Medieval Master Warlords (29 page)

The knight grunted and fell away, an eight inch blade in his gut.  Aghast, Kellington stood frozen as the man collapsed to the ground.  He was bleeding to death before her eyes.   Overcome with dismay, she went to the man as he wallowed on the ground.

“I am sorry,” she pleaded. “I did not mean to. It was an accident….”

The knight groaned.  Kellington started to cry, horrified at what she had done.  She lifted the man’s visor with shaking hands to get a better look at him, to plead forgiveness for what she had done.  She was not prepared for what greeted her.

It was Keats.

Kellington let out a scream of pain and sorrow so loud that even Jax and Denedor paused to see what had happened.   When they saw Kellington on the ground beside a fallen knight, at first they both thought that she had been injured.   Denedor even lowered his blade as his focus shifted from Jax to Kellington. But Jax took advantage of that moment of distraction and lifted his sword.  He brained Denedor on the back of the skull and the man fell like a stone.

Kellington didn’t see Jax’s blow.  She was lying over her father, weeping uncontrollably.   Keats tried to put his arms around her but he was quickly weakening.

“Kelli,” he murmured. “Lambchop, look at me.”

Kellington’s head came up, her lovely face coated with tears.  “Father,” she wept. “I did not know it was you. I did not recognize you.”

Keats patted her head as best he was able. “Borrowed mail,” he muttered. “I know you did not know it was me. I intended that you not.”

“But why?” she begged. “You should have told me. “

Keats’ face was white.  His limbs had a strange, fuzzy feeling to them and he knew that he was not long for this world.  But he struggled to say what he must to his only child.

“Because I said…awful things to you,” he was having difficulty forming the words. “It was easier to be unknown to you.  At least you let me get near to you. I was afraid if you knew it was me, you would… resist.”

Kellington sobbed, her gaze moving to her father’s torso and the big dirk she had planted there.  Blood was running down the borrowed mail and pooling in the soft green grass beneath him.  She put her hand on the dirk to pull it out but her father stopped her.

“Nay, lambchop,” he said. “’Twill do no good. Leave it be.”

She wept loudly, knowing he was right but straining against that knowledge.   “I am so sorry,” she repeated, laying her head against his chest and feeling his unsteady breathing. “For everything, I am sorry. I never meant to disappoint you.”

Keats’ mailed glove came to rest on her golden head. “I know,” he whispered.  His breathing was growing more unsteady. “Forgive… me….”

He let out a long, harsh rattle before falling still.  Kellington’s head came up and her tears stopped momentarily, shocked at the fact that her father was no longer breathing.  But a split second later, the tears returned en force and she buried her face against her father’s armored chest, weeping pitifully.

Kellington lost all concept of time as she wept for her father.  She no longer heard the sounds of battle around her, the sounds of men dying. All she knew was that she had killed her father, accidentally though it might be, and the knowledge was more than she could bear.  He had been her entire life up until a few weeks ago.  Now that life was gone.

“Kelli,” she heard a soft, deep voice behind her. “We must leave this place.”

It was Jax.  Her eyes flew open, the tears stopped, and she bolted into a sitting position. The golden brown eyes were wide with shock and joy as she gazed up at him.

“You are alive,” she gasped. “I did not know… I did not hear anything and….”

Jax would not let her finish; he knew how upset she was and he did not want her to wallow in grief.  He had more critical things on his mind at the moment, like removing her from the battle and away from men trying once again to separate them. He reached down and gently grasped her arms.

“Come on, love,” he pulled carefully to help her stand. “I must remove you from this battle.”

She let him pull her up, into his arms where she collapsed against him.  He held her tightly for a moment, relieved and deeply thankful.

“But what of my father,” she whispered through new tears. “We cannot simply leave him.”

Jax was about to reply when he suddenly lurched forward.  Kellington was spared the brunt of the fall as he turned slightly to absorbed most of it.  She suddenly caught sight of big black boots standing a few feet away as Jax rolled off of her.  Struggling from beneath his fallen body, she ended up in a sitting position, gazing up into a figure outlined against the mid-afternoon sky.

