Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) (27 page)

Brynner stood up, staring down at his father and absorbing what he had done. He didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he would at his father’s death. In fact, he felt some emptiness now. Perhaps it was that honorable son again attempting to feel some grief. Whatever the feeling was, it quickly vanished. Brynner refused to give it any thought. The only thing that mattered now was that Etzel was dead and Shadowmoor now belonged to him.

To Bramley.

With that thought, he went in search of his sister.

CHAPTER TEN

“Y
ou must like
it,” Daniel said.

If Liselotte’s mouth hadn’t been full, she would have agreed, but it was a fact that her mouth and Gunnar’s mouth were full of a sweet-cream pie that Daniel had purchased for them when they were waiting for their wagon of grain to be hitched up to a team. The smells from several bakers’ stalls down the avenue from the livery had caught their attention and, whilst horses were hitched up to the borrowed wagon, Daniel had purchased several little cakes with sweet cream in the middle. Now, as they made their way home to Shadowmoor, Liselotte and Gunnar hasn’t stopped eating. They were in sweet-cream heaven.

Daniel, astride Ares as Liselotte and Gunnar rode in the wagon next to a livery hand who would then return the wagon back to his master when it was off-loaded at Shadowmoor, grinned as he watched the siblings stuff themselves with treats. The old horse Gunnar had ridden to town was tied to the wagon. In truth, the cream cake hadn’t been the only delight he’d purchased – there were also tarts with apples and honey and cinnamon, and little balls of dough fried in lard and rolled in cinnamon, cardamom, and honey. Daniel had purchased quite a bit of it and Gunnar was covered in sticky sweetness as he stuffed his face.

“It is quite delicious,” Liselotte said, her mouth full. “Would you like one?”

Daniel shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “It is for you. Besides, I do not want to lose fingers should I try to stick my hand anywhere near you or your brother. You might eat them.”

Gunnar laughed and pieces of cake flew out of his mouth. Daniel burst into hearty laughter as Gunnar struggled to keep all of that food in his mouth. As the siblings continued to eat the treats, Daniel kept a lookout on the road. They were heading south on a small road that paralleled the main road to the west. It was the road that, according to Liselotte, Bramley’s men patrolled regularly and demanded tariffs. Daniel didn’t want to run into them so the lesser-traveled road, although slower because it wasn’t as well-kept, was the better option. The last thing he wanted was trouble.

Easton had offered to send some men with him to help should the need arise, but Daniel refused for two good reasons – he didn’t want to attract attention with an armed escort and he didn’t want to drag Netherghyll into anything should Bramley’s men attack. If Netherghyll soldiers were involved, then that would turn Bramley’s displeasure against them. Daniel was trying to keep Netherghyll out of the fight as long as possible, at least until his Uncle Christopher could arrive with an army, which would hopefully be within the next few weeks.

The messenger had left Netherghyll that morning, a skinny but clever lad on a swift mount, and Daniel estimated it would take the messenger six or seven days to reach the Marches provided he covered twenty or thirty miles daily. That wasn’t unreasonable on a fast horse, if the roads held, so Daniel was counting on that. Give his uncle four or five days to prepare the army, and then another eight to ten days to move the army north, swiftly, and Daniel expected to see his uncle in about three weeks. He knew his uncle would move quickly, so the trick would be to keep Bramley at bay for the next three weeks.

Daniel had his work cut out for him.

With the wheels of summoning assistance in motion, there were other things to focus on, namely the tournament in Skipton. He and Caston had agreed to enter for the chance of either of them to win the purse that would then be donated to Shadowmoor, but Daniel hadn’t told Liselotte that. He would tell Etzel and let the man become accustomed to the fact that there were people willing to help him. He knew that would be a difficult concept for a man who had lived a solitary life in his solitary fortress, without any allies. Perhaps if there were some things he could bring to Shadowmoor, they would be the understanding that there were people willing to help and that allies were a very good thing. No man deserved to live a solitary life.

No woman, either.

Daniel glanced over at Liselotte as she helped Gunnar break apart one of the apple tarts. Gunnar was standing in the wagon bed, leaning up against the bench that held the driver and Liselotte. Back behind him, on the wagon bed, were the two little goats Daniel had purchased for him as pets, and once Gunnar had the tart in his hand, he rushed back to his little friends and shared his treat. That had been going on for the past hour, ever since they had left Siglesdene. It was sweet and heartwarming to watch.

Daniel’s gaze then trailed to the rear of the loaded wagon where a cow and her calf were tethered, plodding along after the wagon. There was also a young ram, unhappy that he was tied up to the rear of the wagon, struggling with the rope even as he walked. Daniel had purchased a small herd of sheep and a few more goats, but he wanted to make sure there was a place to corral them before bringing them to Shadowmoor. He would have Etzel’s people make a corral if there wasn’t one and then he would return for the herd at that time. Until then, at least they had a cow producing milk so they could have cheese and milk, and the young ram could be slaughtered for meat.

Confident that life at Shadowmoor was about to markedly improve, Daniel turned his attention to the road again. They were nearing the turn-off to Shadowmoor, fortunately, but he wasn’t any less nervous. Until they were within the walls of the fortress, he wouldn’t relax. A great deal could happen between now and reaching the fortress gates. Therefore, he kept vigilant as they traveled the bleak and windy moor.

Fortunately, they were able to make it to the gates of Shadowmoor without incident. More than that, the weather held as puffy gray clouds were scattered across the blue sky by the brisk wind. At least there wasn’t any rain to deal with. When the wagon entered the gates of Shadowmoor, people watched the arrival with a great deal of shock. No one had seen a cow around the place in years, so it was very definitely a surprise.

