Berwyn nodded unsteadily, like a man who had too much on his mind. “Well enough,” he said, pausing by the door to look at his grandson. “What you have told me… you have not told anyone else, have you?”
Rod shook his head. “Who else would I tell?”
“Orlaith.”
Rod cocked his head, pursing his lips reproachfully. “I would tell my mother before I told you?” he asked in a tone that suggested it was a ridiculous question. “Of course I have not told her. I have not even seen her. She is at Whitebrook and it would have taken me at least four days to get there. Until we can confirm any of this, I see no reason to tell her that her nephew may be alive.”
Berwyn wagged his head back and forth. “There is no reason for her to know in any case,” he said. “Your mother was quite attached to her brother. His death saddened her greatly, as did the passing of his family. There is no need for her to know anything.”
With that, Berwyn quit the hall to go about his business, leaving Rod behind to ponder that very statement. There is no need for her to know anything. But what if it was true and Bretton had returned as a hated mercenary? If that was truly the case, then he had to agree with his grandfather –it would be better for his mother to not know at all.
Still… he had to wonder if they would ever know the truth. Maybe Bretton had returned. If that was what had happened, then he had to wonder why the man hadn’t contacted them. He had been asking himself that question since nearly the moment de Lohr revealed the name behind the mercenary army. Surely Bretton remembered his family. If he remembered Jax de Velt and the havoc the man wrought, then surely he would remember those who loved him from his childhood. Surely he remembered that he had family here on the Marches.
There was only one way to find out.
*
It was her fault, really. She’d had the courage to attack the man but she hadn’t been able to escape as she had hoped. Therefore, she was forced to face the punishment. She had taken a risk and it had come back in her face.
Allaston was back in the vault again. Grayton, upon discovering her over Bretton’s unconscious body, had grabbed her by the neck and dragged her back down to the moldering depths of Cloryn’s dark vault. He had quite literally thrown her back upon the dirty straw that had been her only bed for three weeks before slamming the grate and making sure it was bolted. The entire time, he’d never said a word, and neither did she. In truth, there was nothing for either of them to say.
That had been a few hours ago. Allaston huddled back against the wall, still in the fine clothing she had been wearing. She suspected that she was going to remain here forever, or at least until her father showed up. Mayhap then they would release her if only to dangle her before her father to show the man their prize. Truly, she only had herself to blame and was therefore resigned to her fate. Hysterics weren’t going to change anything.
So she sat and waited, for what, she didn’t know. She was confident enough that de Llion wouldn’t kill her. He’d been clear that he needed her alive. So the only alternative was to keep her locked up because she had proven she couldn’t be trusted. As she sat there and pondered the course of her dismal future, she heard bootfalls on the steps leading into the vault.
And so it comes, she thought to herself. Even if de Llion wasn’t going to kill her, he had said nothing about not beating or abusing her. She deserved the punishment for what she had done and braced herself for that very real possibility. Resigned though she might be, it didn’t stop tears of fear from stinging her eyes at the thought of what might lay ahead.
It was dark in the vault, as usual, with the only light coming from the stairwell that led to the gatehouse above. She could see a figure descending the steps, realizing it was de Llion simply by the sheer size of the man. He came off the stairs and turned in her direction but she couldn’t see his face because the light was behind him. All she could see as he approached were shadowed features. It made it difficult to gauge his mood, which she could only imagine wasn’t too good. When he came to the locked grate of the cell, he simply stood there. Even though Allaston was looking at him, she couldn’t see his eyes.
“I was told to leave you down here to rot,” he finally said in his raspy, deep voice. “I should, you know.”
Allaston lowered her gaze from his shadowed face. “I would expect you to.”
He paused before answering. “I would except for two good reasons,” he said. “First of all, in spite of what you did, it was astonishingly brave. It showed cunning and resourcefulness. I did not expect a female to show such courage. Second of all, you could have easily killed me but you did not. I want to know why.”
Allaston kept her gaze averted. “Because I am not a killer,” she said. “In spite of what you think, in spite of the de Velt name, I am not a killer. I could not take your life. I could not take anyone’s life.”
“Then why did you knock me unconscious?”
“Because I wanted to escape. That was my only motive.”
Bretton watched her lowered head from his position outside of the cell. After waking up with an excruciating headache almost two hours ago, lying on the floor of the chamber where Allaston had been, he truly had no idea what had happened. He remembered walking in the door and little else.
Pushing himself off the floor, he caught sight of the fire poker a few feet away. A perusal of the chamber showed that he was quite alone and that had been his first clue as to what had transpired. No prisoner and a suspiciously discarded poker. Only when he had left the room and gone in search of a soldier to sound the alarm that Allaston had escaped had he run into Grayton, who was returning from the gatehouse. Grayton had told him all he needed to know and Bretton had spent the last hour and a half listening to the man rant about Allaston and how Grayton had been mistaken to think the woman was worthy of being released from the vault. But Bretton, strangely enough, couldn’t seem to agree.
