Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “He is a fine animal, Damey,” Cort said. “You have every right to be proud of him. May I try him sometime?”

  Damien had backed the horse into a wall as Cort and Dillon quickly grabbed it by the reins, steadying it as Damien slithered off.

  “He only responds to me,” Damien said arrogantly. “But you may try if you think you have the skill to handle him.”

  Cort was trying desperately not to smile and crush the young man’s fragile ego. “We shall see,” he said. “In fact, let your brother and me take him out to the bailey for you, if you will allow it. I want to get a good look at him.”

  Damien nodded, petting his horse but leaving bloodied handprints because he’d rubbed his palms raw in his attempt to control his horse on the ride home. The young man was trying desperately to maintain the illusion that nothing was amiss.

  “Well… if you are very careful with him,” he said. “His name is Vulcan, after the Greek god of fire. He is very spirited.”

  “He is, indeed,” Denys said, coming around the side of the horse. A big man with dark, graying hair, he was the competent head of the Narborough de Winter contingent. “Are you well, Damien? Tell me that you are or your mother will skin the hide from me. Christ, I should have never let you talk me into buying you this animal. He is far too strong for you.”

  Damien’s face fell. “He is not, Papa,” he insisted weakly. “We… we simply have to come to know one another, ’tis all. We will be just fine.”

  “Damey!” Alais had finally made her way from the kitchens to her son’s side, having seen just the last few moments of his charge into the hall. “Thank the saints that you are safe. You are not injured, are you?”

  Damien saw his mother and his resolve began to fracture. He became that frightened little boy again. “I am fine, Mother,” he insisted weakly. “There is nothing to worry over. I am not hurt.”

  Alais caught a glimpse of his bloodied hands and she gasped “Look at your hands!” she said. Then, her fury turned to her husband. “You did this. You are trying to kill him!”

  As Cort and Dillon tried desperately not to laugh, moving the big horse towards the hall entry, Denys faced off against his angry wife.

  “Of course I am trying to kill him,” he said sarcastically. “That is my objective in life; to kill all of my children but they keep evading me. Finally, I thought this wicked plan would work – saddling Damien with a wild horse that would trample him to death.”

  Alais recoiled in horror, putting her arms around her youngest son. “You see?” she hissed. “You admit it! He is not going to Thunderbey Castle!”

  Denys rolled his eyes. “He is going to Thunderbey Castle,” he said. “He is going and the horse is going. The lad needs to grow up, Alais. He cannot remain attached to your apron strings forever.”

  As Alais and Denys nearly went to blows over the situation, Cort and Dillon carefully led the skittish horse out into the bailey.

  “Damey is very fortunate,” Cort commented. “This is a powerful horse that could have seriously hurt him. What was your father thinking letting your little brother ride this animal?”

  Dillon was looking the beast over. “He’s a beauty,” he said. “Mayhap I can persuade my father to give him to me.”

  “Or me,” Cort said. “He likes me better.”

  Dillon peered at him under the neck of the horse. “You are mad,” he hissed. “I will be the next owner of this horse, mark my words.”

  Cort opened his mouth but caught sight of two young women approaching from the direction of the gardens. Arabella and Dera were heading in their direction and as he spoke, his gaze never left Dera.

  “Dil,” he said quietly. “Is there something between your sister and Brend?”

  Dillon could see the women coming. “Did Brend tell you that?”

  Cort shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But something in his manner changed when he spoke of Arabella. I saw the same change in her manner when she spoke of him, so it is only a guess on my part.”

  Dillon pursed his lips wryly. “They are in love with one another,” he said. “But my father does not know, nor does my mother, so this is a secret you must keep to yourself.”

  Cort shook his head sadly. “I will,” he said. “Christ, Dil… they can never marry.”

  “I know.”

  “Marriage to an Irishman is illegal. They would both be in a world of trouble, not to mention what it would do to the House of de Winter.”

  Dillon could see his sister as she approached, her face alight with a smile as she caught sight of him and Cort.

