“That much is true.” Sadness stole into his lordship’s features. He suddenly seemed weary, as if haunted by the past. “How I wish I could have stopped her long ago. Regrettably, I was not able to.”
The hope within Claire grew brighter. “Tye became the man he is now because he believed you did not care about him.”
De Lanceau growled.
“Please. You must tell him you did care about him. That you still do.”
“Milady.” His lordship scowled. “He is no chivalrous hero. He is a dangerous, trained killer—”
“So he may be. Does that not describe every knight in this realm?”
“He is also a traitor to the crown.”
“Respectfully, milord, so are you, if recent rumors are true. Are you not recruiting fellow lords to your cause: a Great Charter soon to be presented to King John, which will limit the ruling powers of the crown?”
A ruddy flush darkened his lordship’s cheekbones. He clearly didn’t like to be challenged in such a manner. “We are not discussing my character, but Tye’s.”
“If I may, I suggest asking other folk around the keep about the days when Tye ruled here. He ensured we were all warm and fed. The wounded were cared for, and he stopped his mother from stabbing Lady Brackendale—”
“That may be so. He still seized this keep, though, and in the past year, committed other crimes. He is also a rogue, an unapologetic seducer of women.”
Claire couldn’t help but smile. “Were you not a rogue in your younger days, milord? I recall a famous Moydenshire chanson that tells how you kidnapped Elizabeth Brackendale and held her for ransom to win back Wode. In doing so, you won both the castle and her love.”
A muscle ticked in de Lanceau’s cheek. “True, but—”
“Why are you so determined to condemn Tye? He is your son. He may not have unquestionable proof to offer you, but there can be no doubt, for he looks just like you.”
His lordship’s gaze flickered, but he said naught.
De Lanceau was as stubborn as Tye! For Tye’s sake, though, she had to reach his lordship, to break through the years of enmity between the two men. “Tye also saved you from Veronique’s attack earlier,” Claire insisted. “Tye risked harm to himself to ensure his mother didn’t kill you. He wanted the fight to remain fair.”
“He did indeed,” Edouard murmured. “’Twas quite unexpected.”
“Not unexpected. Not for the Tye I know,” Claire said fiercely, holding de Lanceau’s gaze. “You cannot deny ’twas a selfless, honorable act. It should at least earn Tye some measure of respect.”
His lordship muttered a word under his breath that sounded like “women.” He glanced at Edouard, who shrugged. “You know how much I hate Tye, Father. Yet, in this instance, I have to agree with Claire. He did save your life.”
De Lanceau sighed, and his attention shifted to the bailey, where the battle was winding down. “I will consider all that you have said, milady. As you suggested, I will speak with others about the keep. In the meantime, Edouard, take Tye to the dungeon. Once Wode is secured to my satisfaction, I will decide his fate.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Tye jerked awake at the slamming of a door. Opening his eyes to shadows, he blinked several times to clear his vision. His mind was sluggish, groggy, as if he surfaced from a deep lake.
Slowly, he became aware that he lay on his right side on a dirt floor that smelled of mold, rot, and blood. His blood. He vaguely remembered the stunning blow that had rendered him senseless.
De Lanceau had won the battle.
His sire had reclaimed Wode.
His mother had betrayed and rejected him.
Tye had lost all.
Claire’s image drifted into his mind, and his eyes burned as he remembered the last moment he’d seen her on the battlement. He hoped she was all right.
Tye flexed his hands and feet. His injured hand felt stiff; the cut had scabbed over. Metal bit into his wrists and ankles. His boots were gone; his bare feet were so cold he could no longer feel his toes.
Carefully, he flattened his palms to the dirt and pushed himself up to sitting, wincing at the clank of the chains attached to iron rings in the stone wall behind him. His head swam.
He stayed motionless until the reeling sensation subsided and then swept aside the hair stuck to his face, so he could see where he was imprisoned. With that simple movement, pain shot through his skull and neck. The agony… He was going to vomit.
