Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) (15 page)

“Because it will be mine,” Brynner said with as much force as he could muster. “It is mine, left to me by my forefathers. Shadowmoor was not always so weak; it used to be the mightiest fortress in all of western Yorkshire. Back in the days after the Conquest, when the Normans came, Shadowmoor even had Norman troops stationed there. My ancestors knew how to keep their lands, even from the invaders, and I will not be the one to lose what they fought so hard to keep.”

Roland was listening carefully. Seated in his solar, the one that smelled of the expensive furnishings he surrounded himself with, he’d spent the past three hours trying to reason away Shadowmoor from the drunken heir. He’d never met the man before but based upon where his men had found him, and based upon the man’s admission as Brynner l’Audacieux, eldest son and heir of Etzel, Roland couldn’t have been more pleased. It was everything he wanted – well, nearly everything – dropped right into his lap. The sting of losing the youngest son, the little blond-haired lad, the day before was far lessened with the event of the eldest, who had been captured wandering drunkenly on the moors.

It was an answer to his prayers.

So Roland sat across the table from Brynner, plying him with as much fine wine as the man could drink, poured into a big golden cup, and attempting to seriously break him down. These l’Audacieuxs were a foolish bunch, he’d come to the conclusion, and now with the eldest, who was clearly besotted with drink, Roland was certain that he could gain what he wanted from the man. No more useless attempts to control Shadowmoor and gain the lord’s daughter; no more small game in the abduction of the youngest son in an attempt to extract what he wanted. No more games, no more attempts, at all.

Now, he had what he wanted.

But it wasn’t as easy as all of that. Roland, coming to see that the heir to Shadowmoor was sharp even with drink filling his mind, was quite certain that he had to promise the man something equal in exchange for that broken-down fortress. He’d been thinking that for the past hour; l’Audacieux wasn’t simply going to hand over his legacy and trying to convince the man that he had no more use for Shadowmoor didn’t seem to work, either. Roland, seeing the weakness for alcohol, was coming to think he knew what would. It didn’t take a scholar to figure it out.

Therefore, the tactics were changing. If he couldn’t get it one way, he’d get it another.

“When you inherit Shadowmoor, what then?” he asked. “It will still be broken-down. Do you intend to live in squalor the rest of your life?”

Brynner’s red-rimmed eyes gazed steadily at the man. “Why do
you
want it so badly?” he countered. “It will still be just as derelict if I turn it over to you. Why is it so important to you?”

Roland tried to sound very logical. “Because it adjoins my lands,” he said. “When I acquire Shadowmoor, I will be the largest landholder in this area. The towns will be mine and so will their tariffs. The roads will be mine to tax as I see fit. Why else
should
I want it?”

Brynner snorted. “For those very reasons, I suppose,” he said. “Greed is a bold and aggressive thing, you know. You have been showing such greed for my property for four years. I may not associate much with my family, but by virtue of the fact that I live at Shadowmoor, I know what is going on. I have heard that you want my sister and the castle, and will do anything to get them both. I have seen how you have cut off Shadowmoor from the rest of the world, trying to starve us out. It has not worked in four years. Now you have run out of options so you have your men capture me to negotiate for my legacy? You must want it badly, indeed.”

Roland smiled thinly. “Mayhap I do,” he said. “I have the money and the resources to restore Shadowmoor. You and your foolish people scratch by an existence up on that rocky hill, bereft members of a once-great society. Do you think I want to live in this tiny castle for the rest of my life? Of course not. I want the big fortress on the mountain. All things must evolve, l’Audacieux. It is time for Shadowmoor to evolve. It is time for you to let someone else make it great again.”

All Brynner could hear was the arrogance of a man who believed he could do anything he pleased. There was no humility or goodwill in his statement; only the greed that Brynner had spoken of. He may be a drunkard, but Brynner knew people. He knew men like Roland only understood the material things of life and would stop at nothing to get them.

“It takes more than money and resources to make something great,” he said. “It takes a love of the land, a connection to it.”

“Do you have that connection to it, other than your heritage?”

