Medieval Master Warlords (69 page)

“We have arrived at the castle your son has confiscated from Lord de Velt,” he said in simple terms. “Do you recall I told you of this back at Lioncross?”

John Morgan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

“I told you that your son, Bretton, has seized Lord de Velt’s daughter and he is holding her hostage to seek vengeance for your death.”

Again, John Morgan nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

Christopher leaned forward on his saddle, fixed on John Morgan’s bright blue eyes. “We are going to present you to your son in exchange for de Velt’s daughter,” he said. “I told you this before. It is very important that you accept that Bretton de Llion is your son. We will explain to him that you do not remember him and I am not entirely sure how he is going to accept that, but it is very important that you go with the man so we can secure de Velt’s daughter. You are a soldier, Morgan. This is your duty to help save this young woman. Do what you can to keep your son calm, at least until we can spirit her away. Is this clear?”

“Aye, my lord.”

Even though John Morgan acknowledged the order, it was anyone’s guess as to how much he really understood. Christopher’s gaze considered John Morgan before seeking out Berwyn.

The old man was several feet away, looking pale and worn. Of anyone, this entire venture seemed to be taking the greatest toll on Berwyn with his long-lost son and grandson involved. Christopher’s heart hurt for the man but there wasn’t time for that now. They had a job to do.

“You will come with us, Berwyn,” he said. “Mayhap we can overwhelm de Llion with his father and grandfather, enough so that we can get Lady Allaston away without harm. I would much rather handle this peacefully if we can.”

Berwyn nodded with resignation. “I will come, my lord.”

As Jax took John Morgan with him and headed for the clearing in the distance, Christopher reined his charger next to Berwyn as the old man secured his helm atop his head. There was lethargy to his movements, something that was sad to watch from the usually spry old man.

“I am sorry things have turned out this way, Berwyn,” Christopher said quietly. “Although I am glad for you that Morgan and Bretton have been discovered alive, the circumstances of their lives are less than desirable. Hopefully, with time, that will change.”

Berwyn nodded stoically. “We shall see, my lord,” he said. “But, at this moment… I wish they were still dead to me. My memories of them are fond ones, but this new reality… I am not so sure I like it. I do not want the new, sad memories to destroy the old.”

Christopher reached out and patted the old man on the shoulder before they drove their chargers onward, across the road and into the field opposite Cloryn’s front gates. As the day around them deepened, the bright blue sky above was cheery and clear, hardly indicative of the turmoil about to happen beneath it.

The turmoil of a dead father returned to a dead son.

℘

As Rod approached Cloryn’s gates, he noticed a small forest of poles stuck in the ground surrounding the road leading up to the gatehouse. It looked like a bunch of tree trunks, reduced to stumps, emerging from the soil. As he slowed his charger to a walk, it occurred to him that these were the remains of the poles upon which people had been impaled. It was no secret that Bretton had been emulating Jax de Velt’s pattern of conquest and as Rod plodded up the road towards the gatehouse, he couldn’t help but feel the terror and pain that must have gone on at this place. He could almost hear the screams of the men as poles were rammed up their anus. The mere thought made him shudder and he swallowed hard, trying to push aside the horrific mental images.

His gaze moved to the walls of Cloryn, tall barriers constructed from mottled gray stone. Evil and fear radiated from the very walls, and the phantoms of the dead swirled about him. God, there was so much wickedness here. Rod could see men at the top, looking down upon him, so he slowed his pace as he drew near the entry and lifted his visor. The two-storied gatehouse loomed before him, the drawbridge raised and the moat, soiled with mud and muck and unspeakable filth, filled the air with its stench. Wary, and cautious, Rod finally pulled his steed to a halt. The time was upon him to speak.

“My name is Sir Rod de Titouan,” he bellowed. “I am a cousin to Bretton de Llion. I have come to speak with him!”