Denedor had the tip of his broadsword against Jax’s throat.  He had a distinct frown on his face and a trickle of blood coming from his left ear. Kellington sat on her buttocks, gasping with distress, overcome by the events of the day and struggling to orient herself.

“Denedor,” she breathed. “Please, I beg you. Do not kill him.”

Denedor was furious; that much was evident. His normally even expression was tense, his cheeks flushed with rage. He ignored Kellington for the most part, his fury focused on Jax. There was much turmoil in the pale blue eyes.

“For you, I shall be merciful,” he finally growled. “You will not find your death on the end of a pole.  You will find it now, swiftly, and without pain, although I should make your death as agonizing as possible for what you have done to countless men in such horrifying ways.”

Jax lay on his back, his two-colored eyes without fear as he looked up at Denedor “Do what you must,” he said quietly. 

Denedor gazed down at the man who had struck terror in to the hearts of most of England and Wales for the better part of nine years.  He could end so much pain and suffering with a stroke of his sword.  But he was a man with a conscience.  Though Jax de Velt might not be, Denedor was, in fact, a man of great honor.  He believed in mercy and compassion.  He believed that men were good for their word and that there was still some joy in life when all others believed it to be a waste of effort.

“Denedor, please,” Kellington was rising to her feet, her lovely face pale with dread and too much weeping. “Please do not kill him, I beseech you. I have already lost my father this day. Would you take the only other man that I love?

Denedor’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened.  God, he could end so much at this moment.  But he realized, as he gazed into Jax de Velt’s strangely colored eyes that he could not do as he should.  He could not kill a man who was on his back, openly surrendering, while the lady pleaded for his life.  That would make him no better than de Velt himself.  And he considered himself a much better man.

“God knows I should kill you,” he said after a moment, staring into de Velt’s brown and green eyes.  “For all of the pain and suffering you have caused, I should end it all right here.  But I am going to show something you have thus far been incapable of displaying, and that is the quality of mercy.  Remember this day, de Velt.  Remember when another man showed you leniency as you lay at the tip of his sword and perhaps the next time you are in a similar position, you will remember this day and you will honor it.  Perhaps this day will sink deep into your soul and you will never kill another man as long as you live because somewhere, at some time, another knight showed you such compassion as you have never had the heart to feel.”

As Jax lay there, something that Kellington once said to him flash through his mind; please show mercy, my pet. Someday you may require it yourself.  Perhaps this was the moment she spoke of.  Any other man would have already drained his blood, but Denedor was displaying control and wisdom that most men did not have.  At that moment, he began to understand the full concept of benevolence.  Nothing Kellington could have explained to him in words could have truly conveyed the concept; he had to experience it for himself.

He managed to nod, once, and Denedor removed his sword.  Weary, and with a bad headache, Denedor took several steps back from Jax and the two men eyed each other warily as Jax rose to his feet.

“Pull your army out of here,” Denedor said. “I have spared your life for a reason and that reason was not to betray my mercy.  You will leave Northumberland altogether, de Velt.  I will not see or hear of you again.”

Jax thought of the castles he had conquered, the hundreds of men he had stationed at what he considered his properties.   He was mulling over the order when Kellington suddenly grasped his hand, gently, and he found himself gazing down into her golden brown eyes, red from so much weeping.  She squeezed his hand.

“How many of Northumberland’s castles do you hold?” she asked.

Jax lifted an eyebrow. “Several.”

“You will return them all to Northumberland,” she said quietly.  “You are leaving with your life, Jax.  That is not too high a price to pay for the mercy given you.”

Gazing into her soft eyes, he would have given up the entire world had she asked it.  He was leaving with his life and with Kellington.  Nothing on earth was more important to him.

“As you say,” he looked back to Denedor. “I will pull my men out of those castles that I have garrisoned with one request.   My bride has lived most of her life at Pelinom and wishes to remain living there.   I will return Foulburn Castle and pay a yearly stipend to de Vesci if he will allow us to remain at Pelinom.”

Denedor’s gaze moved from Jax to Kellington.  He had resisted looking at her to this point because he did not want to feel the disappointment and regret that he knew would accompany such an action.  But he could not be bitter about it; he realized. It was simply not meant to be.