Brynner didn’t reply at first. He turned to his drink, slurping at it, contemplating the question. The answer was obvious. “Nay,” he finally said, bitterness in his tone before he could stop it. “It was where I was to raise my own family but that will not happen. Shadowmoor will die out when I do.”

Roland capitalized on the man showing some weakness. “Then why wait so long?” he demanded. “Why not let me have it and you can go and spend money and travel to your heart’s content? Do you not understand, man? I am offering you money if you will only do me one small favor. Give me Shadowmoor. Let me have this thing you care nothing about.”

Brynner looked at him. “I did not say I did not care for it,” he said. “It is still my legacy.”

“But it is a dead legacy.”

“It is all that I have.”

“I will pay you so that you can buy another one!”

Brynner shook his head. “Money cannot buy what I want.”

Roland would not give up. He was a bargainer by nature, and a bad one most of the time, but it was still his inclination. He wanted something very badly and he wasn’t going to give up. He looked to the wine in his cup, swirling it, putting together the pieces of his final proposal. His mind was working quickly.

“My father’s family is from France,” he said casually. “I inherited a small chateau from my father in Lire, in the Loire Valley. That is wine country, my friend. The chateau produces a good deal of fine wine every year. Wouldn’t that be worth more to you than a broken fortress on a desolate moor?”

Brynner was interested. God help him, he really was and was trying not to show it. It was quite possible that Lord Bramley was lying but it was equally possible that he wasn’t. Still, Brynner had some semblance of restraint. Not much, but a little.

“You said your father is King John,” he said. “If you are truly his son, then why did he leave you only a small chateau? The son of a king should inherit an earldom, at least.”

For the first time since Brynner appeared in Roland’s lavish solar, Roland’s confidence took a bit of a hit. He shrugged, smiling coyly.

“I said that my sister, Joan, is John Lackland’s bastard daughter,” he said. “Joan and I have different fathers, but we are siblings. It is through her that I am related to the kings of England. My real father, my mother’s husband, died years ago. ’Tis his chateau I have inherited. I will give it all to you if you will do something for me.”

Brynner could see that Roland had stretched the truth a bit when they first met because, clearly, he’d said that he was the son of a king. That’s what Roland had told him. Now, that fact had changed slightly. It made Brynner distrustful of the man all the more but the fact that Roland had an excellent wine cellar kept him from taking his leave of Bramley Castle altogether. He hadn’t had wine like this in years. More than that, he suspected he
couldn’t
leave – the four men that had brought him to Bramley Castle were still here, lingering in the shadows, and watching everything.

Men with swords.

It occurred to Brynner that his host wasn’t going to let him leave at all, at least not until he had what he wanted. A promise, a bargain, a vow to turn over Shadowmoor. That’s what this was all about and Brynner supposed he had known that from the start. But the lure of wine was stronger than concern for his life and property, so he’d allowed himself to become a captive guest of Lord Bramley. If he wanted to leave, which he did eventually, then he would have to play Roland’s silly game. There was little choice.

Truth be told, however, Bramley’s offer intrigued him and he couldn’t even hate himself for being weak.

The chateau produces a good deal of fine wine every year….

“Then you are offering me this chateau?” Brynner asked.

Roland nodded, a gleam in his eye. “I am,” he said. “It produces great quantities of excellent wine every year, wine you could just as easily keep for yourself or sell if you had a mind to do so. It would be yours to do with as you please.”

My own wine
. Brynner had to admit that it was very appealing. The suspicion that the man was lying was overshadowed by the thought of copious amounts of wine at his disposal, forever. Even on the remote possibility that it was true, Brynner thought that it was worth the risk. He could listen to the man’s entire proposal at the very least. Perhaps he was, indeed, a fool clinging to a derelict fortress with no real meaning to him other than it was his legacy.

His tomb
.

Perhaps it really
was
time for Shadowmoor to evolve.

“Very well,” Brynner said, draining the last of the wine in his cup. “I am listening.”

Roland sat forward, so swiftly that he nearly knocked over the nearly-empty pitcher of wine. “You will accept my offer, then?”

“I said that I was listening. I am waiting to hear your terms. Whether or not I agree is another matter.”

