Devil's Dominion (36 page)

Rod nodded in understanding. “I know Keller,” he said. “He and my brother were good friends. Rhys spoke very well of the man.”

Christopher moved to pour himself another cup of wine as he spoke. “It is my hope that he sends me what I requested in order to reinforce my ranks,” he said. “In any case, I believe it prudent to wait and see what kind of response I receive from de Llion. If he is as determined as you say he is, he may look at my attempt at mediation as interference. It might earn me his wrath, so I am taking a serious chance doing this.”

“And I appreciate it,” Jax said, making sure Christopher understood just how pleased he was to have the man’s help. “But something is concerning me now that we have heard from de Titouan. If what he says is true and Allaston is remaining with de Llion willingly, and is in good health, I am hesitant to move on the man. I know my daughter. If she is working on a plan, we must give her time to complete it. If she thinks she can single-handedly bring de Llion to his knees without violence or blood, then I am wondering if we should not give her that opportunity.”

Christopher looked at him. “Do you believe she is truly capable of negotiating with a mercenary who is out for your blood?”

“You’ve not met my daughter.”

That was true. Christopher had never met her so he didn’t know how persuasive she could be. Still, he didn’t like, not in the least.

“What would your wife say to you right now if she heard that?” he asked. “She is the girl’s mother, after all. Would she agree with you?”

Jax cracked a grin. “She would demand I go and get her.”

Christopher’s lips twitched with a smile. “Then I will suggest this,” he said. “Let us wait a nominal amount of time for three important reasons – the first being that we should give de Llion time to respond to my missive and the second being that we should wait to see if de Poyer can spare reinforcements from Nether. And the third... oh, Christ, I did not even think of this. Rod, do you remember what your Uncle Morgan looked like?”

Rod’s brow furrowed at what he thought was an odd question out of the blue. “I was a very small boy when I last saw him,” he said. “I remember images of the man and not much more. He was very big and he had big, booming laughter. He was also missing most of the little finger on his right hand. I remember being fascinated with that as a child. My grandfather said he lost it when horse bit it off. That made me frightened of horses for a very long time. Why do you ask?”

Christopher looked at Jax. “Did you hear that?” he asked. “The man was missing his little finger on his right hand. Did you notice this on your John Morgan?”

Jax’s dual-colored eyes were glittering with the possibilities as he looked at Christopher. “I do not know,” he said truthfully. “I cannot recall. We sent a missive to Northumberland to send his bodyguard to the Marches the same day we sent off the missives to de Llion and de Poyer, so I suppose now all we can do is wait and see.”

Rod was confused, looking between Christopher and Jax. “You sent a missive to Northumberland, too?” he asked. “I do not understand what is being said. Why did you do this?”

Christopher turned to him. “Brace yourself, lad,” he said. “There is much more to this situation from de Velt’s perspective. There is a chance your uncle is alive and living in Northumberland at Alnwick Castle. Several men were taken after the fall of Four Crosses and not killed outright because their labor was needed, and it is possible that your uncle was one of them. The man in question is now serving the Earl of Northumberland as his body guard. We have sent word to Yves de Vesci to send that man, called John Morgan, to the Marches. If he is Bretton’s father, then we intend to present him to de Llion in exchange for Allaston, and you just gave us a very definitive clue to identifying the man – the missing finger.”

Rod’s jaw popped open in sheer astonishment. “God’s Blood,” he hissed. “I can hardly believe it. Could it be true?”

Christopher nodded. “It is possible,” he said. “Was his body ever positively identified at Cloryn? Did your grandfather ever dare to seek the truth?”

Rod was ashen with shock. “I... I do not know,” he said. “I know that he was told of Cloryn’s siege and how everyone was killed, including the garrison commander.”

“
Who
told him?”

Rod shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “Rumors, fleeing villagers... who is to say?”

Christopher cleared his throat softly, eyeing Jax as he did so. “Rod,” he said casually. “I realize this was an extremely difficult thing for your grandfather to go through, but mayhap it would be wise to bring him to Lioncross. If Northumberland’s bodyguard arrives and it is indeed your uncle, mayhap your grandfather would like to be here when he comes.”

Rod was growing overwhelmed and saddened by the entire circumstance. “And what if it is not?” he said. “It would hurt him more to get his hopes up after all of these years.”

“Then do not tell him the truth behind my summons,” Christopher said. “Ride to Bronllys and tell your grandfather I wish to see him. I will then keep him on hand until Northumberland’s man arrives. If it is your uncle, then your grandfather will know it right away. If it is not, then no harm done and I will make up an excuse as to why I summoned him in the first place.  You haven’t told him about the confirmation of Bretton’s identity, have you?”

Rod shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “I came here first. I am not sure what I am going to tell my grandfather. Bretton did not want me to tell him at all.”

Christopher agreed. “For now, I concur with that,” he said. “Let your grandfather live in ignorance for a while, at least until Northumberland’s man comes. Then, we will determine how to proceed in any case.”

It was sage advice and Rod simply nodded wearily. In fact, he was quite exhausted and wanted to have some time to rest and reflect on the most recent information. He was still quite stunned. Finishing up what was left in his cup, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up.

“Agreed, my lord,” he said. “But there is one more thing. Since Lord de Velt destroyed Four Crosses Castle and my uncle along with it, my grandfather bears a great deal of hatred towards him. When he comes to Lioncross, inevitably, he will come into contact with Lord de Velt at some point. That will upset him as much as anything else will.”