“I will take that up with de Vesci,” he said.

Jax nodded sharply, glancing over his shoulder at the battle that was tearing up most of the pasturelands.  But Kellington was still looking at Denedor. Letting go of Jax’s hand, she made her way to the big blond knight, her golden brown eyes gentle with gratitude.  There was a moment of softness between them as Kellington realized just how principled and gracious the man was.  

“I do not know quite what to say to you,” she said softly. “To thank you seems wholly insufficient. What you have done today is the most remarkable thing I have ever seen.  You are truly a man of tremendous honor.”

Denedor could not let himself be sucked into the sorrow that was trying to trap him.  He smiled weakly.

“I wish you every happiness, my lady,” he said.

Kellington nodded, not sure what else to say as she read strong disappointment in the man’s eyes.   She lowered her gaze, making her way back to Jax and falling into his powerful embrace.  The emotion that existed between them was hard to ignore; it was powerful, all-encompassing. Denedor watched a moment before turning away; with a heavy sigh of longing, he went in search of his charger. 

They would all live to see another day and, he hoped, a better one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Berwick-Upon-Tweed

He had left Kellington sleeping at an inn, watched over by men he trusted.  The rest, including the bulk of his army, he had sent back to Pelinom for the time being. But that could change at any moment.  He was still waiting to hear from de Vesci on the matter of whether or not he would be permitted to purchase the castle.  Every day he waited for word.

It had been a week since the events at Alnwick - a week for Kellington to grieve for her father, a week for Jax to become accustomed to his new life with a new wife. He had married her the day of that fateful battle.  The trip to Berwick a week later had been under the pretense of a shopping trip, to purchase his wife finery and jewelry on the event of their marriage. Being a normal female, she readily agreed to the shopping trip. Over the past four days, he had spent almost as much money as he had confiscated from all of his northern conquests combined. For a man unused to spending his wealth, it had been something of a harrowing experience.

But the wedding celebration had not been his primary purpose. There was something gnawing at him, and had been, since his confrontation with Amadeo. He had chosen Berwick for a purpose. The man’s dying words echoed in Jax’s brain and, try as he might, he could not shake them.  He had been a terrible husband to his first wife and vowed he would be the best husband he could be to his second.  Still, he had some amends to make to Mira, if for no other reason than to ease his guilty conscience.

He had not told Kellington of Mira.  With all they had been through, he did not believe it was the right time. His wife was still distraught over her father and Jax did not want to add to that burden. So in the midst of their shopping trip, he had waited until the time was right to slip away and go in search of Amadeo’s clues. It was the dead of night and he knew Kellington was a heavy sleeper; hopefully she would not wake and find him missing. But he could not worry about that.

So he had come to Bridge Terrace, a street near the mouth of the River Tweed. It was a seedy area, lined with disreputable taverns and murderer’s dens. But no one would dare bother a man of Jax’s size and overall presentation; though he was without his helm, he still had on his armor and most of his personal weapons. Only an idiot would have challenged him as he moved in darkened streets. He navigated the night with no fear.

Jax wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for.  Amadeo had said ‘Blankenship’ in the midst of his death throes, though Jax had no real idea what that meant. It could have been someone’s name or the name of a vessel.  Perhaps it was the name of a ship that sailed from the wharf with Mira in it. His eyes roved the street, the signs, the buildings, looking for a sign.  With every moment, he was growing more baffled and more discouraged.

But then his dual-colored gaze came to rest on an object and he suddenly came to a halt.  Over his head was a sign, crudely carved, that said “Blankynship”.  It was barely legible, but unmistakable.  Slightly startled, he sized up the small structure and hesitantly moved to one of the windows, peering inside.

There were a few people in the interior, eating or drinking by the light of a few fat tapers.  A dirty fire burned in the hearth, spitting smoke into the room.  He assumed it was an inn, although it did not look like most inns he knew. It was far too quiet and empty.  Still, he went to the door and pushed it open.  He was met by a blast of warm air and the sharp smell of yeast.

