The Du Lac Devil: Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles

by Mary Yarde

  “You are worried something is going to happen to me?” Merton quizzed, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He touched her face gently with the back of his hand, and she lent into the caress. “Alden has been thrown in the dungeons. I need to get him out. If you don’t want to go back inside, then you can wait for me in the tunnel.”

  “If Alden is in the dungeons then there is nothing you can do. You will not be able to get him out. It is impossible.”

  “Jesus turned water into wine, and they said that was impossible,” Merton stated, smiling.

  “You are not Jesus.”

  “No, I am not.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “I would be drunk all the time if I were.”

  She didn’t smile at his jest, and he feared that she would never smile again.

  “I have to try to get him out. I would not be able to live with myself if I did not. I can’t leave him there.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “But Merton, I am so scared.”

  It was wrong to bring her with him. Wann was right; this was no place for her. She should have gone back with Wann to the camp. Emma would have comforted her, and Yrre would have protected her. What had he been thinking?

  He felt torn. Torn between his duty to Alden and his duty to Amandine. He couldn’t leave her alone in the tunnel. What if something happen to him? No one would know she was there. And he couldn’t take her back to the camp, there wasn’t time, not if he wanted to get Alden out the dungeons.

  “I know you are scared. But if you do everything I say then no harm will come to you. Do not argue with me. Do not question me. If I say hide, you hide. If I say run, you run and you do not look back. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling as she spoke.

  “Good.” Merton opened the door and stepped outside. The courtyard was awash with torchlight, but it was strangely deserted except for the guards who patrolled the battlements and the portcullis. A stranger would have no idea that the King of this kingdom had been forcefully removed only a few hours previous. Merton could not help but admire Philippe for his skill at such a successful change of power without any needless blood loss. But then again, this could all go pear shaped at any minute and instead of tranquillity, Philippe could, if he decided to, paint the walls of Benwick with blood.

  “Don’t walk too close,” Merton advised as Amandine followed him out of the building. “You are a soldier. Keep your head up, but don’t look anyone in the eye.”

  Merton made his way through the courtyard and Amandine followed behind him. Sometimes she walked a little close, and he would lengthen his stride to keep the appropriate amount of space between them. They navigated the courtyard without incident and made their way into the castle.

  Unlike the courtyard, the castle was buzzing with people. Many wore shocked expressions on their faces, while others appeared overly animated, chatting excitedly about the recent turn of events and what that would mean for the kingdom and, more importantly, what that would mean for them.

  Merton led the way up the steps. He planned to deliver Amandine safely to her chamber so that she could pack. They had almost made it to the top of the staircase when their progression was halted by Bastian, the General of the army. He ordered them to stop and state their business. Merton had a mind to keep on walking, but when Bastian asked again, he turned around and faced his adversary.

  “What the…” Bastian stuttered when he saw Merton and Lady Amandine dressed in du Lac uniforms, and he wondered which of his men had died so that they could wear them. His hand reached for the pommel of his sword.

  “No,” Merton said quickly. “I have pledged my loyalty to Philippe. I pledged it this afternoon.”

  Beside him, Amandine gasped in surprise.

  Bastian’s hand moved away from the pommel of his sword, but he eyed Merton with suspicion.

  “Then you will know that Benwick is no longer a haven for a du Lac,” Bastian stated. “Or a former one, for that matter,” he said, looking at Amandine, who shrunk back under his hard gaze.

  “I am aware of that,” Merton said. “But Alden came here in peace.”

  “He did,” Bastian agreed. “But, Wessex has a bounty on Alden’s head, and Philippe needs the money. There is no money in the treasury. Budic has spent it all.”

  “Philippe would willingly incite a war with Cerniw for a few coins?” Merton asked sceptically. “He must understand that if Alden dies or is given to Wessex, then justice will be sought. Cerniw’s army will sharpen their blades and they will come here and seek their revenge.”

