Ryan was afraid to ask. “What did you tell them?”
He lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully. “To appease myself, I suggested a marriage with a woman of the Earl of Cornwall’s choosing to cement a peace alliance. To appease my men, I promised to brutalize my Launceston wife so badly on our wedding night that she would be forever submissive and humiliated, thereby extracting a measure of vengeance against Launceston for my father’s death.” He looked at her, still standing against the wall. “You, my lady, were supposed to embody all that we hated. You were supposed to be our devil.”
Ryan was so horrified that she was hardly breathing. “There… there is no peace treaty?”
Dennis nodded. “Aye, there is. But by the laws of God and country, once you are my wife, I can do anything I please. You were to be our whipping post, to focus our warring aggressions on in our time of peace. If we cannot battle Launceston directly, we can most certainly battle you. And we can win with no deaths, no injuries, and no cost. It was the perfect plan, truly.”
It was also overwhelming. Ryan leaned back against the cold wall, sliding down the length of it until she was resting on her buttocks. There were tears in her eyes, but she struggled with all her might to hold them back.
“Is that why you married me so quickly?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “Is that why you did not… consummate our marriage last night? So you could have the privilege of doing it here, for all to see?”
He nodded to everything. Ryan hung her head and he knew she was crying. His heart, even with all of his years of warring, was still a delicate, soft thing and he could feel his soul reaching out to this woman. He stood up from the bed, moving swiftly, and crouching on the floor in front of her. Ryan let out a yelp of surprise and fear, but Dennis’ warm, gentle hands stopped her from running.
“But I must confess something, something I cannot let any of the others know,” he said quietly, urgently, but Ryan was still trying to pull away from him. “You need not fear me, Lady Ryan, I swear it. I would sooner kill myself than harm you. Do you understand me?”
There was something in his tone that brought belief. She stopped trying to move away from him, though she was still rightfully frightened. Dennis gazed into her beautiful, terrified eyes.
“I confess that I am not like my father,” he whispered. “Charlotte and my father were of the same character, while I took after my mother. She was intelligent and compassionate, and it was my father’s regret that I followed in her wake. He forever lamented how God blessed me with such size and strength only for me to waste it with a gentle nature. It was not a pleasant way to grow up, knowing my father was ashamed of me.”
He shifted to sit on his buttocks just as she was. But his hands were still on her, warm and comforting, and there was pain in his gray eyes as he spoke.
“I have confessed that I wanted peace,” his voice was hoarse. “The promises I made to my men were to appease them like simple children. I took this opportunity to create a peace that I had never known, that generations of d’Vants had never known. I saw it as an opportunity for my family to evolve. Truthfully, I never expected that my wife would be anything other than a belligerent wench and I was actually hoping she would give me a reason to hate her. But then I met you.”
Ryan wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “And?” she managed to whisper.
A smile spread across his lips. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect someone like you.”
She still wasn’t sure what to think. The sound of the party downstairs was beginning to filter in through the closed door, growing louder by the moment. Ryan leapt when someone pounded on the door and a chorus of voices began demanding blood. She paled.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, almost too frightened to inquire but knowing she needed to just the same.
He knew how terrified she was. “Can you keep a secret?”
She nodded unsteadily. Dennis took her hand and brought it to his lips, a gentler kiss she had never known. It sent bolts of excitement coursing through her body and it was almost enough to ease her fear. She remained on the floor while Dennis rose to his feet, glaring at the door as if prepared to take down every man on the other side.
“All they want is blood,” he said softly. “If you can play the part, I shall do my best to convince them.”
She looked up at him, confused. “What would you have me do, my lord?”
His eyes on her were soft. “You will call me Dennis in private.”
Her stomach was getting that strange queasy feeling again she was coming to associate with him. “Very well, Dennis.”
He could see the uncertainty in her eyes and grinned. “Excellent. Now, can you give a good, long scream?”
She shrugged. “I… I think so. But why?”
“Trust me. Do you?”
She had no reason not to. In truth, her life was in his hands. “Aye.”
“Good,” he fumbled at his waist, looking for something in the darkness. “Go ahead. Give a good nasty howl as if I am killing you.”
Still confused though bound to give an acceptable performance of the task asked of her, she emitted a loud shriek that ended with some sort of melodramatic gurgling. Dennis laughed softly at her; by the time she was done, Ryan, too, was grinning.
“How was that?” she asked.
“Perfect.”
In the darkness, she saw a silver flash and she realized that he had been hunting for his dagger. Before she could say a word, he raked the sharp edge across the inside of his left forearm and immediately, blood spilled forth. Pulling off the linen that was on the dirty bed, he made sure there was a very large, very red stain.
Taking the sheet to the door, he opened the panel and threw the linen to the crowd beyond. It was like throwing food to a cluster of hungry vultures; a great cry went up as the populace of St. Austell viewed what they considered the ultimate sign of victory. Dennis d’Vant had made good on his promise, and they danced down the corridor and into the hall with the bloodied sheet held high like a banner. It was a great night in the annals of St. Austell history and they posted the sheet on the wall in a place of honor, in remembrance of their triumph.
