And Andreas loved them all deeply.
But they also chattered like magpies and were noisy and aggressive, grabbing bread and food, shoving others aside to get at it. Scott finally had to smack Corey on the back of the head so the lad would get the hint and shut his mouth as Scott held up a hand to silence the table full of knights. Once he had their attention, he scratched his head wearily.
“Good men,” he said. “It has been an exhausting six days, but a magnificent six days. You have all performed admirably and I am very proud of you, every single one of you.”
The older knights were used to such praise and didn’t react overly, but the younger knights puffed up. Corey and Reed puffed up. They were usually the pair to get worked up, feeding off each other. They grabbed their cups of watered wine and cheered for themselves, a chorus picked up by the other men in the hall until it was reverberating with their shouts.
Scott had to wait until it had all died down.
“Now,” he said. “Just a few moments of your time and you can eat and sleep afterwards, but I have a few things that I must discuss with you. After we chased the Scots back over the border, my spies tell me that they have retreated to the Maxwell seat of Old Midlem, at least for now, but not before they destroyed some of Kelso.”
“What of Northumberland’s charity at Edenside?” Andreas asked. “Aunt Mae has her foundling home right outside of Kelso and Uncle Tommy keeps men there to protect it. Did that escape unscathed?”
He was speaking of the Earl of Northumbria, Thomas de Wolfe, and his wife, Maitland. Maitland was well known for her benevolence and she had a foundling home just to the east of Kelso where unfortunately parentless children were raised, nurtured, and educated. It was a lovely place. But Scott shook his head to his nephew’s question.
“I have not heard anything about Edenside,” he said. “It is a foundling home and I cannot imagine the Scots would touch it, but I am sure Uncle Tommy has it amply fortified. In any event, Kelso has been damaged and Jedburgh also took a beating.”
“So did the Scots!” Corey boomed, getting the younger knights at the table riled up. “We beat their arses like an old fishwife beats her stupid children!”
Some of the other men nearby heard Corey’s shout and, soon, the room of weary men was going at it again, congratulating themselves for their victory. Scott rolled his eyes at the arrogance of youth, looking to Troy for the man to control his sons, but Troy simply grinned. He loved that they were so exuberant so he was more than willing to let them have their victory yell. As Scott and Troy shook their heads at each other in amusement, in resignation, Corey jumped onto the table where everyone was drinking and trying to eat, grabbing a knuckle of beef and holding it aloft.
“This is what I think of the Scots!” he shouted, taking a big bite of the meat and letting it hang out of his mouth. “I’ll chew them up and spit them out!”
The room went mad. Food began to fly. Troy finally looked to Andreas and Gareth, who took the hint and pulled Corey off the table, settling him down between them. But the damage was done. The hall was worked up by exhausted fighting men who were pleased with their victory. Scott finally gave up trying to quiet them down and quit the hall through a door that led into the living and working quarters of the castle, followed by nearly everyone at the table with the exception of Corey and Reed, who were told to remain in the hall.
Even as they left the hall, they could hear Corey shouting of their triumph and the hall going wild for it.
The more sedate knights had followed Scott into his solar, a large and comfortable chamber, without the rabble-rousing that the hall was embroiled in at the moment. Scott sent servants running for more food and drink as the senior knights settled in to listen to what Scott had to say.
Tor ended up on the floor again in front of the hearth, with Andreas and Will and Gareth standing by him. Markus, nursing the painful thigh wound, stretched out next to him, feeling the heat from the flame with great satisfaction. As the knights settled down throughout the chamber, Scott spoke up again.
“As I was saying before Troy’s wild animals chimed in,” he said, eyeing his brother, “the Scots retreated back to Old Midlem, taking a piece of Jedburgh and Kelso as they did. I am also hearing reports that they are moving east, which means Kelso, Wark, Questing, and Northwood will be in their path. So will Pelinom Castle.”
Andreas perked up at the mention of Pelinom. “They would be mad to attack the de Velt stronghold, Uncle Scott,” he said seriously. “Theodis and his father, Atlas, are holding the fortress along with his brothers Rhett and Hugo. They have Pelinom and their outpost at Foulburn reinforced. Unless the Scots want Atlas de Velt to go on a rampage like his grandfather, Jax, did those years ago, they’ll stay clear of Pelinom.”
That wasn’t an unreasonable statement. Jax de Velt’s brutality one hundred years ago was legendary. The man would conquer entire armies and put every man on a stake, shoved up through his body, and leave him to die for all to see. That kind of barbaric behavior hadn’t been seen since then, but every de Velt had that edge. Atlas de Velt was very much like his grandfather, a man of little mercy and even less patience, so the threat of the man seeking vengeance for an attack on his property wasn’t unreasonable.
In fact, Scott grunted in agreement.
“That is why it is better to be allied with the son of the devil’s spawn than in his path,” he said frankly. “I like Atlas de Velt a great deal and the man is a loyal ally, but God help the Scots if they provoke Pelinom. I am not worried about de Velt, nor any other castle to the east because they are so heavily fortified. But after what happened to Makendon Castle and The Lyceum, I am concerned for the fortresses to the west. My spies already tell me that they have seen movement from the Scots heading westerly, passing through Johnstone lands as well as Murray. If those clans catch Maxwell moving through their territory, the situation is going to go from bad to worse.”
Troy, standing next to his brother, scratched his head. “Then what do you want to do?”
Scott fumbled around on the enormous oak table, rifling through a clutter of vellum, until he came to what he was looking for.
A map.
He spread it out over the table as men crowded around.
“We are located here,” he said, thumping the area of the map that was just to the north of the Scottish border, about midway from one end of the border to the other. “Here are Makendon and The Lyceum. They are about a day and a half south of us and we sent them three thousand men from Castle Questing. They’re reinforced for now. But this is the area I am worried about.”
He was gesturing to the west of The Lair, a fairly remote and wild area between The Lair and Gretna Green. Carlisle was just to the south. He took a quill and marked two spots, closer to Gretna Green.
“Here are two castles that could be in the path of the Scots should they decide to move towards Carlisle,” he said. “The one deeper in Scots’ territory is Hell’s Guardhouse.”
Andreas, who had been studying the map intently, glanced at him. “That’s de Soulis.”
Scott cocked an eyebrow. “Frankly, I hope the Scots overrun it and burn out de Soulis, so I’ll not lift a finger to help them, but this fortress – south of Hell’s Guardhouse – is one I am concerned with.”