Love's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  King Nathal reached for his forearm and squeezed.

  Leargan gave his foster father a grateful nod and met Sir Murdoch’s eyes. For the first time, he read sympathy in the man’s gaze. At least his former captain knew Leargan was sincere.

  Believed he loved Ansley.

  Would help him get her back?

  “If I order her to marry you, she’d likely run away.” Murdoch stroked his neatly trimmed red beard.

  “Aye, I agree.” King Nathal’s tone was thoughtful.

  “You will have to wait until she comes to you, lad,” Murdoch said.

  “What?”

  “Ansley will have to come to you—but she will, have no doubt,” her father insisted.

  Leargan sagged, the high back of the chair biting into his shoulders, but he clung to the sting. Needed it.

  No way he could sit and do nothing.

  He wanted Ansley by his side, in his arms, in his bed. He missed her so much he ached.

  “Hear me out, lad,” Sir Murdoch said softly. “I know my daughter. She loves you, which is why I proposed this whole thing—though I had no idea you both would turn it into such a debacle. Ansley is stubborn, but she’s smart as well. She won’t be able to ignore her feelings for you forever.”

  “How long do I wait? I can’t do nothing.” Desperation was almost enough to make him come clean about taking Ansley’s innocence—almost.

  Sir Murdoch would either kill him or have them before a priest within the hour. The king’s plan was more prudent for his hide. He didn’t want her forced—no matter how much he wanted her. She’d hate him for the rest of their lives, as Ansley had so aptly said that afternoon.

  “You have made it clear how you feel, lad.” King Nathal gave him another squeeze. “Let things fall into place, now.”

  “How?” Leargan asked, eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

  “I shall talk to her lad, worry not. You have my support.”

  Leargan reached for Sir Murdoch’s outstretched hand and shook it, relief washing over him.

  “You have mine as well,” King Nathal said.

  “Thank you, Sir Murdoch, your Highness.” He was able to give a genuine smile.

  “You’re welcome, lad. If I didn’t believe you would make a fine husband for my daughter, I would’ve never suggested it.”

  Leargan flushed with pleasure. He was in the same room with his old mentor, not his beloved’s angry father.

  All was not lost after all.

  How long before Ansley felt the same and was back in his arms?

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Roduch’s leg jumped. He swallowed a gulp and shifted in his chair. As the second round of nerves rose from the pit of his stomach, he landed a hand so hard on his thigh it smarted, but he clung to the sting.

  Leargan said nothing as Roduch caught his captain’s gaze, but his eyes were calm. The younger man inclined his head and Roduch took a deep breath, chiding himself to sit still.

  What was keeping the king?

  The waiting was killing him.

  Half the Province was already assembled in the great hall.

  The bastard’s trial would be public, and many of his victims had filed into Castle Aldern to witness his demise.

  Avril had testified to the king privately, with only King Nathal, the duke, and Roduch present. No one wanted to put more pressure on her than necessary, and she’d been petrified when she’d seen the king up close.

  King Nathal was a huge man, both in physical body, and in personality. He’d been very gentle with her, but it had taken quite a bit of coaxing to get Avril to relax even a little bit.

  Roduch had held her hand with his arm around her shoulders the whole time. She’d leaned into him and spoken softly. But no tears this time. He’d been proud of her for that.

  The king had been stoic in reaction to her words, but Roduch had known the big man for a long time.

  King Nathal was angry. Seething; although beyond the clenched bearded jaw and blazing pale blue eyes, he’d held himself back as to not scare the lass.

  Hopefully, it had sealed Tynan Mont’s fate.

  Death sentences were rare, but the penal territory on the continent, in the Province of Dalunas, was widely known for its cruelty. Just the place for the little bastard.

  In Dread Valley—as it’d been dubbed by inhabitants—Tynan Mont would be clothed and fed, sheltered in a tent. The rest would be up to him, including getting along with his neighbors.

  Would the coward even last a sevenday?

  The sorry excuse for a man had made Avril’s life a living hell for four turns. Someone in Dalunas needed to return the favor. Even show him what being on the receiving end of rape was like. Women were not sent to Dread Valley. The men housed there made do.

