Medieval Master Warlords (43 page)

Kellington felt as if she was losing a fight. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted her daughter returned but she wanted her husband whole, as well. “But surely there is someone well respected and powerful who can act as a mediator,” she said. “At the very least, mayhap this man will stand with you and support you as you negotiate for Allie’s release.”

Jax shook his head. “You know better than to suggest I have allies all over England,” he said. “Yves de Vesci is my only ally and that is because the man is my liege. Any opportunities for allies were destroyed many years ago, Kelli. No one will ally themselves with The Dark Lord and I do not want allies. They simply complicate things.”

Kellington could feel her control of the situation slipping. “Then what of the men stationed at your other Welsh castles?” she asked. “You have six of them, five now if Cloryn is compromised. What of them? Surely you can gather your men from the Welsh outposts and converge on Cloryn to demand Allie’s return? Mayhap he will release her by a pure show of force.”

Jax shook his head. “That is doubtful,” he said. “Moreover, if Cloryn is compromised, I have no way of knowing if the other castles are, too. I do not want to ride all the way to Wales, presuming my castles are still intact, only to discover those have been compromised. Nay, love, I will take most of the men from Pelinom and nearby White Crag with me. Those two castles of mine will provide almost one thousand men. That will be sufficient to march upon Cloryn and demand Allie’s return, but if he does not return her, then I will have enough men to lay siege to Cloryn.”

Kellington’s expression suggested great displeasure at the entire scheme. “Then you are going?”

“I have little choice.”

Kellington’s gaze stayed on him a moment before hanging her head. “Then you are doing what this man who holds our daughter wishes,” she said. “You are walking into his hands.”

“I do not see any other way with Allie’s life at stake.”

Kellington was deeply torn. “But as long as you do not show your face, she will be safe because he will be expecting you to come,” she said, trying to reason out her thoughts. “But once you arrive, I fear that his reasons for keeping her alive will end. She will no longer be of value to him once you appear if it is, in fact, you whom he truly wants.”

Jax admitted the woman had a point but it didn’t crush his resolve. “He wants me to come,” he said, picking the parchment up from his desk and shaking at her. “I have no choice but to comply. If I do not, I risk Allie’s life.”

“And it is acceptable to risk your life, too?” Kellington fired back softly. She could feel the tears of heartache coming on. “I must risk you both? Jax, you are too old to be engaging in battle. You haven’t fought a battle in years. Why can you not send someone to Cloryn to mediate or, at the very least, make sure Allaston is really there and still alive? Why must you simply march straight into the jaws of the lion simply because some man tells you to?”

Jax knew she was upset. He was upset, too, but he was also trying to do what he thought he needed to do. “The man who holds Allie has all of the power,” he said, rather sternly in an attempt to make her understand. “I have no power at all. He has what I want, what I love, and he knows it. Therefore, I must do as he says. I must go to Cloryn to try and gain my daughter’s freedom. All of your arguing will not change what needs to be done.”

That was perhaps true, but Kellington was still trying to find another way that wouldn’t see both her husband and child risking their lives. “What if you were to ask de Vesci to intercede on your behalf?” she asked, desperate. “He would do this for you.”

Jax shook his head. “De Vesci is too old to travel these days. He cannot make the trip.”

“What of Denedor, his captain of the guard?” she asked. “Denedor is very persuasive.”

Again, Jax shook his head. “The last I heard, Denedor had taken his family to the Northlands because his grandfather had passed away and there was much turmoil as a result,” Jax replied. “I do not believe the man has returned yet. Moreover, I doubt de Vesci would let him go. You know how he keeps the man close.”

Kellington thought hard on more options. “What of William Marshal?”

“He hates me with a passion and you know it.”

“Hubert de Berg?”

“I killed a nephew in battle years ago.”

“The king?”

“John?” Jax snorted. “It would probably cost me everything I own. The less contact I have with the man, the better.”

Kellington couldn’t give up, not yet. She tried one last time. “Christopher de Lohr?”

Jax didn’t immediately dismiss her suggestion. In fact, he actually seemed to consider it. “He is the most powerful marcher baron in England,” he said. “I have never had any interaction with the man. I do not personally know him.”

Kellington felt a stab of hope at that. “At least he does not hate you or want to kill you,” she said. “I have heard talk of the man. They say he is fair and wise. He is liked a good deal. If such a man would intercede on your behalf, mayhap the man who holds Allie would respond to him.”