Every face in the room turned to him, unconcerned at first but then eyes wide with trepidation.  That wasn’t unusual; Jax was used to that kind of reaction. Still, he was here for a purpose, and that purpose wasn’t to maim or terrorize.  He spoke to the room as a whole.

“I am looking for the owner of this establishment.”

People began pointing to the back of the room so he followed their direction and moved into the dimness that constituted the rear of the building. There were a few empty tables and a very cluttered kitchen.  He accidentally kicked a cat in the darkness, cursing under his breath as the animal howled.  As he moved through the very back of the room, a tall, dark-haired man suddenly came into view.

Their eyes met in the weak light of the distant hearth.  The man was young, handsome and slender.  He wiped his hands on a rag and stepped forward.

“May I help you, my lord?” he asked politely.

“Are you the innkeeper?”

The young man nodded. “I am Edward Blankynship,” he replied. “May I be of service?”

So that explained the sign above the tavern. Jax was trying not to look too confused. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “I am looking for some information, I think.”

“What information would that be, my lord?”

“Do you know a woman by the name of Mira?”

Edward nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lord. Mira is my wife. Do you wish to see her?”

Jax stared at him; his wife? He could no longer control his confusion and his features twisted with puzzlement.

“Your
wife
?” he repeated dumbly.

“Aye, my lord. Shall I get her?”

“If it… well, if it is possible,” he scratched his scalp as if it would help him think more clearly. “Your wife, you say?”

Edward nodded again, an odd twinkle in his eye at the man who kept asking him the same question. “Aye,” with a rag in one hand, he moved to the rear door; outside, Jax could see a small cottage across what looked to be an alley. Edward called across the way. “Mira? Mira, love, someone is here to see you!”

He shut the door against the chill evening and turned back to Jax.  “It should only be a moment,” he said. “She is putting our youngest to bed.  He does not like to comply.”

Jax was as close to astonishment as he had ever been in his life. He stood there with his mouth hanging open, finally making a conscious effort to shut it.  Too many things did not make sense.

“How… how long have you been married?” it was the first thing he could think to ask.

“Almost four years,” Edward replied. He peered more closely at Jax. “Would you like some wine?”

Jax raised his eyebrows, thinking he could probably use some.  He nodded and Edward brought him a large cup of rich, and cheap, red wine. Jax took the entire cup in three swallows and slammed the cup back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  He looked at the young innkeeper again, studying him, perhaps sizing him up.

“How did you meet your wife?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as if he was interrogating the man but frankly not caring. He wanted answers.

Edward poured him another drink. “She was shopping in town.  I met her on the street, not far from here.  She is the sister of a great warlord, although I’ve never met him.  She says that he lives in France.”

“And you have lived here since the day you were married?”

“Right here, my lord. We have two sons.”

Suddenly, pieces were starting to fall together and a good deal was starting to make sense.  Jax drained the second cup and realized he was beginning to feel ill. Just as he opened his mouth to ask another question, a small figure entered the shop from the dark alley.  Both Jax and Edward turned as the figure moved towards them, hidden by the shadows. But the moment her face came into the light, Jax struggled not to react.

It was a sweet little face with big dark eyes and pretty dark hair. Mira de Velt’s eyes widened at the sight of her first husband, surely a sight she never expected to see. She took a step back, hand to her heart, terror in her eyes. Jax could see her shock, matching his own, and he moved quickly to stave off her panic before she could erupt.

“Dear sister,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and kissing her on the forehead. “Is that how you greet your brother? With such astonishment?”

Mira was stiff in his grip as he released her. She stumbled back, away from him, her mind spinning with shock. Even so, she had heard his words; is this how you greet your brother? To her left, her husband was watching with surprise. She could not give away anything, not now, not when her entire life hung in the balance. She could not let Jax or her unabashed bewilderment ruin what she had worked so hard to achieve.  All she could manage was a strangled sentence.

“I… I did not know you were here,” she stammered. Then the most truthful question of the night came forth. “How did you find me?”

