Maxton was still looking at Caius. “Probably,” he said. “But I cannot resist serving with Cai again. Besides… he will need me.”
Caius’ eyes narrowed. “I do not need you. But I do want you.”
Maxton, whose smiles were as rare as snow in the month of June, broke out in a grin. “As well you should,” he said. “I will go with you to Winterhold to assess the situation, but I will have to return home at some point soon. I have been away from my wife and daughters overlong. I am eager to return home.”
Caius understood, sort of. He still wasn’t over the fact that his old friend, whom he had womanized with for years, had settled down with a wife he truly adored. Caius never understood men who succumbed to something as common as love.
To him, it was a weakness.
“Then hopefully, this will not take too long,” he said, his attention returning to The Marshal. “I have my command assembly, my lord. How soon do we depart?”
William finished off his wine, tossing his head back as he drained the cup. “Tomorrow,” he said. “You will go to Warstone Castle outside of Wolverhampton and wait for my army to arrive. Then, you shall proceed to Winterhold, which is a day’s ride north of Wolverhampton. You may also press de Wolfe on what he knows about the situation between de Wrenville and de Thorington. A feud like that is not something that is usually secret, and it is in his part of England, so he may know something. Beyond that… handle things at your discretion. You have been instructed.”
Caius nodded, looking to Maxton as William rose to pour himself more wine and summoned Sean, Bric, and Dashiell for a quiet conversation. As Peter and Kevin headed out to inform Morgan and Gareth of their coming mission, Caius spoke to Maxton.
“It will be like old times,” Caius said, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Except for the women. I do not think your wife would like it if I demanded you go wenching with me.”
Maxton chuckled. “Nay, she would not, and she is not afraid to use a knife, so tread carefully with her.”
“I would only show her the greatest respect, Maxton,” Caius assured him. “But you, however…”
He snorted, which set off Maxton. “It has been a very long time, my friend,” Maxton said quietly. “How many years since we last had an adventure together?”
Caius shrugged. “I cannot even recall. It has been a long time.”
“I miss Kress and Achilles. I miss those days.”
He spoke of the other original Executioner Knights, men who had their own responsibilities and families these days. Caius grinned as he thought on those two.
“As do I,” he said softly.
“And Sherry,” Maxton said. “I miss him, too.”
Caius shrugged. “Sherry only worked as a team when he felt like it,” he said. “I love the man, but he could be a loner at times. That is why I am perpetually amazed that he has settled in as Christopher de Lohr’s commander. He’s usually quite a wanderer.”
But Maxton shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said. “Marrying a woman you are mad for can do such things to a man. Make him feel settled and whole. Mayhap you’ll discover that for yourself someday.”
Caius snorted rudely. “Never,” he said. “I will leave marriage to those of you who can stomach it. As for me, I…”
He was cut off by William, who waved them over as Bric and Dashiell departed. Sean was still standing with The Marshal, and William motioned to Caius and Maxton.
“Cai,” William said. “What’s this I hear? You met Marius de Wrenville tonight?”
Caius looked at Maxton, who smirked and averted his gaze. Now would be his comeuppance as he confessed his presence at The Pox.
Or not.
He still hadn’t decided.
He cleared his throat.
“I did,” he said, eyeing Sean even as he spoke to William. “But he was just another man in a tavern. I did not know who he was, only his name. Sean says he is a favorite of John at the moment.”
William nodded, some of his frustration returning. “He has been spending an inordinate amount of time in London with John,” he said. “Sean has been watching him and reporting back to me. That is why I believe Marius orchestrated Alice’s marriage to his father – Marius is ambitious and clever, but those are not compliments. He is also ruthless. What happened when you met him? Did you speak with him?”
Caius looked at Sean, who was stone-faced. Clearly, the man didn’t tell William about the circumstances of Caius’ acquaintance with Marius. He was leaving that up to Caius.
Caius had no choice but to tell him the truth.
“I beat him in a drinking game,” he finally said, watching the exasperation on William’s face take flight. “Half the tavern was betting on who would be the last man standing after several bottles of strong Portuguese wine. I won.”
“Let me guess. At The Pox?”
“Aye.”
“At least you are truthful.”
“I am nothing else, my lord.”
William waved a hand at him as if to dismiss the potential for an insult in that line of conversation. “I know you are,” he said. “That is not what I meant. But The Pox? You know how I feel about that place, Cai.”
“I know, my lord. But it has excellent food and drink.”
“It is a den of demons!”
“Tonight, I was one of them.”
William was quickly becoming frustrated and struggling not to. “So you drank Marius under the table,” he said. “How do you think the man is going to feel about you showing up at the head of my army to aid his father against de Thorington? This is not an ideal situation, Cai.”
“I realize that, my lord. But it cannot be undone.”
William paused a moment, thinking on that. Then, he simply shook his head. “Nay, it cannot,” he said. “From what Sean tells me, however, Marius is petty and vindictive. Watch how he behaves with you. Watch that he does not try to undermine you.”
