“Where’s Gerrard?” Walter demanded, his eyes darting about like a trapped rat.
“Not here,” Roland replied. “I doubt you’ll see him in Dunborough, either, while you await judgment in the dungeon.”
“But he’s the commander of your garrison!” Frederick cried.
“Not anymore, and even if he were, he wouldn’t have been allowed to give you any special treatment after what you’ve done.”
“We just wanted to scare her a little,” Frederick whined. “We didn’t know that lout wanted to cut off her ear.”
“That’s right,” James fervently agreed, desperation in his voice and eyes. “We were just going to scare her a little, that’s all. No harm in that and no harm done to her, eh, Roland?”
“I am Sir Roland to you, and you will be returning to Dunborough to face judgment, the same as any lawbreaker.”
“Lawbreaker?” James gasped, finally seeming to grasp that his situation was dire. “We’ve broken no laws!”
“You waylaid and threatened my wife.”
“It was Bern who wanted to hurt her,” James charged.
“He hates you, my lord,” Frederick added.
“So he was going to have vengeance on me by harming my wife, and you were going to help him.”
“No, no!” James protested. “We didn’t know it would be your wife who—” He stopped and flushed, while Walter glared at him as if he’d like to slit his throat.
“So you simply wanted to rob whoever was on the road,” Roland said, “and in spite of the silver I gave you.”
James and Frederick pointed at Walter. “He lost it all gambling!”
“It was a pittance to begin with,” Walter sneered. “Hardly enough for men of quality to live on.”
“I see no men of quality here,” Roland replied.
“So high and mighty, so proud, when you’ve got nothing to be proud of, not with your family. What have we done compared to them? Compared to what Gerrard’s done?” Walter demanded.
Roland wasn’t sure which one of Gerrard’s transgressions, or perhaps several, Walter was referring to, and he didn’t want his men or the rest of the outlaws to hear any accusations Walter might make. He went up to the scowling Walter and spoke quietly so that the nearby soldiers couldn’t hear. “Whatever Gerrard’s done in the past, he wasn’t with you when you accosted my wife.”
“Not then, but what about the night that girl was raped?”
“She herself said there was only one man and it was Bern.”
“But nobody thought to ask her what she was doing in the woods that night, did they? That was your brother’s doing.” Walter’s eyes glowed with malicious triumph. “Arrest me and everyone will hear that your brother asked her to meet him there—and not for a few kisses and not only with him. All four of us were going to have a little sport. But he was too much of a coward to follow through with his own plan and he never came. We went to find him before she went back home. Then Bern came upon her.”
This was both bad, and good.
“Bern was guilty of the crime of which he was accused, however she came to be there, and was punished accordingly. As for my brother’s part in it, if what you say is true, why didn’t you speak until now?”
“Because we were his friends,” Walter replied. “I gather friendship is something you know nothing about, or so Gerrard says.”
For once, Roland felt no sting at such a comment, true though it was. “If you are what pass for friends, I’m glad I’ve had none.”
As for these three, they had had their chance. “You could have been far away by now and living in comfort with the money I gave you. Instead, you decided to stay and turn outlaw.”
“We’ll go now!” James cried.
“We’ll go and never come back!” Frederick agreed, shrill in his panic.
“Perhaps, for your families’ sakes, I ought to let you go, provided you promise never to return,” Roland said.
“I promise, my lord,” James immediately replied. “I’ll never come here again!”
Frederick eagerly concurred. “Nor I!”
“You fools!” Walter snarled, glaring at them. He jabbed his finger at Roland. “Are you forgetting who this is? Whose son and brother he is? Guilty or not, you think he’s going to be merciful and let you go? He’s lying! He’s going to kill us where we stand! We have to fight—or die!”
Before anyone could react, Walter charged Roland like a madman. Roland had no time to draw his sword before the man was on him and wrestling for his weapon. Roland managed to grab Walter’s arm, but Walter pulled free, and when he did, he had Roland’s broadsword. Roland rolled to his feet and reached for the small eating knife in his belt.
James and Frederick had started to run toward the gorge. The soldiers gave chase, drawing their weapons as they ran.
Walter charged Roland again, but this time, Roland was ready. He deftly avoided the swinging sword and caught the man’s side with his knife, the blade ripping through the soiled clothing to the flesh beneath. With a scream, Walter fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
Roland straightened, panting, and saw James and Frederick at the very edge of the gorge. His soldiers walked slowly toward them while James and Frederick, panic in their eyes, backed up. Before Roland could call out for them to stop, the rock gave way under Frederick and he dropped out of sight. His face full of terror, James teetered for what seemed an age on the edge of the gorge before he, too, fell and was gone.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as Mavis heard the commotion in the yard, she grabbed her cloak and hurried outside.
A group of rough-looking, filthy men, including that frightening man without an ear, stood in the yard surrounded by guards. That was a relief, until she saw the three bodies draped over unfamiliar horses. Two of them dripped water, as if they’d been caught in a downpour although the sky was clear. Her heart in her throat, she recognized the clothes of Gerrard’s erstwhile friends.
