“What is his name?”
“I named him Darnay, after my maternal grandfather.” He didn’t meet my gaze, watching the men as they moved about us. “We must send word to the king about the invasion.” He urged his mount forward to speak with Ryon.
I kept myself apart. Heart heavy with fears and questions, I traveled in silence.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Nine
Kyrenton spread beyond its own walls. I eyed the rise of stone above with a twinge of envy. Cottages speckled the landscape about the town, but few looked large enough to house more than a small family. Hills spread with fallow and harvested fields spread out from the town to the forest’s edge.
As we approached the walls, the gates lumbered opened. Irvaine lifted his left hand. Two of his men rode forward and unfurled a banner between them, a golden hart leaping on a field of green. The cloth snapped and flapped between their fisted hands, but the emblem remained clear.
A single man strode out from the gate. The green and golden cloth of his tunic and the badge on his chest of the same leaping hart declared his allegiance. His thin, gray hair whipped in the wind. He approached on foot, scanning our front lines for a sign of his new master. His gaze fell on me, the only female, and then flicked between Irvaine and Antano flanking me. Irvaine wore the same plain armor as the day he arrived at Wisenvale. With no way to identify his new master, the man weighed his options.
“My Lord Irvaine?” He bowed tentatively in my direction.
I glanced at Irvaine.
“Who wishes to know?” Antano asked.
“My lord.” The man bowed deeply to Antano. “I am Horacian, steward of Kyrenton.”
Irvaine kneed his horse forward a step. “I am Tomas Dyrease, Earl of Irvaine.”
Horacian paled at his mistake.
“This is my wife, Brielle Solarius of Wisenvale.”
Horacian bowed hesitatingly to me. I could see his mind working as he processed my identity. Whatever he thought of my origin, family, or village, he kept it from his features.
“Welcome to Kyrenton, my lord. If you would follow me, we will make you welcome.” Shoulders squared and head held high, he led us through the gate and into the town.
I clamped my jaw closed, but I couldn’t control the rising anxiety in my gut. A cobbled street wound between picturesque houses complete with freshly whitewashed faces and straight rows of shingles on their roofs. Each structure stood in sharp contrast to Wisenvale’s thatched cottages of worn stone. Only the interiors of our buildings were whitewashed and not often.
When we rounded the last turn and passed into the shadow of the vargar’s keep, I wanted to cry in despair. With thick stone walls and heavy wooden gates, the fortress offered protection and security to its new master. Add in the visibly well-maintained town and Irvaine would be a fool to return to Wisenvale after the crisis passed.
Where he lived, I must live.
The portcullis bared its teeth at me as we passed beneath it. Kurios, I want my home. My people.
A party of servants waited on the staircase into the keep and my heart sank further. Even the lowliest of the servants wore clothing richer than any I had ever owned. Simplicity, Kurios, I long for simplicity where we are all equals sharing in the burdens of survival.
“My lord, may I make known to you my daughter, Rolendis Briaren. She is the widow of Kolbent Briaren, late Earl of Irvaine.”
Irvaine tensed at the man’s name.
A young woman stepped forward to take her father’s extended hand. She curtsied deeply, dropping her head so a cascade of brunette curls fell about her face. The longest loops grazed the neckline of her low cut gown and the bosom beneath. She lifted doe-shaped eyes of golden brown and my heart froze in fear. Offset in a gown of rich blue, her skin glowed with health. The flutter of her thick eyelashes as she smiled winningly up at my husband made my palm itch to smack her.
Startled at the strength of my reaction, I turned my face away before she could look my way. I needed to give her a chance. Appearances could be deceiving.
“You must be mistaken.” Irvaine’s brows drew together. “She is too young for Kolbent. Surely you mean she is the widow of one of his sons.”
“Nay, my lord,” she answered. “I was Kolbent’s wife. Welcome to my…your new home.”
Irvaine studied her features. She smiled at him, returning his examination from beneath lowered lashes.
