“And his hand? Someone needs tae tend his hand.”
“Answer my question and I will make sure he is adequately tended.”
Alpin looked at his wife, and his cousin, and it was as if all of his bones suddenly disappeared. He seemed to fold in on himself, his chin dropping to his chest, as if every last piece of defiance and courage slipped quietly away along with the bones.
He was a shell.
Pride held out only so long when faced with such destruction.
“Yer question has many answers,” he mumbled. “Ask me something specific and I’ll tell ye what I can. But if I tell ye I dunna know, then it’s the truth. The Rough doesna take me intae his confidence. I know what I do because I’m a border laird and nothing more.”
The Rough was another name used for the King of Scotland, a name that reflected his general methodology and manners, and Jax pondered his next question. He had Alpin where he wanted him in a relatively short amount of time. He thought it would take longer, but given the man’s wife was under threat, the resistance ended fairly quickly.
And to his advantage.
As he pondered his next move, Cole stepped forward. He’d been privy to some of the more general gatherings purely by virtue of his relationship with the royal court, so he knew some of the information, things he told his father.
As he’d said, it was the smaller details that had escaped him, and one detail in particular.
“When is the invasion coming?” he asked. “When do the Scots plan to move south?”
In the end, Jax got his information.
By morning, the cousin with the missing fingers had been released with a message to take to William the Rough. Jax let Alpin languish for a couple of days with little food and even less sleep before sending Cole, Addax, and Essien to escort the man south to the mighty de Bourne stronghold known as The Keld for further interrogation.
A naturally suspicious man, Jax suspected that the worst was yet to come.
And they had to be ready.
CHAPTER TWO
Edinburgh Castle
Like a lion perched upon a rise, it waited.
Edinburgh Castle had the look of a predator waiting to spring. There was a strength about it, and also comfort, as the beacon of Scots power and protection in a country of turmoil.
Never more so in turmoil than at this moment.
Uilliam mac Eanric, or William, son of Henry, sometimes known as William the Rough or William the Lion, had been the king of Scots for over forty years. Forty years of fighting the English, the Northmen, and sometimes fellow Scots had taken its toll on the man, but he was still standing. He was still strong. There was something to be said for a king who had withstood the pressures of his kingdom for forty years. One would have thought that by this time in his reign, he would have been weary. Old and weary, ready for a new king to assume the throne, but that wasn’t the case.
He was a king ready to expand his kingdom.
However, the latest visitor to Edinburgh had news to the contrary.
Even now, as William entered the great hall of Edinburgh Castle, he could already feel his rage building. He was being escorted by several of his men, courtiers and knights and retainers, men who carried out his wishes and helped him manage his lands. He’d just been summoned by one of them with news that wasn’t particularly good.
Ye must come, yer grace. Something has happened tae Fountainhall Castle.
Fountainhall Castle was a strategic castle on the borders, very close to English properties. William knew of Fountainhall because the lord, Alpin Canmore, was one of his most loyal subjects. An annoying man and a minor player in the grand scheme of things, but loyal nonetheless.
William didn’t like the thought of a border skirmish with the English at this time.
He needed all of his border lords at full strength for what was to come.
Seated at one of the enormous scrubbed tables in the great hall, surrounded by both men and wandering dogs, sat a man with his right hand bandaged and bloodied. As William and his entourage approached the table, William took a good look at the man but he didn’t recognize him.
He looked as if he’d been through hell.
That brought concern.
“I dunna know ye,” he said as he came upon the table. “Who are ye?”
The man was pale and weak, clearly exhausted, but he tried to stand up. “I’ve come for the king,” he said. “I willna speak tae anyone else. I have a message for him.”
There were so many men crowded around the table and around the man that William had to shove a couple away in order to get at him.
“Do ye no’ know me on sight?” he asked.
The man eyed him before looking at the retinue around him. His gaze returned to the big, strong-looking old man whose hair in his youth had been red and wavy. Now, it was gray and bristly. A little wild, even.
He shook his head.
“Who are ye?”
“I am the one ye seek,” William said simply, planting himself in the chair at the end of the table. “What’s this about Fountainhall? And what message do ye have?”
The man with the bandaged hand realized the king was sitting next to him and, for some reason, that seemed to bring out his fear. He’d been strong enough until the king appeared, and now he simply felt fearful.
He began to tremble.
“Yer grace,” he said. “The message comes from Ajax de Velt.”
That brought a reaction from William and most of his entourage. What had been a mildly concerning situation just turned critical.
The mention of Ajax de Velt, The Dark Lord, made any situation critical.
“De Velt?” he repeated in surprise. Then, he looked at the men around him as if to confirm they’d all heard the same thing before returning his focus to the man. “I know that name.”
“Ye should, yer grace,” the bloodied man said. “Most people know of the Sassenach who burned half the borders and killed entire armies many years ago. ’Tis the same man.”
William blinked in surprise. “He’s still alive?”
The man sighed heavily. “Still alive and still killing, yer grace,” he said. “Fountainhall is gone and everyone is dead because of de Velt. He left me alive because he wanted me tae deliver a message to ye.”
William looked at him in disbelief. “Fountainhall is gone?” he repeated, aghast. “What of Alpin Canmore?”
The man seemed to slump forward at the mere mention of Canmore. “I dunna know,” he said, running his good hand through his hair wearily. “The last I saw him, de Velt’s men were cutting my fingers off tae force him tae answer their questions. Yer grace, de Velt knows about the alliance with the Earls of Orkney and the Northmen. He says tae tell ye if ye try and bring yer alliance intae England, he’ll do tae ye what he did tae Fountainhall. He’ll rip yer head off and leave it for the birds tae pick yer eyes out. He says tae tell ye that only death awaits ye if ye come tae England.”
The silence in the hall was abrupt and deafening as Ajax de Velt’s threat settled upon those in the hall like a fog. It was all around them, weighing upon them, filling their eyes, their ears, their noses.
It was everywhere.
Fear was everywhere.
William could feel it, but he wasn’t one to show his fear in any case, not even from Ajax de Velt. But he could see that his men were edgy and the man with his hand bandaged was positively ashen. He sat forward, leaning on the table and focusing on the man bearing the message.