Dark Destroyer (2 page)

Her father was increasingly confused. “Alone?” he repeated, looking at his equally confused sons. “Ye have yer own chamber, lass. Ye could have spent time alone in there. Why did ye have to come out here to… ah…
God’s Bones
, Mary! Now I understand!”

Lady Mary looked up from tying off the top of her bodice, puzzled at her father’s tone. “What do you understand, Father?”

Her father had an expression that suggested complete and utter disgust. “Ye… ye wicked girl!”

Lady Mary cocked her head curiously. “Wicked?” she repeated what he had said. “Why am I wicked?”

Her father grew red in the face, suddenly quite flustered. He shoved at his sons. “Get back in the house,” he said. “Get back… go, I say! This is not for ye to hear!”

Now it was Lady Mary who was increasingly confused. “What on earth is the matter with you, Father?”

Her father jabbed a fat finger at her. “Enough!” he said. “Ye… ye vile creature. Yer clothes are… and yer bosom is untied… ye came out here to… to…!”

Lady Mary threw up her hands. “To
what
?”

“Gah!” the father threw his hands over his ears. “I cannot say it! Ye… ye came to pleasure yerself where ye would not be seen! Ye wicked, wicked girl! The priest will have something to say about this!”

It occurred to Lady Mary what her father thought, and it was far from the truth. The man thought she’d come out there to touch herself in inappropriate ways, at least as the church viewed it. She’d done that to herself, of course, but this time, it was a man who had shown her pleasure. She suddenly felt quite ashamed that her father thought she had come all the way out to the barn to pleasure herself and she shook her head furiously. She had to confess everything lest she find herself at the mercy of the parish priest, who was a lascivious and dirty old man. Nay, it would be better for her father to believe she was a harlot rather than a masturbator because, under no circumstances, did she want to face their priest.

“Nay, Father,” she insisted. “I… I was not alone. There was a man with me. A knight. But he is long gone and you cannot find him. We… we only kissed, Father, I swear it.”

Her father began to roar again, hands still haphazardly over his ears. “Lies,” he hissed. “No man would sneak away to kiss ye, Mary. ‘Tis time ye realized that. And no man would risk my wrath for the likes of ye. Come with me, Daughter. We will see the priest this evening so he can purge ye of this… this wicked desire ye have. Yer sins will find ye out, Daughter!”

Lady Mary found herself being hauled up from the hay, being dragged out into the night by her father. She struggled against him, and even pleaded with him, but the man was resolute. His wife having died years earlier, he had been the sole parent to Lady Mary and it was clear he had failed miserably if the girl was out in the barn pleasuring herself and then inventing imaginary lovers to cover her dirty actions.

As Lady Mary was dragged off to the priest who sent her father out of the room as he spanked the girl’s naked buttocks with a switch, and enjoyed every strike in a most peculiar fashion, Gates was on his mighty steed, riding north through the snowy trees, heading for his army which was, at best, only a few hours ahead of him.

He’d brought one thousand two hundred and eight-seven men with him back from France, men who served the Lord of the Trilateral Castles, the Earl of Trelystan. Jasper de Lara was a strong supporter of Prince Edward and his wars in France, so much so that he had sent his best knights to France for the past fifteen months. Now, it was their time to return home.

Riding hard into that frozen night, Gates quickly forgot about Lady Mary and his inability to complete what he had started with her. Instead, he found himself looking forward to returning home again. He knew of several local ladies, at least he had fifteen months ago, and he hoped to see them again. In fact, he hoped to see a great deal of them. Already, he was calculating which lady he would see first. Those were thoughts that made him press his horse even faster.

It was back to the Marches once more and the hope for continued romantic possibilities.

On moonlit nights,

When Shadows wane,

The Dark Destroyer lingers in the mist.

Eyes of flame,

Heart of steel,

His love for one woman

Became his Achilles’ heel.

Kathi,
he called her,

His maiden fair

But her heart the Dark Destroyer was never meant to bear.

No longer eyes of flame,

No longer a heart of steel,

The man once known as the Dark Destroyer

Finally learned what it meant to feel…

Love.

February

Lord Jasper de Lara came from a long line of quality knights, men who had fought and died for the crown of England. His own father, Liam de Lara, had fought for both Edward II as a young knight and Edward III for most of his adulthood, and his adopted uncle was none other than the great Tate de Lara, the bastard son of Edward I. Therefore, Jasper knew what it was to fight for the crown and to provide the king with what was necessary in order to advance his cause, one way or the other.

The latest cause had been France but, then again, France had been a cause since before he was born. It was the continuous cause as far as Jasper was concerned and the need to claim regions of France for England had drained coffers all across the country. But, as one of the king’s most powerful warlords, Jasper could not refuse the request for coinage or manpower, and he had often supplied both.

As Lord of the Trilaterals – three castles along the Welsh Marches that maintained the volatile border between Craven Arms to the south and Welshpool to the north, the House of de Lara commanded a good deal of power. Edward leaned heavily upon it while Jasper, not unlike his father before him, was increasingly disillusioned about the crown and its agenda across the sea. Money and men were contributed with no real results. Stagnation made for cynicism.

