Torston was hardly intimidated by the glares he was receiving. But the fact remained that he was in no position to cultivate more hostility unless he wanted a real battle on his hands. It was a struggle to maintain his calm and veer the subject away from Alyx.
“As you say, Laird Kerr,” he said, his respectful tone forced. “But you came here to discuss peace, not flatter the lady.”
Winslow passed a long glance at Torston, noting the sweat beaded on his forehead, the only outward indication of his inner turmoil. “Your compliments to my daughter are gracious, Laird Kerr,” he said. “If you are agreeable, may we begin discussing the reason behind your visit?”
Harringham interrupted before Douglas could reply. “Tsk, tsk, Winslow,” he said. “I say it is more civilized to eat first and discuss such serious matters on a full stomach.”
Winslow opened his mouth but Lionel was already clapping his hands, waving at the servants who had been hovering in the shadows. Immediately, the sharp smells of roast beef and boiled vegetables filled the hall as huge trenchers of succulent food were set upon the table.
“Ah,” Harringham muttered, smacking his lips. “Much better. The Romans, of course, did not dine with their enemies.”
Douglas ignored the old man’s mumbling as he delved into his trencher. In fact, all six Scots were fully engrossed in their meal when Lionel looked up, his lips smeared with gravy.
“The Romans would dine in full view of the enemies rotting corpses,” he said.
Torston cleared his throat softly, muttering something in Lionel’s ear. Lionel listened intently and then appeared surprised.
“I am aware of that, Torston,” he said, perturbed. “But you are also well aware that Caesar Augustus enjoyed dining while his crucified enemies writhed in agony before him. Nero especially considered his victims, impaled on spikes, prime feasting entertainment.”
Torston murmured in Lionel’s ear again and the man immediately demurred. “Oh, my apologies. I completely forgot Lady Alyx. Mayhap it is best if I do not speak of such things.”
As Lionel went back to his food, Torston sighed with relief and was preparing to take a bite of his own meal when he noticed that Douglas was watching Harringham intently. Torston stared back in challenge.
“I was told once that Laird Harringham wore women’s clothing,” Douglas said, unheeding of Torston’s glare. “I can see now that the information was not wrong.”
Torston’s eyes narrowed. “Lord Harringham is a wise, honorable man who prefers the dress of ancient Rome,” he said, his tone bordering on a growl. “Only an uneducated fool would call his noble toga a woman’s dress.”
The burly man to Douglas’ right flared, snorting as pieces of meat sprayed from his lips. “Bite yer tongue, ye…!”
Douglas put out a quelling hand, his piercing eyes still riveted to Torston. The burly Scot went back to his food, grumbling and cursing.
“Ye take yer life in yer hands calling my men uneducated fools, Knight,” he said quietly. “Were they fools, yer Sassenach armies would have quashed us long ago. But ye havena. In fact, we’ve grown more powerful in spite of ye.”
Torston, although harboring a genuine dislike for the man, nonetheless appreciated his quiet, commanding strength. Douglas knew how to control the situation around him without raising his voice or displaying his might, but rather with words and reason. Torston further realized, to his dismay, that those factors made Douglas a more formidable opponent than he had originally believed.
“Good men, this is a time to grow accustomed to one another and undoubtedly we realize that we do not see eye to eye in many things.” Winslow once again took charge of the conversation while Torston and Douglas continued to size one another up. “I am encouraged by your peaceful visit to my home, Laird Kerr. It means that you are an intelligent, reasonable man.”
Douglas tore his eyes away from Torston, returning to his food. “Were it not for a promise, I wouldna be here.”
“What promise?” Winslow asked.
Douglas took a large bite of meat, followed by several gulps of fine wine. “My wife,” he said quietly. “She made me promise that I wouldna fight ye any longer.”
Winslow and Torston exchanged curious glances. “I do not understand, Laird Kerr,” Winslow said.