So he sat and imbibed a couple of cups of wine to stave off his headache as Grayton fumed and the barber-surgeon put three stitches in the back of his scalp. When the wine was gone and the stitches were finished, Bretton chased Grayton away before making his way down to the vault where he now stood. Looking at Allaston’s lowered head, he still couldn’t bring himself to be angry about what she had done. One small woman had managed to do what no one else had ever accomplished – she had managed to disable him. Oddly, he found some humor in that as well as admiration.
“Where were you going to go if you escaped?” he asked quietly. “Do you even know where you are?”
Allaston’s head came up and she looked at him. “Cloryn Castle,” she said. “Your man Grayton told me.”
Bretton nodded faintly. Then he reached out and threw the bolt on the cell, pulling open the old, creaking door with the rusted hinges. He just stood in the doorway, watching her.
“Where were you going to go?” he repeated.
Allaston shrugged. “I was going to find a church,” she said. “I thought the priests would help me.”
“Did you not stop to think that I would find you?” Bretton asked. “Alberbury Priory could not stop me. What makes you think another church would?”
Allaston shrugged. “I am sure that it would not,” she said, some frustration in her tone. “I simply want to return to what I was doing before you came and tore me away from my friends and mentors. I want to return to the cloister. I do not want to be a part of your war games, de Llion.”
His gaze lingered on her. “And yet, you are,” he said, his voice soft. “What about your father? Did you plan on warning him about me?”
Her frustration grew. “Of course I did,” she said. “I planned on sending him word that I was safe and not to engage you. Do you not understand? I want him to stay well away from Wales and well away from me because I love my father and I do not want you to kill him.”
He was aware of her mounting agitation. “That is between me and your father.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You just said I
was a part of your war games,” she said. “Therefore, this is between you, my father, and me. You have made me an unwilling participant in all of this.”
He nodded, once, as if he understood her logic. “I will agree with you,” he said. “But trying to escape me is futile. There is nowhere for you to go that I will not find you.”
Allaston sighed heavily, exasperated. “That is probably true,” she said. “But I will ask you this question, de Llion, and you will be truthful with me. Think back to that day when my father besieged Four Crosses. If you could have done anything at that time to save your father, wouldn’t you have done it? That is what I was trying to do by making an escape attempt – I was trying to save my father.”
Bretton pondered her words. As he did, he took a few steps into the cell, standing a mere few feet from where Allaston was huddled. He crouched down so that he could look her in the eye, seeing her ghostly pale face framed by the dark cloak over her head.
“I would have done anything to save my father that day,” he said quietly, “but I was only five years of age and had not the strength, the knowledge, or the skill. Because I could not save him then, I have made it my mission in life to seek vengeance against the man who murdered him and you are a part of that plan. I am sorry if that if distasteful to you, but that is the way of things.”
Allaston stared into his bright blue eyes. There was pain in her features. “But I love my father just as you loved yours,” she admitted. “If you kill my father, you will be hurting me as deeply as you were hurt those years ago. Would you truly wish that pain upon me?”
Bretton found that he was having difficulty concentrating with her mesmerizing eyes fixed upon him pleadingly. It unbalanced him because he could feel something more than just a mere fixation. He could feel something warm spark. He’d never felt that kind of thing before and it startled him. He didn’t understand his reaction. What he didn’t understand, he didn’t like.
“You are of no consequence,” he said, his manner bordering on cold. “Whatever pain you feel is not my concern. I must do as I must and you will have to accept it.”
Allaston sat back as if he had slapped her. Tears began to form in her eyes as the weight of his words settled. There was no changing his mind, she knew. She had tried to reason with him, to be kind to him, to fight him, and to submit to him. She had tried everything. Everything except one last final offering. She was at her lowest point, knowing what she had to do and dreading it. It took every last ounce of courage she had to speak the words.
“My father is my concern,” she whispered. “I cannot talk you out of doing such a terrible deed, for your mind is set. But if it is a de Velt you want to kill, then instead of my father, mayhap you will consider me. If it is only de Velt blood you seek, I can give you mine.”
Bretton’s expression didn’t change. “It is not your blood I want.”
“But you want de Velt blood,” she insisted. “Killing my father will bring you nothing, but if you kill me, then you are assured of hurting my father as badly as he has hurt you. Take my life, de Llion. It is worthless now anyway, for as your prisoner, all will assume you will have had your way with me. Everything I stand for is ruined. Take my life and send my body back to my father and I can assure you that he will be greatly hurt. I will willingly let you kill me if you will only cease your bloodlust against him. If you truly want to make the man suffer, then you must take my life to accomplish that.”
She made sense, which concerned him. He didn’t like the fact that she made utter and complete sense and, to a logical man, it was worth considering. Although he had always considered himself logical, he knew without a doubt that he could not kill her. Something about this woman intrigued him like no other human being ever had. She was fiercely loyal, intelligent, brave, and beautiful. He had trouble accepting a de Velt could be all of these things, but Lady Allaston was.
