And that had been the fuss and trouble that constituted their second and final day of travel.
The sun was nearly set when the party approached the outer ring of earthworks surrounding Wellesbourne Castle and men with torches were riding out to meet them. Trenton had been away from Wellesbourne for several years, but not long enough that he didn’t recognize Matthew Wellesbourne when he saw the man. Astride a muscular dappled warhorse, Matthew looked ageless and strong. But he didn’t see Trenton as he headed straight for the wagon carrying his daughter and granddaughters.
There was a good deal of squealing and hugging going on back in the wagon. Trenton could hear Lysabel’s voice and he could also hear Matthew’s surprised tone. There was much joy in their reunion. As they approached the moat with the gatehouse beyond, Trenton heard his name from Lysabel and, suddenly, Matthew was riding in his direction.
“Trenton!” he gasped, reaching out to nudge his arm. “God’s Bones, is it really you?”
Trenton had his visor up, smiling wearily at his father’s best friend, a man he’d known his entire life. Matthew Wellesbourne, Earl of Hereford and Baron Ettington, was something of a legend. He was a ruggedly handsome man with curly blond hair, now almost completely white, that he kept shorn close to his scalp. He had enormous blue eyes, a square jaw, and an expression that suggested there was an inherent gentleness inside of him. Given the fierceness of his reputation, that gentle expression was a ruse.
The man was positively deadly, as decades of warfare had proved.
“It is me, my lord,” Trenton said, a smile playing on his lips. “It has been a very long time. I hope you have been well.”
Matthew nodded. “Well enough,” he said. “And you?”
“Very well, my lord.”
Matthew smiled at him. He had an easy smile and an easy manner about him, something that made him very endearing to his men and allies alike, hence the “White Lord” moniker. He was the benevolent lord in all things, but once crossed, he became a viper. Trenton had always admired that about the man, how he could be so kind and generous one moment and then, as swiftly as a flame doused, could slit a man’s throat with great ease. But it wasn’t that he was unpredictable; in fact, he was quite predictable.
He was simply a man of many talents.
And he loved Trenton to a fault. Riding alongside, Matthew reached out and placed the forearm of his left arm on Trenton’s shoulder. It could only be his forearm because years ago at the Battle of Bosworth, where England’s history had been decided, Matthew had lost his left hand saving Gaston’s life.
It was a selfless act that had bonded the men deeper than brothers.
Therefore, whenever Trenton saw Matthew’s missing hand, he was reminded of the sacrifice. Matthew’s hand for Gaston’s life. It was a brotherhood that Trenton could well understand because he felt the same way about Dane, who was really only his brother through marriage, but it didn’t matter. They were blood brothers as far as he was concerned, and he would gladly sacrifice a hand or any other part of his body simply so that Dane could live.
“You are looking more and more like your father,” Matthew said, breaking Trenton from his train of thought. “How is life in London with Henry?”
That same question out of his own father’s mouth would have not sounded so pleasant or so neutral, so Trenton appreciated that. He wasn’t sure what Matthew thought of what he did for Henry but, true to form, Matthew wouldn’t let his personal opinions cloud his tone or his judgment. He tended to be fair in all things.
Even so, it was a question with many answers, not the least of which was why Trenton was at Wellesbourne, leading Lysabel’s escort. Given that they were going to be discussing that subject very soon, Trenton sought to get it out of the way so that Matthew could at least have some time to prepare before Lysabel brought it up. What the man was about to hear would be devastating, no matter how tactfully it was delivered.
It was only fair he know the truth.
“Henry is why you find me here, my lord,” he said, lowering his voice and spurring Dewi forward. In the same motion, he indicated for Matthew to follow him, and he did, swiftly. When the two of them came alongside one another, Trenton resumed. “There is simply no delicate way to phrase this, so I will come to the point. The first thing you must know is that Lysabel and the girls are well. They are not in any danger. But the second thing you should know is that Benoit de Wilde is dead.”
Matthew blinked rapidly a few times, the only indication of the astonishment and concern he felt. “Dead?” he repeated. “How?”
“I killed him.”
“Now,” Matthew said slowly and steadily. “Explain this to me so that there is no doubt in my mind as to what has happened, Trenton. Please.”
Trenton knew this question would come, especially after he told Matthew of his role in Benoit’s death and Matthew immediately shut his mouth and returned to the wagon bed where his daughter and granddaughters were. All the way into Wellesbourne’s enormous bailey, and all the while as Matthew’s wife and Lysabel’s mother, Alixandrea, greeted her daughter and grandchildren, Trenton knew the question would come from Matthew and he prepared his answer. While happiness and joy of a reunion went on around him, and Alixandrea took her girls into the castle, Matthew pulled Trenton into his private solar and shut the door.
Now, the question hung in the air between them.
Trenton was ready for it.
“In order to explain to you what happened, I must tell you something that you do not know,” he said. “At least, Lysabel does not think you know, so if you do not, then I am sorry to be the bearer of such news. Benoit de Wilde was a vile excuse for a human being; he beat your daughter. Henry sent me to Stretford Castle to abduct Benoit and take him to London because Benoit made the unfortunate mistake of stealing a mistress from Henry. Lysabel does not know this; I have not told her. But she does know that I killed Benoit.”
