clans that he sought assistance from, according to Keith, so others will not face my wrath.
In fact, they have my gratitude for not answering.
However, as we speak, Red Keith’s men are moving to form a net around Westerkirk so that any Maxwell who try to escape will be caught.
We will move our armies up the Valley of Blood and sweep into Westerkirk from the south and destroy Bailie Castle once and for all.
If we can capture Ean Maxwell alive, then we shall, because I intend to make an example out of him.
The man wanted blood. He is going to get it, and it is going to be his own. ”
Determined words from a grieving father, but no one in the room disagreed with him. That was what they’d all come for and it was time to finish the job.
“Then we must be prepare to move out before dawn,” Thomas said, his loud voice lifting to the group of seasoned men.
“Ryston, you and your brother will take the lead. I fear that the rest of us may be too emotional about the situation, so you will organize the front line and send out scouts. Westerkirk managed to evade our scouts before, so make sure they do not evade yours. We need to know where they are and what they are doing, and you will make contact with Red Keith and his men. Coordinate information.”
Ryston and Dalton, sons of the great Torston de Royans and part of the powerful de Royans family, nodded smartly. They were seasoned knights with plenty of battle experience, so they understood the assignment well. After that, Thomas’ attention moved to John de Longley.
John was a big man, not particularly tall, but strong and noble.
He was well liked by everyone and had the heart of a warrior, something his father had, but something that had evaded his grandfather and other men in the family.
Most of his ancestors had been politicians, not soldiers.
When he saw Thomas’ attention, he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, indicating his readiness.
“Whatever you desire, my lord,” he said. “Command me.”
“Command me.”
Another voice came from the hall entry and everyone turned to see something that had been a staple of the wars in the north for decades.
It drew smiles from some, looks of annoyance from others.
Paris de Norville, the former captain of Northwood’s armies, approached the dais.
Seeing his grandfather, Atreus joined him, both of them coming to stand next to John, who was technically their liege.
Except Paris was in charge.
At least, he thought he was.
“Now,” Paris said, looking at the de Wolfe men before him.
“You will command me. I’ve brought a thousand Northwood men here and I intend to tear up Westerkirk until there is nothing left to tear.
I will cut off heads and put them on pikes for all to see.
I will fillet their hides from their bodies and plaster them across every clan village from Lockerbie to Coldstream.
I will send a message that if one more English knight is murdered by Scots dogs, then I will burn up the north and leave no survivors.
Well? Command me to do it and I shall. What are you waiting for? ”
He meant every word. Paris de Norville was a legend almost as much as William was and the pair had been friends since their youth.
They were brothers in every way but blood and any affront to William was an affront to Paris.
He was also as old as William was, and his health hadn’t been the best as of late, but his pride was monumental so in a situation like this, there was no possibility he was going to stay out of it.
He was out for vengeance.