Jax nodded cautiously, thinking of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, a man he only knew by reputation alone. De Lohr had been one of the more powerful players in King Richard’s court, a man known throughout the land for his fierce fighting and keen intellect. He had a brother, also, who was nearly as powerful. Christopher and David de Lohr were nearly legends in the annals of England’s history, much as Jax was, but for two entirely different reasons. De Velt and de Lohr had purposely stayed out of each other’s way, and for good reason; a battle between the two would more than likely lay half of England to waste. But times had changed. Jax was no longer a warmonger and de Lohr, from what he had heard, was enjoying peace along the Marches. The more Jax thought about it, the more he was coming to agree with his wife.

“De Lohr is well respected,” he said. “The man is known for his keen politics and negotiating skills. As much as John hates him, he also respects him a great deal and regularly solicits his advice. At least, that is what de Vesci says. De Vesci has high praise for de Lohr.”

Kellington nodded eagerly. “Mayhap you should send de Lohr a missive and explain the situation,” she said. “Mayhap he will agree to help, especially with a young woman’s life at stake.”

Jax lifted his dark eyebrows thoughtfully. “It is more than that,” he said. “The properties I hold are not far from Lioncross Abbey, his seat. If this man who holds my daughter begins to make trouble on the Marches, it will directly affect de Lohr. Mayhap he does not even know this is happening or, the more likely scenario is that he knows more than I do about it. Mayhap… mayhap I will visit de Lohr and seek counsel with him. Mayhap he can enlighten me as to what is truly going on along the Marches.”

Kellington liked that idea a great deal. She felt as if help was on the horizon, someone who would aid Jax and aid Allaston. Although she was still in turmoil over the situation, realizing her husband would seek out Christopher de Lohr for advice eased her panic somewhat.

“Then go to de Lohr,” she said. “Take your army and go to him. Solicit his counsel and his aid.”

Jax looked at her. “There is a real possibility he will not accept my visit,” he said quietly. “I am not exactly a man to be easily received. It is possible de Lohr will see me and my army and think I am there to lay siege to Lioncross and burn it to the ground. That is what a sane man would think, anyway.”

Kellington shook her head. “For what purpose?” she asked. “You have no reason to attack de Lohr. Moreover, you stopped doing that twenty-five years ago.”

“He may think I have decided to resume my conquest.”

“Then you will have to assure him that you are not.”

She made it sound simpler than it was but he didn’t argue. He simply went to her again and wrapped his arms around her, hugging the woman tightly and struggling against the guilt that was trying very hard to consume him.

He knew this was his fault, all of it. Now, he had to face something he more or less had expected to face within his lifetime. The old hatred, the blood of the innocent, was coming back to haunt him. All of the murder and conquest he had conducted twenty-five years ago was returning to the forefront, but now he was on the other side of that battle line. Back in the dark days of his youth, he had been the one killing and maiming, confiscating property and people as if they were simply objects for the taking. He hadn’t been human back then. He’d been a creature, a dark and terrible creature who fed off of human sorrow. All of England, Wales, and Scotland feared Jax de Velt because he was more ruthless than anything anyone had ever seen before. He had no soul. He had been darkness itself.

But that had changed when he had laid siege to Pelinom Castle and a young woman by the name of Kellington Coleby had made him understand things about life that he had never known. She had shown him love and happiness, humor and loyalty, and he had fallen in love with the woman. Twenty-five years later, he loved her more each day. They had a wonderful life together with a wonderful family, and The Dark Lord had changed into something unrecognizable, civilized and loving.

But The Dark Lord was still there, buried deep, now to be summoned forth by someone who was determined to threaten the safety of Jax’s family. Woe to the man who summoned The Dark Lord again, for all of England would run red with blood if Jax de Velt went on a rampage. The more Jax thought on the bastard who had abducted Allaston, the angrier he became. He hadn’t felt anger like this in years. Fire began to burn in the belly of the beast again, fire that had been dormant these long years. He understood vengeance, he understood it very well. Now, he had some vengeance of his own.

The man who abducted Allaston had called forth The Dark Lord and he was about to learn the truth behind de Velt’s reputation.

Hell would follow with him.

℘

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cloryn Castle, Late June

Two weeks after assuming the duties of chatelaine at Cloryn Castle, Allaston was starting to feel some connection to the place.

It was a strange connection, really, and she felt guilty for it, but two weeks of integrating herself into the inner workings of the castle inevitably left her feeling as if she knew the place. As if she somehow belonged here now. The fact that de Llion had virtually given her free reign over the keep gave her the strong feelings of connection. She’d never been a chatelaine before, nor had she ever really be in charge of anything, so it was natural for her to feel a bit proud over her domain, as twisted as that loyalty was.

But the truth was that she was still a hostage and a very valuable one, at least according to de Llion. She was only allowed in the keep, the kitchen yard, and the great hall. He told her if he ever saw her anywhere else that he would throw her in the vault and leave her to rot, so she was careful about staying to her allocated areas. It wasn’t a difficult task because there was a good deal to do.

