He shook his head, hanging it. “I do not know how,” he said quietly. “I am not sure I can let go of what I have become.”
“I will help you if you will let me.”
He looked up at her, feeling an ache in his heart that he couldn’t begin to describe as his eyes locked with hers. The ache spread out from his chest, into his limbs. He very much wanted her to help him but he truly didn’t know where to begin. The only love or affection he had ever received had been long ago, or post-de Velt, if he had paid for it. Was it really possible that affection, even love, would cost him nothing if it was with the right woman?
“Do you…,” he began, swallowed, then started again. “Do you think… that is, as my wife, that you could feel something for me? Mayhap even become fond of me?”
Allaston had the same aching feeling he did, something that made her limbs tingle and her heart flutter. The way he was looking at her made her feel so warm and liquid inside. She’d never known such feeling until she had met him and now, as she came to know him better, the feelings only grew strong. Strange, wonderful, alien feelings. But she was deeply torn.
“You are a killer,” she said softly. “You have killed so many. You want to kill my father. But I think you are correct when you said you had no choice in what you have become. You had to become this killer, this mercenary, in order to survive. I could not have feelings for the killer. But I could have feelings for the man beneath. I think I already do. And I want to help him.”
Her unexpected response hit him like a hammer, so much so that he actually emitted what sounded like a strangled gasp. He could hardly believe what he was hearing but, in the same breath, it was empowering. All of his thoughts and feelings started to come out whether or not he wanted them to.
“Already, I know I cannot be without you,” he said. “You have grown on me but I cannot describe what I feel more than that. All I know is that I want you with me, for always, and if you were to hate me, I could not abide it. But my hatred against your father… it has made me what I am.”
“It also brought me to you,” Allaston reminded him quietly. “How can you hate my father when he has given you someone you have feelings for?”
Bretton shook his head, baffled and bewildered. Then, he came off the stool, slowly, crawling the few feet to the tub and sitting next to it. Allaston unwound herself from her protective ball and leaned against the side of the tub, next to him, her head very close to his. He was looking at his lap and she was looking at him.
“I do not know,” he whispered. “I find myself in a great quandary. I have plans and aspirations, plans that have been set for twenty-five years. Now, suddenly, I find myself uncertain about those plans. I do not want you to hate me, but I swore vengeance against Jax de Velt and I must see that through.”
The mercenary, the killer, the warlord was fighting against something stronger than all of the armies and all of the hatred in the world. He was fighting against love, something that was creeping into his heart. He was so very afraid of it and so very confused. Allaston could see that confusion in everything about him. Sympathetically, she impulsively leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek.
“Mayhap that vengeance could take the form of something else,” she whispered. “You do not have to kill a man in order to seek vengeance.”
He felt the kiss lingering on his cheek as if she was still touching him. It was warm and wonderful. He looked up at her. “How could I possibly accomplish that?”
Allaston’s green eyes twinkled. “By marrying his daughter who was meant for the cloister.”
He looked at her a moment before breaking down in a weak grin. “I am already going to do that,” he said. “That will not be any of measure of vengeance against him.”
“Untrue. He will consider it a great insult against him.”
Bretton chuckled again and shook his head. “Mayhap, but not enough of an insult.”
She looked stricken. “It is not enough to marry me?”
He lifted his eyes, looking at her. “It will be everything, I think,” he said, resignation in his tone. “But my vengeance against your father….”
Allaston could see that he was weakening his stance slightly and she leapt on the opportunity to expand the gap. “Mayhap if he gives you more properties, that will help ease your sense of conquest and vengeance against him,” she suggested helpfully. “And… and if he were to apologize, Bretton… would you accept? I told you that the man he is now is much different from the man he was those years ago. The man he is now, the man I know, would feel badly for depriving a young boy of his parents. I am sure he would feel badly to know how you have suffered since then. Won’t you at least consider these things as an alternative to such vengeance?”
He was looking at her seriously. “You truly believe that an apology will right all wrongs?” he asked. “I will not consider it. I cannot.”
“Then what will right the wrongs?”
“His death.”
“Then what happens after you kill him?” she asked. “We have had this conversation before, too. Will it instantly make you a happy man? Will it cause your father to rise from the dead? It will do neither of those things. But something will result from it, I assure you – my hatred of you. If you are willing to risk that, then there is nothing more I can say.”
He just sat there, looking at her. He was torn and indecisive. Damn her! She had made him that way. She was tearing away at his resolve. For lack of a response that she hadn’t heard before, because he too was growing weary of their circular conversations, he reached over to the table against the wall and grasped a folded linen rag that was on top of it. Dipping it in the warm, scented water, he wiped it over his face. Perhaps cleaning up would make him think more clearly as his clear-cut vengeance against Jax de Velt was growing less clear-cut by the minute and it was all Allaston’s fault. She made him think about something other than revenge. She made him think about her.
