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Thirty-Eight
To say Dristan was annoyed would have been an understatement. He raked a hand through his already mussed hair in irritation and adjusted his tabard that seemed to be choking the very breath from him. Whilst he appreciated the offer King Henry had given him for additional aid, he was puzzled on how he was to make haste and still remain undercover with well over one hundred men creating the rising dust. Fifty he could have concealed easier but the amount had tripled. He had left behind a good majority of men at court, who were still waiting for horses to be readied. Those men had now joined his army when they answered the call to rise to arms. All in Christendom must see there was a legion on the move towards Berwyck. They would be hard to miss.
Dristan turned as four riders came abreast of him. Nathaniel, Rolf, and Fletcher stilled their horses even though ’twas clear they, too, wished to quicken their pace. Ian sat, unmoving in his saddle, a grim expression on his face. Dristan had not thought Ian would accompany him straight back to Berwyck, but Amiria’s former captain made it clear nothing would stop him from reaching the family’s side. It seemed the two of them had only one thing on their mind and ’twas to ensure the safety of those they had left behind.
“We must ride ahead,” Dristan insisted. “I will take no more than a score of men. Fletcher, you stay here in my stead, and half past the hour get this army moving again towards Berwyck.”
“As you will, my lord,” Fletcher drawled, “although I am not sure I can get them moving any better than you have done with any sense of remaining unseen for miles around. With this many men, ’tis a most improbable task.”
“Do what you can,” he said sternly. “I cannot waste any more time.”
Ian moved his horse closer. “I come with you.”
Dristan raised a brow at Ian’s assumption that he would travel with him. “You could be of more use here with Fletcher.”
“Aye, I suppose I could,” he snorted decisively, “yet I know something that can be most useful. If I were to guess, Amiria did not as yet have time to tell you of Berwyck’s secret.”
“What secret?” Dristan roared.
Ian began somewhat sheepishly to tell Dristan of the tunnel that led down to the strand. His reaction was instantaneous and understandable. “You willna find it without me, my lord.”
“I swear, when I get a hold of my wife, I shall throttle that woman within an inch of her life,” he snarled. “It explains much on how she left the castle on the two occasions that I am aware of.”
Dristan began muttering about all the ways he would make his lady’s life miserable when he returned to Berwyck, ’til Nathaniel and Rolf began to laugh at his expense. He glared them into silence. A sound of thunder reached their ears. Then a speck of dust on the horizon caught Nathaniel’s eye and he peered into the distance. As the riders came closer, they recognized their comrade in arms.
“Ho, Geoffrey!” Nathaniel called to his friend, wondering what caused him to be so far from the castle.
Strain showed on Geoffrey’s face as he grimaced in pain and rubbed his leg when they came abreast of the group. Kenna came along side of him and he held out his hand to her. She took it and he placed a kiss upon its gloved back.
Dristan watched the pair with a bit of amusement afore his thoughts returned to the obvious fact they were far from home.
“Your news must be grim for you to travel this far from Berwyck,” Dristan voiced coolly. “Let me guess . . . Sir Hugh is up to some mischief.”
Geoffrey and Kenna looked astonished he had guessed so correctly. “How did you know?” Geoffrey wheezed.
“It seems my vassal has sent word to the king on matters that would be questionable if I was not in such good graces with His Majesty,” Dristan chided.
Kenna looked about her at the mass of men who accompanied the group. “’Tis apparent you are still in good stead with him,” she guessed.
“’Tis even more so,” Ian proclaimed. “He has just been knighted an Earl.”
“All the more reason you must hasten your journey to reclaim Berwyck,” Geoffrey replied quickly. “Hugh will be laying siege to the castle. I have seen his army moving in its direction as we rode out.”
Dristan’s gaze went to Kenna ’til she nodded in answer. “’Tis true my Lord Dristan but there is more you should know.”
“He knows the castle secret,” Dristan guessed. “But who would betray us so?”
“Search your heart and you will find the answer, my liege,” she replied with a hushed tone.
It did not take Dristan long in his pondering. “Sabina! That wench is more trouble than she is worth!” he rasped.
“I have seen much as we rode, my lord,” Kenna said. “Trust me when I tell you, Lady Sabina has paid a price for her treachery. One that no woman should endure.”
“What of Amiria and her guardsmen?” Dristan and Ian exclaimed in unison. They shook their heads at one another and waited for Kenna to continue.
