Chapter One #2
Edward looked at the man as if he had lost his mind. “That,” he pointed at Joselyn, “has been meant for the cloister? Are you completely stupid, man? She would command a husband of such wealth and stature as you could not dream of.”
Seton looked at his daughter, who gazed back at him with some fear and, as de Lara thought whilst studying her, some chagrin.
Before the conversation gained too much steam, a group of knights entered the hall and distracted the focus.
Their voices were loud, the sounds of their weapons and mail reverberating off the old stone walls.
Edward and Tate turned to the group, as did everyone else in the room.
The muscle of the king’s forced had arrived.
“Ah, Pembury,” Edward grabbed de Lara by the arm and pulled him away from the Seton clan. He gestured to the group of incoming knights, now beginning to cluster around a massive table of food several feet away. “You will tell him now of his destiny. And mind that you leave out nothing.”
De Lara was obviously displeased with the command. “You had better ask where Seton’s other daughter is before I tell him. If you want the man to marry her, then….”
Edward shook his head. “Forget about Margaret Seton. We have a very lovely and completely viable prospect right here. He will marry Joselyn Seton before this night is through and secure the city with a marriage to the daughter of the defeated Scot commander.”
Tate couldn’t help it; he grunted with exasperation, running a weary hand over his face.
Then he glanced at the Lady Joselyn, standing small but strong next to her father.
She certainly was a lovely little thing.
There was no use in fighting the king’s wishes; once the man’s mind was set, there was no deterring him.
He sighed in resignation and turned in the direction of the knights now settling in.
“Stephen,” he called to the group. “A word, please.”
Stephen of Pembury separated himself from the group and headed in de Lara’s direction.
He was an enormously muscled man standing eight inches over six feet and was easily taller than even the tallest man in the room, de Lara included.
In fact, Pembury was a giant wherever he went.
With his dark hair, chiseled features and cornflower blue eyes, he cut a striking figure of male virility and power, and had more than his share of female admirers.
He was enormously strong, intelligent and obedient to a fault.
He had been close friends with Tate for years and the cornflower blue eyes twinkled as he came upon his friend and liege.
“Outposts are set for the night, my lord,” he said in a deep voice.
“There are four serious breaches in the walls but I have those covered by at least twenty men each. We’ll set to repairing them come sunrise but for now I have told the men to rest for the night.
’Twill be the first real rest the men have had in over a month. ”
Tate nodded. “I do not disagree with you on that account,” he told him. “We are all quite weary.”
“This has been a long and eventful two days.”
“Eventful and bloody.”
Stephen wriggled his dark brows in agreement, eyeing the king as the man wandered over to the hearth where a group of unkempt people huddled. The young king seemed particularly weary and pensive, but considering the length and cost of the siege of Berwick, Stephen was not surprised.
“Any further orders from Edward?” he asked quietly.
Tate thought long and hard on that question. Then he crossed his powerful arms, struggling to find the correct words.
“You have known since this campaign began that Edward intended to place you in charge of the military garrison of Berwick,” he began.
Stephen began to show the first signs of his fatigue; he rubbed his eyes and took a deep, weary breath.
“Aye,” he stopped rubbing his eyes and blinked them furiously as if struggling not to fall asleep where he stood.
“I have already picked my command team with the approval of the king. Too bad Ken isn’t here; I am sorely missing the man. ”
He spoke of Kenneth St. Héver, their friend and colleague, now on the Welsh Marches keeping the Welsh princes at bay.
All three men had served together for the past several years, a powerful trio of knights for Edward’s cause, and this was the first instance that had seen them separated.
Tate nodded in agreement to Stephen’s comment.
“We will unfortunately have to do without him.” He eyed Stephen as the man watched the king on the other side of the room.
After several moments of struggling to find the correct words to tell the man of his destiny, he finally sighed heavily and faced him.
“Stephen, you need to be aware of more directives involving your appointment.”
Stephen looked at him. “What are those?”
Tate wisely went with the good news first. “For exemplary service during the siege of Berwick, you have been granted the battlefield commission of Baron Lamberton which includes Ravensdowne Castle near Blyth, just north of Newcastle. The fiefdoms of Bedlington and Blyth are yours. These are rich lands, Stephen. Congratulations.”
