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William shook his head, fighting off a grin. He was amazed at how much lighter moods had become since Jordan had recovered. It was as if everything was right in the world once again.

Jordan was cuddling the kitten happily and he glanced down at the thing. It was purring madly in her hands, vibrating against his breastplate.

“How does it do that?” he wondered aloud.

As Jordan grinned at him, a shout from the parapets interrupted them.

“William.” It was Paris, high on the wall above them.

The group slowed long enough for William to yell back at him. “Aye?”

Paris beckoned to his captain. “Give the mistress to Michael. I need you a moment.”

With a curse only Jordan heard, he passed her to Michael and bade them continue. He would join them shortly.

Up on the wall, Paris met William and motioned for him to follow. William followed Paris to the northwest corner of the outer wall where several soldiers were already standing, straining their eyes to see in the distance. William, too, became lost in the focus, watching the horizon for several minutes.

“Incoming riders,” he said to Paris. “They are flying a banner but I cannot see it as of yet.”

Several minutes passed as the tiny dots grew into three riders, two of them flying banners. When the banner colors became clear, William turned to Paris.

“Harringham,” he said. “The men are in armor and the banner is warped.”

Paris nodded, his thoughts the same as William’s. “There must be trouble.”

William simply nodded, shouting orders to the soldiers on the outer wall, calling orders over to Ranulf on the inner wall, who in turn got his men moving.

William descended the turret stairs, pausing only long enough in a small room that he and Paris used as their private armory to don strategic portions of his armor. Luke, ever near the armory, was there and assisted the two knights with the heavy pieces. As the lad latched on the greaves, or shin armor, William turned to Paris.

“Get the men assembled,” he told him. “If Harringham is sending for assistance, then there is no telling what has happened.”

Paris snorted in agreement, slapping the latch where his breastplate met a portion of the backplate. “Hell, The Lyceum holds as many soldiers as we do,” he said. “Do you suppose that old Earl Coe became bold and tried to attack him again? Foolish, considering Harringham is an avid military fanatic.”

William restrapped his sword. “He calls Captain de Lara ‘Marc Antony’ and has driven the man to drink with it. The old fool believes himself to be Caesar.”

Paris smiled in agreement, although they both respected Lord Harringham’s military knowledge as well as Captain de Lara’s. They were strongly allied with Northwood and, between Northwood and the Lyceum, covered nearly fifteen miles of the border with Scotland.

Scots, however, weren’t William’s concern. As Paris had mentioned, Lord Harringham was in a bitter feud for land rights with a neighboring earl named Coe. The earl had a sizable force and raided the serf villages of Harringham every chance he got, as well as launching full-scale attacks on The Lyceum itself. William was interested to know if Harringham had finally had enough of Earl Coe and was going to request Northwood’s assistance in ridding him of the man once and for all.

By the time William reached the outer bailey, the riders were being hailed entrance. Upon closer inspection, William was distressed to see that the men were beaten and disheveled. He approached the lead rider, the one with the tattered banner, and gripped the reins of the horse.

“What goes on?” he demanded.

The man saluted William wearily. “Captain de Wolfe,” he was out of breath. Lord Harringham requests your forces. The Lyceum has been attacked, sir. Captain de Lara was killed in the first wave.”

A hush settled over the soldiers of Northwood. William’s face was impassive as always.

“Who attacked you?” he asked calmly.

The man let out a sigh of pure frustration. “Scots, my lord. Hundreds of ’em. It started right after sunup. They were wearing their hunting plaid so they blended in with the forest. ’Twas difficult to see them sneaking up in the dark.”

William heard a female voice, two of them, coming in through the outer gates directly behind The Lyceum’s soldiers. Kieran and Michael were bringing Jordan and Jemma back into the keep, having seen the riders enter themselves. Both women were protesting loudly and it did not take a trained linguist to pick out their heavy Scottish accents.

The soldiers from The Lyceum instinctively stiffened, drawing their swords and jerking their mounts around to face the incoming Scots. William reached up and dismounted the soldier he had been talking to as easily as if the man were no more than clothes stuffed with sawdust.

Paris jerked the other hapless man from his horse while the third man was effectively disarmed and halted by Marc. When William glanced up from the stunned soldier, he saw that Deinwald had put himself between the mounted soldiers and the women; his face was set as William had ever seen it. The ladies, however, were well protected behind the human walls of Michael and Kieran.

The soldier was like a turtle on his back with all of the armor he wore and William pulled the man effortlessly to his feet. The soldier was dazed and confused, but quickly straightened when William fixed him in the eye.