by Megan Derr
Isemay laughed and patted his arm. "I apologize for causing you such discomfort, although you are wholly to blame for being pleasant both to listen to and look upon."
Kodey flushed. "I am hardly either, my lady, although I thank you for the compliments." He smiled faintly. "I suspect you are attempting to persuade me to your favor, that I will not inflict too much harm upon your husband come tomorrow."
"La, everyone will inflict much harm upon him. My husband should have been a monk, he so favors his precious books."
Ademar took up her hand and kissed the back of it. "Nay, I would have made a poor monk, for I would have most sorely neglected certain of the vows which holy men are required to make."
Kodey laughed and took up his wine to be refilled as a server passed by, easing as the conversations continued around him. Enjoying the wine and food, he sat back to watch as the entertainers began to appear—jugglers and acrobats, minstrels and jesters. 'Twas a cacophony of sight and sound, near to overwhelming. Kodey thought 'twould all make a wondrous story for many of the tenants of Castle Triad … yet he would much rather be sitting in his own small hall, enjoying Chastaine's ale and Brice's cold baked tarts, engaging in mock duels, and listening to the songs of Lady Winifred's handmaids.
"Tell me more of this man who holds your affections and why he is not here," Isemay said, as a minstrel concluded his song.
Ademar snorted inelegantly beside her. "Do not indulge her. Isemay is positively terrible about such things; she feels she must know everything about everyone or expire from ignorance."
"You will be silent, husband," Isemay admonished, then put her back to him to focus on Kodey. "Is your man handsome?"
Kodey hesitated, but Isemay only smiled kindly, hand still upon his arm, and it was sort of … nice, to be able to speak of Brice without fear of what might become of his head. "He is beautiful, lady. I oft feared another would steal him away or kill him for his beauty. Of his hair the ladies were always most envious, for 'tis the color of fire and jewels."
"Oh," Isemay replied. "I always wanted such hair. If I meet this man of yours, mayhap I will take his hair myself." She winked and patted his arm. "Gave he no favor for you to wear during your trials?"
"Nay, my lady," Kodey said sadly, glancing briefly at his ring and wishing … "I am afraid my affections are not returned, although I ever try to gain them."
She beamed and squeezed his arm, before finally letting it go. "Well, you are at tourney and certain to show yourself honorably. I have not a doubt that will garner his interest."
Kodey brightened, smiling in relief and excitement. "Aye, my lady, 'twas my hope."
Isemay lifted her goblet and elbowed her husband to do the same. "Then we drink to you and hope you show yourself well enough to win the object of your affection." Setting her goblet down, she unfastened a bracelet from her wrist and held it out. "For you: a token to bring good luck. No man should go to tourney without such and already I feel you are a friend. So accept it in friendship and know we hope you get what you have come to find at tourney."
Ademar rolled his eyes, but they were warm and fond as he looked at Isemay. "Hopeless, wife, and I should probably be jealous, but that would require calling for a duel and I would rather continue to enjoy the wine."
"You are absurd as ever, husband," Isemay retorted, but patted his cheek and smiled.
Kodey swallowed and managed a 'thank you', humbled by the gesture. He examined the bracelet—gold, interspersed with tiny pearls and chips of rubies. Beautiful. "Lady, I would fear losing so costly and beautiful an item."
"Nay, good sir," she said, waving her hand. "You will not and my husband would only be too happy to obtain me another."
Ademar rolled his eyes, but did not reply. Kodey looked again at the bracelet, wondering what he was to do with it.
"Wear it," Isemay ordered, making him startle. She laughed as he looked up. "You can wear it 'round your wrist or attach it to a portion of your clothing. Loop it through your sword belt." She motioned to the room. "All here wear some manner of token, be it jewels or kerchiefs or flowers."
He took a good look around the room and saw she spoke the truth; nearly every man present wore some manner of frippery upon his person. Nodding, he fastened the bracelet around his own wrist. It only just fit without impeding and he felt more than a trifle silly wearing it, but he smiled all the same. It was a good luck token from someone who had agreed that his show at tourney would be enough to win him Brice.