Stephen suddenly didn’t appear too weary. His blue eyes stared at de Lara first in disbelief, then in gratitude.
“I know that area,” he said after a moment. “It is indeed wealthy and populated.”
De Lara smiled faintly and slapped him on his enormously broad shoulder. “No one deserves this more,” he told him softly. “I am proud of you.”
Stephen smiled modestly, reaching up to remove his helm. Setting it on the table behind him, he raked his fingers through his damp, nearly-black hair. “I am honored,” he said simply. “I would thank Edward personally when he is not so occupied.”
De Lara’s smile faded somewhat. “There is something more.”
Stephen’s mood was good, having no reason to believe that anything else forthcoming would be met with disapproval. “Good Christ, what more could there be? I am already greatly honored. Anything more will seem excessive.”
Tate turned in the direction of the king, now standing at the hearth with a few of his advisors. De Lara dipped his head in the general direction.
“Note the group of captives?” he mentioned to Stephen.
The big knight nodded. “Who are they?”
“Alexander Seton and his family,” he replied. “There are three women in the group.”
“I see them.”
“Note the young one that is standing next to the balding man in the kilt?”
Stephen’s eyes fixed on the small figure across the room. “Dark hair?”
“Aye.”
Stephen paused a moment, studying the distant figure. “Pretty girl,” he commented, turning back to Tate. “Who is she?”
“The Lady Joselyn Seton. Your new wife.”
Stephen stared at him. Tate stared back.
They just stared at each other. Tate kept waiting for some kind of adamant response but Stephen did nothing more than stare.
Stephen was, in fact, inordinately cool and always had been, but this lack of response was calm even for him.
After several long moments of mutual staring, it was Stephen who finally broke; he smiled thinly and raked his hands though his hair again.
“I do not want a wife.”
“What you want is not at issue,” de Lara stated, though not unkindly.
“Edward feels that the security of Berwick will be sealed when the new commander of the English forces marries the daughter of the defeated Scots leader. It is a tradition as old as battle itself, Stephen. To marry the daughter of your defeated enemy is to ensure peace. You know this.”
Stephen was laughing, though not with humor.
He was struggling to refuse, which in any case he knew he could not do.
Frustration and disbelief were turning into anger, an emotion he was not particularly familiar with.
The man was so cool at times that some had wondered if he had ice water in his veins instead of blood.
“I was a soldier when I walked into this room,” he muttered. “Now I am a pawn.”
Tate lifted an eyebrow. “Untrue. You have been elevated in rank and status and are a valuable asset to the king. I suggest you look at it that way.” He lowered his voice and stepped close to the big man.
“Whatever fury you are feeling, be done with it now. You have a directive to fulfill before this night is out and Edward is in no mood for foolery. You are the last man I would expect emotion from, Pembury. Do your duty, as we all must.”
The humorless grin on Stephen’s face faded as he gazed steadily at his liege. The cornflower blue eyes glittered, shifted, and finally cooled. After a moment, he nodded shortly.
“Of course, my lord,” he was back to sounding calm and professional. “The king’s will shall be done in all things.”
Tate nodded faintly, eyeing Stephen as if to suggest he was not unsympathetic.
But that was where it ended; they were knights and they did as they were told.
It was the end of a very long and bitter struggle and they were perhaps more edgy than they should have been out of sheer exhaustion.
But they were professionals and knew what was expected of them. Together, they moved towards Edward.
The king saw them coming, straightening as he focused on Stephen. Stephen saluted his monarch, a young king he had known since he had been a very young boy.
“Sire,” he greeted evenly. “May I extend my deepest gratitude for the honors you have given me. I am humbled by your generosity.”
Edward didn’t dare look at Tate, fearful that he would see that, somehow, Pembury had been forced into his smooth little speech.
He genuinely liked Stephen, a man that was as strong and silent as the grave, yet possessed the most devious sense of humor he had ever seen.
When he had been younger, he had been the butt of a few of Stephen’s pranks.
The man could be merciless but it was all in good fun.