Back inside the chamber, Ryan rose from the floor and went to Dennis as he tried to wrap a torn piece of linen around his oozing cut. Silently, she pushed his hands away and expertly secured the bandage. He stared at her, seeing her beautiful features in the dimness of the room and wondering what in the hell he had really gotten himself into.
He could not even begin to guess.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Dennis, we have a problem.”
Against the backdrop of the early morning sky over St. Austell harbor, Dennis heard the fateful words from Riston. He had been standing there, pondering his thoughts, thinking of the previous night and of the confessions he had made to his wife. He wondered if he had done the right thing. He’d hardly slept for concern over it. But Riston’s softly uttered statement jolted him from his reflections. From his position overseeing the rebuild of the collapsed wall, he turned hesitantly in the knight’s direction.
“What is the problem?” he asked.
Riston appeared genuinely distressed. “Last eve, I tended Lady d’Vant’s pet as you asked,” he said apprehensively. “The animal would not stop attacking me….”
“You did not hurt it, did you?” Dennis cut him off, eyes narrowed.
“Nay, I did not hurt it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Riston winced. “I was unsure what to do with the creature; kicking me as it was, so I tied it up in the kitchen yard until I could figure it out.”
“And?”
“And it attacked the cook.”
Dennis peered more closely at him, perhaps catching his sense of concern now. “What did he do?”
Riston grunted and hung his head. “He did not know the goat was a pet,” he muttered. “All he knew was that he had a wild goat r
estrained in the kitchen yard along with the other livestock and fowl that we eat, and…”
Dennis blanched. “God, no,” he hissed. “Did he…?”
Riston nodded; he wouldn’t let the man finished. When he spoke, it was with his head down and his eyes closed. “Smell the stew cooking?” he whispered.
Dennis clapped a hand to his head in disbelief. “He cooked it?”
“Killed the beast and cooked it as neat as you please,” he whispered. “I was occupied with Lady Lyla’s safety last night, and only found out about the goat this morning when I came to check on it. Dennis, I am sorry. I had no idea the cook would assume it was for eating.”
Dennis stared at Riston with his mouth open, thinking a variety of things at that moment. But he was mostly thinking about Ryan and how she was going to react to her beloved pet being butchered for a feast. He still couldn’t believe it. In fact, he charged past Riston and headed off the wall. The knight followed closely behind him.
Across St. Austell’s vast bailey they moved, swiftly, until they rounded the enormous keep and progressed on into the kitchen yard. St. Austell’s kitchen was mostly outdoors with an enormous oven, fire pit, fireplace, and various other cooking surfaces, all mostly exposed to the open air. There had been an enclosed kitchen in the same location at one time, but after a nasty fire, the walls were knocked down, and now it was just an open forum. It was into this mess of food and servants that Dennis charged.
There were pieces of butchered animals everywhere; the first thing Dennis saw was Bute’s head cast off with some other animal parts for later cooking. Over a flaming pit was a steaming cauldron, bubbling with something delicious-smelling. Dennis knew it was the goat cooking and he came to a halt as he surveyed the stew, feeling deeply distressed.
The toothless cook, an old man that had served Dennis’ father and his father before him, came bustling out of the side of the keep, out through a door that had scorch marks all over it. His arms were full of a basket overflowing with something green and leafy, and he kicked aside a chicken as he made his way towards one of the big butcher-block tables that were smeared with blood and dirt. When he saw Dennis, he barely batted an eye.
“M’lord,” he grunted in greeting.
Dennis watched the old man bustle around for a moment as he tried to figure out what to say to him.
“The goat that was here last eve,” he finally said. “Is that what is cooking in the pot?”
The old cook nodded as he began to pull vegetables out of his basket. “Aye, my lord. ’Twill make an excellent supper.”
Dennis sighed heavily. “What made you think that goat was for eating?” he asked. “Did you not see that it had a silk leash around its neck?”
The old cook paused and looked at him. “That I did, m’lord,” he replied. “But your sister assured me it was for eating.”
Dennis’ eyebrows lifted. “My sister told you?”
The cook nodded and returned to his vegetables. “Before last night’s feast,” he told him. “She came to me and wanted to know if the goat could be prepared in time for the feast, but I told her it could not be. She asked me to save her the head. It is over there.”
He was pointing to the goat head several feet away. Dennis turned to look at it once more, thinking on his sister. The more he thought about it, the more furious he became. Now, it was all starting to make some sense.
“So my sister told you to cook it?”
“Aye, m’lord,” he said. “In fact, she killed the goat herself.”
That bit of knowledge brought a furious tick to Dennis’ jaw. He stared at the cook a moment longer before turning away.
“Damn her,” he hissed.
Riston heard him. He was increasingly apprehensive; Dennis was not known for his temper, but in the rare times it had been aroused, it had been an awesome thing to behold. He suspected this might be one of those times when they would be witness to the legendary d’Vant explosion.
