Dark Destroyer (10 page)

Alexander laid his head, face-down, on the table and began softly banging his head against the tabletop as his parents began arguing over the suitability of a garrison commander’s daughter for the future earl. It truly seemed not to matter how he felt about the situation; his parents were determined to marry him off. Finally, he lifted his head, with his forehead skin red from where he had banged it against the table, and put up his hands.

“Please,” he roared softly, causing his parents to look at him. “I will find my own wife, or at least I will have the final approval on the woman I marry. This is not your decision to make.”

Elreda, normally a very even-tempered woman, frowned at her eldest son. “I would be happy to agree with that statement but for the fact if left up to you, I would be in my grave before you decided to marry,” she said unhappily. “Let me at least find you a selection of good and true women to decide upon. Let me go to my grave knowing you have a wonderful woman to take care of you."

As Alexander geared up for an argument, the entry door of Lioncross’ enormous hall opened and a soldier entered, snow on his shoulders and on his helm from the storm outside. The winds howled in after him as harried servants struggled to close the door and the soldier rushed straight into the hall where, already, Alexander and his parents had turned to look at the man. Henry spoke first.

“What is it?” he demanded.

The soldier’s face was pinched red from the cold outside. “We just received a message from Ludlow Castle, my lord,” he said. “The Welsh attacked St. Milburga’s Priory several days ago. There is also word that they have attacked Woofferton and ransacked the town. Ludlow asks for reinforcements against these attacks.”

The words filled the air with instant tension but, given the seasoned nature of both Henry and Alexander, they didn’t react with panic or fear. Henry was an excellent commander and an excellent strategist, and possessed the supreme de Lohr trait; the more critical the situation, the calmer he became. In battle, that characteristic had served him well. He calmly stood up from the table, as did Alexander, who was interested in the information but for different reasons than his father was.

“St. Milburga’s was attacked?” he clarified.

The soldier nodded, rubbing at his freezing nose. “Aye, my lord.”

Alexander’s expression grew serious. “Do we know the end result?” he asked. “Did they destroy the priory?”

The soldier shook his head. “I will bring the Ludlow messenger to you, my lord,” he said. “You may ask him that question, for I do not know the answer.”

Henry reached out and put a hand on his son’s arm. “Why such interest in St. Milburga’s?”

Alexander looked at his father. “Because Gates is there,” he said. “Or, at least, he was heading there. Gates and a fifty-man escort had been directed by de Lara to go to St. Milburga’s to retrieve de Lara’s daughter, who is a ward there. Gates and his escort traveled south with me from Hyssington but we split off at the road for Ludlow. I continued south and he headed to Ludlow. He has been to St. Milburga’s within the past few days which makes me very concerned that he and his escort may have run into trouble from the Welsh.”

Henry could see what had his son so worried. “Indeed,” he said. “Then you must go immediately to make sure he was not injured or worse, especially if they had de Lara’s daughter with them. With the Welsh raiding all over the Marches this winter, even a fifty-man escort is not safe. I am surprised Jasper sent so few men to collect his daughter.”

Alexander was already on the move, deeply concerned for Gates and the trouble the man might be in. “I am taking five hundred men with me, Father,” he said. “I will go to Ludlow and leave off two hundred and fifty men with them, and if Gates is not at St. Milburga’s, I will continue on to Hyssington to see if he is there.”

Henry was following him, as was the soldier, all of them heading to the hall entry. “Take more men than that,” he said. “I have almost two thousand men here with me, tucked away out of the snow and growing fat. Take more of them with you to reinforce Ludlow’s garrison.”

Alexander nodded, feeling the surge of battle once again in his veins. He was conditioned that way. His mother spoke of living a peaceful life but the truth was that warfare and battle were the norm for knights like Alexander de Lohr. It was what he did best, what he thrived upon, and with the possibility that Gates could be in grave danger, Alexander was determined to help him.

Therefore, before sunrise the next day in the midst of a snowstorm, Alexander and nine hundred de Lohr men departed Lioncross Abbey for Ludlow. Later that day, however, they had their first run-in with a large group Welsh raiders heading for Lioncross and Alexander suffered his first taste of battle in three years on English soil.

It was a nasty and short skirmish that saw ten de Lohr soldiers injured and nearly twenty Welsh either injured or killed. The Welsh were desperate, which meant they were reckless, and Alexander sent the wounded back to Lioncross with that message.

Beware the reckless raiders.

Meanwhile, Alexander pushed through and made haste for Ludlow.

Hyssington Castle

The light in the chamber was low, but that was to be expected. It was always low because Lady de Lara liked it that way. Shut up in her chamber day and night, the four stone walls of the room plus a small dressing alcove were her entire world and it was a precisely controlled world. Even Jasper knew that; he was only allowed to see his wife when she summoned him and this night, she had summoned him.