  Bastian shook his head in disagreement. “You overestimate your brother’s army. They are no doubt brave, but they would not stand against our cavalry.”

  “If you want to test their resolve then go ahead and kill him,” Merton stated. “But I promise you; it will be no easy win.”

  The two men stared each other down, both bristling with rage.

  “War is coming,” Bastian spoke first although he did not lower his eyes. “It is just a matter of time. What is done is done. Alden’s fate is now in the hands of the King. Neither you or I can change that fact.”

  “I do not believe in fate,” Merton stated.

  “No. I don’t suppose you do. Merton, I didn’t want this. But I had no choice. Budic owes the men six months worth of wages. The food is atrocious, and the living conditions are horrendous. It is borrowed money that paid for the Queen’s funeral. Benwick is falling apart. Surely you have noticed the dilapidated state of the buildings? We couldn’t go on as it was. Something needed to change. I don’t want Alden to die. Out of all of you, he was always my favourite. Budic was a spoilt, selfish child who grew up to become an indulged, conceited adult. Garren was a liar and a cheat and don’t you dare think of defending him,” he pointed at Amandine while he spoke. “Your husband had so many lovers it was a wonder he spent any time in your bed. And yet, you make a fool of yourself with your ridiculous display of grief. You cry for a man who did not love you and who was never faithful to you. No wonder everyone laughs at you behind your back.”

  “Not another word,” Merton warned, his voice like ice. “He is lying don’t listen to him.”

  “I am not lying. You knew what Garren was, Merton, so don’t stand there and pretend that you do not. The truth always hurts, my dear.” Bastian stated arrogantly, addressing Amandine again. “But it is still the truth.”

  Amandine stepped back, shaking her head in denial. Garren had been faithful to her, and those nights he stayed away were because matters of state kept him away. No. It wasn’t true. Bastian was lying. Garren loved her. She would have fled from this horrible man if Merton had not caught at her arm, preventing her from leaving.

  “Garren isn’t worth your tears, my dear,” Bastian growled. “Garren was a womanising bastard who couldn’t keep his breeches on. And as for you,” Bastian’s glare returned to Merton, and he eyed him with contempt. “The bounty on your head is so high, I am surprised you are not a head shorter.”

  “Does Mordred Pendragon pay well?” Merton asked, instead of rising to Bastian’s bait. “Have you been lining your pockets with his silver all this time?”

  “Mordred Pendragon is dead,” Bastian spoke a little too quickly. “He died at Camlann years ago. How dare you…” Bastian raised his voice and then with a great deal of effort he lowered it again. “How dare you mention that man’s name here, of all places. Mordred was a butcher. By God, he was worse than you. The things he did-”

  “And yet you favour him?” Merton interrupted. “Why? What hold does he have over you?”

  “Mordred is dead,” Bastian insisted.

  “You think I am too young to remember. But I am not. Mordred came here once. I remember looking down on him from the battlements.” Merton said.

  “Mordred was never here, you imagined it.”

  “He came to plea for peace between our two families. But my father would not receive him because he didn’t trust the son of
Arthur. So in revenge, Mordred set fire to the harbour. He caused a lot of damage, and he killed a lot of people. He then fled back to Briton. Natanleod caught up with him at Camlann. Natanleod told father that he delivered a fatal blow and Mordred had crawled away from the battle and had died in a ditch. But he didn’t die, did he?”

  “Of course he died,” Bastian insisted.

  “You are lying. I can see it in your face. He is here, isn’t he? You let him in. Why? Who is he to you?”

  Bastian shook his head. “You are mistaken.”

  “BASTIAN!” Philippe’s voiced echoed down the corridor.

  “I’ll not ask you why you betrayed Budic, for that is something you must settle with God at a later date, but please, for the love you had for our father, help me get Alden out of here.”

  “My hands are tied,” Bastian stated. “I cannot help you.”

  Philippe called Bastian’s name again. This time, it was followed by an obscenity that questioned Bastian’s parentage.

