Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (2 page)

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 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 cornflower 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 cornflower blue 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.

Gazing into the familiar
cornflower blue eyes of one of his most powerful knights, he sensed there was
not an excess amount of good humor in the man at the moment. He suspected why
but he would not back down or change his directive. Sometimes he had to remind
himself that he was now the king and these knights he had grown up around were
his vassals.  They were men he had learned much from, considering them fathers
in place of the one he never had. Stephen was one of those men. He secretly
hoped the man was not truly upset.

“You deserve nothing less,”
Edward replied. “I hope that you will be able to inspect your holdings sometime
in the very near future, Baron Lamberton.”

Stephen genuinely smiled at the
sound of his new title. “I know the lay of the land in that area somewhat and
it is a rich and populated region.”

Edward nodded, the warmth of the
moment fading as the unspoken subject of the betrothal hung in the air.  Edward
cleared his throat softly and plunged into the topic.

“I presume that Tate told you of
your new wife,” he lowered his voice.

Stephen nodded, but not without a
cocked eyebrow. “He did.”

“I would have you marry her this
night. The Scots must know we mean to dominate them in every way. Rebellion
will not be tolerated.”

Stephen didn’t argue and he
didn’t question; it would be of no use. It would not change the way of things.

“Does she know yet, Sire?”

“She does not. Nor does her
father.”

“I presume you will tell them
both?”

Edward reply was to motion to one
of the lesser knights standing nearby.  When the man came close, the king
quietly ordered him to find a priest. Stephen watched the knight jog off, his
armor and mail jingling a crazy tune.  He looked back at Edward to find the
young king staring at him.

“I will tell the father but you
tell the girl,” he told him quietly. “She is to be your wife, after all. You
may as well start to know her immediately.”

Stephen almost rolled his eyes
but caught himself. Still, the square jaw was ticking with displeasure and
Edward was sure he heard a low growl at some point. But the knight nodded
obediently.

“The dark haired lass, I
presume?” he dipped his head in the direction of the huddling family.

Edward turned around, eyeing the
group; along with Seton and his eldest daughter, there was apparently a mother,
a grandmother, and two other elderly men in mail and dirty tartan. It was an
odd family group. Not so odd, however, when one considered that Seton had lost
all three sons in the siege of Berwick.  Women and old folk were all he had
left, which was something of a tragedy.

“Take the girl somewhere and
explain things to her,” Edward hissed the order as they turned for the group.
“I will keep the family at bay.  Once the priest arrives, you will marry her
and consummate the marriage immediately. I want no room for error.”

It was a harsh command but
Stephen didn’t flinch. “Aye, Sire.”

“Oh… and Stephen?”

“My lord?”

“Congratulations. She is a
beautiful woman.”

Stephen found a great deal of
irony in that statement. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes again. 
Marching behind the king as they reached the tattered group of rebels, he came
to a halt when the king did, a massively silent sentinel bigger than any man
any of them had ever seen. He crossed his arms, appendages the size of tree
branches.