Medieval Master Warlords (20 page)

But he was not dead. He lay there bleeding and struggling, pondering a life gone wrong. Jax stood over him, his bloodied broadsword in his hand.

“Tell me now and I will end your suffering,” he told Amadeo. “Tell me what became of Mira.”

Amadeo had seconds to live.  His breathing was labored, unsteady, and blood was pooling on the floor beneath him. But he moved his mouth slightly.

“It was not… what you think, my lord.”

“Tell me now and I will end your misery.”

Amadeo’s eyes closed as he struggled to bring forth the last phrase he would ever say.  Spittle and blood dripped from his lips as they quivered to form the words.

“Bridge Terrace,” he breathed. “Blanken… ship….”

And then he was gone.

Jax stared at him for several long moments, a mixture of fury and remorse on his face. Then, he slowly sheathed his sword and looked at Atreus; the man was gazing down at Amadeo but looked up when he felt Jax’s gaze upon him.

“What does he mean?” Atreus asked quietly, as if a louder tone would cause them all to break.

Jax shook his head. “Bridge Terrace is a street that fronts the River Tweed in Berwick,” he said. “As for the other, I do not know what that means. Perhaps it is the name of the man he asked to dispose of her body.  More than likely, she was given to the river at high tide.”

Jax turned away from Amadeo as easily as that.  Now that the adrenalin of battle was dying down, he was beginning to shake. He felt oddly hollow at Amadeo’s death, and oddly weak. He also felt something strange, like regret or sadness. He couldn’t be certain.  But that strangely weak feeling was growing stronger.  Curious at his reaction, he suddenly remembered the wound in his side and he lifted his mail and tunic to get a look at it; he was still bleeding heavily. In fact, blood was down his leg to his knee.  Feeling increasingly weak, he made it to the table before stumbling.  Atreus and Tor saw him stagger and they rushed to him.

“Let me take a look at the wound,” Tor said as he helped Atreus steer Jax onto a bench.

Jax let Tor pull back the mail and inspect the injury. “’Tis not that bad,” he mumbled. “I have had worse.”

Tor lifted an eyebrow. “Aye, but this seems to have punctured something vital. Better have the surgeon stitch it up.”

Jax shook his head. “No time. I must gather my troops and ride for Alnwick.”

Tor and Atreus looked at each other. “You go after Northumberland?” Tor was trying to sound non-challenging. “But… Jax, if your lady really is there, then it is not as if Northumberland has abducted her or is holding her prisoner.  Her father took her there. It is simply a haven.”

Jax’s dual-colored eyes flashed, looking strangely bright in his pale face. “De Vesci holds her; I want her back. I doubt her father is going to simply hand her over. Therefore, I need my troops.”

The men knew better than to argue.  Atreus looked over his shoulder at Michael, now kneeling over Amadeo’s body.   He let go of Jax and walked towards the other knight, his sword still drawn.

“What do you know of Amadeo’s plot?” he demanded quietly.

To his credit, Michael didn’t flinch. “This is the first I have heard of it.”

Atreus eyed him. “I find that hard to believe. You serve closely with Amadeo.”

Michael shook his head. “He was not close with me, my lord. He took Caelen into his confidence more than I.”

“Then you knew nothing of his plans for Lady Kellington?”

“He did not divulge anything to me, I swear it.”

Atreus eyed him, debating whether or not to believe him.  Since Jax was down two knights, he chose to spare him at the moment. “It would be best for you if you are indeed telling the truth,” he said quietly, his gaze lingering on him a moment to silently imply death and pain should he be lying. “Send for de Velt’s surgeon. Then you will assemble the army.  Be ready in two hours.”

“One,” Jax muttered.

Atreus looked over at Jax. “You need to rest for a couple of hours before charging off to lay siege to Alnwick,” he said. “Give your body time to rest from this wound, Jax. Already it drains you.  You will only make yourself ill taking to the road with an injury of this seriousness.”

Jax knew that, but his determination to reach Kellington was so great that he did not care. He had just killed a man who had tried to separate him from her.  He was not about to settle back and wait it out, not now.

