Dark Destroyer (9 page)

“I… I have only always made my own clothing,” Kathalin said, breaking his train of thought. “We have herds of sheep that we sheer in the spring and in the fall, and then there are sisters who spin the wool and others who weave the fabric. I was one of the ones who would sew the clothing for the others.”

Gates watched her as she moved from rubbing the shift against her cheek to fingering the lavender wool. “So you learned how to sew and how to manage the kitchen,” he said. “Surely you were taught more than that?”

Kathalin nodded, setting the shift aside so she could inspect the workmanship on the blue patchwork dress. “I have been taught to read and to write in Latin and in French,” she said. “I have copied many pages of the Prioress’ Bible, the one her father gave to her.”

He watched her very pretty hands as they moved over the garment. “Were you taught to do things other young ladies do?” he asked. “Poetry and painting and drawing?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied. “Why on earth would I be taught such vain things?”

“Because God created art and literature and it is quite beautiful.”

She looked at him, thinking on his words, as she drew her hand away from the blue surcoat. “That is true,” she said. “But I would have no use for them as a nun.”

He stood up, moving back to the basket and carefully putting the garments back inside, but not before taking out the pot of calendula salve that the seamstress had given him.

“Why do you want to be a nun so badly?” he asked. “Does the world scare you so much that you would hide from it?”

Kathalin considered his question. “It does not frighten me,” she said. “But why would I not want to live my life in a place of blessing and piety and joy. Why would I not want to serve God?”

He turned to look at her. “You were happy there?”

She nodded, thinking on St. Milburga’s and trying not to tear up. “Aye,” she said. “My friends are there. It is my home.”

She hung her head and he could see that the conversation was about to take a downward turn. Quickly, he sought to distract her. “I am sure your parents will be very happy to see you,” he said. “I have served your father for many years. In fact, I came into his service as a squire shortly after you were sent away to foster. I was fifteen years of age and attached to a knight who had seen to my education for about six years. When he came into de Lara’s service, I did, too.”

Kathalin looked up at him, blinking, and he could see that her eyes were still moist from thoughts of St. Milburga’s. “The knight was your master?”

“Aye.”

“Is he still with my father?”

Gates shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “He died in France about ten years ago and I received a battlefield commission to fight in his stead. Being knighted in the midst of a battle is quite harrowing.”

“That is how you became a knight?”

“Indeed it is.”

Kathalin was becoming interested in this enormous knight whose manner had returned to the man she had first met at St. Milburga’s, the man who had saved her from the Welsh. This side of him seemed quite kind and considerate. In spite of her sworn hatred towards him, she seemed to have conveniently forgotten about that at the moment.

“Have you fought many battles, then?” she asked.

He nodded, casually scratching at his stubbled chin. “Enough,” he said. “I only just returned from France where I have been for the past several months. I was at Poitiers, in fact.”

“What is at Poitiers?”

He looked at her, thinking it very strange that she should not know about the major battles going on, but then he reminded himself of the fact that the woman had been living in a convent. Current battles and politics were probably not among the things they knew about in their insulated little world.

“There was a very big battle there back in September,” he told her. “The English were triumphant over the French king.”

It was a simple explanation for a much more complex situation, but it seemed to satisfy her. Her gaze moved over his body, the red de Lara tunic and the portions of mail and plate armor beneath. He didn’t wear a full suit of armor, merely pieces on his forearms and chest that were fastened on with leather straps.

“I suppose you have seen a good deal of evil in your time,” she said quietly. “Men are evil to one another.”

He nodded. “An excellent summation of a much more complicated world,” he said. “But as I said before, there are many people in this world and not all are evil. I have seen many good men in my time.”

“But you kill,” she said, regarding him carefully. “You kill because you are ordered to kill.”

He lifted his eyebrows as if to concede her point. “I kill because some men need killing,” he said. “I kill because men are trying to kill
me.
I kill because it must be done and for no other reason than that.”

