Bay of Fear (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 3)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Tenner eyed him. “She is coming from Northumbria, my lord,” he said. “She is not even allowed to rest before we head to the western coast?”

  Ivor shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “Her trunks will be packed when she arrives, so she will be ready to continue on. Her stop at Seven Crosses will be for the wedding and nothing more. She will assume her wifely duties alongside you at Baiadepaura.”

  Tenner thought that was rather cruel, but he didn’t comment. Women were weak creatures and he was of the school that they should be respected and treated with care, but Ivor wasn’t of that same mindset.

  It was all business as far as FitzJohn was concerned, and nothing would stand in his way.

  Excusing himself from his lord’s solar, Tenner headed out of the tall, square-shaped keep and into the night beyond. It was a damp night, and cold, with a fog rolling in from the sea and settling heavily upon the moors. He could smell the salt in the air and feel the dampness on his skin.

  Overhead, the fog wasn’t quite thick enough yet to obscure the moon and he glanced up, seeing the streaks over the moon, creating a wraith-like image.

  Ghosts.

  Baiadepaura Castle was famous for them. Everyone in Cornwall and western Devon had heard of the haunting of Baiadepaura, how the specter of an evil lord roamed the grounds, looking for the gold he’d buried in the walls. At least, that was the rumor. Some said there was also a lady dressed in a pale gown who wandered the battlements, only to be seen on moonless nights. Legend said that if a man saw the lady in white, his death would follow shortly.

  All sorts of rumors swirled around Baiadepaura, which Ivor had readily discounted. That was easy for him to do, considering he wasn’t going to be there. Truthfully, Tenner wasn’t sure he believed in any of that. He was a man of reason. But he wasn’t so sure of things that he didn’t have some doubt. Where there was smoke, there was fire…

  And where there were legends, there was quite possibly some truth to them.

  Unfortunately, Tenner was about to find out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The morning was completely blanketed in white.

  Emerging from the old tavern she’d spent the night in, a woman wrapped in dark green wool paused just outside the door, seeing that the land around her was, literally, white. The sun was up, so there was some illumination to the mist, but she’d never seen such fog in her entire life.

  “Lady Annalyla!”

  Someone was calling her name, but she couldn’t see who it was. There could have been an army of cutthroats out there for all she knew and, being blinded by the white, she could very well walk right into them. So much for her first trip away from home and her hopes on finding a pleasant marriage. Her husband would be a widower before she even arrived.

  Blasted fog!

  “My lady, over here!”

  Blinking, trying to orient her vision, she saw movement over to her left. Coming through the fog was the commander of her escort, her father’s only knight, who had led her and the St. Lo contingent all the way from Roseden Castle in Northumberland to Devon. That was where they were now. It had already taken them seventeen days to reach this point, and Lady Annalyla St. Lo was coming to think they would never reach their destination. Her entire life seemed to be consumed with travel, that monotonous existence of endlessly rutted roads, mud, and foul weather. But it was all quite necessary to reach the prize at the end of the journey.

  The prize of a prestigious young knight from a wealthy family.

  “Good morn, Graham,” she said to the knight, an older man with pocked skin. “How close are we to Seven Crosses?”

  Sir Graham de Lave pointed a finger off into the fog. “We should be there by the nooning hour, my lady,” he said. “If this fog would lift, you could see the country this far south. It is quite pleasant to behold.”

  She pulled her expensive woolen cloak tighter around her, the cloak that had taken the last of her family’s ready fortune to purchase.

  “Hopefully, I shall see it at some point,” she said. “Is Mother Angel in the carriage?”

  Graham nodded. “Aye, my lady.”

  He reached out to take her by the elbow and help her navigate the muddy road. The heavily-fortified carriage was there, the one that the de Velt family had loaned them for the trip, considering Annalyla was marrying the eldest de Velt son. It was a fine thing with iron and wooden sides and roof, and cushioned benches inside big enough to lay down upon. Annalyla had done just that, many times, on the never-ending journey south.