My stomach turned over. My inadequacies grew ugly in the splendor of those perfect features.
The steward laid a hand on his daughter’s arm. “If you would come this way, my lord, Sirs Jorndar, Rathenridge, and Landry have gathered to swear allegiance.”
Irvaine caught my arm the moment I gained my feet. My gratitude for his steadying touch dissolved into concern when I met his gaze.
“Do not allow them to separate us.”
“What do you suspect, my lord?”
He held my cheek for a moment. His rough leather gloves hurt my cold skin. Emotion flared behind his mask. Fear?
As I searched his face, questions flooded my mind. Had he seen something I missed? Did he suspect something? Surely Rolendis’ flirtation hadn’t disturbed him as it had me.
By the time he released my head, Rolendis had disappeared. Horacian ushered us forward with a sweep of his arm. “My lord?”
Irvaine straightened his shoulders, smoothed his cloak and tugged his metal breastplate into place. His emotional armor settled about him with the movements. When he turned to face his steward, all traces of the man disappeared beneath a neutral facade. He offered me his arm.
“Do you wish for some of us to remain behind?” Antano asked.
“Bring five.”
I rested my hand on Irvaine’s forearm, fingers light. He caught them and pulled my arm through his. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he whispered.
Liveried guards opened the doors to the keep. We followed Horacian up the stairs and through two sets of doors into the great hall beyond.
The hall rose to twice the height and thrice the length of our lord’s hall in Wisenvale. Three heavy iron torch rings hung from the ceiling, suspended there by thick ropes. Unlit, they menaced over us like dark guardians, their clawed undersides splayed for the kill.
“Tomas the mongrel!” A male voice, grating in its false jocularity, pulled my attention to the dais on the far end of the hall.
A broad-chested man with beefy arms straining his velvet sleeves sneered at Irvaine from the head table. If hatred could murder, my husband would have breathed his last then and there. Two men sat with the speaker at the head table. They rose almost as one to greet us. The scrape of wood on stone echoed with our footfalls in the empty room.
Irvaine’s steps never faltered. Invisible to our audience, though, the muscles of his arm coiled as he tightened his fisted fingers. He stopped abruptly at the base of the stairs to the dais and returned the man’s glare.
“I see you have grown older but not wiser, Jorndar.”
Jorndar spat in the rushes. His brief mirthless grin transformed into a scowl as he focused on Irvaine’s unchanged expression. “Your lofty height reveals your soiled linen in all its glory.”
“Be still, Jorndar.” A bear-sized man with wild hair black enough to absorb light laid a massive hand on the first man’s shoulder. “He is your liege lord now. Best not begin on the wrong footing.”
Jorndar laughed without humor. “What will he do? Go whining to King Mendal that his knights are misbehaving.”
“One of his knights.” The third man stepped around the end of the table. His hair flared red in the sunlight streaming from the high windows lining the walls. “I do not share your opinion. I doubt Landry does.”
Irvaine’s arm relaxed slightly at the redhead’s voice. Not even a flicker of recognition leaked into his expression, though.
“What, Rathenridge, afraid to tarnish your family name?” Jorndar turned on the red head. “Or is it too late? That rough wench
on Tomas’ arm looks like she hasn’t fallen far from your family tree.”
Antano stepped brazenly between Irvaine and the knights. He cleared his throat and began reading from the sheet of parchment in his hands. “In recognition of exceptional loyalty and sacrifice in the service of the crown of Rhynan, Tomas Nirren Dyrease is awarded the title, properties, and fealty rights of Kolbent Briaren, late Earl of Irvaine. By His Royal Majesty Alfren Riond Mendal’s decree all knights who refuse to honor the assumption of his choice to the title shall be deemed treasonous and subject to the full extent of the laws of the land.”
Jorndar snorted. “Swear fealty to a baseborn, never.” He proceeded to describe Irvaine’s mother in terms that burned my ears. My stomach turned at the images.
