They were still lingering to admire the mare, when two grooms came hurrying a lathered horse into the stable. “Who’s been riding so hard?” Hugh asked carelessly.
“Messenger from the troop to the south, sir.”
“To the south?” Hugh repeated. “Come quickly, Frank, I must see—”
He walked rapidly across the courtyard to the door of the guardroom. About it men were crowded, and more were pressing into the room itself; but at Hugh’s jostling they made him a way into the thick of them. Over on a bench in the corner he had sight of a man with the sleeve cut from his coat, who sat leaning heavily against a comrade. Another, whom Hugh recognized as the surgeon of the regiment, was washing a wound in his arm, and as he moved, Hugh got a glimpse of the face of the injured man. “Cowper!” he cried, and ran forward, for he knew the fellow for one of Captain Gwyeth’s old independent troop.
Men gave him place; he heard a mutter amongst them, “The captain’s son,” but he did not heed; just pushed his way to the wounded man, and bent over him: “Cowper, what has happened? Is anything wrong with my father? Tell me.”
“They closed in on us, sir,” the man roused up to speak. “Captain Oldesworth’s horse, and a company of foot beside. They took our horses and they slew Cornet Foster. I came through for help. They have the colonel blocked up in Kingsford church.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE RIDING OF ARROW WATER
For a moment the faces of the men about him went all blurry to Hugh’s sight; then he was making his way fumblingly across the guardroom, and, thrusting out one arm before him, found the door to the inner part of the castle. Now that he was hurrying at a surer pace down the corridor within, he realized that his breath was coming in short gasps and he was shaking with a nervous tremor. Kingsford, Kingsford, the word kept singing through his head; the Oldesworths, who had so hated Alan Gwyeth, held him at their mercy now at Kingsford. Only to Hugh it was no longer Alan Gwyeth, but his father, the father whom his mother had taught him to respect, who had tried to win him a pardon. And he had begrudged the man even a grateful thought.
Hugh dashed open the door of his chamber, and, kicking off his shoes, began tugging on his boots. He heard a step behind him, as he struggled with his head bent; then came Frank’s voice: “Hugh, you’ve heard? They have cut him off; he has cried for help; my father is taking counsel with the captains—”
“Counsel?” cried Hugh, springing to his feet. “Why don’t they send him aid?” He tore his buff coat down from the wall.