Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) (35 page)

Daniel immediately withdrew his sword as Brynner lay in the dirt and the rich red blood began to flow. It trickled in a steady river from Brynner’s body, mingling with the moist dirt of the street. Shocked with the rapid turn of events, Daniel knelt over Brynner as the man gazed up at the sky, his eyes wide and staring.

There wasn’t much Daniel could say to the dying man but he found that he was angry at him for having charged. “Why did you do that?” he demanded. “It did not have to be this way.”

Brynner swallowed, labored, and looked at him. “You were going to kill me, anyway.”

Daniel sighed sharply. “I do not know,” he said. “Mayhap I was. But mayhap I was not. We were talking… you made me feel pity for you and your plight. A man can always change, l’Audacieux. Why did you not give yourself that chance?”

Brynner swallowed again. “My… my father’s death,” he mumbled, fading. “It really… it was an accident. He tried to charge me and I grabbed his dirk. I did not… intentionally kill him. You will tell my sister that.”

Daniel exhaled slowly, with regret. “Why did he charge you?”

“Because I… I wanted him to give Shadowmoor to Bramley.”

“But why?”

Brynner’s eyes moved to the sky again, as if seeing things that Daniel could not. A man with a perpetual scowl on his face for the past few years, ever since Maud left him, now his expression held an element of calm.

“Because I wanted a winery in France,” he said, breathless now that his life was ebbing away. “I was promised that, you know. Shadowmoor for the winery. But mayhap… mayhap finally having some peace will be the better bargain. You did me a… a favor….”

With that, he exhaled one last time and his eyes closed. Daniel stood over the man, feeling sorrow and regret that he did not expect to feel. But something Brynner said stuck with him…
I was promised a winery
….

Clearly, the man was made an outlandish promise by someone who wanted something from him, badly enough that he would prey upon the man’s weakness to get what he wanted. The same man who couldn’t beg, borrow, or buy Shadowmoor, the same one who had starved them to the point of hopeless poverty. Everything had happened because of Bramley’s greed.

Infuriated, Daniel stood up, his sights set on Bramley. He was going to beat the man senseless once and for all, giving him a beating he would never forget. Men like Bramley understood two things – their own wants and violence. That was literally all they understood. But Daniel understood a good deal more than that. He pushed through the men who were still wrestling, still fighting, and finally spied Bramley over near the edge of the skirmish.

Bramley was dirtier than usual, covered with mud from the road he had fallen upon, and there was a trickle of blood coming out of his nose. Daniel threw men out of the way to get at him and by the time Bramley saw him, it was nearly too late. Bramley screamed and de Witt was there, having recovered from being knocked out, and the man charged at Daniel. Daniel dropped low, missing de Witt’s first strike, and came beneath the man with a crushing blow to his chin. De Witt, already dazed from having been knocked senseless, fell over and was trampled by men who were still fighting. Daniel reached out for Bramley and grabbed the man by the hair.

The punches began to fly. Daniel was so angry that his emotions were fueling his fists, and he beat Bramley down to the ground with his heavy blows. Bramley tried to protect his face but the more Daniel pounded him, the more dazed he became until he could no longer protect himself. Blood spurted from a broken nose and cut lips, but still, Daniel kicked and pummeled him. He finally picked the man up and tossed him over the side of the livery fence, coming around to find his victim barely stirring in the horse dung. As Bramley flirted with unconsciousness, Daniel stood over him.

“Now,” he said, his lips white with rage. “This is your final warning. You will forget about Shadowmoor, and Netherghyll, and anything else you have your eye on in this region. You will go back to Bramley Castle and you will stay there. If I see you again, make no mistake – I will kill you. That is a promise. For the chaos you have caused because of your greed and selfishness, you deserve nothing less. When my uncle arrives, I am going to send him to Bramley Castle and let him deal with you. You will be lucky if you survive him. Is this in any way unclear?”

Bramley was on his belly, trying to rise to his hands and knees. “I… I will kill you, you bastard,” he breathed, spitting out two teeth. “I will tell Henry what you have done.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Daniel kicked the man, as hard as he could, in the belly and Bramley went down, rolled up into a ball and suffering a world of pain. But Daniel didn’t care and he didn’t look back. He picked him up and tossed him over the other side of the livery fence so he was back in the street again so his men could get to him. Daniel marched out of the livery yard, his gaze finding Caston.

The Netherghyll knight had a bloodied lip but he was smiling, thinking this all to be a good deal of fun. But his smile vanished when he saw Daniel.

“Gather your men,” Daniel told him. “We will finish our business here and return to Shadowmoor. If any of Bramley’s men continue to fight, kill them. I am finished with this bastard and all he stands for.”

He sounded furious and Caston’s brow furrowed. “What happened?” he asked, looking around. “Where is Bramley?”

Daniel simply nodded his head in the direction he had come from. “He is in a world of hurt right now,” he said. “I will tell you about it later. But if I could impose upon you to have your men collect Brynner l’Audacieux’s body for transport back to Shadowmoor, I would be grateful.”

Caston’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “He is dead?”

Daniel nodded. “He charged me,” he said. “I had no choice. I was defending myself. But it was a reckless move, something I am coming to think was not an accident.”

Caston nodded in understanding, wondering what the full story was behind it. He would find out later. For now, Daniel didn’t seem to be in a talking mood and he didn’t blame him. He began to shout to his men to stand down, to withdraw from the skirmish, and as he and his men settled down the fighting, Daniel headed back to the seamstress’ stall where he had left Liselotte.

He didn’t relish telling her that her older brother was dead, at his hand no less, but it had to be done. Even if she had no use for the man, he was still her brother. Surely there were still some familial feelings involved at his passing. But when he finally found Liselotte, cowering at the rear of the seamstress’ stall, he couldn’t have been more wrong about her reaction.