Sean interjected. “My sources tell me that he has been summoned home by his father, though he has seemed in no real hurry to go home,” he said. “The truth is that although he spends a great deal of time in John’s court, his favorite status is debatable. Some days he is, and others he is not. But I have seen him gossip with the king better than a fishwife. In any case, you can reach Winterhold before he ever arrives.”
William nodded. “That is good,” he said. “It means that his father will have no prejudice against you, at least until his son gets there. All he will know is that you are my commander. Sean, do you think you can keep Marius with John and away from Winterhold while Cai straightens this situation out?”
“I doubt it, my lord. Cai is simply going to have to move faster than Marius does in reaching Winterhold.”
William seemed satisfied after that, hopeful that there would be no conflict, or tension, between Caius and Marius in a situation that was already distressing. Losing a drinking game wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it might be to an arrogant young noble. Not that William really worried about it, but it was one less issue to deal with in a circumstance that was full of uncertainties.
But he found himself seriously wishing bland, boring Alice had remained a spinster. His niece was creating quite a situation for him, the depths of which remained to be seen.
He could only hope it wasn’t as bad as it could potentially be.
CHAPTER TWO
Five weeks later
Winterhold Castle
Shrewsbury
She was on her knees in a corner of the hall.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. At least she was upright, even if her face was pressed into a corner.
Her father was on his face on the floor.
Panic was beginning to set in.
How did I even get here?
But the sad fact was that she knew. It seemed like this was all she’d ever known. Incessant attacks, badgering, persecution had been a steady part of her life for the past three years and it was at the point where she almost couldn�
�t remember the peaceful days before.
The before times.
Neighbors they rarely ever heard from or saw, a family that her family had coexisted peacefully with for almost seventy years, had suddenly decided that the House of de Thorington was the enemy. There wasn’t even a build-up of hostilities – one moment, there was peace, and in the next, the House of de Wrenville was sending an army to attack the walls of her home and tearing down forests to bring the great war machines through that would launch flaming projectiles at the keep.
Hawkstone Castle hadn’t been prepared.
Ever since Emelisse de Thorington’s ancestor had been granted the lands by Henry I and had built his fortress, Hawkstone had been relatively peaceful. It was a strong fortress and built appropriately for the uncertain and sometimes dangerous times, but the years had seen the moat become filled with reeds and water lilies and fowl, and the drawbridge hadn’t been raised in years. The chains had rusted into position.
Not to say they hadn’t seen some action, but it had been rare. There were times when the Welsh had raided the nearby villages, but they stayed away from Hawkstone, mostly because of the persistent rumor of ledrith, or magic, in the large hill and limestone caves on the property.
In truth, it was a wild and enchanted place.
Emelisse had grown up in that fortress, and amidst that hill, vast masses of trees and waterfalls, caves, and paths that were, indeed, magical to a certain extent, but not in the way the Welsh saw it. There were no wood sprites or trolls or fae amidst the rocks and trees. But there were plenty of birds. Mynydd Adar, the Welsh called it.
Hawk Mountain.
It was where the fortress got its name, a bucolic place that hadn’t known strife or terror or hunger. It had been perfect.
Until three years ago.
God, how things had changed. As Emelisse faced the corner of the great hall of those who sacked her castle, it was difficult not to weep for the peace of Hawkstone and what once was. She knew her brother, Caspian, was holed up in Hawkstone, in the keep, fighting off the de Wrenville attack when they’d breached the gatehouse and had the run of the inner bailey and the hall.
That’s where Emelisse had been, in the hall tending the wounded, when the de Wrenville army had overrun it. Her father had been at the gatehouse, but Caspian had retreated to the keep with the remaining fragments of the army, taking a last stand, and Emelisse was proud of him for it.
Damn the bloody de Wrenvilles!
“Lady Emelisse?”
Someone was addressing her from behind as she faced the wall. She was bound, but she wasn’t gagged, which was surprising considering she bit the first man that had grabbed her. She’d kicked the second man coming to his aid. They’d managed to tie her up and transport her back the sixteen miles to Winterhold, but she hadn’t gone without a fight.
Still, she was fighting.
“Lady Emelisse, I will remove your bindings if you promise to behave like a lady.”
Emelisse didn’t know who was speaking to her and she surely didn’t care. All she knew was that the voice enraged her to the point where she wanted to bite and kick again.
“I did behave like a lady,” she said. “You were attempting to take me prisoner. I have a right to resist, do I not?”
“You do, but I should like to have a civil conversation with you.”
“I do not wish to speak with you, whoever you are. Speak to my father.”
There was a pause. “He is in no condition to hold a conversation.”
That caused Emelisse to turn her head around as far as she could, trying to look to the stone floor of the great hall of Winterhold where she’d last seen her father.
“Why?” she demanded, fear in her voice now. “Where is he? What have you done to him?”
She twisted around and managed to fall on her side. The way they had her bound did not allow for much movement. She landed with a grunt as someone hauled her back up to her knees, pushing her back against the wall so she wouldn’t fall again. But as she banged against the stone wall of the musty, smoky hall, she could see her father lying in the same place he’d been when they’d first entered the hall.
He hadn’t moved.