He didn’t sound as if he enjoyed it, which eased Kathalin somewhat. She knew that there were wars and killing, and she furthermore knew that knights such as de Wolfe were ultimately sworn to the church and to God. But she wondered if that was really true. She wondered if their service to God won out over their pride as warriors. Increasingly, she was curious about de Wolfe and his background, and she also found herself just a bit more curious about the world in general. Now that he’d brought it up, she couldn’t help but wonder.

“Then… then mayhap you will tell me of your travels and battles sometime,” she said. “Since we are evidently to spend some time together, I would like to hear of the world as you know it. Mayhap it will not seem so evil from your perspective.”

He smiled at her, the de Wolfe dimples running deep. “I would be honored, my lady,” he said. “But first, will you please do something for me?”

She was somewhat wary. “What is that?”

He pointed to the basket full of clothing. “Will you please do me the favor of dressing in something very warm and comfortable for the remainder of our journey?” he asked. “I should not like to return you to your parents bedraggled, cold, and possibly ill. Your father will think I have failed at my duty to protect you and I should not wish for that to happen. I am not one to fail at my duties, under any circumstances.”

Kathalin looked at the basket, remembering the soft feel of the shift against her cheek. She could feel herself relenting as she was given the choice between something soft and lovely, and something scratchy and dirty.

Soft and lovely won out.

“Aye,” she said reluctantly. “I will do that.”

His smile broadened and he suddenly remembered that he was still holding the calendula salve in his hand. He extended it to her. “You have my thanks,” he said, “and this is a salve that will help heal the welts around your wrists. I am very sorry I tied them so tightly, but I could not take the chance that you would escape me. My apologies if I have been less than chivalrous towards you. I never meant you harm.”

Hate.

Kathalin wasn’t so sure she was feeling that any longer. De Wolfe was doing everything he could to make up for the poor travel and the uncomfortable conditions. He was behaving civilized again, like he had when she had first met him at St. Milburga’s, before everything took a turn for the worse. She had been belligerent and resistant, that was true, but two days later, she was mostly resigned. She knew that escape was futile and it would be foolish to try, so she put that thought out of her mind. It was that thought that had brought about red, bleeding wrists. Even if she managed to run back to St. Milburga’s, he would only track her down and bring her back.

Faintly, she sighed.

“You did not harm me,” she said. “But I would be grateful if you did not tie my hands together any longer. I promise that I will not try to escape if you will simply leave the ropes off.”

He regarded her a moment, not entirely certain he believed her. It seemed like too rapid a change in behavior for him, but he would not insult her with a contradiction. “If I have your word as a lady,” he said quietly, “then I will not bind you.”

“You have it,” she said, eyeing her wrists. “Besides… I do not think my skin can take those ropes for another day. Surely my hands will fall off if I have to endure anymore.”

Gates didn’t say anything more at that point because there was a soft knock on the door and he opened it to find the innkeeper and hot water on the other side. As the male servant in the ratty clothing dragged in, literally, half of a barrel lined with linen, the serving wenches were lugging buckets of hot water behind him. It took several trips from the kitchen to fill the barrel up to a bathing level but when it was adequately filled, Gates chased everyone from the chamber to allow Kathalin her privacy, for which she was grateful.

When Gates himself left, Kathalin leapt from her position in the corner and stuck her finger into the water, delighted that it was very hot. Exhibiting energy she hadn’t shown in two days, she realized that she had forgotten about the food that the serving wench had brought earlier and she ripped off the cloth that covered it, digging in to the bread even as she struggled to undress with one hand. But she couldn’t do it with only one hand so she shoved the brown, gritty bread into her mouth and yanked off her dirty clothing.

Food and warmth
. She was almost giddy with it. She was about to climb into the barrel, still with bread in her mouth, when she remembered that Gates had mentioned he’d procured some soap for her. She found the soap in the bottom of the basket, smelling like sweet rosemary, and she climbed into the hot barrel of water, blissfully, and submerged herself completely. After two days of hell, the experience was pure heaven.