But that disillusionment had seen some relief since the return of Jasper’s army from France and the news of a major English victory. He’d only lost three hundred men and, after the story relayed to him by his commanders – Gates de Wolfe, Alexander de Lohr, Tobias Aston, and Stephan d’Avignon – Jasper thought that his losses were rather low considering what they had faced back in September near the town of Poitiers. The English had triumphed against superior French forces and even now, three weeks after the return of his army, Jasper forced his men to tell him nightly of the Battle of Poitiers so that Jasper didn’t miss any of the details. Every night, he learned something new from a different perspective. He knew his knights were growing weary of repeating the tale constantly, but Jasper would continue to demand the stories until he was satisfied.

And tonight would be no different. Jasper, his household, and his army were in shelter at Hyssington Castle, the biggest of his three holdings along the Welsh Marches, mostly because winters here seemed to be less severe than at the mountainous Trelystan Castle, which was the biggest of the three, or Caradoc Castle, the smallest of the three and also the one that was the most difficult to reach through a rocky pass. If the pass got snowed in, they would be stuck there until the thaw, which was an unpleasant thought. Therefore, the de Laras always wintered at Hyssington as she sat atop a gentle slope surrounded by a somewhat flat valley. The view was for miles all around, now a great white landscape that glistened magically under the rarity of sunlight.

But being sequestered at Hyssington made for crowded conditions with the returning army crammed in with the rest of the de Lara subjects. Hyssington had a single-storied troop house, a three-storied keep that was squat and large, plus a gatehouse that also had living quarters in it. It was three-storied as well, larger than the keep, and had one room on each side on the second floor, with the portcullis in between, and then the top floor had four big chambers that also included murder holes in one of the rooms. Soldiers mostly used those holes for a garderobe, which Lady de Lara tried to discourage because she didn’t like human waste pouring out right at the entrance to the gatehouse where it could be tracked all over the castle. In fact, she had been known to yell at men for such a thing.

The great hall of Hyssington was a massive structure that could easily hold eight hundred men or more and these days, in the midst of the snowy winter, it slept hundreds while across the bailey, the troop house contained those who weren’t sleeping in the hall. On this evening well after sunset, the great hall was full of men and smoke, with not one but two hearths, at opposite sides of the hall, billowing out heat and flame and smoke in an attempt to stave off the cold winter’s night.

Gates was coming from the gatehouse where he had just set posts for the night. Now that he had been back for three weeks, it was as if he’d never left. Jasper, who had been loaned the services of a pair of knights from the Earl of Worcester, Henry de Lohr, had been happy to return de Lohr’s knights in favor of de Wolfe and his regular knights as soon as they had returned. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been grateful to the earl for the loan of the de Lohr knights, for he was quite grateful. In fact, Worcester’s son, Alexander, had gone to France with the de Lara army, so their men were fairly intermingled.

Even now, Alexander was at Hyssington, staying a few weeks to rest before heading back to his father’s seat of Lioncross Abbey. Nay, Jasper hadn’t been ungrateful to de Lohr for the loan of the knights, but now it was more that he wanted to regain a sense of normalcy within his own ranks, which had been disoriented when all four knights had left to France. There was something about his captain, Gates de Wolfe, that held men together, an aura and strength about the man that was as legendary as his family name. Jasper had always relied heavily on the man and to lose him to Edward’s wars in France had been a painful separation. Now that de Wolfe was back, Jasper wanted things to return to normal.

It was what he had prayed for.

Gates knew what his liege had prayed for. He knew how important it was for Gates and his other knights to return from what Jasper often termed “Edward’s foolery”. Gates had served Jasper since he had been a page, coming to serve the House of de Lara. He’d never left. He had grown up on the Marches and had proven himself as the great fighter and commander they knew today.

But Gates also knew that Jasper was somewhat over dependent on him, something that had been evident the first day they’d arrived back at Hyssington. It was as if something went out of Jasper when his senior knights returned and for the past three weeks, he’d done nothing but remain in his chamber as others ran the daily accounts for his properties.

As Gates approached the great hall with tendrils of smoke escaping through the thatched ceiling and bright, warm light emitting from the doorway and lancet windows, he wasn’t entirely sure he could take another evening recounting the stories from Poitiers. Jasper had demanded tales nightly and Gates wasn’t certain that he could sit through more of the revelry. As he considered his options, he saw his three subordinate knights approach from the troop house on the north side of the bailey. He slowed his pace as he and his men joined up.

“Greetings, de Wolfe,” Alexander de Lohr was the first to speak. “So we are in for another night of Tales from the Bloody Mud? Who shall go first this night? I can tell you with confidence that it will not be me. I am all talked out.”

Gates looked at the tall, blond knight who had become a close friend. Alexander had the de Lohr sky-blue eyes, golden hair, and infectious smile. He was also quite handsome and had been known to compete for female attention against Gates. So far, their record was nearly even in conquests although Alexander didn’t have the sordid reputation that Gates did. He had been private with his female victories whilst Gates really didn’t give a lick what people thought of his personal life. Still, Gates and Alexander were as close as brothers and Gates grinned at Alexander’s statement.