Brice had halted only for the sake of the horse. If it were merely a matter of his own health, he would have forsaken it to make for tourney with all due haste. He would not leave Kodey in the hands of a murderer.
He went over all that he had learned in the past weeks, still unable to believe it. With more than a few pieces of gold had he been forced to part and more than a few arrows had been notched to prove that he would accept no refusal. Kodey would not come to harm so long as Brice breathed.
Thoughts of Kodey further blackened his mood, and as he stoked the fire, he wondered morosely if Kodey was enjoying himself or utterly wretched, and how everyone else in attendance was treating him. Was he flourishing? Failing? Did he love it? Loathe it? What if he found himself so enamored of the lifestyle that he chose not to return to Castle Triad? Brice felt sick at the thought of never again waking to see Kodey stumbling sleepily about his morning chores, watching his morning bouts before going off to his own archery practice. What if he never again had the chance to steal away Kodey's lunch, simply because he was so much fun to tease and provoke?
The past weeks had been miserable enough. So many times had he wanted to turn and see Kodey smiling or laughing, and had started to point out things in the capital which he knew would interest Kodey, only to recall at the last that there was no one at his side. More than once he had wanted nothing more than to tug Kodey close and simply hold him. Had Kodey found his ring? Had someone else noted the inscription and pointed it out to him? How would Kodey react? Would he merely find it amusing? Likely, for it was naught but silliness …
Irritably shaking his head, Brice devoured the food he had neglected while he brooded. Half a day more of travel would have him at the tourney, and then he would fetch the guards of Triad, and they would take Kodey and return home. Let the nobles have their games and murders—Kodey would not be dragged down in the mire with them.
Brice wanted to be moving, but if he did not let the horse properly rest, then he would only waste precious time obtaining a new one. If he waited just a few hours more—
The sound of the leaves moving in an unnatural manner grabbed his attention just in time and Brice brought up his bow, notched and ready, just as the men appeared at the very edge of his small camp. "Be off," he ordered coldly.
"Peace," said a man who seemed to be the leader of what he saw was six.
"Nay," Brice replied, not lowering his bow even as he put a name to the face before him: the Duke de Capre. Interesting. This was the one who had lost a secret lover to the cruelty of the Duke of Lons. Unearthing that small bit of information had cost Brice nearly all of his gold, but he had succeeded in obtaining it, which was all that mattered. "Six against one are odds that displease me mightily. Nor do I like that you come upon me with arms drawn, Your Grace. State your business or you will find yourself the recipient of my arrow."
"As you say," the duke said coolly. "We are six to your one. Shooting me would gain naught but your death and I have stated already that we come in peace."
"Come in peace with weapons drawn? Oh, aye, those are believable words. Your men would kill me, Your Grace, but my arrow is aimed straight at your head. Never have I missed my mark, and should your men kill me, I will die with those words still true. If you come in peace, then toss away your weapons."
The duke motioned and his men grimaced visibly, but obediently cast their swords and bows upon the ground.
Brice did not lower his own bow. "Tell me, Your Grace, why you intrude upon me at so stra
nge a place and hour."
"Tell me why you ask questions of affairs which are none of your concern," the duke replied.
"The Duke of Lons was brutally attacked by men working for your gold," Brice said, arrow still notched and ready. "Your affair became mine the very moment blood was spilled upon my lands because of it. One man was nearly killed saving the duke you wanted dead, and even now that man has been taken off to tourney by the duke. Your affair, therefore, has very much become my own. State the reason for your presence or yet more blood will be spilled over the matter."
Frowning, the duke sat down before the fire, motioning his men to do the same. "Peace, I swear it. I want truth, not still more bloodshed. Burden enough to spill blood in battle, more than a little detestable to spill so much in times and places of peace. I wanted only to know the reason a Beauclerc made so many inquiries into my private affairs. By your leave, I would have the full of the tale."