  “Do not tell her that you know,” he said quietly. “It will break her heart.”

  Cort didn’t reply. He was thinking on the tragic love story of Arabella and Brend. He genuinely cared for both of them and the fact that their love could never come to fruition was quite sad to him.

  But in the same breath, it was also quite preventable.

  Love was a fool’s emotion.

  “Where did you get that horse?” Arabella asked as she came near, pointing to the golden stallion. “Cort, is that your animal?”

  Cort shook his head, turning to look at the beast and giving it an affectionate slap on the neck. “This is the horse your father bought Damien,” he said. “Your brother is quite proud of it even though it almost killed him.”

  Arabella grinned, looking at the sheer size of the horse. “My father bought Damey that?” she said, incredulous. “He looks as if he breathes fire!”

  “He does, almost.”

  “My mother will not be happy.”

  “She is already not happy,” Dillon said. “She and Father are fighting about it in the hall.”

  Arabella turned her attention towards the hall, hearing the soft buzz of conversation and smelling the smoke from the hearth.

  “I suppose I should go in and see if I can calm Mother,” she said, but her focus returned to Dillon. “Before I go, however, I wanted to ask if you would escort Dera and me into the village of Lynn tomorrow.”

  Dillon frowned. “What for?” he asked. “Did I not just escort you there two days ago? Ask Brend. Let him take you.”

  Cort stepped in. “I will take you,” he said. “It is either that or I have to spend my day with your wearisome brother. I would much rather spend it with you ladies. When do you wish to leave?”

  Arabella smiled brightly. “After sunrise? Is that too early?”

  Cort snorted. “It is never too early for me,” he said. “In fact, I do not sleep, so any time you wish to leave is fine with me.”

  “Good,” Arabella said, turning to stick her tongue out at her brother. “Stay here for all I care, you selfish brute.”

  “I will,” Dillon said petulantly. “Who wants to be seen with you, anyway? Get out of my sight.”

  Arabella stuck her tongue out at him again for good measure, grasping Dera by the hand and pulling the woman after her as they headed towards the hall.

  Cort watched them go, thinking he’d been rather clever about offering to escort them into the rather large burgh of Lynn. Of course, he was going to bring Brend with him to keep Arabella occupied while he focused on Dera.

  Even now, he was focused on her.

  She was dressed in a pale blue garment that reflected the pale blue of her eyes. Truly, he’d never seen anything so exquisite. She was looking at him, too, smiling timidly as Arabella dragged her away. He smiled in return, only in his case, it was bold and flirtatious.

  He didn’t know any other way.

  “All they want to do is go into town and look around,” Dillon said as he tugged on the horse so it would follow him. “There is a new merchant there who imports goods from Saxony and beyond. You are going to be bored to tears, Cort.”

  Cort was following, too, but he was still looking at Dera, who was moving into the hall. When she faded from his sight, his thoughts were still lingering on the lass with the skin like cream.

  “Somehow,” he said slowly, “I do not think so.�
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  “What did you say?”

  Cort realized Dillon hadn’t really heard him and, in truth, he didn’t want to repeat himself. He didn’t want to tip Dillon off on why he’d really come to Narborough.

  To seduce a rebel.

  “I said somehow, I think so,” he said, more loudly. “You are right, but it is done. I’ll take them into town and bully them until they consent to leave. And then you and I can spend tomorrow evening drinking and feasting.”

  Dillon grinned. “What’s wrong with doing that tonight?”

  “Tonight, too.”

  After leaving off Damien’s new horse to the care of the stable master, Cort and Dillon spent the rest of the evening on the wall with Brend, drinking and speaking of days gone by and of the adventures Cort had on behalf of Henry.

  It was a good night.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was dawn and Cort had Damien’s new horse saddled and ready to ride escort into Lynn. He’d told Denys his intentions, hoping to ride the horse and ease up any wild habits before Damien rode him again, and Denys was quite agreeable.

