Page 178
Story: Knights, Knaves, and Kilts
The Scotsman grinned, showing deeply yellowed teeth.
“Horace McCulloch,” he said proudly. “I’ve been tellin’ yer friends that me brother and I have been wid’ the Welsh for about a year now.
They hired us tae train their men because most Welsh are wild fighters, not givin’ tae anything organized.
Most of Madog’s men are tae the north, but some of us are in the south.
Madog wants the Sassenach lairds out of Wales and they’re as thick as fleas down in the south. ”
Jamison could hardly believe what he was hearing, especially so early in the conversation.
The speculating on the Scots having schooled the Welsh in Scots tactics was being proven in the most unexpected of places.
The theory of Scots among the Welsh had been a very big question, indeed, in the early days after the most recent battle at Four Crosses and now he was discovering he’d been correct all along.
Scots had very much been present, mercenaries for hire.
It was an astonishing realization.
“They are, indeed,” Jamison replied. “We’ve been seein’ them everywhere during the course o’ our travels along the Marches.”
Horace shook his head in disgust, gulping sloppily of his drink and evidently forgetting that he’d received no answer as to Jamison’s name. “Everywhere,” he agreed. “I’m told the lot o’ ye are comin’ from France.”
So that was the backstory Horace had been given by Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian. It was something Jamison was happy to confirm. “More fighting there,” he said. “They hate the Sassenach , too.”
Horace snorted. “We have a chance tae take back a castle that has belonged tae the English for years,” he said. “Madog’s men are very interested it– they want tae use it as a base against the English along the Marches, so ’tis an important location for them.”
Even more information was pouring forth out of the drunk man’s lips. Shocked, Jamison didn’t dare look at his friends. He kept his focus on Horace.
“I see,” he said. “Where is the castle?”
“About a half-day’s ride from here.”
Jamison was pleased to increasingly throw the man off of their trail, their true purpose for being in Wales. He was cunning, playing ignorant.
“Do ye have more men, then?” he asked. “Did ye come alone?”
Horace nodded. “I’ve sent the men I’ve been able tae gather on tae the Welsh, who are just south of Caereinion,” he said.
“But I’m not a leader. ’Tis some of Madog’s men and then some men who live locally are leadin’ the fight.
Most o’ the rebel army went home for one reason or another, so I was sent tae recruit men tae fight again.
Men I’ll have tae train again, the lazy bastards. ”
He was drunkenly rambling now, spouting off about things that didn’t make much sense.
Jamison decided to look at his friends, then, who were all gazing back him with fairly emotionless demeanors.
It was clear that they were looking to him to make any decisions since he was so deeply involved in the situation.
Jamison knew what Horace had already been told, which made it easy for him to build on. He looked at Beaux.
“Well?” he said. “Can we spare some time tae destroy the Sassenach?”
Beaux grinned. “Always.”
Jamison looked back at Horace. “How soon do ye need us?”
Horace was thrilled. “Now,” he said, slamming his cup on the table and splashing what was left of it onto the old tabletop.
He lowered his voice. “I’ve been four days lookin’ for men but I canna look no longer.
The plans are set tae charge Four Crosses soon and they’ll be a-wantin’ ye.
We can leave this place at first light and head to Caereinion. ”
Jamison nodded, pondering what the evening had brought, pondering what was to come.
A return to Four Crosses , he thought ominously.
But the fact remained that they needed to send word to the castle about their discovery.
It would be simple enough to send Caspian or Kendrick, and they could tell Horace that the men had deserted the cause.
That part of the plan would have to be executed fairly soon if the Welsh were planning on moving on Four Crosses as fast as Horace said they were going to.
Beyond that, Jamison thought on what Horace had just said.
He didn’t want to make it seem like they were too eager to go with him, fearful it might look suspicious.
“But ye have tae make it worth me while,” he said. “If we help ye, what do we get from it?”
Horace’s dark eyes glittered at him. “I have somethin’ for ye,” he said. “I was going tae keep it for meself, but I’ll give it tae ye. It’ll make yer night worthwhile, anyway.”
He stumbled from his chair, staggering across the dirt floor of the common room and into a ground-floor doorway. He passed through it, disappearing from view, and Jamison turned to the men at the table.
“What more has he told ye about this?” he hissed quickly, afraid that Horace would return all too soon. “Anything else about the strength of the Welsh? How many men he was able tae recruit?”