Douglas took another long, long swallow of wine. His manner almost seemed irritated, as if he did not like being asked to explain himself. His cheeks mottled with emotion and alcohol as he formulated his reply.
“Before my wife died, she made me promise tae seek peace with ye for the sake of our newborn bairn,” he said. “I am only doing as she has asked.”
Alyx was listening carefully, her eyes wide as Douglas haltingly discussed the death of his wife. But her eyes were wide for another reason, too.
The Scotsman from the woods.
It was the man she’d spoken with briefly even though he hadn’t acknowledged her in the least. It was a wise move on his part, for in acknowledging that they’d met before, both he and Alyx would have a good deal of explaining to do and Winslow might not be so amiable toward his peace overture.
Better not to jeopardize it.
Instead, Douglas kept his gaze off of her and focused on the men around the table, which was where it belonged. Alyx would have liked very much to have slithered under the table and crawled her way out of the hall, but that was an impossibility. Her father had asked her to be present, overriding her promise to Torston. Yet, as Douglas spoke on his motivation for coming to Makendon, Alyx could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke of his wife and it made her feel sorry for the man.
Her sympathy got the better of her.
“I am sorry for your loss, Laird Kerr,” she said before she could hold her tongue. “Was her death recent?”
Douglas’ gaze turned to her and Alyx could see, in that moment, that he very much remembered her. She recognized the curious, almost kind, look in his eyes. He seemed calm as he gazed at her, far calmer than he had been throughout the entire conversation.
“Aye, lass,” he said softly. “She gave me a son just a few days ago. The birth killed her.”
A few days ago. That was about the time of the fearsome second raid when Torston had escorted her and her father home. But now, the fierce warlord who had spent years raiding her father’s sheep seemed docile and without threat.
Alyx met his gaze, studying his strong face and wondering what possessed such a seemingly intelligent, sensitive man to lead a renegade life. But in the same breath, she thought of Torston, a mighty knight on the outside with a gentle, humorous soul hidden beneath. Odd how two men who violently opposed one another could be so much alike.
“I am sorry,” she repeated softly. “But your son is healthy?”
Douglas nodded. “A strapping lad.”
Alyx almost smiled at the pride in his voice. She would have replied had Harringham not interrupted their dialogue with his inane babbling.
“There is no entertainment, Winslow,” he said, licking his fingers of bits of meat. “Our guests must have entertainment. I should have brought my Nubians.”
“No Nubians,” Winslow shook his head. “This is not a party, Great Caesar. We are here to discuss more pressing…”
“Great Caesar?” Douglas repeated, his attention pulled away from Alyx.
Lionel cast Torston a long glance, silently demanding the man explain the situation. Torston took the hint.
“Lord Harringham is to be addressed as Caesar at all times, Laird Kerr,” he said. “It is his preference.”
Douglas’ eyebrows lifted, his gaze scrutinizing Harringham. It was obvious that his respectable opinion of the old man was wavering. “Why?”
“Noblemen have a choice in how they preferred to be addressed. You will respect Lord Harringham’s wish.”
It was clear that Douglas was mulling over the strange old man in the pristine toga, the same old man who had appeared erringly strange since the beginning of the feast. His expression changed as
realization dawned.
“I willna discuss peace with a madman,” he said.
Torston sat forward in his chair, so quickly that his knees banged against the table and the entire platform shook. “Great Caesar is a competent lord, I assure you,” he said. “Should you truly wish to discuss a lasting peace, you will never again refer to him in terms that humiliate rather than praise.”
The tension, which had so recently softened to a manageable level, was back with a vengeance. Winslow, sensing that nothing was proceeding as it should, sighed heavily and held out a quelling hand to Torston as he addressed Douglas.
“My laird,” Winslow said with forced patience. “As you would expect us to retain our manners, I would ask the same of you. I forced my daughter to dine with us tonight simply for the fact that I was hoping to interject a measure of civility into this feast. But if you insist on your baiting attempts, my daughter shall leave and the food will be taken away and we shall come to the true focus of your visit without the trappings of hospitality that I have attempted to provide. Is this in any way unclear?”