  Therefore, on a misty morning as the sun rose over the fields, Cort and Vulcan faced off against one another in the stable yard as the grooms saddled two small, gentle palfreys for the women and a small contingent of men prepared to form the escort.

  Vulcan was big, strong, and very young. He exhibited all of the youthful tics that high-bred horses seem to have. He worried his bit terribly and foamed at the mouth, and Cort stood there with his hand on the horse’s head, speaking softly to it. The horse seemed to calm down when handled appropriately, and as Cort used his charm on an equine, Brend entered the stable.

  “I see you are stealing Damey’s horse,” Brend said, yawning. “Dillon thought you might.”

  Cort grinned. “I have Denys’ permission, so it’s not stealing.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Doubt my word and I will steal this horse and tell Denys that you encouraged me to.”

  Brend chuckled, getting a look at his big, black stud as the groom led the animal out of his stall. “They would not believe you,” he said. “Besides… it’s not as if they do not know where you live so they can reclaim the horse, unless you take it into London, of course, and hide it at any number of royal properties. How is Henry, by the way?”

  “Well enough,” Cort said. “He spends his time between Westminster and Hampton Court.”

  “Ah,” Brend said. “The new palace. It belongs to Cardinal Wolsey, does it not?”

  “It does, but Henry spends time there.”

  “Have you visited?”

  “I have, indeed. It is spectacular.”

  Brend paused, watching the grooms prepare his horse, who kept trying to snap at them. “What will you tell Henry about de Winter’s Irish rebellion?”

  Cort looked at him. “I haven’t learned anything yet,” he said. “I only arrived yesterday and other than a few brief conversations, we haven’t discussed it in full, but I’m sure you can tell me what I want to know. We did not get very far on it yesterday. What are the details that I’m missing?”

  Brend folded his big arms across his chest thoughtfully. “Black Cove is gone.”

  “I know that.”

  “My father has sent out reports, but I do not believe we are getting everything,” Brend said. “The rebels are choking the communication lines. I’m sure Henry is getting more information than we are. What does he say about it all?”

  Something told Cort to be careful with Brend. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the man, but Dera was reputed to be a rebel and Cort couldn’t be certain that Brend wouldn’t tell Dera what Court told him.

  In fact, he thought he might test the man to see if Brend’s Irish bloodlines ran deeper than he wanted everyone to believe. He could come up with something to tell his friend and see if it made its way to Dera. If she really was the rebel Henry said she was, then she would take any sensitive information and send it straight to Ireland.

  He loved Brend, but these were uncertain times.

  He hoped he wasn’t wrong about his friend.

  “It’s very complex,” Cort finally said. “When we have more time and the women aren’t due to come upon us, we can discuss it. Meanwhile, tell me about Dera Patrick MacRohan. I haven’t had much time to speak with her but she seems pleasant enough. Does she have any friends other than Bella?”

  Brend shook his head. “She has not been here very long,” he said. “Denys has kept her at Narborough.”

  “She has not gone visiting to allies?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then mayhap she can return with me to Deverill,” he said. “My youngest sister, Gilliana, is about her age. I can bring Bella with me, too. She and Gilliana are good friends.”

  Brend didn’t say anything for a moment. “I do not think Denys wants her leaving Narborough at all.”

  “Why not?”

  He cleared his throat, looking at the ground as he spoke. “Because I think she’s a hostage, Cort,” he said quietly. “Denys hasn’t told me directly, nor has Dillon, but it’s clear they do not want her leaving the castle. That’s why I’m surprised Dillon is not here. He’s been watching over her steadily and I think it’s because they do not want her to slip away.”

  Cort frowned. “Slip away where?”

  Brend simply shook his head. “She is young and idealistic,” he said. “She has strong views on many things.”

  “Most women do.”

  Dera and Arabella entered the stable at that moment, wrapped up in cloaks and gloves against the morning mist. Arabella lit up at the sight of Brend, who smiled in return. It was difficult for anyone to miss the meaningful looks that passed between them. But Arabella tore her eyes away from Brend long enough to look at Cort.

