Knight Triumphant Read online

  “Jennie, I don’t wish to marry Robert, and nothing will ever be as it was before.”

  “You’ve given up. You mustn’t ever give up.”

  “I haven’t given up, Jennie. But Afton is gone, and I don’t care to marry again, and my life will never be the same.” She didn’t bother to say that she did not see what would happen if a bloody battle came to their doorstep, or the death that would ensue if they were besieged.

  “But it will. You’ll see. Edward is not the ‘Hammer of the Scots’ without good reason!”

  Always, after assuring Igrainia that English troops would come and smash the invaders into the dirt, she would leave.

  She never stayed too long, as both women were afraid that her visits would be stopped, if it seemed they might be plotting in any way.

  Igrainia did plot, but by herself in the hours that weighed so heavily upon her. She couldn’t escape by the tunnel; it had been closed over. There was no other way out of the castle, unless she could scale walls or find a way to depart when the drawbridge was lowered. Unless, of course, she could reach the parapets of the outer walls and risk a death-defying leap into the moat. That was out of the question, of course. Confined to her room, she couldn’t even reach the parapets.

  Rowenna came often as well, bringing flowers, and trying to be pleasant and sweet. Igrainia found that she had acquired a wariness about the young woman she had liked so much, and though she was pleasant and polite, she was cool, and Rowenna sensed it. Still she came, bearing her tokens to brighten the room, and Igrainia’s world.

  On Sunday, she left her room to attend mass, escorted by Jarrett and Jamie. Both were charming and pleasant, telling her they wished she would join them in the hall at night.

  When they reached the chapel, Eric was already there. Tall, straight, his mantle flowing from his shoulders, his brilliant hair gold and crimson in the light that splashed through a stained glass window, he was the image of the lord of the castle.

  Igrainia was dismayed to realize that she was being led to the front pew to take her place beside him. She slowed her walk, managing to come behind Jamie, but at the pew, Jamie slipped back again, bowing to allow her access to walk in. She was wedged between him and Eric as others filed in.

  Eric barely acknowledged her presence until they were all on their knees, heads bowed in prayer. As the Latin mass went on, she opened her eyes, and realized that he was watching her. There was a curious expression in his eyes.

  She closed her own again, and lowered her head over her folded hands.

  “Praying for my quick demise?” he whispered.

  “Indeed. Don’t interrupt me.”

  He didn’t. But when the service was over and she turned to escape the pew, she found that he had taken her arm.

  “Are you interested in a ride, my lady?”

  “A ride?”

  “A ride. On a horse.”

  “Where?” she asked warily.

  “Across the fields. And back. Nothing more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m assuming you must be ready to go mad.”

  She hesitated, still cautious. “You will let me go riding?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll be with you.”

  “And who else?”

  “The two of us,” he said impatiently. “I can spare some time. If you’d like to spend some hours in the sunlight, I will accompany you.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid that you could not bear that much time in my presence.”

  “As you wish.”

  He started to walk past her. She thought about the feel of the wind in her face and the power of a horse beneath her.

  “Wait!”

  He turned back.

  “What if I were to race away?”

  “You would never escape me. And I believe you know it.”

  “I could still try.”

  “But you wouldn’t like the outcome. You wouldn’t like it at all.”

  There was no threat in his words. Not even a warning. He was simply stating fact.

  “I . . . yes.”

  In the courtyard, she found that Gregory was waiting. He had Loki and the dapple gray mare saddled and waiting.

  She greeted Gregory with pleasure, touching his cheek. He offered her his warm, silent smile.

  The gates had already been opened, the drawbridge down. She didn’t wait for Eric to mount after she had done so, but loped gleefully through the courtyard, and listened to the clopping sound as she rode over the bridge. She knew he was behind her.

  Upon the distant hills, she could see the men guarding the approaches to the castle.

  She leaned against the mare, wanting to fly.

  They rode, and rode. She knew that he was at her side every moment, and she didn’t care, it simply felt too good to be out. The wind was sweeter than she had remembered. The sun was brighter, the summer grass greener.

  She forgot time, until she heard his voice, calling out to her, “Stop ahead, there’s a little brook in the trees. The horses need water.”

  She reined in. If she didn’t, he would urge his great warhorse harder, catch up with her, bring her to the ground, destroy her clothing, and her dignity.

  She dismounted, leading the horse to water. He came beside her, leading his own horse.

  “Tell me, Eric, when you’re in church, do you pray?”

  “What a curious question,” he said, eyeing her.

  “Not at all. You call your horse Loki, in honor of the old Norse gods. You told me yourself you were half berserker. So, when you’re on your knees, do you pray? Or is it all for show?”

  “Of course I pray.”

  “For what?”

  “I ask God not to answer your prayers regarding my quick and painful death.”

  She was startled to feel a smile curving her lips, and she lowered her head quickly.

  “You’ll be happy to know, though, that I think He is favoring you.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Oh?”

