The de Soulis contingent was at the edge of Kelso, all one hundred and thirty of them. They’d ridden hard since before dawn, all the way from Hell’s Gatehouse, and by now they were showing their fatigue. It had been a long, cold day. But the sight of a village that had been recently burned in an act of warfare had their attention. Now, they were on edge.
John shook his head to his son’s question.
“Nay,” he said. “The priests at the abbey said it was the Scots. Did you not hear them?”
Nicholas shrugged. He hadn’t heard much after the fearful priests, pulled away from their evening prayers, had told the heavily armed de Soulis group where the Edenside Foundling Home was located. The priests had given the knights directions and promptly slammed the door in their face.
But it didn’t matter.
The de Soulis men had what they wanted.
“Nay,” Nicholas admitted after a moment. “I wasn’t really listening. They had already told me what I wanted to know.”
John eyed his distracted son. “They said that there is trouble with the Scots these days,” he said. “That being said, I do not want to get caught up in anything. Let us retrieve this child quickly and be done with it.”
Nicholas spurred his horse forward and the others followed, including Giddy, who was cold and sore from having been in the saddle so long. But she didn’t complain, even when the entire contingent followed Nicholas with breakneck speed. They were all anxious to finish their task so they could retreat to Kelso and find a tavern or two to warm themselves in.
But all Giddy could think about was the infant she was about to be saddled with.
They galloped down the road, spying the tower house and wall that the priests had described as belonging to Edenside. The walls were made from pale granite and, under the bright moon, they gleamed white, like a beacon. The entire de Soulis contingent raced up to the walls, with Nicholas and John dismounting their horses quickly. They didn’t even give commands to the men, who simply grouped around, waiting.
No one was watching anything. Their minds were thinking of the warmth they would seek out when their task here was finished. They were thinking of the whores who would warm their beds, of the tankards of ale they would drink. No one was thinking about anything other than that until one man happened to see something on the walls.
It looked like a helmed head.
He peered at the shape in the distance curiously.
“Does a place like this have guards?” he wondered aloud.
He was a lesser soldier, towards the rear of the pack, and only those closest to him heard the question. One man, an old cuss with a missing eye, turned to him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know why we’re here. Someone said something about a baby, but I don’t even know whose baby or why. What is this place, anyway?”
“A foundling home,” another man said impatiently. “De Wolfe is the patron, so it probably has guards. It probably has…”
Those were the last words he uttered before a rain of bolts came flying at them from over the walls, heavy crossbow bolts that were meant to disable horses. They were enormous. Several men went down, as well as the woman who had accompanied them. She took a bolt to the chest and fell into the snow, dead.
It was a shocking sight.
Immediately, the de Soulis contingent was under attack. What had looked like a sleepy little orphanage was evidently anything but and the de Soulis men were caught off guard.
The battle was underway.
Andreas waited until someone rang the bell before the soldiers with crossbows let loose. Then, someone yanked the gates open.
Andreas was the first one out.
They had caught the de Soulis men by surprise and although Andreas didn’t know the father and son on sight, he assumed they were the men who had rung the bell. They were extremely well dressed and heavily armed, and as he headed for the younger one, Will went for the older man, who wasn’t able to unsheathe his broadsword before Will was able to slice him from his collarbone to his groin.
It was a deep cut. Blood and guts came squeezing through the breach and the man pitched to his knees as the younger man screamed. “Father!” That told Andreas all he needed to know and as the younger man moved to aid his father, Andreas lifted his sword against him. The younger man could see his life flash before his eyes and he managed to get his sword up in time to block a blow that would have surely taken off his head.
The fight was on.
The de Wolfe soldiers showed no mercy, as they’d been instructed. It wasn’t just a fight they were after; it was a massacre. They were cutting soldiers down swiftly because the men hadn’t been given a chance to even draw their weapons. That was only true of the men close to the gate, however. The men further back could see what was happening and they had every chance to unsheathe broadswords and crossbows. Some fled, but most stayed to fight.
The de Soulis men began to launch bolts of their own.
Beneath the wolf moon, the men from the House of de Wolfe cut down enemy after enemy. It was a night of much slaying, with Andreas in the middle of it. He was doing battle against the younger of the pair who had been at the bell, a man who was surprisingly good with his sword and surprisingly strong. If Andreas had been looking for an easy kill, he didn’t find one.
The knight was giving him a good fight.
But it was close quarters fighting. There were men all around them battling and dying. On the north side of the road was dense forest growth and to the south, on the other side of the foundling home, was the River Tweed. Men were already being pushed into the trees, however, and Andreas could hear them fighting in the growth.
But he was focused on his opponent.
He was fairly certain who he was.
No words were spoken between them. None were necessary, mostly because they were trying to kill each other. Big broadsword were flying through the dark and when they met, sparks flew. But Andreas had the advantage. He always had the advantage because he was left-handed when most men were right-handed, and he’d learned to use that against his opponents.
This opponent was no exception.
In short order, Andreas had driven the man back towards the heavily forested area. His plan was to box him against the trees and then let nature take its course. But not before he told the man who he was and made him understand that any plans he had for Gavriella and the infant had failed.
He wanted Nicholas de Soulis to know who it was who had beaten him.
But that was his last coherent thought before someone came up behind him and clobbered him on the back of his helm.
Andreas went down to his knees, seeing stars dance before his eyes. He could hear grunting and fighting all around him, but he kept his eyes on his opponent, as much as he was able, seeing the man come at him with a sword raised. As he lifted his own sword, someone dashed in front of him and he could hear sword upon sword and then finally a groan. A body hit the ground next to him, lying face-up in the snow.
It took him a moment to realize it was Corey.
Andreas went mad.
Shaking off the stars, he charged his opponent, taking the man out by the knees. As he went down, somehow, Andreas lost his grip on his sword and began using his fists, pounding the man in the face until the blood began to fly. Teeth went flying. He knew he’d broken his nose because he’d heard it crack.