Jax’s surgeon was a big man with wild hair.  He had been tending Jax’s men for seven years.  He forced his liege to lie back on the bench while he went to work on the wound that was struggling to clot.  It was a big gash that required the surgeon to pick pieces of mail and linen from it, causing Jax excruciating pain though the man never uttered a sound.  Moreover, the surgeon repeatedly doused the wound with wine as he cleaned and sewed, adding to Jax’s misery but keeping the wound clean enough.  When the surgeon was finally finished, he instructed Jax to remain lying on the bench for a time.

Jax obeyed long enough for the surgeon to leave the hall.  Then he sat up, wincing when the stitches pulled.   The hall was completely empty; Amadeo’s body had been removed by Tor and Atreus, who were now in the bailey assembling Jax’s troops.  He could hear their shouts through the lancet windows.  

Jax pulled his tunic back over his head, his gaze falling on the pool of blood near the hall entry and again feeling some remorse over Amadeo’s death.  He was coming to think that perhaps he should have let the man explain himself. But he had been so infuriated at the thought of Amadeo taking charge of Kellington’s welfare that he hadn’t thought twice about punishing the man and eliminating the threat. He knew what Kellington would say about it; show mercy, my lord.  He shook his head, struggling to pull on his mail tunic.  Perhaps he should have shown mercy and simply exiled the man. Perhaps… perhaps he still had a lot to learn about the qualities of mercy.

When Jax finally quit the keep, Atreus and Tor were mounted and waiting for him.  Jax surveyed his army a moment, thinking that it looked like the days of old when he and Atreus and Tor and the other generals had conquered a portion of the Welsh border.  With Atreus and Tor with him, he began to feel that familiar excitement and power again.   He only wished he had more than eight hundred men to lay siege to Alnwick; he needed to make a strong show.  It was perhaps the most important siege of his life.

It was for Kellington.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Bathed and dressed in a rose-colored shift and gown that Lavaine had packed for her, Kellington finished putting the final touches on her hair and secured the long braid at the end with a strip of gut.  She looked sweet, simple and charming. The day outside was quickly heading towards noon and she stood by the lancet window, watching the birds hover in the drafts overhead.  The sky was a brilliant blue and a gentle sea breeze blew in from the coast.

Denedor had brought her some bread, cheese and wine and she had devoured it. But she was still hungry.  She had not seen her father since the day before and had no idea what to expect from him this day.  She was not particularly sure how to feel about him, either. Her father had always been her greatest protector and supporter. Now that the fury was gone, she could understand somewhat that the man had only been trying to protect her. But she was hurt that he had not listened to her feelings on the matter.  She adored Jax; aye, if she thought about it, she knew she loved him.  He was a man of amazing strength and humor and kindness when all of the horror of his reputation was stripped away.  She knew what everyone thought about him. But she thought differently.

The sea breeze blew gently against her face, the golden brown eyes soft with longing and sorrow. She missed him terribly and wondered how long it would take for him to find out where she had been taken.  It would take days, weeks even, before she would be allowed to roam freely, if ever.  There would be no chance to escape or send a missive while she was being so closely watched. Unless….

There was a soft knock on the door.  Kellington turned away from the window and bade the caller enter. Denedor pushed the panel open, his pale blue eyes finding her in the dimness of the room.  A look of appreciation crossed his face and was just as quickly gone.

“My lady,” he said formally. “I am permitted to escort you on a walk about the grounds if you are agreeable.”

Kellington cocked her head at him. “Where is my father?”

“With the baron.”

“Did he give his permission?”

“He is the one who asked me to come to you.”

She nodded, thinking that she might like to get out into the sunshine. Anything to be free of the cold, dim chamber. Denedor opened the door wider for her to pass through and closed it quietly behind her.  He politely extended his elbow and, after a brief hesitation, she took it.

He led her out into the ward; it was a big place, busy with soldiers and peasants who did business with the castle.  The ground was dry from a lack of rain, kicking up little clouds of dust as they walked. Kellington saw the open main gate, resisting the urge to run for it.  She knew that Denedor would only catch her and then she’d never be allowed outside again. Nay; she had to bide her time properly, establish a measure of trust and then wait for the right opportunity. Now was not the time.

“You mentioned your wife died in childbirth,” she made conversation, not knowing what else to talk about. “Did the child survive?”