So she focused on running the keep and kitchens, involving herself in what she thought needed be done. She’d had a very good example set for her, her mother, and she tried to remember everything her mother had done, from the daily sweeping of chambers and hearths, to the daily menu for the kitchens. She buried herself in the tasks because it kept her mind off everything else, at least for the moment, and de Llion had given her a wide berth. In fact, she was sure he was purposely staying out of her way, as were his commanders, which was fine with her, all things considered. In fact, the only time she ever saw them was at mealtime.

But mealtimes were enlightening as to the function and plans of de Llion’s army and Allaston learned very quickly to stay to the shadows and simply listen. She had discovered de Llion’s plans to deploy his army, in fact, on the morning after she had tried to kill him with the fire poker when she had been helping serve the morning meal to Bretton and his commanders. They were speaking about future plans, ignoring the servants around them and not realizing that Allaston was listening to every word. Even if they had realized it, they obviously didn’t care. She learned a great deal that morning about their plans to move on a castle called Rhayder that Bretton was planning to scout.

It wasn’t as if she could do much with the information or warn Rhayder of the coming siege. De Llion had ridden from Cloryn later that day with a few of his men on his scouting mission and had returned after dark. The evening meal was uneventful but the next morning before dawn, the entire army had been assembled in the bailey and Allaston had helped in providing the departing army with provisions. Her first reaction in realizing that de Llion and most of his men were leaving was that it would be a perfect chance for her to make another escape attempt, but in the next breath, she knew how badly it would go for her if she was caught. De Llion was leaving soldiers behind and if they were to tell him she had tried to escape again, the consequences would be severe. Therefore, she decided it would be better for her if she didn’t make the attempt. For now, she would wait. She felt as if she had little choice.

So she buried herself in her duties. She was coming to think that perhaps if she was obedient enough and helpful enough, de Llion might take pity on her and simply let her leave, although she knew it was a foolish hope. The man didn’t have any concept of mercy. Therefore, on the morning fifteen days after having been awarded chatelaine duties, she awoke before sunrise and prepared once again to go about her tasks.

After bathing in some warmed water, she dressed in some of the garments Grayton had given her those weeks ago. The weather had been warming up as summer approached and they had experienced several days that were actually quite pleasant. Two days ago, she had been out in the kitchen yard and the warm sun had actually burned what flesh had been exposed around her neckline. It had even burned her nose, giving her a rather rosy and healthy countenance.

Because the morning had dawned mild, she knew the day would be warm again so she donned a light linen shift and, over that, she pulled on a fine woolen dress, not too heavy, that was the color of lavender. It was really quite becoming. It was simple, too, as it had a snug bodice, a rounded neckline, sleeves that were tight against her arms, and fastened up the side rather than the back so she didn’t need help putting it on. Since there were no female servants about, whatever she wore had to be easy to manage herself.

She also had other things to dress with now. Several days ago, whilst going through the keep to organize supplies and inventory the contents, she had come across an entire room that had all manner of goods in it – more clothes, children’s clothing, men’s clothing, furniture, shoes, combs, belts, and even jewelry. The only people around these days were the soldiers de Llion had left behind when he’d departed from Cloryn and a few male servants who avoided her for the most part.

No one would talk to her except for the old cook, and he mostly spoke Welsh, which she didn’t understand. Still, they somehow managed to communicate, but not enough so that she could ask him where all of the treasures in that room had come from. She remembered, once, that Grayton had told her a woman had left items behind. It looked to her as if an entire family had left items behind. Therefore, she left everything intact except for a comb and other hair items she had come across. She needed them and she hoped the lady, whenever she returned, wouldn’t mind that she had borrowed them.

With her dark hair combed, braided, and pinned with a lovely comb in the shape of a butterfly, she left her comfortable chamber and headed down to the kitchens because the cook had butchered a pig the day before and she needed to determine how many meals they could get out of the meat.

Coming down from the second floor, she emerged from the stairwell onto the first floor of the keep, which contained a rather open room that was used sometimes by de Llion and his commanders to meet in, and then another smaller chamber with a door. In it, she had found a sewing kit and a carved wooden dog toy but little else. She still had no idea what the room had been used for but she rather liked it for her own private use, and she had even sat in it the day before and used the sewing kit to mend the hem of a shift she had torn.

Moving out of the keep, she was immediately greeted with warmer temperatures as the sun began to rise. In fact, it was quite moderate and she was enjoying the unseasonably warm weather, but as she moved to take the steps that would lead down to the bailey and, subsequently, the kitchens beyond, she caught a whiff of a horrible smell. Wrinkling up her nose, she looked around the bailey to see where the scent was coming from but all she could see was the big, triangular shaped bailey, the stables and trades off to the right, a big curtain wall with a gatehouse, but nothing else beyond that. It wasn’t the smell of a latrine because she was well acquainted with that smell. It was a normal, everyday scent. This smell was something much different.