But they were hardly in the gates when a man, who had been part of the gang of men manning the front gate, ran up to Liselotte and relayed something in a panic. Daniel could see the man’s agitation because he was waving his hands around. Dismounting Ares, he walked around the front of the wagon to see what the matter was as the big black horse followed him like a dog.

By the time he reached Liselotte, she had her hand over her mouth and her face was pale with shock. She was still on the wagon bench and Daniel looked at her in concern.

“My lady?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

Liselotte looked at him, tears swimming in her eyes. “My father,” she said hoarsely. “Something has happened to my father.”

Daniel frowned, looking between her and the man she had been speaking with. He was an older man, dressed in rags as the rest of Shadowmoor’s inhabitants were, and he looked very nervous when Daniel fixed on him.

“What has happened to Etzel?” Daniel asked. “Where is he?”

The man’s nervousness grew. “Er ist in der halle.”

Daniel didn’t understand the language. He looked at Liselotte. “What did he say?”

Liselotte began to climb down from the wagon bench and Daniel rushed forward to help her. “He said that my father is in the hall,” she said. “He says something has happened to him. I must go to him.”

Daniel was concerned. “Of course you shall,” he said steadily. “I will go with you. I must speak with him, anyway. Do these men all speak another language?”

Liselotte paused in her haste. “They speak the language of my ancestors,” she said. “Very few speak the language of the Normans. I learned it because my mother taught it to me and to my brothers, because it was her native language, but most of these men do not know it.”

Daniel understood; an isolated community would only pass down their own private customs. “Will you please ask these men to take the food stores to the kitchen and the animals to the stables?” he asked, holding on to her arm because she was already running off, trying to get to the hall to see about her father. “All of this needs to be stored and protected. After we have seen to your father, I will return to give them instructions on how it is to be distributed.”

Liselotte nodded and anxiously relayed his words in that harsh, guttural language that seemed to rely a great deal on sharp sounds and odd tongue movements. Daniel thought it was all rather fascinating. When Liselotte finished speaking, the men surrounding the wagon began to move quickly, directing the wagon driver back towards the kitchens while still more men went to untie the animals. One man even went to lift the little goats out of the wagon bed for Gunnar, who stuck to his new friends closely. He wasn’t going to let them out of his sight. Satisfied everything was in motion, Daniel had hold of Liselotte’s elbow and he pulled her all the way over to Ares so he could collect his saddlebags before they moved swiftly for the hall.

The doors to the great hall were open as they rushed through. Daniel let go of Liselotte’s arm as she charged in and began calling for her father, shouting his name. There were a few servants in the hall, startled by her appearance, and two of the women ran at her, chattering in their native language and pointing to the fire pit. Liselotte ran at it and dropped to her knees as Daniel moved closer, dropping his saddlebags on the nearest table as he came around the side of the pit to see that there was something lying beside it, covered in a woolen blanket. He didn’t see until it was too late, until she tossed back the blanket, that it was Etzel, badly burned.

Liselotte screamed and Daniel rushed forward, pulling her up from the floor so she wouldn’t be faced with the horrific sight. She tried to fight him for a brief moment but he held her fast, forcibly turning her head so she couldn’t see Etzel’s black and blistered face. A few seconds of struggle was all she could give and she burst into loud sobs, her face pressed to his chest as he held her tightly.

It was a grim discovery. As Liselotte wept over her father, Daniel’s gaze drifted over the man. Only the top half of him seemed to be burned but it wasn’t long before he spied the dagger sticking out of his chest. Greatly puzzled, and greatly concerned that he was evidently viewing a murder, he looked at the collection of weeping and terrified servants standing around.

“Who of you speaks my language?” he asked. “Do any of you understand what I am saying?”

One woman, hunched over, with a ragged kerchief tied around her head, nodded. “Aye, m’lord,” she said in a heavily accented voice. “I understand you.”

Daniel was relieved. “Good,” he said. “Tell me what happened to Lord Etzel and tell me quickly.”

The woman choked as she tried to answer him swiftly, coughing, as she brought forth the words. “It was Sir Brynner,” she said, wringing her hands. “They argued and there was a fight. Lord Etzel fell into the fire!”

All of the servants were weeping or sniffling by this point and Liselotte yanked herself away from Daniel, throwing herself down on her father before he could stop her. She groaned pitifully.

“Papa,” she sobbed. “Please… do not leave me. You cannot leave me!”

Daniel didn’t try to pick her up this time; he let her cry, her head resting on the lower part of her father’s body so she didn’t have to look at that terrible face. She was shocked and devastated, and rightly so. This happenstance was so very unexpected and Daniel struggled to stay on an even keel. For Liselotte and Gunnar’s sakes, he had to. With a heavy sigh, he returned his attention to the twitching servant.

“You are certain that is what happened?” he asked quietly. “You saw this?”

The woman nodded, turning to the other servants and speaking to them in their native language. The other servants, all four of them, began to nod their heads vigorously. Daniel didn’t have to be told what they had been asked. He knew. His fury began to grow.

Brynner did it.

Daniel didn’t know Brynner. He’d not yet met the man. Brynner was a member of a family that hadn’t been very willing to discuss him except to explain his disconnect from them.

Now, Daniel was at a disadvantage; he knew nothing of the eldest son, the one who had evidently killed his father. There was a murderer loose at Shadowmoor and Daniel was determined to find the man and discover the truth of what had happened with Etzel. He had a difficult time believing a child would kill a parent but, then again, nothing about Shadowmoor was normal. This entire place seemed to be cursed one way or the other. He turned to the cowering servant.

“Where is Brynner?” he asked.

The female servant shook her head. “I do not know, m’lord,” she said. “We heard the scuffling and saw the fight. After Sir Brynner killed his father, he left the hall. I do not know where he went.”