Surely Roland hadn’t... He wouldn’t, not without a trial.
Where was he?
There, near the stables. He was muddy and unkempt and...was that blood on his tunic?
She broke into a run.
“Where are you wounded?” she cried when she reached him.
His reply eased the worst of her fears. “It’s not mine.”
“What happened?” She nodded at the bodies. “Is that...?”
“We’ll talk inside,” he said as he ushered her toward the hall.
“Well done, my lord!” Dalfrid cried, appearing as if by magic from the kitchen corridor after they entered and sat beside the hearth. “Now we can all feel safe in our beds! Outlaws and thieves have been a nuisance ever since you went to DeLac.”
Roland regarded his steward coldly. “Why wasn’t I told of this when I returned, or at least last night?”
“Your brother—who was, after all, the garrison commander—was sure they’d fled, so I saw no need to mention the outlaws when you returned. Last night, you were planning to pursue them. Since you knew they were on your land, I saw no need to say anything more.”
“You should have told me. Such information should never be kept from me.”
Dalfrid flushed, nodded and backed away. “Yes, my lord.”
“The outlaws we brought back alive will stay in the dungeon until their trial.”
That was a relief and yet...
“What happened, Roland?” she asked again. “Why are those three young men dead?”
Lizabet arrived with wine and he took a gulp before answering. “We found the outlaws and those three near the gorge. Walter attacked me and as I was defending myself, the other two tried to escape. I slew Walter, and they fell into the gorge.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I gave them more money than mos
t men see in their lives, and it wasn’t enough. Walter gambled it all away, and the other two were foolish enough to let him and too foolish to abandon him afterward. God save me, Mavis, what can you do with men like that?”
“There was nothing more you could do,” she said, her heart aching when she saw the anguish in his eyes, and yet she was glad, too, because he had spoken of his dismay to her. That had to be another sign that he wanted to be close to her and more than physically.
Someone shouted outside, followed by what sounded like protests, and then Gerrard charged into the hall, his expression full of rage, his hands clenched into fists. “Murderer!” he cried, storming toward the dais.
“I’ve done no murder,” Roland replied as he got to his feet. “We were going to bring your former friends back to Dunborough for trial when Walter attacked me. I killed him defending myself and the other two drowned while attempting to flee.”
Gerrard stared at him with angry disbelief. “Trial? What the devil for?”
“They had joined an outlaw band, one you apparently thought had left my land. They accosted my wife and would have done her harm had she not escaped.” Roland’s voice rose with fury. “So ends the lives of the men you drank and wenched and gambled with, the men you claimed were your friends. The men you brought into this village and this household!”
“So now it’s my fault they attacked your wife?”
With an effort, Roland regained his self-control. “As they were your friends and here by your invitation until I sent them away, you bear some responsibility.”
“I’m no seer to predict what men may do,” Gerrard retorted. “If you hadn’t sent them away, they wouldn’t have had to go outside the law.”
“If a man cannot live for several months on twenty marks, he is indeed a fool—and any man who would defend him is likewise a fool.”
“You would no doubt consider any friend of mine a scoundrel.”
Roland came down from the dais to stand toe to toe with his brother. “Because, Gerrard, they always are.”
“You cur!” Gerrard cried. “As if you’re a saint!” He pointed at Mavis. “Does she know all that you’ve done? Or will you claim it was all our father’s doing?”
“I did as I was ordered by the lord of Dunborough and to keep the peace.”
Gerrard sniffed with scorn. “But does she know that you enjoyed this keeping of the peace?”
“I did not enjoy it! I did what was necessary and only that,” Roland retorted, his hands balling into fists. Once again, they were mirror images of each other, alike in looks and posture and rage. “What of that girl you lured into the woods? Walter told me that you were supposed to meet her and planned to have your friends there, too, for what sordid business I can only guess. But you never arrived, so they left her alone, like a lamb led to the slaughter. Have you already forgotten what happened to her? I never can because I had to exact the punishment while you caroused with your cronies who now lie dead in the yard!”
Although his face turned red with shame, Gerrard answered with defiance. “I never thought she’d come. She never said she would and it was me alone she was to meet. If Walter and the others planned to join us, I didn’t know.”
“You should have. You should have known what kind of men they were if you cared about anything other than your own amusement.”
“So you would put all the blame for what happened to her on me, as well? Why not? It’s always been easier to blame me for everything that went wrong, whether it was a broken bridle or dented sword or an order not obeyed.”
“I never blamed you for those things,” Roland growled. “Good God, I stayed silent most of the time when our father accused us of neglect and disobedience. Yet in the next breath you mocked me for that very silence.”
“Oh, yes, you were silent. Silent as the grave most of the time, unless you were pointing out my faults to me.”
“Would you rather I told our father who was really to blame? Or repeated all your complaints?”
“While you’re as pure as an angel?” Scowling, Gerrard addressed Mavis, whose face had turned progressively paler as they argued. “He’s got you believing he’s the good one, the noble one, the upright and blameless one, while I’m nothing but a wastrel.”