Tye heaved in breaths to calm his queasiness. His strength gave out and he slumped back against the wall. His head lolled.
In his quick study of his surroundings, he’d recognized the dungeon at Wode. He must be at the back of the belowground chamber.
Tye swallowed hard, his mouth parched, a foul taste clinging to his tongue. Darkness beckoned him, urged him to close his eyes and succumb to nothingness, but he fought for consciousness with the last tattered threads of his willpower. He had to stay awake. There were things he had to say—must say—before he died.
He heard men approaching. His sire’s lackeys were coming for him. They were going to kill him; of that he had no doubt. He’d lost the crucial fight, lost all that he’d so arrogantly tried to claim. He’d perish this day forced to acknowledge his sire as the victor, with Edouard, Aldwin, and Dominic there to witness his surrender and his slaying.
Why wouldn’t his sire kill him? He deserved to die.
Bile rose in Tye’s throat again, but he forced it down, determined not to retch in front of the other men. ’Twas senseless, mayhap, to cling to such vanity, especially when he was as good as dead, but he’d prefer to die with some dignity.
He was going to die.
A terrible emptiness filled him, for he had lost far more than he’d won.
The only parent he’d ever known had spurned him and was dead.
His sire had not acknowledged him as his child.
Moreover, the truth was now painfully clear: Tye’s whole life had been built upon lies. With his sire’s revelations, all Tye believed about his childhood had been shattered, the very foundation of who and what he was broken into inconsequential pieces that would swiftly turn to dust.
How had he been so stupid to believe he deserved acknowledgement from a lord like de Lanceau? Tye was naught. No one would miss him once he’d died, except mayhap Claire.
Tye shut his eyes as Claire’s loveliness filled his thoughts: her beautiful smile; the sparkle of her eyes when she knew he was going to kiss her; the shimmer of firelight on her hair. He’d been a fool, an arrogant, selfish fool. If only he’d heeded Claire that night in the great hall. She’d tried to make him question what his mother had told him, but he’d been too proud to listen.
Claire. Sweet, precious Claire. My dark soul was seduced by the purity of your light.
How he yearned to sink his hands into her tresses one last time. How he wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to tell her how much she meant to him… But those wishes were no more than fragile dreams now.
As he drew his last breaths, as the world around him faded to eternal blackness, he’d hold her image in his mind. She’d been the best part of his life. He’d leave this earth treasuring all that she’d given him so selflessly.
The jangle of keys warned Tye that his sire’s men drew near. Soul-deep sadness pressed upon him. He couldn’t lift his head. Hell, he didn’t want to. When they stopped in front of him, he didn’t bother to look up.
“Not so fearsome now, is he?” Edouard said.
“We cannot underestimate him.” Aldwin’s voice. “Your sire will not be pleased if he tricks us and escapes again.”
Edouard laughed roughly. “He’d never get past the guards outside. He will not escape us.”
Tye remained still, head down, as a strong hand grabbed his left wrist and the weight of a key brushed against his skin. A click, and his left wrist fell free. A moment later, his right one.
“On your feet,” Edouard ordered.
Tye
struggled to stand. The men grabbed his arms, hauled him up, his toes scraping on the floor before he could maneuver his feet into position. His head careened, and he groaned at the renewed dizziness and pain.
One of them shoved his feet into his boots. Then, the men hauled him along at a brisk pace. He stumbled as he was propelled up the dungeon stairs, into the daylight, and then into the dank, torch lit confines of the forebuilding.
More steps, and he reached the great hall. His weakened body wobbled, but his senses were sharp enough to recognize the scents of dried straw, crushed herbs, and ashy smoke from the freshly stoked fire. His heart twisted in his chest, for there was another note too, the hint of Claire’s milk-and-honey fragrance. Mayhap he only imagined that scent, because he so desperately wanted to see her one final time.
