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His squire dismounted. Hugh and his men followed suit, but Hugh’s gaze never left Dewey until the lad had disappeared into the surrounding forest. He was swift and had proved himself in the battle just past, but Hugh wanted to be with him, to see for himself what Pembridge had done.

Instead, he allowed Wharton to help him don his chain-mail hauberk and his helmet. He watched as his men let their squires do the same, then all freed their weapons from their travel cases. They rested their destriers—and they waited.

The waiting was the worst. It gave Hugh time to count the number of knights left with him. He’d lost men on the trip, mostly to lack of fresh horses. They promised to follow as they could, but they wouldn’t come soon enough. Hugh fidgeted with the strap holding the helmet to his hauberk. He’d slept during the dark hours of nights when not even his horse could see to run and eaten when his men demanded a rest. Each moment when he’d not been riding had been sheer torture, and even the riding had been torture of another sort.

All he could remember was the white flag Edlyn had waved as he rode off and his arrogant plans to accept her surrender.

Who would be accepting her surrender now? She’d called Edmund Pembridge a cruel man, and Hugh feared she would find out the truth of it. Now Hugh would give anything to have her whole and healthy, secure in her pride. Secure enough to tell him that she loved him.

And he—what would he say? Would he offer her his commitment and think that was enough, or would he…?

“My lord!” Dewey slipped back through the brush.

“That was fast!” Wharton said.

“Aye, I hurried,” Dewey answered.

Had they both run mad? Hugh thought they’d been waiting forever.

“Pembridge has well established himself within the outer bailey.” Dewey didn’t have time for details, but his bleak face told the tale. “The outer gatehouse and drawbridge are intact. There was no battle to get inside.”

Hugh and Wharton exchanged glances, and Wharton said, “Treachery then.”

Dewey said, “That’s what I thought, too. Already they’ve broken through to the inner bailey, so I thought perhaps more treachery. I didn’t dare go farther, but I saw the smoke of burning and heard fierce fighting. I fear much of the castle is damaged.”

“The castle?” Why was Dewey blathering about the castle? Hugh wondered.

“And, my lord, he has dozens of knights.” Dewey blushed as he spoke, but he said honestly, “We haven’t a chance against them.”

Hugh glanced around at his men, then remounted. “Every man must choose his battles. I have chosen mine. If you have no heart for it, then go with my blessing.”

His men stared at him. Then Wharton said stiffly, “There’s no need t’ insult us, master.”

The armor of every one of his knights clattered as they mounted their horses and stood awaiting instructions, and Hugh’s fervent “Please God” became “My thanks, God.”

He moved to the front to speak to them as their commander in this fruitless battle. “We have no reinforcements and no hope of getting them, so we’ll attack from the rear. There’s a chance they’ve become so accustomed to cutting down men-at-arms that they’ll be unprepared to face other knights.”

Hugh and his men rode across the drawbridge and passed through the gatehouse—undefended. That pleased him. It meant he faced an overconfident enemy. Then the outer bailey opened before him. “Pigs!” He spat the word, furious at the wanton destruction.

A few of Pembridge’s men milled around the inner gatehouse, so sure of their victory they took a rest from the fighting. One of them saw Hugh and his men; he pointed. Before he could shout, Hugh scythed him with his mace. His men did the same until not one living creature remained erect.

From above, Hugh heard cheers as Roxford’s men-at-arms realized their salvation had arrived.

Hugh only wished that were true.

21

“They’re here, my lady, they’re here!”

Edlyn put the kettle of boiling lard down on the floor of the roof and let the breeze dry the sweat from her face. As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she could see the glow on Neda’s face and on the faces of the other women. “Who’s here?”

“The lord! Lord Hugh! We heard them shouting outside, and we looked. ’Tis he!”

“He’s alive?” Edlyn staggered back. “He’s alive.” God had heard her prayers. Nothing could defeat her now.

Then she heard the clash of arms below and the screams of a dying man, and reality returned with a flourish.

Pembridge had had that treacherous hole at the base of the curtain wall reexcavated. The gatehouse defense had been overwhelmed not long after, and Pembridge’s men had thundered into the bailey on horseback. Roxford Castle’s men-at-arms fought valiantly, but they were essentially defensive fighters, and against the knights’ superior position and power they had little hope.