One moment Irvaine’s arm looped mine. The next, Jorndar stopped speaking mid word. Irvaine’s sword tip rested against his throat. They locked gazes along the length of metal.
“Leave.” The clipped tone of the single word echoed in the sudden silence.
Jorndar’s fingers sought the hilt of his sword.
The bear man, Landry, caught Jorndar’s elbow. “I might not have spoken the loyalty oath, but that will not slow my sword arm should you draw that blade.”
“Nor mine.” Rathenridge hooked a thumb on the belt next to his own weapon. “You are no longer welcome here.”
Jorndar released his grip on his blade. Otherwise, he made no sign of acquiescence.
Irvaine lowered his arm, but not his glare.
The silence pressed in as everyone waited for one of the men to move. The changing colors of Jorndar’s face starkly contrasted the cold stone of Irvaine’s.
“This isn’t over, Dyrease.” Jorndar spat toward Irvaine’s boot. “You are fools to follow him.” He shoved Irvaine’s shoulder as he strode past.
We all listened for the heavy thud of the outer door.
“Antano?” Irvaine’s even tones broke the awkwardness.
“My lord?”
“See that he and his cohort are escorted from my land.”
Acknowledging the order with a salute, Antano handed the parchment to the steward and quick-stepped after Jorndar.
“I take it you are acquainted with Jorndar,” Landry commented. He studied Irvaine’s face with mild amusement.
“A childhood playmate,” Irvaine replied, his eyes still on the distant door.
Landry roared with laughter. “I doubt anyone called him playmate then. Tormentor, bully, or oppressor would be more believable.”
“He was all of those and more.” Rathenridge laid a hand on Irvaine’s shoulder. “Why does he worry you so, Tomas? He is only a man, and one of little status or consequence now that you have a title.”
“How many men does he command?”
“One hundred fifty, hardly an army. Why do you ask?”
Irvaine sheathed his sword. “Because we are at war. Any inconvenience, no matter how small could be enough to decide the result.” He fell into the closest seat.
“War?” Rathenridge met Landry’s gaze.
Horacian’s gasp pulled my attention to him. “We just accomplished peace.”
Irvaine explained without lifting his head. “A baron from the west took Wisenvale two days ago.”
“What were you doing there?” Rathenridge asked.
Irvaine shot him a weary frown. “Claiming my bride and establishing a resident army to prevent just such an action.”
“Wife?” Rathenridge’s attention transferred to me. “My condolences, Lady Irvaine. King’s orders?”
His strange mixture of humor and seriousness upset my equilibrium. “So he told me.” My voice sounded strange in the huge room.
“I would believe him, my lady. Marriage is one topic Tomas takes very seriously.”
I peered into his face struggling to ascertain what he meant. So far, my husband took most things with a large measure of gravity.
“If King Mendal ordered you to establish an army presence in Wisenvale, why are you here?” Landry asked.
“Supplies.” Irvaine sighed.
“My cousin has been draining the village dry for years,” I explained. I didn’t like the way Landry had looked at Irvaine. It was as though he thought the worst of him. I reminded myself that Landry didn’t know him as I did.
“My wife speaks the truth.” Irvaine briefly outlined the situation. “I left behind half the men to defend Wisenvale and prepare the village for the winter. Which reminds me…Horacian?”
The steward stepped to my side and offered a bow.
“I need the account books, harvest records, and the latest census logs.”
Horacian’s face drained of color. I was tempted to lay a hand on his arm to steady him.
“My lord, I did not expect you to ask for them so soon…. I mean, we didn’t–”
Irvaine’s gaze narrowed on his steward. “In whatever state they may be, I need the records.”
The steward took a shaky breath, wavering slightly with the effort. For an apparently healthy man, he appeared suddenly ill. “I cannot, my lord.”
The air thickened. Irvaine stood and stepped down off the dais. After crossing the short distance separating him and us, he asked, “Why?”
