Page 64 of The Scot

“I am a member of the Order of the Broken Blade. My country of origin bears no significance. Dromsley Castle is English. My earldom, English. Your king oversteps and will answer for it.”

If he’d hoped to anger the men, and those behind him, Terric had done a fine job of it. They all spoke at once until Ulster demanded silence.

“I despise a traitor,” Ulster shouted, clearly incensed.

“I despise a coward who hides under his armor.”

Praise the saints. James, get it done.

Neither Ulster nor his companions took the bait.

“Your order will be crushed,” Ulster scoffed. “Your rebellion with it. Go back and defend your earldom if you are so able. Our discussion is over. We will even allow you to leave.”

Unfortunately, I cannot do that as of yet.

As much as Terric would have enjoyed gathering his sword and living this day, he knew he had not given James enough time.

“I demand for the others’ identities to be announced.”

“You demand?”

They laughed again.

The men’s horses began to dance under them. The archers and crossbowmen all held their hands on their weapons. He could never outrun so many.

“You may demand whatever you please,” Ulster said, “but you will receive little. Allow us to pass, or we will go through you, Scotsman.”

They needed more time.

“Is that you, Langham?” he shouted. The man’s hand moved to his sword.

Terric attempted to do the same, which was when he remembered he no longer had a sword. Nor did he have any allies to rush forward to help him.

He stood alone against a retinue of two hundred men, his only ally a boy who had, if he were lucky, burned down the damn bridge.