  “I ride out tomorrow. There will be a skirmish, maybe a battle. There are bands of men about the country, joining together, as word has it that the king has left his sick bed to lead the army. It will still take some time for him to have this new enterprise under way, but at every new call to arms, men gather in troops again. Even a king such as Edward has only so much of a standing army. A man’s feudal service is prescribed by law, so it is only the high ranking lords, eager for service and the king’s favor, who leave their own estates in the hands of others to fight continually. Or men like Thayer, who have nothing, except what they can gain in battle. That is why, no matter how many years it takes, Robert Bruce will eventually win his freedom.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here, the clansman raising his sheep, the farmer whose life is his crops—all will fight, because it is their sheep and their crops they’re fighting for, while to many in Edward’s service, they are fighting to subjugate a foreign people. We’re willing to risk everything, because we’ve everything at stake. If you were to return to London, my lady, you wouldn’t be touched by this war.”

  “I wish I’d never seen any of it.”

  He studied her curiously. “Indeed. You seem to have no really passionate opinion regarding the fight that goes on and on. You’re quick to point out King Edward’s position and Robert Bruce’s different loyalties over the years. But I’ve never heard you say that in the eyes of God, Edward is right, that the savage, barbaric Scots should kneel down to him in gratitude, and obey.”

  “My opinion of war is that it is bloody and cruel and steals the lives of innocents as well as the men determined on combat.”

  “Yes, that is a fact of war in general. But what is your opinion regarding this one?”

  She hesitated. “I’m English. What opinion would you have me have?”

  “A thought of your own.”

  “You seem to have known a great deal about my life from the time you first arrived here. I was in Scotland
less than a year before your troops were brought in. I grew up in London, where Edward is greatly admired as a strong and powerful king. The country is respected by others because of his power. He is interested in the law, he is brilliant, he has been a good ruler.”

  “A man’s virtues and his faults are certainly weighed differently when viewed by different eyes. No one denies that he is a powerful king. But does he have the right to rule those who are not his people?”

  “We tried very hard to remain outside the fight at Langley—”

  “That was your husband’s choice. You’ve still not given me your own thoughts.”

  “What do my thoughts matter to you?”

  “Perhaps they will matter when I have to make a decision about your future.”

  “My opinion is that I hate bloodshed and death,” she said, exasperated.

  She was surprised that her reply brought another smile to his lips.

  “Are you laughing at me again? Am I really amusing as well as repulsive?”

  “I don’t recall saying that you were repulsive—only that you remind me of pain suffered. And I’m not laughing at you. I am amazed at your ability to fool yourself. You won’t speak against Edward. But I think that you believe that the Scots should be free, and ruled by their own king. Also, you’re mistaken if you think your husband wasn’t aware that he couldn’t stay out of the fight forever. He had his loyalties, and I don’t believe he was a fool.”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  “Afton would have remained loyal to Edward for the same reason many Scottish barons have done so. You were his wife. The estates he gained in England through his marriage to you provided a far greater income than his property here, though Langley might have been his ancestral home. That is why he opened the gates of Langley to Sir Niles Mason, and why, had the disease not brought everyone down or fleeing, he would have allowed every execution Sir Niles commanded to be carried out.”

  Igrainia pulled on the reins of her horse, walking the mare some distance from the water, and mounting on her own. She knew that he followed her action, and he was mounted on Loki beside her. She turned on him.

  “You’re saying that riches meant more to my husband than honor.”

  “I’m saying that your husband was not a stupid man,” he replied. “And he wasn’t a hothead to behave irrationally, and God knows, enough ill has been done because of treachery and deceit and men’s reactions to affronts against their honor. Robert Bruce killed John Comyn in a rage, or else he struck him down and his men finished the act, whichever, I don’t really know, I wasn’t there. It has caused him to fight a greater war than that against the English to claim the throne, but perhaps, without Comyn’s death, he might not have been able to have himself crowned king when he did. War is bloody and horrible, as you say. But many things are done in the heat and fury of war which men rue in their consciences at later dates. I am not insulting your late husband. I’m trying to make you understand that war can be uglier even than what you’ve seen so far. And perhaps I’m trying to get it through your stubborn skull that you are more protected here at this moment than you might be were you to gain the freedom you think you want so desperately.”

  “What does it matter to you what I feel, think, or understand. You’ve done an exceptional job at Langley. The walls are a greater defense than they’ve ever been. Your men are as loyal to you as a group of hounds raised by a man since birth. I spend my life now confined in a room, watching the world go by. There is no escape through your mighty highland guards. The secret tunnel has been walled. You’re leaving, and I might as well be chained hand and foot to walls of steel.”

  “For one, I don’t believe you spend your hours in your room doing nothing—I’m sure you spend the time weighing every possible venue of escape that may become available. And I want you to write a letter.”

  “What? A letter? Regarding what?”

  “Your brother is in Scotland, madam. And it’s my suggestion that you write to him, and let him know that your marriage to me did indeed take place, that it is real and consummate, and you have no desire to be rescued.”

