Devil's Dominion (11 page)

“Mayhap that is true,” he said, watching her as she tried not to look at him. He could tell that she didn’t like what she saw. “But I intend to find out. In any case, this is what I have planned for most of my life and no one will convince me otherwise. It is something I must do.”

Allaston was looking at her hands, the floor, anything not to look the man in the eye. “These men that fight with you,” she said. “Do they feel the same sense of vengeance that you do? Did my father wrong them as well?”

Bretton shook his head as he sat back, ending up on his bum a few feet away from her. “Nay,” he said. “They are in it for the money and properties I can provide them. We are a mercenary army, my lady. Did you not realize that?”

She glanced at him, sidelong. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

“But where did you find all of these men?”

He cocked his head thoughtfully, his gaze moving between her and the snapping fire. “In Ireland,” he said. “After I escaped your father’s carnage, I was sold to a merchant and ended up in Ireland. That is where I grew up, where I learned my craft, and where I compiled an army big enough to take on Jax de Velt. My men are well paid, my lady.”

Allaston’s head came up and she looked at him. In the soft light of the fire, he actually looked quite handsome with his square jaw and dark hair. He looked almost… normal. But he wasn’t normal. The man was a killer.

“Who sold you to a merchant?” she asked. “You were a mere child. Who did this?”

His rather pleasant expression faded. “Servants that used to work for my family,” he said. “I escaped with a few of them and, in the end, they simply didn’t know what to do with me. An old woman had been taking care of me and when she died, her husband sold me. He did not want a young boy about the house and opted for the money I could bring him.”

Allaston was listening intently to a rather sad story. “The merchant used you as a slave?”

Bretton’s features tightened as he stared into the flame of the hearth. “Among other things,” he muttered softly. “When I became older, I ran away and found an Irish mercenary who agreed to take me as an apprentice in exchange for work. It was a difficult life but I learned a great deal. I am not afraid of hardship.”

Allaston was rather surprised he was opening up so much about his personal life, but she knew it was the drink. He was still exhibiting some signs of having imbibed too much. Still, his tale was a sad one. It began to occur to her that if perhaps she played to that sad tale by showing sympathy, perhaps she could gain his trust somewhat. Perhaps if he stopped viewing her as the flesh and blood of his hated enemy, things might be different. One could hardly kill someone they liked or at least felt a connection to. Perhaps if she was nice to him, it would pay off in the end. She had to try.

“I do not imagine that you are,” she said. “It sounds as if you have had a very difficult life. I suppose, in a sense, that I do not blame you for what you feel. I cannot say I would feel any differently if a warlord had killed my father.”

His bright blue eyes were intense on her. “A warlord will,” he said. “Make no mistake, my lady. A warlord
will
kill your father.”

She held his gaze steadily. “So you would do to me what my father did to you?” she asked. “You would take away my father, too?”

“At least you had your father for a good deal of your life. That is more than I can say for myself.”

He was making it difficult for her to be nice to him but she continued to try. “And you think that killing my father will somehow replace those missing years with your father?”

He shook his head. “Not replace,” he said. “I am not looking to replace anything. I am looking to right a wrong.”

“By creating another wrong?”

“Call it a reckoning, if you will. An eye for an eye.”

Allaston believed him. The more she spoke with him, the more she realized he meant every word he said. It was a sad and sickening realization. “You have thought this way for so long that it has become a part of you,” she muttered. “What happens after you kill my father? Do you go on with your life, marry well, and raise a family on the blood of vengeance? Will killing my father make all things possible for you? I wonder.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. “There is no reason to discuss this any longer because you will not convince me otherwise. I must do as I must, and you will have to accept it.”

I must do as I must
. He sounded rather final. She realized that she had to do what she must as well. Her attempt to be sympathetic to him hadn’t worked, so she had to try another tactic. She wasn’t sure what that was yet, but she realized she couldn’t wait around for the end of Jax de Velt to come. Perhaps it would be her end, too. She had to do something. She had to fight. She simply couldn’t stand by and watch de Llion kill her father. Much as he had plans, she would have to have plans, also.

She would have to fight back.

℘

The next morning at Cloryn dawned foggy and cold. In the great hall, the soldiers who had slept in various positions all around the room were just beginning to stir. Bretton was up, having slept very little last night after his conversation with Allaston. She had planted things in his minds, things that made him think, and he had lay awake most of the night thinking on what she had said. So much of what she’d said made sense to him, but there was one particular question she had proposed that he couldn’t seem to shake.

Will killing my father make all things possible for you?

He couldn’t honestly answer that question. The truth was that he’d never given much thought to his life after killing Jax de Velt and damn the man’s daughter for bringing the subject up. Of course he wanted to marry, if only to have heirs, but he had no chance of a good marriage from a good family, so he would have to take what he could get. He
could
get Allaston de Velt. She already belonged to him so he had been thinking on a marriage of convenience with her more and more. And even more than that after last night.