  “Go,” Bastian commanded. “If Philippe sees you in those uniforms there will be hell to pay. And Merton…” Bastian paused and something shifted in his eyes. “Get the hell out of here while you still can.”

  “I will not leave without Alden.”

  “Then I fear you will not leave at all,” Bastian replied quietly.

  34

  Merton shut the door of his chamber and turned the key. He let out a breath he did not realise he was holding. He knew he should take Bastian’s advice. This was a time to run, to fall back and plan like he had done when Yrre had been taken prisoner. But unlike Yrre, he feared that if he did not act soon, then Alden would die which would cause a war like none that had come before. If the armies of Cerniw and Benwick ever met, it would end in carnage.

  Amandine was in no fit state to go to her room alone, so he had brought her here. If he could see her, then he could protect her and right now, she needed him.

  “What he said about Garren, is it true?” Amandine asked, her voice weak and full of suffering.

  Merton turned back around to look at her. The clothes she wore drowned her slight frame, and her eyes were red-rimmed, puffy, and swollen.

  “No,” Merton lied. “They were not. Garren loved you. Do not ever think that he did not. When he spoke of you, his eyes would light up with love, and when he was with you, you could see it on his face. He was devoted to you.”

  “You are an appalling liar,” Amandine said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “But I thank you for the effort.” She screwed up her eyes and clasped her hand across her mouth as if that would somehow stop the tears.

  Merton threw off his helmet and tossed it to the floor where it rattled and rolled across the room, finally coming to settle under the bed. He crossed to where Amandine stood in three short strides.

  He carefully took the helmet from her head and tossed it carelessly to the floor to join the other. He saw the nasty welt across her face where Jenison had hit her, and he cursed, touching the red mark gently with his fingers.

  Without saying a word, for what words could he possibly use? he took her hand and led her over to the table. He picked up a bowl from the floor and filled it with tepid water from a jug.

  She watched, not understanding what he was about, as he dipped a cloth in the bowl. He then gently began to wash the blood from her face.

  Merton had seen enough women frantically clean themselves after they had suffered abuse and he figured Amandine would want to do the same thing. So he wasn’t surprised when she suddenly grabbed the cloth off him and hastily tore at her clothes, not caring for modesty, and began to scrub her skin more vigorously, trying to get the smell of Jenison and the dead soldier off her.

  Her skin crawled where Jenison had touched her, and she rubbed herself harder and harder still until Merton stopped her with his hands.

  Merton took the cloth from her hands and reached for a small bottle of diluted Lavender oil. He poured some of the oil onto his hands and then, starting with her neck, he began to wash her, to clean away Jenison’s blood, his foul sent and cruel touches.

  She did not protest, and she did not close her eyes at his ministrations. She shook, she could not stop herself from shaking, but it was not with fear because of what Merton was doing to her. For she knew deep inside that he would die before hurting her, she could see that every time he looked at her. And there was nothing sensual about what he was doing. He saw her fear, saw her need, and had taken it upon himself to help her. She had never met anyone like him. How could she not have fallen in love with him?

  Tears fell silently down her cheeks, and she whimpered when he touched the bruising on her breast, he stopped and looked at her, waiting for permission to continue. She nodded her head, despite her tears, because his hands were so gentle and she so desperately wanted to be clean.

  Once he had washed her all over, he dried her with the same gentleness she had always seen in him. Like a child, he dressed her in one of his tunics that came down to her knees. He smiled at her then and breathed out unsteadily.

  “My brave girl,” he whispered, and he stooped to pick her up, carrying her over to the bed. He lay her down and pulled a warm fur over her. He tucked her in, cared for her. It had been a long time, she realised, since anyone had cared for her.

  “I can still taste his blood in my mouth,” she said, her eyes clinging to his. “I bit him,” she explained.

