Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) (32 page)

Both Daniel and Caston smiled pleasantly at her but it was Daniel who reached up, grasped her wrist, and yanked her down to sit. She plopped down next to him as he reached into her basket, pulling forth the soft-set white cheese.

“Ah!” he said as he set it upon the table. “A delectable feast from a beautiful maiden. What could be more appetizing?”

Liselotte giggled softly. “You had better taste the cheese before you decide.”

Daniel already had his knife out, cutting into the soft cheese and handing the first piece to Caston. He cut a piece for Liselotte and then one for himself. Caston was already finished with his piece before Daniel could take a bite.

“Excellent,” Caston declared. “It is quite delicious.”

Liselotte chewed on the creamy mild cheese. “It is,” she agreed. “The cook is making more of this but she is adding mustard and peppercorns to it. They are some of the only things we have in our stores that Daniel did not buy.”

Daniel thought that sounded quite tasty. “Delightful,” he said. “I can hardly wait to taste it. In fact, you and the cook have been doing an excellent job of managing the stores that we brought back from Siglesdene. You are to be commended, my lady.”

Liselotte dipped her head graciously. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “The cook thinks we can make those supplies last for another few weeks at least. We are doing very well with them so far.”

Daniel shook his head. “There is no need to ration them,” he said. “In fact, Caston and I must go into town today, back to the seamstress where we purchased your dresses, and I will purchase more stores while we are in town. Would you like to join us? I have already promised young Gunnar that he can go and pick out a puppy. The livery owner had a litter, as I recall.”

Liselotte was very interested in another venture into town. “I would like to go,” she said eagerly. “But I truly do not think we need any more supplies. We can make do with what we have.”

Daniel downed what was left of his warmed wine. “As I said, there is no need to ration or make do,” he said as he set his cup down and stood up. “There are more supplies to be bought. Gunnar, if you are coming with us, go do as I told you – tend your goats and wash your face and hands. Join us in the bailey as quickly as you can.”

Gunnar was up, mouth still full of bread, and herding his little goats from the hall. He was moving faster, happier than he had been in days. Liselotte watched him go.

“I cannot believe you were able to get him to respond to you,” she said to Daniel. “He has been in such a terrible state. I do believe that is the first time I have seen him eat in days.”

Daniel brushed his hands off on his breeches. “Everyone grieves differently,” he said, looking at her. “You, my lady, have held yourself remarkably well. I admire your strength. But Gunnar does not have your control or your maturity. He is dealing with it as best he can.”

Liselotte nodded sadly. “I suppose you are right,” she said. Then, she eyed him. “Did you really promise him a dog?”

Daniel nodded. “If the livery owner will sell me a puppy.”

She smiled faintly at him. “You are very good to him,” she said. “You spoil him.”

He returned her smile. “I like to spoil you both,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. Then he gestured in the general direction of the keep. “If you are going to go with us, then go and collect your cloak. We will meet you in the bailey.”

Liselotte nodded, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before leaving the hall. It was a warm expression, full of silent promises and wordless dreams. Daniel could feel what she was conveying to him, all of it, before she turned away and the spell, for the moment, was broken. He watched her go as Caston stood up behind him, draining what was left in his cup.

“Come along,” he said to Daniel. “While we are waiting for your lady, you can look over the poles I brought with me. We can determine which ones may need repair and have the smithy do it while we are in town.”

As Daniel followed him from the hall, his mind should have been on joust poles but, try as he might, tournaments and glory couldn’t compete with lovely Liselotte. There was no doubt about it now – he was officially smitten.

… or was it something more?

He wondered. And the thought that it could be something more, for the first time in his life, didn’t distress him in the least.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
t was a
bright day with virtually no clouds against the brilliant expanse of sky, but to Brynner, it was hell. His head ached, his mouth was dry, and he was feeling generally ill from a serious drinking binge that had lasted most of the last two weeks, ever since he had fled Shadowmoor and arrived back on Bramley’s doorstep. He’d had the unhappy duty of informing Bramley that Etzel was dead but that a usurper who called himself de Lohr had taken over Shadowmoor. Brynner had no way of ousting the man or even returning to his own fortress. The situation, as he saw it, was grim.

Understandably, Bramley had been angered by the news and of Brynner’s failure to complete the task he’d been charged with. Although moderately pleased to hear of Etzel’s death, the usurper was an unanticipated problem but upon the mention of the name, Bramley knew immediately who the man was – the same man who had rescued Gunnar when the boy had run away from him. The big blond knight who claimed to be part of the House of de Lohr, the one who had leveled threats and insults at him, was now holding Shadowmoor. It was a most unexpected happening.

De Lohr was a man who now stood in his way.

So Bramley didn’t waste any time brooding over the situation; he acted immediately. He sent a missive to the king the very night Brynner had shown up at Bramley Castle spouting stories of being driven from his own home. Surely Henry needed to know that a member of the famed House of de Lohr was a thief and had stolen property that did not belong to him. Not only that, but he had stolen the contents of Shadowmoor and that included Bramley’s bride. Well, the woman he was determined to marry, at any rate. Henry needed to know that as well. Bramley was quite certain that Henry would send help and the arrogant de Lohr knight would feel the king’s wrath.

He was counting on it.

But the reply wouldn’t be instant, and that infuriated Bramley. The missive had been sent almost two weeks ago and sitting around waiting for a reply from Henry had grown tiresome. Bramley had hoped for an instant response even though he knew full well that it would take at least two weeks for his messenger to even reach the king.