The hall, drenched in sunshine, was silent, but he sensed a number of people watching him. Edouard and Aldwin propelled him forward and shoved him to his knees in front of the dais. He landed hard, his breath expelling on a grunt of agony. He pitched forward, his hair falling over his face, his forehead almost touching the rushes. With his last failing reserves of strength, he forced himself to straighten.
De Lanceau stepped down from the dais, the embroidered hawk on his surcoat glinting in the sunlight. Rushes crunched as he strode toward Tye.
Emptiness welled again inside Tye. For so many years he’d loathed this man he knew was his father—all because of his mother’s lies.
If Tye’s life had been different, he’d have been acknowledged as a de Lanceau—not as a criminal whose death would be reason for his sire to celebrate.
If his life had been different, he’d have been spending the rest of it with Claire, days filled with joy, contentment, and love.
So much love.
He loved her, without question. He loved her fiercely, completely. His life might have been built on bitter lies, but this he knew without the slightest doubt: his love for Claire was true.
“Tye,” his sire said, his voice loud in the hall.
“Father,” he answered.
“For all those who bear witness here this day, do you understand why you have been brought before me?”
“I besieged Wode,” he said quietly. “You won the battle to take it back. Now, I will die.”
Silence stretched.
“Capturing Wode is only one of the offenses for which you are condemned. Among the most recent are the siege of Waddesford Keep and the murder of Lord Henry Ridgeway.”
The emptiness inside Tye deepened. “I know.”
“Do you acknowledge your crimes, this day, before witnesses?”
He would not deny all that he’d done. Here, now, he’d take responsibility for his miserable life. At least he might die with a shred of honor. “I do acknowledge my crimes,” he said.
“Do you acknowledge my right, as lord of Moydenshire, to mete out punishment worthy of the gravity of your crimes?”
He was going to die. Yet, death must be better than living as he did now, with all, including Claire, lost to him. “I do,” he answered.
“Is there aught you wish to say, before I deliver your fate?”
Fighting the pain in his skull, Tye raised his head, forced his aching shoulders back. He must say what lay in his heart. In these final moments, he’d try to be the man Claire always claimed was within him. Meeting his father’s gaze, he said, “I acknowledge I have committed crimes that are worthy of your punishment. I take full responsibility for what I have done. For all the anguish I have caused, I am…” His voice hitched. “I am sorry.”
His sire’s brows rose. “Sorry?”
Tye nodded. Tears slid down his face, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I wish I could begin again. I wish I could be…” He thought of the way Claire made him feel, and he fought a sob. “True.” In his mind, he saw her smiling, and his heart soared with love for her. “Gallant. Honorable. A man worthy of your respect.” All that he would never be.
“Bold words.” An odd note rang in his sire’s voice.
“Do not heed him. He is not repentant,” Edouard muttered.
“Quiet,” his lordship commanded.
“Father, he is trying to trick you, because he lost the battle.”
“No trickery, I swear.” What Tye must say—had to say—burned bright and clear in his soul. “Please, tell Claire that I loved her. I ask…for all I have done, I hope you will…forgive me,” he whispered.
The silence in the hall seemed to stretch as taut as a hangman’s rope.
“What did you say?” his sire demanded.
More firmly, Tye said, “Forgive me. I beg you.” He fell back to sit on his heels, his head bowed. It no longer mattered if he was too weak to remain upright; he was going to die. With Claire no longer in his life, it wasn’t worth living anyway.
“Beg?” Edouard said. “That does not sound like the Tye I know.”
Tye shut his eyes. He prayed his death was swift. Merciful.
The piquant scent of rosemary rose from the floor as his sire took another step toward him. Tye waited for the rasp of steel as his sire drew his sword; the whisper of garments as his sire lifted the weapon to bring it slashing down—
A hand settled on Tye’s shoulder. “Those words,” de Lanceau said quietly, “are what I would expect from my son.”
Tye froze. He mustn’t have heard correctly. Slowly, his mind spinning, he forced his head up.
His sire’s damp gaze burned with emotion. His face held the same expression as when he’d tried to save Tye from falling from Waddesford Keep’s battlement months ago.