  “Thank you for escorting us this morning, Cort,” she said. “My brother was too lazy to do so.”

  “Nay, I was not,” Dillon said, entering the stable, dressed in full battle gear. “I simply did not want to be bothered with you, but Father says I must ride escort, so here I am, you pest.”

  “Peasant.”

  “Piglet.”

  “Horse’s arse!”

  Cort’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold with the insults,” he said, looking at Dillon “Am I to understand that your father does not think me capable of riding a simple escort?”

  Dillon waved him off, irritated and suffering an aching head from too much drink the night before. “He wants me to see the blacksmith in Lynn about Damey’s horse,” he said. “He wants the man to check his shoes. He thinks the horse’s gait was strange yesterday and thinks it may be an uncomfortable shoe. That’s why the horse was so irritable.”

  “That’s what he told your mother, isn’t it?”

  Dillon closed his eyes to the ridiculousness of his parents. “Of course it is.”

  “It wasn’t that the horse was too much for Damien. It was that the horse had a bad shoe.”

  “Exactly.”

  Cort chuckled. “You have a blacksmith here at Narborough. Why not him?”

  “Because my mother can question him and he will not lie to her,” Dillon said. “It will be easier to say the horse was checked in Narborough and a shoe was bothering him. My mother will not go all the way to Lynn to question a blacksmith.”

  “And Denys will not have to admit he bought a horse for his son that the lad cannot handle.”

  “Now you understand the foolishness that goes on with my parents.”

  Cort simply shook his head as Dillon and then Brend went about securing their horses for the journey. Arabella left Dera to go stand with Brend as the man inspected his saddle. Noticing that Dera was simply standing alone Cort made his way over to her.

  “I understand you are visiting a merchant that you visit quite frequently,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “It sounds as if this man has cast a spell over you two.”

  Dera grinned, displaying lovely white teeth without the big gap like her brother had. “
You have been talking to Dillon.”

  “I have.”

  “He exaggerates,” she said. “The man is from Constantinople and has beautiful things I have never seen before. He says he brought them into France on the backs of camels before transporting them by ship across the sea.”

  Cort smiled because she seemed so fascinated by it. “And the thought of exotic gifts from exotic destinations intrigues you?”

  She nodded. “We don’t see much of that where I lived in Ireland,” she said. “In Dublin, mayhap, but not in the north where I lived. Only when I came to England did I see beautiful and surprising things.”

  “Like what?”

  She cocked her head thoughtfully. “I went to Norwich once with Lord Denys and Lady Alais,” she said. “There is an entire section of town by the cathedral that is full of shops with mysterious and amazing things. A man was selling a ring that had a secret compartment in it so one could actually use it to poison a drink or food. I’ve never seen that before.”

  Cort laughed softly. “Poison rings are nothing to trifle with,” he said. “I have heard of them actually being used.”

  “Truly?” she said, intrigued. “Was it a wife trying to poison a husband? A husband trying to poison a wife?”

  The horses were finished and Dillon was waving them over, interrupting the conversation. Cort reached out and took Dera politely by the elbow.

  “I am not certain, but I will say this,” he said. “We must keep those rings away from Lord Denys and Lady Alais at all costs, especially when it comes to their argument over a certain horse for a certain young man. They may try to do each other in.”

  Dera giggled. “Agreed. But what makes you think they don’t already have a ring like that and are simply waiting for the right time to use it?”

  Cort snorted. “Good point,” he said as they arrived at her small, gray palfrey. “May I help you onto your horse, my lady?”

  Dera shook her head. “I am quite capable, thank you.”

  As Cort watched, she slipped her right foot into the stirrup and lifted herself up into the saddle with ease. She smiled at him as if to thank him for his concern, but it was clear that she was quite proficient at handling a horse. Cort dipped his head politely and went to claim his own mount, swinging himself up into the saddle as the young horse immediately startled, digging its hooves in as if preparing to bolt.