His wife was on the third floor of the keep, high above the castle grounds where she could watch everything going on. That was how she knew the soldiers were using the gatehouse murder holes for a garderobe and, in turn, sent her maid to relay her message for them to stop pissing on the main entry to the castle. She was a very observant woman in her secluded little world, very conscious of what was going on outside of the walls. There was little the woman missed.

But she did miss her husband because of his predilection for staying away from her as much as possible. It was his choice, something she had grown resigned to because she had no choice in the matter. Jasper had seen to that. Entering his wife’s chamber, he was greeted with the heavy smells of rosemary and clove. They were incredibly strong scents that always made him sneeze. By the second sneeze, he heard his wife’s voice.

“Jasper?” she called. “Is that you?”

Jasper turned towards the canopied bed, a massive piece of furniture surrounded by an initial layer of heavy brocaded curtains, red in color, and then a second layer of a gauzy fabric that one could nearly see through. It was filmy and cloudy in nature. It was through this second layer that Lady de Lara was viewed. No one except for her maid, and occasionally her husband, ever saw her more than that.

“Aye, Rosamund,” he said, moving in the direction of the bed. “It is me.”

Through the gauzy muslin, Jasper could see the shape of his wife, the former Rosamund du Bois. She was part of the prominent de Titouan and de Llion family, intermingled with the House of du Bois and the prominent House of de Lohr, whose military presence was very heavy along the Marches. In fact, de Lohr, de Titouan, and de Llion were considered synonymous with the Welsh Marches. In her youth, Rosamund had been a stunning example of beauty with her dark hair and bright blue eyes. But that beauty had been covered up for many years and now Rosamund moved about her chamber in heavy scarves and wimples, covering her head and face. Only her eyes were visible. She had to do that, unfortunately, because a horrible disease had robbed her of her beauty long ago. Scaly skin, lesions, and horrific bumps and pustules on her face. It was a curse and something terrible to behold.

Leper.

It was a terrible word. Jasper couldn’t even bring himself to say it, not even when the physics from Gloucester and London had diagnosed her those years ago. It was a word never uttered within Hyssington or anywhere else for fear of spreading panic, and when the House of de Lara moved from castle to castle as the weather dictated, Lady de Lara was always transported in an enclosed carriage where no one could see her. The once-vivacious and lovely woman was a prisoner to a disease that was slowly killing her body whilst her mind remained sound.

It was a horrible and slow death sentence.

But Jasper didn’t anguish over her condition like he used to. Much like Rosamund, he had become resigned to her condition even though they had sought the most expensive treatments and best physics available. Still, there was no relief and Rosamund was falling apart, bit by bit, day by day. Jasper couldn’t even bring himself to look at her any longer because she had lost most of her nose and he didn’t like staying in her chamber any longer than necessary for fear he would contract her condition. They physics had told him that it was contagious. Therefore, the conversations between them were always short.

“How may I be of service today, my dearest?” he asked politely.

Rosamund was sitting on her bed, some kind of sewing project spread out around her. The woman had exquisite talent in sewing and her masterpieces were on display in all of her husband’s castles.

“Has Kathalin returned yet?” she asked. “You promised me that you would tell me yet I have not yet heard. Surely she is here by now.”

Jasper stood outside of the filmy, gauzy curtain, seeing the muted figure of his wife through the fabric. “Nay, my dearest,” he said patiently. “I told you that I would tell you when she arrived and I will not break that promise. You needn’t fear.”

Rosamund sighed faintly and set down her sewing into her lap. It was clear that her mood was pensive, depressed even, and her movements were slow. It wasn’t difficult to sense an aura of sadness around her, the sadness of her wasted life.

“After all of these years,” she ventured softly, “I wonder what kind of a woman she has become. I have often wondered, you know. I am glad we have decided to bring her home. No de Lara is going to serve as a nun, in any case. It is time for her to come home and accept her destiny as a member of the House of de Lara.”

Jasper leaned against the bed post. “You thought it was fine enough to send her to St. Milburga’s when you did not want her under foot,” he countered. “Yet she is too good to become a nun?”

Rosamund didn’t say anything for a moment. “You know I did not send her away because I wanted to,” she said softly “It was necessary.”

Jasper pushed himself off the bed post, rolling his eyes. “You did not want any of the children around, Rosamund.”

“Because I did not wish for them to contract this horrific curse,” she insisted, her normally calm tone filled with passion. “You
know
this, Jasper. The symptoms were appearing when the children were young and I did not wish for them to become diseased as I have become. Why must you always make it sound as if I did not want my own children? I
could
not have them here.”

Jasper put up his hands. “I will not engage in this old argument with you,” he said, eyeing the maid sitting in the corner who was also busy with her sewing. A maid he had taken to his bed many times. His gaze lingered on the shapely woman for a moment before returning his focus to his wife. “I am beyond discussing the reasons for sending our children away when we did. It is done and over. What did you wish to speak with me about?”