Closing her eyes, ’twas clear another vision overtook her. Dristan continued to watch his healer from his saddle, although he did not wait long for her to once more come back to them. The look of sorrow was one he was not prepared for.
“Taken . . . it appears. Thrown into the pit and dungeon, my liege,” she whispered. “The garrison continues to fight on in your name.”
“We must go, and now,” Dristan bellowed.
“My lord I−” Geoffrey began. His words halted from his lips as he slid from his mount.
“Geoffrey!” Kenna cried out the same instant Nathaniel leapt from his horse to catch his friend as he fell. Blood once more began pouring from his wound.
“Take care of him, Dristan ordered. “Ian, you come with me.”
Their stallions reared in their eagerness to run as both men turned their steeds. Dristan called out to several of King Henry’s knights, who were only too eager to join him as he rode off to claim what was rightfully his. ’Twould not go well for Hugh when he got him within the reach of his sword. Dristan pressed onward, knowing within his heart Amiria would not fare well in Hugh’s clutches.
It had seemingly been days since Patrick had bolted the door of the garderobe. He had become immune to the putrid stench rising up to meet his nose, or so he thought, muffling a cough. Cut off from his sisters and any form of security, he was about at his wits end to this hiding business. He was, after all, a page to one of the most notorious knights in all of England. Surely a page such as he should not be hiding away, doing nothing.
He glanced through a crack in the frame of his confinement, but only saw the flickering flames of the nearby torch lighting the passageway. ’Twas time to take a chance for surely something must have befallen Amiria, since she had not come for him by now.
He quietly unlatched the door and peered without. Seeing nothing, he scampered down the corridor and made his way down the tower stairs. All was silent and frightfully so.
He slowed his pace at the entrance to the Great Hall and examined the number of men who lounged about drinking and eating their fill. To his dismay, he did not recognize any of Berwyck’s garrison. The men’s laughter grated on his ears whilst they boasted of their easy victory. Patrick could not miss how Sir Hugh sat at the high table, lording over all. The traitor . . . What trickery is this? he wondered. Patrick listened only long enough to hear Sir Hugh bellow to the men to get their sorry arses out to patrol his battlements. Patrick soundlessly quit the room. He had heard more than enough.
Keeping to the shadows, he made his way towards the kitchens and held his finger to his lips to silence the servants, who were surprised and overjoyed to see him. Cook led him to the back of the room behind some barrels of flour. He was joyful to see Lynet, although he frowned at her change in clothing. Dressed in a gown of coarse wool, she was frantically mixing various herbs together.
“Here, you but need put the potion into our enemies’ ale and wine.” Lynet gave the satchels to Cook, explaining, “’twill make them sleep.” She turned to her brother and said, “Sir Hugh has thrown Amiria, along with Riorden and Ulrick, into the pit. You must continue to hide, Patrick. Be safe.” With a look of concern in her eyes, she gave Patrick a quick peck on his cheek and rose. “Now, I must be on my way,” she said softly and left to return to the healing of those in need.
Patrick, having learned of Amiria’s fate, could not believe anyone, even someone as foul as Sir Hugh, would sink so low as to put a woman in Berwyck’s pit. ’Twas a foul place and far worse than his most recent place of hiding.
Since Cook would see to serving those in the Great Hall, Patrick held out his small hands for another pitcher. “I will do my duty to my sister and descend below into the bowels of the castle and encourage the guards to drink their fill,” he declared. With the pitcher in his hands, he gulped down his feeling of the sudden fear attempting to creep upon and consume him. Trying not to spill the contents of the jug, Patrick slowly made his way down the steep steps into the depths of the most dreadful place to be found within Berwyck’s walls.
Reaching the final step, he moved into the light where three guards immediately came to attention.
“Who goes there?” asked the tallest guard.
He made an excuse as he held out the jug. “The ale is an offering from Sir Hugh for a job well done.”
The men took the jug, taking turns as they greedily guzzled down the brew. With a loud belch, one went back to his post and waved Patrick away to fetch more.
Patrick took the pitcher and made it appear as if he returned above to fill their request. Instead, he waited in the darkness on the stairs for the herbs to work their magic. When he heard the loud thuds, as one by one the guards fell to the floor, he quietly came down the remaining steps to peer within the room. Snores met his ears, and Patrick gave a sheepish smile. Looking for the keys and finding them hanging from the belt on the tall guard, he gave a brief laugh at his cleverness and turned towards the first of several cells. ’Twas time to free his sister.
