Medieval Master Warlords (55 page)

“I am sure he will not care,” Bretton said. Now, he was starting to feel sorry for himself. He reached out and poured himself a measure of Rod’s wine. “Now, I would ask you something, cousin. How is it you knew where to find me? And how did you know it was me?”

Rod watched Bretton take a long, deep drink of wine. “When you burned Alberbury, you gave a message to an old nun to deliver,” he said quietly. “The nun delivered it to some of Shropshire’s men, who in turn delivered it to my liege, Christopher de Lohr. De Lohr, knowing that I was related to the de Llions, summoned me to ask me if I had ever heard the name Bretton de Llion. You told the nun that you were at Cloryn Castle, so that is where I delivered the missive.”

It made sense. Bretton poured himself another cup of wine. “Did the nun do as she was told and deliver my message to de Velt?”

Rod shrugged. “I can only assume that de Boulers did,” he said. “Since the missive involved the capture of de Velt’s daughter, I am sure de Boulers did out of courtesy.”

Rod’s attention immediately moved to Allaston, sitting next to Bretton, and he was coming to think that she wasn’t so much Lady de Llion as she was his cousin’s prisoner. The knight in him, the protector of all that was good and pure, began to take over.

“And you, my lady,” he said quietly. “I assumed you were Lady de Llion but I am guessing that was an incorrect assumption. Am I wrong?”

Allaston, now at the forefront of the conversation, met Rod’s gaze steadily. She didn’t dare look at Bretton because she didn’t want to see his expression. It could have been one of intimidation or one of resignation. Either one was prone to upset her so she answered Rod of her own accord.

“Nay,” she replied. “I am Lady Allaston de Velt. Jax de Velt is my father.”

“Then you are his prisoner.”

“Aye.”

Rod nodded understandingly, drawing in a long, steadying breath. After a moment, he stood up, kicked the chair back, and withdrew his broadsword.

“My lady, please back away,” he said evenly. “My horse is around back, a black steed with four white feet. You can make it to my horse as I hold off my cousin. Ride hard south to Bronllys Castle and tell my grandfather who you are. He will help you.”

Allaston’s eyes widened with shock, looking at Bretton, who remained calmly in his seat. But his eyes were fixed on Rod.

“Is this truly what you wish to do, Rod?” Bretton asked. “I will not let her go, so you are in for a fight. If you think you can best me, I invite you to try.”

“Wait!” Allaston stood up, putting her hands out, eventually rounding the table and putting herself between Rod and Bretton. “I am not leaving, Sir Rod, although I appreciate your chivalry. I must remain with Bretton.”

Rod’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Why would you do that?” he asked. “He has abducted you. He burned an entire priory and killed dozens of nuns for the privilege. And you say that you must stay with him? I do not understand.”

Allaston faced off against Rod, a big man with a big sword. “Because he wants to kill my father,” she said, wondering if he would understand her logic. “As long as I remain with him, mayhap I can convince him otherwise. If I flee now, he will continue with his vengeance against my father and I do not wish to see my father killed.”

Rod did indeed understand her reasoning. He didn’t like it, but he understood. “So you are voluntarily remaining with him?”

Allaston nodded firmly. “I am,” she said. Then, her eyes glimmered with pain. “I must.”

Rod sighed heavily and, giving the woman a somewhat sorrowful expression, sheathed his broadsword. As if he hadn’t just drawn his sword against his cousin, he collected his seat, took the cup away from Bretton, and drained the contents. He found that he needed it.

“This is all so damn confusing,” he said, pouring more wine. “Since when do prisoners want to remain with their captors? I was prepared to go head to head against my own flesh and blood for you, my lady.”

Allaston was still standing up, now closer to Rod than she was to Bretton. “And I appreciate your chivalry, as I said,” she replied. “But I will not leave Sir Bretton. I choose to remain.”

“I am not ‘Sir’ Bretton,” Bretton muttered. “I am simply Bretton. Slaves and mercenaries are not usually knighted, as it is a noble profession. My profession is not noble and I was never knighted.”