Matthew was staring at him with an expression between shock and rage. But still, he held fast. He was a master at the neutral expression. But the father in him, the one who was hearing such terrible things about his child for the first time, couldn’t quite hold back.
“I had heard rumor of Benoit’s whoring,” he finally said. “I am not totally ignorant of it.”
“And you did nothing?”
For the first time, Matthew started showing some emotion. “I had only heard of the women,” he said. “But the beating… my God, Trenton. Are you certain of this?”
Trenton took a deep breath. “The night we came to Stretford, we were met by a woman screaming,” he said quietly. “We could hear the blows. When we burst into Benoit’s chamber, it was clear he’d been beating the woman in the chamber, the woman I assumed to be his wife. It was not until Benoit was bound and gagged that I realized it was Lysabel. I was only supposed to take Benoit to Henry so that the king could decide on his punishment, but when I saw what Benoit had done to your daughter, I fully admit that I killed the man. I do not regret it.”
Matthew’s face had lost some of its color. After a moment, he sat heavily in the nearest chair, clearly stunned by the news. Then, in a true moment of shock, he put his hand over his face.
“God,” he whispered. “God in heaven. He truly… he truly did this? He took his hands to my child?”
Trenton could hear the devastation in his voice. “Aye,” he said. “It was not the first time, my lord. He has been beating her for years.”
Matthew’s head snapped up, tears of disbelief in his eyes. “That is not true. Please tell me that is not true.”
Trenton nodded with regret. “Ask her,” he said. “She told me it had been going on for years, ever since he realized he could not get his hands on any of the Wellesbourne fortune. When I asked her why she did not tell you, she said that she could not let you feel the guilt for having burdened her with such a man. She did not want you to know.”
Matthew stared at him, wide-eyed, as he realized what had truly been h
appening with his daughter. But the more he thought on it, the more the situation began to make some sense, and after several long moments, he let out a hiss. The clues over the years began to fall into place, whether or not he wanted to admit it.
Oh, God… he didn’t want to admit it!
“She was never allowed to come and visit,” he finally muttered, running a hand over his cropped head. “Benoit would invite us to Stretford, but only during the times that he was agreeable. We could never simply go unannounced; we tried, once, and were told that Benoit and my daughter were not in residence. The soldiers would not let us in, so we had to turn back for home. Now… now some of this is starting to make some sense.”
Trenton felt for the man. “He had to make sure that when you visited, there was no sign of what he did to your daughter,” he muttered. “She was afraid to tell you, afraid you’d kill the man and suffer from the guilt of it the rest of your life. But know that I harbor no such guilt; Benoit de Wilde was an animal and I have no restraint in killing an animal that deserves it.”
Matthew simply sat there for several long and painful moments, processing the situation, before returning his attention to Trenton.
“I do not even know what to say, Trenton,” he said hoarsely. “I feel like a fool, like I should have known this.”
Trenton shook his head. “There was no way you could have,” he replied. “Your daughter did not want you to know. She evidently hid it well.”
That seemed to hit Matthew particularly well, knowing she had hid her pain from him. Pain he had imposed upon her, like a prison sentence. “But I should have been more astute,” he said. “Surely… surely there were signs. Signs that I evidently ignored. I cannot live with myself if that is really the truth.”
Trenton reached out, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done,” he said. “But when I saw what was happening, I took action. You saved my father’s life, once. Consider the favor returned.”
Matthew sighed heavily, reaching up to grasp Trenton’s hand at his shoulder, holding it tightly. It was gratitude beyond words, for the man seemed incapable of speaking at the moment.
He was rattled to the bone.
“Benoit de Wilde seemed to be a very decent man when he courted Lysabel,” he said after a moment, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I have always prided myself on being a good judge of character, and I honestly had no reservations about him. He was kind to Lysabel and seemed quite fond of her. But right after they were married, the requests for money began to come, and the requests for Lysabel’s inheritance because he needed to expand his army. They were not unreasonable requests, but I was not prepared to give him such a great sum of money. After that… after that, communication became less frequent. Visits were friendly for the most part, but not as they had been before the marriage. When rumors of his whoring reached my ears, I confronted Benoit about them and he told me that it was none of my affair. God… I should have known it was more than that, but Lysabel never told me a thing. There was never even a hint.”
Trenton could see that he was kicking himself. “You must not blame yourself, my lord,” he said. “Lysabel is a strong woman, stronger than you know. She believed she could deal with the situation and that it was her cross to bear. Whatever the case, it is over with now.”
Matthew nodded faintly. “Is it?” he muttered. “For me, it has just begun. I must come to terms with what I’ve done to my beloved daughter. And I cannot tell my wife any of this; it will kill her.”
“Then what will you tell her about Benoit’s death?”
“I do not know yet.”
Trenton sat down in a chair opposite him. For the first time, he was seeing the age on Matthew’s face. In his sixth decade, he was, in fact, an old man. But Trenton had never realized that until this moment, until the situation with his eldest child suddenly aged him. Trenton hadn’t any fears that such news would take its toll on Matthew but, evidently, it had.