There was very little traffic in the bailey since de Llion had taken most of his army and she came down off the steps and headed towards the kitchens. The horrible smell hit her again as she crossed the bailey into the kitchen yards and she actually put her fingers to her nose. Whatever it was, it was quite nauseating. Once she entered the kitchen yard with its scattering of goats and implements used to prepare food with, she headed for the stone structure where the food was cooked but she was still looking around, attempting to determine where the terrible smell was coming from.

Everything in the kitchen yard seemed normal. There was a pair of servants standing over a massive, boiling pot near the wall of the yard, boiling a goat hide off some bones. Allaston has seen the servants nearly every day, men who were fixtures in the kitchen and keep. They would respond to any order she gave but they would never engage her in conversation. With the Welsh cook as her only conversational companion, she had to admit things were lonely sometimes.

As she watched the men work with the bones and hide, she thought perhaps to ask them where the smell was coming from. They couldn’t avoid a direct question and would subsequently be forced to speak with her. Picking up her skirt so it didn’t drag through a portion of mud, she made her way over to them.

“Good morn,” she said pleasantly, watching two surprised pair of eyes turn to her. “Have either of you experienced that terrible smell around here? Would you know where it is coming from?”

The men stared back at her apprehensively, glancing at each other before shaking their heads and averting their gazes, looking back to the boiling bones.

“Nay, my lady,” the older of the two said. “We… we do not know.”

Allaston received the distinct impression they were lying to her. Two weeks of this pair avoiding her had pushed her patience to the end and she’d had enough of their evasiveness. She put her hands on her hips, struggling not to show her frustration.

“I think you do,” she said quietly. “I am not sure why you two have ignored me all this time, but it will stop. My name is Lady Allaston and I am chatelaine. But I suspect you already know that. Why is it you ignore me so? You will tell me why you behave this way.”

The men were looking at her fearfully by now. There was the older servant and then a younger, fatter servant who could have been the older man’s son for as much as he looked like him. The round man looked to the older man, who seemed genuinely distressed. Hesitantly, the older man looked at Allaston.

“We are mere servants, my lady,” he said. “We do our job and that is all. We do not wish… that is to say, we do nothing to anger the Lord of Cloryn.”

Allaston wasn’t clear on what he meant. “What do you mean anger him?” she asked. “Has he threatened you?”

The older man shook his head nervously. “Please, my lady,” he pleaded. “Leave us be. We only want to live.”

Allaston was further puzzled by his statement. “What do you mean by that?” she asked. “Why would you not live? I asked you why you have ignored me and you have given me answers I do not understand.”

The younger of the two abruptly ran off, waddling away and disappearing around the side of the keep, but the older man remained. He carefully regarded Allaston, a soft morning breeze blowing about his thin gray hair so that it lashed him around the eyes. Still, his gaze did not move away from her. There was something in his expression that was both serious and grim.

“My lady,” he said, his voice soft. “You must not ask questions you do not wish to know the answers to.”

Her brow furrowed. “Like what?” she demanded. “See here, what is your name?”

“Blandings, my lady.”

“Blandings, if you want to continue working in the kitchens, then you had better start making some sense,” she said firmly. “I am in charge of the keep and kitchens, and if you want to keep your job, I will have answers. Is that clear?”

Blandings nodded, his features tightening with anxiety. “Aye, my lady.”

She threw an arm in the direction the fat servant had gone. She pointed. “Who was that?”

“My son, Robert.”

At least they were making a slight amount of progress. That was the most she’d gotten from the man in two weeks. “Very well,” she said. “Does he speak?”

“He does.”

“Then you will tell him to speak to me if he values his job.”

“I will, my lady.”

Her eyes watched him as she studied him curiously. “And you,” she said. “What did you mean that I must not ask questions I do not wish to know the answers to? Of course I wish to know the answers, otherwise, I would not ask the questions.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Do you know where that horrible stench is coming from?”

He hesitated. “Aye, my lady.”

“God’s Beard, then where?”

It was evident by Blandings’ expression that he realized he had no choice but to answer her. He had been holding a big wooden spoon used for de-hiding the bones in the pot and he turned back to the simmering cauldron, stirring the boiling bones and hide.

“You have not been outside of the castle, my lady?” he asked quietly.

Allaston shook her head. “I have not,” she said. “I have been told to stay to the keep and kitchens. Why do you ask?”

Blandings continued to stir, resigned that he was being forced to speak on something he could hardly bring himself to voice. His tone was so quiet when he began to speak that Allaston barely heard him.