Jax just stared at her, thinking she was still a pretty little thing but that she had aged quickly over the past four years. Oddly enough, he felt no anger or sense of possessiveness. But he did realize that, as of this moment, both he and Mira had a giant, common problem. He needed to get her alone to discuss it.

“It was not too difficult,” he said. “Someone told me you would be here.”

Mira was trembling; Jax could see it.  He sat back down at the table and indicated for her to do the same. “Sit, sister. We’ve not seen each other in years.  There is much to talk about.”

Edward helped his wife to sit; his attentions toward her were kind and loving. Even Jax could see that.  Then he pulled up a chair of his own but Mira stopped him.

“Edward,” she said quickly, holding a hand over the chair to prevent him from sitting.  “Johnny was very restless when I left him. Would you mind checking on him while I speak to my… brother?”

Edward nodded eagerly. “Of course, my love. I will be right back.”

Jax and Mira sat in silence until the slender young man left back through the alley door.  When Jax finally looked at the woman, she was staring back at him fearfully.

“Please do not kill me, Jax,” she begged softly. “I am sorry if I shamed you and I am sorry if this is a horrendous shock to you, but you must understand that….”

Jax cut her off with a raised hand. “I am not here to exact revenge, Mira,” he said quietly. “In fact, I am rather relieved to see that you are alive.”

The expression on her pasty face changed slightly. “Why?”

“Because I thought you were dead.”

Mira did not quite know what to say to that. “Why did you come looking for me?” she suddenly went into panic mode again. “If you think I am going to return with you, know right now that I will not. I will never go back to you. I would rather…”

He cut her off for a second time. “I’ve not come to bring you back nor have I come to kill you,” he sat forward on the table, folding his enormous hands patiently. “Mira, I came because I thought Amadeo had killed you and I had come to seek some manner of peace with the situation. I should have done it four years ago but I suppose it took me that long to discover what an ignorant husband I had been. In any case, before he died, Amadeo mentioned Bridge Terrace and Blankenship.  I knew there was a bridge wharf in Berwick, so I came to Bridge Terrace and, by chance, found this place. Believe me when I tell you that it was purely by chance.  I came on Amadeo’s clues but honestly had no idea what I would find.”

Mira gazed at him a long time, digesting what he had told her. But knowing de Velt as she had, she could hardly believe he hadn’t come to punish her.  Along with her fear, however, she also felt betrayed.

“He promised he would not tell you,” she finally said, her eyes welling. “He swore to me that he would never tell you what happened.”

Jax was starting to feel some confusion again, now about Amadeo’s part in all of this. “Would you please tell me what happened? I promise I will not become angry, but I would like to know the truth.”

Mira’s breathing began to come in strange little pants. She fidgeted a bit, wiping at her eyes, glancing at Jax every so often.  She finally sat on her hands in a nervous gesture, struggling with her composure.

“You swear that you will not kill me?”

“I swear.”

She took a deep breath.  “Then if that is true, you are not the husband I left.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I am most certainly not the husband you left.  Tell me the truth, Mira. What happened? Why are you here?”

She took another deep breath; she did not want to anger him by refusing, so she summoned her courage.

“I met Edward on a shopping trip when you and I lived at Foulburn,” she said softly, haltingly. “In two minutes the man made me feel more comfort and joy than you gave me in two years.  I… I told him that I was not married.  I truly wished that I was not and as time passed and the more I conversed with him, it was easy to pretend that I was not.  He wanted to marry me and I wanted to marry him, so I planned my escape from Foulburn one night and Amadeo caught me. He made me tell him where I was going.  When I did, he offered to escort me there. He swore that he would never tell you what had happened.”

Jax kept his composure remarkably well; his face never changed expression. But he could see that he had been horribly wrong about Amadeo in a most important way; still, the man had been conspiring behind his back. It was not the first time and it certainly was not the last.  His only regret was that Amadeo did not tell him that Mira was still alive on the day of that fateful battle.  It would have perhaps made a difference in the outcome. 

“Amadeo wanted you out of the way,” he said quietly. “That is why he escorted you to Berwick and left you off to a new life. He did not want you near me, distracting me, and interrupting my plans of conquest.” 
Just as he had tried to rid me of Kellington.