The anger in her turned to grave concern.
“Please,” she said, looking up at the men around her. “Please let me go to him. He must be injured.”
There was a well-dressed, older man to her left and a knight in heavily used battle armor to her right. Pale and sharp-featured but not unhandsome, he had pale red hair and a receding hairline. He was also sweaty and grimy, and had a cut above his right eyebrow. It was clear he’d been in the heat of battle and he was looking at her with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. When she made her plea, his only response was to look to the well-dressed man who clearly hadn’t seen action in the siege.
But the well-dressed man was looking at her rather pleasantly, as if all of this were just some leisure gathering of friends. He even had a cup of wine in his hand that Emelisse didn’t see until he raised it and took a casual drink.
He seemed quite untroubled by everything.
“Lady Emelisse de Thorington,” he finally said, his eyes raking her from top to bottom. “Christ, you’re beautiful. I’d hear rumor, but I’ve not seen you in an exceptionally long time.”
He was looking at her the way every man looked at her – with interest. Full-breasted and full-hipped with a narrow waist in between, Emelisse oozed womanhood. Her figure was alluring enough, but coupled with seductive blue eyes and blonde hair that fell in copious amounts to her buttocks, she was a specimen among women.
Even Covington could see that.
“You do not remember me, do you?” he said.
Emelisse looked at him, long and hard. “I do not recall.”
“I am Covington de Wrenville.”
Her eyes widened. “It is… you?” she gasped. “You’re Covey de Wrenville?”
He smiled. “Then you know my name.”
Emelisse looked at him in horror. Truly, she didn’t know how to respond. She’d never been this close to him, never in all of the years she’d lived at Hawkstone. Of course she knew the name; he was the Lord of Winterhold, Baron Darliston, a man who had been incredibly quiet until three years ago when he decided that he wanted what Hawkstone had.
As Emelisse looked at him, she found herself wishing that she had a dagger. She wished she had a very sharp dagger and she wished that her hands were not bound, for surely, she would plunge the dagger right into Covington’s fat, blobbish chest. His whole body was blobbish and round, his jowls jiggling, his body as soft as his morals and his standards.
It sickened her to be this close to him.
“Why?” she finally hissed, her guard going down. “Why have you done this to us? We have always been peaceful. We never troubled you. We were good neighbors. Why did you do this to us?”
Covington was undisturbed by her pain. “I am told your brother is holding the keep,” he said, completely ignoring her questions. “You will tell him to surrender.”
Emelisse stiffened. “I will not,” she hissed. “Have you no heart, no compassion? We have done nothing to provoke your aggression. Release me immediately so I may see to my father.”
His gaze lingered on her. “As I mentioned, I have not seen you in many years,” he said. “I can see now that you will make a fine prize for my son. Marius will be most pleased. Truly, your father should have accepted my marriage offer in the first place. It might have avoided these… unpleasantries.”
“Marriage offer?” she gasped. “What marriage offer?”
“The one I sent to your father. Surely he told you about it.”
Emelisse stared at him a moment, baffled, before her eyes suddenly widened. In that split-second, she realized what he was saying.
“You mean…” she sputtered. “That missive we received about three years ago?”
“It is the only missive I have ever sent to your father.”
A creeping se
nse of horror filled Emelisse. Covington was correct; it was the only missive he’d ever sent to Hawkstone. A few sentences about discussing the possibility of a marital alliance between Emelisse and Covington’s son, Marius.
It had been quickly read, quickly forgotten.
It hadn’t seemed like a serious situation at the time. The missive had been very casual. There had been no demands, only a polite suggestion to open a dialogue. But Emelisse’s father had swiftly refused, informing de Wrenville that his daughter was not accepting marital prospects at that time. It had been the truth.
But de Wrenville clearly had been carrying a grudge about it.
Is that what had caused these three years of hostilities?
After three long years, the realization hit her like a hammer.
“Is that what this is about?” she demanded, straining against her bindings. “A rejected marriage proposal?”
Covington regarded the wine in his cup before replying. “When my men told me that they’d captured you, I immediately sent word to my son,” he said. “He will want to inspect you for himself. Now, tell your brother to surrender the keep so we may be finished with this madness.”
“I told you I will not.”
“Please, my lady. We do not want this situation to become any more barbaric than it already has.”
She was so angry that she was trembling. “That is your fault,” she said. “You are the barbarian, not I. Not my family. We are defending what is rightfully ours. All because my father refused a solicitation of marriage? Why did you not speak to him about it rather than immediately going to arms?”
Covington didn’t reply. He looked to the battle-worn knight standing across from him. “Show her what I mean.”
The knight turned away, heading over to Rupert as he lay face-down on the ground. Flipping the man onto his back, he stood over him, watching for any hint of life. He could see what Emelisse couldn’t see – Rupert’s face. He could see how badly the man had been beaten, his nose broken, teeth knocked out. All from the breach of the gatehouse that the old man had no business defending.
“Hallam,” Covington said, his voice stronger. “Show her what I mean.”
Winter of Solace (The Executioner Knights Book 5) Page 4