  Reaching the carriage, Graham opened the door and nearly lifted her inside, helping her keep her skirts and cloak out of the mud. As Annalyla entered, a woman’s thin voice filled the air.

  “Sit down, child,” she said crisply. “Sit down and read your scripture book. You will need the verses to fortify you before you meet your future husband. You must be prepared, child.”

  Annalyla eyed the woman as the door to the carriage was shut and secured, and the carriage lurched as the men began to move. Annalyla yelped as she lost her balance and tumbled onto one of the cushioned benches.

  “Prepared for what?” she said as she straightened up on the bench. “Marriage? I have been prepared for that for the past year, ever since this contract was brokered. I know my role in this, Mother Angel. You need not tell me yet again what I already know.”

  Mother Angel had been Annalyla’s nurse since she’d been an infant, brought from the House of de Vesci because Annalyla’s mother could not tend the infant. A weak woman, and ashamed the child she bore was a girl, Lady Lyla de Gare St. Lo had retreated into a haze of alcohol and self-pity while her husband brought in a suitable nurse to keep the child alive.

  Therefore, Mother Angel truly looked at herself as Annalyla’s mother, meaning she was strict when she needed to be, but never loving. Always firm, always in control. Like now: Annalyla had to understand her role in this situation and Mother Angel had to ensure her manner was appropriately domineering.

  “Your father has schooled you on your position,” Mother Angel said, her beady-eyed gaze fixed upon her charge. “He has schooled me as well. I understand your role in this marriage better than you do, so take heed before we arrive. There will be no room for doubt or mistakes.”

  Annalyla sighed heavily. “I know that I am to be an attentive, courteous wife.”

  Mother Angel made a hissing sound between her teeth. “It is more than that,” she said. Then, she lowered her voice. “The money is gone, child. The St. Lo money has long been gone and all we have now is our good name, a name that your father was able to rely upon to secure this marital contract. It will save your family.”

  Annalyla knew this; she’d known it for years. The House of St. Lo had been wealthy, once, but no longer. Blight and wars had drained their coffers, and her father had never been very good with money. He was a kind man, well-liked, but a fool when it came to coin. They still had the lands, and the properties, so Cain St. Lo had used that to his advantage when seeking a rich family for his only child to marry into.

  The House of de Velt was a neighbor, and an ally, and Cain had convinced Cassian de Velt that Annalyla would be a perfect match for Tenner, his eldest son. Through Annalyla, Tenner would inherit the St. Lo properties, but the land was all there was. There was nothing else. Cain had spent his last few coins on a suitable wardrobe for his child and an offering of a beautiful sword to give to her new husband but, after that, there was nothing left.

  Tenner de Velt wouldn’t know until it was too late.

  “I have told my father and I shall tell you,” Annalyla said with some frustration. “I will not steal from my husband and send money to Roseden. I will not enter into this marriage as a thief.”

  Mother Angel cast her a sharp glare. “No one has asked you to steal,” she said. “But if your father needs money, and asks for it, it is your duty to obtain it from your husband.”

  Annalyla sat back against the cab, turning to look from the window slit at the
fog that still covered the land.

  “It seems so deceitful,” she muttered. “I am carrying a lie into this marriage.”

  “You are doing what is necessary for your family to survive. There is no shame in that.”

  Annalyla didn’t reply. Mother Angel saw it one way, and she saw it another. She didn’t look at the woman, refusing to comment on a conversation they’d had far too many times. Instead, she gazed out of the window until she saw movement from the corner of her eye, daring to glance over to see that Mother Angel had collected her sewing. She was continuing work on the same piece she’d been working on the entire journey. It was an intricately flowered piece, meant to be a panel on a fine dress that Annalyla would have made someday.

  A garment her new husband would pay for.