Both Rod and Allaston looked at him with some surprise. “All de Llion men are knighted,” Rod said frankly. “We have never had a man in our family who has not been knighted. I can knight you right now, as I was knighted personally by King Richard. So was my brother, Rhys. I will knight you, Bretton.”

Bretton’s first reaction was one of surprise and gratitude. Of course he had always wanted to be a knight. It had been a dream of his since he had been very young. He was certainly skilled enough, but there was more to it than that, enough so that he knew he would never make a true knight. He had committed too much wrongdoing against the church, against mankind in general, for him to be an honor to the knighthood. It was something that was not possible in his world.

“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “Knights are sworn to uphold the chivalric code and that is something I cannot and will not do. I respect the knighthood enough not to want to sully it.”

Rod was perplexed. The man before him was not what he had expected, although he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he had hoped for. It was clear that Bretton de Llion was a complex man, one that Rod didn’t entirely relate to or understand. His hopes for forging a relationship with the man were slowly being dashed because it was clear that Bretton wanted no such thing. After a moment’s pause, he shook his head.

“There are strange forces at work around you, Bretton,” he said. “Although I am still very glad to find you alive, I am not sure what goes on with you. You are not the cousin I expected.”

Bretton looked at the man. “What
did
you expect?” he asked, a tinge of anger in his tone. “My family was killed when I was five years old and I escaped with a few servants although sometimes I wonder if it would have been better had I died. The servants sold me into slavery to a man who raped me repeatedly, and when I was old enough to escape him, I squired for an Irish mercenary who would get drunk and beat me to a pulp until I was old enough to best him in a fight. Unlike you and your posh life where you were loved and taken care of, I have had to fight for every breath I’ve ever taken. I’ve had to fight for everything I have. Vengeance against Jax de Velt has been the only thing keeping me alive and I swear to God that I will finish what I started. So do not judge me, cousin. You have no right. No right at all.”

With that, he stood up and grabbed Allaston by the arm, pulling her up with him. But Rod stood up, reaching out to grasp Bretton before he could get away.

“I am sorry, Bretton, truly,” he said. “Do not leave. I did not mean to offend you. I understand that it has not been easy for you and, believe me, I am not judging you. No matter who you are or what you’ve done to get there, you are still my cousin and I am very glad to know you have returned. As for the rest… well, I would never judge you in any case whether or not I agree with your methods.”

Bretton eyed his cousin, somewhat soothed by the man’s words. Slowly, he regained his seat, as did Allaston.

“I do not even know why I came here today,” Bretton muttered after he’d sat back down. “Wild curiosity, I suppose. I wanted to know how you found me. I wanted to know why no one ever came looking for me. Now, I know everything. You have heard about me and I have heard about you. I am not entirely sure if there is much more to say between us.”

Rod was still holding on to Bretton’s arm as if fearful the man was going to run off. “Mayhap there is not,” he said softly. “But we are family. I would like to come to know you better, Bretton.”

“Why?” Bretton wanted to know. “It is not as if we shall be allies or friends. I am your cousin and nothing more. We share blood and that is all.”

Rod could sense the wall of resistance up around Bretton. He’d sensed it from the beginning. “Will you at least come and see Grandfather?” he asked softly.

Bretton shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “The man remembers an eager five year old lad. Let that be all he remembers about me, not the man I am today. I am not entirely sure he would be proud of what I have become.”

Rod felt a distinct sense of sorrow on his grandfather’s behalf. “Then you do not want me to tell him I have found you?”

“Nay.”

Rod nodded. “If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

Rod’s gaze moved between Bretton and Allaston. He was so very disappointed with the way things turned out. Somehow, he’d held out hope that Bretton would want to come with him to be reunited with the family again, but Bretton wanted nothing to do with them. He was his own man, with his own world, and his long-lost family didn’t fit into that world. He was a mercenary, the very worst kind, and he had a mission of destruction. Rod couldn’t help him with it and he couldn’t turn him away from it. There was nothing left for him to do or say. After several moments, he squeezed Bretton’s arm and let him go, taking a last drink of wine before rising from his chair.