Rosamund had been shielded behind curtains and scarfs and shades for the past fourteen years, even so, she had very keen vision when it came to seeing what was going on around her. Through the gauzy fabric, she could see her husband as he eyed her maid. Once, Rosamund had seen the same lust in his eyes when he looked at her.
But no more
. She had no choice but to accept it. She couldn’t even become angry or hurt about it. This was her world and the world was hers alone, and she had resigned herself to it long ago. But she did so long to see that spark of attraction in her husband’s eyes, meant for her, just one last time.

But there was no point in wishing what would never be again. Now, they were a bitter and lonely couple who co-existed in their own worlds and those worlds rarely collided. Pushing her sewing aside, Rosamund climbed off of her bed with great effort, for it was painful to move with her affliction. She pushed aside the curtains and stood unsteadily on her feet.

“I wish to speak of Kathalin,” she said as she shuffled in Jasper’s direction. “I have been thinking on what we must do for her future. Since she will not go back to St. Milburga’s, it is only logical that we find a husband for her. Therefore, I would like for you to arrange a grand celebration for her here at Hyssington and invite fine houses with eligible young men to come and celebrate. You will arrange games of skill and strength so that Kathalin may see the young men and the young men may see her. She will preside over the games and hopefully by the end of the celebration, we will have several marriage offers to choose from.”

Jasper grunted, though he was not entirely unhappy with his wife’s directive. It was a rather smart thing to do and, given the advanced age of their daughter, they didn’t have much time before men would overlook her completely in favor of younger women. They had to find a husband for her in a hurry before she become too long in the tooth. No de Lara had ever become a nun and no de Lara had ever become a spinster, either.

“I have been thinking on the same thing,” Jasper admitted. “She will make an excellent marital alliance, as my daughter. You and I have discussed this before.”

“We have.”

“But we must choose very carefully who we invite to the celebration you have suggested.”

Rosamund waved a hand at him. “I will leave that up to you,” she said, turning away and shuffling back towards her bed. It was painful for her to stand any length of time. “It is my suggestion that you find Marcher lords with eligible sons so we can keep the alliance near to home. That would make the strongest bond of all.”

Jasper nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I have already given it some thought,” he said. “Your cousin, Rhett, has an eligible son, and so does Henry de Lohr.”

Rosamund turned to look at him, her bright eyes the only thing visible in the layers of fabric covering her face. Their beauty had never dimmed. “Alexander?” she said.

“Aye.”

Rosamund cocked her head thoughtfully. “All I know of Alexander de Lohr is what you have told me,” she said. “You have said he is strong and brave and true but you also said that he has a reputation with women.”

Jasper shrugged. “He is young,” he said. “Of course he loves women. He should.”

Rosamund sat back on her bed. “Then if that is the case, what of Gates?” she asked. “You love the man as a son. Why not him?”

Jasper hissed. “Because he loves women
too
much,” he said. “He has at least three bastards that I have heard of, possibly more. Nay, I do not want such a man for my daughter. As much as I love and admire Gates, I would like for my daughter to have a husband who does not have such an unsavory reputation.”

“Yet you sent him to escort her home.”

“Because there is no one in England I would trust the task to more than he.”

Rosamund was puzzled. “Yet you do not trust him as your daughter’s husband?”

Jasper shook his head. “Nay,” he said, “because I do not believe he can remain faithful to one woman and if he shamed her, I would be forced to kill him. Nay, Rosamund, put Gates out of your mind. He is not meant for our daughter.”

Rosamund didn’t push, mostly because she didn’t have much of an argument in support of Gates de Wolfe. She, too, had heard of the man’s dastardly reputation when it came to women.
Dark Destroyer
, he was called, a nickname whispered among man and woman alike. To women, he was the dark destroyer of their hearts but to men, he was a knight of dark and destructive force.

He was a paradox, indeed.

“Unfortunate,” she said as she settled back on her bed, grunting with the pain of the movement. “He is a fine knight from a fine family. His great-great-grandfather was the great Wolfe of the North, William de Wolfe. You told me this yourself. Imagine the sons he could breed with de Lara stock. We could have legendary grandsons, Jasper.”

Jasper, seeing that Rosamund was settling back in her bed, took it as his cue that the conversation was over. He was eager to leave, eager to be free of the disease-filled room with its terrible, heavy smell. He began moving to the door.

“Put him out of your mind,” he told his wife again, his hand on the iron door latch. “I would possibly consider Alexander, but not Gates. Rest, now. I promise I will tell you when Kathalin arrives. It should be very soon.”

Rosamund simply nodded as she picked up her sewing and Jasper, receiving no reply, left the chamber in a hurry. He was always in a hurry to leave. Rosamund reflected back to the days when he had never been in a hurry to leave her bed but those days were long over with.

She wondered fleetingly if her daughter would know something better.

She hoped so.