He nodded. “I have a seven year old son.  He is preparing to leave to foster.”

Kellington shook her head. “I have never agreed with that particular aspect of child rearing.  To send children away so young seems cruel.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You sound like my wife.”

She looked at him. “Indeed? Then perhaps you should listen to her.  At seven years old… he is still a baby.”

Denedor grinned. “He is a big lad who already swings a sword with skill. He is ready to learn from those I have selected to teach him.”

“Where will he go?”

“I have selected Bamburgh Castle. It is not too far from here.”

She nodded.  “I have heard of it. When will he go?”

“At the end of the month.”

“Will you not miss him?”

“Of course. But it is important for his training.”

She shook her head again. “I cannot support a manner of training that takes small children away from their parents.”

Denedor looked at her. “Did you foster?”

She scowled at him. “Aye, I did, and I hated every minute of it.”

She said it with such conviction that he laughed at her. Kellington fought off a grin and looked away. Off to her right she could see the main hall and a block of buildings that looked to be some manner of residence.  She pointed at it.

“What is that over there?”

Denedor looked to see what she was indicating. “Next to the hall? Those are the family apartments.”

“Where do you and your son stay?”

“We have our own rooms on the first floor.  I have an older daughter, too.”

“You do?” she looked at him. “Is she at Alnwick?”

He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. “You are not going to like the answer.”

Her mouth opened in mock outrage. “You didn’t!”

“I did. I sent her away to foster.  She is fourteen years old.”

“Next you’ll be marrying her off.”

“In fact, I have found her a potential husband.”

“She is only fourteen, for God’s Sake!”

“My wife was fourteen when I married her. I was twenty-two.”

Kellington looked away. “She was a child. Your daughter is still a child. How can you marry her off so young?”

Denedor was enjoying her spirit, her complete disagreement with him. He’d not had such interaction with a woman in a very long time and he realized how much he had missed it.  Whether or not she was meaning to, she was thoroughly charming him.

“And just how old are you, Lady Kellington?” he asked.

She eyed him. “Me?”

He eyed her back. “You.”

She looked away. “I am eighteen years old.”

“And your father has no found a suitable husband for you yet?”

His statement had not been meant to bring about dark thoughts, but it had. She yanked her hand from his elbow and her outrage, once pretend, was now real.

“I have selected my own husband,” she spat. “But everyone seems intent on separating me from the man I have chosen.”

Denedor’s humor fled and he reached out, reclaiming her hand. He had a very soothing manner about him as he attempted to calm her.

“My apologies, Lady Kellington,” he said softly. “I did not mean to bring about bitter memories. I simply meant that you are such a beautiful and charming woman that surely you must have a line of suitors demanding your attention.”

She was flaming, suddenly bordering on tears. She did not know this man and surely did not want to grow closer to him, but he was disarming her. He had a gentle and chivalrous nature about him that caused her to ease somewhat. But when he tried to tuck her hand back into the crook of his elbow, she pulled it away and clasped her hands in front of her.

“I am sorry I snapped at you,” she said, struggling to contain thoughts of Jax. “’Tis simply… well, I know that I should remain calm and docile as women are supposed to, but that is not in my nature.”

He smiled at her; he had a handsome smile. “I like your nature just the way it is,” he said, extending his elbow to her so that she could make her own choice whether or not to take it. “Now, may we finish our walk and speak of things that will not upset you?”

She eyed him and the elbow. But she would not take it.  She began to walk, hands clasped in front of her, and he followed politely at her side. They moved in silence for a few minutes; Kellington’s head was down, watching the earth pass beneath her feet and Denedor would glance over at her every few seconds. He thought of several things to say to her but they all seemed trite or ridiculous, so he kept his mouth shut until he could think of something amusing.  She was emotional and he did not want to set her off again.

As they neared the corner of the apartments, Kellington was suddenly hit in the side of the head with something soft and large.  It wasn’t a hard hit, but enough to cause her to lose her balance. She tumbled into Denedor, who grabbed her before she could fall. Furious, he looked up to see several children standing in a group a few feet away, their expressions awash with horror.  There was one face in particular he recognized.

“Will!” he snapped. “What is the meaning of this?”