“You are my cousin, Bretton, and I will always love you as such,” he said, but there were tears in his eyes. “I will not tell grandfather about you. I wish you the very best in life and I truly hope that someday, you will find what you are looking for. I hope you find something that makes you happy. But know you can always call upon me, no matter what. I will be there for you. My lady, I wish you the best of luck, too.”

With that, he left the table and headed out into the rainy night beyond. Bretton and Allaston watched him go, each lost to their own sense of sadness. Bretton most of all. He wished he could be more like Rod. He wished he could have accepted the man and they could have been family and allies once again, but it was not to be, mostly for Rod’s protection. Rod had no idea how turbulent Bretton’s world was or how terrible. It was best just to leave everything between them on this somber note.

When Rod was gone, Allaston turned to Bretton, who was staring off into space as if reflecting on times gone by, times when he and Rod were young and carefree. Reflecting on the times that children share. She wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“He seems very nice,” she said hesitantly. “He seems genuinely concerned about you.”

Bretton was still staring off. “Aye,” he said. “He does. But it is best that he stay far, far away from me.”

Allaston nodded. “He knows that,” she said sadly. “I could see it in his face.”

Bretton sighed heavily. “I always wanted...,” he began, then stopped and collected himself. “It is best for him to remain away from me, but I will admit that I miss him already. I never had a brother. I suppose this moment that we spent here with Rod is the closest I will ever come.”

Before Allaston could reply, Bretton was on his feet, looking for the innkeeper so he could secure two rooms for the night. Allaston got the distinct impression that he wanted to forget about Rod and their conversation. Perhaps it was too painful for him to reflect upon. In any case, Bretton was moving on, pushing Rod and the de Llions out of his mind. Now that Bretton knew the truth of why no one ever searched for him, it was time to leave the abandoned little boy in the past.

℘

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Allaston had never seen an actual bathroom before. As nice as her home of Pelinom Castle was, there were no rooms dedicated purely to bathing. Therefore, when the innkeeper’s wife showed her into the small, windowless room that was lit with several candles, all Allaston could do was look around in wonder.

After Rod had left, Bretton had arranged for a room and a bath for Allaston, of which she was extremely grateful. The bathing room had a big oiled cloth spread over the floor and atop the oiled cloth was a mat of woven grasses so that the water would drain through the mat to the oiled cloth below and keep the bather’s feet dry. There was a very large bathtub, half-full of warm water, a stool in the corner, and a table upon which sat precious glass phials that were filled with some kind of liquid. There was also a painted wooden box on the table and a bowl that contained flower petals, some of them dried and some of them fresh. The innkeeper’s wife pulled out the big screen that was over in one corner, positioning it near the bathtub to protect the bather from the open door.

“Now,” the woman said. “I will bring ye a robe so that ye may wear it whilst I clean up yer clothing. Is that all ye have with ye?”

Allaston nodded, looking down at the dark blue dress she was wearing, made from heavy wool for traveling. “Aye,” she said. “I have nothing else.”

“Not even a shift to sleep in?”

Allaston shook her head. “Nothing but what I am wearing.”

The innkeeper’s wife eyed her. “Ye look about my daughter’s size,” she said. “I will bring ye something to sleep in. Can I help ye undress, my lady?”

Allaston shook her head. “I will do it,” she said, casting the woman a long glance. “I will also bathe alone. I do not need help.”

The woman nodded, not at all offended by the statement. She went to the small table and pulled forth a phial, pulling out the stopper. She sniffed deeply before pouring a measure of the clear liquid into the bath.

“Lemon rind and rosemary oil,” she said. Then, she pulled the top off of the painted box to reveal three lumpy bars of soap. “Ye can use these if ye wish, one is rose, one is lavender, and the other is Castile soap. Ye may use any of these.”

Allaston nodded, waiting until the woman left before going and smelling all three of the soaps. It was something of a novelty. At the priory, they bathed with a soft soap made from lye and animal fat. The Mother Prioress didn’t believe in anything sweet-smelling, thinking that it only fed the vanity, so the soaps often smelled terrible. Therefore, to smell these deliciously-scented soaps was a very special treat. Allaston took her time in selecting her soap, choosing the lavender, and in little time she had all of her clothing off and climbed into the tub.