“Mayhap,” he said after a moment because he didn’t want her to suspect his reluctance to kill her. He thought the best way to control her was for her to never know what he was thinking, especially in matters like this. “I will think on your proposal. Meanwhile, you will come with me.”
Allaston was emotionally edgy from her plea, now wary of his directive. “Why?” she asked. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the keep.”
Allaston blinked, bewildered by the thought. “But why?”
Bretton stood up. “Because it is warmer there,” he said. When she didn’t move, he lifted his eyebrows at her. “Do you prefer it here?”
She didn’t. Allaston shook her head unsteadily and struggled to stand. “Are you going to kill me there?”
Bretton reached down and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t weigh much and he ended up nearly launching her because he pulled so hard. That being the case, he had to reach out to steady her and stop her momentum.
“I am not going to kill you at the moment,” he said. “But I will punish you for trying to bash my brains in.”
Allaston wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “How am I to be punished?”
He was evasive. “I will tell you in time,” he said. “But until then, you must promise me something.”
Allaston was unsteady on her feet, trying not to step on the hem of her cloak as she walked off of the straw. “What can I promise you?” she asked, baffled. “Even if I did, would you believe me after what I did?”
He turned to look at her as he headed out of the cell. “Would you break a promise to me?”
Her brow furrowed. “It depends on the promise.”
“Then you are not a lady of your word?”
She was growing frustrated again with his circular conversation. “God’s Beard,” she snapped softly. “Of course I am. What in the world do you want me to promise?”
Bretton fought off a grin at her irritation. “That you will never again crack me, or anyone, over the head with a poker or otherwise try to harm any of my men.”
Her frown grew. “You make it sound as if I am a murderess.”
His grin broke through then, he couldn’t help it. “You did go after a man twice your size with a poker,” he reminded her. “What if you are a murderess?”
“Then my promise will mean nothing for I will kill you in your sleep anyway.”
He snorted, humorously. “I will make sure to sleep with one eye open, then,” he said. “Will you promise me that you will never again be violent towards me or any of my men? If you cannot promise, then I will have to leave you down here and I do not think you want that.”
He was right, she didn’t. After a moment, she nodded. “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “You have my oath that I will not try to harm anyone again.”
“And you will not try to escape again.”
She was more reluctant to promise him that. “But a prisoner is expected to escape,” she argued weakly. “That is my right.”
He snorted again as they reached the stairs leading up into the gatehouse. The light above was nearly blinding.
“If you try to escape again, I will chain you up and never let you go,” he said. “If you want your freedom, then you must not give me a reason to take it away from you. Is that clear enough?”
He was being fair about the situation, a shocking attribute from a man who had, so far, shown nothing but rank brutality. He was actually showing her some mercy whether or not he realized it and Allaston knew this was more than likely a one-time offer. Should she betray him, then the situation would go very badly for her. Although she was prepared to die for her father, she wasn’t prepared to be locked up like an animal for the rest of her life. Death would be preferable to that. Therefore, she did the only thing she could do. She nodded.
“It is,” she said, slowly following him up the narrow stairs. “But if you are not going to keep me in the vault, where are you taking me?”
Bretton was taking the stairs slowly because she was. They were mossy and slippery, and she was unsteady on them. He watched her almost lose h
er footing on one before reaching out a hand to her.
“Here,” he said.
Allaston looked up from the steps, noticing the outstretched hand but having no idea what it was for.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He thrust the hand at her again to make his intention obvious. “Take my hand so you do not slip and break your neck.”
Hesitantly, Allaston put her hand in his and he clamped down on her fingers, his heated grip against hers. But he was strong and steady, and she end up relying heavily on him to help her the rest of the way up the steps. Once they reached the ground floor of the gatehouse, he faced her and let her go.
“Since you will no longer be in the vault, I intend to put you to work,” he said. “Tell me what you did at Alberbury. Surely you had assigned tasks.”
Allaston frowned, this time with some outrage. “You intend to make me your slave?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I intend to punish you,” he said. “Tell me what tasks you had at Alberbury.”
Allaston was still frowning but she complied. “My tasks were mostly kitchen related,” she said. “I helped cook meals, tend the garden, and tend stock.”
“Then your punishment will be kitchen-related,” Bretton said, turning to head out of the gatehouse as Allaston followed. “There were only a few male servants left after I took Cloryn and it would be fair to say that our meals have suffered. That will now be your task.”
She skipped after him, squinting her eyes in the bright light. “My punishment is to cook?”
“Your punishment is to be my chatelaine. I need one. You will run this keep to my satisfaction or I will take my hand to your backside. Is that clear?”
It was better than being in the vault. Even as she mulled over her new assignment, the first thing that popped to mind was how easy it would be to poison their food if she had access to the kitchen. A sick army could not march on her father. She hadn’t promised not to poison them, after all. She had simply promised not to harm anyone or try to escape. She supposed that poison could fall under the vow not to harm anyone and, as she thought on it, the technicalities of it had her torn.
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