  Just what Tynan Mont needed.

  Lords Dagget and Aldern arrived together, both returning Roduch’s nod as they took their seats next to him and the captain to the right of the dais, among the group of chairs designated for them away from the rest.

  The healer would testify to Avril’s wounds—old and new—the night she’d been found.

  “It’ll be all right, Roduch.” Lord Aldern’s voice took his attention. No doubt the empathic duke could feel his nerves.

  “Aye,” Roduch muttered.

  “Should be quick, too,” Lord Aldern said.

  Roduch nodded, ignoring the low voices of his lords and captain as they discussed what was to come, his eyes sweeping the great hall. The normal rows of tables had been replaced with chairs for spectators.

  Two tables had been placed horizontally in front of the dais, opposite of their normal direction. Seated at one, Keir, the old steward, was next to Gamel, the lad he was training to be the head steward of Greenwald. They were setting up parchments and inkwells and other utensils required for the official recording of the trial.

  Wax for the king’s seal was already being heated. Roduch couldn’t wait to see it on Tynan Mont’s proclamation of doom.

  “Who’s going to advocate for the bastard?” Roduch glanced back at the duke.

  Lord Aldern snorted. “I gathered three from Greenwald Main. Atticus Brehon included. Mont declined all choices.”

  “Atticus Brehon himself?” Roduch whispered.

  “Evidently the man wasn’t adequate.” Lord Dagget smirked.

  “So…he doesn’t have an Advocate?” Roduch met the duke’s eyes. Shock rolled over him. Tynan Mont was more of an idiot than he’d imagined.

  “No. He chose to represent himself.”

  “What an idiot,” Leargan said, shaking his head.

  “King Nathal will still be fair,” Lord Aldern said.

  “Of course,” Roduch said.

  Silence descended with the arrival of the king. He sauntered up the main aisle with determination written over his face, his tawny hair shifting as he moved.

  King Nathal was dressed elegantly in the blue and gold colors of Terraquist, the roaring lion of his seal etched into his decorative chest plate.

  Sir Murdoch was at his right, a hand on the hilt of his massive sword. The Terraquist blue over tunic marked him as one of King Nathal’s personal guard, but the gold woven rope shoulder knot denoted his rank of captain.

  The king and his captain nodded to Roduch and his companions before they both headed up the stairs to the dais. The head table had been removed like the rest, and King Nathal took the lone chair at its center.

  Sir Murdoch stood beside him as still as a statue, expression implacable.

  They didn’t have to wait long for Tynan Mont. The clinking of chains and shuffling feet entered the great hall as a commotion breaking the relative quiet. Dallon and Merrick were on either side of the short portly man, each with a grip on his upper arms. He wasn’t fighting them, but his expression was dark.

  Alasdair and Laith trailed behind, hands on swords and ready to act if necessary.

  Blessed Spirit, Roduch wanted to pound the bastard. The rough handling on th
e day they’d arrested him hadn’t been nearly enough.

  “This is outrageous! Malicious slander,” Tynan Mont sputtered as the knights forced him into a chair at the table opposite the stewards in front of the dais. His shackles clanged, as they bumped the hard wood.

  Merrick and Dallon stayed on close, both ignoring the bastard’s open glare. Alasdair and Laith flanked them, all four knights lined up and ready to pound Avril’s former husband.

  Good thing Leargan had forbidden Roduch from being one of Tynan Mont’s escorts.

  “You will get your chance to speak. That time is not now,” King Nathal boomed from the dais.

  Tynan Mont jumped in the chair, paling.

  It gave Roduch some satisfaction.

  “Where is the little wench, anyway? Don’t I have a right to face my accuser? Lying bitch.”

  Roduch growled.

  His captain and Lord Aldern gripped his forearms, keeping him in his seat.

  “Easy,” Leargan whispered. “Let King Nathal lead. You know he’s more than capable.”

  “Silence, Master Mont, or I shall have you silenced.” The king’s roar had Roduch’s breath exiting on a whoosh.