He would swear, until the day he died, that the relief on her face was a palpable thing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Canterbury Castle, Kent

One week later

T
he wind was
blowing off of the sea to the north, creating great and blustery conditions around the castle and town of Canterbury. It was cold and damp, as a squall had passed through only minutes before. Everything was sopping, struggling to dry out as the clouds cleared and the sun appeared. In the bailey of Canterbury Castle, a man dressed in heavy robes and a woolen scarf around his neck emerged from the big square keep and headed for the gatehouse.

He looked like he was running, sloshing through the mud and glancing over his shoulder every so often as if looking to see who was following him. He’d escaped the keep, really, before his wife grew wise to the fact that he was out in the elements, because he’d heard tale from a servant that there was a messenger at the gatehouse, a royal messenger, and he wanted to get to the messenger before his wife discovered he was outside.

He loved his dear wife and he knew that she was only concerned for his health, but sometimes her constant attention annoyed him terribly. She kept him sequestered in the keep, mostly against his will because he was recovering from a terrible illness he’d caught last winter. Now, he felt like a prisoner, finally free of his jailor, as he made his way to the gatehouse.

But soldiers saw him moving and the call went up, alerting the gatehouse that the Earl of Canterbury was on his way. David de Lohr, Earl of Canterbury, was within twenty feet of the enormous gatehouse when a knight suddenly emerged from the guardroom that was located just inside the gatehouse. Quickly, the knight ran to him, splashing through muddy puddles as he went.

“My lord,” Gerid du Reims, currently in command of Canterbury’s troops with Maddoc du Bois away on an assignment, was quick to meet his liege. “May I be of service?”

David eyed the man; a powerful knight with uncanny intelligence and piercing black eyes, he was a younger son of the Earl of East Anglia, a local and strong ally to Canterbury. David had known the knight and his family for a very long time and could, therefore, be brutally honest with him.

“I was told there was a royal messenger here,” he said. “Why have you not sent for me? Why did I have to hear it from my valet?”

Gerid cleared his throat softly, trying not to appear too guilty. “I did send for you, my lord.”

“You did not.”

Gerid stood his ground. “Lady Emilie insists that all messages for you must go through her,” he said. “I sent your wife word that a royal messenger has arrived. If she has not yet told you, then you must discuss that with her.”

David’s eyebrows flew up, outraged, but it was the same old story. He really shouldn’t have been upset by it. In his seventieth decade, he was still a fine figure of a man, still powerful and still handsome with his graying blond hair, even if his health had been questionable as of late. The chest infection he’d contracted during the winter still hadn’t gone away completely and his energy had suffered. Even walking out to the gatehouse had him breathing heavily and struggling not to cough, although he pretended he was fine.

“I am in command here,” he said firmly. “Not my wife. She means well but she does not run Canterbury. Am I making myself clear?”

Gerid could see how the man was struggling to breathe. “Aye, my lord.”

David sensed that Gerid didn’t mean a word of it and he scowled at the man before continuing his course of conversation. “Where is the messenger?” he asked. “What news does he bring?”

Gerid sighed heavily. “He brought a missive, my lord,” he said. “I sent it to Lady Emilie so that she could present it to you.”

David rolled his eyes and turned away from Gerid. “Then let us go hear what the king has to tell my wife,” he said. “Come along, du Reims. I want you in the room when I tell my wife that she is no longer in command of Canterbury. If a message comes for me, it will be sent directly to me. She must understand this.”

Gerid took up pace behind the earl. “Aye, my lord.”

“And if she tries to force me into submission, then I expect you to defend me.”

“Aye, my lord.”

David didn’t say anything more, mostly because it was difficult to walk and talk at the same time, given his poor breathing these days. He labored up the stairs to the block-shaped keep and passed through the entry just as his wife was coming out.

Elegant blond Lady Emilie yelped and stumbled back as David reached out to grab her so she wouldn’t fall. Dressed in heavy robes herself, and a heavy woolen scarf wrapped around her head, she looked at her husband accusingly.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “You know that you are not supposed to go outside in this weather. It is too damp for you.”

David’s expression was impatient. “I heard there was a message for me,” he said. “Since you seem to want to keep everything of importance from me, I sought to find it myself.”

Emilie frowned at her stubborn husband. The man had nearly died a few months ago from illness and was only now starting to get better. But he had a long way to go. Lifting her hand out of her robes, she produced the elusive missive.

“I was just bringing it to you,” she said. “If you would have a little patience, it would have come to you directly.”

David pursed his lips irritably and held out his hand. “May I have my missive?”

Emilie put it in his palm. “I have read it,” she said. “I am prepared to ride to Henry at this moment and slap the man across the face.”

David lifted his eyebrows at his normally-docile wife. “Why would you say that?”

Emilie snorted, pointing to the missive. “You shall see,” she said. “Read it.”

Standing in the keep entry, David did. He read it twice. Then, he turned calmly to Gerid. “Go and saddle my horse and my wife’s horse,” he told him. “We are riding to Winchester to slap Henry.”

Gerid fought off a grin. “If you insist, my lord.”

He started to move but Emilie held out a hand. “No need, Gerid,” she said. “Come inside; I think you should be involved in this, too. Let us go into David’s solar and discuss this.”

David was still reading parts of the missive but he began to walk, heading into his lavish solar with the furs on the floor and the great plate on the hearth, displaying the wealth of the de Lohr family. He meandered to his favorite chair, next to the hearth, and sat heavily, his gaze still on the pale yellow missive. When he spoke, there was confusion and disbelief in his tone.