“Son?” Tye rasped. Confusion whipped through him, chased by the tiniest, thinnest glimmer of hope.
His sire nodded. A faint smile ticked up his mouth. “’Tis only right that I finally accept you are my flesh and blood.”
Tye gasped. Son. Ah, God. He wanted to speak, to honor this incredible gift from his sire, but words failed him.
“Claire gave me a full account of what happened before our battle,” his sire went on. “She showed me her journal documenting the siege and the days following. She was most insistent that I understand how nobly you had acted toward her and others here, despite your mother’s interference. The other folk I spoke to confirmed what she told me.” His lordship’s gaze narrowed. “Tye, are you willing to swear an oath to me this day, pledging your allegiance to me, vowing to obey me without question for the rest of your living days?”
Shock pounded through Tye. ’Twas a generous offer, far more than he deserved. “I am.”
“Good.”
He was indeed willing to take the vow, but there was no point if he was going to be slain. “Am I…to be killed?”
“Not this day.”
Relief raced through him, so intense, he almost fainted. “Claire,” Tye choked out. He had to see her. “Please. Is she—?”
His sire stepped away and motioned to someone behind Tye. “Let her in.”
Tye heard the creak of a door, followed by running footsteps.
“Tye,” Claire sobbed. “Oh, Tye.” She dropped to her knees, her gown spreading across the rushes. Catching his face in her hands, she kissed him over and over while she wept. He laughed against her mouth, slid his arms around her, and buried his face in her neck, as he, too, sobbed.
“Well,” Dominic murmured from close by. “’Tis not what I expected to happen this day.”
“Nor I,” Edouard muttered.
“Nor I,” Aldwin said with a smile.
His face wet with tears, Tye looked up at his sire. “Thank you.” Joy filled the empty void within him. He’d been given a second chance; he wouldn’t waste a single moment. “I promise, Father, with my very soul, I—”
“Indeed, you will,” his sire said. “There is still a great deal for us to discuss and resolve. The coming days will not be easy. Now, though, you will say the oath pledging allegiance to me in front of these witnesses. Then we will tend to your head wound, before you collapse on the hall f
loor.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Seated at the lord’s table on the raised dais, finishing her meal of vegetable pottage, sharp white cheese, and grain bread, Claire couldn’t help but smile, for the hall was alive again. It hadn’t felt this way for many, many days, even before Tye’s conquest.
Candles flickered on the rows of trestle tables filling the hall and cast the faces of the castle folk in a wash of gold while they ate. Reed torches burned in the brackets along the walls, chasing away the shadows lingering at the timber beams overhead. Knights, seated together at the tables close to the dais, laughed and jested as they discussed the day’s battle and de Lanceau’s victory. By the hearth, two men plucked their lutes. The vibrant melody wove into the swell of sound, while behind them, a great blaze burned in the hearth.
Mary was seated to Claire’s right. Light from the nearby centerpiece of beeswax candles made Mary’s blue silk gown shimmer. “Does the hall not look beautiful tonight?” she said with a happy sigh.
“It certainly does,” Claire agreed.
“The pottage is much tastier than usual, too,” Mary added with a grin, “no doubt because his lordship is dining here this eve.”
Claire could easily imagine the red-faced cook flying about the kitchen, shouting for more chopped vegetables and throwing handfuls of spices and dried herbs into the bubbling cauldron to get the pottage into a fit state to serve to Moydenshire’s great lord and his men.
As she sipped her wine, Claire felt some of the tension of the day slip away. Not all of it, though. There were still matters left unresolved, including what would happen to her and Tye now that he’d yielded to his sire. She hadn’t been able to speak to him after the reconciliation in the hall, for de Lanceau had taken him away to have his wounds treated. Then, according to what Claire and Mary had gleaned from the servants, his lordship and Tye had talked for most of the afternoon, while Dominic, Aldwin, and Edouard completed other assigned duties. How she wished she knew what Tye and his lordship had discussed.
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