Devil's Dominion (12 page)

He shifted course and headed for the keep.

℘

She was ready for him.

Allaston hadn’t slept most of the night, either, even though she had been ill and exhausted. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of de Llion and his hatred of her father filled her mind. To her, Jax de Velt was a loving father and a strict task master. To de Llion, he was a killer. She could hardly believe that she and de Llion were speaking of the same person but she knew in her heart of hearts that there was no mistake. She had known of her father’s past. But to her, it was just that – a past. That was not the man he was today. She wondered if de Llion believed he was doing the world a favor by eliminating the hated Jax de Velt, but that was a fleeting thought. After having spoken to the man in depth about it, she knew his motives were entirely self-serving. He was doing it for himself. For vengeance. It was vengeance she had to disrupt.

So she tried to sleep, and she did for a few hours, but well before dawn she awoke, her mind racing. She couldn’t simply let de Llion lure her father to his death. She was determined to fight back, to stop him somehow, even if it meant her own life. She simply couldn’t stand by and let de Llion complete his plans. Therefore, she rose very early with a plan in mind. It would mean de Llion’s life or her own. Today, that would be decided.

The thought of violence terrified her. She had never really been around it until the night de Llion and his men came to Alberbury. She knew, however, that it would take violence to stop Bretton de Llion so she crafted an idea. The fire poker, the one she had noticed last night, was sitting near the hearth. It was the only thing in the room that could be construed as a weapon so it was what she intended to use. She fully intended to kill the man with it because she knew if she didn’t kill him, he would kill her. It was his life or hers, and she would do all she could to ensure she would remain alive.

But it would be trickier after she killed him. She still had to escape the castle and that would be no easy task. But she presumed that if she could at least find the kitchens, then perhaps she could also find a postern gate. Most castles had them near the kitchens because of the commerce that was conducted with the cooks. Her hope was that she could get to the postern gate and flee before de Llion’s body was discovered. She had to have that gift of time if she had a hope of escaping, and once she was free, she would run to the nearest church and ask for help.

Perhaps it wasn’t a brilliant plan but it was the only one she had and, at the moment, she was desperate. She knew she had to strike first. De Llion had filled her head with frightening images and thoughts that were feeding her anxiety. All that waited for her here was doom and enslavement and she wasn’t one to accept such a situation. She would fight for her life, for her father’s life, or go down trying.

So she changed out of the heavy leather robe she had worn to bed, swapping it out for a few of the garments that Grayton had brought her. The first thing that went on was a shift of heavy linen the color of eggshells, as most linen was that color because it did not dye well. Wool was easily colored and she found a woolen surcoat of dark yellow that, once pulled over the sheath, fit her fairly well. It was well-made and expensive, she thought, simply by the way it was sewn.

Once her clothing was changed, she sought out her leather slippers. They were badly damaged from her time spent in the vault, shriveled and with some mold, but she put them on anyway over the hose she still wore from the previous night. Her hair, a rather unruly mass of black silk, was tamed by smoothing her hands over it and running her fingers through it, straightening it as much as she could, before braiding it tightly and securing the braid with a piece of cloth she tore from the hem of her dirty old clothing. She was dressed warmly and had shoes on her feet, so she was prepared when the time came to flee.

Her plans were briefly interrupted by a knock on the door. Nervously, she ran for the poker until she realized that it was a servant, so she went back over to the bed and sat as a small old man, dressed in ill-fitting clothing, brought her a meal to break her fast. Allaston eyed the food and noticed that it didn’t look like scraps, which was surprising considering that was what she had been fed for the past three weeks. She was hungry, too, but she remained on the bed as the servant stoked the fire with some peat and wood he brought with him. When the fire was burning nicely, he quit the chamber and left her alone.

Once he was gone, she leapt up and ran to the food, shoving bread in her mouth and struggling to chew because it was so full. The bread was warm, freshly baked, and delicious. There was also cheese on the plate along with a cup of watered ale, and she drank deeply, thirsty. A little mound of warmed mutton didn’t survive her hunger long and she chewed it up eagerly. In fact, she cleared the tray in little time, feeling much better after everything was gone. With her stomach, and manner, fortified she was better able to focus on what needed to be done. She had a feeling that de Llion would come around again today, this morning perhaps, and she would be ready for him.

So she resumed her seat on the bed as she waited uneasily and the room grew warm because of the snapping fire. It felt rather good. Growing restless and jittery, she fingered through the rest of the garments Grayton had brought her, a pile that she had kicked to the floor when she’d gone to sleep. There was part of a brocaded surcoat, just the bibbed portion without the skirt, another surcoat that was a very heavy blue wool, and then a cloak on the bottom of the pile that was dark green in color with a brown rabbit lining. It was quite nice and she pulled it out, inspecting it. She was in the process of fingering the fur when there was a single heavy rap at the door.

Startled, she dropped the cloak and ran to the hearth where the poker rested against the wall. Snatching the poker, she ran to the door, wedging herself against the wall so that when the door opened, she would be behind it. Trembling with both fear and anticipation, she didn’t respond when someone knocked again. She remained still and silent. After a tense pause, the latch to the door lifted.

The door swung open, hitting her as it did, but she didn’t utter a sound. She strained to catch a glimpse of someone entering, her heart beating loudly in her ears as Bretton came into view. He had his back to her as he stepped into the room and it was evident that he was looking for her.