Allaston sensed his conflict and she was glad, glad that she was causing him to reconsider killing her father. She could only pray that she could sway him enough. Too many times had they argued about this, fought even, but this was the first time she started seeing any progress. He was weakening. As she watched him wash his face, lost in thought, she patted him on the shoulder to gain his attention.
“Will you please hand me that drying linen over on the table?” she asked, pointing to it as he turned around to see what she meant. “I would be grateful.”
Silently, his mind wracked with confusion from their conversation, Bretton reached over to grab the linen, but the moment he did so, the door to the room opened and the innkeeper’s wife entered, shutting the door swiftly behind her. She nearly tripped over Bretton, sitting on the floor.
“God’s Bones!” she cried, catching herself from falling. “Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t see ye!”
Bretton waved the woman off as he rose to his feet. He noticed she had something in her hands. “What is that?”
The old woman held up some kind of garment made from unbleached linen. “A robe for my lady,” she said, pointing to Allaston, still in the bath. “I will take her clothes with me and clean them. I will leave them outside yer door so she will have something clean to wear come morning.”
Bretton took the robe from the woman, handing her Allaston’s dark blue dress and shift in exchange. “Make sure her clothes are ready before dawn,” he told the woman. “We are leaving before sunrise.”
The old woman took the garments. “Will ye be wanting a meal?”
Bretton nodded. “We will eat it on the road.”
The old woman departed, shutting the door behind her. When she was gone, Bretton held up the robe to Allaston, but she shook her head at him.
“The drying linen first,” she said. “I will put the robe on after I dry my skin.”
He silently set the robe down and picked up the drying linen, handing it to her. Allaston reached out to snatch it from her position sitting inside the
tub.
“Turn around,” she said. “I will not dry myself with an audience.”
He just shook his head at her as if baffled by her stance. “Must we go through this again?” he said. “I have seen many naked women in my time. Unless you have a third teat or something out of place on your body, nothing you can show me is any different from what I have seen before.”
Allaston tried not to laugh at him because he sounded genuinely perplexed. “Turn around.”
He sighed with exasperation. “Why?” he demanded. “I will marry you soon. Let me see what I will be getting.”
She scowled. “You cheeky devil,” she said. “Turn around.”
Fighting off a grin, he did. He pretended to be quite put out by it because that was the tone of the conversation. They were actually laughing at one another, a rare and unexpected occurrence. He could hear the water sloshing behind him as she got out of the tub. The linen was still in his hand and she grabbed for it, but he held it fast.
“God’s Blood,” he hissed. “Is there something you do not want me to see?”
Wet and naked behind him, Allaston tugged on the linen. “Give it to me.”
He wouldn’t let go, his back to her. It was rather fun taunting her and he had so little opportunity to taunt anyone. It was rare, rarer still with genuine humor involved. He was actually enjoying himself.
“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” he asked, suspicious. “What is it? Do you really have a third teat? Or mayhap a fourth? Do you really look like a nursing dog, with rows of breasts down your torso, and you just do not want to show me?”
Allaston started giggling as she yanked at the linen, finally getting it away from him. Snatching the robe, she scurried behind the screen that had been partially blocking the tub. Once behind it, she began to quickly dry herself.
“You should know what I look like because you stole a glimpse of it,” she said, reminding him of two days ago when he had tried to take advantage of her. “You do not need to see it again until it rightfully belongs to you.”
He bit his lip to keep from smiling, crossing his big arms across his chest. “You clearly do not understand the concept of being a prisoner,” he snorted. “You are one of two things to me – either my captive or my wife. In either case, you belong to me and I can look at you any time I please.”
Allaston tossed the robe on and tied the fastens at the side. It was a rather luxurious piece of goods for belonging to the daughter of an innkeeper because it was lined with something very soft, lamb’s wool, she thought. In any case, it was clean, warm, and wonderful. She ran her hands over the sleeves as Bretton spoke, not particularly concerned with his view of their relationship.
“Mayhap that is true but you shall not be doing any looking tonight,” she told him as she stepped out from behind the screen. “I am hungry and I am weary, so if you will kindly direct me to my room, I would be grateful.”
He eyed her as she came out from behind the screen. In the pale robe, with her hair wound up around her head, she looked like an angel. He just stood there a moment, gazing at her, thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Seeing the odd expression on his face, Allaston cocked her head at him. “Why do you look at me so?” she asked.
He simply shook his head. “I have not had much experience telling a woman of my thoughts,” he said. “At least, I’ve not had much experience telling a lady what I am thinking. I’ve not been around many of them and when I have, the situation has not been particularly calm.”
Allaston tightened up the tie on the robe as she approached him. “You mean the women you have killed when you have laid siege to their homes?” she asked softly.
He nodded slowly. “Mayhap.”
Allaston couldn’t help her thoughts from turning to Lady Miette. She sighed sadly. “It could have so easily been me,” she said quietly. “You could have very easily attacked my home and you would have killed me without care. I simply do not understand how you can do those things to people who could not possibly harm you.”
