science to shutting the door and letting Farrington knock away to his heart's content. I doubt your father will let Kinton Lacey go unrelieved for any length of time. Good night.” He pulled his hand away and turned for the door, walking with a slow heavy step as if he, not she, carried the world on his back.
Deliverance touched the place where his hand had rested. She had to stop him, whatever it took.
As he reached the door she blurted out, “Luke, you've heard Lovedie's story. What are you going to accomplish by riding out to Byton?”
He stopped at the door and turned to look at her. “Peace of mind,” he said.
Chapter 8
T he scout Ned sent out reported back that Byton castle appeared to be deserted. The man admitted that he hadn't gone right up to the ruins, and Luke decided to see for himself.
They set out before first light and encountered no enemy on the road from Kinton Lacey. The acrid smell of smoke reached them even before the former stronghold of Byton loomed out of the dawn mist, grey and ominous. He remembered how he had last seen it, golden and soft in the summer sun, a family home not a fortress. Now the broken, jagged teeth of the walls reached to the sky from a mire of trampled gardens and destruction.
He drew rein, his nose twitching. Over the stench of burning from the slighted castle, even from two hundred yards distant, he could smell death. He dismounted and led his horse across the battlefield to the ditch that lay before the castle, steeling himself to look down.
He counted twenty eight bodies lying in the inadequate defensive ditch below the castle walls. Just as Lovedie had said, the men of Byton's garrison had been tied in pairs and their throats savagely cut. Farrington hadn't even spared the powder for a merciful bullet.
Luke's own men dismounted and stood beside him looking down at the carnage, the horror on their faces undisguised. The man beside him turned away, retching and two went down on their knees, their hands clasped in prayer. Luke reflected, with some gratitude, that at least they had not heard Farrington's message. ‘ Kinton Lacey will be next’
Even as they stood there, the sound of women's voices and weeping came from the broken building and a group of four women appeared in the gateway. They walked towards him, past the shattered remnants of the gate hanging drunkenly from its hinges, their hands outstretched beseeching the newcomers to retrieve their menfolk for decent burial.
Without the necessity of him giving the order, Luke's men set to the gruesome work retrieving the bodies and giving the dead some dignity in their last resting place.
Luke left the men to their grisly task. With his pistol primed and at the ready, he entered the ruined stronghold. Farrington had set charges and brought down the towers and much of the curtain wall. Byton would pose no more threat to the royalist cause again. He thought of Kinton Lacey and the fate that awaited it—that awaited the garrison—if they should fail to hold it.
An attempt had been made to torch what was left of the place but the fire had not taken hold completely. In the remains of the hall, he stepped over the charred and still smoking timbers, and climbed the stone stairs to the upper level of the only tower that had survived the destruction.
A rattle of stone above him, alerted every nerve in his body and he softened his step, his hand tightening on the stock of his pistol.
The stairs opened out into a square room that had apparently been used as quarters for the garrison. Straw mattresses had been piled in a corner with neatly stacked blankets. He scanned the room, and in the soft morning light caught the faintest flicker of movement from behind a buttress.
He braced and cocked his pistol, levelling it in readiness.
“Come out,” he said.
“Please don't fire.” The voice sounded young and frightened.
A slight figure stepped out from the narrow space formed by the buttress and the wall,
Deliverance touched the place where his hand had rested. She had to stop him, whatever it took.
As he reached the door she blurted out, “Luke, you've heard Lovedie's story. What are you going to accomplish by riding out to Byton?”
He stopped at the door and turned to look at her. “Peace of mind,” he said.
Chapter 8
T he scout Ned sent out reported back that Byton castle appeared to be deserted. The man admitted that he hadn't gone right up to the ruins, and Luke decided to see for himself.
They set out before first light and encountered no enemy on the road from Kinton Lacey. The acrid smell of smoke reached them even before the former stronghold of Byton loomed out of the dawn mist, grey and ominous. He remembered how he had last seen it, golden and soft in the summer sun, a family home not a fortress. Now the broken, jagged teeth of the walls reached to the sky from a mire of trampled gardens and destruction.
He drew rein, his nose twitching. Over the stench of burning from the slighted castle, even from two hundred yards distant, he could smell death. He dismounted and led his horse across the battlefield to the ditch that lay before the castle, steeling himself to look down.
He counted twenty eight bodies lying in the inadequate defensive ditch below the castle walls. Just as Lovedie had said, the men of Byton's garrison had been tied in pairs and their throats savagely cut. Farrington hadn't even spared the powder for a merciful bullet.
Luke's own men dismounted and stood beside him looking down at the carnage, the horror on their faces undisguised. The man beside him turned away, retching and two went down on their knees, their hands clasped in prayer. Luke reflected, with some gratitude, that at least they had not heard Farrington's message. ‘ Kinton Lacey will be next’
Even as they stood there, the sound of women's voices and weeping came from the broken building and a group of four women appeared in the gateway. They walked towards him, past the shattered remnants of the gate hanging drunkenly from its hinges, their hands outstretched beseeching the newcomers to retrieve their menfolk for decent burial.
Without the necessity of him giving the order, Luke's men set to the gruesome work retrieving the bodies and giving the dead some dignity in their last resting place.
Luke left the men to their grisly task. With his pistol primed and at the ready, he entered the ruined stronghold. Farrington had set charges and brought down the towers and much of the curtain wall. Byton would pose no more threat to the royalist cause again. He thought of Kinton Lacey and the fate that awaited it—that awaited the garrison—if they should fail to hold it.
An attempt had been made to torch what was left of the place but the fire had not taken hold completely. In the remains of the hall, he stepped over the charred and still smoking timbers, and climbed the stone stairs to the upper level of the only tower that had survived the destruction.
A rattle of stone above him, alerted every nerve in his body and he softened his step, his hand tightening on the stock of his pistol.
The stairs opened out into a square room that had apparently been used as quarters for the garrison. Straw mattresses had been piled in a corner with neatly stacked blankets. He scanned the room, and in the soft morning light caught the faintest flicker of movement from behind a buttress.
He braced and cocked his pistol, levelling it in readiness.
“Come out,” he said.
“Please don't fire.” The voice sounded young and frightened.
A slight figure stepped out from the narrow space formed by the buttress and the wall,
Similar Books