Allaston took it as her moment to strike. The longer she delayed, the more chance there was of him discovering her in the shadows with a poker in her hands. Bringing the poker up, she stepped out from behind the door and aimed for his head, bringing it down as hard as she could right on the back of his skull.

There was a loud, sickening thud as Bretton pitched forward onto his face. He wasn’t out cold, however. He was still moving around and Allaston whacked him again, as hard as she could. He fell still.

Allaston stood over Bretton with the poker still raised, preparing to hit him again when she realized that she had knocked him out. The man wasn’t moving at all. Peering closer, she wasn’t even sure that he was breathing and she could see blood on the back of his head, glistening off his dark hair. Poker still in hand, she bent over to see if she could tell if he was breathing, now having some indecision about her actions. What if she did kill him? That would make her no better than he was. It would make her a brute, capable of violence. She never had liked violence and now that she had committed a violent act, it only served to fuel her distaste.

But she couldn’t back out of her plans now. She had already started the scheme in motion and there was no turning back. De Llion was knocked out cold and it was time for her to move. She had to flee, to somehow get out of this place. Tossing the poker aside, she bent down to make sure Bretton was still breathing before she left. A foolish gesture but she wasn’t entirely cold-hearted about things. Even towards a man who was determined to kill her father. After last night’s conversation with him, she had come to understand him a bit. He was a driven killer, but he’d also led a tragic life. As she looked down at him, she struggled not to feel sorry for the man.

But there wasn’t time for sorrows or regrets now. She put her hand in front of de Llion’s nose to see that he was indeed breathing, slow and steady. At least she knew he wasn’t going to die as the result of her beating. Standing up, she turned hastily for the chamber door and ran headlong into a big, warm body.

Grayton had her around the neck before she could scream.

℘

Bronllys Castle was a relatively small castle as far as fortresses went, but it was strategic. Originally held by Walter de Clifford, the High Sheriff of England, he had turned the castle over to Christopher de Lohr because the man had more manpower on the Marches and was less involved in London politics, in which Walter was entrenched. With the Marches as volatile as they were, it made sense to have the outpost manned by a lord who had an active interest in keeping the peace. Therefore, Bronllys Castle was an English-held castle, managed by de Lohr, in the midst of Welsh territory.

Sir Berwyn de Llion was the garrison commander for Bronllys, an old man who refused to give up his command. The man had grown grandsons but still he continued to remain active. His once-black hair was now mostly gray but he had a lot of it, and he was built like most of the de Llion men – muscular and big-chested. His teeth were still in good shape if not slightly yellowed, his heart gave him pain now and again, but those were the only signs of age on the man. He was still rugged and strong.

It was this man who greeted Rod as the knight entered the bailey of Bronllys. From high in the keep, which sat atop a massive motte, Berwyn had seen Rod approaching from the south. The fog that had blanketed the countryside for most of the day had finally lifted, affording brilliant views for miles. Situated at the junction of two rivers, Bronllys guarded one of the main roads into Wales. One could not avoid the castle if one was traveling into Wales.

Excited by the view of his grandson returning, it took Berwyn some time to climb down from the keep, taking the narrow wooden steps down the motte and on into the bailey. By the time he reached the large, oddly shaped bailey, Rod had already been met by some soldiers and was dismounting his frothing steed. Berwyn was very happy to see the man.

“I am glad to see that the fortunes were with you,” he said as he clapped Rod on the back. “And how is our illustrious liege? Did you give de Lohr my greetings?”

Rod was weary from his ride but he managed a smile at his grandfather. “I did,” he said. “He sends his in return.”

Berwyn began to pull Rod towards the great hall, which was built along the eastern wall of the bailey. “How was your journey?”

“Long.”

“What did de Lohr want of you?”

Rod didn’t say anything for the moment. He had been debating what to tell his grandfather about Bretton’s return ever since he had learned of it. He and de Lohr had spent an evening debating about the positive and negative effects of telling the old man, but in the end, Rod knew he couldn’t, in good conscience, withhold such information. It wasn’t fair to Berwyn. Good or bad, the man had a right to know, especially if he had the potential of facing the man in battle.

“Come inside and we will discuss it,” Rod said as they headed into the long, skinny great hall with its massive hearth and roaming packs of cats. No dogs at Bronllys, but feral cats everywhere. Rod even shoved one out of the way as he took a seat at the end of the big feasting table. “I have not eaten since before dawn, so feed me before I faint.”

Berwyn grinned and sent a servant running to the kitchen for food and drink as he sat down opposite his grandson. He was inordinately attached to the man and had been for the past several years, ever since Rod came to serve with him. Missing his own son as he did, his only son who had been murdered those years ago, made him overly attached to Rod. He faced the man over the top of the well-scrubbed feasting table.

“Well?” he said expectantly. “What would de Lohr have of you?”

Rod eyed his grandfather. He was going to have to be very careful in how he brought about the subject of Bretton de Llion. As he’d told de Lohr, it was quite possible that his grandfather, in a fit of emotion, would ride straight to Cloryn to seek out the truth of the matter. Rod didn’t want a big scene on his hands with his grandfather but braced himself for the possibility.