  Avril’s former husband sank down in the chair.

  Merrick cracked his knuckles, and Dallon shifted closer to the coward, resting a hand on the back of his chair.

  Good.

  Roduch’s brothers were ready. Probably wouldn’t even require the king’s order.

  “Who is your Advocate, Master Mont?” the king asked when the room had quieted.

  “I do not have one, your Highness.”

  “Why is that? I was informed that Lord Aldern, Duke of Greenwald and your liege lord, presented you will several candidates.”

  “No, your Highness.”

  “No?” King Nathal raised a thick tawny eyebrow. “Are you calling Lord Aldern a liar?”

  A murmur went through the crowd. There were a few muffled laughs.

  “N-n-n-o,” Tynan Mont stammered. “They did not please, Majesty.”

  “Very well,” the king said. “Are you ready to hear your charges?”

  “Lies,” the bastard yelled.

  King Nathal leaned forward, his expression deadly, eyes locked onto Tynan Mont. “I am the one who decides what is a lie, Master Mont.”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” Tynan Mont demurred, visibly shaking. He lowered his head.

  The king gestured to the two stewards.

  Keir rose, clearing his throat and unrolling a large scroll. He faced Tynan Mont, squaring his aged shoulders as he stood tall. “Master Tynan Mont of Greenwald, you are hereby charged with murder of your blood kin with the purposes of forging inheritance, blackmail of those beholden to you, theft from the same by means of misappropriation of gold and goods along the misuse of magic that is not your own. You are also charged with breaking your marriage contract of your child bride, Avril Larange. Your written agreement to consummate your marriage upon your wife reaching the age of eight and ten was egregiously disregarded. You are also being charged with repeated rapes, physical abuse and neglect of your considered wife.” The old steward sat as the crowd in the great hall gasped and whispered, his pose as regal as the king’s.

  The lad, Gamel, paled out beside him.

  “How do you answer these charges, Master Mont?” the king asked, his booming voice once again causing Avril’s former husband to jump.

  “I was presented with documentation that my marriage has been dissolved by my liege lord.” His tone referencing Lord Aldern was an implied insult.

  “You have not answered your charges.” The king’s voice was hard and his pale eyes narrowed.

  “I am innocent. I have been slandered by the barren whore I had as wife.”

  Roduch snarled and shot to his feet, his sword half-drawn

  “Silence,” the king roared at the same time.

  Lord Aldern and Leargan rose, pressing Roduch back into the chair after Lord Dagget disarmed him.

  Tynan Mont’s gaze locked onto him, scorching with its intense anger.

  Roduch glared right back, daring the man to make a move. Any of his brothers would knock him on his arse.

  “It is the law that any underage person, male or female given in marriage prior to the legal age has the right to renounce their marriage when they reach eighteen turns old. Your former wife’s choice to do so has nothing to do with your charges. Understand that, here and now,” King Nathal commanded.

  “Is adultery not a crime?” Tynan Mont demanded, his eyes still boring into Roduch’s.

  Roduch growled, but stayed seated, hands of his captain and the duke resting on his shoulders.

  “As there has been no evidence of infidelity, you shall not further slander Avril Larange in my presence,” the king ordered.

  The trial progressed, and Leargan was called by the king and questioned about finding Avril with Ansley on the road and confirmed that she had called for help.

  Ansley had also testified privately to the king, so she was also spared public questioning.

  After the captain, Lord Dagget testified about her injuries, including the evidence he’d discovered about the rapes, and the two broken ribs that had gone untreated, in addition to the broken nose and fresh wounds covering her body that night.

  “Master Mont,” Lord Dagget said, “I found no physical evidence that Mistress Larange is barren. So, it looks as if you are the problem.”

  Tynan Mont’s face reddened and the little bastard glared at the healing lord.

  Lord Dagget rose and bowed as the king dismissed him.

  Roduch smiled. It was good to know the gentle healing lord could be intentionally vindictive when necessary.