It was warm and wonderful, and she quickly submerged her entire body, including her head, luxuriating in the lemon-rosemary water. It had been a while since she’d last had a bath. The last time she could remember was when she had been released from the vault those weeks ago. Therefore, she was enjoying this one.

Her hair, long and dark, was washed with the lavender soap and she wrung it out, braiding it tightly and winding up around her head as she scrubbed every inch of skin. All the while, her mind kept going back to the meeting with Rod and the things that had been said. It had been a depressing conversation, in her opinion, because loving her family as she did, it was hard for her to understand Bretton’s resistance to becoming close a cousin who very badly wanted to know him. If she thought hard about it, she felt badly for Bretton in general. The man was terrified of letting anyone get close to him.

It wasn’t as if he was a truly heartless man. Allaston had been around him long enough to know that was far from the case. She’d seen him around his men and he came across as very ungiving and demanding, but when he was with her, there was humanity and warmth to him. Those days when she was in the vault and he was her cold captor were long gone. The Bretton she had come to know was a man, she believed, who was indeed capable of feeling. He simply had to warm up and overcome his fear of attachment. He had to overcome his fear that the person he cared for was going to be ripped away from him.

She was jolted from her thoughts when the door to the room suddenly opened and then promptly closed. Assuming it was the innkeeper’s wife, she turned casually to look at the woman and was completely startled to see Bretton standing there.

“Oh!” she shrieked, rolling up into a ball in the tub, hugging her knees. “Why are you here?”

Bretton stood there with a lazy half-grin on his face. “I have come to help my wife bathe,” he said.

Allaston frowned deeply. “
Wife
?” she repeated, outraged. “What madness is this?”

He shrugged and planted himself on the stool, his eyes glimmering with mirth at Allaston as she tried to maintain her modesty.

“It seems that there is only one room left,” he said. “The inn is full because of the nasty weather so I took what they had, and the only way the old woman would rent the room to me is if we were married, so... you are my wife.”

Allaston scowled. “I’ll not sleep in the same bed with you if that is what you are hoping for.”

“Then sleep on the floor. I will be most comfortable on the bed.”

She made a face at him. “Will you
please
get out?”

He cocked his head. “Why?” he asked. “I have seen a naked woman before.”

Allaston was furious. “You have not seen
me
...,” she stopped herself, thinking of that frightening and embarrassing moment when Bretton had nearly taken advantage of her, and re-thought her statement. “Let me rephrase that... you have not seen me naked when I was a willing participant!”

He grinned. “Your modesty is admirable but unnecessary,” he said. “I am staying in here because the innkeeper’s wife suggested I wash up as well since my wife was. She thought mayhap that two clean bodies in the same bed would be more pleasant.”

Allaston groaned and rolled her eyes. “This has all played into your master scheme, hasn’t it?” she asked somewhat sarcastically. “You had this planned all along.”

Bretton was enjoying her embarrassment. “For once, I had no plan,” he said, watching her frown. “I am not entirely sure why you are upset about this. Did you not offer yourself to me in marriage earlier today?”

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You may
not
try the merchandise before we wed,” she said firmly. “There are no samples to be given or a foretaste of what is to come.”

“Who says I need your permission?”

He was serious. Or, at least, he was pretending to be. She couldn’t really tell. Allaston glared at him, emphasizing she would not be a willing party to whatever he was planning. Still hunched into a ball, still trying to cover herself up, she awkwardly stuck out her right foot and scrubbed at her toes.

“My marriage proposal came with certain conditions,” she said. “If I marry you, then it would be to shift your focus to me and our family. You must forget about your vengeance against my father.”

His good humor faded. “You seem to think that you can dictate my life to me, lady,” he said reproachfully. “I will never forget my vengeance against your father.”

In a split second, the mood between them had gone from one with some levity to one of grim reality. The atmosphere no longer saw them jesting but once again reminded them both of the seriousness of the situation. Allaston was still looking at her toes, scrubbing the dirt from them, feeling her disappointment and frustration rise. She also felt tears, close to the surface.