She wasn’t being combative but he didn’t like it when she brought up his methods. It made him feel so very guilty and that, in turn, frustrated him.
“You could very well ask your father the same thing with all of the carnage he created twenty-five years ago,” he said. “Whatever you ask me, and whatever you disapprove of, know that I am simply emulating what your father did those years ago. My methods are nothing new.”
She thought on that. The entire thing left a bad taste in her mouth. “May I ask you something?”
He lifted his eyebrows at her. “You are going to whether or not I give you permission.”
That was true and she pursed her lips wryly before continuing. “Lady Miette,” she ventured. “You… you did not personally kill her or defile her, did you?”
His gaze was steady. “Would it make any difference to you whether I did or not?”
She had asked the question. Perhaps she wasn’t brave enough to hear the answer. But she answered with her usual honesty.
“Aye,” she said softly, “it would.”
“It would make you look at me differently?”
“Aye.”
He realized he wasn’t prepared to risk it. They’d spent the past several minutes with a warm mood between them, something extremely rare in his world. It had lifted his heart and spirit in ways he couldn’t describe. Still, he was truthful with her. He could be nothing else, for he was not ashamed of his life or what he had done. The sooner Allaston accepted it, the better it would be for them both.
“Then in answer to your question, I am the commander and commanders do not usually follow through with tasks better left to the subordinates,” he said. “I simply give the commands, lady. I do not partake in the actions, but I do ensure that my orders have been followed. I look for the end result.”
Allaston digested the information. Her expression was guarded, sad. “Did you give your men orders to rape that poor woman?”
He shook his head. “It is considered spoils of war,” he said emotionlessly. “If they consider it a reward, then I will not stop them. These men fight for me not because they love me but because I provide them with reward. The lady of Cloryn, as well as the lady of Rhayder, was a part of the spoils.”
Allaston winced and lowered her gaze. “The lady of Rhayder, too?” she asked, feeling sickened. “Bretton, if you could do one thing for me, I would beg you to please call your men off from defiling any more women. Please leave them some dignity since you are taking away their very lives. Had you not been seeking me as part of your plan to lure my father, then it could just as easily have been me that your men defiled and murdered. How would that make you feel, knowing me as you do now? Would you like for your men to abuse me to the point of death, touching me in a way that only… only my husband should touch me?”
That hard, guarded expression came over his features again, but Allaston wasn’t sure if it was because he was growing angry with her or because he was thinking on nameless, faceless soldiers violating her body in all possible ways. She reached out to touch his arm, feeling the hard sinew and muscle beneath her fingers.
“I am not trying to upset you, truly,” she said. “But it is so barbaric and terrible to do this to women whose only crime is to be lady of the castle. I am only asking you to consider showing a measure of mercy to them, Bretton. It would mean a great deal to me.”
His expression was still hard. “Why?”
She grew serious. “Because I do not believe that you are all monster,” she said. “I believe there is some good left in you. You would have killed me long ago, as Jax de Velt’s daughter, if there was not some measure of decency left in you. I would like to hope the man I marry allows for that decency to show.”
He very much wanted to disregard her but there was a large part of him that wanted to listen to her. It gave him hope. She wanted to respect him, which was an utterly foreign concept in his world. There was no re
spect in the dominion of Bretton de Llion, only fear. But he couldn’t give her an answer. Would that long-buried decency she spoke of surface for her because she wished it and asked for it? Only time would tell.
“I cannot know for certain what will happen in the future,” he said. “As for showing mercy, some would perceive that as weakness and I will not show weakness to my men. Remaining as I am, with ruthlessness, is the only way to maintain control for my purposes.”
Allaston knew that would be his answer but she was not discouraged. “Then mayhap you will at least think on what I have said when the time comes,” she said quietly. “Mayhap you will think of mercy the next time you are faced with a frightened woman whose only crime was living in a castle you want as your own. Throw her in the vault, or do whatever you have to do in order to keep her from your men, but I would pray that whatever comes, you consider showing mercy in all things. I… I want to be very fond of you, Bretton. Mayhap even love you. Please give me a reason to.”
Bretton refused to look at her, as he was in the process of removing his mail and tunic, thinking to use some of that sweet-scented water on his dirty, weary body. More than that, he thought that he needed some time to think on all of this. There had been a great many things said over the past several minutes. He needed time to digest it all. He was, at the moment, overwhelmed by everything. He wasn’t accustomed to such personal conversations. Give me a reason to love you. He just couldn’t bring himself to speak on it. The mere thought made him feel wildly uncomfortable and wildly joyful. Since he couldn’t adequately respond, it was best not to until he could.
“The room I rented is directly across the corridor,” he told her, ignoring her last statement altogether. “You may go to bed. I will be there shortly. If you run into any hazardous situations in the three steps it takes to cross the corridor, then scream. I will come.”
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