  In truth, there had been some disagreement over the true purpose of this marriage. A business arrangement had turned into the method of survival just as Mother Angel had said. Annalyla had always hoped to marry a man she could be fond of, and someone who could be fond of her, but she already felt deceitful going into this marriage with de Velt and, sooner or later, the truth would be known. She greatly feared that her husband would resent her after that, and she didn’t want to live the rest of her life with a man who resented her.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing Annalyla could do about it. All she could do was try to protect the dark secret her family held and hope that when her husband did find out about it, it would be well into the marriage and he would consider her more valuable than the destitute house he would inherit.

  That was the hope, anyway.

  The carriage bumped and rolled over miles of road that had seen a great deal of travel. Mostly, they ended up in the ruts, which would grind against the axles and vibrate the entire carriage but, gradually, the road evened out and the fog began to lift. Annalyla found herself looking at green flatlands with scrub, and the road itself was made of red earth. It was red dirt as far as the eye could see. Though the land seemed to have little by way of hills or other landmarks, she could see a large forest to the north. She caught sight of Graham riding next to the carriage.

  “Graham?” she asked. “You’ve not spoken much about our destination, but do you know anything about these lands?”

  Graham was in full battle armor. He had the look of a hunter about him, a nervous energy to his movements.

  “We are heading to the Gates of Hades, my lady,” he said, rather ominously. “Though these lands are pleasing to the eye, they have a sinister soul.”

  Annalyla looked at him, though it was only through the slit in the cab wall. All he could see were her eyes. “I have heard that Devon and Cornwall are wild and uncivilized,” she said. “My father told me that my betrothed came down to the south to help tame the area.”

  Graham grunted. “A de Velt can tame anything,” he said. “But I am not sure even a de Velt knight can bring this terrible place under control.”

  Annalyla began to notice just how nervous he appeared. “You are afraid?”

  He shook his head. “Not afraid,” he said. “Prepared. The forests of Cornwall and Devon hide the barbarians. I wish your father had sent me with more men.”

  “He did not have any more to spare.”

  “Then he should have asked de Velt for more men.”

  “He asked for the carriage. He did not wish to ask for more.”

  Graham knew that. He’d served St. Lo since before Annalyla was born, a kind but rather dense man. Graham was more family than servant, and even though he knew the House of St. Lo was destitute and could hardly afford a knight of his caliber, still, he remained. Roseden was his home, after all, and his three sons had been born there, men who had moved off to bigger and more lucrative posts. Graham’s wife had died two years ago, and he simply couldn’t bring himself to leave the place where she was buried. Perhaps that was a foolish inclination, but Graham’s loyalty was strong to the House of St. Lo, for better or for worse.

  These days, it was for worse, and he had the same sense of underhandedness in this situation that Annalyla did.

  He didn’t think betraying the trust of a de Velt was a good idea.

  “For your safety, he should have asked for more men,” he said after a moment, turning to look at the untamed lands surrounding them. “My father’s family came from Cornwall, and many a time in my youth did I spend time there with my grandfather.”

  “Is that so?” Annalyla said. “You did not mention that.”

  Graham nodded as if suddenly reliving old memories. “My grandfather had been a great knight, once, but an injury crippled him and he became a fisherman to feed his family,” he said. “A greater man I’ve never seen. He could do anything.”

  Annalyla was listening intently. “Why have you never told me this before?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose it never came up,” he said. “Your father knows, however. Mayhap, that is why he did not ask de Velt for more men for the escort. I am sure he believed I could handle whatever came along, given that part of my family is from the area. But the last time I was here was a very long time ago. There are more tales and legends of these parts than anywhere else in England.”

  She was interested. “Like what?”

  Graham’s gaze was towards the north, where there was a dark line of trees in the distance. “This is a land of fairies,” he said. “Piskies, they’re called. You’ll see the entrance to their homes in mounds or stone circles. They are playful, but they have a wicked side as well. ’Tis best to stay away from them.”

  Annalyla was enthralled. “Piskies,” she repeated. “Have you ever seen any?”