He could see men moving around on top of the parapets and he could hear voices. There was a good deal of scuffling going on but no one called back to him or acknowledged him. Rod waited a nominal amount of time, watching them move about, before shouting again.

“I would speak with Bretton de Llion,” he yelled. “I have come with the armies of de Lohr and de Velt. Tell de Llion I am here!”

More shuffling and voices. As Rod waited with some impatience, a voice eventually called down to him from the junction where the wall met the gatehouse.

“Rod?” Bretton called down to him. “What are you doing here?”

Rod looked up, spying Bretton on the wall above. He could see his face but little more. He waved a hand at the man.

“Greetings, cousin,” he said. “I suppose you did not think you would see me again so soon.”

Bretton didn’t say anything for a moment. “Why are
you
here?” he asked again. “I asked only for de Velt.”

“And he is here,” Rod said. “He received your demands and has come. But first, I have been instructed to see his daughter to ensure that she is in good health. Will you produce her for me, please?”’

“And if I do not?”

Rod cocked his head. “Do you really think that every demand you make will be met without question?” he asked. “There are times when you must give a little in order to receive. It is not an unusual or terrible request to want to see if your hostage is still in good health, is it? You should not be reluctant to show that she is.”

Bretton was displeased by Rod’s reply but he sent Teague, who was standing near him, to fetch Allaston. As the big knight headed off the wall, Bretton remained fixed on Rod down below.

“She is in very good health,” he finally said. “You saw her when we met in Newtown.”

Rod nodded, pulling off his helm and wiping at the copious amount of sweat on his forehead. “I did indeed,” he replied. “But I want to make sure she is still healthy and whole before we move forward in this process.”

“And what would moving forward entail?”

Rod put his helm back on, looking up at Bretton with a rather guarded expression. “I would like to relay terms but I will not shout them for all to hear,” he said. “Will you come down off the wall and face me? Or do you prefer hiding away to meeting me face to face as you did in Newtown?”

It was a moderate insult, surprising from usually-congenial Rod. Bretton sighed heavily. Nay, he didn’t particularly want his men hearing everything that was spoken, especially where it pertained to Allaston. He thought it best to keep control of the situation by not having communication between him and Rod so spread out. Meeting the man face to face was a better alternative.

“Remain where you are,” he told Rod. “I will come to you.”

With that, he climbed off the wall and made his way to the gatehouse, instructing the sentries to lower the heavy drawbridge. As the ropes and chains holding the panel in place began to creak and groan as the bridge was lowered, Bretton stood in the entry, waiting for Allaston to be brought forth. The bridge was almost down entirely by the time Teague brought her out of the keep. Bretton could see them heading towards him and the sight of the woman, after what had happened between them earlier, had his heart racing. The emotions, the love he felt for her, were running wild and he was having difficulty keeping his head.

Allaston had changed from the yellow wool and back into the dark blue brocade that made her pale skin look smooth and milky. Teague had her by the arm as he brought her to Bretton, who waved his commander off as he took Allaston by the wrist. Their eyes met and the flood of emotions burst forth, each one feeling so much more than they ever dreamed possible. Making love that morning had been a glorious mistake. Now, things were even more entrenched between them. Bretton’s heart ached simply to look at her.

“My cousin, Rod, has come as a messenger from your father’s army,” he told her quietly. “He has been sent to ensure you are still in good health.”

Allaston nodded reluctantly. “Is my father here?”

Bretton led her towards the portcullis, still lowered, as Rod remained on the road just beyond the drawbridge.

“He is,” Bretton said. “I have not seen him yet. Rod has been sent as an advanced messenger to relay their terms.”

Terms that would involve her. Allaston stood against the portcullis, peering at Rod on the other side. When Rod saw the lady looking at him, he waved at her.

“My lady,” he said. “I have come to makes sure you are well.”

Allaston’s eyes met the well-armed knight. “I am,” she replied. “Where is my father?”