And thoughts of Gates de Wolfe were no longer filled with hate. She had no idea why she felt like smiling every time she looked at the basket full of clothing, but she did.

Lioncross Abbey Castle

30 miles south of Hyssington

The castle known as Lioncross Abbey was something of a legend in the disputed Marches of Wales and England.

Originally, portions of it had been built by the Romans as an outpost back in the days of the Great Empire but when the Romans left and the Dark Ages came about, the Roman ruins were transformed into a Cistercian abbey by holy men from Kildare. They lived there in relative peace until the Normans came. Noting the prime spot on a massive, flat-topped rise overlooking the River Arrow to the north, the Holme Marsh valley to the east, Wales to the west, the Normans decided that it was a perfect spot for a garrison. A man by the name of d’Evereux and his army stormed the abbey, chased off the priests, and claimed it for his own. Such was the Norman way when it came to acquiring real estate.

But d’Evereux had a plan. He began to build, using the old Roman ruins that had been transformed into the abbey as the basis for his castle. He attached a cavernous three-storied keep to it unlike any of the keeps that were being built at that time. He put the great hall in the keep, attached the kitchens to it, and then built a semi-tower with living quarters that was attached to all of that. Everything ended up in one contiguous building. The result was a very big structure that had corridors, mural staircases, and multiple rooms on every level. D’Evereux also put a massive wall around the place, enclosing a massive ward that included a section used for training soldiers. Because his family’s crest was a lion holding a cross, the great and mighty fortress of Lioncross Abbey Castle was born.

D’Evereux was very proud of his mighty castle and had acquired quite a reputation for himself, so much so that he married a great Norman warlord’s daughter and she bore him seven daughters and one son, but the son had died soon after birth, leaving d’Evereux with no heirs. His eldest daughter, a fine and true woman, married a Saxon man of noble origins named Barringdon, and Lioncross Abbey remained in the custody of the House of Barringdon for three generations until the Barringdon heiress, named in the family Bible as Lady Dustin Mary Catherine Barringdon, married the great Sir Christopher de Lohr in eleven hundred and ninety-two.

Lioncross Abbey had therefore been held by the House of de Lohr for one hundred and sixty-five years, making it part of the fabric of the family. The old stone walls were in de Lohr blood and de Lohr blood was in the walls. The name Lioncross or “The Abbey” was synonymous with the de Lohr name. In the great hall of Lioncross, seat of the de Lohrs, the current earl now sat. Henry de Lohr, Earl of Worcester, sat impatiently awaiting the appearance of his son, whom he’d not seen in almost a year and a half.

His son had only been home for four days and in that time, Alexander had mostly slept. The man was exhausted and Henry, thrilled that his son was back under his roof, had let the man live his life the way he wanted to, and if that meant sleeping most of the time, he would permit it. But the truth was that he was very eager to speak with his son and as the days passed and Alexander remained in seclusion, Henry was having a very difficult time of it. His wife, a Teutonic princess named Elreda Augustine von Anhalt, had begged him to be patient with Alexander considering the man had been away for so long and was more than likely well due his rest.

So Henry waited, sitting in his usual chair on this cold evening as the snow outside blew in great cloud bursts, hoping that Alexander would wake up from his three-day-long nap and come to see his father. It wasn’t often that Henry was able to see one of his children, considering both daughters were married and his youngest son, Baxter, was in France somewhere with Prince Edward much as Alexander had been. At least he had his eldest son home and he was nearing the limits of his patience to speak with the man.

“Here,” Lady Elreda said in her heavy Germanic accent, coming up behind him and setting a cup of wine in front of him. “Drink. Alexander will be here soon.”

Henry grunted in disagreement as he picked up the cup and drank deeply of the sweet red wine. He smacked his lips.

“Why has he slept so much?” he demanded. “Why is he so exhausted? He acts as if he crawled all the way from France on his hands and knees.”

Elreda patted him on the shoulder patiently. “It was a long journey,” she said. “And the weather is terrible. He has probably hardly slept at all.”