  He nodded with confidence. “Many times,” he said. “But I never went near them. You should not, either.”

  Annalyla tried to picture wicked but playful fairies in her mind. “I will not,” she promised. “What else?”

  Graham could see that he had a captive audience and it amused him. “Giants,” he said. “Cornwall is a land of giants, though I’ve not seen any myself. Some say they died out long ago. And then there is good King Arthur, of course. He lived in Cornwall.”

  “I have heard of King Arthur,” Annalyla said. “He and his knights searched for the Holy Grail, did they not?”

  Graham nodded. “They did,” he replied. “His castle, Tintagel, is reputed to be haunted, but Tintagel is just one haunted castle in a land that is full of them. It seems that every town has a legend of a haunted fortress or castle, especially on the western coast.”

  “Is that where your grandfather lived?” Annalyla asked. “Along the western coast?”

  Graham looked at her. “In fact, he did,” he said. “He took up fishing out of a village in Devon, right along the Cornwall border. It was a little fishing village called Duckpool. Some of my fondest memories are from my youth, sailing the coast of Cornwall and seeing the cliffs and the rocks, listening to my grandfather tell stories of the land.”

  Annalyla smiled faintly, seeing the pleasant memories reflecting on Graham’s features. “He told you of the giants and the haunted castles?”

  Graham nodded. “And of the mermaids who climb onto the rocks and lure fishermen to their doom,” he said. “If you ever hear a woman’s voice calling from the sea, do not investigate. They want your soul.”

  That sounded frightening and Annalyla’s eyes widened. “Is it true?”

  Graham fought off a grin. “Some say it is,” he said. “But more importantly, there are certain castles you do not want to have anything to do with. If you are to live in this area of Devon and Cornwall, then you should know not to go to Tintagel. The placed is cursed.”

  “But what if my husband wishes to take me there?”

  “He will not. I am sure he knows better. Another place to avoid is Blagg Castle. It is said that trolls live in the castle well, waiting for unsuspecting men to come by so that they may eat them.”

  Her mouth popped open. “Eat them?” she said with disgust. “That cannot be true. Did your grandfather tell you tha
t?”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Are you calling my grandfather a liar?”

  Annalyla backed down. “Well,” she said slowly, “I am not, I suppose. But it sounds awful. Are there any other terrible places?”

  “Baiadepaura Castle.”

  She looked at him curiously, repeating the oddly-named castle. “Baiadepaura? Where is that one?”

  Graham lifted a finger towards the west, straight ahead. “Not far from Tintagel,” he said. “It is a few miles up the coast, near a town called Bude. If ever there was a cursed place, it is Baiadepaura.”

  Annalyla was very interested. “Why?”

  Graham pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It has a long legacy,” he said. “My grandfather told me that the castle is built on the foundations of an old Roman temple, one used to worship Poseidon, the sea god. The temple was sacked when the Romans left Britain, but a local lord built his castle there and the family, the de Paura family, had a terrible legacy there.”

  “Why was it terrible?”

  “Because the last lord was burned alive for bringing a plague to the area and legend says he still walks the ruins, looking to wreak havoc on anyone that comes near.” Graham could see she was hanging on every word. “Much like the mermaids, if you hear a voice luring you into Baiadepaura, do not answer. It is the Devil of Baiadepaura luring you to your death.”

  “The Devil!” she gasped.

  “So the legends say.”

  Annalyla’s eyes glittered as she thought on the curse of a castle built upon Roman ruins. “Baiadepaura,” she repeated. “The last part of the name is the family name, but what does it all mean?”

  Graham was looking off towards the west as if to see that terrible place from the cobwebs of his memory. “It means Bay of de Paura,” he said. “The family was not from Cornwall, but from Portugal, so the bay that the castle sits on was known as the Bay of de Paura. That’s how the castle got its name over the centuries, in fact – it became Baiadepaura. But the bay has another name, too.”