“As am I,” he said, glancing to the other two knights standing next to Alexander. “To be truthful, I am not entirely sure I can stand for any more stories of Poitiers. I do not see them as tales of glory as Jasper does. I see them as the loss of friends and of devastation in general. De Lara has no idea how horrible the conditions were even though we have tried to tell him. Still, he only sees knightly glamour and victory.”

The knight standing next to Alexander snorted. Tobias Aston was a young knight from a good family with a muscular, sinewy build and long blond hair he kept tied at the back of his head. He was attractive, and skilled, and Gates had never seen a faster man in all his life. Tobias Aston, literally, moved like lightning.

“De Lara comes from a long line of great knights,” Tobias said, “yet he has not seen a battlefield in years. He lives through our tales and has ever since his elder son was killed.”

They all knew that. Roget de Lara, the shining star of the House of de Lara, had been killed at the Battle of Crècy ten years earlier whilst leading the de Lara army to victory. Jasper had taken the field at that time and after carrying Roget’s body off the field of battle, the man never took up a sword ever again. He’d never even touched one as far as they knew. Therefore, even though their liege could be annoying, there was sympathy for the man and what he had lost.

“He still has his younger son, Jeffrey,” Gates reminded them of what they already knew. “The lad is a knight but spends all of his time at court with Edward because Jasper believes he is safer there. Personally, I think the lad would be safer in a pit of vipers, but no one has asked for my opinion.”

The other three knights laughed softly at Gates’ quip. “And no one will,” said the last knight, Stephan d’Avignon. A massive man with cropped, curly brown hair known as “Bear”, Stephan came from a very old and battle-scarred family. He was no-nonsense and somewhat curt at times, but he was a knight to be trusted and admired. “The man sends his son to live in London, away from battle, and he sends his daughter to live in a convent. He is doing all he can to keep his children safe from the ills of the world.”

“Yet he demands tales of battle,” Gates said. “He wants to know the excitement of it without participating. “

That was a very true statement as far as they were concerned. Alexander sighed heavily. “De Lara is waiting for us right now to fill his head with more tales of battle and you know he will come looking for us if we do not make an appearance soon,” he said. “It is therefore my suggestion that we swallow whatever distaste we have for telling the man stories of battle and simply get on with it.”

Stephan made a face of displeasure. “What more can we possibly tell him?” he wanted to know. “We have told him everything we possibly can.”

Gates eyed the burly knight. “
We
have told more stories than you have,” he pointed out. “It is your turn to speak first this night, Bear. It is time for you to lay yourself open as the rest of us have.”

Stephan threw up his hands. “But I do not have as many stories as you three have,” he said. “I was holding the line while you were all off trying to outfight one another. The man with the greatest score of victories to impress the women with, eh?”

Gates and Alexander waved him off irritably as the four of them began moving towards the glowing entry to the hall. “There is nothing wrong with impressing women with tales of victory,” Gates insisted, “and if I do not have any, I simply make them up. I do not need to outfight anyone, and especially not you three whelps.”

Alexander cast him a long glance. “Then it must have been someone else I rode to help when his horse became mired in the mud at Poitiers.”

Gates scratched his chin. “You only imagined such a thing.”

“Did I?”

“If I say you did, then you did.”

Alexander laughed softly. “Next time, I shall let you sink.”

Gates grinned but didn’t respond; he didn’t acknowledge that Alexander had been forced to help him at Poitiers when he became stuck in the epic mud and quite possibly saved his life in doing so. The weather had been raining off and on for the past month and had created horrendous conditions at times, so to save his pride and not discuss what they all knew about de Lohr’s heroics, Gates changed the subject.

“What do you think de Lara will say if you tell him that I had my tongue cut out today?” he asked. “Do you think he will believe you and therefore not demand more stories from me since I will clearly be unable to speak?”

As Alexander and Stephan shook their heads, Tobias spoke in his youthful and animated way. “He would make you write them down if you lost the ability to speak,” he said. “He would make you draw pictures in the ashes. A missing tongue would not deter him from demanding stories.”

Gates grunted. “Then we must take control of the conversation,” he said as the entry to the hall loomed directly ahead now. “Do you think I can regale him with humorous tales instead?”

Alexander snorted. “You do
not
tell humorous tales, Gates.”

“I do so.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “In case you have not yet discovered this about yourself, my darling lad, you are about as humorous as a barrel of dead babies,” he said. Then, he sighed heavily. “There is no hope for us tonight. God’s Bones, I think I feel an aching head coming on.”

“And I am quite positive that I have contracted the plague,” Alexander grumbled.

Stephan suddenly came to a halt and bent over, coughing violently although it was obvious that it was forced. “And I am, quite simply, dying,” he said as he stood up, putting a hand over his chest. “Give my apologies to Lord de Lara. Tell him that I may not make it through the night.”

It was a last-ditch effort from the knights to avoid going into the hall, now with the door right in front of them. Gates balled a fist at Stephan.

“And that outlook is guaranteed if you do not make your way into that hall under your own power,” he said, looking at Tobias and pointing to the open door. “Go. Your liege awaits and your foolish excuses will not prevent the inevitable.”