Henry made a face at her. “That is not why,” he said. “Shall I tell you what he has been doing? He has been with Gates de Wolfe and they have been leaving a trail of soiled women all the way from Paris. How many little French bastards am I to have on my doorstep come spring? How many fathers will I have to pay off simply to keep them from roping my son to a stake and burning him to cinder?”

Elreda continued to pat his shoulder. “You worry overly,” she said. “Alexander is not like Gates, although you know you love Gates as you would a son. Why must you speak so poorly of him?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Because he is a wild, vain creature who has no control when it comes to women,” he said. Then he shook his head and grumbled. “The Dark Destroyer, they call him. He is dark and destructive, all right, and all of his bad habits have spilled over onto Alexander. I shudder to think just how many women Alexander has compromised since he has been away.”

“At least one hundred.”

Henry and Elreda turned sharply to see Alexander entering the great hall. He looked sleepy but alert, and there was a big smile on his face as he approached his parents, seated at the scrubbed feasting table.

“Is that what you have been doing since I’ve been away?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Speaking terribly of me? Slandering your own son?”

Henry stood up and hugged his boy tightly. It was a great, satisfying embrace. “Since when is the truth slander?” he asked, kissing his son on both cheeks. “And is it really one hundred women? Must I worry about one hundred irate fathers trying to burn my castle down in their attempts to get to you?”

Alexander snickered as he sat down, patting his mother’s arms when she came up behind him to embrace him. “More than likely,” he said. “But you have an iron portcullis that they cannot burn, so I would not worry overly. Still, how much money do you have in the coffers? We had better make plans now.”

Henry glanced at his wife, a droll expression on his face. “And this is the child you told me not to drown at birth,” he said. “I should not have listened to you.”

Elreda laughed softly. “Sit, Henry,” she said. “Sit and shut your mouth before you make a fool of yourself. I will send for food. Alexander, you must be famished.”

Alexander nodded, raking his fingers through his blond hair. “I am,” he admitted. “I am sorry I have slept so much. I did not realize I was so exhausted until I lay down on my childhood bed. Then, it was as if I could not keep my eyes open.”

Henry smiled at his son, suddenly no longer so irritated with him, and pushed the half-empty cup of wine at him. Alexander gladly took it and drained it. “Not to worry, my son,” Henry said. “Surely your trip from France was quite difficult and you have had little sleep as a result. Your mother and I understand.”

Elreda, hearing her words echoed in Henry’s statement, rolled her eyes at his falsity. The man had been as impatient as a cat for three long days, now pretending he had been relaxed the entire time. Still, she kept her mouth shut as she sat down next to her husband.

“It
was
difficult,” Alexander said as servants began to appear from a door at the far end of the hall with food and drink. “The past fifteen months have been quite difficult. Father, I assume you have heard what happened at Poitiers?”

Henry nodded. “A traveling merchant who sought shelter here one night told us what he had heard in London,” he said. “Were you there?”

Alexander nodded. “I was,” he said. “So was Baxter.”

Elreda suddenly grasped Henry’s arm as if terrified. “And your brother?” she gasped. “He is well?”

Alexander could see her fear and he nodded quickly, “Aye, Mama, he is well the last that I saw of him,” he assured her. “That was two days after the battle and he was with Salisbury’s men. You know that he serves de Montacute now?”

Elreda really didn’t but Henry nodded. “I do,” he said. “Baxter wrote to us and told us that Oxford, his former liege, gifted him to de Montacute in payment for a debt. So you saw your brother and he is well?”

The parents needed reassurance that their youngest son was fine and Alexander nodded again. “He was very well the last time I saw him,” he said. “I am sure he will be home soon to tell you himself. There is much change in France currently and many English are coming back home. It has been a very long campaign the past year. Long indeed.”

Servants were placing food and drink in front of him so he quieted for a few moments as wine, bread, butter, stewed apples and brawn beef were placed in front of him. He began stuffing his face before speaking again.