Gerrard laughed harshly. “Who suffered more under our father’s hand? Who got beaten more? And who stood by while I was beaten?” He glared at his brother. “Who let me take the blame more times than I can count?”
“Because you were to blame every time we both were beaten and other times besides when I tried to speak in your defense—times you seem to have conveniently forgotten!” Roland cried with exasperation. “You were always the instigator and if I didn’t follow you, if I tried to warn you and prevent you from getting into trouble, who jeered and sneered at me then, Gerrard? Who called me coward and a hundred other names?”
“You are a coward!
“Stop, the both of you!” Mavis cried, unable to remain silent any longer. “Roland, please, as long as Gerrard is in Dunborough, there’ll never be peace between you for a host of reasons. Give your brother some money as you did his friends and send him on his way.”
Gerrard’s eyes widened with surprise, and then that mocking grin appeared upon his face. “So I was right, Roland, and your wife does want me gone—and now we’ll see who truly rules in Dunborough. Will you do as she says, brother, and make me go? How much are you willing to offer for that to happen? More than you offered my friends, I trust.” His expression grew grimly serious. “Unfortunately, whatever your wife commands and however much you offer, there isn’t enough coin in the castle coffers to make me go.”
“Every man has his price,” Mavis said, desperate to have him gone before he spewed more hateful words.
“Is that a lesson learned at your father’s knee, my lady?” Gerrard asked scornfully. He eyed his brother with disdain. “Perhaps I’ve been wrong to think Roland bought you. Maybe it was my brother who was purchased. How much did Roland cost, my lady?”
“How many times are you going to insult us?” she demanded.
“As many as I like, as long as I’m here.”
“Then again I say, it’s time for you to go, and however much we must pay you, it will be worth it.”
The steward stepped warily out from behind the servants who were crowding the kitchen entrance. “I fear, my lord,” he said to the grimly silent Roland, wringing his hands, “that Gerrard is correct. There’s not enough coin in the castle coffers to pay him more than a pittance. Your father and Broderick left debts that had to be repaid, and there are the king’s taxes, as well as your wife’s new clothes and the wedding feast. Indeed, my lord, there’ll be barely enough to pay the household expenses over the winter.” Dalfrid swallowed hard and his gaze wandered to Gerrard. “There were a few other things that also took some of your money.”
Roland regarded his brother steadily. “How much have you taken?”
“No more than I had a right to,” Gerrard defensively replied. “I’m a lord’s son, not a pauper, and I shouldn’t have to beg my brother for funds.”
“How much did you take?”
“There was a debt of honor owing. I paid it.”
“The greater portion of the funds went to the king and his tax collector,” the steward offered placatingly. “It has ever been thus, my lord, although you didn’t know it.”
“Yet once again you saw fit to blame me for the loss,” Gerrard angrily observed.
“The fact remains, my lord,” Dalfrid said, looking from one irate man to the other, “that there simply isn’t enough to pay your brother any sizable amount.”
“I can forego new clothes and the wedding feast,” Mavis offered, fearing the quarrel between the brothers was never going to end, “and we’ll find ways to manage over the winter if we are lacking coins. The storer
ooms are full.”
“I won’t have my wife dressed in—” Roland began. He fell silent, but she could guess what he was going to say.
“I am hardly wearing rags. I would rather have peace in the household than new gowns or a feast.”
“That will not save nearly enough,” Dalfrid noted with apparently sincere regret.
“Alas for you, my lady, you cannot force your brother-in-law into exile,” Gerrard jeered.
“If you were more like a brother and less like a spoiled brat, you would be welcome here,” she snapped.
“If you want peace in Dunborough, tell your husband to give me this estate and take him back to DeLac,” Gerrard said, his words no longer heated, but as cold as a stream in spring. “He’ll never love you, you know. He’ll never love anybody. He doesn’t know how.”
“And you’ll never love anybody except yourself—just like our father!” Roland returned.
Gerrard ran another scornful gaze over his brother. “I thought you’d married DeLac’s daughter for money and power, but it was something else, wasn’t it? You had to win at marriage, too. You had to bring home a beauty and show me that you could bargain for a better bride. We’ll see about that, Roland. Mavis isn’t the only beautiful woman in the world.”
“Shut that mouth of yours, Gerrard,” Roland ordered, “or by God, I’ll do it for you!”
“As if you could!”
“Dog!”
“Cur!” Gerrard retorted. “And your wife’s a bi—”
With a roar, Roland tackled his brother, sending them both sprawling on the rush-covered floor. Roland punched and pummeled his squirming, thrashing brother, who was hitting back with all the power he possessed.
“Stop, stop!” Mavis cried, trying to get between them. This was more than a quarrel or sibling disagreement. This was years of bitter envy and resentment unleashed, expressed with blows and curses, and it must not go on.
Panting, Roland heeded her cries. He rose, wiping the blood from his chin that trickled from his cut lip. Gerrard also staggered upright. His right eye was swelling shut and his cheek was already purpling with a bruise.
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