Devil's Dominion (39 page)

“I have decided to hit de Velt where it will hurt him the most,” he said. “Holding Lady Allaston captive will not suffice. Killing her will bring me nothing but a dead captive. I must strike and strike hard at the man. I have therefore decided to marry Lady Allaston, impregnate her, and breed an army of de Llion sons who will be brought up to hate de Velt as much as I do. An enemy will be bred from the very blood that flows through de Velt’s veins. According to Lady Allaston, de Velt is quite the family man these days. I intend to infiltrate that family.”

It was a brilliant, unemotional summation and Bretton was rather proud of himself for it. By the time he was finished with his speech, Grayton was looking at him, too, and he could see a semblance of approval in their expressions. It was Dallan who finally spoke.

“Humiliation,” he confirmed. “You will humiliate de Velt through his daughter.”

Bretton nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “Do you understand that logic?”

Teague and Dallan nodded but Grayton wasn’t so sure. “You would marry the daughter of your enemy?” he asked. “She will only hate you more and possibly deny you sons.”

Bretton groaned inwardly. “Then tell me what
you
would do with her, Grayton?” he asked, with some irritation. “You once told me I had a valuable bargaining tool in her, but all that seems to have changed. When I had her in the vault, you wanted to release her, so I permitted it. Now, you do not trust her and you want to put her back into the vault again. The messages you are sending me are both confusing and infuriating. Tell me what you would do with her and tell me now. I grow weary of your constant contradictions.”

Grayton, with all eyes on him, was defensive and uncertain. After a moment, he finally shook his head, exasperated that Bretton, who so often took his advice, had been choosing to ignore his suggestions when it came to Allaston. He was coming to feel left out of Bretton’s decisions, which was perhaps the root of his problem.

“I have already told you what I think you should do with her but you do not want to listen,” he said. “Marry the woman and fill her full of your sons, but do not be surprised if those sons turn against their father. You are playing a dangerous game by allowing the enemy so close to you.”

Bretton watched the man as he fidgeted angrily. “I am doing what battle commanders have been doing for centuries,” he said. “I am marrying the enemy to achieve my ends.”

Grayton knew his argument against the lady was at an end. He could see it in Bretton’s features. “Your ends are to capture de Velt’s castles,” he reminded him, embittered. “You promised us the wealth from these raids and unless you want a rebellion on your hands, I would suggest we continue our conquest before you marry the woman and live your life with her.
We
are your priority, Bretton, and not de Velt’s daughter. As you said, she is a possession like a castle or a horse – she is merely a tool. If you delay too long with your focus on the lady, then you risk your men growing restless and either turning against you or deserting you.”

Bretton’s eyes darkened. “Are you threatening me?”

Grayton shook his head as Teague stood up, placing himself between Bretton and Grayton. He’d seen that look on Bretton before, always before he lashed out. Teague didn’t want any bloodshed between them because it would end up destroying everything they’d worked for.

“He is not,” Teague assured him. “He merely speaks the truth. The men are already growing restless, waiting to march on the next castle. You said you were planning on heading to Comen in two days. Let us focus on that. We will have the men prepared to leave at dawn the day after tomorrow. How far is Comen Castle from here?”

Teague knew the answer but he was trying to distract Bretton from his deadly glare against Grayton. As he hoped, Bretton’s focus shifted.

“It will take us a day at most,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Grayton and returning his attention to the message on the table before him. “Comen will be under siege by the next morning.”

“Excellent,” Teague said, motioning to Dallan to remove Grayton from the room. “We will spread the word. The men will be happy to hear it.”

Bretton had returned to his missive but he called out before the commanders left the room. “Grayton,” he said, and all three paused in the doorway. “Do not forget to send me a messenger. I must deliver this missive to de Lohr today.”

Grayton, upset and disillusioned, simply nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

“And, Grayton?”

“Aye?”

Bretton’s head came up, the bright blue eyes narrowed. “Make sure the men understand that if Lady Allaston is harmed or molested in any way, in any fashion, my wrath shall be deadly. I will strike first and ask questions later. Is that clear?”

“It is, my lord.”

“Then go.”

Grayton left the room, followed by the other two. When Bretton heard the entry to the keep open and then softly close again, he tossed down his quill and ran his hand through his hair in a pensive gesture. He wasn’t sure if his commanders were supportive of his marriage to Allaston and that concerned him. Without their support, he would have a difficult time maintaining the fealty of the army.

But without Allaston, he would be nothing at all. Difficult choices were coming in his future. He could sense it.

℘

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Comen Castle

Out of all the castles so far on Bretton’s list of conquest, Comen seemed to have fallen the fastest. A rather large, spread-out castle with inadequate walls and a very vulnerable postern gate near the kitchens, Comen fell in only two days. On the evening of the second day, the hall and stables were in flames and Bretton’s men were mounting the walls, killing everything that moved. At sunset, when the sky was turning shades of orange and yellow, the blood and destruction of Comen was something unparalleled in recent times. It was as if the very gates of Hell had opened up, revealing the horror of Satan’s realm inside. In truth, Comen, that night, became Hell personified. The Devil had expanded his dominion and no one was safe because of it.