He could see it in the man’s face.
“It is not as if his death can be hidden,” Trenton said quietly. “There is no longer a Sheriff of Ilchester and Lysabel wanted me to escort her to Wellesbourne to seek your counsel. None of the Ilchester men, save Markus de Aston, know that Benoit is dead. Even Markus does not know that I killed Benoit.”
That name brought Matthew’s head up. “Markus?” he repeated. “I sent him to Stretford those years ago, Trenton. Surely he knew of what Benoit was doing to my daughter.”
Trenton didn’t want to incriminate Markus, but there wasn’t much he could say to deny it. “He swore an oath to de Wilde,” he said. “He kept his nose out of the man’s personal business, and for good reason. A man like de Wilde could ruin a knight with just a few words, and he would be believed because he is the Sheriff of Ilchester. Markus did what he had to do in order to survive. You cannot blame him for that.”
From the expression on Matthew’s face, it was clear that he understood that perspective for the most part. Knights were duty-bound, and they did not question their liege. But the good and moral man in him wrestled with it.
“Mayhap,” he said. “But what would have been the tipping point for him to stand up and protect an innocent woman? When my daughter is killed? Then how much would he have minded his own business?”
Trenton didn’t have an answer. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “What I do know is that Lysabel lied to him and told him that she killed Benoit in self-defense, presumably to protect me. All concerns of Markus de Aston aside, it is Lysabel who needs your advice in how to handle this matter.”
Matthew sighed heavily and sat back in his chair, thoughts of Lysabel, Trenton, Benoit, and now Markus whirling through his head. He was trying not to feel the rage that threatened to consume him, but rather focus on his daughter and her needs. For her sake, he had to remain calm and consider the serious issues at hand.
But it was a struggle.
“It is quite a quandary, no doubt,” he said. “Ilchester was a hereditary title, one passed through the males in the de Wilde family. But since he and my daughter have no sons, his girls become his heiresses.”
“Then you can hold the title in trust until one of them marries and it passes to their husband?”
Matthew nodded, deep in thought. “I believe so,” he said. “But I must consult with Henry on the matter. He knows that Benoit is dead?”
“He knows.”
“Then I should go to London to see him. I would like you to go with me.”
“It would be my honor.”
Matthew paused. Now that the shock of the situation had settled, he was more aware than ever of Trenton’s role in all of this. “Thank you, Trenton,” he said quietly. “For all you have done… thank you.”
After that, there wasn’t much more to say. Trenton got the impression that the man was eager to see his daughter now, perhaps to see for himself that she was safe and whole, and to forget for a time what he’d been told.
A great deal had been discussed, and dirty business revealed, and, in truth, Trenton didn’t want to talk about it anymore, not even to Matthew. He found that even telling the man what had happened to Lysabel caused his blood to boil.
And, like her father, he found that he wanted to see her.
The feasting hall of Wellesbourne Castle was a massive, two-storied thing with a minstrel’s gallery against the north side of it. Great banners of the House of Wellesbourne and her allies hung from the gallery, including a banner from the House of de Russe.
Trenton had recognized the proud black and gray banner with his father’s dragon on it and he’d stood there a moment, gazing up at it, and thinking of his father probably more than he’d thought of the man in a very long time. He loved his father desperately and seeing Matthew again, and knowing how close the men were, made him feel the pain of their estrangement more than ever. What was going on between them was foolish and complicated.
He wished very much that they were on speaking terms.
He tried to push aside the sorrow he was feeling as he sat in the feasting hall and watched Matthew with his two granddaughters. The girls were happy to see him; even Cynethryn, the reserved one, wasn’t so reserved when it came to her grandfather. One of the first things the girls spoke of was their new ponies, pointing to Trenton and telling Matthew that Trenton had given them the ponies. While Trenton seemed embarrassed by the attention, Matthew simply laughed. He hugged his granddaughters, listening to their chatter, as Lysabel sat with her mother further down the table.
Alixandrea, Countess of Hereford, was about her daughter’s size and shape, with the same lovely bronze hair that she kept pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Even though she was middle aged, there was hardly a line on her face, and when she smiled, she reminded Trenton very much of Lysabel.
They had the same smile.
The women invited Trenton to come and sit with them, but he begged off, feeling very much as if he were intruding on a family reunion. In fact, after he finished eating, he excused himself from the table with talk of seeing to Dewi. He worried for the horse when he was in an unfamiliar place.
Matthew let him go without question.
But Trenton didn’t make it to the stable right away. He left the great hall and ended up in the bailey, gazing up at the clear night sky and seeing a million stars spread across the blackness, as if a great and mighty hand had taken a handful of diamonds and tossed them across the heavens.
But even as he looked up at the sky, his thoughts were on Lysabel.
He’d told Anthony, Timothy, and Adrian that he would meet them at The Horn and The Crown tavern in Westbury in three weeks, and he was already about a week into that time span. Ten more days and he’d have to head to Westbury, and from Westbury he would have to return to London. He tried to imagine that time when he would leave Lysabel, but he honestly couldn’t.
Dark Moon (The de Russe Legacy Book 6) Page 11
