Page 141

“I am,” the earl replied shortly. He was angry at being taken away from Adam’s feast and wished to return immediately. “What is it you have for me, lad, and be quick about it.”

Cord reached beneath the folds of his tartan. William pushed himself up the wall in a purely defensive maneuver, concerned for the earl’s safety in case the Scot was harboring a dirk. But what Cord drew forth was a rolled length of vellum.

“A message from Laird Scott, sire,” Cord said. “I am to await a reply.”

With a purse of his lips, the earl snatched the vellum away and broke the seal. His eyes began to read hastily until he had reached halfway down the page. Then, he visibly slowed and seemed to be re-reading certain passages.

William was unable to gauge the earl’s reaction and wildly wondered if Laird Scott was demanding his daughter back. He fought the urge to read the parchment over the earl’s shoulder. After several minutes, the earl glanced up at Cord, then turned to William.

“Leave us,” he told his captain.

William complied even though he was anxious to know what was going on, but knowing he would find out soon enough. He took up position in the corridor outside of the room and waited. Paris joined him at some point and the two of them stood in silence.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that the earl summoned William and Paris into the solar. Cord was gone, taken by a couple of soldiers back to the gatehouse where he would be housed until a reply was drafted.

Impassively, William and Paris stood before the earl where the man sat behind his massive oak desk. He was sitting in his overstuffed chair, facing the windows with a distant look to his eye. William wondered if the man even realized they were standing there.

But the earl eventually moved, reaching out and picking up the missive from the Scot laird. He held it up to William, still not looking at him.

“Read this,” he commanded quietly.

They did. Twice. The two of them looked at each other in disbelief before setting the parchment down on the desk. The air was warm and still, with only the sounds of faint activity in the bailey permeating the windows now and again. The sounds were faint and deafening at the same time.

“What do you think, William?” the earl finally asked.

William was much calmer than he had expected himself to be. “It has got to be the most ambitious, insane load of drivel that I have ever heard,” he said. “How can those others clans believe that they can actually control the border? Not only that, but they seem to believe they can take on the whole of northern England to accomplish it. Laird Scott is right; he is caught in the middle of something big. If he breaks our treaty, he will be at war with us, and if he does not, his former allies will destroy him.”

“The bottom line is simple, my lord,” Paris put in. “Either support the Scotts when they defy their allies, or return Lady Jordan.”

The earl scratched his head and turned to face them. “I do not like ultimatums. I fear that I will have to inform the king of this and he will not be pleased.”

“What do you have in mind to do, my lord?” William asked him.

“I am not sure yet,” he replied. “Of course, I want to support Clan Scott, but if we did, then it would mean war against every other border clan. I do not know if I can risk the security of Northwood in such a fashion.”

“It means war regardless,” William interjected. “Whether or not we support clan Scott, we will be at war with the border clans. The only difference will be whether we are fighting with clan Scott or against them.”

“Agreed,” Paris said. “The border clans are apparently intent on destroying every significant fortress on the English border one way or the other. I think what we should be concerned with now is notifying all of the warlords along the boundary and formulating a plan of action.”

“In good time, Paris,” the earl assured him. “As you know, the majority of them are in my dining hall at this moment and I expect to inform them of this missive before they leave. But at the moment, I am more concerned about clan Scott’s request.”

“What of the wedding?” Paris asked him. “The king is expected on the morrow.”

“There will be no wedding, at least not in the literal sense,” the earl stated casually.

William and Paris stared at the man. He was looking at the desk absently, but slowly, his head came up and he focused directly on William.

“Will there, lad?” he asked softly.

William forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. Every muscle in his body was rigid with apprehension at the question. After what happened this morning, he had expected some manner of confrontation. He sensed that it was coming now. He could not, would not lie, but he would not deny a direct question.

“What do you mean?” he asked evenly.

To his shock, the earl actually smiled weakly. He sat forward in his chair and folded his hands.

“I mean, that there will be a wedding, but I will not be the groom.” His voice softened, as did his expression. “The game is over, William.”

William was so geared up for an all-out fight that his limbs suddenly went weak with confusion. “What game?” he asked.