“Before you ask, Father, suffice it to say that the battle at Poitiers was very terrible and very bloody,” he said, chewing. “I will tell you more later but to be truthful, I have spoken all I wish to speak about it to Jasper de Lara. The man demanded battle stories every damnable night when I was there. I am sick to death of speaking of it right now.”

Henry was disappointed; he knew that Alexander had spent some time at Hyssington Castle because when he returned three days ago, it was with a small army of men that Henry had loaned Jasper. He frowned.

“So de Lara gets all of your stories and I get nothing?” he asked, looking at his wife. “Do you hear your son? I am to get nothing.”

Elreda shushed him. “Will you at least tell us of your journey, Alexander?” she asked. “Did you see many new and great things on your travels?”

Alexander looked at his mother, mouth full. “Great and new things in France?” he said. “Preposterous. There is nothing new and great in France other than the terrible death that swept it a few years ago seems to have gone away. So many dead has left the entire country a mass graveyard. When you do come across people these days, they hold cloths in front of their faces still, warding off whatever disease they think others may carry. France is not a pleasant place to visit these days.”

Elreda sobered at the thought but Henry spoke. “Nor is England,” he said. “We had our share of the great disease that swept the nation but the de Lohrs were fortunately spared. Will you at least tell me who rules France now? The traveling merchant told us that King Jean was captured.”

Alexander nodded as he buttered his bread. “He was,” he replied. “He was captured along with both of his sons and a host of French nobility. It was an utter and complete victory for Edward and for the prince. If you want to know who rules France now, it is the English. The French army, and the aristocracy, is crippled. They lost nearly everyone and everything on that field at Poitiers.”

It was a summation of the results of the battle at Poitiers, which was the truth. France was crippled now as a result of that decisive battle and England was once again in charge. Henry was quite pleased to hear it.

“Then you shall not be going back to France?” he asked. “It sounds as if there is no longer a need.”

Alexander bit into his bread. “There will always be a need, Papa,” he said. “There has been a need longer than you have been alive. This is not the end, I fear, nor will it ever be, but for now it is my opinion that the situation will be quiet for a while.”

Both Henry and Elreda were pleased to hear such things from their son. They had never liked the idea of both of their sons fighting in France for a vanity war, wars that only benefitted the monarchy and those in control. At least, that was how they both looked at it in times when they would discuss such things.

“Quiet,” Elreda murmured, her hand draped on her husband’s arm. “Is it really true? Is it possible that you will be able to live your life peacefully and enjoy home and a family of your own?”

Alexander swallowed his bread, nearly choking. “Mama,” he said, drinking his wine to wash down the lump of bread. “Who said anything about a family of my own?”

Elreda grinned at her son. “I did,” she said. “You are nearly thirty years of age. It is time for you to consider such things, Alexander. A wife and then children of your own. Your father could make a wonderful match for you, you know. Now that you are home, you must allow him to do this. You will command a fine bride, my son.”

Alexander frowned. “I have been home four days and already you are broaching the subject of a wife,” he said, looking at his father as he pushed his food aside, suddenly no longer hungry. “Did you put her up to this?”

Henry held up his hands as if to ward off his son’s anger. “I did no such thing,” he said, “although you are at an age where you must consider such things. It is time for you to do your duty as the future Earl of Worcester. You owe the family an heir, Alex, and a legitimate one at that with a woman you are actually married to.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have only just returned home,” Alexander stressed. “Will you at least give me a few weeks before you are both trying to saddle me with a wife?”

Elreda pretended as if she hadn’t heard him. “Your papa’s garrison commander at Bronllys Castle has a beautiful daughter,” she said. “Her name is Anwyn de Titouan and she is nearly seventeen years old. A beautiful girl with dark hair and blue eyes. She is quite accomplished, I am told, and I should like for you to meet her. We thought mayhap to secure a contract with her for either you or Baxter, but you are the eldest, Alexander. You must marry first.”