The soldiers defending Comen had suffered the worst. Bretton’s men had rounded up the ones who were able-bodied and those wounded but still strong enough to stand, and crowded them all into one corner of the bailey while gangs of Bretton’s men had cut down trees in the nearby forest, making posts to impale the submissive army on. The impalings began just after dark and the agony of those who were put to the stakes filled the smoky, cold air.

The keep of Comen had held for another couple of hours after sunset, finally being breached when Bretton’s men had managed to reach the entry door by way of ladders, as the retractable staircase had been burned away. Unfortunately, the door was solid oak and after a half-hour of chipping away at it to make the wood raw enough to flame, they ignited the door and it burned steadily for an hour, finally falling away to ash sometime before midnight. Teague and several de Llion mercenaries were the first ones into the keep, rounding up the lady of Comen and her three frightened daughters.

Bretton was with Grayton and a few soldiers, coming in after the damage had been done to take stock of what was left. The hall was almost in total ruin, as were the stables, but several fine horses had been saved that Bretton immediately laid claim to. The rest of the bailey seemed relatively intact and that included a very nice armory. Bretton was inspecting the kitchen yards, noting that the cooks, or someone, had destroyed most of the supplies once the castle began to fall, when Dallan appeared.

“My lord,” he addressed Bretton formally. “We have the commander of Comen. Would you like to interrogate him before we put him to the stake?”

Bretton’s gaze was lingering on the castle garden where there seemed to be an abundance of peas before, shuddering in disgust at the peas, turning to Dallan. He noted that Dallan seemed particularly weary, covered in soot and sweat.

“I will see him,” he said. “Where is he?”

Dallan pointed to a group near the smoldering ruins of the hall. “Over there,” he said as he and Bretton headed in that direction. “It seems his father is with him, too, a man who was one of de Velt’s original commanders.”

Bretton looked at him with interest. “Indeed?” he said. “What is his name?”

“Sir Ares de Gault,” he replied. “His son, the garrison commander, is Sir Augustus de Gault. It is Augustus’ family that we took from the keep, his wife and three daughters.”

Bretton could spy the two beaten knights ahead, surrounded by his soldiers. Being in possession of one of de Velt’s original knights was quite an unexpected event and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

“Where are the women?” he asked.

“I think the men have them.”

A note of warning sounded in Bretton’s head. “Are they having their fill of the women?”

“I believe so.”

Bretton suddenly came to a halt. “Go stop them,” he said, giving Dallan a shove. “Tell them not to touch the women until I give permission. Hurry and do this now. Then, I want you to take the women to the kitchen and keep them there until I arrive.”

Dallan nodded and ran off to find where the soldiers had taken the women. He didn’t give a second thought about Bretton’s command, mostly because he assumed Bretton wanted to see the women before anything was done. Perhaps he wanted to interrogate them or perhaps he even wanted them for himself, but that would have been unusual. Bretton had never taken a woman by force in all the time Dallan had known him. But he didn’t give the command much thought beyond that. He simply moved to carry it out.

Bretton watched Dallan head off, wondering if he was too late to prevent his men from defiling the women. He kept thinking about what Allaston had said about showing mercy. The concept was foreign to him but he sought to try. So many things Allaston had spoken of were alien in his world, compassion and mercy being the two largest issues, but he understood that those two attributes meant a good deal to her. Her words, spoken in Newtown, were haunting him:

Mayhap you will think of mercy the next time you are faced with a frightened woman whose only crime was living in a castle you want as your own. Throw her in the vault, or do whatever you have to do in order to keep her from your men, but I would pray that whatever comes, you consider showing mercy in all things.
He seriously wondered if he could.

But he pushed those thoughts aside as he came upon the commander of Comen and his aged father, an original de Velt knight. A man who had helped de Velt conquer the Marches and perhaps even a knight who’d had a hand in killing his father. His initial reaction to an original de Velt knight had been curious but ambivalent, but now he was starting to feel some anger. Pure, unbridled anger that fed off his sense of vengeance. Ignoring the son altogether, he walked straight to the old knight to get a very close look at him. He wanted to see the face of those who had killed his father.

As Bretton scrutinized the old man, he was met with a fearless expression. The old knight was big, perhaps a bit round, but he had been very muscular in his youth. He was still handsome as far as old men went, with very big hands. Bretton looked into the old knight’s eyes and saw nothing but courage and resignation. He wasn’t sure if it impressed or infuriated him. Here was a man who had seen all of de Velt’s dealings, who had experienced everything that had ruined Bretton’s life. The man before him, essentially, had made Bretton what he was. A killer.

“You are Sir Ares de Gault?” Bretton finally asked.

The old man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair nodded. “I am.”

“I am told you are one of de Velt’s original knights.”

De Gault merely nodded, the gesture of a man who saw no need to announce his accomplishments in life. It was an understated gesture, but Bretton merely cocked an eyebrow.

“This is a rather momentous moment for me,” he said. “I never thought to meet one of de Velt’s original knights.”

The old knight regarded him carefully. “And so you have,” he said. “Now that you have me where you want me, what are your intentions?”

He spoke with strength, which fueled Bretton’s respect for him. But it also fueled that five year old boy in side of him, the one who had lost his father at the hands of men such as de Gault. The questions that came next were natural.