Christopher scratched his head. “I will explain to Berwyn the way of things with de Velt now,” he said. “He will understand that now is not the time for old grudges to play out. We have other things to focus on, to be aware of, and your grandfather will simply have to accept the way of things. If he cannot, then I will lock him in the vault until such time as I feel it is safe to let him out. Although I understand his grief at losing a son to de Velt, I cannot have Berwyn running amuck, Rod. Surely you know that.”

Rod nodded sadly. “I do,” he said. Then, he scratched his head and sighed heavily, the sign of a man with a great deal on his mind. “For now, I would like the opportunity to wash and rest, if I may. I find that my exhaustion has the better of me and I want to be fresh in the morning for my ride back to Bronllys.”

“Bring your grandfather back as quickly as you can, Rod,” Christopher said. “I believe time is of the essence considering what you have told us.”

Rod nodded wearily. “I will return in three days with my grandfather,” he said. “A day to reach Bronllys, a day for my grandfather to prepare before he leaves, and then a day to return to Lioncross.”

It was a sound schedule. Christopher gave the man his leave, watching Rod wander wearily from the hall. When the young knight was gone, he returned his attention to Jax.

“It would seem that you and I have some waiting to do,” he said. “I was never much good at that.”

Jax snorted. “Nor me,” he said. “What can we do to fill the time?”

“We could suit up the men and have sword practice or battle drills,” he suggested. “Pit my men against yours?”

Jax had an annoyed expression on his face. “Never mind that,” he said. “Let us discuss games of the mind. At my age, those are more appealing to me.”

“Like what?”

“Chess? Fox and Geese? Nine Men’s Morris?”

“I should warn you that I am the reigning game champion at Lioncross.”

Jax let out a burst of laughter, a rude sound. “That is because you are the lord and everyone is afraid of what will happen to them should you not be permitted to win,” he said. “I am not afraid of you, so be prepared to defend your honor.”

Christopher had a massive grin on his face as he went to hunt down his Nine Men’s Morris board.

℘

Cloryn Castle

It was odd, really, since their return from Newtown. Odd because Bretton seemed... different somehow. As Allaston shelled a basket of peas from the garden in the sunny kitchen yard, her thoughts revolved around Bretton, who was in the great hall with his men. Even in the kitchen, she could hear voices being raised in the hall. Whatever was being said was clearly a contentious subject.

The day after their return from Newtown, things at Cloryn seemed rather strained. None of Bretton’s commanders – Grayton, Teague, or Dallan – would talk to her or so much as look at her. They kept to themselves, moving away quickly when she came around. She knew they didn’t approve of her being out of the vault and she knew that Grayton in particular seemed averse to her. She suspected that it was because he felt betrayed. He let her out of the vault only to have her turn around and clobber Bretton over the head with a poker. She wasn’t about to apologize for her actions so she, too, stayed clear of the commanders. There was no real cause for them to interact.

So she stayed to the kitchens with Blandings and Uldward, shelling peas and helping bake bread. Even now, nearing noon, the smell of baking bread was heavy in the air of the kitchen yard, wafting over the bailey to entice those who smelled it. It was almost stronger than the stench of the dead army outside the walls, but not quite, making for a rather disgusting smell once the winds changed.

I am not sure I can let go of what I have become.

Those words kept rolling over and over in Allaston’s head. She wanted to make the man forget about his vengeance against her father by marrying him, and by being his wife and providing him with heirs, but since the time they’d spent in Newtown and the serious conversations they’d had, she was coming to think that she most definitely felt something for the man. He was such a lost soul and she wanted to help him find his way. He was very funny at times, awkward at others, and frightening at still others. But she could see the man beneath the façade and it was that man she felt something for. It was that man who needed her.

So she continued to shell peas, thinking of Bretton, when she began to hear a good deal of activity coming from the bailey. From her position in the kitchen yard, she couldn’t see what the fuss was about but dared to walk to the edge of the kitchen yard, bowl of peas in her hands, to see what was happening. Whatever it was revolved around the gatehouse and she could see men swarming around the portcullis, which was slowly lifting. Curious, and perhaps a bit apprehensive, she wondered what all of the fuss was about. She doubted they were under attack but, still, the uproar was perplexing.

Curious, she stood there and watched, still shelling peas, as men began to emerge from the great hall directly in front of her. She could see Bretton and his commanders make their way towards the gatehouse while the sentries at the portcullis shouted excitedly. She lost sight of Bretton as he disappeared into the crowd of armed men, all of them milling around the gatehouse.

Whatever was happening seemed to be confined to the castle entry so after a few minutes of watching the activity, Allaston grew bored and went back to her stool next to the kitchen door and finished shelling her peas. There was another big basket that was full of unshelled peas so she began shelling those as well. She was halfway through the basket when she caught sight of someone entering the kitchen yard. When she saw who it was her entire manner changed dramatically. She softened and there was a smile already on her lips to greet him.

Bretton came through the gate, his eyes immediately finding Allaston near the kitchen door. She was smiling at him, dressed in the yellow surcoat he had torn down the middle, now mended and with an apron covering the repair. Her long hair was braided, draped over one shoulder, and a kerchief was tied around her head, keeping the dust off her hair and her hair out of her face. She looked, as always, like an angel. That was the only way he could describe her because he’d seen so much hell in his life that he was positive she was his first, and only, glimpse of heaven.