When Love Awaits

Chapter 23

AT dawn, the camp outside the walls of Wroth Keep was quiet.

Dreams of victory had followed the men into sleep. The watch reported hourly to Thorpe de la Mare, but the news he was expecting had still not been sent. The camp stirred and came to life just after dawn, but there was little to do. Most of the preparations had been made the night before, so the men waited for word, talking among themselves and getting restless.

At midmorning, Thorpe approached Rolfe inside his large tent.

"It appears the plan has worked. There is so little activity on the walls that they seem deserted."

Thorpe said it so grudgingly that Rolfe laughed. "You were hoping for different news?"

"I still do not believe your wife would help you."

"I told you, she wants to spare lives, both ours and those inside Wroth."

"More likely only those inside Wroth." Thorpe grunted.

"You will not stir up my anger this morning, my friend. I'm in good spirits. Leonie's concoctions have worked! Let us go and take Wroth now."

"You will be careful?"

Rolfe chuckled at the large man's concern. "You are acting like an old woman, Thorpe. I am not here to take tea. I'm here to secure this keep.

But I promise not to sheathe my sword until you tell me it is safe to do so.

Does that satisfy you?"

The taking of Wroth was ridiculously easy. As the ladders were scaled, moans were heard. The foulest stench greeted them when they reached the top of the walls. Everywhere men were bent over with cramps or puking up their food. Some of the men tried to fight Rolfe's men, but they had no strength and resistance was quickly quelled.

In short order, the keep was emptied and the prisoners taken to an area Rolfe had set up away from his main camp. The knight, John Fitzurse, would be held for ransom. The rebellious vassal might have been killed, but Rolfe was feeling a little guilty over the easy conquest, and so was inclined to be lenient.

It was still morning when Rolfe entered his tent and tossed his helmet to Damian. Then he settled down at his improvised desk. It was on his mind to send a message to Leonie, but she might know there was no clerk there, and he didn't want to write the note himself. He didn't want her to know he could read and write with ease. That would give her an excuse to refuse to act as his clerk. The sooner she began doing wifely things, the sooner she would accept him.

Thorpe entered the tent, and Rolfe asked, "All is secure?"

Thorpe nodded. "Will you offer the soldiers here what you offered the others?"

"Are they mostly recruited serfs, or hired men?"

"Serfs I think, since most speak only English," Thorpe replied.

"Then I will offer them what we offered the Axeford and Harwick soldiers. They can stay and fight for me or go. The hired men, too, because the fewer of our own men we have to leave here the better. Who do you suggest I put in charge?"

"Walter Wyclif. He has asked for Wroth, and since Richard and Piers and Reinald want to stay with the army—"

"But I would have given Sir Walter a larger keep, one of those we've yet to win."

"He wants to be settled now. He's tired of riding back and forth from Axeford Town where his wife is staying. He wants Lady Bertha with him, because he says she causes too much mischief when she's left alone."

Rolfe chuckled, but Thorpe frowned. "I would not laugh, my friend.

You yourself have a wife who is prone to mischief-making."

"She's caused no trouble since she married me," Rolfe said defensively.

"Not yet," muttered his friend.

Rolfe was in the midst of defending his wife when they heard horses galloping into camp. As they left the tent, a rider dismounted, nearly bursting with news.

"My lord, Nant Keep has surrendered!"

"What terms?" Rolfe demanded.

"No terms. Their food supply ran out, and it seems they had rationed it so long, they were too weak to fight. The vassal simply begs mercy."

"I believe my luck has turned, Thorpe," Rolfe said, grinning.

But as the words left his mouth, another rider skidded to a halt and shouted, "My lord, your mill at Crewel has been set afire!"

Rolfe glowered at Thorpe. "Have five men ready immediately, but you stay to lead the army to Warling Keep."

"Sir Piers can lead the army—"

"I do not need a keeper! I will see to the fire myself. Do as I ask, Thorpe."

Less than ten minutes later Rolfe was riding toward Crewel, five men-at-arms following in his wake. Fifteen miles separated the two properties, and they rode hard, the ancient road leading through forests and open fields.

Rolfe's large destrier was not bred for speed, yet he reached the area of the Crewel mill well ahead of his men. Pausing beside the rapid stream that cut through the woods north of the village, Rolfe saw dozens of village men as well as several of his soldiers. They were moving slowly, so he guessed the fire had been put out.

He urged his horse ahead, but there was no longer any need to race the wind. He was barely within shouting distance when the arrow struck him. It tore through several chain-mail links and then it lodged in his hip.

Rolfe caught a fleeting glimpse of forms slithering away into the shadows of the woods before a full measure of pain washed over him.