Caspian and Kendrick shook their heads. “Nothing,” Caspian said. “He has been very vague about strengths which either means he doesna want tae brag or he has very little at all.”
Beaux snorted. “Since when does a Scotsman not want tae brag?” he whispered loudly. “I’d wager tae say he hardly has anyone.”
“But a force is gatherin’ against Four crosses,” Jamison said. “Even if the three of ye dunna want tae go with me, I must go and see the size of the force and send a message tae Four Crosses.”
Beaux shook his head. “If ye go, we go wit’ ye,” he said firmly. “Ye know that, Jamie. We’d not leave ye alone with that drunken Scotsmen and a gang of wild Welshmen. Ye might get yerself intae trouble.”
He was grinning as he said it, causing Jamison to put a hand on his shoulder and give him a good shake. “Ye bastard,” Jamison growled, feigning irritation. But he soon sobered, looking at the others. “Then we do this together?”
Caspian and Kendrick nodded. “Together,” they said in unison. Kendrick continued. “Ye’re going tae need help if ye’re going tae do what I think ye’re going tae do.”
“What is that?” Jamison asked.
The humor faded from Kendrick’s face. “Save Four Crosses.”
It was the truth. They all knew it. There had never been any question as to what Jamison was going to do with this information or how he was going to react. With a heavy sigh, Jamison dropped his hand from Beaux’s shoulder.
“This could get ugly, lads,” he said. “Are ye sure ye want tae risk it?”
Caspian’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis the Welsh that are takin’ the risk,” he said. “The four o’ us in battle again… ’twill be a mighty sight, Jamie.”
Jamison smiled faintly at his friend, thinking on the potential of facing a battle together, united.
Each man was a powerful knight in his own right, something the Welsh would soon find out.
But there was much planning to do beforehand, something they would have to find some private time to speak about.
They couldn’t do it here where others might hear. Already, their discussion was risky.
Therefore, they turned back to their wine and, in the case of Kendrick and Caspian, the food they had been eating.
There had been a meal spread out on the table when Horace had approached them.
Jamison was just pouring himself the last of the cooling wine in the pitcher when Horace finally emerged from the door he had recently disappeared into.
Jamison happened to look up, seeing that Horace was motioning to him frantically. Curious, he stood up but Beaux stopped him.
“Wait,” he said. “I’m a-goin’ wit’ ye. Ye’ll not go alone with that snake.”
Jamison patted him on the shoulder. “The day I canna handle a man like that is the day I surrender me sword for a weaving loom and a skirt,” he said. “Let me see what the fool wants.”
Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian watched him cross the floor, each man suspicious of Horace’s motives, but Jamison was confident.
One hand to Horace’s neck and he could easily snap it, so he wasn’t worried.
He followed Horace back through the doorway into what was a dark, narrow corridor with two doors off of it.
The floors leaned, throwing Jamison off balance a bit.
Horace went to the last door and put his hand on the latch.
“I’m done wid’ it,” he said. “Ye can have it from now on. Consider it payment for yer services against the English.”
Jamison frowned. “Have what?”
Horace’s reply was to open the door. He pushed it open, revealing a small chamber beyond with a small hearth, glowing, a tiny bed, and a chair.
But there was something on the chair. Peering closely at it through the darkness, he could see that it was a small figure.
A woman . He could see long, dark hair but not much else because the woman was gagged and tied to the chair.
She was sitting in the shadows. His frown turned into a scowl.
“What is this?” he hissed. “A beaten wench?”
At the sound of his voice, the woman seemed to rouse. Her head came up and when her eyes met with Jamison’s, they widened. His widened. It took Jamison a split-second to realize he was looking at Madeline.
Sweet Jesú … Madeline de Llion had finally been found.
Gagged and bound, Madeline began to squeal and Horace slammed the door in Jamison’s face.
In fact, he nearly hit him in the nose in his haste, which thoroughly upset Jamison.
More than that, he was horrified by what he had just seen.
It was a struggle not to react to it. He didn’t want to show too much emotion, fearful that Horace might wonder why he was so agitated and he didn’t want to give anything away, not at this stage.
But inside, he was reeling.
“Keep her quiet,” Horace whispered loudly. “She’s a noisy one. She’ll wake the whole place if ye dunna keep her gagged.”
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