  “Good for you,” he answered, he got up and went back to the table where he pulled from a basket a clean cloth and a small clay jar filled with the ashes of rosemary. He handed Amandine the cloth and the rosemary. While she scrubbed her teeth, he poured her a goblet full of rich red wine. He took the cloth away from her and gave her the goblet. “Put it in your mouth, gargle it and then spit it out,” he advised, as he grabbed an empty goblet from the table. “It will help with the taste,” he said. She did as he instructed, although she did not feel adequately cleansed until she had used up three whole goblets of wine.

  “Lie down,” he said softly. “Try and get some sleep. You need to rest and regain your strength.”

  “Is it true what you said about Mordred? Do you think he is alive? Do you think he is here?”

  “I know he is,” Merton answered.

  “Then you must go.”

  “No. He is the reason I must stay. I will not let Alden die by his hands.”

  “Did you really pledge yourself to Philippe?”

  “Yes,” Merton answered. “But not for the reasons that you think,” he said quickly as he saw her eyes fill with the agony of betrayal.

  “You hate Budic, I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. Can you remember how I used to beat you at King’s Table?”

  “You were always the better strategist,” Amandine allowed. “What does a game have to do with what is going on here?”

  “The King can only escape if he outwits his opponent. It is the same in the real world. A King must have his wits. Without them, he has nothing and defeat is assured. Alden has wits, as do I. While Alden seemingly supported Budic, I pledged myself to Philippe.”

  “I still don’t understand, what are you saying? I thought you were helping Budic, you came to me and asked me to…” Fresh tears appeared in her eyes.

  “That wasn’t my idea, that was Budic’s,” Merton said softly. “Alden and I, we made a conscious decision to support both sides. Alden was stuck here, and I would not leave him alone to face this threat. We tried to be allies to both.”

  “You are playing one off against the other?”

  “No. That was not our intention. We were biding our time. Waiting for the weather to take a turn for the better so we could leave this place. But, when I heard that Budic had been taken prisoner, I decided to offer my hand to Philippe. I knew Alden would have done the same. Of course, I didn’t know then, that Alden had already been taken prisoner.”

  “What will you do?” Amandine asked.

  “I am a mercenary. I have no honour. My word is
worthless. But…if Philippe believes me a friend, then it gives me the freedom of the castle and it means I can try to rescue my brother.”

  “If you have the freedom of the castle then why did we sneak back in?” Her gaze wandered to the recently discarded uniform that had been left in a heap on the floor.

  “I could not bring you back through the gates with a ripped dress and if things go wrong-”

  “Don’t say it,” Amandine begged.

  “If things go wrong for me, there is nothing to connect you with me or with Jenison’s death. You were in the castle all this time.”

  He touched her face gently with the back of his hand, and she leant into the caress.

  “Will you petition Philippe for Alden’s release?” she asked quietly.

  “Philippe will not hand him over to me just because I ask him to. At best he will ransom him, at worst…”

  “He will kill him.” Amandine finished the sentence.

  “I will not let that happen, and I can’t risk waiting to see which way the wind blows. The changing of the guards occurs just before dawn. Bastian is a creature of habit. I very much doubt he will change his routine, just because Philippe sits on the throne. This gives me a small window of opportunity to get into the dungeons and to get Alden out.”

  “Even without a guard, the dungeon’s door is locked,” Amandine stated.

  “I am a mercenary, Amandine,” Merton said with a smile. “I know how to pick a lock.”

  “It’s too dangerous-”

  Merton shook his head. “I will get him out, trust me.”

  She seemed to consider his words for a few moments and then, coming to a decision, she reached for his hand. “Will you stay with me?” she asked, winding her fingers through his.

  “I am not going anywhere for a while yet.”

  “No, I mean here, on the bed. I want you to hold me.” Merton’s touch was not like Jenison’s. His hand was warm and reassuring. She looked at their hands. Her hand was tiny in his, insignificant. He had broken those soldiers necks with these hands. He could hurt her so easily if he wanted to. Her hands were in those of a murderer, a devil and yet…she had never felt safer.