"Nay," Brice replied, finally lowering his bow. "Not unless you are willing to give a full tale in return, and under the circumstances, I feel perhaps you should speak first. Your Grace."
The Duke frowned at him, but after a moment simply sighed and nodded. "Aye. Mind you if we break our fast while the tales are told? We have traveled hard and my men deserve to rest and eat. More than happy are we to share."
"By all means, do eat and rest," Brice answered. He sat in silence as they proceeded to do precisely that, finally breaking it only when he saw the duke was nearly finished with his meal. "You call me Beauclerc, yet my relatives have not acknowledged me since I departed the capital some eight years ago."
"Last time I spoke with your uncle, he did naught but remark upon how his nephew was good enough to be taken into the keep of the infamous Lady Winifred," the duke said dryly. "There is nothing like a nice hint of notoriety to enliven a family tree. I promise your relatives do far more than merely acknowledge you, Brice Beauclerc."
Brice shrugged his words away. "I care not. Tell me your tale, Your Grace, for I leave the very moment my horse is rested enough. Not even for you will I tarry a second longer than I must."
The duke laughed. "We are only three years apart, you and I. More than once I recall how … vocal you could be when that temper was sparked. I see the years have not gentled that quality the slightest bit." He held up his hands when Brice glared. "Peace, I begin my tale. Near three months ago, as you no doubt have learned, the body of a young man washed up on the shore of the river. One of those who found the body recognized him as being a tenant on my lands."
"Aye," Brice replied. "My gold revealed him to be much more than a tenant, Your Grace."
"Your gold revealed disconcertingly honest information," the duke said dryly, "especially since I lost much gold myself to ensure silence. Ah, well. Yes, he was my lover. A matter of some secrecy, as you would well know."
Brice nodded. Nobility did not dally with peasants, especially when the peasant was not only many years younger, but the nobility was one of the most powerful in the realm. The Duke de Capre should be selecting a wife from the multitude of available offerings, not bedding a young peasant boy. "I fail to see how he became the victim of His Grace, although the monk with whom I spoke did not hesitate on that point."
"Nay," the duke said, expression downcast. "He was most certain 'twas Lons who slit his gut and threw him from the bridge. Why either of them was there, and together, I know not." His face tightened. "I know only that Lons is responsible for my loss and that I cannot accuse him of it as I would like."
Not without serious repercussion and humiliation to his House. Neither could Lons take issue with the brigand attack, for it would reveal the whole of the matter and his own despicable part in it. Two nobles trapped by their own duties and obligations, and the consequences of their actions.
He missed Castle Triad. Now more than ever he wanted to fetch Kodey and return home.
"You lose a lover and send brigands to slaughter an entire caravan?" Brice asked at last. "Seems to me you are as much a knave as the Duke of Lons."
The Duke de Capre shook his head. "Nay, I gave them orders to harm none but Lons."
"Then you are the greatest of fools to trust brigands to obey such orders, when even a simpleton would realize 'twould be most profitable to attack the caravan and make off with the bulk of it. Your brigands killed all but Lons and two others, and they survived only because Castle Triad came to his aid."
"I … " the Duke de Capre shook his head. "Aye, I am naught but a knave and a simpleton. 'Twas not what I wanted by far. This mess only grows worse by the moment."
"Aye," Brice agreed, voice going cold. "If your foolishness brings harm to Kodey, I will see you both are fit for naught more than monks' work the rest of your miserable lives."
The duke smiled. "There is a tone I recognize. Your Kodey will come to no harm by my hand. I am of a mind to go with you to end matters with Lons one way or another."
Brice snorted contemptuously. "If you were willing to make such sacrifice from the start, mayhap you would not be in your present situation."
"Mayhap you should guard your tongue," the duke said sharply. "I will tolerate what impertinence I must, but one younger than I, and free to make choices, will not lecture me on the choices I have and will make, especially when you know not what choices I made."