She was a beautiful woman. Aye, she was, even though it was difficult to think that way over a woman who carried de Velt’s blood. That meant their children would also carry de Velt’s blood. Did he really want to mix his blood with the blood of the man he hated most in the world? He had been wrestling with that very question. God forbid, what if one of his sons ended up
looking
like Jax de Velt? Would he hate the lad every time he looked at him? He simply didn’t have an answer for that.

Exhausted, frustrated, and in a foul mood, he entered the great hall in search of food and his commanders, in that order. The room was dark for the most part, the fire pit in the center having long gone cold, and it smelled badly of unwashed bodies and dogs. Over near one of the feasting tables, servants were starting to set out bread and drink. He made his way to the table and collected a mug of watered ale, stuffing some bread into his mouth as Grayton entered the hall well behind him. Bretton caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“A blessed morn to you, my lord,” Grayton greeted him pleasantly. “I hope you rested well.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Bretton looked at the man and scowled. “I did
not
,” he said. “Where are the others? I intend to ride to Rhayder today to scout the location and I would take Teague and Dallan with me. I will leave Olivier here with you.”

Grayton eyed the man. He knew he had spent a good deal of time with the prisoner the previous night but he’d not seen him after that. Bretton had evidently gone to bed after speaking with her, so this was the first that he’d seen the man. He was very curious to know what had gone on between him and the prisoner.

“As you wish,” he said casually, eyeing the man as he reached for a lopsided cup of ale. “I’ve not yet seen your prisoner this morning. How is she faring?”

Bretton was back to his usual emotionless expression. “I would not know,” he said. “I have not seen her this morning.”

Grayton took a bite of his bread. “I did not send the physic to her last night,” he said. “I had the odd feeling that you did not approve of my removing her from the vault, so I did not want to press the matter. If she dies, she dies. Her fate is consigned to God.”

Bretton took great slabs of tart white cheese and put it on his bread, taking a big bite. “She was coughing last night when I spoke with her but she did not seem to be deathly ill,” he replied, chewing. “In fact, she seemed quite well.”

Grayton looked at him with surprise. “She did?” he said. “Most interesting. Mayhap she is healing, after all.”

Bretton didn’t say anything for a moment as he chewed his meal. Swallowing what was in his mouth, he spoke.

“Have you thought about what you shall do when we are finished with de Velt?” he asked.

Grayton shook his head. “I confess, I have not,” he said. “I always thought we would move on to other targets.”

Bretton glanced at him curiously. “Targets? What targets?”

Grayton shrugged. “We must continue to pay the men,” he said. “I assumed we would continue doing what we are doing, even after we confiscate de Velt’s holdings. Why? Did you have another idea about it?”

Bretton took another bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully. “I do not know,” he said. “My goal has always been to reclaim de Velt’s properties and kill the man to avenge my father. After that, I figured that I would live in one of these castles and administer my domain.”

Grayton nodded, still not entirely sure why Bretton had asked the question about life after conquest. He’d only asked it after spending time with de Velt’s daughter. Grayton was coming to wonder if the woman hadn’t said something to Bretton to get the man’s mind working. In any case, he picked up another piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth.

“We do not have to decide anything at this moment,” he said, mouth full. “Complete conquest of de Velt’s holdings is still a long way off. We have four more castles to claim and that will not prove easy. For now, I will go find Dallan and the other commanders and send them to you. Shall I send them here?”

Bretton nodded. “Aye,” he said. “And make sure the grooms have the chargers prepared. Make sure the horses are well fed and watered.”

Grayton nodded. “If you are agreeable, I will also make sure your prisoner is well fed and watered.”

Bretton merely shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other. With a quick glance at his liege, Grayton wandered out of the hall to complete his tasks as Bretton remained behind, eating the warmed mutton and gravy the servants brought around, watching the soldiers sleeping in the hall become lucid.

Men were stretching, groaning, and farting. A few were pissing in the fire pit. Bretton looked at his men, seeing brutal and seasoned soldiers, men who would probably continue as mercenaries long after Bretton decided to settle down and remain in one place. The more he thought on it, the more he realized he didn’t want to continue conquest after he had confiscated all of de Velt’s holdings.

At some point, he wanted to stop and enjoy the fruits of his labor and impeccable planning. He knew it was strange for a mercenary to think that way, but he couldn’t help it. At some point in his life, he realized he wanted peace. He wasn’t out for everyone’s blood, only de Velt’s. But until such time as he spilled it, he would continue to kill, maim, and burn until it got him what he wanted.

So he sat there and brooded over the future until the men began to crowd around the feasting table where he was sitting, grabbing at food and drink. When that happened, Bretton finished the remainder of ale in his cup and quit the smelly, cold hall. His intention was to go to the stable to see if his charger was prepared but as he quit the hall, he inevitably noticed the keep to his right. Dark and shadowed against the rising sun, his thoughts turned to the contents of the keep, to Lady Allaston de Velt sleeping peacefully on the second floor.

Damn that woman and her logic!
He refused to admit that the woman was coming to intrigue him even though she was. He wasn’t sure why but until he could figure it out, she would continue to weigh on his mind and he didn’t like that at all. She could prove to be a deadly distraction.