  She stared at him incredulously. “You must be mad! Perhaps you could half-smother me into a ceremony, and force my hand to a piece of paper and create the appearance of my signature, but you can’t force me to write such lies to my brother! I knew there was a purpose to this ride, to these hours. Do you think me so desperate that I can be used in this way?”

  Loki trotted around so that he was facing her. “I don’t intend to force you to do anything. If you write this letter, it will not be for me.”

  “It’s for me?” She demanded.

  “You told me that your brother is a young man, and honorable. He will try to come here, against the walls of Langley, to take you. If he does so, I’ll be forced to kill him.”

  “Perhaps you’re mistaken, and he’ll bring down the walls.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible, when he won’t have the might of a great army behind him? Perhaps it’s rude to remind you of this, but it seems you are not of a great value to King Edward, who is set upon destroying Robert Bruce before wasting time and men on such an effort as the siege of Langley would require. I said that I wanted you to write a letter, that I suggested it. The suggestion is because I recognize the fact that I might not have survived myself—if you and your priest weren’t endowed with a certain sense of honor and compassion. I believe you love your brother. Therefore, I am trying to preserve his life for your benefit.”

  She sucked in her breath, amazed at his confidence and audacity, and yet aware that he was speaking the truth. And it was the closest he had ever come to admitting that she might have saved his life.

  “If you believe that Langley is so powerful, why doesn’t your king take up residence within it?” she asked.

  “Because he could be trapped. Robert Bruce keeps moving, and therefore, he can keep the English from the advantage of a planned and prepared assault. And from Langley, my lady, I can provide him with something he desperately needs—more men for his fight.”

  She watched as the wind teased the golden length of his hair. His eyes were upon her, steady and serious. She was aware suddenly of the shape of his features, well combined to create a face with great strength and handsome lines. He was dressed for the ride in linen shirt, boots, and breeches, his ever-present tartan mantle cast over his shoulders. It occurred to her that in a different time and place, he might have been a man she would have admired.

  Then she remembered that he was the captor who had made her life a hell of solitude and taken everything that she had loved.

  “I will write the letter,” she said, and kneed her horse.

  When they returned to Langley, she noted that the drawbridge had remained lowered all that time. As she moved across the bridge and through the entry, she noted the huge vats set over the slatted roof that crossed the parapets at the gate. If invaders were to kill the guard and reach the bridge, the first of their number would die a grisly death; heated oil would be set afire, and cast down upon them.

  In the courtyard, she dismounted quickly, ignoring his presence behind her. He didn’t follow her. He didn’t need to. Jamie had been in the courtyard, discussing his horse with a groom. He finished his conversation, and seemed to wander idly in her wake. When she reached her room, she turned and saw that he had followed her and was leaning against the wall at the landing, watching her.

  He waved and smiled.

  She liked Jamie. But she didn’t respond.

  She entered the room and closed the door, and after a moment’s sheer frustration, she walked to the desk and began to write to Aidan. She started out slowly, then wrote with greater haste. She loved her younger brother.

  Halfway through the letter she paused. He was here to join the king’s army. No matter what she said, he could easily fall in battle.

  But if he joined with madmen ready to throw themselves against the walls of Langley, it was almost
a certainty that he would die.

  She dipped her quill into ink again. And wrote with renewed determination.

  Eric kept his maps and correspondence in the room he had chosen, well aware that although the castle seemed to move with a cohesive efficiency, there were surely those who kept silently loyal to the English cause.

  He was there, studying the map of Galloway, when a knock sounded at the door. He strode to the door and opened it to find that Allan had returned from his scouting mission.

  “Eric, I’ve much to tell you,” he said.

  “Come in, close the door,” Eric said. “I do believe that the halls may sometimes have ears.”

  Allan nodded and entered the room. “Edward is ranting, but has not quite managed to leave his sickbed. The Earl of Pembroke is once more on the move. He knows that Bruce is encamped at Galston, where you planned to join him.”

  “Aye, we knew another assault was coming.”

  “There is more. King Edward remains at Lanercost. In a rage—but he believes that Pembroke will trap Robert Bruce this time, his forces so outweigh the Scots. It seems that he has greeted the news of the marriage of the Lady of Langley with irony. So, although he has put off the proxy marriage, he still intends that it will take place—as ever, assuming he himself is the law. But he is still allowing his clerical advisers time to make that judgment for him, and so satisfy any future question. Word has it that he was completely contemptuous of the claim that a real wedding took place. Any marriage performed in such haste is an illegal show, meant to flout him, and nothing but pretense on paper. And we are nothing but impotent savages, howling in the wind. When he again has the lady in his hands, her words will prove that it is so. Sir Robert Neville will receive the lands and castle of Langley, along with the lady, as soon as he has rid it of the vermin now abiding in it.”

  King Edward’s reaction was not surprising.

  The marriage was nothing but words on paper, easily annulled. Still, for the action to be so dismissed was bruising—along with the scathing remark that they were nothing but impotent savages.