Roland didn’t take this opportunity lightly. This was the closest he’d come in four years of bargaining, wheedling, and dirty tricks in his quest to acquire Shadowmoor. He was so eager that sweat began to pop out on his brow. He didn’t want to destroy this chance, this one chance to obtain what he very much wanted.

“Since you are clearly concerned with giving up your legacy, I will provide you with a new one,” he said. “My chateau in France, the wine it produces, fifty gold crowns, and fifty men shall be yours. Does this appeal to you so far?”

Brynner nodded. “It does.”

Roland’s expression turned somewhat hard at that point as he pushed the wine pitcher aside and leaned on the tabletop. His dark eyes were riveted to Brynner.

“I do not want to wait for Shadowmoor,” he said. “In order to gain the lands in France, you must do two things for me. Convince your father to abandon Shadowmoor before the year is out. If he refuses, you will kill him and turn the fortress over to me. That is my first condition.”

Brynner tried to conceal his shock at being asked to commit patricide. “And your second?”

“Convince your father to award your sister to me as my bride or simply turn her over to me once your father is dead. I will need a wife and your beauteous sister is the lady I will have.”

He laid out his conditions without any emotion. It was all very businesslike, as if they were simply conducting business which, in Roland’s mind, they were. There was nothing emotional attached to this, nothing of sentiment. It was simply a business proposal, but a very concise one. Brynner gazed back at him, losing the battle against concealing his shock.

“So you want Liselotte, after all,” he said. “Although I do not have much use for my sister, she has always tried to be kind to me. You will not abuse her, will you?”

Roland shook his head. “Of course not,” he replied. “I simply want her as my wife. She is quite a prize. You do not think I would damage a prize, do you?”

Brynner shrugged. “You have asked me to kill my father,” he said. “How am I to know what you intend to do with my sister?”

Roland waved him off. “I will put her in a lavish bower and fill her full of my sons,” he said. “What else is a wife good for?”

At those callous words, a flash of the love that Brynner had lost came to mind, the gentle smile and soft skin of Lady Maud.
What else is a wife good for?
Brynner had no idea because he would never have one. The one he wanted was the wife of another, more than likely being filled with the man’s sons. The skin that was meant for Brynner, the body he’d so cherished, was now the privilege of another man to touch. Sickened, Brynner reached for the nearly-empty pitcher of wine and poured what was left of it into his cup.

“Liselotte is a good girl,” he said, his voice muffled as he drank. “You’ll not harm her.”

“I thought you said you had no use for your family?”

Brynner swallowed the sweet wine. “I do not,” he said. “But I could just as easily marry her off to someone who would pay me well for her and not abuse her.”

“I told you I would not abuse her.”

“So you’ve said. But what of my younger brother? Do you want him, too?”

Roland shook his head. “I have no use for the child.”

“Nor do I.”

Roland’s eyebrows lifted. “You really are indifferent to your family, aren’t you?” he asked. Then, he sighed heavily. “I suppose I can take the boy. He can work in the kitchens or the stables. I will find a place for him because I presume it would please your sister, after all. I want my wife happy.”

He seemed rather jovial at this point, congenial even, and Brynner knew it was because he thought he’d struck the great and final bargain for Shadowmoor. Truthfully, Brynner couldn’t think of any real reason to refuse. A wine-producing chateau in France was much more appealing than a derelict old fortress upon the cold, windy moors of Yorkshire. That was, of course, providing the chateau really existed.

Brynner mulled the proposal over again, thinking on the terms… killing his father, turning his sister over to a man who would view her simply as a prize… and he could feel a twinge of remorse. Nay, more than that – of conscience. He had no real use for his family but it wasn’t their fault. It was his choice, his fault, and he knew it. Still, his life was ruined, by his own choice, and Roland’s offer was appealing. To spend the rest of his life drowning his sorrows in his own wine was more than he could have ever hoped for.

It was better than a derelict old fortress that he didn’t want, anyway.

“Very well,” he said. “I will accept your terms. I must return to Shadowmoor and see if I can convince my father to abandon the fortress. I will send word to you on the matter when I have had a chance to speak with him but, meanwhile, I want assurances that you will hold up your end of the bargain.”