Still, he was impatient as well as spoiled, and decided to take matters into his own hands. He decided to solicit assistance from local lords against the man who now held Shadowmoor. Surely he could unite his neighbors with tales of the imprisonment of Lady Liselotte and the exile of a brother who only wanted to protect his sister. He could make a very sad case for Brynner l’Audacieux. At least, that was Bramley’s scheme, and he intended to head to one of the great fortresses in the area and use his royal connections to elicit their assistance.

But they had to plan carefully, to find the most powerful lords in the area. Brynner, who had lived in the region his entire life, named two major castles in the area that might be of help - Netherghyll Castle, which was the closest, and Skipton Castle, which was further to the north. Bramley knew of Netherghyll and he was, frankly, more interested in that one because it bordered Shadowmoor’s lands.

When he assumed Shadowmoor as one of his properties, he would have to come to know his neighbor to the north. Netherghyll was bigger than Shadowmoor and held the Cononley baronetcy, a title that Bramley rather coveted. It was old and distinguished, and someone told him that the Lords of de Royans were also the High Sheriffs of West Yorkshire. He rather coveted that title, too. But he had refrained from contacting Netherghyll since his assumption of Bramley Castle, mostly because his focus had been on Shadowmoor, but now he reasoned that it was time to expand his horizons and come to know those who would be his neighbor, eventually. Or perhaps, someday, the castle would even be his.

One could never tell these things.

So, two weeks after sending the missive to Henry, Bramley was on the road north, heading toward Netherghyll with a small contingent of men, including Brynner. He wanted to show Brynner to the Lord of Netherghyll so the man could see how worn and pitiful Brynner was with the hope that it would inspire sympathy. It was his anticipation that the Lord of Netherghyll would become enraged at the treatment of the legal Lord of Shadowmoor and offer his army to chase de Lohr away.

Bramley was determined to make a good case of it. As they neared the large village of Siglesdene this morning, he glanced over his shoulder to Brynner, the very man who would gain him a fortress and even new allies, who was riding an old mare off to his right. The man looked as if he’d seen better days.

“Do not look so glum,” Bramley said to him. “This is a fine morning and I have a great deal of confidence that an alliance will be exactly what we need to salvage this situation. And you’ve said that you have never met the Lord of Netherghyll, Baron Cononley? I find that surprising considering the man is your neighbor.”

Brynner’s head was pounding with every fall from the horse’s hoof. He could feel the vibrations up through him, like bolts of lightning shooting into his brain every time the horse took a step. The pain was excruciating.

“We have always kept to ourselves,” he said, his voice sounding dull. “We do not know any of our neighbors and they do not know us, which worked well in your favor when you tried to starve us out. We had no one to ask for assistance.”

Bramley turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. “Do not blame me for your failings,” he said. “You were bereft long before I first saw your beauteous sister. I do hope de Lohr hasn’t compromised her, though. I do not want another man’s leavings.”

Brynner didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to talk about his sister because he honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that she was the captive of an unknown knight. He’d tried to pretend he hadn’t cared for so long but the truth was that something buried deep did care. It was that emotion that was numbed every time he drank, but he wasn’t drunk now. He could feel everything.

“It is possible that Baron Cononley will not even see us,” he said, changing the subject. “Since I do not know the man, it is possible he will not give a thought to our situation.”

Bramley wasn’t deterred. “I believe I can persuade him,” he said. “But if not, then there is always Skipton Castle. They are a garrison for the crown and will surely aid me considering who my uncle is. They will have no choice. Once I have them help me rid Shadowmoor of the de Lohr parasite, then I will turn them on Netherghyll to punish them for not lending assistance. Have no doubt that this will all work well in our favor.”

Brynner didn’t say anything more. Bramley was so full of arrogance that he swore if he poked the man with a needle, the only thing that would escape would be hot air. He’d never met a more prideful and unrealistic man. They were entering the outskirts of the town of Siglesdene now, passing farmers with carts or women taking their wares to town. Dogs and children scattered as they passed by.

Siglesdene had been around since well before William of Normandy claimed England for his own, a prosperous town that was surprisingly full of commerce. From the ports at Blackpool along the Irish Sea, the road west lead directly into West Yorkshire, so Siglesdene, and several of the other surrounding villages, were well-supplied with goods from Ireland and other countries. There was also a surprising amount of commerce from the surrounding area that went out on the road and back to the ports. In all, it was a rather continental village that had nearly everything one could want, and more besides.

Bramley knew the town because there was a tavern here that had some fairly decent whores. At least they had teeth and were relatively disease-free. He’d spent some time at the tavern but he’d spent more time at the brothel in Bradford. Still, he was somewhat familiar with Siglesdene and was thinking on stopping for a midday meal as they entered the town. A rumbling stomach made his decision for him.

“La Londe!” he called out behind him. “De Witt!”

Bramley’s henchmen were riding several feet behind him. When they heard their names shouted, they spurred their big-boned horses forward. Jules la Londe, his blond hair shaggy and dirty, was the first to respond.

“My lord?” he asked politely.

Bramley pointed up ahead, into the city. “See if you can find a place for us to break our fast,” he said. “As I recall, there are several bakers on the end of the Avenue of the Merchants. See if someone has enough to feed all of us.”

Jules nodded, glancing back over the group. Bramley had brought along a total of twenty-three men for his trip to Netherghyll on this day and he counted heads once more, mentioning the number to de Witt, who spurred his horse on ahead. La Londe followed close behind. Once the mercenary knights were moving into the city, Bramley turned to Brynner.

“See if you can force some food down your gullet so you do not appear as if you are going to die at any moment,” he said, eyeing the man. “We want the Lord of Netherghyll to feel pity for you but I need for you to actually make it to the castle and not die along the way. We will stop here and eat something before continuing on.”