Her lip was trembling. “Aye?”
“Help me pack. Quickly.”
“Why are we hurrying?”
He threw the green damask gown that Toby had worn the eve they supped together into the trunk. “Because some men have come. They have set fire to the manor. We must get out of here. Do you understand?”
Her eyes were full of fear but, to his surprise, she did not panic. She began flying around the room, collecting items and throwing them into the second trunk. With the next gown he grabbed, Tate went over to Toby, still sitting on the bed.
“Put this on,” he said gently. “Do you need my help to do so?”
Toby shook her head and, with quivering hands, began to pull at her night shift. Tate turned away, back to the packing. It seemed as if any doubt he had ever had about her had fled the moment he saw her standing at the top of the steps, defending Edward against a man three times her size. He had no idea how she had managed it, but her courage and strength astonished him.
The trunks were full in short order and he sealed them both. Then he turned to see how Toby was faring. She was still sitting on the bed, pale and sickly, but had managed to somehow pull her wet shift off and put on a linen shift and heavy brown broadcloth garment. Ailsa had found a pair of woolen hose and was trying to pull them on her sister’s feet. Edward and Balin came into the chamber, both wide-eyed at what was happening around them, and Tate put them to work.
“Take these trunks out of here,” he directed the king. “Balin, take Ailsa out. Do not let her out of your sight.”
“But… my home,” Balin gasped. “These men… dead in my hall. What is happening?”
Tate took the hose from Ailsa and threw propriety to the wind; he deftly rolled a stocking on to one of Toby’s legs. “I fear that my visit has brought you bad fortune,” he said quietly. “Get your wife and get out of this place. Be quick about it.”
“This place is all that I have!” Balin wailed. “I will not go, I tell you!”
“You must or it will burn down over your head.”
“Then let it burn. I will not leave!”
He ran off and they heard a door slam. Ailsa, confused and frightened, began crying. Tate rolled the other stocking onto Toby’s leg, trying not to think of how soft and shapely it was. “Ailsa, sweetheart, find your sister’s shoes,” he commanded softly. “We must hurry.”
She did as she was asked, sobbing. In little time, they had Toby dressed and Tate collected her in his arms once more. The three of them moved down the smoky stairs; de Roche still lay upon the landing and they stepped over him. On the first floor, the great hall was filled with heavy smoke and some flame. The fire was gaining. Tate carried Toby out into the yard.
The Harbottle troops that had been encamped on the eastern side of the manor house were trying to douse the fire that had consumed most of the northern section of the house; the kitchens and solar were completely engulfed. Toby, only semi-conscious, nonetheless realized what was happening.
“My father,” she whispered. “Where are my father and mother?”
Stephen and Kenneth met Tate in the yard. All of Mortimer’s men had been either subdued or killed and were no longer a threat. The men-at-arms had taken young Edward back to thegarçonnaire, which was still standing. Mortimer’s men hadn’t tried to burn it. With all of the men running about trying to put out the fire, the environment was chaotic.
“I must go after the father and mother,” Tate deposited Toby into Stephen’s big arms. “Ask me later how she stood up against de Roche.”
“I already heard,” Stephen replied. “Edward told us. Where is de Roche?”
“Lying unconscious at the top of the stairs.” Tate motioned to Kenneth to follow him but he gave Stephen a pointed look. “Take care of her.”
“With all that I possess, I swear it.”
By the time they returned to the manor, the majority of the structure was completely engulfed. The troops from Harbottle had given up trying to douse the flames and were simply standing around, watching it burn.
Tate was about to enter the front door when the roof collapsed, crushing everything beneath it in a horror of ash and flame. The force of the collapse blew out the doors and windows, nearly scalding Tate and Kenneth as they attempted to gain access.
Sparks and smoke flew into the late morning sky until all that was left of Forestburn Manor was cinders and sorrow.
CHAPTER FIVE
Riding at nightwasn’t the smartest thing to do, but Tate felt that they had been given little choice. The sooner they reached Harbottle, the better for them all. Mortimer’s men were after them and Tate was anxious to put young Edward behind the massive walls of his castle.
Tate was in full armor, something he’d sorely missed earlier in the day with Mortimer’s men running about. The tempered steel breastplate had been forged in Rouen, as had the sword at his side. His gloved hand stroked the dragonhead of the hilt, a carved masterpiece of metalwork. Though the road was quiet, still, he was preparing to draw it at any moment. He and his knights were silent, their senses attuned to their surroundings.
“Mortimer’s days are numbered,” Edward said quietly, attempting to fortify his courage. “He killed my father and he is trying to kill me.”