The single word, uttered calmly, wrought a singular effect. Horacian sank to his knees. “Sir Jorndar took them. He claimed them as his right as the late Lord Irvaine’s heir apparent. He showed me King Trentham’s decree. It had his seal. He said Mendal would honor it because of the child. I believed him or I would have never–”
“Aiden?” Irvaine turned to Rathenridge who was already trotting toward the back of the room.
“Enroute.” He called over his shoulder as he forced the heavy outer door open and disappeared into the sunlight beyond.
Irvaine looked down at the man before him and asked the question burning my tongue. “What child?”
“Rolendis is with child.”
My hands grew cold. Another innocent life had been thrown into the mess. I wanted to cry.
“Is the child her husband’s?”
Horacian’s head snapped up, fire flaring in his eyes. “Are you accusing my daughter of unfaithfulness, my lord?”
“No, I am asking the question that every man, woman, and child will ask for the rest of the child’s life unless we can prove beyond doubt that the child is legitimate. Have no fear. I mean her and the babe no harm. I simply must know. The answer determines how we proceed.”
Wary trust flickered in the steward’s features. He swallowed carefully. “Four months past, Lord…my late master sent for Rolendis. She traveled to join him at the battlefront and returned a month later.”
Relief lightened the lines around Irvaine’s mouth. “Good. Then it is his.” He met my gaze briefly before moving toward the dais and the waiting Landry.
“My lord?” Horacian scrambled to his feet. “What will happen to my daughter?”
Irvaine looked at me, a question in his eyes. I answered it.
“We will make sure she and the child are cared for and protected.”
Horacian relaxed into relief. “Thank you, my lady.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Ten
Horacian led Irvaine, Lord Landry, and me to a barren room. A massive table hunkered beneath the single window. Stacks of books, parchment, ink, and candle nubs crowded the surface as though the master only stepped away for a second. A chair, the only one in the room, stood against the wall opposite the door.
“My lady, let me.” Horacian dusted off the chair. After bowing me into it, he bowed to Irvaine. “The late Lord Irvaine used this room for conducting business, but we haven’t used it recently. Do you wish for refreshment, my lord?”
“Yes.” He raised his brows to Landry.
“Not for me, my lord.”
“Repast for two then.”
Horacian bowed once again before leaving us alone. Landry moved to the corner opposite the door and leaned back against the stone.
Irvaine pac
ed the length of the room, seven strides, and then the breadth, four. Returning to the center, he faced Landry. “How would you recommend we proceed?”
“I say we wait for the King’s response.” Landry crossed his arms as though to indicate the strength of his stance.
“We can’t,” I said.
Irvaine leaned back against the heavy table. Arms folded across his chest and shoulders hunched, he studied the floor as though it would reveal the solution to the quandary before us.
Landry’s gaze flicked between us. “Why?
“One of the captives is my best friend.” I met Landry’s piercing gaze with more strength than I felt. “Lord Wisten has taken a special interest in her before. I fear for her life and…” A sudden lump pressed against the back of my throat. I choked on the words.
Irvaine straightened. “The king commissioned me to marry, settle in Wisenvale, and see that the eastern border was defended. Those women and children in the invader’s grasp are the wives and families of my men. I intend to move against this invader the instant it is feasible.” He crossed to confront Landry. “Can I count on your men?”
“All four hundred of my men are yours. Only seventy-five of them attend me now, but I can summon the rest in a matter of days.”
“How many days?”
“Three at the most.”
Irvaine frowned. “Did you notice how many Rathenridge brought with him?”
Landry grunted. “I counted eighty plus his wife and two companions. I would expect him to send her home upon his departure. She prefers her own hearth. Also, they left three young children behind.”
Irvaine laughed. “Rathenridge has children?”
“Indeed, three daughters.”
“That must be a sight to see.” Irvaine shook away the thought. “How many does he command?”
Duty: a novel of Rhynan Page 6