Douglas eyed Winslow a moment. In this world of Sassenach madmen and warriors, Winslow de Ameland was singling himself out as a true peacemaker. Though Douglas had been in the stronghold of Makendon for a mere few minutes, he realized even now that he preferred dealing with the levelheaded wisdom of those from Makendon as opposed to the undesirables from The Lyceum – the lord, clearly mad, and the hotheaded commander.
“It is,” he replied steadily.
“Then we shall discuss your peace proposal now.”
Douglas shook his head. “Not with the lady present. I dunna discuss my business with women.”
Winslow glanced at Alyx, who immediately rose and begged pardon for her departure. Torston didn’t dare look at her, suspecting that Douglas would be able to read his thoughts and, somehow, someway, use the knowledge to his advantage.
Torston didn’t want to give the man any more advantages than he already had.
When Alyx was gone, Winslow pushed his trencher aside and called for pitchers of wine. When they were placed on the table and after the servants and soldiers had vacated the hall, Winslow folded his hands and focused on his dinner companions. In silence, they stared at each other, listening to the faint crackle of the hearth and wondering what the end of this night would bring.
Winslow gazed at Douglas through the smoke from the tallow tapers, his neutral expression vanished now that all pleasantries had been disposed of.
“Good sir,” he said slowly, “the time has now come. Let us reveal the true nature of our business.”
Douglas did.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alyx was stopped before she even reached her chamber.
Lygia and Charlotte were waiting for her right outside her door, expressions of fear and curiosity on their faces. They didn’t even afford Alyx the chance to speak before they were charging her.
“Well?” Lygia asked. “What has happened down in the hall?”
Alyx put up her hand to ease the worried women. “They sent me away because they wish to talk terms,” she said. “It is clear that the men do not trust one another, yet they are still willing to speak. I think that is a good sign.”
Lygia had her hand over her heart, indicative of her anxiety. “Lance has been fighting the Scots for so long,” she said. “I worry he will lose his temper quickly. He has lost many men to the Scots. This cannot be easy for him, nor any of them.”
Alyx put her hand on the woman, turning her back in the direction of her chamber. “I would be lying if I said that tempers were not flaring,” she said. “But they are keeping the conversation civil. My father is trying very hard to keep the peace.”
Lygia was somewhat calmer than she had been only moments earlier. “The fear of the unknown, of what is happening in the hall that I cannot see, has had me concerned,” she admitted. “You do not believe there is anything to worry over?”
Alyx shook her head. “I do not,” she said. “I do not think my father would have sent me away had he thought so.”
That seemed good enough for Lygia. Smiling wearily at Alyx, she took Charlotte by the hand and headed to a secondary stairwell that would take them to their chambers. Alyx watched them go, unsure if she believed what she’d just told the woman. There was plenty of tension in the hall, but she’d been sent away regardless. She could only pray the peace discussion didn’t deteriorate into a brawl now that she was gone.
Time would tell.
Pushing into her chamber, she noticed that the door was already slightly open. As she entered, she could see a figure bent over the hearth, stirring the flames. She recognized the figure immediately.
“Good eve, Dyl,” she said softly as she approached. “What are you doing? You know that you are not supposed to touch the fire. It can hurt you.”
Dyl de Ameland turned to look at his sister, his eyes big with guilt at having been caught toying with the flames. They were so pretty and fascinated him so. Though Dyl was Alyx’s older brother by almost two years, he had the mind of a child. He was a strapping, handsome lad who didn’t know much more than a child who had seen five or six years, nor could he carry on much of an intelligent conversation. He could only write his name and he couldn’t learn the concept of mathematics or speak another language, but he tried very hard at everything he did, whether or not he was successful.
Dyl was a simpleton and everyone at Makendon knew it, the heir to the de Ameland lands and fortune, but there was no shame or loathing in Dyl’s case. He was fiercely protected by everyone at the castle.