Rod turned around, looking over his shoulder at the field behind him. He could see four riders there, in the distance, watching him from amongst the green grass and scattered trees. He returned his attention to Allaston.

“Out there,” he said, pointing back to the field. “Bretton, may I come closer so I may speak privately to you?”

Bretton nodded. “Come forth.”

Rod dismounted his charger and, leaving the animal to graze next to the road on fat green grass, he made his way across the drawbridge, his boots creating great clodding noises as he walked. When he came to within a few feet of the portcullis, he came to a halt. His bright blue eyes met with those of his cousin and he could feel himself becoming emotional about the situation. After a moment, he shook his head as if suffering a loss of words.

“So much of my family is involved with this,” he finally muttered. “It is very hard not to feel badly for what is happening. I have been instructed to tell you that de Lohr has no intention of attacking Cloryn and will keep the army at bay providing you bring de Velt’s daughter and meet him on neutral territory, away from the walls of the castle.”

Bretton looked over Rod’s shoulder, seeing the four horsemen in the distance. “Who has de Lohr brought with him?”

Rod was careful in how he answered. “De Velt is with him,” he said, avoiding most of the question. “That is who you want to see, is it not?”

Bretton’s gaze still focused on the men in the distance. “There are more than just two riders there,” he said, looking at Rod. “Who else is with him?”

Rod met his gaze steadily. “No one who will hurt you or be a threat to you,” he said quietly. “Bring Lady Allaston and whoever else you feel you want to accompany you and come with me.”

That wasn’t the answer Bretton was looking for. Now, he was becoming suspicious. “
Who
else is there, Rod?”

Rod could see that Bretton wasn’t going anywhere unless he told him. He wanted to lie about it but he wasn’t sure that was wise. In fact, it was probably better if he was truthful with him. There was so much at stake here, for all of them.

“Grandfather is there,” he finally said, watching Bretton’s expression flicker with surprise. “And… and someone else.”

“
Who
else?”

Rod sighed heavily. “Do you fear the fourth rider so much that you would refuse to come unless I tell you?”

Bretton crossed his big arms. “Nay,” he said. “I do not fear anyone. But now you have made me wildly curious and until you tell me who all four riders are, I will not come and neither will the lady.”

Rod met his cousin’s gaze with steely determination. “And if you do not come, then they will let loose almost three thousand men on Cloryn. This castle will not survive such a siege and you know it.”

“Then why will you not tell me who the fourth rider is?”

“Because I am afraid you will not believe me.”

“Would you lie to me, then?”

“Never.”

“Then tell me and I will believe you.”

Rod had no choice. He eyed the lady, still standing there, listening to everything that had been said, before refocusing on his cousin again.

“I would prefer to tell you in private,” he said softly.

Bretton shook his head. “I have no secrets from Lady Allaston,” he replied. “She is involved in this situation as much as I am. You may speak freely in front of her.”

Rod wiped a weary hand over his face, turning to look at the four riders in the field, pondering their identities, before returning his focus to Bretton.

“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “But in order to tell you who the fourth rider is, I must give you some background. When de Velt came to de Lohr those weeks ago and asked for his assistance in mediating Lady Allaston’s release, it was inevitable that there were discussions of de Velt’s past events. It was also inevitable that the siege of Four Crosses was discussed. In the course of discussing the dead of Four Crosses, your family included, we came to discover that de Velt had not killed a few of the men. He took some of them for forced labor. One man in particular was discussed during the course of the conversation. He had a terrible head injury that had prevented him from remembering anything other than his name. He was a big man, very strong, and after de Velt was finished with him, he went to Alnwick Castle and served as a bodyguard to the Earl of Northumberland. This man gave his name as Morgan, and over the years he became known as John Morgan. Bretton, I am here to tell you that I have met John Morgan. Your father did not perish during the fall of Four Crosses Castle. By some miracle he survived and has been living in Northumberland under the name of John Morgan. John Morgan is the fourth rider.”