  As Harlan Pelham and his wife answered King Nathal’s summons to testify, their former employer’s eyes shot daggers even before they spoke.

  Dallon shifted on his feet, accidently knocking the little bastard in the back of the head.

  Roduch bit back a grin, but Tynan turned his glare on the knight instead of the man’s former steward and his trembling wife.

  The king stood and bowed at the conclusion of all testimony and the reading of written statements, retreating from the great hall to make his decision.

  Roduch closed his eyes, trying not to hear Avril screaming in his mind while trapped underneath that piece of trash. He didn’t want to see her, scared and small, cowering after a rape, enduring a beating.

  It hurt too much.

  He shook the thoughts from his head, focusing on the rise of voices in the great hall as everyone speculated. The buzz of conversation in the large room was loud, and Roduch sat on the edge of his seat, staring at Avril’s former husband. He wanted to pound his face in—no he wanted to geld him and watch him bleed out.

  Roduch made a fist and growled.

  “Easy,” Lord Aldern said, resting a hand on his forearm. “He’ll get what is coming to him.” The duke’s expression was pained.

  “I’m counting on it.” Roduch nodded and forced himself to calm. His emotions were affecting the duke.

  “I have no doubt,” Lord Dagget said.

  Locking onto the healer’s hazel eyes, Roduch leaned toward the lord. “Did you mean what you said? That Avril can have children?”

  “Aye. I saw nothing in her body keeping her from it. The…rapes…” Lord Dagget winced, “did no permanent physical damage.”

  “So why didn’t she…conceive…all this time?” The words were hard for him to get out. His heart thumped, his chest aching.

  “Sometimes it’s better to leave some questions up to the Blessed Spirit,” Lord Dagget said gently.

  “Take things slow with her, Roduch,” Lord Aldern said, squeezing his forearm.

  The healer nodded agreement, but his captain wore a soft smile, as if Leargan expected nothing else.

  “I am.” Roduch looked away before glancing back at his lords and captain. “It wouldn’t have mattered, you know. I would still want her, even if she couldn’t give me children,
but it’s a relief to know the little bastard didn’t take that from her.”

  Lord Dagget smiled, and Lord Aldern gave him an approving nod.

  Leargan patted his forearm.

  Emotion threatened to choke him. Roduch blinked and swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. Blessed Spirit, he loved her. He wanted nothing more than to care for her for the rest of their lives.

  Less than an hour later, King Nathal and his captain strode back into the hall.

  The king spoke to Keir and Gamel before whirling around in front of the dais, not mounting the three steps or taking a seat. He raised his chin and squared his wide shoulders, speaking without preamble. “Tynan Mont, I sentence you to no less than thirty turns at the work camp in the penal territory of the Province of Dalunas.”

  Tynan Mont gasped, his eyes as wide as saucers.

  “That amount of time will not replace the lives of your cousin and his family that you stole, but you will have plenty of time to contemplate it. As you know, your marriage has been dissolved, so you are a free man.” There were several snickers in the large room. “Since you are the last of your line, your land is forfeit from your family and formally awarded to Master Harlan Pelham and his line in perpetuity. You are never to regain it. If you should make your way back into the borders of Greenwald upon your release in thirty turns time, you are to have nothing to do with your former wife, Mistress Avril Larange. You shall never be permitted to hold land on my continent again.”

  Avril’s former husband sputtered, shaking his head and making two tight fists. His shackles rattled.

  “Be very well informed, and relieved, that gelding is not a part of my proclamation, Master Mont. I take the mistreatment of women very seriously.”

  The sorry excuse for a man gulped.

  “Take him back to the dungeon,” King Nathal commanded.

  Chains clanged and clinked as Merrick and Dallon dragged the little bastard up out of the chair. Tynan Mont was in a shocked stupor, being shoved forward to shuffle his feet.

  Alasdair and Laith brought up the rear, and soon they were out of sight.

  The crowd started to file out, excited conversations and loud voices dwindling as the great hall emptied.

  “I want to be among those that take him to Dalunas,” Roduch said as he gained his feet. He looked at Lord Aldern, and then at the king.