And he was greatly loved, especially by his sister.
“I didn’t touch it,” he said, wiping his hands of ash off on his rumpled, stained tunic. “I… I was waiting.”
Alyx smiled at him, pulling him away from the fire and pushing him to sit on the bed as she began to loosen the ties on her constricting sleeves.
“Waiting for me?” she said, watching him nod his head. “I was down in the hall with Papa and Lance and Torston. They are speaking to the Scots who came to see us yesterday. Do you remember them?”
Dyl nodded, his brown hair flopping in front of his eyes. “Like animals.”
“Who are like animals?”
“Them,” he said, pointing in a general northward direction, toward Scotland. “The Scots. They herd like the animals and think like the animals. They only think of themselves.”
Alyx thought on that as she pulled off the sleeve that was attached to her surcoat by laces. Dyl might have had a simple mind, but he was quite empathetic and very astute with human nature at times. She’d learned to listen to him.
“All men only think of themselves,” she said quietly. “What makes the Scots any different?”
Dyl shrugged. “They want something.”
“So does Papa.”
Dyl shook his head, unable to articulate what his gut was telling him. Like many of the men at Makendon, he didn’t trust the Scots but he couldn’t put it into words. His frustration at not being able to express himself often turned to embarrassment, so he shifted the subject before it could come to that.
“I saw Torston come,” he said.
Alyx was in the process of unlacing the other sleeve and her movements slowed. “He’s in the hall, too,” she said. Then, she sighed heavily. “Dyl… do you remember what I’ve told you about Torston?”
Dyl nodded solemnly. “You like him.”
Alyx sighed faintly. “I do,” she said. “But he never… he never told me that he liked me, too, until tonight. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him say it. He told me he wants me. I believe he wants to marry me, but he cannot. He is betrothed to another.”
Dyl watched his sister as she slowly removed the other sleeve, her movements pensive for thoughts of Torston de Royans. Dyl only understood the basics of happiness and love, but he knew enough to know that his sister was miserable without Torston. He loved his sister very much and when she was unhappy, s
o was he. He could feel her emotions as if they were tangible things, touching him, causing him to feel everything she was. Empathy such as his was both a blessing and a terrible curse, especially when it came to a beloved family member. He couldn’t articulate it very well, but when they felt pain, so did he.
He just wanted to see her happy.
“The wolves find a mate for life,” he said. “So do swans.”
Alyx looked at him, unsure what he was getting at. “Why would you say that?”
Dyl scratched his head as he tried to think of how to say what he meant. “When they find someone to love, that’s all they love forever.”
Alyx smiled faintly as she sat down on the bed next to him. “Do you mean me?” she asked. “I will only love him forever?”
“He will love only you forever.”
Her smile broadened and she kissed his cheek. “I hope so,” she whispered. “I am going to do my best to make sure I am the only one he loves, forever.”
“Papa knows.”
Her smile faded. “Knows what?”
“That you only love Torston.”
It wasn’t a big secret so she didn’t contest Dyl’s statement. She was well aware that her father knew. Frankly, she wasn’t sure how the man couldn’t have known of her pining away for the same man for nine long years. Not that she’d ever told Winslow face to face, because she hadn’t. But he wasn’t blind.
Of course he knew.
“I am sure he does,” she said, taking Dyl’s hand. “The past few days have been something more than I’ve ever dreamed. If only Torston could break his betrothal, then everything would be perfect. He hasn’t even seen his intended in several years. She is a stranger. A stranger who has what I want.”
Dyl didn’t know what to say to that; he’d seen his sister rationalize away Torston’s betrothal with a faceless, nameless woman she was wildly jealous over. But somehow, tonight, it was different. Before, he’d always heard envy in her tone, but tonight…
He heard pain.
He didn’t like that.
“It will be good someday,” he tried to reassure her. “Torston will make it good someday.”
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