“Dennis,” he said calmly. “Mayhap you should….”
Dennis cut him off by jabbing a finger at him. “That goat was your responsibility,” he seethed. “You knew Charlotte was out for blood after meeting Ryan yesterday. You should have made sure this goat was safe from her vengeance.”
Riston’s eyes widened. “How could I know that?” he demanded weakly, already fearful of Dennis’ reaction. “I did not even know that Charlotte knew about the goat.”
Dennis threw up a hand in frustration. “We rode into the fortress with the thing,” he spat. “Of course Charlotte saw the goat. It was tied to Ryan’s hand; she could not miss it.”
Riston refused to be blamed. He continued to shake his head. “How was I to know?” he asked again. “I was more concerned with protecting Lady Lyla than I was in protecting a goat who was trying to pummel me to death.”
Dennis’ jaw ticked. He was so bloody furious he could hardly breathe. He wanted to blame Riston when the truth was that there was only one person to blame. With a lingering glare at Riston, he turned away sharply.
Riston didn’t say anything as he followed Dennis back into the keep. He was mostly following him to prevent him from doing anything rash, but the truth was that he wasn’t sure if he could. He didn’t know why he was following Dennis, only that he was. With every step he grew more and more anxious about Dennis’ purposeful march.
The keep of St. Austell was predictably quiet at this early hour. However, there were a few soldiers and knights breaking their fast in the great hall that was now cluttered with sleeping dogs and filth after a night of celebration. The marital sheet, with Dennis’ blood spread out over it in a brown ugly stain, still hung high on the wall. There were even rips in it, accomplished by zealous men driving swords into it. All of them, driving swords into those at Launceston.
But Dennis didn’t even look at it; he’d already seen it early that morning when he’d arisen from bed and left his wife sleeping. At that moment, his focus was solely on Charlotte, seated at the table with Clive and a few other senior soldiers as they broke their fast. Dennis stormed upon them.
“It was not enough that I did as I promised,” he snarled¸ gesturing to the sheet nailed high on the wall. “It was not enough that I took her from her home and into enemy territory and humiliated her in front of everyone at Launceston. You had to kill the one thing that gave her comfort to further punish this woman whose only true crime was to have been born on the wrong side of our war.”
Charlotte had been initially surprised at her brother’s tone; Dennis rarely used such notes of hazard. At first she had been rather fearful, but that fear had been cooled by her stubborn pride when she realized what he was speaking of. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her although he was doing a very good job. He was also embarrassing her.
“Paint any picture you wish,” she hissed. “Tell me a thousand times how your wife is blameless in all of this, but it does not alter the truth; she is the enemy.”
His brow furrowed, his mannerisms animated. “So you would kill her goat?”
“Better the goat than her,” Charlotte said. “Why are you so incensed by this? You promised she would be our revenge. Will you break your promise, Dennis?”
His eyes widened in outrage as he jabbed a big finger at the sheet on the wall. “I did what I said I would do,” he boomed. “Are you blind?”
His loud voice threatened her courage but she fought it. “You are the one who is blind,” she said, standing up from the table; she wanted to be able to move freely should he come after her. “I could see it yesterday when you returned from Launceston; you have let a pretty face sway your loyalties.”
“I have not done anything of the kind.”
“She is the enemy!”
“She is my wife and our only opportunity to know a measure of peace in our lifetime!” he shouted. “Are you truly so stupid, Charlotte?”
“I am not as stupid as you are weak!”
The shouted words overlapped. Charlotte wouldn’t back
down even though, at this point, nearly everyone had risen from the table in the face of Dennis’ rage. It was frightening and uncharacteristic, and every one of them had seen what the man could do in battle and they had no desire to be on the receiving in of such deadly power in a fit of rage.
Dennis, however, was oblivious to all but his sister. He began to stalk her from the opposite side of the table, his steps slow and deliberate.
“When will it end, Charlotte?” he asked in a tone that was more like a growl. “When will your unmitigated lust for vengeance and death end?”
Charlotte’s gaze was locked to his. “When she ends.”
Dennis came to a halt. He could see where this was going. He tried to calm himself but it was difficult; because Ryan was involved, it was exceedingly difficult. Since returning to St. Austell yesterday and since the events of last night, he could see that he was defending his wife against a keep full of people who wanted to see her dead.
He couldn’t have brought her into a more dangerous situation had he tried. Although he’d always known that would be the case, the reality of it was somewhat harsher, especially since realizing his feelings for Ryan were growing. He’d known that for a while now. That changed the stakes of the game considerably.
He could see the other men around Charlotte and their judgmental faces; aye, he knew what they were thinking. He had to be clear.
“You will listen to me and listen well,” he seethed. “I am Lord of St. Austell now, and am head of the House of d’Vant. It is I who will dispense justice or rewards, and it is I who will make final judgment or decisions upon anything affecting our House. My wife is my responsibility alone, and if anyone ever makes another move against her, however small, my wrath will be painful and deadly, even to my kin. Is this in any way unclear?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 131