"I know plenty about choices," Brice replied coolly. "More than you, Your Grace. My father gave up his nobility to be with my mother and I gave up the life of a noble to live as a mere tenant in a remote keep. Lady Winifred sacrificed all claim to her royal heritage to live with her bastard-born husband in that very same keep. Sir Chastaine and Sir Lyon were willing to sacrifice their spurs to remain lowly Seneschals. Do not speak to me of choices when I am surrounded by people more willing to make them than you."
The duke looked away, staring off into the forest. "I say again, do not judge me when you know not what choices I have made and what choices I was willing to make."
Brice grimaced. "Let us end the discussion, Your Grace. You intend to come with me to the tourney?"
"Aye. This matter must end one way or the other. Although I would prefer to avoid it, I will take the tale to the grand duke, who I know to be in attendance there."
"The grand duke?" Brice repeated, looking up. "I had heard rumors to that effect, but thought them naught more than that."
"His granddaughter was married recently and her husband knighted less than a fortnight ago. This will be his first tourney and the grand duke wishes to bear witness."
Brice almost groaned aloud at that. He could only imagine what Kodey would manage to do before the grand duke. He would show himself well or manage some feat that resulted in Castle Triad receiving a most interesting missive. Fervently, he hoped that Kodey was not using the tournament to further one of his strange and most often disastrous plans—and only the heavens knew what manner of plan he would be furthering by way of a tourney. Brice felt his blood run cold just thinking about it; to this day the tenants and villagers talked about the various plans of Kodey's which had gone awry.
He wished he were there to know for certain, that he was going simply to watch Kodey show himself well, rather than solely to cause some manner of upheaval. Chastaine had admonished him to keep to sword and dagger, not even bothering to argue Kodey out of attempting the joust—but Brice doubted Kodey would settle for less than joust, sword, and either mace or battle axe.
Likely Kodey was perfectly happy to be shown about by his thrice-cursed duke and foolishly accepting favors from every lad or lass who cared to bestow one upon him. He had known it would come to this someday and had promised himself he would accept gracefully. He would; but that did not mean he could not privately loathe and despise everyone and everything that stole Kodey from him. Why had the Duke of Lons come and ruined it all? If not for him, Brice would still have Kodey to himself and the inevitable might have been stalled a while longer.
As Lyon would say, however, the arrow had to be pulled out befo
re the wound could be tended and begin healing. It had been foolish to hold onto even the slightest bit of hope that Kodey might be content with him. 'Twas better these events had transpired, minus the murderous elements.
The thought was empty comfort and only further soured Brice's mood.
"What troubles me most," the Duke de Capre said suddenly, drawing Brice's attention, "is that I paid those brigands to kill Lons. That they have not done and no doubt they care not … but what if they still linger to finish the job?"
Brice frowned. "The majority of them were killed and they would not have launched another attack on Triad lands."
"Mayhap they attacked between Triad and the tourney sight," the duke said pensively. "Although 'tis equally likely naught has occurred."
Cold fear spread through his body and Brice stood, no longer willing to be patient. All the talking had surely given his horse sufficient time to rest. He moved to smother the fire and clear the small camp, ignoring the men around him. They could follow or not, keep pace or fall behind—he cared not. His only thought was of Kodey.
Mounting his horse, Brice turned it back to the main road and raced off, ignoring the shouts behind him. If any was foolish enough to impede or halt Brice, that man would find himself with an arrow lodged in his eye.
He turned as he heard the sound of hooves and saw from the corner of his eye the Duke de Capre drawing close.
"Beauclerc, this mad race will get you nothing, surely you must see that. Calm down; I am certain my words were poorly spoken. Greedy brigands would not waste their time upon a second attack."
Brice ignored him.
"It is easy to see this Kodey is precious to you, so surely you must realize—"
Yanking hard on the reins, Brice turned in his saddle to face the Duke, who had stopped alongside him. "Precious," he repeated slowly.
"Yes, I—"
Brice punched him, more than a little cheered to see the duke tumble gracelessly from his horse. Kodey, even younger, had taken a punch with much better form. Heavens above, he did not regret the day he had ridden back to Castle Triad to help Lyon, and so had sealed his own fate.