“I am willing to give you everything I have, including myself, but that is not good enough for you,” she complained. “I have tried to reason with you, to argue with you, and everything else in between, but still, you will not be deterred. Do you not understand? I do not want you to kill my father. I love him, as you loved your father. I know you can understand the love from a child to a parent because you had it once. Because of what my father did, that love turned to hate, and that hatred is eating your soul away like a tumor. If you will not accept my marriage proposal, then hear me now – if you kill my father, I will hate you for the rest of my life just as you hate the very name de Velt. The hatred you have towards my father will be nothing compared to the hatred I will have for you. I know you do not care if I love you or hate you, so I am sure this conversation is pointless. But I speak it just the same so you understand how things will be should you follow through with your threat.”

Bretton understood hatred very well. He knew how much he hated de Velt for what he had done, so he understood clearly what Allaston was saying. He didn’t want her hatred and the very thought made him feel both very sad and very angry.
Why did the woman have to be so bloody difficult?

“By what right do you believe you can dictate what I feel or how I live my life?” he wanted to know. “You presume too much, lady.”

She looked at him, then. “This is a conversation we have over and over,” she said. “I grow weary of discussing the same subject, your hatred of my father and me trying to talk you out of such a thing. You have my offer. It is your choice to take it or not.”

He thought on that. “I have decided to take it,” he said. “I will take you and your castle and your dowry. But my vengeance against your father is my own.”

She returned her attention to her toes. “Then you will have a wife who hates you,” she said simply. “I hope you can live with that.”

Bretton could see that she meant every word. That was not what he wanted. He wanted a wife who was pleasant to talk to, someone to keep his house, bear his children, and someone he could even grow fond of. He realized, as he looked at her, that he was already fond of her. God help him, he was. The feeling both frightened and uplifted him. But to know that she would hate him if he carried out his revenge against her father… he wasn’t sure he wanted to live with that. He was fairly certain he couldn’t. He cleared his throat softly.

“When I came to Alberbury to find you, it was with one goal in mind,” he said gently. “I wanted to capture the daughter of my mortal enemy and use her as bait to lure her father to me. I kept her in the vault for the first three weeks of our association before a comrade pointed out that a living prisoner was of more use to me than a dead one. That is the only reason I permitted you to be released from the vault, you know. Had you remained there, you were going to die.”

Allaston kept fussing with her toes and Bretton, not receiving a reaction, continued. “I tried to stay away from you in the beginning because the very name of de Velt was like acid upon my tongue,” he said. “Every time I looked at you, I saw your father. But I eventually realized that you were
not
your father. You have traits I have not seen in a very long time. You have compassion and understanding, and the comprehension of those traits are buried deep in my memory. My mother and father had them, but thinking of them brings me back to that five year old boy who had his parents brutally torn away from him. Seeing you, coming to understand you as I have, takes me back to the time in my life when I was the happiest. I am not sure I want to go back there, knowing how badly it can end.”

Allaston was looking at him by the time he was finished, surprised by his admission. She thought seriously on her reply because she didn’t want him to think she was mocking him, or worse, taunting his show of emotion.

“What you say is very deep and thoughtful,” she said, eyeing him a moment before grunting with both confusion and hesitation, as if she were at her wit’s end. “You have moments, like now, where I can see a man of feeling, but then you have moments when I truly believe you are a barbaric beast. You are a paradox, de Llion. I do not believe you are this ruthless mercenary because you want to be. I think you became him because you have had no choice. That soft, tender boy is still in there, somewhere, and he wants to become a man who shares in the same happiness as the boy did. You must not be afraid to love or feel emotion. You had it once and you can have it again.”

He shook his head, hanging it. “I do not know how,” he said quietly. “I am not sure I can let go of what I have become.”

“I will help you if you will let me.”

He looked up at her, feeling an ache in his heart that he couldn’t begin to describe as his eyes locked with hers. The ache spread out from his chest, into his limbs. He very much wanted her to help him but he truly didn’t know where to begin. The only love or affection he had ever received had been long ago, or post-de Velt, if he had paid for it. Was it really possible that affection, even love, would cost him nothing if it was with the right woman?