A lad with white-blond hair and big blue eyes gazed back at him with terror as one of companions rushed to pick up the leather ball that had struck Kellington.  All of the boys seemed frozen with fear, mouths agape.

“I…” the boy’s gaze traveled to the lady. “It was an accident, da.  The ball flew away from us.”

Denedor glared at his seven-year-old son even as Kellington pulled herself from his arms. She was unhurt, though it had stunned her a bit.  She looked at the group of five boys, one of which was standing just a foot or so away. The child looked as if he was about to cry.

“No harm done,” she said as she smoothed at her hair. “You needn’t worry.”

Denedor sighed heavily, moving to where the boy stood. He clapped the lad on the shoulder and shook him gently, giving him a fatherly look of disapproval.

“This is my son, my lady,” he introduced the offender. “This is William.  Will, please apologize to the lady before I die of shame.”

William Crosby-Denedor swallowed hard, tried to bow, but his father’s hand on his shoulder prevented it. “I am sorry, my lady. The ball got away from us.”

Kellington could see how upset the child was and she smiled to let him know that she was not angry. “As I said, no harm done,” she looked at Denedor. “You do not have to punish him. It was an accident.”

Denedor lifted an eyebrow at her, released his son and slapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Be more aware next time,” he scolded the boy softly.

William nodded his head, his blue eyes curious on the woman accompanying his father. Now that he was sure he was not going to be punished, his stiff manner began to abate.

“I have not seen you around here, lady,” he said. “Where did you come from?”

Kellington maintained her smile on him. “From the north, a castle called Pelinom. Have you heard of it?”

William shook his head. “I am going to Bamburgh next month,” he said proudly.

Kellington laughed softly at his very prideful declaration. “I wish you well, young William. I hope you become a fine knight someday.”

The child beamed, showing her his two top missing teeth. It made her laugh at him again. One of the other children tugged William’s arm and he waved as he turned away and ran off with the group.  Kellington’s gaze lingered on the boy.

“He seems like a very nice young lad,” she turned to Denedor. “It would break my heart to send him away.”

The corners of Denedor’s mouth twitched. “It is necessary, my lady. He needs to grow up.”

They began walking again. “And you must send him away in order for this to be accomplished?” she asked, almost accusingly.

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Must I explain myself again?”

Her humor was returning. “You must. And tell me again why you already have a husband selected for your child of a daughter.”

Denedor laughed softly as they continued their walk.

***

Jax left one hundred men to man the garrison of White Crag.  Michael, having convinced Jax that he was not in on Amadeo’s plot, was in charge of the fortress, as Atreus and Tor were riding with Jax to Alnwick.  Atreus had tried to convince Jax to wait until they could send for more troops and the other generals, but Jax would not delay.  He had two siege engines and seven hundred men, and sent a runner to Foulburn for an additional three hundred men.  He realized that would leave his garrisons rather lean on protection, but it could not be helped.  He needed all of his men for the siege on Alnwick.  And he decided, once the castle was breached, that he would burn it to the ground. That was the vindictive side of him.

As he headed south with his army, he knew it would be at least two days before the messenger reached Foulburn.  After that, it would be at least a day before the army could mobilize and be on the road to Alnwick.  Foulburn was at least a three day march from Alnwick, so Jax expected to beat his reinforcements to de Vesci’s seat by two days.  A lot could happen in two days.

He rode at the head of the column of seven hundred, lost to his thoughts.  Tor and Atreus rode somewhere in the middle, shouting encouragement to the weary men, rallying them to Jax’s cause.  It never took much prompting to rally the men because Jax was, in fact, generous with them.   They lived and died by the man they both feared and admired.

As dusk advanced on the first day of their march, Atreus approached Jax.  On a normal battle march the men did not rest, but Jax’s men had been in heavy battle for nearly two weeks and were understandably weary.  Atreus was trying to think of a non-challenging way to convince Jax to rest the men for a few hours that night when Jax, sensing his presence, spoke.

“We will make camp in the trees up ahead,” he told Atreus.  “If only for a few hours.”

Atreus had been riding several feet behind him. “How did you know it was me?”

Jax didn’t look at him. “Because I know your charger’s footfalls.”